Still Lake - Anne Stuart [17]
Sophie didn’t want to face her unwelcome guest. She should have gotten used to Marty’s scenes by now, but she hadn’t slept well the night before, and for some reason Mr. Smith made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, heading for the coffee and pouring herself a mug, determined not to look at him. “My sister is at a difficult age. She’s got a lot of problems to work through.”
“Does she? She seems fairly typical to me. All teenagers are a pain in the butt.”
She glanced over at him. “You’re a father, Mr. Smith?”
“No. I just remember what it was like. Don’t you?”
“Not particularly. I was too busy being responsible to behave like a selfish adolescent. I didn’t have time to rebel.”
“Maybe you should try it when you get a chance,” he said evenly.
“I’m just as happy to have skipped that part of growing up.” She glanced out the kitchen window toward the lake, not wanting to look at him any longer.
“I’ve found that you can’t really skip parts of the process. Sooner or later they catch up with you and you have to go through them, anyway.”
“Let’s just hope I’m immune to that particular theory. I don’t have the time or the inclination to act like a giddy, lovesick brat.”
“Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing,” the man said, setting his empty coffee mug down on the counter. He’d chosen her favorite mug—the teal blue one shaped like a bean pot. She had the gloomy feeling that she’d never be able to drink from it again without picturing his long, elegant fingers wrapped around it. His mouth on it. There was no way around it, the man had the sexiest mouth she’d ever seen.
“I’m better off that way,” she said. Wondering why the hell she was even discussing this with him. She knew he was watching her out of his cool, dark eyes, even though she was determined not to meet his gaze.
“Maybe,” he said. “In the meantime, since your sister’s otherwise occupied, would you consider coming over to the house and taking a look? Give me some idea what kind of help I’ll need, maybe give me a few names?”
She stared at him in shock. Yesterday afternoon he’d looked as if he’d be more welcoming to a horde of Vikings rather than his neighbor. Now he was suddenly being relatively pleasant, asking her for help.
The problem was, she didn’t trust him. “I can give you the names, anyway….”
“Do I bother you, Ms. Davis?”
She had no choice but to meet his gaze. He was taunting her, and she was half tempted to tell him just how much he bothered her. And why.
But that would be stupid. There was no question at all that the man was extremely attractive, with just the sort of romantic looks that would appeal to an angry, vulnerable teenage girl. If Sophie was to keep Marty safe from temptation, she needed to know her enemy, and Mr. Smith was giving her the perfect opportunity. She couldn’t quite figure out why, but she’d be a fool to miss it.
“I told you, call me Sophie. And no, you don’t bother me,” she added with deceptive breeziness. “I’ll be happy to come back to the Whitten place and help you figure out what kind of work you’re going to need to have done. I believe in being a good neighbor.”
“Oh, me too,” he said, and Sophie wondered whether or not she imagined the faint note of amusement in his voice.
“Just let me check on my mother and tell Marty where I’m going.”
“You sure that’s a good idea? Your sister was already pretty pissed at you.”
“Marty’s always mad at me,” Sophie said with a sigh. “I’m used to it. Why don’t you wait for me out on the porch and I’ll be with you in a minute? Things seem pretty quiet around here for now.”
He glanced toward the door that Marty had slammed on her way out. “All right,” he said, and headed out into the morning sunshine.
But Sophie had the firm belief that the mysterious Mr. Smith wasn’t nearly as agreeable as he was trying to make her think he was.
And she wondered if she was making a big mistake.
4
Two people were sitting down by the lake, talking in low voices, the freshly painted Adirondack chairs glistening in the August