Still Lake - Anne Stuart [60]
He went to the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee. He’d actually been looking forward to stretching out in the bed upstairs with Sophie and taking his time. A virgin deserved more than a quick tumble and a good orgasm, and he’d intended to take care of her properly once he got her upstairs. He should have realized she’d run, and he now had no interest in going back to bed alone. Maybe he’d take a nap later on. Maybe Sophie would find some excuse to come back and yell at him, and they could take a nap together.
He took his coffee out to the porch and sat with his legs propped on the railing, watching the lake. He reached for his glasses. Someone was out swimming at that hour, someone at the beach next door. It didn’t take much to figure out who it was.
He rose and strolled down to the edge of the water where he could get a better glimpse of her. She swam well, slicing through the water with an elegant economy of motion. He shivered, remembering Lorelei, dead in his arms, weighted down by the water.
Lorelei hadn’t been able to swim. She’d been childishly nervous about the lake. It had always bothered him that that was where the killer had dumped her body. He only hoped she was dead before she hit the water. She wouldn’t have wanted to feel the cold wet darkness closing over her….
He spun around, heading back to the porch. He didn’t want to think about Lorelei and how she died. Not right now. That was what he was here to find out, to see if he’d had anything to do with it. But for just a few hours he’d rather think about Sophie. And the deliciously erotic squeaking noises she made when she came.
He was watching her, and in the darkness he wept. Whore of Satan, with her virgin’s blood staining her thighs. The waters of Still Lake wouldn’t wash the sin from her. It would take his hand to do it.
He had never shunned his duty, and he wouldn’t this time. Sophie Davis had given herself over to the wickedness of the flesh, and there was no hope for her. He would cleanse her body and her soul. And she would enter the kingdom of God, purified.
He just had to decide when.
He watched her move back up the lawn, her nightgown wrapped around her wet body. In the early morning light he could see her quite clearly, the calm determination on her pale face. If she’d shown remorse he might have hesitated. But there were no tears, no regret. She had sinned, and she must suffer the consequences.
Much as it pained his heart to do it. She would die, and be born again in rapture. He only had to decide when to act. And how much to make it hurt.
13
The buzz was insistent, ripping into Sophie’s fog-shrouded sleep. It had all been a dream, she thought. An erotic, unsuitable, thoroughly enjoyable dream that she wouldn’t have to give a second thought to. Her body felt lazy and luscious and utterly relaxed, and if erotic dreams did that to her every night, then she’d make a habit of fantasizing about men, even one as unsuitable as her unwelcome neighbor.
It was the phone, but she wasn’t going to answer it. She was going to stay in the nice cozy afterglow of her sexy dream and enjoy herself, and someone else could either get the phone or the answering machine would take care of it.
It stopped, abruptly, and she figured the machine must have picked up. After all, she always got up hours before Grace and Marty did, and why should today be any different? Apart from the fact that she’d had a dream that had been so luscious it had been downright embarrassing….
She slid down in the bed, and then froze. She wasn’t wearing a nightgown. She never slept nude—she just couldn’t feel comfortable without some kind of clothing on. Gracey had always been a bit of an exhibitionist in her own nudity, and Sophie had reacted by being prudish. Fortunately in her currently