Read Online When Next We Love by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Graham
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screaming gusts that their thin, spidery leaves brushed the ground.
If they weren’t in for the full strength of the hurricane, they were still in for some rough weather. The pool, she saw, was being drained, and as she watched, a flurry of activity became apparent. She heard a multitude of masculine voices, among them Derek’s. The house was being battened down for the approaching storm.
She turned on the radio as she washed and dressed, hoping to catch a current advisory. She breathed a sigh of relief as she learned that Key West had been spared a direct hit; the hurricane had chosen a path across the central Keys and had taken its toll as far north as Marathon and Largo. It was now moving overland in a strange westerly pattern. It was hoped that it would wear itself out in the dense Florida Everglades, but warnings were up from Miami to Daytona and the north of the state was on hurricane watch.
Leigh tied back her hair and hurried downstairs. Even seeing it, she had not realized the brunt of the wind until she stepped out on the patio and was backed into the wall of the house. Aware now, she moved carefully across the pool area and out to the lawn, stripped now of all rattan and wicker furnishings. Looking up at the house, she saw that all the windows were. shuttered, including the huge plate-glass doors.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
It was not the wind this time that forced her cruelly around but an irate Derek. His face reminded her of chiseled granite as she returned his glare rebelliously.
“Listen, Mallory, I know what I’m doing, I was born here. You’re the transplant.”
“Wonderful logic. Being a native gives you the right to be a fool.”
“You’re out here!”
“And I’m coming in as soon as we finish. Get back in the house!”
“I’m not on your payroll! You can’t tell me what to do!” she retorted. That his words made sense was irrelevant. His attitude was appalling.
Derek stared at her for a moment, noting the stubborn set of her chin. He opened his mouth as if to speak, shut it, then muttered, “Ah, hell!” The next second he tossed her over his shoulder like a limp sack of potatoes and walked her back into the house himself.
“Damn you!” Leigh sputtered when he had dumped her roughly on the parlor floor. “You’re nothing but a muscle-bound idiot! You can’t run around treating people like this. You will get yours one day!”
“But not from you, Leigh, so don’t worry about it,” Derek said stiffly, glaring down at her ignominious position with glittering eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I was busy. Cheer up—maybe I’ll blow into the sea.”
He turned away from her lithely and strode from the room, leaving her on the floor. She scrambled quickly to her feet, knowing that he once again irked her into poor behavior. “I have to get out of here!” she muttered to herself. Nothing ever changed. They had slept together as friends, but the coming of the morning had cemented their enemy status.
Her stomach emitted a grumble and she realized she was hungry. The alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee led her to the dining room. As she poured herself a cup of the steaming brew from a silver pot, she frowned at the settings on the large mahogany table. There were four of them. She wondered curiously what other guests Derek had invited in the middle of a tropical storm.
“Leigh!” Her voice was called with deep and sincere affection and she turned to see Roger Rosello, the “Duke of Rose” as he was known with the band, the erstwhile drummer of the London Company.
“Roger!” she greeted him with equal pleasure. He was a slender man, short compared to the others at an even six feet, and very dark from a distant Spanish heritage. His disposition was eternally easygoing, and Leigh had always cared for him as she might an older brother had she had one. He kissed her unabashedly on the lips and held her at arm’s length to survey her, his dark eyes
If they weren’t in for the full strength of the hurricane, they were still in for some rough weather. The pool, she saw, was being drained, and as she watched, a flurry of activity became apparent. She heard a multitude of masculine voices, among them Derek’s. The house was being battened down for the approaching storm.
She turned on the radio as she washed and dressed, hoping to catch a current advisory. She breathed a sigh of relief as she learned that Key West had been spared a direct hit; the hurricane had chosen a path across the central Keys and had taken its toll as far north as Marathon and Largo. It was now moving overland in a strange westerly pattern. It was hoped that it would wear itself out in the dense Florida Everglades, but warnings were up from Miami to Daytona and the north of the state was on hurricane watch.
Leigh tied back her hair and hurried downstairs. Even seeing it, she had not realized the brunt of the wind until she stepped out on the patio and was backed into the wall of the house. Aware now, she moved carefully across the pool area and out to the lawn, stripped now of all rattan and wicker furnishings. Looking up at the house, she saw that all the windows were. shuttered, including the huge plate-glass doors.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
It was not the wind this time that forced her cruelly around but an irate Derek. His face reminded her of chiseled granite as she returned his glare rebelliously.
“Listen, Mallory, I know what I’m doing, I was born here. You’re the transplant.”
“Wonderful logic. Being a native gives you the right to be a fool.”
“You’re out here!”
“And I’m coming in as soon as we finish. Get back in the house!”
“I’m not on your payroll! You can’t tell me what to do!” she retorted. That his words made sense was irrelevant. His attitude was appalling.
Derek stared at her for a moment, noting the stubborn set of her chin. He opened his mouth as if to speak, shut it, then muttered, “Ah, hell!” The next second he tossed her over his shoulder like a limp sack of potatoes and walked her back into the house himself.
“Damn you!” Leigh sputtered when he had dumped her roughly on the parlor floor. “You’re nothing but a muscle-bound idiot! You can’t run around treating people like this. You will get yours one day!”
“But not from you, Leigh, so don’t worry about it,” Derek said stiffly, glaring down at her ignominious position with glittering eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, I was busy. Cheer up—maybe I’ll blow into the sea.”
He turned away from her lithely and strode from the room, leaving her on the floor. She scrambled quickly to her feet, knowing that he once again irked her into poor behavior. “I have to get out of here!” she muttered to herself. Nothing ever changed. They had slept together as friends, but the coming of the morning had cemented their enemy status.
Her stomach emitted a grumble and she realized she was hungry. The alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee led her to the dining room. As she poured herself a cup of the steaming brew from a silver pot, she frowned at the settings on the large mahogany table. There were four of them. She wondered curiously what other guests Derek had invited in the middle of a tropical storm.
“Leigh!” Her voice was called with deep and sincere affection and she turned to see Roger Rosello, the “Duke of Rose” as he was known with the band, the erstwhile drummer of the London Company.
“Roger!” she greeted him with equal pleasure. He was a slender man, short compared to the others at an even six feet, and very dark from a distant Spanish heritage. His disposition was eternally easygoing, and Leigh had always cared for him as she might an older brother had she had one. He kissed her unabashedly on the lips and held her at arm’s length to survey her, his dark eyes
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