Strangers In Paradise Page 7

  He couldn't help it; he started laughing. She drew herself very, very straight and stared at him coldly. He raised his hands in the air.

  "All right, all right. I'll see if I can rescue any of your other victims, then we'll go over to my house. It might be a good idea to get an exterminator."

  Rex went back into the house, shaking his head at each "scene of the crime." The snakes were still alive--they were tough little creatures. He collected them in the spade and dropped them into the bushes. Alexi was still standing on the path. His brow arched, he waved to her, then went back inside and searched. He couldn't find any more of the ringnecks.

  After putting her murder weapons away in the pantry, he paused, noting that her suitcase was on the kitchen table. He probably should take it for her, he thought.

  He smiled slowly thinking, Uh-uh. After all, she had probably taken ten years off his life when she had screamed like that over the phone and then dropped the damn thing! He'd had horrible visions of a man's hands around her throat--and it had all been over a few harmless garden snakes!

  Uh-uh. She was coming to his house now--because she was scared. With a streak of mischief, Rex determined that this was going to be a come-as-you-are party.

  Still smiling, he closed the kitchen door. He had his own key to lock up the front.

  He walked down the path, not sure if he wanted to strangle her himself... or take the chance of touching her again. He did neither; he walked past her a few feet, realized that she wasn't following him and turned back impatiently. "Are you coming?"

  She looked from him to the house. It irritated him a bit that she made it seem like a choice between two terrible evils. But then, he'd been irritated since he had met her. He'd thought that she was a sneak thief at first. Then she'd been so indignant. Aloof, remote--and condemning. Then she'd turned on the charm for the poor kid with the pizza, and he'd felt the allure of it sweep over him, a draw like a potent elixir. And then he'd felt such acute terror...

  Then such acute desire. Feeling her nearly naked, crawling against him, almost a part of him. He wondered vaguely if she had any idea just what she had done to him. She was so sensual, his reaction was instant. And he didn't like it. Dammit, he was a cynic. He deserved to be. His marriage had taught him a good lesson.

  Especially when the female in question was Alexi Jordan. "Alexi," he began crossly, wishing Gene's great-granddaughter could have been someone else. "You can always just go back in and--"

  "No!" Ashen, she ran to catch up with him. Gasping a little, she tugged at her loosening belt. Rex turned forward, a slightly malicious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. But it was also a wry smile. He wasn't sure whom he was tormenting in his subtle way: her--or himself. He should have been cool; he shouldn't have cared. Life ought to have taught him a few good lessons. But she got to him. She had crawled instantly into his system and more slowly into his soul, and he felt damned already.

  "Where is your house?" she asked him.

  "Just ahead," he replied curtly. He realized that she was panting in her effort to keep up with him, but he didn't slow down. "This isn't a big spit of land. Your house...Gene's house," he said, correcting himself, "is first. Mine is just past the bend."

  Alexi looked around. By daylight, it seemed very wild and primitive to her, barren in its way. Right around the house, plants grew beautifully. There were tall oaks and pines, the colorful crotons and a spray of begonias. Out on the road, though, the terrain became sandy; there was scrub grass and an occasional pine. In the distance, toward the water, sea grapes covered the horizon.

  They made a left turn. There was only one other man-made structure on the peninsula. Rex's house. Like hers, it was Victorian. The porch that ran around the upper level was decorated with gingerbread. The house was freshly painted in a muted peach shade and seemed a serene part of the landscape. Also like her house, it seemed to sit up a bit from the low, sandy turf that surrounded it. Right beyond it, she knew, was the Atlantic. She could hear the surf even as they approached it. There was a draw, warm and inviting, to the sound of the waves, she mused. Alexi bit her lip, thinking that she was crazy, that she wanted to be anywhere but here. But then again, there was no way she was going to go back into a house with snakes.

  A sudden stab of sharp pain seared into her foot. She swore and stopped. Trying to balance on her right foot to see the left one, she started to keel over.

  Rex caught her arm, steadying her. "What did you do?" he asked.

  "I don't know..." she began, but then she saw the trail of blood streaming from her sole.

  "Must have been a broken shell," he said, in a voice that seemed just a bit apologetic. As if he had just realized that he had been moving as if in a marathon race while she had been barefoot, Alexi thought.

  "It's all right," she murmured. "I can manage." "Don't be absurd," he said impatiently. "You get too much sand in it and you'll have a real infection."

  Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms. Out of a will to survive the rest of his breakneck-speed walk, she slipped her arms around his neck, flushing. "Really, I..."

  "Oh, for Pete's sake."

  Alexi fell silent. Maybe she would have been better off with the snakes after all. The sun was beating down on them both, but she wasn't at all convinced it was the sun that was warming her. He was hot, like molten steel. His chest was hard and fascinating; the feel of his arms about her was electric. She could feel his breathing, as well as each little ripple and nuance of his muscles, hard and trim, but living and mobile, too. She swallowed, because the temptation to touch was great. It was pure instinct, and she fought it. In fact, she hated instinct. He was probably annoyed that she might be thinking that being in his arms was more than it was....

  And she couldn't quite fight that damned instinct, that feeling that he was everything wonderful and good about the male of the species, that the sun was warm, the surf inviting. That she wanted to touch all that taut muscle and flesh and that it might well be the most natural thing in the world to lie with him in the sand.

  So much for being perfect! So much for being cool and aloof and completely in control! She thought of when she had been in the shower, where she'd dreamed of her next meeting with him. And here she was--cool, remote and dignified. Hah! She looked like hell again. Barefoot, with not a shred of makeup, her hair soaking wet, and dressed in nothing but a robe. And it wasn't just the miserable indignity of how she looked. She'd been hysterical at first, and she wasn't doing much better now. No wonder he wanted her out; she was nothing but trouble to him. Of course, he had been there when she'd needed him. And sometimes, when he looked at her, he was so very masculine and sexual that she was certain she must appeal to him in some sense. He was rude, but he could also be kind. He had been very frank in saying that he wanted the house, that he wanted her out--but he had still helped her. Of course, he had tried to scare her last night, too. All that ridiculous bit about ghosts.

  She paled in his arms, feeling ill. He'd brushed the spider off her and killed it. And she had almost told him how frightened she was of snakes. She had almost said the word.

  He had pressed her.

  He had known. Known that she didn't like the bugs, but that she could bear them. He was intuitive; he was quick. He wanted her out...

  She gasped suddenly, released her hold about his neck and slammed a tight fist against his chest.

  "Hey--" Startled and furious, he stared down at I

  "You bastard!"

  "What?"

  "You did it! You knew I was terrified of snakes! You put them in there. Here I thought that you were being decent. You did it! You put me down, you--"

  She didn't go any further, because he did put her down,

  In fact, he almost dropped her, then stood above her with a dark scowl knit into his features, his hands locked aggressively on his hips.

  "I did no such damn thing!"

  "You knew--"

  "I didn't know anything, Ms. Jordan. And trust me
, lady, I don't have the time to go digging up a pack of harmless little ringnecks just to get to you. You don't need help to blow it--I'm sure you'll manage on your own."

  "Oh! You stupid--" She had tried to rise, but the weight on her foot was an agonizing pain. She broke off, gasping against the pain, teetering dangerously. He stretched an arm out; she tried to push him away, but as she started to fall she grabbed at him desperately.

  Rex, unprepared, lost his balance, too. They crashed down into the sand together.

  In a most compromising position. He was nearly stretched on top of her. And her robe...

  Was nearly pushed to her waist.

  And they were both aware of the position. Very painfully aware. Alexi couldn't think of a word to say; she couldn't move. She could only stare, stunned and miserable, into the hard, dark eyes above her. It seemed like an eternity in which she felt her naked body pressed to him, an eternity in which she felt all his muscles contract and harden.

  An eternity...while she wished that she could be swallowed up by the sand.

  Abruptly he pushed himself away from her. With supple agility, he landed on the balls of his feet. Blushing furiously, Alexi pushed her robe down.

  "Damn you!" he said angrily. "Now, this time you just keep quiet! Throw out your accusations once we're there."

  His arms streaked out for her so fast that she almost shrieked, afraid for a second that he meant violence. He picked her up again, his arms as rigid as pokers, shaking with anger. He started off again, his pace faster than ever. He walked her up the steps to the porch, threw open the screen door and carried her inside. He turned almost instantly to the left, to the parlor. Seconds later she was deposited roughly upon a couch that was covered in soft beige leather. She scrambled to right herself, to pull her robe down around her knees.

  "Don't move!" he warned her sharply. She tried miserably to relax. She made herself breathe slowly in and out as she looked at her surroundings. It was a nice room. Contemporary. The soft leather sofa sat across the width of a llama-skin rug from two armchairs, all on warm earthen tile. A deer head sat over the mantel, and a wall of arched windows looked out on the sea below. Her house and his were similar in construction, but here two rooms had been combined to make one huge one. To the rear, bookshelves lined the walls, and there were two long oak desks angled together with a computer-and-printer setup. She imagined that Rex must like his view of the sea very much. He could work, then stop and walk to the windows to watch the endless surf and the way the sun played over the water. She tried not to imagine Rex at all. And then he was back.

  He had a bowl of water and a little box, and he sat by her on the sofa without a word, pulling her foot up onto his lap. His dark hair fell over his forehead; she couldn't see his eyes.

  He moved quickly and competently, not apologizing or saying a word when she winced as he washed off her foot.

  "Shell...it was still there," he said at last. She didn't reply, but bit her lip. He wasn't big on TLC, she mused wryly.

  He opened the little box and sprayed something on her foot, then wrapped it in a gauze bandage. He moved back, dumping her foot less than graciously on the sofa. He stood, picked up the bowl and the box and disappeared again. The pain, which had been sharp, began to fade, and she wondered distractedly what he had sprayed on it. She felt like a fool. She realized that he most probably had not dug around in the ground to find a pack of snakes to set loose in her bathroom. Snakes. It was just the damn snakes. Anything else she could surely have dealt with....

  She'd been half-naked. He'd known it; she'd known it. And they'd both felt the hard, erotic flow of heat. Where was he? She had to get out of here. Her palms began to sweat. She couldn't go back if there were more snakes. But she couldn't stay away forever. She couldn't stay on his couch, barely dressed....

  Then he was back. He set a steaming mug on a small side table beside her, then walked across to sit in one of the chairs, staring at her. With hostility, she was certain. He had his own mug of steaming liquid, and sipped it broodingly.

  Alexi tried to sit properly. She had to moisten her lips to speak. "Rex, I'm sorry. Perhaps--"

  "Drink the coffee. It's spiked. It will help."

  "I doubt it--"

  "It's sure as hell helping me."

  She didn't know why; she picked up the coffee cup. She didn't know what it was laced with, but it was good, and it was strong. It warmed her hands and her throat, and it did help.

  "I--" she began.

  "The exterminators don't really do snakes," he told her dryly, "but they're coming out. I talked to a guy who said that they were probably just washed up by the rain and came through the broken window. When they finish, you won't have anything else. No spiders, no bugs. And a friend of mine from Ace GlassWorks will be out this afternoon to fix that window. His sister manages a cleaning outfit, and they'll be out, too. They do the works--sweep, wash and steam-clean. You should be in business then." "Rex, thank you, but really--" "You've got objections?"

  "No, dammit, but really, it's my responsibility--" She broke off, frowning. She could hear the front door opening. Rex heard it, too. His brow knit, and he started to rise. Then he sat back.

  "Who is that?" Alexi asked.

  But by that time the woman was already in. "Rex?" She came into the parlor, carrying a bag of groceries. Trim and pretty, she looked to Alexi to be approximately fifty. There was an immense German shepherd at her heels; the dog instantly rushed to Rex, barking, greeting him.

  The woman stared uncomfortably at Alexi, who sat there in a robe and nothing else, curled on the couch, the coffee cup in her hands. The woman blushed.

  Rex smiled. "Emily, hi. I forgot you were coming this morning." He stood. The dog sat by his chair, panting, and woofing at Alexi.

  "Shush, Samson. That's Alexi. She's a...friend. Alexi, this is Emily Rider. Emily, Alexi Jordan. Emily keeps everything in order for me."

  "How do you do," Alexi said, wishing she could scratch Rex's eyes out. "I--I cut my foot."

  "Oh," Emily said in disbelief. She smiled awkwardly, then gasped. "The Alexi Jordan?"

  "There's only one," Rex said. "I hope." "It's--it's a pleasure," Emily murmured. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

  "There's nothing to interrupt!" Alexi said quickly--too quickly, she realized, for a woman who was sitting in her robe on a man's couch.

  "Ah, well...have you had breakfast? I make wonderful omelets, Ms. Jordan."

  "Really," Alexi protested. "Please don't go to any trouble--"

  "No trouble at all!" Emily insisted. It was obvious to Alexi that the woman was dying to escape.

  "Thanks, Emily," Rex called. Samson whined. Rex sat again, watching Alexi as he scratched the dog's head. "That is a most glorious shade of red," he told Alexi.

  "What?"

  "Your skin."

  She whispered an oath to him.

  He stood, still smiling. Samson trailed along with him, loyal and loving.

  "Emily might need some help," he said.

  Alexi rose carefully on one foot, using the couch for balance.

  "Tell her the truth! She thinks that..." "That what?"

  "That I--that we--that we were sleeping together!"

  "I suppose she does."

  "Well, set her straight! Do you want her to think that?"

  Rex chuckled softly. He cupped her cheek for an instant; the warmth of his breath feathered over her flesh. "Why not?"

  "Why not?" Alexi echoed furiously.

  "Doesn't every man fantasize about sleeping with the face that launched a thousand ships?" His brow was arched; he was mocking her, she was certain.

  "Rex, damn you--"

  "Of course, Alexi, there's much, much more to you than a beautiful face--isn't there?"

  Samson barked; Rex walked out. Alexi, trembling, wanted to scream at him.

  But she didn't want to scream with Emily there, so she sank weakly back to the sofa.

  Chapter 5

  Emily was busy cracking e
ggs when Rex came into the kitchen. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk for her, smiling as he set it on the counter. He had seen her watching him covertly as she pretended great interest in the eggs.

  "She's cute, huh," he commented, stealing a strip of green pepper and leaning against the counter.

  Emily arched a brow. "Alexi Jordan? All you have to say about her is 'cute'?"

  "Real cute?"

  Emily sniffed. "She's probably the most glamorous woman in the world--"

  Rex broke in on her with soft laughter. "Emily! Glamorous? You just saw her with wet hair in a worn terry robe!"

  "She's still glamorous."

  "She's flesh and blood," Rex said irritably, wondering at the bitterness in his own tone. He wanted her to be real, an ordinary woman, he thought dismally.

  "Nice flesh," Emily commented dryly, pouring the eggs into the frying pan.

  "Very nice." He grinned. "When did you meet?" "A few nights ago." "Oh."

  Her lips were pursed in silent disapproval, and Rex couldn't help but laugh again and give her a quick hug. "There's nothing going on, Emily. Alas, and woe is me-- but that's the truth. She called over here this morning because her house was suddenly infested with snakes." "Snakes?"

  "Just some harmless ringnecks." "How many?" "Five."

  Emily shuddered. "That poor creature! Well, you were right to bring her over here. I wonder if she should stay the night."

  "I'd just love it," Rex told her wickedly.

  "I'll stay, too, Casanova," Emily warned him. When she saw that he was about to take another pepper, she rapped him on the hand with her wooden spoon.

  "Emily...you're showing no respect to me at all."

  She sniffed again. Emily had a great talent for sniffing, he thought with a smile.

  “Well, Mr. Popularity, maybe this is just what you need. The lady is far more renowned than you."

  "Oh, really?"

  "She's glamorous. You're merely...notorious."

  Rex laughed good-naturedly.

  "And you're usually rude to women," she went on.

  "I am not."