Read Online Isn't It Rich? by Sherryl Woods - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sherryl Woods
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deep snow, he tried to recapture some of his earlier delight in the quiet, snow-shrouded landscape, but it wouldn’t come. Without Melanie, it was a bit as if that cardinal had flown away, taking all of the color with it.
He groaned at the thought. He did not want Melanie Hart adding color to his life. He didn’t want to start waxing poetic about her influence on him or his surroundings. He wanted to go back to that serene time earlier in the week before he’d ever met the annoying woman. Then the prospect of several uninterrupted hours in front of his computer or with his mountain of paperwork would have been the bright spot on his weekend agenda.
Unfortunately, recapturing that serenity was all but impossible when Melanie was going to be underfoot the second he crossed the threshold at the cottage. And she would be underfoot. She seemed to be the kind who liked to talk things out, make perfect sense of them, instead of accepting that they’d nearly made a dreadful mistake and moving on. He’d seen that let’s-talk-about-this look in her eyes right before he’d turned on his heel and left her a few blocks from the cottage. He hoped to hell she was over it by now.
He was half-frozen by the time he reached the cottage. He was grateful for the blazing fire she’d started, but as he waited for Melanie to appear, to start pestering him with comments or analysis or, God forbid, yet another apology, he grew increasingly perplexed by her absence. Had she taken off, even though the local roads were still all but impassable? Come to think of it, had he paid any attention to whether her car was still in the driveway? He couldn’t remember noticing.
Panicked that she might have done something so completely impulsive and dangerous because of him, he bounded upstairs and very nearly broke down the guest-room door with his pounding. He heard her sleepily mumbled “What?” just as he threw open the door.
Undisguised relief flooded through him at the sight of her in the bed, the comforter pulled up to her chin, her hair rumpled, her eyes dazed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in that same husky, half-asleep tone.
The comforter drooped, revealing one bare shoulder and a tantalizing hint of breast. Heart pounding, Richard began backing away. “No, really. Sorry.”
“Richard?”
Even half-asleep, she was constitutionally incapable of letting anything go, he concluded grimly. He was going to have to explain himself, or at least come up with something plausible that wouldn’t give away how frantic he’d been when he’d imagined her risking her neck on the icy roads.
“Um, the front door was open,” he said, improvising quickly. “I thought someone might have broken in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
Her gaze narrowed. “The front door was open?”
“Just a crack,” he said, guessing that she was about to worry that piece of information to death.
“But I closed it. I know I did. I didn’t lock it, because I wasn’t sure if you had another key with you and I wasn’t sure if I’d hear you if I fell asleep and you knocked, but I’m sure it was securely shut.”
“No big deal,” he said. “As long as you’re okay. Go back to sleep. Sorry I disturbed you.”
She smiled and stretched, allowing another tiny slip of the comforter. She seemed to be oblivious to the sexy picture she presented.
“I’m awake now. I might as well get up.”
Because she seemed about to do exactly that without regard for her lack of attire—or what his vivid imagination believed to be her lack of attire—Richard bolted. He wasn’t sure his heart could take the image of a totally unclad Melanie being burned in his mind forever.
He was downstairs, in the kitchen, making another pot of very strong coffee, when she finally appeared,her face scrubbed clean, her hair tidied. He’d liked it better all tousled, but it was evident she was trying to reclaim her professional—totally untouchable—decorum. He could
He groaned at the thought. He did not want Melanie Hart adding color to his life. He didn’t want to start waxing poetic about her influence on him or his surroundings. He wanted to go back to that serene time earlier in the week before he’d ever met the annoying woman. Then the prospect of several uninterrupted hours in front of his computer or with his mountain of paperwork would have been the bright spot on his weekend agenda.
Unfortunately, recapturing that serenity was all but impossible when Melanie was going to be underfoot the second he crossed the threshold at the cottage. And she would be underfoot. She seemed to be the kind who liked to talk things out, make perfect sense of them, instead of accepting that they’d nearly made a dreadful mistake and moving on. He’d seen that let’s-talk-about-this look in her eyes right before he’d turned on his heel and left her a few blocks from the cottage. He hoped to hell she was over it by now.
He was half-frozen by the time he reached the cottage. He was grateful for the blazing fire she’d started, but as he waited for Melanie to appear, to start pestering him with comments or analysis or, God forbid, yet another apology, he grew increasingly perplexed by her absence. Had she taken off, even though the local roads were still all but impassable? Come to think of it, had he paid any attention to whether her car was still in the driveway? He couldn’t remember noticing.
Panicked that she might have done something so completely impulsive and dangerous because of him, he bounded upstairs and very nearly broke down the guest-room door with his pounding. He heard her sleepily mumbled “What?” just as he threw open the door.
Undisguised relief flooded through him at the sight of her in the bed, the comforter pulled up to her chin, her hair rumpled, her eyes dazed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked in that same husky, half-asleep tone.
The comforter drooped, revealing one bare shoulder and a tantalizing hint of breast. Heart pounding, Richard began backing away. “No, really. Sorry.”
“Richard?”
Even half-asleep, she was constitutionally incapable of letting anything go, he concluded grimly. He was going to have to explain himself, or at least come up with something plausible that wouldn’t give away how frantic he’d been when he’d imagined her risking her neck on the icy roads.
“Um, the front door was open,” he said, improvising quickly. “I thought someone might have broken in. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”
Her gaze narrowed. “The front door was open?”
“Just a crack,” he said, guessing that she was about to worry that piece of information to death.
“But I closed it. I know I did. I didn’t lock it, because I wasn’t sure if you had another key with you and I wasn’t sure if I’d hear you if I fell asleep and you knocked, but I’m sure it was securely shut.”
“No big deal,” he said. “As long as you’re okay. Go back to sleep. Sorry I disturbed you.”
She smiled and stretched, allowing another tiny slip of the comforter. She seemed to be oblivious to the sexy picture she presented.
“I’m awake now. I might as well get up.”
Because she seemed about to do exactly that without regard for her lack of attire—or what his vivid imagination believed to be her lack of attire—Richard bolted. He wasn’t sure his heart could take the image of a totally unclad Melanie being burned in his mind forever.
He was downstairs, in the kitchen, making another pot of very strong coffee, when she finally appeared,her face scrubbed clean, her hair tidied. He’d liked it better all tousled, but it was evident she was trying to reclaim her professional—totally untouchable—decorum. He could
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