Strangers In Paradise Read online

  The woman opened the dishes to describe the food, then closed them again to maintain the heat. Rex thanked them both, but when they had gone, he still seemed to hesitate.

  "Rex!"

  "What?"

  "Why? Why did you ask me that?"

  He didn't answer her. Alexi saw that he was still frowning as he stared at the thin screen that separated their little room from the hallway.

  "Rex...?"

  He didn't look at her, but he pressed his finger to her lips and indicated the screen. He silently began to rise.

  Alexi thought he had lost his mind. But then she saw it; the shadow of a figure standing in the hallway. There was something secretive about the shadow--someone had been listening to them.

  Alexi didn't know that she was gasping until Rex swore softly at her, then bounded over the table like a talented linebacker and raced toward the door.

  But the shadow, too, had obviously heard her gasp.

  It straightened and disappeared just seconds before Rex went racing out after it.

  Chapter 7

  Rex didn't return. Confused, Alexi waited for several moments, then rose and hurried out to the hall. There was no sign of any shadow man, nor of Rex. As Alexi stood in the hallway, a group of slightly inebriated businessmen made an appearance from a room farther down the corridor. It was a narrow hallway, and Alexi stepped inside again to allow them to pass.

  A short, stout man named Harold was telling a tall, lean, bald man he called Bert that now was the time to dump his electrical stock. And while he was at it, Bert should dump his wife, too.

  They passed Alexi, and Harold caught sight of her.

  "Oh, Nelly, I am in heaven!" Harold slurred out. He had small eyes, which lit up to look like pennies. "Are you ft' dessert, darlin'?" He braced himself in the slender doorway, leering in at her.

  "No, I'm not the dessert," Alexi told him. He reminded her of her uncle Bob. Mild mannered by day--a lecher after one beer too many.

  "You sure look like dessert."

  "Go home," Alexi said. She couldn't help adding, "And Bert--I wouldn't dump your wife if I were you."

  "You know Gertrude, huh?" Harold swung on into the room, staring at her incredulously. "Honey, you are cute. Come to think of it, I'm sure I know you. Don't we know her, Harry? Hey--aren't you from that massage parlor downtown?"

  "No! I'm not from any massage parlor! Bert, go home and sleep it off."

  "I'm in heaven!" Bert claimed. He winked. "We did, honey. We met before." He turned around to nudge one of the other men in the ribs. "She remembers me! She gave me the best little, er, massage I ever did have. You here with a loser, honey? You come on now, and Harry and Bert will make it worth your while."

  He clamped sweaty, sausagelike little fingers around her wrist. Alexi sighed. So much for her Helen of Troy fame. He thought that she was a, er, massage artist.

  "Bert, I'm not--"

  She broke off. A pair of heavy hands had taken hold of Bert. He was lifted off his feet and set down in the hallway. Rex was there, rigid and scowling angrily.

  “Hey, bud, I was just--''

  Harold broke in nervously. "Bert, let's get home, huh?"

  Rex crossed his arms over his chest. “Bert, I do highly suggest you leave--now."

  Bert wasn't about to be put off. He straightened his coat and looked around the wall of Rex's chest. "Honey, you wanna stay here with this animal?"

  "Now!" The command sounded like a bark; Rex took a lethally charged step toward Bert.

  "Rex!" Alexi protested.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Have we a problem? How may

  I help you?" The pretty hostess, anxious and distressed, came running down the hallway, speaking softly.

  "Rex!" one of the other men said. "Hey, you're Rex Morrow, aren't you? I've seen your picture on the book covers! Hey, I hate to bother you, but could I have an autograph? My wife would be so thrilled. She buys all your books. In hardcover. And we both read them, every word."

  Bert stepped back as if he had been slapped. "You're him?" He gaped. Alexi thought that at any second he would stutter and say "Gaw-ly," just like Gomer Pyle.

  "Gentlemen?" the hostess asked anxiously. She glanced at Rex pleadingly. Alexi saw him relax, and then he laughed. "I'm sorry. I haven't paper or a pen--"

  They were quickly supplied. Rex scrawled out his name several times. When he had finished and the men started walking away, "Bert paused long enough to look at Alexi longingly.

  "So you're with him tonight, huh?" He gazed back at Rex. "She's expensive, but she's worth every penny."

  "What?" Rex murmured.

  "Good night, Bert," Alexi said sweetly.

  Bert followed the others. Alexi turned on Rex. "That wasn't necessary."

  "They asked me--"

  "Manhandling that poor drunken sot wasn't necessary."

  He was silent for a long moment, walking around to sink back into his seat at the table. Once there, he crossed his arms over his chest to stare at her. "So you enjoyed teasing that drunken sot, huh?"

  "No--but I can take care of myself."

  "Great. Next time four men are descending upon you, remind me that you can take care of yourself."

  "You would've gotten into a fight if your ego wasn't so colossal that you were more determined to sign your name."

  He stared at her a moment longer and then reached for one of the chafing dishes. Alexi didn't sit again, and he didn't pay her any attention. He dished out fried rice and then crisp, succulent little pieces of honey-garlic beef. The smell reminded Alexi that she was starving, and she wasn't sure whether she was still angry or embarrassed--or even a bit awed, since she had been taken for a prostitute and the whole explosive moment had been defused by his lousy signature.

  At last his gaze fell on her again, and as it flickered over her length, the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. "So you're expensive, huh?"

  "Maybe I should have gotten the old dear to take me home," Alexi said, sitting at last.

  "Dear child, he was after one thing." "Mmm. And what are you after?" He grinned. "Several things." Then he sobered again, mechanically moving chafing dishes around to fill Alexi's plate. "I couldn't find him." "Him who?"

  "Him who was spying on us."

  "Oh." Alexi shrugged. She was beginning to think that either Rex or she was crazy--or perhaps they were both imagining things. He was a mystery writer. Maybe--after a certain amount of time--that type of work played havoc with the brain. So there had been someone in the hallway. So what? Probably a hundred people walked down the hallway during the day.

  "Rex--" She paused as she discovered that the honey-garlic beef was really delicious. "This is wonderful." "Thank you."

  "Rex, I don't think it's anything to worry about. Maybe it was another fan--"

  “Yeah. And that was a fan running downstairs at Gene's the minute the lights went," he said.

  Alexi set her fork down. Rex was eating with the chopsticks; she had decided not to make a fool out of herself with the effort. And now, on top of everything else, she was trembling.

  "I thought you didn't believe me," she murmured.

  "I never said that."

  "You implied--"

  "I implied nothing. You might have been reading me wrong."

  She shook her head. "No. You didn't believe me. But I think you do now. Why? What changed your mind?"

  "Nothing. Really. All right--I am worried about you. Nothing has happened out on the peninsula in all the time that I've been there, and you show up and it's a three-ring circus. Footsteps on the road, footsteps in the house, snakes, etcetera. And it's not as if the girl next door or Mary Pop-pins moved in. You're Alexi Jordan."

  "Not Mary Poppins," Alexi agreed sardonically.

  "I didn't say you were Jezebel--just not Mary Poppins. Alexi, do you have any enemies?"

  She lowered her head over her chicken and shook her head. Did she? No, not real enemies. She had never stepped over anyone to get anywhere. The only
enemy she could possibly have was--

  "Alexi, what about your ex? Was he mad enough at you to come here and try to scare you? Make you a little crazy?"

  John? She shook her head again. She trembled. John could be violent--but she couldn't see him being stealthy. When he had decided to accost her, he hadn't played any games. He had come straight to the apartment--and straight to the point.

  "I--I don't think so."

  Rex sighed softly. "Well, maybe we are imagining things, huh?"

  She nodded woodenly.

  "You're not eating."

  "Oh. It's wonderful. It really is, Rex. I'm sorry."

  Alexi was startled when he touched her very gently. With his knuckle he raised her chin. For the longest time his dark eyes gazed into hers; for the longest time he seemed to question what he saw there and to muse tenderly upon her.

  Then he moved, lowering his face toward hers. His lips touched hers. She knew her mouth was sweet with the taste of plum wine and honey. His lips hovered just above hers, tasting them.

  She felt his hand caressing her cheek. Then she felt the movement of his tongue within her mouth, hot and supple and sensual. She trembled, neither protesting the movement nor joining it, but feeling the rise of excitement inside of her, a longing, a sexual tension that knotted in the pit of her belly and seemed to flare throughout her.

  His hand still at her nape, he moved back. His dark eyes surveyed hers again. She didn't know what he sought or what he saw.

  Or what he felt. Perhaps he was thinking that it was all a loss. That she didn't even know how to return a kiss decently.

  Her mouth went dry. She drew her eyes from his to look down at her hands. A tiny glass of plum wine sat before her; aware that he was watching her, she drank it quickly, not sure of what to say or do.

  "Maybe you should leave the peninsula," he said. She shook her head.

  "Footsteps in the dark. Maybe something frightening is happening."

  "I--I don't want to leave."

  "Mmm. But you won't protest if I sleep on your sofa again, huh?"

  Alexi stiffened. "You're being obnoxious again. I won't ever let you sleep on my sofa again. I promise."

  "Damned right. If I sleep there again, Alexi, it won't be on the sofa."

  She raised her head, staring at him, a brow arched challengingly. She was still trembling, but she hoped that he didn't know it. Why not? She was certainly of legal age, and she wanted him. She ached for him. His lightest touch had been magic.

  Why not? Because she trembled too easily, because she was very afraid that she couldn't go through with it, that she would make an absolute fool of herself. She hadn't even been able to return his kiss.

  She smiled, sweetly, seductively. Fever was alive in her veins, racing rampantly through her blood. "You're right, Mr. Morrow. If you ever sleep in my house again, it will be in my bed."

  Startled, he drew back, a slow, entirely wicked smile curling the corner of his mouth.

  "Do you mean that, Ms. Jordan?"

  "I do."

  "Then let's go."

  He was up abruptly, a strong, bronzed hand reaching out to help her rise. Panic surged inside her; she stared at his hand for several seconds, completely at a loss.

  Then she placed her own hand within it. His fingers curled around hers and she was standing beside him. For the longest time they looked at each other, standing together in that rice paper-screened section of the Chinese restaurant. She could hear his heart, and she could see his eyes, and she could see the hunger there, and the longing.

  He wanted her. Badly.

  And she wanted him.

  He didn't say anything else. He turned, his fingers still wound around hers, leading her toward the hall. At the entryway he offered the hostess his credit card. Alexi escaped him to study a display of swords encased in a glass cabinet. She pressed her palm against her breast and felt her own heart surging. She must have been mad. He had teased her, but he'd never pressed her. And she had just all but whistled out an invitation to make love....

  He caught her hand again. He smiled when she darted a quick, scared look his way. He wound his fingers around hers again as he led her out into the parking lot and to his car.

  It was a beautiful night. Stars abounded in the heavens. Alexi sat stiffly in the Maserati, staring straight ahead. Rex talked casually as he gunned the motor. He pointed out a few of the constellations in the heavens. "Not a bit of fog tonight,'' he murmured.

  "Not a trace of it," Alexi agreed. Oh, he was so casual! So comfortable. But then, he was good at this, Alexi reminded herself, while she was only playing at it. She didn't really know the first thing about having a casual affair. She was deathly afraid that when he touched her she was going to scream.

  No. She would not. It was all in her mind. She liked him so much, and she ached for him, feeling that sense of sexual arousal when he merely whispered her name. Like a coil inside of her, winding, sweet and heightened, yearning, when he was near. If she could not lie down beside him, she would never know what it was to make love again. "Where?"

  "Pardon?" She had to glance his way. And with a whole new sense of panic she realized that they were just about on the road leading out to the peninsula. "Your place or mine?" "Er...er..."

  "Mine," he decided softly. "Fine. Except--"

  "Except what?"

  "Isn't Emily there?"

  Against the shadow and glow of the lights, she saw him shake his head ruefully. "Emily has gone home. She usually only works for me two days a week. She stayed longer this week because of you, but now she's gone home. The whole place is ours."

  "Oh."

  They were on the road out to their houses. Alexi closed her eyes and wondered what it had been like more than a century before. When Pierre had taken his Eugenia here, a bride, alone. Surely it had been completely barren then. It must have seemed as if the world were theirs, as if they owned paradise. The pines would have been the same, and the palms. The moon, rising clear and beautiful against the sky, must have been the same, too. And the stars... diamonds glittering against a panoply of black velvet.

  The Maserati stopped. They were in front of the Brandywine house. Rex was smiling at her gently and was twisted slightly toward her. His fingers played idly in her hair.

  "I'll walk you to your door."

  "What?" She swallowed.

  "You're all talk and no action, kid. You didn't mean it. Come on, I'll walk you to your door."

  Startled, Alexi crossed her arms over her chest and sat grimly. Rex opened his door and came around for her. He opened her door. Alexi didn't move; she stared straight ahead.

  He had just offered her an out. She couldn't take it. It was her chance to run, offered in tenderness.

  "You're the one who is all talk, Mr. Morrow," Alexi murmured.

  She heard him inhale sharply. "Last chance, Ms. Jordan. I'm a pretty nice guy, nine times out of ten. But if you don't get out of this car right now, I won't answer for the consequences."

  Alexi didn't move. "Promises, promises, Morrow. Her door slammed sharply. A second later, his did the same after he sank back into the bucket seat beside her. She felt his eyes on her, but she couldn't turn.

  "Well, you know you're committed now, huh, Alexi.' She felt the anger that edged his words. "Is that what you want? Or is that what you need? 'Push the guy so far that there is no backing down'? Make sure it's what you want Alexi. I'll be damned if I understand you. Make sure." "Drive, would you, Rex?"

  He shook his head. She felt herself pulled into his arms, pulled hard. His mouth came down hard on hers. Her lips parted; she felt the demand of his, forceful, hungry and entirely persuasive.

  And it was good. Deliciously, wonderfully good. He tasted of the honeyed chicken and the plum wine and, beyond that, completely, tantalizingly male. This time she could respond. She trembled when his tongue thrust into the crevices of her mouth, filling her, arousing her. She grew bold and she herself explored, running the tip of her tongue along his
lower lip and then his upper lip, against his teeth, against his tongue, in a sleek, sensual persuasion of her own. It was really wonderful. The scent of him filled her, as male as the taste of him, unique. Her fingertips played against the hair at his nape, over the strong structure of his cheek, to the fascinating breadth of his shoulders. And all the while she felt his kiss. Against her lip, against her throat, against the beat of her pulse there. She felt his fingers, feather-light, against her flesh; his knuckles, stroking her shoulder, drawing a line lightly over her collarbone. She nearly cried, the kiss alone was so very good....

  She had never known this type of arousal. Aching in all parts of her, longing to touch and be touched... every where.

  He had her in his arms, on his lap. She was barely aware of moving, of being moved. The sense of being drugged with the pleasure of it was an encompassing one, overpowering all else, giving her the wonderful feel of perfect fantasy. This was it, the way of dreams. The need and the desire, the feeling that she would simply die if she could not have him. All of him.

  It remained with her, all the magic, while he held her. While his lips touched hers again and again. Even when his eyes met hers, as dark and mysterious as the night, as probing, as curious, and still as seductive. She felt the palm of his hand flat against her breast; she felt his fingers curl around its weight, and his thumb as he sought her nipple through the knit of her dress and the lace of her bra. She buried her face against his neck, warmed by the intimacy, unable to meet his eyes yet instinctively grazing her teeth against his throat in response. It was a dream; it was magic. She was alive and explosive and soaring with desire and relief.

  But then she felt his hand again. Against her stocking. A touch that made her shiver, a touch that wound the core of her tightly, tightly. She wanted him. She wanted his touch, an intimate touch, so badly. But even as his fingers roamed along her nyloned thigh, she felt the overwhelming panic begin to seize her. She couldn't move at first.

  She just felt his hand...his fingers. Higher, higher along her thigh. Fingers rimming the elastic of her panties. Light against her flesh again--bare flesh--as he slowly, seductively drew the nylons from her. She couldn't move. She could only feel the panic welling, growing, sweeping through her....