"Go home, Mr. Morrow, please. I'm looking for privacy, too."
His laughter faded. He studied her once again, and again, despite herself, she felt as if she was growing warm. As if there was something special about his eyes, about the way they fell over her and entered into her.
"Go -- " She broke off, startled, as a shrill sound erupted in the night. She was so surprised that she nearly screamed. Then she was heartily glad that she had not, for it was only the phone.
"Oh," she murmured. Then she sighed with resignation, looking at him. "All right, where is it?"
"Parlor."
"Living room?"
"That living room is called a parlor."
She stiffened her shoulders and started for the parlor. She caught the phone on the fifth ring. It was Gene. Her greatgrandfather had turned ninety-five last Christmas and could have passed for sixty. Alexi was ridiculously proud of him, but then she felt that she had a right to be. He was lean, but as straight as an arrow and as determined and sly as an old fox. He seldom ailed, and Alexi thought that she knew his secret. He'd never -- through a long life of trials and tribulations -- taken the time to feel sorry for himself, he had never ceased to love life, and he had never apologized for an absolute fascination with people. Everything and everyone interested Gene.
But he was too old, he had assured Alexi, to start the massive project of refurbishing his historical inheritance, the Brandywine house outside Fernandina Beach.
He had known she needed a place. A place to hide, to nurse her wounds. She had never explained everything to him; the bitter truth had been too hurtful and humiliating to admit, even to Gene.
Gene's voice came to her gruffly. "Thank God you're there. I tried the hotel in town, and the receptionist told me you had never checked in."
"Gene! Yes, I--"
"Young woman, where is your sense?"
At that moment, Alexi wanted to rap her beloved relative on the knuckles. His voice was so clear that she was sure Rex Morrow, who had followed her back into the parlor, was hearing every word.
"Gene, I really didn't want to stay in town. I made it into the city by six--"
"It's pitch-dark out there!"
"Well, yes--"
"Alexi, there are dangerous people in this world, even in a small place--maybe especially in a small place. You could have been attacked or assaulted or--''
There are dangerous people out here, and I was assaulted! Alexi almost snapped. Rex Morrow was watching her, smiling. He could hear every word.
He took the phone out of her hand.
"What are you--"
"Shh," he told her, sitting on the back of the Victorian sofa and casually dangling a leg. He smiled with a great deal of warmth when he spoke to Gene.
"Gene, Rex here."
"Rex, thank God. I'm glad I asked you to watch the place!"
"Gene, there's really not much going on out here, you know. No real danger, though Alexi might tell you differently. We had a bit of a run-in. Why didn't you give her the key?"
Alexi snatched the phone from him, reddening again. "He did give me the key."
"What? What?" They could both hear Gene's voice. "Key? I did give Alexi the key."
Rex arched a brow. ''Why didn't you...use it?'' he asked her slowly, once again as if he were speaking with a child who had proved to have little adult comprehension. "Or do you prefer breaking in the window over walking through the front door?"
"You broke a window?" Gene was shouting. For such an incredibly old man, he could shout incredibly loudly, Alexi thought.
"The key doesn't work!" Alexi shouted back.
There was a long sigh on the other end. ' The key works, Alexi. You have to twist it in the lock. It's old. Old things have to be worked as carefully as old people. They're temperamental."
Rex Morrow stretched out a hand to her, palm up. “Give me the key."
"You go find it!" she hissed. "It's in my purse that you were tearing up!"
"Now what's going on?" Gene asked.
"Your wonder boy is going to go check it," Alexi said sweetly.
"Well, it works--you'll see," Gene said, mollified. "Now, you get someone in there right away to fix that window. You hear me?"
"First thing tomorrow, Gene," Alexi promised. "Hey!" she protested. Rex had dumped the contents of her purse onto the sofa to find the single key.
"Found it," he assured her.
"Oh, Lord," she groaned.
"What's wrong now?" Gene demanded.
'Nothing. Everything is wonderful. Just super," she muttered.
Rex Morrow was on his way back to the hallway and at the front door. "Really, Gene. I'm here and I'm fine, and you just take care of yourself, okay?"
"Maybe you should get a dog, Alexi. A great big German shepherd or a Doberman. I'd feel better--"
"Gene, why ever would I need a dog when you left me a prowling cat?" she asked innocently.
Her great-grandfather started to say something, but he paused instead. She could see him in her mind's eye, scratching his white head in consternation.
"I'll keep in touch," Alexi promised hastily. "I'm excited to be here; it's a wonderful old place. I promise I'll fix it up with lots of love and tenderness. Love you. Bye!"
She hung up before he could say anything else. Then she stared at the phone for a moment, a nostalgic smile on her lips. She adored him. She was very lucky to have him, she knew. In the midst of pain, chaos and loneliness, he had always been there for her.
"The key works fine," Rex announced.
He was back in the room, extending the key to her. She took it in silence, compressing her lips as he stared at her.
"You have to pull the door while you turn it," he said. "Want to try it while I'm still here?"
"No. Oh, all right--yes. Thank you."
Stiffly she preceded him down the hallway to the door. She thought that maybe she'd rather lock herself out and use the window again than falter in front of him, but really, why should she care?
She opened the door and threw the bolt from the inside. She slid the key in and twisted it, and it worked like a dream. Disgusted, Alexi thought it was a sad day when one couldn't even trust a piece of metal.
"I guess I've got it," she murmured.
Arms crossed over his chest, he shook his head. "Step outside and lock the door and try it. That's when you have the problem."
She stepped outside, but before she closed the door she asked him, "How did you get in?"
"I have my own key." He closed the door for her.
Alexi slipped her key into the lock. With the door closed, it was frightfully dark again. She could barely find the hole, and then she couldn't begin to get the damn thing to twist.
"Pull! Pull on the knob!"
She did. After a few more fumbles she got the key to twist, and the door opened.
She walked in, a smile of satisfaction brightening her eyes.
"Got it." She gritted her teeth. "Thank you."
"I wouldn't be quite so pleased. It took you long enough." Arms still casually crossed, he stared down at her, shaking his head. "And you're going to take on the task of reconstruction?''
"I'm a whiz at electricity."
"Are you?"
"Will you please go home?"
He smiled at her. "Your face is smudged."
"Is it?" She smiled serenely. She was sure it was. Her stockings were torn, her skirt was probably beyond repair, and she undoubtedly resembled a used mop.
He came a step nearer to her, raising a hand to her cheek. She remembered the tenderness with which he had held her when she was trembling and shaking in fear. When she had been vulnerable and weak.
She felt that same tenderness come from him now and the sensual draw of the rueful curl of his mouth. She should have stepped back. She didn't. She felt the brush of his thumb against her flesh and caught her breath. He didn't want her there; he had said so. And she wanted to be alone.
She didn't move, however. Except for the
trembling that started up, inside of her this time. She just felt that touch.
"Good night, Ms. Jordan," he said softly. He was out the door, warning her to bolt it, before she thought to reply.
Chapter 2
Alexi rinsed her face at the sink and dried it with paper towels. She had showered in the powder room beneath the stairs, but that was as far as she had ventured in her new realm--which wasn't really new at all. Twenty years before, she had spent a summer here with Gene. But twenty years was a long time, and the house was truly a disaster since Gene had left it so many months ago.
She sat at the butcher-block table to do her makeup, thinking that she didn't look much better than she had the night before. She had slept poorly. Sleeping on the kitchen floor hadn't helped, but strangely, once Rex Morrow had left, she had been really uneasy--too frightened to explore any further. But when she had slept, nightmares had awakened her again and again. Nightmares of John combining with the horrid fear that had assailed her with Rex's first touch last night. Naturally, perhaps. She'd been attacked. But then her dreams had become even more disconcerting. She'd dreamed of Rex Morrow in a far gentler way, of his eyes on her, of his touch, of his smile. Dreamed of the assurance in his voice. All night the visions had filtered through her mind. Violence, tenderness--both had stolen from her any hope of a good night's sleep.
She felt better once her makeup was on. Even before she had left home on her own--before John--she had learned that with makeup she could pretend that she was wearing a mask and that she could hide all expression and emotion behind it. That wasn't true, of course. But as she had aged, she had learned to create masks with her features, and the more years slipped by her, the greater comfort she took in concealing her feelings.
Rex Morrow had seen her feelings, she reminded herself. But it had proved as uncomfortable for him as it had for her. He wanted her gone, right? He valued his privacy; he wanted the land all to himself.
"Sorry, Mr. Morrow," she murmured out loud. "I'm not quite as pathetic as I appeared last night. And I'm staying."
She took a sip of coffee, then bit her lower lip. She wished she could forget how his eyes had moved over her, how his thumb had felt when he'd smoothed away the smudge on her cheek.
And she wished that she would get up and start cleaning.
But she decided that she wasn't going to plunge right in. Chicken? she challenged herself. Maybe. After last night, she deserved to take her time. She'd explore later. She was simply feeling lethargic. Today she'd go into town and find a rental car. Today, she reminded herself, was half over. It had been almost twelve when she had risen, because it had been at least six when she had finally slept.
It was three in the afternoon when she requested a taxi at last. She'd called Gene to assure him that her first night had gone well and that she was happy at the house. She told him the truth about what had happened with Rex when she had arrived, but she didn't tell him how frightened she had been or how she had collapsed in tears into a total stranger's arms. She laughed, making light of the incident. Anyone would have been terrified, she assured herself. But Gene was astute. She was afraid he might have learned more about her past from the incident than she wanted.
By four-thirty she had rented a little Datsun. She had made friends with the taxi driver and the rental car clerk-- everyone knew Gene, it seemed. They were glad to meet his great-granddaughter and fascinated to discover that she was the Helen of Troy lady. Alexi was a bit uneasy to find that she was so recognizable--she would have preferred anonymity. She convinced herself that it would be okay, then decided that she was going to like small-town living. The people were warm--if just a little bit nosy.
"You just be careful out there," the old gentleman at the agency warned her. "That peninsula can be a mighty scary place."
“Why?'' Alexi asked. But he had already turned to help the businessman in line behind her. She shrugged and left for her car. Once inside, she tapped idly against the steering wheel. She should get going on her shopping. There was nothing in the house. And whether she had a professional cleaner or not, she needed all kinds of detergents. And bug sprays. She was sure that except for the kitchen the place was crawling.
But she wasn't really ready for work yet. And she decided she would drive back to the peninsula. It would be dark before long, and she wanted to see the little spit of land in its entirety.
Alexi started the car, then froze. She stared at the blond head and broad shoulders of a man slipping into a rented Mustang next to her car. For a moment, her stomach and heart careened; panic set in. Then he turned. It wasn't John. She exhaled, shaking.
He couldn't have followed her here, she promised herself. She had finished up with the Helen of Troy campaign--and then she had run. He couldn't know where. And no one would tell him.
She took several deep breaths and eased out of the parking lot. She got lost only once, and then she was on the one road that led to Gene's house. It was a horrible road, she quickly discovered. The town didn't own it, Gene had told her once; he and Rex Morrow owned it jointly. And apparently, Alexi thought with a smile, neither of them had been very interested in keeping it up. There were potholes everywhere.
She slowed to accommodate the bumps and juts, but apparently she did so just a moment too late. The car suddenly sputtered and died, spewing up a froth of steam from the front. Alexi stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then swore at herself and crawled out of the driver's seat.
For fifteen minutes she tried to figure out how to open the hood; once it was open, she wondered why she had bothered. Steam was still spewing out, and she didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. She looked around, wondering how long a walk it was to the house. The peninsula was only about four miles long and one across, but both houses were at the far end of it.
Alexi swore and kicked a tire. She decided that people lied when they said that doing such things couldn't help-- she felt ten times better for having kicked the car. She was annoyed that she didn't know what to do, but then she had never kept a car. She just hadn't needed one in New York.
It was getting dark, she perceived suddenly. And if she hadn't been stuck here, she would have thought that it was beautiful. The sky was burnt orange and pink, a lovely background for the pines and shrubs that littered the sandy ground. She had no idea how quickly the darkness fell there.
Alexi gave the car a withering stare, then decided she had best start walking toward the house. She could phone the rental agency, and they could call a mechanic and get the car out to the house for her.
Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Alexi started to walk. It really was beautiful, she assured herself. The sandy road at sunset, everything around it silent, the smell of the ocean heavy on the air. A breeze lifted her hair and touched her cheeks. She could imagine having a horse out here; it would be a beautiful place to ride. All the wonderful pines and palms and the endless sand, and beyond the trees, the endless ocean.
The sunset coloring around her slipped; the sky became gray. Alexi was glad that the house was on a peninsula; she knew she was walking in the right direction. There were no lights out here; she remembered the horrid blackness of the night before.
Suddenly she became aware of a sound behind her, following her. She stopped; the sound stopped. It was her imagination, she told herself. Darkness and solitude could do things like that. Who was she kidding? She was frightened. And she had a right to be. After last night...
Last night, Rex had pounced upon her right away. She had crawled through the window, and he had quickly grabbed her. This sound behind her was... stealthy. She was being stalked.
No. Her fears were getting out of hand. Rex had had an explanation. He'd thought that she was breaking into the house. But John couldn't have followed her--and John was a memory of misery, not terror. And this...this was a feeling that something evil was breathing down her spine. That some real injury was intended for her.
She inhaled--and then she started to run. Maybe her parents,
in their distant wisdom, had been right. Maybe she shouldn't have come here, where there was no help, where there was nothing but darkness and the whisper of the breeze and if she screamed forever, no one would hear her.
She was breathless; she was certain that she heard soft footfalls on the sand behind her. She turned around to look and then screamed with total abandon as she ran smack into something hard.
She swung around again, looking up in amazement. She was about to fall when arms steadied her.
"Rex!"
"What in God's name are you doing, running like that?"
"Someone was following me."
She saw the doubt in his eyes and turned around again. Naturally, no one was there. Rex's hands were still on her arms. She looked up at him again, cleared her throat and stepped back. "I'm telling you the truth."
He walked around her and picked up her purse, which she hadn't realized she had dropped. He handed it to her. "We're the only inhabitants out here," he said lightly. She could still see doubt in his eyes.
"I didn't imagine you last night," she said angrily. His eyes seemed to darken as he studied her more intently, and for some reason she flushed uneasily. "I don't imagine things."
"I'm sure you don't."
He didn't believe her; she could hear it in his tone.
"I'm telling you--"
"What are you doing walking out here, anyway?"
"I was driving. The stupid rental car blew."
"Blew what?"
"Something."
He nodded. "Come on. We'll go back for it."
They didn't speak during the walk; he strode quickly and Alexi had enough to do to keep up. She was panting when they reached the car.
The steam had stopped. Rex took a look under the hood, then walked around to the driver's seat, arching a brow at Alexi as he took the keys from the ignition. He opened the trunk, found a container of water and filled something in the front. He slid into the driver's seat, turned the motor over--and it caught. He opened the passenger door.
"You blew a hose, that's all. I can pick one up for you in the morning. Come on, get in. I'll get you home. It'll go that far."
Alexi crawled in beside him and leaned against the seat.
Strangers In Paradise Page 3