Marisa Carroll - Hotel Marchand 09 by Her Summer Lover Read Free Book Online

interrupt your reverie.”
    “My reverie was coming perilously close to turning into a nap,” Sophie admitted. “It’s so pleasant out here I’m tempted never to move again.” The B&B was a wonderful place. An authentic, two-hundred-year-old raised Creole cottage built of native cypress timber with a cedar-shake roof. The guest rooms all recently remodeled, had access to the porches that ran the length of the building. Her tiny attic suite even had a small balcony of its own. In another month or two the yard would be a riot of blooming shrubs and spring flowers lining the brick walkway that led to the bayou, but today winter grays and browns still held sway.
    “It is nice this afternoon. A welcome change from the cold weather we’ve been having.”
    She uncurled her legs from beneath her paisley skirt and rested her hands in her lap. “I’m a little ashamed of myself for frittering away the day like this. I should be at Maude’s, or the shop, setting things to rights.”
    Luc studied her for a moment with shrewd blue eyes before he spoke again. “You’ve had a tough couple of days. Maude’s things will wait. The Lagniappe Ladies took care of all the perishables in Maude’s house. Her neighbor is feeding her cat. There’s no reason for you to wear yourself out sorting through her things until you’re rested and ready.” He set the tea tray on a small wrought-iron table beside her left hand, seated himself in the chair on the other side of it, and began to pour the tea with none of the self-consciousness most men would exhibit performing such a feminine task. But then he was an innkeeper, and a hotelier by trade, she reminded herself, at ease with such rituals of hospitality.
    He was certainly easy on the eyes, wearing a silky black polo shirt and a pair of stone-gray slacks with a knife-sharp crease.
    “These muffins are wonderful,” she said hurriedly when he caught her absentmindedly licking melted sugar from her fingers. She hoped he wasn’t reading her thoughts. “What kind are they?” She looked down at the crumbs on her plate. She hadn’t even known she was hungry, but she’d eaten a scone and two of the mini-muffins—and was thinking about trying a third.
    He pointed them out. “Honey orange. Cranberry walnut and blueberry.”
    “They’re marvelous. Just like the nut bread I had for breakfast.”
    “I’ll pass the word on to the baker, Loretta Castille. She’s starting her own business and she’ll appreciate the compliment.”
    “I wish I could bake like this.” She didn’t even own baking dishes. She seldom cooked, seldom ate at home. Her business was entertaining the prospective philanthropic donors of her firms’ clients at Houston’s finer restaurants, not cooking for them herself.
    “It’s an art as well as a skill.”
    “I never looked at it like that, but you’re right.” With a smile she gave in to temptation and popped a bite-size blueberry muffin into her mouth. When she’d finished her second cup of tea she knew she couldn’t put off her trip into Indigo any longer. “I think I can make it through to dinner now.”
    She stood up and Luc stood with her. “I noticed there’s turtle soup on the menu tonight at the Blue Moon when I drove through town earlier,” he said. “I highly recommend it.”
    “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” He held the door for her while she went inside to get her purse.
    “If you want some company, I’m not busy,” Luc said easily, but his blue gaze was still assessing, and all too perceptive.
    “Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine.” She appreciated his offer, but she realized she needed to do this on her own.
    Still, she was almost sorry she’d turned him down when she opened the door to Maude’s house and was greeted with the familiar smell of cats, old leather and lavender sachet that she’d always associated with her godmother. The room was small, packed with heavy, thirties-era upholstered furniture, except for a nearly new