Read Online Stranded with a Spy by Merline Lovelace - Free Book Online
Authors: Merline Lovelace
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banquet-hall-sized room, which featured a still life that had to be the work of Paul Gauguin. French doors lined one side of the room and gave onto the glassed-in conservatory.
Mallory paused just inside the French doors, taking in the splendor of the setting. The conservatory’s fanciful Victorian ironwork, profusion of potted plants and fan-backed wicker chairs produced a gloriously decadent belle epoque feel, while the glass walls provided an unobstructed view of the Normandy coast, now fading into the dusk.
A breathtakingly beautiful chess table set with ivory and ebony pieces occupied place of honor amid scattered lounge chairs at one end of the conservatory. The petite dining salon occupied the other. The round, glass-topped wicker table was set with linen and an array of covered dishes. Candles flickered in tall silver holders. Crystal water goblets sparkled in the candles’ glow.
Cutter stood at the windows close to the table. A highball glass in hand, he appeared riveted by the spectacle of incandescent waves crashing against the rocky coast. He’d showered, too, Mallory saw. His short dark hair curled in still-damp waves and the bristles that had darkened his cheeks were gone. He’d traded his sport coat and shirt for a silky black turtleneck that molded his wide shoulders and, coincidentally or otherwise, hid most of his scars.
What in the world was she doing here? Mallory wondered, in this fairy-tale castle, about to have dinner with this stranger? The ordeal of the past weeks had made her gun-shy and wary around men. With good reason. She couldn’t count the number of sly innuendos and outright insults she’d endured since becoming the butt of so many raunchy jokes tossed out by late-night talk-show hosts.
Even if the media hadn’t made her a target, she would have had second thoughts if she’d encountered Cutter Smith on an empty street or in a deserted parking lot. Despite his expensive loafers and superbly cut sport coat, he carried himself with a tough, don’t-mess-with-me air that would have made Mallory give him a wide berth.
Yet, after knowing the man for all of four or five hours, she’d driven off with him to this isolated château and was about to sit down to an intimate, candlelight dinner for two. Worse, she found herself wanting to trust him, wanting to believe he really was as kind and considerate as he seemed to be.
Not that it mattered. They’d go their separate ways tomorrow. For tonight, though, maybe she could let down her guard enough to simply enjoy his company.
The sound of her borrowed mules clicking against the tiles brought his head around. When he took in her altered appearance, a smile softened the harsh lines of his face.
“I see Madame Picard came through for you.”
“Yes, she did. Thanks for mentioning my lost suitcase, although I have to confess I feel odd invading our hostess’s home and wardrobe. Did your friend of a friend tell you what she does for a living?”
“He mentioned she designs clothing.”
“Not clothing.” Tugging up one leg of her borrowed Italian wool slacks, she waggled her foot. “Shoes. Hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind, thousand-dollars-a-pair shoes.”
“Mmm,” Cutter murmured, eyeing the slender ankle above the flashy leopard-and-red slipper. “Nice.”
When she finished waggling and he’d finished admiring, he nodded toward the array of crystal decanters on a sideboard framed by feathery palms.
“Would you like a drink before dinner? Or wine? Gilbért brought a very nice Pouilly-Fuissé up from the cellars.”
He had his spiel all prepared. As requested, Hawkeye had assembled and text-messaged several cheat sheets he’d labeled Wine for Dummies. If Mallory asked, Cutter was all set to expound on the dry, medium-bodied white wine from the Burgundy region of France. Made from the chardonnay grape, Pouilly-Fuissé was not to be confused with Pouilly-Fumé, made from the sauvignon blanc grape variety in the southeastern portion
Mallory paused just inside the French doors, taking in the splendor of the setting. The conservatory’s fanciful Victorian ironwork, profusion of potted plants and fan-backed wicker chairs produced a gloriously decadent belle epoque feel, while the glass walls provided an unobstructed view of the Normandy coast, now fading into the dusk.
A breathtakingly beautiful chess table set with ivory and ebony pieces occupied place of honor amid scattered lounge chairs at one end of the conservatory. The petite dining salon occupied the other. The round, glass-topped wicker table was set with linen and an array of covered dishes. Candles flickered in tall silver holders. Crystal water goblets sparkled in the candles’ glow.
Cutter stood at the windows close to the table. A highball glass in hand, he appeared riveted by the spectacle of incandescent waves crashing against the rocky coast. He’d showered, too, Mallory saw. His short dark hair curled in still-damp waves and the bristles that had darkened his cheeks were gone. He’d traded his sport coat and shirt for a silky black turtleneck that molded his wide shoulders and, coincidentally or otherwise, hid most of his scars.
What in the world was she doing here? Mallory wondered, in this fairy-tale castle, about to have dinner with this stranger? The ordeal of the past weeks had made her gun-shy and wary around men. With good reason. She couldn’t count the number of sly innuendos and outright insults she’d endured since becoming the butt of so many raunchy jokes tossed out by late-night talk-show hosts.
Even if the media hadn’t made her a target, she would have had second thoughts if she’d encountered Cutter Smith on an empty street or in a deserted parking lot. Despite his expensive loafers and superbly cut sport coat, he carried himself with a tough, don’t-mess-with-me air that would have made Mallory give him a wide berth.
Yet, after knowing the man for all of four or five hours, she’d driven off with him to this isolated château and was about to sit down to an intimate, candlelight dinner for two. Worse, she found herself wanting to trust him, wanting to believe he really was as kind and considerate as he seemed to be.
Not that it mattered. They’d go their separate ways tomorrow. For tonight, though, maybe she could let down her guard enough to simply enjoy his company.
The sound of her borrowed mules clicking against the tiles brought his head around. When he took in her altered appearance, a smile softened the harsh lines of his face.
“I see Madame Picard came through for you.”
“Yes, she did. Thanks for mentioning my lost suitcase, although I have to confess I feel odd invading our hostess’s home and wardrobe. Did your friend of a friend tell you what she does for a living?”
“He mentioned she designs clothing.”
“Not clothing.” Tugging up one leg of her borrowed Italian wool slacks, she waggled her foot. “Shoes. Hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind, thousand-dollars-a-pair shoes.”
“Mmm,” Cutter murmured, eyeing the slender ankle above the flashy leopard-and-red slipper. “Nice.”
When she finished waggling and he’d finished admiring, he nodded toward the array of crystal decanters on a sideboard framed by feathery palms.
“Would you like a drink before dinner? Or wine? Gilbért brought a very nice Pouilly-Fuissé up from the cellars.”
He had his spiel all prepared. As requested, Hawkeye had assembled and text-messaged several cheat sheets he’d labeled Wine for Dummies. If Mallory asked, Cutter was all set to expound on the dry, medium-bodied white wine from the Burgundy region of France. Made from the chardonnay grape, Pouilly-Fuissé was not to be confused with Pouilly-Fumé, made from the sauvignon blanc grape variety in the southeastern portion
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