The Charmers by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page A

footsteps approaching on the path, then a man appeared at the doorway, silhouetted against the sun so we could not make out who exactly he was, though I was certain it was no one I knew.
    I met him on the stoop, annoyed at his impertinence. “Who are you? And what do you mean by walking in here like you own the place?” My anger showed in my tone of voice.
    His coldness showed in his, sending a chill though my bones.
    â€œI might,” Chad Prescott said.
    He stepped forward so I could see his face: lean, handsome, lightly tanned, an outdoorsman’s face—sporty, horses, fishing; things like that. I felt myself melt.
    It was the doctor. Ohh, I thought. Another charmer.

 
    8
    I dragged my eyes away, looking down at the parquet floor but not seeing it. In the short time available I had managed to take in the floppy blond hair, the network of lines around his eyes, blue eyes in fact, much like my own, as well as the stubble on that firm chin, and a nice-looking underlip, full and sweet enough for a bite. But what was I thinking? This man, this doctor, had just claimed he owned my villa. I should want to smack him across his too-good-looking face. But I’m not the smacking kind, I’m a giver not a taker, a softie at heart, and I do have a heart though at the moment it seems to have stopped. Taken a break. I hope it begins to beat again soon, I’d quite like to breathe.
    There! I was breathing after all. And smiling at this outrageous man who had just put claims on my villa. Aunt Jolly’s villa, that was. And before that, Jerusha’s.
    My shoulder hurt, bruised in the crash, and I put up a hand as though to protect it from his gaze, but he was not even looking at me. He was looking at the villa, assessing its value I’d bet.
    â€œSo who are you anyway?” I put enough frost in my voice to kill any nice summer day.
    He did not so much as glance around, so intent was he in taking in what he claimed was his property. “Name’s Chad Prescott.” He did not offer his hand, though, silly me, I did. Good manners can be the ruination of you; someone once told me that. It had to have been a man.
    â€œThough you have not asked, my name is Mirabella Matthews.” I waited for a response, the oh really, of course I know your books. It did not come.
    Verity came and stood tall beside me. “And I am Verity.” She did not mention her second name, obviously still confused as to which one it was, the single or the married. Not that it mattered.
    Aunt Jolly had an old sausage dog that still lived here, along with a Siamese cat and a bright yellow canary that sang. The dog walked cautiously toward the doctor, stretching its long neck to sniff his sandaled feet. He ignored it.
    â€œI did not invite you onto my property,” I said, choking back my anger. “And you should at least acknowledge the dog. He lives here, this is his home.”
    â€œNo, it’s not,” he said. And with that he walked past me and through the already open door.
    Mouth agape, I caught the faint tang of briarwood cologne as he passed, a warm male aroma. What was wrong with me? This guy was talking about Aunt Jolly’s house, my house, as though it was his, walking into it like he owned it and I was caught up in his scent.
    â€œYou have no right to walk into my house.”
    I hurried after him, the dog slinking at my heels. The Siamese was absent and the canary had disappeared from its open cage. I didn’t blame them. The vibes were not good.
    He turned and for the first time really looked at me, as though he saw me and not as though I were some insignificant servant, here to do his bidding.
    â€œYou must understand,” he said. His voice was low and even and rather attractive if truth be known. “You must understand that whatever you have been told, whatever you believe or think, you did not inherit this house. It was deeded to me prior to her death by Madame Jolly