Rosalind stopped several feet away and took in the house. Alex stood beside her. He squeezed her hand.
“I’ve never been here, and I’ve lived on this island all my life. It’s common knowledge the owner was a recluse who didn’t appreciate visitors and would chase anyone who ventured down here with a shotgun, but no one has lived here for quite a while. We called him the Hermit of Hidden Cove. How did you manage to get a key?”
“I work my charm and use magic fairy dust.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful punch on the arm. He grinned down at her. His heart expanded with pride and affection for this lovely woman. He’d done more hiking on this island in the past week than he’d done in the past five years.
“Do you know why they call it Hidden Cove?” Alex said, hoping to impress her with his local knowledge.
“Because it’s virtually hidden from the Chinook Channel. Honestly, how did you get a key?” So much for impressing her. Of course she knew how the cove had gotten its name.
“Homer gave me key. Can you keep secret?”
“Absolutely.”
“The hermit’s sister will be putting property on market within month, but Homer says they do not want publicized. They want the property to go to local who will maintain the integrity of land.”
“Oh, my, it’ll go for pretty penny with all that untouched waterfront.”
“From what I have been told, the sister isn’t interested in money. When I take my morning runs, I’ve been running down here the last few days.” Alex put his arm around her shoulders and turned her to stare down at the private cove. Almost a complete circle of forested land enclosed the cove and kept it invisible from the channel. There was a small opening in one section large enough for a medium-size sailboat or cruiser to fit through if you knew how to navigate around the rocks, according to Homer.
“That poor man died alone. They didn’t find his body until he’d been dead for several weeks.” Rosalind’s eyes were tinged with sadness and empathy for a man she never knew.
“Yeah, that is sad,” Alex agreed with utmost sincerity. “Imagine living to an old age and dying without friends or family to comfort you in your last moments.”
Her quick glance at him indicated he’d astonished her. Fuck, he’d astonished himself. He didn’t usually have feelings for people he’d never met.
“Can you imagine having house here?”
“It would be heaven.” She gazed up at him, and he lowered his mouth to hers. There was something magic about this place, something wild and untamed and revitalizing to his soul. He kissed her slowly, deeply, with emotions he didn’t know he’d felt until just that moment. He broke off the kiss. He hadn’t brought her down here to have sex with her. Instead, he wanted to share his favorite place on the island with her.
“Yeah, it would be heaven on earth.” He meant his words. Lately, he’d been toying with the idea of buying a piece of waterfront on the island and building a small vacation home, but Homer had already let him know the woman wouldn’t sell to him even if he were interested. He was a foreigner, and not because he was from Russia but because he hadn’t grown up on the islands.
“Would you consider buying it?” Her voice was hopeful. Gladness tinged with fear slipped through him. She wanted him to have a tie to this island—her island—and part of him wanted that tie, while the other part fought any such attempt of permanency like hell.
“She would not sell to me. Only local,” he said more harshly than intended.
Rosalind nodded and ducked her head, leaving him to feel like an ass.
“I’m hungry.” His lame deflection wasn’t lost on her. She’d closed off, and he’d destroyed the moment of closeness on purpose just to keep his own selfish heart safe.
With a sigh, he led her past the house and down a rocky slope to the cove. There was a small section of grass, and he spread a blanket onto it. Rosalind placed the food on the blanket using the basket as a table. She poured them each a glass of wine from the bottle he’d brought along.
They sat across from each other, ate their sandwiches, and sipped their wine. Their silence was companionable. She’d already forgiven him for his thoughtless remark. He didn’t deserve a woman as pure and sweet as this one. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to let her go either.
He turned his attention to the cove. A blue heron flew down from its perch on a madrona tree and plucked a fish from the water, disappearing again in the leaves of the tree. The few remaining rotted boards of an old dock creaked under the constant ebb and flow of the tides. The structure was close to breathing its last breath.
Alex had been subjected to beauty on this island, but nothing like this cove. It called to him in a way nothing ever had. The sheer untamed beauty took his breath away. He’d been reading the history of the island and pictured the native people setting up summer camp at the edge of the cove, their canoes pulled onto the beach after a long day of fishing.
They finished lunch and lay on the blanket together. Rosalind wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist and rested her head on his chest. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of nature, so much more soothing than the traffic noise he’d grown accustomed to. It wouldn’t be so easy to go back to the city after this, even though not so long ago he’d longed for the hustle and bustle.
He didn’t try to coax Rosalind into having sex on the picnic blanket with him. Not that sex with her wasn’t appealing, but he didn’t want to destroy the reverence of this moment. Something had happened to him. He didn’t know when or how, he only knew he was different. He wouldn’t leave this island as the same man who’d been forced to come here.
Rosalind’s warm body spread joy through his own body. He rested his hands lightly on her back, enjoying the closeness of her, just being with her, just living in the moment.
“I like being with you,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.” The answer surprised him at some basic level. He’d never been around a woman whose company he enjoyed without the end goal of getting her in bed. Oh, he wanted to get Rosalind in bed in the worst way, but he also wanted to know about her.
“I like being with you too.” She was quiet for a while longer. “I can’t stop thinking about that poor man dying without any family nearby.” Rosalind turned her head so she could see his eyes.
“Is sad,” he agreed, shutting out an image of himself as an old man, dying alone without anyone who truly loved him.
“Tell me about your family.”
Alex stiffened. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the strength to handle her question with kindness rather than anger.
“I would not like to talk about them. They are gone.”
“Will you tell me someday?” She searched his gaze, as if looking for a better answer than that, but he gave her none.
He gently pushed her off his chest and stood. “Is time to go.”
Before he could see the hurt in her eyes, he turned away and began gathering up his things.
~ ~ ~ ~
Despite how the picnic had ended, Rosalind refused to let that one moment ruin an incredible day. And the sex that evening had been the best ever.
Rosalind was floating on a cloud of absolute perfection. She would be the first to admit that perfection was an illusion, and her relationship with Alex, as perfect as it appeared, was an illusion also. She was basically a positive person, and she’d learned the hard way her future wasn’t as easily planned as she’d once believed.
If he’d only opened up to her about his family, the day would’ve truly been perfect. She would get there. She knew she would.
Despite her efforts to keep this casual, she found herself planning for the end of the summer, for the next six months, for the next year. In every one of those plans, Alex appeared. She couldn’t help herself. She was a character in one of her books, and he was the knight who had rescued her and would take her to the land of happily ever after. There was one proble
m. She knew better than anyone that romance novels were pure fantasy and didn’t mirror real life. They were entertaining and fun and habit-forming, but the men in her books weren’t real men.
She was halfway through her next book. The words were flying from her fingers. She was living her story, and she wasn’t sure how it would end.
Rosalind did her best to pack a lifetime of memories into one summer, just in case those memories were all she had of Alex. Sometimes when he looked at her with an expression of such profound fondness, she wondered if they couldn’t make it work. After all, he’d said things yesterday that had given her hope.
She tried not to think how lonely and empty life would be without Alex in it. He’d leave a huge void she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to fill. That romantic, impractical side of her insisted they could make this work, they didn’t have to end it when he returned to Seattle. The practical side of her scoffed at her naivety. Still, she held on to her hope. And waited. Forcing herself to live in the moment and table her plans.
On Wednesday, she made arrangements to meet Clarissa for lunch. She didn’t want to be one of those people who ignored her friends when there was a guy in her life. They met at a small bistro on the water and found an empty table near the window overlooking Sunset Harbor.
Rosalind met her friend’s gaze. “Are you missing Jasper?”
“Oh, no.” Her friend sounded casual, as if Jasper’s exit from her life was nothing to her. Rosalind marveled at Clarissa’s ability to move on after such an intense love affair. How did she do it?
“Do you have plans to see him?”
Clarissa gaped at her as if she were several chapters short of a full book. “Roz, it was just a summer fling. We’re done.”
“Oh, well, okay.” Her friend’s ability to shrug off a hot and heavy relationship and move on was nothing short of amazing, while at the same time Rosalind felt sorry for her reluctance to form lasting relationships with men. Sure, she’d been married but never really been wrapped up in the man, not like Rosalind was wrapped up in Alex. Rosalind considered she might be the one with the problem. She’d jumped into her own summer fling that was anything but—at least for her.
“Jasper was fun for a short while, but his lifestyle doesn’t mesh with mine. I already have a child and don’t need another. Roz, being around him drove home the fact that I need to grow up. Quit partying and focus on my career and my daughter.”
Rosalind nodded. She couldn’t possibly dispute Clarissa’s statement on all counts. Jasper was a party boy, going from one fun time to the next, until he crashed so hard he slept for the next day or so. No woman in her right mind needed a guy like that in her life on a permanent basis, especially not when that women had a young daughter.
“How are things going with you and Alex? You seem pretty tight these last few weeks.”
“It’s all good.” She kept her voice light, as if the relationship was as casual as Clarissa and Jasper’s.
“I know you. Spill. What’s the deal?”
Rosalind hesitated but the need to talk about Alex was too strong. “Alex is incredible. Kind, generous, supportive. Alex thinks I’m a talented writer, and my bruised ego can use the confidence boost. He also loves to take walks and learn about the history of the island. Sometimes I think he’s too good to be true.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Rosalind was dying to tell someone how she was feeling. After all, if she couldn’t tell Clarissa, who could she tell? Taking a deep breath, she jumped in with both feet. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Instead of being happy for her, Clarissa frowned and shook her head as if to clear it. “You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m falling for him. I get the feeling he might feel the same. He said as much yesterday.” She was giddy with excitement and wanted to share with her friend.
Clarissa shook her head and sighed, her expression laced with pity. “Oh, Roz, you poor, naive girl. You must get out more.”
“Why are you looking at me like that? Why can’t you be happy for me?” Rosalind stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. Her stomach lurched in protest, and she swallowed hard.
“Roz, guys like Jasper and Alex are players. They aren’t in this for the long haul, and if they were, they’d be hooking up with a movie star or pop singer or supermodel, not small-town girls.”
“Guys like them? What does that mean?”
“You’ve known him for over a month, been dating him for a month, and you haven’t Googled him?”
“I’ve been avoiding it. The public Alex isn’t the Alex I know.”
“The public Alex can’t be separated from the private Alex. They’re the same person.”
“Alex is one of the biggest players in the NHL, and I don’t mean on the ice. He’s not boyfriend material. He’s never had a long-term girlfriend to my knowledge. I don’t mean to hurt you, but you have to face facts. I bet you’re already planning the wedding. Roz, this isn’t a romance novel.”
But it could be, couldn’t it? Besides, her friend had developed into a cynic when it came to love.
“You do live a sheltered life. You might be the only person on this island who doesn’t know what a man slut and partier Alex is. He’s not a character who can be tamed by the love of good woman. The rumor is that Alex was sent here by Sockeye management to cool his heels and prove he doesn’t have substance abuse problems. He’s lying low until the heat is off. After winning the Stanley Cup, he went on an epic two-week drinking binge, hooking up with every available model and female celebrity on the West Coast. His pictures are plastered all over the internet. He’s a playboy, and you’re his entertainment du jour while he’s on the island. He is not a man to fall in love with. He’s not capable of reciprocating. This man is a player, and he’s playing you.”
Playing her?
Rosalind went still. Nothing moved. She was surprised her heart was still beating. Her brain refused to process what she was being told. She was cold, oh, so cold, yet numb down to her toes. Clarissa took her hand and squeezed it. He couldn’t be. They’d shared so much yesterday, in feelings if not in words.
Roz’s face flushed with embarrassment. She gazed out at the water lapping at the shoreline. The gentle movement of the tide in and out had always comforted her in the past, but not this time. She was heartsick, inside and out. Everything squeezed in on her. Smothering her. Pushing her to face reality. Yet she fought it. Alex had feelings for her. No one knew him like she did.
“Roz, I don’t mean to be cruel, but Alex is damaged goods. I’m not sure he’s capable of anything beyond a superficial physical relationship. Jasper told me all about him. They’re partying buddies, but Alex keeps to himself on a personal level.”
“I think I’m…different. He’s opened up to me.”
“Has he? Did Alex tell you about his family?”
“Only that he doesn’t have a family.” She wanted to run. To scream. He wouldn’t tell her about his family. He’d avoided the subject or flat-out gotten angry if they were brought up.
“He did have one. They’re all gone. Killed in a suspicious house fire, which Alex believes was a Russian mob hit. He was playing junior hockey in Canada at the time and somewhat blames himself for not being there. Jasper says he never went back to Russia after that. In fact, he became a Canadian citizen, even played on the Olympic hockey team for Canada.”
Rosalind’s head was reeling. She’d thought she knew him so well, but she didn’t know him at all. She had no idea who the man in her bed every night really was because obviously he wasn’t who he pretended to be.
“I’ve said enough. He needs to tell you the rest. Not me.” Clarissa studied Rosalind’s stricken face. “Are you okay? I dumped a lot on you.”
“I’m fine. I need time to absorb everything. It’s a…bit of a shock.”
“I can only imagine. I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”
“I appreciate that you did. I need to
leave and process this on my own. Do you mind?”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”
“I’m positive. I’ll call you later.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
Rosalind rose from the table and walked briskly home, not wanting anyone to see her. She kept her head down and was soon in the safety of her small cottage. She called her mother, claiming she’d come down with the flu, and asked if she could finish off the day at the store.
Once that chore was done, Rosalind fired up the laptop and Googled Alex “Rush” Markov. Six-point-seven million results popped up and blew her away. She began to go through the top and most recent hits, scanning each sordid article and eyeing every picture of Alex with beautiful, half-naked women hanging on his arm, sometimes both arms. There were countless videos of an inebriated Alex doing things like pouring a drink on a redhead’s chest and licking the alcohol from her cleavage while some of his teammates cheered him on. Another of him making out with an anonymous woman in a tight dress up against the wall of a club. His hands were clutching the woman’s bare butt. The numerous images, videos, and articles were overwhelming and damning. Headlines played across the screen, such as The NHL’s Party Boy Takes his Debauchery to New Limits.
Oh my God. She couldn’t imagine anyone doing such things in public, especially not her Alex. Only this guy wasn’t her Alex because her Alex didn’t exist. He’d been carefully constructed from her vivid imagination and naïve need to be loved.
He had played her.
She was sick to her stomach. She’d been clueless about what she was getting into. She’d been falling in love while he’d thought nothing of her other than a distraction from boring island life. Not only was she naïve, she was a fool. First David, now Alex.
She was incapable of sleeping with a man and not falling in love with him. Having a fling wasn’t in her DNA, so she’d imagined more. Had he used her, just like all these other women? The big difference was they knew the score, while she hadn’t even been playing the same game. Her game had been for keeps. His had been for fun.
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