Still Lake - Anne Stuart [61]
But there was no doubt she was naked in bed. And her hair was damp. She turned over and squinted at the alarm clock, then let out a squeak of horror. It was after ten o’clock. She never slept that late, even when she was sick.
There was a sudden rapping on her door, and she jumped nervously as her sister’s sharp voice called out to her. “Phone’s for you, sleepyhead. And you’ve got a visitor downstairs.”
“Shit.” The reaction was instinctive, and immediately more details began to flood her mind. It was a dream, wasn’t it? She couldn’t have been so stupid. And if it wasn’t, then that was probably John Smith downstairs, and how was she going to face him…?
“Phone,” Marty said irritably, then she stomped off down the corridor.
Sophie sat up, groaning. She was most definitely naked, and her hair smelled like the lake. Her hand was shaking when she picked up the phone, but she managed to keep her voice steady and businesslike.
“Yes?”
“I think you already said yes.” He sounded cool and faintly ironic.
She almost slammed down the phone, but at the last minute pride stopped her. Okay, so it wasn’t an erotic dream. He must have drugged her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a frosty voice. It was a weak defense, but the only one she could come up with at the last minute.
He laughed. If his reaction hadn’t been so annoying it might have sounded sexy. Sophie wasn’t in the mood to find anything sexy.
“If that’s the way you want to play it,” he said amiably enough. “I just have one question.”
“And that is?” she said icily.
“If you were saving it for so long, why’d you give it to me?”
She slammed the phone down.
The day went from hideously awful to even worse. Marty was lying in wait for her when she dragged herself downstairs, probably wondering why John Smith was calling her, wondering why she’d slept in. Sophie ignored her, heading straight for coffee, only to come face-to-face with Doc in her kitchen, peering at her from beneath his bushy white eyebrows, his kindly eyes worried.
Grace was the worst of all, of course. “He’s a very handsome young man, our neighbor,” she said artlessly as she poured more and more sugar into her coffee. Grace always drank her coffee black, without sugar. Doc finally realized what she was doing and he took the sugar bowl away from her, putting it out of reach and patting her hand.
“He’s not that young,” Sophie said with just a trace of a snarl. Marty had made the coffee, and it was too weak, on a morning when she needed the strongest coffee known to man.
“Just right for you, darling,” Grace said with a dreamy smile. “He’d look after you, keep you safe.”
“Why would Sophie need anyone to keep her safe?” Doc asked. “She strikes me as someone who can look after herself.”
“I certainly can,” Sophie said, but the two of them didn’t seem interested in her opinion.
“She needs a man, and our Mr. Smith is a perfect candidate. Sexy, ruthless, just a little bit dangerous,” Grace said. “He’s got a good heart, and he’d be very loyal. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”
“And you can tell that on the basis of two meetings?” Sophie said.
“No one’s going to hurt Sophie, Grace,” Doc said patiently.
Grace took a sip of her coffee, then pushed it away. “What did you do with the coffee?” she demanded. “It tastes like poison.”
“You put too much sugar in it, Grace,” Doc said. “Have mine.”
She cast him a suspicious glance. “You didn’t poison it?”
Doc patted her hand. “No, Grace. I promise you, I didn’t poison it.”
“All right then,” she said, taking a sip. “Much better, but it’s too weak. Sophie, where were you last night?”
The question jarred Sophie out of her abstraction. Doc and Grace were so busy arguing that she’d hoped she’d have a chance to sneak out before she got their attention again. Obviously that was a vain hope.
“In bed, Grace,” she said, rising from the table in an attempt to forestall any more conversation.
“I imagine so. The question is, whose bed?” Grace tried to look