There's Something About St. Tropez Read Online Free Page A

hear.
    â€œWhat the fuck were you doing in my house in the middle of the night?” The man’s voice was rough with anger.
And
he was speaking in English.
    Surprised, Sunny stopped screaming. “What do you mean
your
house? It’s
mine
. I rented it.”
    â€œWhat?”
    He seemed to think about what she had just said. Then he dropped the sword with a
clang
, let go of her hands and helped her to her feet.
    She stood, shivering with cold and shock.
    â€œSorry about the sword,” he said. “It’s just a toy, part of a dress-up pirate costume. It was all I could find to defend myself with at short notice. I thought you were burglars.”
    Still shaking, Sunny took a look at him. It was too dark to make out his features but he was tall, wearing a T-shirt and workout pants, and he sounded American.
    He picked up his sword, took her arm and led her back to the brightly lit hall. “You’re wounded,” he exclaimed, seeing blood on her hands where she’d thrust them out to stop her fall. “I’m sorry. Let me clean up those cuts, then you can tell me what exactly you meant when you said
you
rented the house.”
    From outside, Sunny heard a familiar wail. She’d forgotten all about Tesoro. She ran back to the car, grabbed the dog carrier and, praying she was doing the right thing, followed the stranger into the house.
3:30 A.M.
    Hidden in thick rosemary bushes outside the kitchen window, Bertrand Olivier trained his binoculars on the scene in the kitchen. He was surprisedto see a man there. A thrilled shiver ran down his spine when he noticed the sword on the table between them. Could the woman his prisoner?
    She was drinking coffee—the can of Nescafé instant was on the table—and making a face as though she didn’t like it. She looked wary but not afraid, and seemed quite calm for a woman possibly taken captive. Bertrand drew in a shocked breath though, when he saw that the palms of her hands were bleeding. The little dog on her lap sniffed the blood then turned away with a yelp so loud Bertrand could hear it through the closed windows. Bertrand’s mother was English and he spoke that language and now he wished he could also hear what they were saying.
    Â 
    Sunny couldn’t believe she was having a coffee with a man who, minutes ago she’d thought was about to kill her. They were sitting opposite each other at a large wooden table in a big dusty kitchen that seemed to belong to another century.
    â€œI’d better introduce myself,” the stranger said. “My name’s Nate Masterson. From New York.”
    Sunny didn’t like the way he was looking at her, with a half-amused smile on his lips. She knew she must look weary and wet and bedraggled but that was partly his fault. A New Yorker, huh? She might have known it. She took a sip of the coffee. No milk, no sugar. It tasted like hell but at least it was hot.
    â€œSonora Sky Coto de Alvarez,” she introduced herself, giving him the full works. “From L.A. Usually known as Sunny. The only person who ever calls me Sonora is my mother.”
    Nate Masterson grinned. “May God forgive her.”
    Sunny suddenly realized she was looking at a very attractive man, maybe in his late thirties, brown hair cropped short, dark eyes over which he was now putting a pair of heavy tortoiseshell glasses that gave him an experienced, worldly look. He was tall with a muscular physique; obviously he worked out. The memory of him standing at the top of the stairs, menacing, powerful, holding the sword, made her shiver at the thought of what might have been.
    Nate noticed the shiver. He said, “Look, you’re freezing. Why don’t you get out of those wet things? I have a bathrobe you can use.”
    Sunny threw him a wary glance, Oh, yeah, sure. She was not taking off her clothes even if she froze to death.
    Nate smiled. “Trust me, rape is not on my mind. I simply