Nora glanced around the room, then studied her drink for a moment before saying, “That’s what I came to talk about,” in a low voice. “I keep thinking about last night—”
“I keep thinking about that, too,” Shayne told her helpfully. “It’s due to be one of my pleasantest memories.”
She lifted her glass, drained it, and held it out to him. “May I have another, please? I need several of these to make me stop feeling like a shameless wanton.”
“Have all you want, of course, but don’t stop feeling that way on my account. Men like nothing better than shameless wantons, if you don’t already know it.”
She took the glass and smiled fleetingly, drank half its contents, and accepted a cigarette and light from him. She settled back and said soberly, “I think I’d say it differently. That men like women who act like shameless wantons when they’re not.”
“You should know better than I,” he told her agreeably. “I was told today that one night with Nora has been known to change strong men into infatuated weaklings.”
“Who told you that?” she flared angrily.
“Don’t jump at me,” he said with a slight shrug. “I consider it one of the greatest compliments I ever heard.”
“Who said that about me?” she demanded.
“Ann Margrave.”