Still Lake - Anne Stuart [79]
Tonight he was going home to jerk off, thinking of Sophie’s soft, sweet thighs.
That, or he’d punch something. Either one seemed a good release. The best he was going to hope for, on a long, frustrating night like this.
17
Sophie sat on the glider the next morning, legs curled underneath her, nursing a mug of coffee, as she watched the mist rise from the lake. Grace was up already—she was moving around her room, humming an off-key little tune. That was something new—Grace had always had perfect pitch. But as her illness had progressed, her tone had deteriorated, and it was hard to even guess what she was humming. It sounded a bit like Cole Porter crossed with Marty’s Limp Bizkit, but if there was a hidden meaning to her tuneless little song there was no way Sophie could figure it out.
She didn’t particularly want to. She had enough on her mind, not the least of which was wondering what the hell she was going to do about her car, her sister, her mother, her neighbor, her new business, her overdue column, the cut on her head and the miserable headache that even the strongest painkillers couldn’t dispel. How had things gotten so out of control in a matter of days? With no warning? Four days ago she had never heard of John Smith. Now suddenly she’d been having wild sex with a total stranger, and she would have done it again last night in the front seat of his car if she hadn’t come to her senses. Damn it.
She looked down at the Whitten cottage, its roof barely visible through the tall trees. She was tempted to walk down to the water’s edge where she could get a clear look at it, but she stayed where she was, showing a rare bit of sense for a change. A plume of smoke was rising on the cool morning air, and she could smell the cozy scent of wood fire. She really did belong in the country, she thought, taking another sip of her strong coffee. Her two favorite smells in the world were wood smoke and fresh-cut grass. Coffee came in at third place, followed by fresh-baked bread. Both of those could be replicated in the city, but nothing smelled like the cool lake water on a morning in late August.
She thought of going for a swim. The water would be cold and refreshing, and it would wipe out the shadows that haunted her, at least for a short while.
It would also freeze her ass off, which in theory was a good idea but in practice sounded extremely unpleasant. Still Lake was a particularly pristine lake, but there were all sorts of organisms in it, and she was better off keeping her lacerated head out of water.
She probably should have had a couple of stitches. If she’d had the nerve to wake up Doc then she wouldn’t have driven off the road, wouldn’t have had another run-in with John Smith, wouldn’t be feeling restless and anxious. Wouldn’t be tempted to walk down the driveway to check out her car and maybe run into her neighbor, and this time maybe she wouldn’t run away, and then…
She heard the sound of a car coming up her driveway, and she felt a momentary clenching in her stomach. One that dissipated when she realized it wasn’t the throaty, sexy purr of the Jaguar.
It was Doc. He looked a bit more somber than usual when he got out of his car, but he managed a warm smile as he mounted the steps to the porch. “Got any more of that coffee?” he asked, looking at her a little too closely for comfort.
She started to uncurl her legs. “I’ll get it for you…”
“Heavens, no! I can help myself. You haven’t changed the layout of the kitchen that much since the old days. I’ll feel right at home. Can I get you a refill?”
“Why do I have the feeling this isn’t a strict social call?” Sophie asked, handing him her mug.
“It’s a social call,” Doc said. “But let’s just say it’s a concerned one. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Sophie let out a pent-up breath. Whatever Doc wanted to talk about, she didn’t think she was going to enjoy it. Right now she had enough problems without facing any new ones. Though knowing Doc, he was probably