“Are we eating casual, Michael?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’d like the chance to wear something other than jeans.” He laughed low in his throat. “I’ll give you a respite from hickville tonight.”
She forced a little laugh, too, willing herself to loosen up, although the word hickville didn’t seem so funny. “No problem. I’ll see you at seven.”
Hanging up the receiver, Alex calculated that she had a good hour to put in on the ranch’s book work, and still have time to freshen up before Michael arrived. She hurried to the room she had named “the office,” and booted up the computer.
The room was sparse, with only a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet gracing its interior. The desktop, however, was suitably piled with stacks of paperwork of all size and denomination. First and foremost, there were quite a few bills to be paid. Michael Dalton’s advancement had saved her from taking out a loan. Brow furrowed, she got down to business.
She was placing postage stamps on the last of the bill envelopes when a knock resounded from downstairs. Alex jumped up and ran to the window. A black BMW was parked in the driveway.
“Shit!” As she raced down the stairway, the hall clock chimed seven low bongs. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and threw open the front door.
“Michael... hello.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Did we get our signals crossed?”
“No, no,” she laughed nervously. “Come on in. I lost track of time, as usual.”
He stepped inside, and Alex observed how smoothly he could mask annoyance with a smile. She had forgotten how tall and imposing a figure he was, lean and darkly handsome. She suddenly felt on pins and needles.
“I’ll apologize in advance for the house... I haven’t had time to clean it yet this week. That had been on my agenda for tonight, actually.”
He laughed. “Well I’m glad I rescued you from such a horrible fate. You know, you should get a cleaning woman in.”
She sighed. “I know. Someday I’ll get around to it.” She resisted the urge to redden at his curious look. Michael Dalton was not accustomed to dating women who scrubbed floors in their free time. Hell, she was not accustomed to it! In Richard’s condominium, she never would have dreamed of all she did now...
The silence grew oppressive and she broke it hurriedly. “Michael, let me get you something to drink while you wait. It will only take me a few minutes to get ready.”
“No problem,” he murmured, the smooth smile still firmly in place. Alex felt his eyes on her back as she hurried into the kitchen and threw open the fridge. Nothing, but beer. She felt a moment’s panic, and then remembered the bottle of Italian Pinot Grigio on the basement steps. As she screwed out the cork, she realized her fingers were trembling.
Calm down, idiot child, she chastised herself. Michael wouldn’t bite her, after all. He was a client, and a good one at that.
Summoning her brightest smile, she walked to the living room and handed him the glass. Michael brought the crystal to his lips casually, observing her disarray over the rim. Her apprehension dissipated somewhat, when he took a sip and winked at her.
“Delicious, Alex. I’ll be fine, go ahead and change.”
“Oh. Thank you, Michael. I’m sorry about the delay. I had a shower before I started in the office, so it won’t take me long. Make yourself at home.”
When she had disappeared up the stairs, Michael took a long look around the living room. His lip curled and he nearly laughed aloud. Shabby, he thought, with absolutely no chic. Tisk, tisk, Ms. Winters. The rooms were dowdy and poorly furnished with old country crap, much of which had obviously been leftover from the Wilkens fossil and his invalid, stubborn wife.
He turned and wandered into the kitchen, opening a drawer now and again. He found nothing of interest, although he hadn’t really expected to. He kept his smile firmly in place as he gazed out of the kitchen window into the backyard. The sun was low in the west, but the rays were still hardy and golden, loathe to give into the twilight. But the night would eventually come to dominate, as it always did. He loved the night.
Stepping away from the counter, he swirled the last of the wine in the glass, then downed it. He contemplated the brown little couch, and then decided he might stain his Versace suit should he actually sit on the ancient fabric. Boredom gnawed at him, and he felt his pulse quicken with irritation.
Why was he even toying with this woman? He fingered the small switchblade that he always carried, concealed by his suit jacket. A habit from his years on the street, but it would do the trick, quickly and efficiently. Although Ridgeway had counseled caution, Marcus knew the entire issue could be resolved this evening, with a little of his kind of expert coaxing. Now, in fact. His pulse quickened at the potential.
Alex came down the stairs then, attired in a classy plum suit that fit her curves beautifully. Her legs were bare of hose, and caught his attention immediately. Those legs were long and perfectly sculpted, well-muscled but tempered with soft, lush flesh. God, he loved a fit woman’s legs. The suit jacket was cut to reveal a lacy undergarment, and the hint of swelling cleavage beneath.
Unconsciously, he drew in a long steadying breath. This was the reason he was taking his slow, sweet time. He wanted to savor every inch of Ms. Alexandra Winters. She had made him hard already. It surprised him, but he actually wanted her willing. At first, anyway. But God, how he loved when wanting changed to fear.
~~~~~~~
Alex approached Michael a little hesitantly, knocked off guard by his very intense perusal of her person. Abstractedly touching the soft waves of hair she had, on an impulse, allowed to flow down her shoulders uninhibited, a smile curved her lips.
“I hope this will do,” she offered shyly, “In ten minutes, you know, this was about the best I could manage.”
Michael smiled at her, his dark eyes shining. “You look devastating, Alexandra.” Catching her hand, he turned it palm up, then softly pressed his mouth firmly against the soft and tender skin.
Alex felt a moment of shock. Michael’s mouth was hot, so much so that she had to struggle to keep from pulling her hand away from the burning sensation. She wasn’t sure if the resultant churn of her stomach was pleasure or panic.
Michael righted himself, still smiling, and reluctantly released her hand. “Are we ready?” he murmured.
Her hazel eyes met his dark ones, they seemed nearly black, and if she read them correctly, they were quite ready to devour her whole.
“Yes, let me just grab my purse.” Alex turned away nervously, pulling her wits about her. It had been too damn long since she had been in the presence of wealthy, successful men. If she didn’t watch it, she would make a fool of herself.
And I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen, she thought to herself staunchly. She knew the game. And she deserved a night out - and in the company of a man like Michael Dalton. He was young, gorgeous, and wealthy, although it was becoming increasingly apparent that his romantic interest was growing.
As Michael held the door for her, she tried to thrust the nagging memory of the heat of Jamie Sheldon’s hungry mouth from her mind.
~~~~~~~
The interior of the BMW was as dark as the night enclosing around it, but for the dim glow of the console. The SiriusXM was silent, as it had been for the entire trip, but the low hum of the engine held a strangely maternal quality. Relaxing against the smooth, buttery leather, Alex felt snug and comforted against the reach of the hungry blackness beyond.
Michael had driven for nearly an hour as the sunset diminished in the west, dimming in hue to a quavering, fragile rust before giving way entirely to the strengthening dusk. They had taken the path of lonely, back roads, whisking through deep hollows and over mountain passes with the guidance of Siri, and always, the dark line of trees struggled in vain to swallow them. Alex had never experienced a night so seemingly thick and heavy, she felt as if the sleek vehicle was thrumming deep beneath the ocean.
To her relief, Michael had p
roved an exceptional conversationalist, picking up the pace when silence grew heavy, knowing instinctively what topic to turn to when she faltered or seemed ill at ease.
Eventually, they crossed over the border and into New York State before arriving at their destination: a small, quaint village called Willow’s Creek. The village harbored a beautiful lake that glimmered as if alive when they drove slowly along its banks.
Michael took her to a lovely little lakeshore inn, where they had partaken of fine red wine of the Finger Lakes region and excellent Italian cuisine. In the warm, candlelit dining room, her unease had slipped away, and she had a surprisingly good time in Michael’s company.
Now, as she glanced at the numbers on the console, Alex wasn’t surprised that the time glared 10:35. The hours had seemed to slip away into the enjoyment of the evening. She slanted a look at Michael, who was concentrating on the poor road conditions leading to the ranch. His features were nearly indistinguishable, but for the slope of his patrician nose. He growled low in his throat as the Beamer took the abuse of another pothole. She couldn’t hold back her own giggle.
“This isn’t amusing,” he muttered. “Your township supervisors should be shot.”
“But you’re an exceptional driver, Michael. I’ve hit my head on the roof every single time I’ve driven this stretch myself.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then eventually chuckled at her comment. “I’m just not used to back-woods living.”
“Oh, it grows on you.”
“Not on me, Alexandra. Not on me.” When they turned into the ranch, Alex heaved a sigh of relief, feeling uncomfortable now, sensing his discontent. Michael shut the motor off, and the gleam of the porch light struck through the interior. In the play of shadow and light, he appeared predatory as he watched her.
He smiled then, and his face was once again openly handsome. But she realized that she didn’t want to invite him inside. Not tonight, not yet. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t even sure she was attracted to this man. He was nothing like Jamie.
“Are you staying at your weekend home, or are you driving all the way back to Binghamton tonight?”
He stared at her for a moment, his smile gone, his black eyes penetrating, and Alex knew with a lurch of her stomach that he had hoped to spend the entire night with her. Before she could breathe, Michael leaned toward her, brushing his lips across her own.
When she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, and she felt the hot flick of his tongue in her mouth. Her heart began racing, and she realized with a start that it was fear, and not desire. The thick musk of his cologne seemed instantly overwhelming.
Alex placed a hand against his chest, and gently broke the kiss. Disconcerted by the nauseous feeling in her stomach, she tried to smile at him. “Thank you, Michael. It was a lovely evening. I... it was really nice to get out again, I just...I’m very tired, and...”
“It’s all right, Alexandra. It’s a little too soon for you?”
She blinked at him, faintly relieved at the excuse he provided. “Yes…. That’s very true. I suppose that’s what I’m feeling.”
Over dinner, she had told him about Richard’s accident, little bits and details of her life in Washington, and a skimmed down version of how she had come to own Eden Ranch. He had been an avid listener, and had seemed genuinely interested in her life, past and present.
But she’d given him no reason to think that her marriage had been unfulfilling. And that sudden, predatory kiss was not the kind given to a woman so recently widowed. It unnerved her, and shook the marrow of all of her initial perceptions.
“I hope you know that I’d like to see you again. Soon.”
She licked her lips nervously, and he touched her arm. “Alex?”
She gave a little start. “Oh... of course, Michael. Like you mentioned on the phone, perhaps you would like to watch a session with one of the horses?”
He nodded, settling back into his seat. Alex felt some of the tension drain from her body when there was distance between them. She could smile again. “That would be great,” he murmured. “I’ll give you a call.”
“Good night, Michael.” She scooted from the BMW and with a little wave, closed the door, and slipped into the house. Standing just inside the door, she listened to the crunch of wheels as he rolled down the driveway.
“Damn it,” she muttered, dropping her purse and keys onto the television stand. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
What move was the correct one now? Michael was a client, and an important one. But his sudden and intense romantic interest unnerved her. He had the wrong idea, for sure.
What a mess I make, everywhere I step, Alex thought wryly, shrugging out of the blazer. She glanced around the quiet living room, chewing her lip. No way could she sleep. She wanted to talk to someone. Anyone.
Not just anyone, her brain crowed stubbornly, admit it, you want to talk to Jamie.
All night, she had found herself comparing Michael to Jamie. And although both were devastatingly sexy, they were as different as night and day. Michael should have been more to her liking, the very type of man that Alexandra Aimee Winters would have once found irresistible. But why did thoughts of Jamie’s hot and insistent mouth on her own willing and eager one continue to overpower everything else?
“He must be royally ticked at me,” she grumbled admittedly. She’d seen or heard nothing of him for the past week. Diana had stopped by once, but there’d been no mention of Jamie in their talk. Alex was too embarrassed to ask about him, afraid that the sharp woman would know.
Know what, Alex? That you have the hots for her son? That the two of you were going at it in the stable like a pair of randy teenagers? She flushed at her own thoughts.
She wandered over to the phone, and fingered it indecisively. She noticed suddenly that the message light was beeping and pushed the rewind. Maybe he had called.
“Hi Alex, this is Ginny. It’s about ten- o’- clock Friday night. I was afraid it was too late to call, but I guess not, ha! You’re out. But if you get in and want to do something, give me a buzz.”
Alex smiled at the bubbly message. Ginny Lewin was the woman who had been her waitress at the North Fork restaurant on that first night in town. Alex had run into her at the grocery store, and they had chatted in the canned vegetable isle for over twenty minutes, striking it off instantly.
Ginny had promised to take her out soon, share a beer or two and continue their conversation. And now she’d followed through with the promise. Alex dialed Ginny’s number, suddenly hopeful that she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the evening alone, after all.
Ginny was still game for going out, and Alex ran upstairs to refresh her makeup and clothes, replacing the plum blazer with a silky black tee. “I’ll keep the skirt,” she decided, studying her figure in the mirror with narrowed eyes. “It’s Friday night. What the hell.”
~~~~~~~
Hidden by the thick cape of night, Marcus Allen watched the pair of taillights disappear into the blackness. His instincts were correct, for his demure, little Ms. Winters had been too keyed up to simply go to sleep so early on a Friday night. No, she had called a girlfriend to pick her up.
Marcus had identified a pale female face framed with obnoxiously poufy red hair as the woman had pulled into the driveway. “You lying little bitch, Alex,” he muttered, running three fingers through his thick, black hair.
He gritted his teeth. Alexandra had not wanted him in her bed, not on this night anyway. He marveled at the roiling in his gut. No woman ever turned him away, not after his mouth had laid such hot possession upon her.
Marcus flicked the ignition over and adjusted the temperature control within the BMW’s interior. Sweat had broken forth on his brow; it was a humid night, filled with whirling insects and cloying pollen, stifling him.
His vehicle’s climate-control system had a dust-pollen remover, and an activated charcoal filter that automatically re-circulated the cabin’s atmosphere upon dete
cting a significant increase in contaminates. Cool, sterile air streamed over him, and he breathed deeply, gaining control.
So where had Alexandra gone now? She didn’t seem to be the partying type. Perhaps she was a closet lesbian, and had gone out for a night of orgy with the red-haired slut. His cock stirred in his pants, and he shifted slightly, intrigued by the image in his head, and again, that surprised him. Alexandra had such a lithe, supple body, perfectly formed for the arts of pleasuring a man.
Yet... perhaps it was women that turned on Ms. Winters. Maybe he should require Andrea to join them for a while, and make her do things to Alexandra she had previously only dreamed about.
“I could make your body hum, Alexandra. I’d bet you’d even enjoy it this time around.” Marcus smiled, catlike, in the dark.
While researching her late husband, Marcus had discovered that Richard possessed a small brain, and likely an equally small and untalented cock. Not the case with Marcus.
Without thought, he shifted the BMW into first, intent on following the car to its destination. At the entrance to Eden Ranch, he paused, forcing his foot on the brake. The car thrummed, patiently waiting for his command.
Marcus felt a glimmer of unease. He had just spent the entire evening with the bitch, and not once had he thought of the task that Ridgeway required of him. And the payout was big. But instead, his mind had focused only on Alexandra on taking her, possessing her. Making her his. Replacing Andrea with newer, sweeter flesh.
Breathing deeply once again, he focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He concentrated on attaining the calm, calculating focus of mind to which he was accustomed. He would NOT let his male compulsions rule, yet.
Gritting his teeth, he turned the BMW in the opposite direction that the red-haired bitch had driven. Later, in the forced-air comfort of his hotel room, he could work on harnessing his baser desires into something lucrative.
Waiting For Eden (Eden Series) Page 17