Against the Wind by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

her height. Long, long dark brown hair, still in schoolgirl braids to keep it under control while she swam, a pale, pointed face, white teeth only recently freed from braces, large brown eyes still chained to glasses that she was too vain to wear. Not a sex symbol, certainly. And the endless arms and legs, the flat, bony body with its two embarrassing lumps didn’t help matters. With a sigh she grabbed her oversized prescription sunglasses and plumped them down on her small, slightly tilted and definitely freckled nose. It was a lucky thing she wasn’t going to run into anyone more threatening than the gardener at that early hour.
    Even Georgia, their cook that year, wasn’t up. Maddy moved through the dark, silent kitchen like a ghost, straight out into the early-morning light, pausing long enough to shed the shirt and the glasses before diving into the cool clear water of the swimming pool. The chilly chlorinated smell surrounded her, waking her up completely, and dutifully she swam her laps, breast stroke, crawl, then flipping over on her back to float peacefully, alone in the world. Sometime, she promised herself, she’d live by the ocean and be able to swim in chlorine-free water every morning.
    The house was still dark and silent by the time she climbed out of the pool and began to dry herself off. It was after six by then. Georgia wouldn’t make her appearance for another hour. Maddy had developed a taste for coffee during the last year, fostered by Stephen’s indulgence, and it had now taken the place of her early-morning Coke. She’d have to rummage through Georgia’s sacrosanctappliances and make her own, risking the cook’s formidable wrath.
    The smell of coffee assailed her nostrils as she reached the open french doors that led to the huge old kitchen. “Georgia, you saint!” Maddy cried as she swept into the kitchen, sans shirt and glasses, with only the too-small bathing suit clinging wetly to her body. “I was dying for some coffee. …” Her voice trailed off in sudden horror as she realized it wasn’t Georgia standing at the sink, a cup of coffee in his large hand.
    “You’re not Georgia,” she said lamely, standing dead still, too astounded to do more than gape. And then she rapidly did a great deal, pulling Stephen’s shirt around her and plopping the dark glasses on her nose. Even through the darkness the prescription sharpened her gaze enough to get a good look at him.
    “No, I’m not,” he said calmly enough, his voice a deep, rasping rumble. “I’m Jake Murphy, one of your father’s Secret Service men. And I presume you’re Madelyn? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “You didn’t scare me,” she said slowly. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Not anyone like you, she added to herself. “And only my mother calls me Madelyn. I’m Maddy.”
    He smiled then, a strangely sweet smile in a wary, secretive face. “Good morning then, Maddy. Would you like some coffee?”
    If his presence had bemused her, his smile devastated her. “I’d love some.” She stood there and watched as he reached for a cup and proceeded to pour her some.
    At that point most of her romantic fantasies had concerned both long-haired rock singers and Eric Thompson, her best friend’s older brother. The man standing in the dawn light by her parents’ kitchen sink was cut froma different stamp. He was wearing a suit, of all things, a dark, conservative suit with a white shirt and a dark tie knotted loosely at this throat. His hair was short, army-length, and his hazel eyes had a distant, wary look to them when he wasn’t smiling at her. That smile had been a revelation on his dark, narrow face. When he was still the skin seemed too taut across the high cheekbones, the strong blade of a nose, the firm chin. When he wasn’t looking at her he looked driven, haunted, and frighteningly romantic. When he looked back at her, smiling that gentle, reassuring smile, Maddy melted.
    He was even tall. Eric