Still Lake - Anne Stuart [59]
She half expected to hear him calling after her, but no sound emanated from the old cottage. She’d escaped, and he could only be grateful. No morning-after recriminations or difficult small talk. Hell, with luck he’d leave town after that debacle.
Maybe debacle was the wrong word for it. He certainly hadn’t been happy to find out that she was still technically a virgin, but it hadn’t seemed to slow him down any. Still, it must be embarrassing to face someone you unwittingly deflowered. He’d probably rather leave town. Or at least she could hope so.
She felt close to tears by the time she reached the open expanse of lawn in front of the inn. The day was getting brighter—it must be after five. Not that anyone in the house would be waking to ask her embarrassing questions. Both Grace and Marty liked their beauty sleep.
Sophie walked down to the water’s edge, stepping out onto the dock. It was too early even for the most devoted of fishermen, and if they came by she didn’t care. She dropped her unbuttoned nightgown onto the dock, looking down at her body.
There was blood between her thighs. Well and truly de-virginized, she thought, and she dove into the lake, a neat, clean surface dive that barely made a ripple in the still, cool water.
She was gone, of course. He should have known she’d run like a scared rabbit, Griffin thought, cursing. Hell and damnation, he couldn’t even have two minutes in the bathroom without her taking off into the woods like a ravished virgin.
Which, in fact, was exactly what she was. How in the world did someone with a body like hers make it into her twenties without ever getting laid? Had she spent years in a convent or on some deserted island? What was wrong with the men she’d met, that no one had taken advantage of that sweet mouth and delectably lush body?
It wasn’t as if she’d put up a hell of a fight. He liked women, liked sex, and he knew perfectly well when a woman was attracted to him, even if she didn’t want to be. Sophie Davis couldn’t keep her eyes off him, in between snapping at him, and all he’d had to do was taste her mouth this afternoon to know he could have her.
He hadn’t been in any particular rush to do anything about it, but she’d shown up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, dressed in that ridiculous nightgown, and he was hardly a man to refuse such an unexpected gift. So he’d taken her, she’d been willing, and he had no reason to feel guilty. Though why in hell she was still a virgin was beyond his comprehension.
He couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t told him. Maybe she’d tried and he’d been too busy concentrating on getting inside her to listen. And if she had told him, what would he have done? Been noble, had second thoughts, put her away from him and forswear being a cad?
Like hell. He probably would have made it all the way up to the bed instead of taking her fast and hot on the rug like a horny teenager, but that was about the limit of his self-control. The moment she’d appeared out of the woods he’d known this was going to happen, and nothing was going to stop it.
It was a mistake, and her being a virgin had nothing to do with it. From now on she’d be so skittish around him he’d have an even harder time getting into the old inn. He’d screwed things up big time, and if he had any sense at all he’d keep his mind and his hands off his neighbor. He should be kicking himself. In fact, though, she’d almost been worth it.
Of course she’d run off, refusing to face him. She was probably crying, probably hating him. That, or even worse, she’d decided she was in love with him. He shuddered at the thought. That was the last thing he needed at a time like this. Women tended to be sentimental, particularly when it was their first lover, and she’d probably convince herself it was the romance of the century that made her give up what she’d been hoarding for too damned long.
She’d be hard put to fashion a romance out of this, he thought, pulling his abandoned cutoffs back