Still Lake - Anne Stuart [112]
She heard his footsteps on the porch. She had no doubt that it was anyone but him—she’d know his step anywhere. He would see her car parked there, and be prepared to find her. That is, if he recognized the car she’d been forced to rent while her Subaru was being repaired.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, carrying an armload of firewood. He barely glanced at her, kicking the door shut behind him, closing out the chilly darkness, and dumped the logs on the stone hearth. He squatted by the fire and added a couple of logs, then tilted his head to glance at her, huddled in her borrowed raincoat.
“It’s about time,” he said in an even voice.
Somehow she found her voice. “You weren’t here.”
“I was gone for exactly two days. And stop looking at me like I’m Jack the Ripper. I’m not a murderer, remember?”
He seemed almost lighthearted, which annoyed her. How could he sound almost cheerful when she was squirming with miserable uncertainty?
“I wouldn’t think that would be something to joke about.”
“I’m dead serious.”
He sat back on his heels, looking at her. She’d forgotten just how gorgeous he was, with his gray-streaked curls, the thin glasses perched on his nose, the big strong hands and wicked mouth…
She was getting hot, and she wasn’t about to dispense with the raincoat.
“Why are you here? Just come to say good-bye, or was there something you wanted?”
“I can leave…” she said, starting to rise.
Mistake. It made him put his hands on her, just for a brief moment, to shove her back into her chair. She’d forgotten how powerful the feel of his hands was.
“No, you can’t,” he said. “Not until we figure out what we’re going to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are we going to keep fighting, or are we going to go upstairs? We haven’t tried a bed yet. It might add a refreshing sense of adventure.”
“Do you think about anything besides sex?”
“It does tend to be foremost in my mind when I look at you. When I don’t look at you, when you’re shut up somewhere refusing to see me, I tend to think about how annoying you are, what a total pain in the butt you can be, and how I can’t stand not seeing you.”
“That’s not enough.”
“You want me to tell you I’m madly in love with you, Sophie? Hey, I’m a lawyer—I can lie with the best of them.”
She blinked. There it was out in the open, under the harsh glare of light. Except that the light wasn’t harsh at all, it was a soft glow from the fire and the old lamps.
“Then we’ve got a problem,” she said softly.
“Do we?”
“Because I’m in love with you.”
He didn’t look particularly happy to hear it. “It’s just sex, Sophie.”
“So why did you come back?”
He shrugged. “Unfinished business? Lust? A latent sense of decency?”
“You said you’re a lawyer. No such thing.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you want from me?”
He hesitated. “I want you.”
“Yes,” she said, gently encouraging.
“I want you in my bed. I want you in my house. Hell, Sophie, I want you in my life. I want to take you upstairs to that nice big bed and make love to you, very slowly, and then I want to sleep with you, which is weird as hell because I don’t like to sleep with the women I have sex with. I want to wake up with you in the morning, I want to fight with you in the afternoon, and I want to make love on any and every available surface in this place. And then I want to do it all over again. Come upstairs with me, Sophie. I’ll keep you warm. I’ll keep the darkness away.”
She was beginning to melt. “We have nothing in common,” she said.
“I know.”
“We’ll fight all the time.”
“But then we’ll make up.”
“True,” she said. “You’re going to marry me.”
He blinked at that. “Yeah,” he said morosely, “you’re right.”
“And you’re going to love me.” She stood and dropped the raincoat in the chair behind