Trophy Wives Read Free Page B

little.
    She turned off at the sign to the nearby ski village and began the gentle incline, flashing through the tiny settlements that nestled beside the Rakaia River in the shadow of the Southern Alps. With nothing but the drone of the engine in her ears, it seemed she was the only person awake in the world.
    Finally they turned into a long driveway. Lucy checked her watch. Seven-twenty. The cattle stop at the start of the gravel drive caused Ethan to stir and rub his face briskly.
    The house made a picture. Against a black canvas, the rambling two-story structure glittered impressively from every room. Summerhill was a kilometer from the road and flanked by the Rakaia River, about three hundred metres away, with sturdy foothills to the back. Slender poplars lined the driveway and marched on to meet the willows Lucy’s grandfather had planted alongside the river.
    Lucy pulled to one side, turned the ignition off, and they stepped out into the cool night air. Ethan stretched and retrieved his bag from the back.
    â€œI’ll show you to your room.”
    He followed her up the steps to the entrance. She stopped at the top and gestured for him to precede her into the house.
    They stepped into the wide entrance, a massive area itself, yet dominated by a huge stairway. An imposing wapiti stag head with fourteen-point antlers stared balefully at an early twenties portrait of the house on the opposite wall. The old Oriental rug under their feet was faded now, but with enough color to give the kauri wood of the paneling and floorboards a lift.
    The hallway was deserted.
    â€œFollow me, Mr. Rae.”
    â€œEthan,” he murmured, looking around, seemingly in no hurry. He followed her up the staircase, head swiveling as she pointed out where to find the dining room and bar, the covered swimming pool and other outside amenities.
    She stopped by a closed door with a key in the lock and pushed her way into a large and sumptuously decorated room. She noted with satisfaction that the rich velvet drapes were closed and the gas fire, housed in the best of all the antique fireplaces in the lodge, glowed cozily. Moving to the huge bed, she flicked the bedside lamps on.
    It was a handsome room with great views through the floor-to-ceiling double doors out to the balcony. A little masculine for her taste—but comfortable, with two sofas to relax on, a good sized desk, table and chairs and an adjoining bathroom with shower and spa-bath.
    Ethan tossed his bag onto the bed and made a quickinspection of the facilities then came to stand right in front of her. “Looks comfortable.” He nodded approvingly.
    She offered him the key and began to turn away, but then hesitated. “Please do join us for drinks, if you’re not too tired. The trophy room is left at the bottom of the stairs. If not, call room service and they can send up anything you wish.”
    He inclined his head. “Thanks. I’ll freshen up, see how I feel.”
    Lucy stared up into eyes that could melt the coldest heart. How could ice-blue eyes be so warm? A buzz of sensual awareness lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
    Cause and effect. Bemused, she felt her belly clench and the skin of her exposed cleavage prickle. Knowing full well what that signaled, she took a quick step back, drawing the folds of cool silk closer. A raging red flush clawing up her chest and throat would look fetching in the glow of the fire. Not.
    She nodded and turned on her heel. A small smile curved her lips as she sashayed down the hallway. Of course he would come down for drinks. He had to.
    He made her feel reckless. He made her want to flirt. But then, she had always been flighty. Everyone said so.

Two
    E than expelled a lengthy breath as the door closed behind her. Her fresh scent still clung to his nostrils, but the rustle of the fabric of that stunning outfit was gone.
    Blindsided, he thought, stroking his chin and staring at the closed door. Like a skier in