Read Online Far From Perfect by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Portia Da Costa
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the cover of the shadows.
Nick had a cupboard door ajar, and with a frown on his face, he was studying a packet he’d extracted from it. A midnight blue silk robe clung lovingly to his lean, athletic frame, and the bareness of his legs and feet from the knees down suggested that the thin robe was his only protection against the chill of the night.
Trust you to be prancing about with next to nothing on , Anna accused him grimly, fighting a losing battle against imagining what lay beneath the lightweight silk. She hugged her own far more substantial robe around her to suppress her own body’s instant reaction. Her breasts were tight and sensitized, and deep in the very quick of her belly, desire twisted low, honeyed and traitorous.
Every sense on high alert, she watched Nick place the packet on the counter, and turn his attention, brow still puckered, towards the coffee grinder. One long, elegant hand reached out and fingered the power cord, but then he seemed to think better of it. His lips moved in some unspoken expression of frustration, and he ran his hand through his tousled dark-gold hair.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to wake your father up by grinding coffee at this time of night.”
The softly spoken words hit Anna like a power-hammer to the chest. How could he know she was here? He couldn’t see her from where he was standing, and she could have sworn she hadn’t made a sound. But it was too late now to take the soft way out and run.
“I should think not.”
Her voice was admirably crisp as she moved into the kitchen and the circle of muted light from the wall lamp, “It’s bad enough you creeping around in the small hours like a cat thief without turning on the noisiest appliance in the house into the bargain.”
A strange light flared in Nick’s blue eyes as he slowly turned towards her. Was it irritation? Arrogant dismissal? Or was it the same betraying desire that she was feeling? It was hard to tell with him. He wore his masks like an Oscar-winning thespian.
“I’m not the only one creeping around,” he observed mildly, his glance flicking quickly away from her again, and alighting on the instant-coffee jar. His lusciously modeled mouth quirked with momentary distaste, but he picked up the inferior product nevertheless, then turned his attention to the kettle. “I trust this doesn’t whistle to tell us when it’s boiling?”
No, it squawks like a clown’s hooter , she felt like saying, in the hopes it would drive him back to his room, sans coffee, in disgust. But instead she said, “No, it’s a silent kettle. You needn’t worry.”
“Good.” With no further comment he set about filling the kettle and gathering crockery.
Anna rolled her eyes when he deposited two heaped spoonfuls of coffee granules in one of the mugs, paused, then added another. Typical. When he slanted her a questioning glance, spoon poised over the jar again, she shook her head.
“No. Thanks. I’ll make myself some decaffeinated tea if you don’t mind.” She frowned in the direction of his mug. “How on earth do you expect to get any sleep after drinking a filthy brew like that? You’ll be bug-eyed on the ceiling after that lot.”
Nick gave a dismissive, very Latin grimace. As the steam rose, he turned and fixed her with a level, almost insolent look.
“Who says I’ve any intention of sleeping?”
Eyes like twin blue searchlights raked her from her slipper-covered toes to the crown of her disheveled blonde head, and despite her thick, comforting dressing gown and slightly less thick but still comforting nightshirt, Anna shuddered as if she’d been instantly stripped naked.
Why, oh why didn’t I go back to bed when I had the chance?
Fighting the urge not to pull her robe more protectively around her, she settled for fiddling nervously with her sash. When Nick’s eyes followed the tiny movement like a bird of prey assessing the strike distance to its victim, she knew she was in big trouble.
Nick had a cupboard door ajar, and with a frown on his face, he was studying a packet he’d extracted from it. A midnight blue silk robe clung lovingly to his lean, athletic frame, and the bareness of his legs and feet from the knees down suggested that the thin robe was his only protection against the chill of the night.
Trust you to be prancing about with next to nothing on , Anna accused him grimly, fighting a losing battle against imagining what lay beneath the lightweight silk. She hugged her own far more substantial robe around her to suppress her own body’s instant reaction. Her breasts were tight and sensitized, and deep in the very quick of her belly, desire twisted low, honeyed and traitorous.
Every sense on high alert, she watched Nick place the packet on the counter, and turn his attention, brow still puckered, towards the coffee grinder. One long, elegant hand reached out and fingered the power cord, but then he seemed to think better of it. His lips moved in some unspoken expression of frustration, and he ran his hand through his tousled dark-gold hair.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to wake your father up by grinding coffee at this time of night.”
The softly spoken words hit Anna like a power-hammer to the chest. How could he know she was here? He couldn’t see her from where he was standing, and she could have sworn she hadn’t made a sound. But it was too late now to take the soft way out and run.
“I should think not.”
Her voice was admirably crisp as she moved into the kitchen and the circle of muted light from the wall lamp, “It’s bad enough you creeping around in the small hours like a cat thief without turning on the noisiest appliance in the house into the bargain.”
A strange light flared in Nick’s blue eyes as he slowly turned towards her. Was it irritation? Arrogant dismissal? Or was it the same betraying desire that she was feeling? It was hard to tell with him. He wore his masks like an Oscar-winning thespian.
“I’m not the only one creeping around,” he observed mildly, his glance flicking quickly away from her again, and alighting on the instant-coffee jar. His lusciously modeled mouth quirked with momentary distaste, but he picked up the inferior product nevertheless, then turned his attention to the kettle. “I trust this doesn’t whistle to tell us when it’s boiling?”
No, it squawks like a clown’s hooter , she felt like saying, in the hopes it would drive him back to his room, sans coffee, in disgust. But instead she said, “No, it’s a silent kettle. You needn’t worry.”
“Good.” With no further comment he set about filling the kettle and gathering crockery.
Anna rolled her eyes when he deposited two heaped spoonfuls of coffee granules in one of the mugs, paused, then added another. Typical. When he slanted her a questioning glance, spoon poised over the jar again, she shook her head.
“No. Thanks. I’ll make myself some decaffeinated tea if you don’t mind.” She frowned in the direction of his mug. “How on earth do you expect to get any sleep after drinking a filthy brew like that? You’ll be bug-eyed on the ceiling after that lot.”
Nick gave a dismissive, very Latin grimace. As the steam rose, he turned and fixed her with a level, almost insolent look.
“Who says I’ve any intention of sleeping?”
Eyes like twin blue searchlights raked her from her slipper-covered toes to the crown of her disheveled blonde head, and despite her thick, comforting dressing gown and slightly less thick but still comforting nightshirt, Anna shuddered as if she’d been instantly stripped naked.
Why, oh why didn’t I go back to bed when I had the chance?
Fighting the urge not to pull her robe more protectively around her, she settled for fiddling nervously with her sash. When Nick’s eyes followed the tiny movement like a bird of prey assessing the strike distance to its victim, she knew she was in big trouble.
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