by Anne Stuart
Turning off the light, he lay back in the narrow bed, resting his head against the pile of feather pillows. The sheets were crisp and cool against his body. He liked the idea of Anne Kirkland sleeping in this bed. Maybe, with great good luck, he could fall asleep thinking of her. Even those dangers were preferable to his usual nocturnal companion.
But he should have known. The fitful moonlight shone in the window, cutting a wide swath across the bed. There was just the beginning flutter of pale snowflakes filtering down. And with the inevitability of death and taxes, he remembered Nialla.
ANNE WAS AWAKENED at a little past seven by the blinding sunlight streaming in her wall of windows. With a small moan she burrowed back under the quilt in a vain attempt at shutting out the merciless glare. Punching up a small corner to let in a tiny amount of oxygen, she shut her eyes once more. But the quilt soon collapsed, Anne started smothering, and within five minutes she threw the cover back with a hearty curse. Swinging her bare feet onto the floor, she tried a glare at the brilliant sunshine, a glare that immediately dissolved into a delighted smile. It had snowed during the night, a good four inches, and the trees, the yard, the hillside were a fairyland of white.
It was impossible to be bad-tempered on such a day, she thought, pulling on her best jeans and her favorite silk blouse before topping it with a less-than-baggy sweater. Why she eschewed the loose-fitting flannel shirt was something she didn’t care to consider, and the only blot on her horizon was the fact that the showers in the house were all on the second floor. The last thing she wanted to do was to run into a passion-sated Noah Grant, fresh from a night in her sister’s voracious arms. It didn’t matter that she had no right to care, both because of Wilson Engalls and her sister’s prior claim. She simply didn’t want Holly to have him.
Within minutes the smell of freshly ground coffee was filling the underground kitchen. To Anne’s amazement the late-night glasses had all been washed and put in the drainer, the counters cleaned off, and everything left spotless. It was impossible to believe either of her hopelessly impractical siblings capable of the act or the motivation, and her father would have broken more dishes than he washed. Perhaps Steve Piersall was the housewifely type, she thought with a trace of her brother’s malice. But she knew perfectly well who had washed the dishes.
“Is that coffee for anyone?” She didn’t have to turn to see him. Indeed, she had known all through the night that he’d be the first one up.
She turned from the sink in her best casual manner, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. “As soon as it’s ready,” she murmured. “I didn’t expect to see you so early.”
“I had a good night’s sleep,” he replied, a small grin lighting that dark face, and Anne caught herself staring, fascinated. He looked like a tall Celtic Gypsy, with that dark skin, the blue, blue eyes and the wildly curling black hair. And she had read too many romances, she thought with disgust.
“You were able to fend off Holly?” She shouldn’t have said such a thing. It was less than loyal to her sister, but she had always had trouble controlling her thoughtless tongue.
“So far, so good,” Noah said with a laugh. “I’m counting on you to protect me.”
“I think you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself,” she said. Pulling down two of the ceramic mugs she had made several years ago, she poured them both full of the thick, richly scented brew. Fussing with sugar and cream for Noah took another few moments, and then she perched herself on the counter by the sink, her favorite seat, one that she assumed would keep her at a safe distance from the sexy, rumpled man with her in her basement kitchen with only the silent snow for company.
She assumed wrong. With the effortlessness due to long legs he climbed up beside her, one jeans-clad thigh almost touching hers, and took a sip of the hot coffee.
If she edged away from him, she’d end up in the sink, a spot both undignified and uncomfortable. Taking a sip of her black coffee, she promptly burned her tongue.
“Though if you’re not interested in Holly,” she added, her mind still working, “then I don’t understand why you accepted her invitation. My sister is hardly subtle—I would have thought she’d made it clear what she had in mind. If you wanted to avoid it I don’t see why you agreed to come.”
There was a fleeting guilty look that crossed his face like a passing cloud, and then he smiled that impossibly charming smile that effectively banished suspicions. “I like your sister,” he said—not really an explanation. “And I admire her tremendous talent. I was also at loose ends this weekend and the idea of being maneuvered into a weekend affair seemed like a pleasant enough way to pass the time. Quite frankly, I wasn’t interested in much more than that from Holly, but then I knew she wouldn’t be willing to give any more. That’s the problem with great artists—they’re incredibly selfish from necessity.”
Having grown up sandwiched in between two brilliant artists, Anne could scarcely refute that statement. “What made you change your mind, then?” she questioned, taking another cautious sip of her coffee.
“Change my mind?” He was staring down at her, a curious expression in his eyes.
He was silent for a long moment, a fact Anne could only be grateful for. “I don’t want her to think I’m too easy,” he said finally with a twisted grin. “I want her to respect me.” Before she could push him further he changed the subject. “What kind of coffee is this?”
“Sumatran beans. Freshly ground.” At least coffee would be a safe topic of conversation.
She was wrong. “Do you realize how rare a truly great cup of coffee is?” he countered severely. “Will you run away with me?”
“I thought you weren’t easy,” she murmured, a slight smile in her eyes. “Besides, I don’t think Wilson would like it.”
“Wilson?”
“My fiancé. You remember, the upstanding gentleman,” she prodded, feeling that all too familiar flash of guilt. “This house would fall down around us if I left. I think you’ll have to run away with Holly.”
He was watching her out of blandly curious eyes. “No way,” he said finally. “She makes instant coffee?”
Anne was startled. “How did you know that? I thought you hadn’t succumbed to her myriad charms yet.”
“I haven’t. I succumbed to her offer of coffee after you deserted us last night, and that was mistake enough.” He shuddered expressively. “Powdered milk wasn’t much help, either.”
“I could almost find it in my heart to pity you.”
“I was hoping you would. Don’t abandon me to my fate tonight, I beg of you.” He was suddenly very close, and the coffee on his breath mingled with hers. Unconsciously she leaned toward him, her lips parted breathlessly, once more falling under his spell.
“Noah,” she murmured breathlessly, “don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “You’re feeling the same way I am—don’t deny it.” One hand reached out and deftly removed her half-full coffee mug from her hand, setting it down on the counter. “We’d better put this out of harms’ way. I didn’t mind brandy down my back, but I draw the line at hot coffee.” And his mouth caught hers again, tasting of the rich sweetness of creamed and sugared coffee. Anne made a little moaning sound in the back of her throat, and she raised her hands to push him away from her. A shared kiss by a fire was one thing, and she could always blame the brandy. Right now it was broad daylight, and she had absolutely no excuse, much as she wanted one. And she wanted him. The hands pushed for a moment against his chest, then curled around his shoulders, the fingers kneading the tightly muscled flesh, as she slowly, languorously tipped back her head beneath his searching mouth.
The clatter of footsteps down the narrow kitchen steps pulled them apart, and a moment later, when a somewhat disheveled Holly appeared in the door, Anne was again staring down into her coffee, only the telltale flush on her usually pale face attesting to her recent activity.
“Good morning!” Holly s
aid cheerily. “This certainly is the most ghastly time of day to get out of bed.”
“Then why did you? I don’t think you’ve gotten up before noon since you were eighteen,” Anne shot back, her smile taking the sting out of her words.
“Artistic license, darling. We great talents have to have our beauty rest. But today I made the supreme sacrifice so that I wouldn’t miss a minute of Noah.” She peered around the kitchen. “Have you got any more coffee? Instant will do.”
Despite herself Anne met Noah’s expressive grin, and she burst out laughing. “Holly, it’s a shame to waste good coffee on you. It’s on the stove.”
“You know, sis, there’s nothing worse than a coffee snob,” Holly rejoined cheerfully. “There are a great many things more important in life than a cup of coffee.”
“Name one,” Noah said promptly.
“Oh, not you, too.” Holly sighed, her blue eyes narrowing suddenly as she took in their proximity at the counter. “Well, you two are certainly getting along like a house on fire,” she murmured above her coffee. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much in common.”
“Apart from coffee and cognac we don’t,” he murmured, sliding down off the counter and strolling to the door to peer out at the snow-covered countryside. “I wonder if it’s snowing in Vermont.”
Holly’s pout was attractive, but Noah missed it entirely. “Aren’t you enjoying your stay, Noah? I hadn’t realized we’d be boring you already.”
“I’m enjoying it immensely.” His eyes met Anne’s for a brief pregnant moment before smiling blandly at Holly. “You have to realize that the sight of snow sends any skier’s blood racing.”
“Oh, is that what did it?” Anne murmured provocatively under her breath from her perch on the countertop, and he grinned at her.
“What did you say, Anne?” A tiny bit of a whine was added to the dimpled pout, and her wide blue eyes slid from her sister to Noah with sudden suspicion.
“Nothing, darling. Are you ready for breakfast?” Anne stretched luxuriantly, yawning. “Excuse me, I’m not used to having company so early in the day.”
“You’d better complain to Wilson about that. It’s up to him to get you used to it,” Holly snapped, and Anne’s head shot up, her green eyes troubled as she surveyed her sister’s angry face. Holly continued on, undaunted. “You haven’t met Anne’s fiancé yet, Noah. Ashley hates him, but Proffy thinks the match is made in heaven. He’s much more tolerant of old Wilson than he is of any of my men friends. But then, Anne is thirty-four, and I guess he figures she knows what she wants by now.”
Noah leaned against the oak table, more amused than anything else. “Thirty-four, are you? My, you are ancient! I’m surprised you don’t need a cane to get around.”
“I can still manage pretty well,” Anne replied lightly, her eyes concerned as they took in Holly’s obvious distress. She had known for years that Holly hated to lose. But why should she feel threatened by Noah’s harmless charm, unless he meant more to her than one of the brief encounters she’d enjoyed over the years.
“Yes, she’s two years older than you,” Holly added with all the deftness of a sledgehammer. She had been blessed with neither Ashley’s malice nor Anne’s slightly mocking humor, and her attempts at acerbity fell flat.
“So she is,” Noah said mildly, taking in the tension with a wry smile.
Finally Anne forced herself to move. “Look, why don’t you two go on up to the dining room and I’ll get a start on breakfast? If you’re feeling noble you might even set the table.” She slid off the countertop and began rustling around the stove.
“That sounds like a good idea.” Noah refilled his coffee mug, getting one for Holly while he was at it. The anger and suspicion were gone from the younger woman’s eyes—instead they were filled with belated guilt and misery.
“Anne, I’m…” Words seemed to fail her, and Anne could very well guess why. She could hardly admit to being jealous of her elder sister—Holly could never admit to any insecurities at all.
“Don’t worry about it, cranky,” she said in a low voice, accompanying it with a forgiving smile. “I can see now why you sleep till noon.”
Holly smiled back, obviously relieved, as she caught Noah’s arm in a lightly possessive grip. “Two eggs, over easy, with sausage and English muffins,” she demanded blithely. “What would you like, Noah?”
He stared down at Holly, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. “First of all, I’d like you to stop treating your sister like a short-order cook and honored serf,” he drawled, the sting in his voice faint but present. “And for breakfast I’ll have whatever she’s making, or better still, I’ll make it myself and save her the trouble.”
Anne swallowed, waiting for the explosion, and Holly’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment. And then the tension left her, and she laughed, a light, unaffected laugh that was a major part of her charm.
“You’re right; I was thoughtless, and I’m sorry. Anne, you go on upstairs and set the table, and Noah and I will make breakfast.”
“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Noah seconded, his eyes warm with approval. “Even better, why don’t you take your coffee, go into the living room, and put your feet up? Read the paper, take it easy. Holly and I will set the table, too. You deserve a morning off.”
“Yes, darling, you look like you’ve been under a lot of strain,” Holly added, and for the first time Anne wondered if Ashley’s malice had really passed her by.
“All right, I’m going,” she acquiesced. “But you have to clean up any mess you make.”
“Cross my heart!” Holly promised. “I’ll put Noah in charge of KP.”
“Hey!” he protested.
“Women’s lib,” she chirped back saucily. “Go on, Anne. You can trust us in your precious kitchen.”
As she climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, Anne was conscious of a queer feeling of isolation. Their laughing voices drifted up to her, and more than anything she wanted to be a part of that laughter, share in the lighthearted banter. But Holly had made it clear that banter could only include two people.
Curiouser and curiouser, Anne thought as she ensconced herself on the frayed sofa in front of the now cold fireplace, propping her feet on a pile of magazines atop the cherry wood butler’s table. Never had she seen Holly so snappish, and there could be little doubt as to the cause of it. Hadn’t she said Noah Grant was the sexiest man alive? Without question he was definitely in the top ten, and it was little wonder Holly had set her sights on him. What was a surprise was her jealousy of Anne. She suspected that Noah’s flirtation was second nature to him—that she meant no more to him than Holly.
But Holly was no challenge; she was his for the taking. Not that she had put up much of a fight, either, Anne thought wryly, staring into the empty fireplace. It would be a very good idea if she spent the day in her studio, working on the Chinese manuscript, and then have Wilson come over early. A good dose of Wilson’s steady charm would drive these absurd fantasies from her mind in short order. Never mind the fact that she’d been having second thoughts about Wilson these last few months. There was still no room in her well-ordered life for a charming, overgrown leprechaun like Noah Grant, and there was certainly no room in his for the likes of Anne Kirkland. It would be an extremely good idea if she didn’t forget that again.
Chapter Four
The political ramifications of the Ming dynasty, written in Harvey Etling’s turgid, academic prose, were hardly conducive to keeping Anne’s mind off the distracting presence of Noah Grant. Shortly after breakfast she disappeared into her studio, equipped with a box of ginger snaps and her third cup of coffee, leaving strict instructions with Holly that she wasn’t to be disturbed. She’d had little doubt Holly would manage to keep intruders from her studio, particularly a certain one, and during the next six or seven hours she slogged through just over half of the five-hundred-page manuscript. Unfortunately Etling’s urge to sound erudite quite often circumvented gra
mmar, necessitating rather tedious line editing, and by the time Anne finally looked up from the manuscript scattered around her on the bed, her head and eyes ached, her muscles were cramped, and her temper hovered between depression, exhaustion and definite snappishness.
The faint rich aroma of coffee filtered through the narrow door to her haven, the smell tickling her nostrils and bringing a latent resolution to her tired body. Straightening from her reclining position, she started pushing the scribbled-on manuscript into some sort of order when the door opened and the doorway filled with a distracting male body.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding all day,” Noah observed casually, looking around him with interest as he ducked into the room. The door cut into the solid rock wasn’t suited for people more than five feet eight.
“I haven’t been hiding; I’ve been working,” she said irritably, angry at the sudden quickening of her pulses. “And looking for some solitude.”
He held up the tray holding two mugs of steaming coffee. “I come bearing gifts. Surely you can’t kick a messenger out who comes equipped with coffee?”
“You seem to have an uncanny ability to find all my weaknesses,” she said with a sigh, reaching an eager hand for the mug. She took a tentative sip. It was slightly stronger than she usually made it, but divine nonetheless. “And you must have made this. No one else in the house knows how to make coffee, unless Ashley’s friend has hidden talents.”
“I’m sure he must.” Noah slid down to sit on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and Anne could only be thankful he didn’t choose the bed. “But I’d guess Ashley would know that better than anyone else. They’ve been off somewhere all day.” His blue eyes surveyed the twilit room before coming to rest on her. “I like your studio.”