Housebound by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, Anne was conscious of a queer feeling of isolation. Their laughing voices drifted up to her, and more than anything she wanted to be a part of that laughter, share in the lighthearted banter. But Holly had made it clear that banter could only include two people.
    Curiouser and curiouser, Anne thought as she ensconced herself on the frayed sofa in front of the now cold fireplace, propping her feet on a pile of magazines atop the cherry wood butler’s table. Never had she seen Holly so snappish, and there could be little doubt as to the cause of it. Hadn’t she said Noah Grant was the sexiest man alive? Without question he was definitely in the top ten, and it was little wonder Holly had set her sights on him. What was a surprise was her jealousy of Anne. She suspected that Noah’s flirtation was second nature to him—that she meant no more to him than Holly.
    But Holly was no challenge; she was his for the taking. Not that she had put up much of a fight, either, Anne thought wryly, staring into the empty fireplace. It would be a very good idea if she spent the day in her studio, working on the Chinese manuscript, and then have Wilson come over early.A good dose of Wilson’s steady charm would drive these absurd fantasies from her mind in short order. Never mind the fact that she’d been having second thoughts about Wilson these last few months. There was still no room in her well-ordered life for a charming, overgrown leprechaun like Noah Grant, and there was certainly no room in his for the likes of Anne Kirkland. It would be an extremely good idea if she didn’t forget that again.

Chapter Four
    The political ramifications of the Ming dynasty, written in Harvey Etling’s turgid, academic prose, were hardly conducive to keeping Anne’s mind off the distracting presence of Noah Grant. Shortly after breakfast she disappeared into her studio, equipped with a box of ginger snaps and her third cup of coffee, leaving strict instructions with Holly that she wasn’t to be disturbed. She’d had little doubt Holly would manage to keep intruders from her studio, particularly a certain one, and during the next six or seven hours she slogged through just over half of the five-hundred-page manuscript. Unfortunately Etling’s urge to sound erudite quite often circumvented grammar, necessitating rather tedious line editing, and by the time Anne finally looked up from the manuscript scattered around her on the bed, her head and eyes ached, her muscles were cramped, and her temper hovered between depression, exhaustion and definite snappishness.
    The faint rich aroma of coffee filtered through the narrow door to her haven, the smell tickling her nostrils and bringing a latent resolution to her tired body. Straightening from her reclining position, she started pushing the scribbled-on manuscript into some sort of order when the door opened and the doorway filled with a distracting male body.
    â€œSo this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” Noah observed casually, looking around him with interest as he ducked into the room. The door cut into the solid rock wasn’t suited for people more than five feet eight.
    â€œI haven’t been hiding; I’ve been working,” she said irritably, angry at the sudden quickening of her pulses. “And looking for some solitude.”
    He held up the tray holding two mugs of steaming coffee. “I come bearing gifts. Surely you can’t kick a messenger out who comes equipped with coffee?”
    â€œYou seem to have an uncanny ability to find all my weaknesses,” she said with a sigh, reaching an eager hand for the mug. She took a tentative sip. It was slightly stronger than she usually made it, but divine nonetheless. “And you must have made this. No one else in the house knows how to make coffee, unless Ashley’s friend has hidden talents.”
    â€œI’m sure he