A Woman Without Lies by Elizabeth Lowell Read Free Book Online Page A

marvelous fragrance of fresh croissants and steaming omelet preceded her to the table.
    Derry smiled up at her.
    “Thanks, Angie,” he said softly. “This beats hell out of peanut butter and toast.”
    “Anything beats that.”
    “Creamed liverwurst?” Derry asked innocently.
    Angel shuddered.
    Derry took a bite of the omelet and sighed. “Clarissa was right about one thing,” he said.
    “Oh?”
    “You’re gonna spoil me for any other woman.”
    Angel laughed and ruffled Derry ’s hair affectionately. Then she turned to go back to the stove—and nearly walked right into Hawk.
    “Oh!” Angel stepped back, her eyes wide and startled. “Good Lord, but you’re light on your feet!”
    Hawk simply looked down at Angel with a cold expression. The planes of his face seemed unusually harsh, his eyes black in the artificial light.
    Angel would have backed away even farther but Derry ’s plaster-encased leg prevented it.
    “Didn’t you sleep well?” Angel asked, searching Hawk’s face.
    “As well as I ever do.” Hawk’s voice was clipped, as cold as his eyes raking over her.
    He turned and picked up a mug from the counter. Then he grabbed the coffee pot and poured a dark stream into the mug. As he took a sip of coffee, he eyed the omelet ingredients heaped colorfully on the counter.
    “Sit down,” Angel said quickly to Hawk. “How many eggs do you want in your omelet?”
    “Don’t bother.” Hawk gave her a dark glance. “I’d hate like hell to be spoiled for other women.”
    Derry made a choking sound that rapidly escalated into unrestrained laughter.
    Angel’s lips flattened in the instant before her normal control asserted itself. She wished she could find Hawk’s caustic comments as entertaining as Derry did. Instead, she forever seemed to take them personally.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Angel said, crossing quickly to the stove. “How many eggs?”
    “Six.”
    Angel looked startled. She glanced covertly at Hawk and realized that he was even bigger than she had remembered. He had to be at least six foot three, lean, hard, and very male.
    Somehow the casual clothing Hawk wore now revealed his size more than the civilized three-piece suit he had worn yesterday. The black pullover that fitted his chest so well was patterned after Irish fishermen’s sweaters. Just standing there, he looked unreasonably large, his shoulders wide enough to block out the light.
    He seemed taller, too, than yesterday, more . . . primal. Faded jeans fit snugly across his thighs and hinted at the muscular calves beneath. Soft-soled suede moccasins wrapped neatly around his feet.
    But it was the power of his body that drew Angel’s eyes, the deceptively slender line of his hips and waist blending into the male wedge of his shoulders.
    “Everything zipped?” asked Hawk, too softly for Derry to hear.
    Angel flushed.
    “Everything except your mouth,” she retorted. But she was careful not to let Derry overhear.
    A corner of Hawk’s mouth turned up.
    “You aren’t,” he murmured.
    “What?”
    “Zipped.”
    Angel looked down and discovered that Hawk was right. In her haste to get dressed, she had overlooked the zipper on her jeans. A ribbon of silky tangerine briefs showed through the narrow opening.
    The reversal of the usual unzipped roles made Angel’s irritation evaporate into a laugh.
    Maybe Derry has the right outlook, she admitted silently . Hawk’s abrasive, unexpected humor could grow on you.
    Still smiling, Angel matter-of-factly zipped up her jeans. Then she turned to the counter and began cracking eggs into a bowl.
    Hawk watched while Angel made his omelet with the casual skill that came only from experience. It didn’t surprise him that she was an accomplished cook. Men liked being cooked for, and Angel was obviously a woman who had made a career out of pleasing men.
    As Hawk sipped the rich coffee, he wondered how else she had learned to please men. The thought made desire ripple darkly through