Marisa Carroll - Hotel Marchand 09 Read Online Free PDF Page B

to be here every minute,” a masculine voice said from behind her.
    Sophie spun around. The man now standing before her was young, a quality which had been in short supply that evening. He was probably in his late twenties, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed. When he smiled, Sophie’s breath caught in her throat for a moment or two. He was so handsome it was an absolute sin.
    He held out his hand and Sophie took it automatically. “Ms. Clarkson, my name’s Luc Carter.” He wasn’t a native of Indigo, she could tell that right away. His vowels were clipped, his words too precise. She guessed he had grown up in the north, or possibly out west. “I moved to the area about ten months ago. I didn’t know Maude Picard as well as the others here, but we were becoming friends. My condolences.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Carter.” Sophie had recovered her breath and her poise.
    Luc Carter smiled and released her hand. “I meant it when I said protocol doesn’t demand you stay here all night. You look beat.”
    “That bad?” she asked. She restrained herself from raising her hand to pat her hair. It was blond—naturally—shoulder-length, curly and flyaway, the bane of her existence.
    He had the grace to look chagrined. “Sorry, I phrased that badly. I know you drove all the way from Houston today. It will be another long day tomorrow. No one expects you to be here every single moment in between. You should get some rest if you have the chance.”
    “As a matter of fact, Marjolaine offered me a bed upstairs, but—” This time it was her turn to stumble to a halt.
    “But you don’t exactly feel like napping in a funeral home, right?”
    “I know it’s silly, but you’re right, I do feel that way. Unfortunately I have nowhere else to go.” A little spurt of annoyance sharpened her words. “Alain Boudreaux has the keys to my godmother’s house and he hasn’t seen fit to show up here and give them to me yet tonight.”
    Luc angled his head a fraction. “Why don’t you come home with me?” he asked.
    “I beg your pardon?” Sophie hoped she didn’t sound as shocked as she felt. Who was this guy?
    He saw her confusion and smiled. “That’s an invitation, not a proposition. Marjolaine can vouch for me. I run La Petite Maison. The Little Cottage,” he explained when he saw her bewildered expression. “It’s a bed-and-breakfast.”
    “I had no idea there was a bed-and-breakfast operating anywhere near Indigo,” Sophie said, relaxing a little. She began to register the friendly smiles and waves of greeting directed toward Luc Carter and dismissed the unworthy thoughts of ax murderers and gigolos that had stampeded through her tired brain moments earlier. “My godmother never mentioned it.”
    “We’re located not quite a mile out of town, on the bayou road. I’m the manager, plumber, gardener and concierge, but the property is actually owned by my grandmother.”
    “Have I met her?” Sophie asked politely. Family connections were important in Indigo, one always inquired.
    “I doubt it,” Luc said a little abruptly, then softened the sharp words with a smile. “She’s lived in New Orleans for decades, but La Petite Maison was the family’s summer getaway many years ago.”
    “And you’ve always dreamed of running a hotel, right?”
    His easy smile faltered for a moment. “Actually I’ve been in the hotel business for several years.”
    “Ah, but you always wanted to open a place of your own,” Sophie amended.
    “Something like that.”
    “You have a room available for the rest of the night, then?”
    “Not just tonight. I’ve only been open a few weeks. I can accommodate you for as long as you wish to stay in Indigo. As a matter of fact, if you don’t mind climbing an extra flight of stairs, you can have the attic suite. It has a whirlpool tub and a private bath. The other four rooms share.”
    “A Jacuzzi. That sounds like heaven.” Her exhaustion was fast overcoming her guilt at leaving