Pictures of Emily Read Online Free PDF

girls, footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. He looked past the sea of dark hair and green eyes to find Emily Christian standing there, hands clasped in front of her.
    “Please—come in.”
    Her voice was low and soothing, like the brook that ran behind his cabin in the woods.
    He stepped across the threshold—into Emily Christian’s world.
    It was a warm world with waxed wood floors and ruffled curtains at the windows. At one end of the living room stood a black-and-silver woodstove. Most of the furniture looked antique. If not for the incongruity of the TV, stereo and telephone, he could almost think he’d stepped back in time.
    Emily was wearing a print dress along with dark stockings and brown leather shoes. Her blond hair was braided, hanging to her waist. Fine tiny curls had escaped around her hairline, framing her delicate features.
    Most of the women he was around were models; he wasn’t used to seeing a face so free of makeup as Emily’s. Her skin was light and smooth; her cheeks glowed.
    She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Just as otherworldly as he remembered.
    And her eyes. God, her eyes. They were so blue. When he looked into them, he felt the same strange pull he’d felt out there on the wharf. He had the uncanny sensation that she could read his mind, see into his heart and soul, his past and future. Which was crazy.
    At the same time he sensed an inexplicable danger. He felt that in some strange way, she had the power to hurt him.
    He shouldn’t have come.
    But he was careful to keep his trepidation from showing. He was good at that, at putting up a front, at keeping his inner-self hidden.
    Then he noticed that she was staring at his left side, curiosity in her eyes. He remembered the kite and held it out to her. “I’m sorry. There’s not much of it left.”
    She took it and held it in her arms, her fingers smoothing the emerald fabric. “It’s my fault. The design is unstable. I’ve tried lighter material, different struts—” She made a small, sad sound, then put the ruined kite aside on a nearby bench. When she turned back, she was once again the hostess. “May I take your coat?”
    He shrugged out of his leather flight jacket, all the while aware that the children were still staring. The oldest girl’s eyes were full of adoration—which he was used to, the middle child, Tilly’s eyes were bland, completely unimpressed, bored almost. He liked that. And the youngest…
    She reached up and shyly touched her fingers to the back of his hand—a butterfly skimming his knuckles. “Did you ride your noble steed?” she asked.
    Steed? He’d seen a few horses on the island. He cast a helpless glance over his shoulder.
    Tilly put a hand to her mouth and ribbed the older girl with an elbow. “Babbie thinks you’re a prince,” she explained.
    Babbie continued to stare up at him, her eyes huge and trusting. “Tilly said you’re not a prince, you’re a king. King of—”
    Whatever she was going to say was lost as Emily clapped her hands. “Girls! Girls! I think you’d better go to the kitchen and set the table. Claire—” Hands to young shoulders, Emily ushered them in the direction of the kitchen.
    Claire shuffled along, head turned, eyes dreamy, catching a final look.
    “Good grief! He’s not that cute,” he heard Tilly say as she gave her sister a final push through the kitchen door. “It’s not like he’s a hockey player or something.”
    Emily turned to Sonny, frown lines between her brows. “I’m terribly sorry. Tilly is very outspoken.”
    “That’s okay. It’s good for me. Keeps my ego in line.” He handed her his jacket, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the designer label sewn on the inside collar, of the rich suppleness of the leather. A cashy item.
    When she took it from him, he saw that her fragile hand trembled. It wasn’t evident in her face or voice, but now he knew she was just as nervous as he was.
    The difference was she belonged here; he