Read Sleeping Arrangements (Silhouette Desire) for Free Online

most of which seemed to be missing, up to the porch.
    “She was ninety-two when she died, Addy. New paint didn’t exactly top her list of priorities.” Spencer kept his gaze directly ahead of him, but his clipped enunciation communicated his displeasure well enough.
    “I’m a little tense.”
    She knew her words weren’t an apology, could hear her mother’s voice in her head demanding that she make one, but Addy felt as if she’d done enough apologizing to this man already.
    “I know.” Spencer’s hand tightened around hers for a moment and he turned his head to look directly at her. His eyes were the blue of the sky a half hour after sunset. Then he let go and reached for the door.
    “I know.” She mouthed the words at his back like a bratty five-year-old. Of course he does. Spencer Reed knows everything.
    It was amazing how easily this man could get under her skin with just two words.
    “Come inside. I’ll find you some dry clothes.” He called the words back over his shoulder at her as he pushed open thefront door and then stepped quickly up the staircase directly in front of the door.
    “I’m not going to be here long enough—” she started to call out after his retreating back “—to change clothes.” She ended by talking to herself. “Sheesh. Like talking to a brick wall.”
    Might as well check the place out, Addy thought. Then she actually looked around her and realized that she would have no idea where to start. A long hallway extended on either side of the staircase toward the rear of the house, and what seemed like a dozen doorways opened off it, scattered randomly on both sides of the hall. Even the doorways themselves were varied, some with doors, some without. One was arched and another was an open cutout in the shape of the minaret of a Turkish mosque.
    Flipping a mental coin, she started walking slowly down the right side of the hall, trailing her fingers along a chair rail. A faded Oriental runner muffled the sounds of her boots on the hardwood floors.
    Above the chair rail, the walls were crowded. Oil paintings, photograph collages, dried flowers, even an old violin, were displayed with care for visual pleasure all the way down the hall. Addy stopped in front of an age-darkened portrait of a dark-haired woman with her hair pulled back severely in a bun and a small smile on her lips. The family resemblance was unmistakable, even if Addy couldn’t have guessed the century for the life of her. Surprised, she found herself wondering if this was where her mother’s habit of blanketing her walls with photographs and artwork and family mementos came from.
    Reaching out a hand, she traced the line of the woman’s cheekbone, her fingertips a millimeter from the painting’s surface. An angular scribble in the corner of the painting caught her eye. After a moment’s examination, she realized that the scribble was numbers.
    1899.
    Spiderlike chills crawled over her skin, lifting the hairs on her arm. This picture of a woman who looked so much like her mother, her sisters, herself, was over one hundred yearsold. Some quick math allowed her to guess that she was staring at a picture of her own great-great-grandmother.
    “Her name was Susannah.”
    She jumped and clenched her jaw to keep from yelping at the sudden noise. One hand pressed firmly to her chest, she took a deep breath.
    “Don’t do that,” she said. “You could kill someone.” Spencer was holding out a pile of neatly folded clothes. She ignored it. A grin quirked across his face.
    “Sorry.” His voice didn’t sound very apologetic. He looked at the portrait. “I don’t even know who she is, but Adeline used to stop and look at that painting all the time. She told me once that the woman’s name was Susannah.”
    “Susannah is my mother’s name,” she said after a long silence. “I think she was my great-great-grandmother.” Something was cracking inside her. What felt like an enormous pressure burst into existence