Still Lake by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page A

filling it with coffee. He drank it black, and he almost snarled when he took his first sip. He should have known that Sophie Davis would make the kind of coffee most men would die for.
    He should have poured the rest out, left the deserted kitchen and headed straight for Audley’s General Store and the instant coffee section. He didn’t usually succumb to temptation, but for some reason being back in the place where he’d let his appetites run wild seemed to be doing a number on his iron self-control. The least he could do was drain themug and get the hell out of there, before Martha Stewart found him.
    Too late. Just outside the kitchen, he heard footsteps coming from the old hallway, and he froze.
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    The last thing Sophie Davis expected to see when she walked into her kitchen was the enigmatic Mr. Smith. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, his long, elegant fingers wrapped around a huge mug of coffee, and the dark eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were cool and assessing.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she demanded, too startled to remember her manners.
    â€œYour sister offered me a cup of coffee,” he said. She didn’t like his voice. It was slow and deep and sexy, at complete odds with his cool manner. And then his words sank in.
    â€œYou met Marty?” She tried to keep the note of suspicion and worry out of her voice. For a brief moment she’d thought Mr. Smith would provide a harmless distraction for her younger sister. In the full light of day, in her bright and airy kitchen, she knew instinctively that Mr. Smith was far more dangerous than she’d ever imagined.
    â€œYes,” he said, giving nothing away. He seemed entirely at ease, drinking her coffee and watching her.
    â€œShe’s not even eighteen years old, Mr. Smith,” she said sternly.
    â€œSo she told me. Not that I was interested. Nubile nymphets aren’t exactly my style.”
    She wasn’t sure she believed him. “What is your style, Mr. Smith?”
    He cocked his head. “Is your interest personal or academic?”
    The question startled her, but she met his gaze stonily. “I’m trying to look out for my little sister.”
    â€œAnd who looks out for you?”
    No one at all, she wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut. If this was John Smith’s idea of making small talk she preferred his taciturn persona. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a lot of work to do today, and I don’t have time to spend socializing.”
    â€œIs that what we’re doing?” he said. There was an undercurrent of amusement in his rough voice. She didn’t like it when men found her amusing.
    â€œI’ll be happy to send you home with a thermos of coffee. We’re set up to offer them to our guests.”
    â€œYou mean you’ll be happy to send me home and you don’t care what you have to do to get me there,” he corrected her. “Trust me, Ms. Davis, I’m absolutely harmless.”
    â€œSure you are,” she muttered. “You underestimate the effect of those brooding Byronic looks on an impressionable teenager.”
    â€œBrooding Byronic looks?” he echoed, his horror unfeigned.
    â€œI’m ready!” Marty appeared in the kitchen door, dressed in a micro skirt and tube top.
    â€œReady for what?” Sophie demanded.
    â€œI’m going to help John open up the house,” she said with sunny ingenuousness. It was almost enough to make Sophie waver—there were times when she thought she’d do anything if Marty would just smile.
    But that didn’t include sending her off with a good-looking stranger. “No, you’re not,” she said flatly. “I need your help around here, and I’m sure Mr. Smith is entirely capable of handling the Whitten house on his own. If he needs any help I can give him the names of a couple of people who work out of the village.”
    â€œI