by Laura Moore
“I appreciate your restraint,” Alex said dryly.
Byrne shrugged. “Sydney would have hated visiting me in prison.” Cocking his head, he regarded Alex intently. “So what about you, Miller? Do you still want Raines and Byrne on the job?”
Alex didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
For the first time Harry smiled. “Thanks. Syd’s done a terrific job organizing this party. I think your guests are going to be very happy. If it’s just the same to you, though, I think we’ll handle the remaining details at a safe remove. With Nancy Graves at La Plage to handle any hiccups, I doubt we’ll have to stay for the entire evening.”
“That would probably make the night less stressful for all concerned,” Alex agreed, with wry understatement. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume no news is good news.”
Harry nodded. “That’ll work.” He rose from his lounging position on the bench. “Mind if I ask a favor of you, Miller?”
“Ask away.”
“Would you sort of disappear for a while?”
Alex’s brows arched in surprise, but his expression cleared when Harry added quietly, “I’d like to make it as easy as possible for Sydney to make a dignified exit.”
And with that simple statement, it became obvious to Alex that Byrne understood Sydney in a way he never had—not even after months of going out with her. Harry clearly knew when to back off and give Sydney the space she needed, and when to step in and offer his support. No, Alex thought, he and Sydney had never even come close to this kind of caring.
Although she’d been little better than a royal pain in the butt these past few weeks, Alex was fond of Sydney. Now that it was well and truly finished between them, he hoped Sydney would see what she had in Harry Byrne. Though he wished he could go and find Gen, he realized that following both women down to the beach would only complicate the situation. He’d talk to Gen once Sydney had left with Harry.
More than happy to help Harry’s cause, he made an elaborate show of glancing at his watch. “Damn,” he said. “I just remembered I have a conference call scheduled with a California tech company. If you’ll excuse me.” He held out his hand to Byrne.
With a grin Harry shook it. “I’m glad I can like you now, Miller.”
Gen ignored the stitch in her side as she wrapped her fingers around Murphy’s collar and dragged him away from Sydney, who sat crumpled over her knees in the deep sand. Murphy had been trying to wedge his hairy muzzle into the space between the crook of her arm and her bowed head, no doubt trying to reach her face and lick her tearstained cheeks, as he did on the few occasions when Gen succumbed to a crying jag. As distraught as Sydney was, she didn’t seem to notice Murphy’s presence or even react when Gen pulled his wet snout away.
Gen stared at Sydney, feeling wretched herself, overwhelmed by guilt and a sense of perfidy. She’d kissed Alex, had moaned in his arms, reveled in the pleasure he gave her. What could she possibly say to Sydney to make this right?
Hoping she hadn’t imagined that Sydney’s sobbing had lessened, Gen nervously cleared her throat. “Sydney, I’m terribly sorry. I can’t explain how this thing between Alex and me happened, but I know Alex would—”
Sydney raised her head. Even crying she was beautiful, her dark eyes magnified by the wash of tears, the bright flags of color on her cheeks contrasting with her flawless ivory skin.
“No,” she said dully, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “You don’t know Alex at all, but I do. I knew this was coming, that he’d find someone else, but there was this small part of me that kept hoping and hoping—” She broke off, her lips trembling. With a visible effort, she pulled herself together. “I don’t understand what went wrong,” she whispered. “We could have had everything. But he wouldn’t commit. . . . He can’t commit. And now it’s really finally over,” she finished sadly.
More than anything, Gen wanted to defend Alex, but she was hardly in a position to do so. Not when she’d done everything but beg for the magic of his touch. “Sydney,” she tried again awkwardly, “Alex is a wonderful man. I’m sure if you talk to him, you can work this out.”
“No.” Sydney shook her head and rose to her feet. “No,” she repeated more firmly, “because it will happen again. He’ll never settle down with one woman,” she said, a grim certainty in her voice. “You know, I suspected from the beginning that something would happen between you and Alex.”
Gen opened her mouth to protest, to deny any “thing” between Alex and her, but Sydney was speaking again. “I understand why you’ve fallen for him. He’s handsome and rich and a fabulous lover. I can’t blame you—he must seem like Prince Charming to someone of your background.”
At any other time, Gen would have immediately retorted that there was nothing wrong with her background, thank you very much, but under the circumstances she decided to ignore Sydney’s condescension— she probably wasn’t even conscious of her gratingly superior attitude.
“But take my advice, Gen,” Sydney continued. “Whatever you do, don’t be foolish enough to fall in love with Alex. And be wise enough to walk away before he breaks your heart.” With a trembling hand she brushed at her still-damp cheeks, and sniffed. Suddenly something caught Sydney’s attention and her gaze became fixed. She straightened, her posture becoming proud and erect.
Gen glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see Alex coming toward them, and sighed in relief when instead she saw a dark-haired man. He waved and then stood waiting. Gen had the strange yet unshakeable impression that he would be willing to wait there indefinitely.
Sydney raised her arm, signaling that she’d seen him. “That’s my partner, Harry. I guess we’re leaving now. Good luck, Gen.” She smiled tightly. “You’ll need it.”
FIFTEEN
Gen tarried on the beach with Murphy long after Sydney’s departure. For the first time since her arrival in East Hampton, she was reluctant to return to her studio. She didn’t want to risk running into Alex and having to deal with the stupidity of her actions—of that bone-melting kiss—especially since she was half convinced that it would only take a single glance at his sinfully handsome face to make her forget just how foolish she’d been and throw herself at him again.
Dumb, dumb, dumb, she recited in a self-chastising litany as she marched along the wide beach that stretched for miles and miles. Her leg muscles were ready to snap like worn-out rubber bands from having walked so far in the deep sand. Even Murphy was no longer gamboling about or frolicking in the surf, merely plodding by her side. As she walked, Gen kept her gaze trained on the sand beneath her feet, afraid to look out over the sun-dappled sea, knowing it would remind her of the color of Alex’s eyes just before he’d kissed her. Which was why, in addition to mooning over Alex, she suffered the embarrassment of nearly bumping smack into him.
“Careful there,” he said, reaching out to steady her, frowning slightly when she recoiled from his touch. “That was some walk you took. I was starting to worry about you.” His eyes searched her face. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Of course,” Gen said, mustering a breezy and totally artificial smile. “I’m a big girl.” Determined to avoid his gaze, she glanced around and realized they weren’t far from Mrs. Miller’s house. From here, the A-line pitch of the shingle roof seemed to rise out of the dune grass. She started toward it. To her consternation, Alex fell into step beside her. Didn’t he know the meaning of the word “awkward”? she asked herself.
“We need to talk, Gen.”
Obviously not, she thought, cringing at the very idea. “Sorry. I can’t talk now. I need to make your aunt’s lunch. And I have to put these away. My hands are beginning to cramp,” she said, showing fingers stretched wide to hold the shells and stones she’d gathered. What she didn’t mention, however, was that she’d been so preoccupied thinking of Alex’s kiss and the thrill of his caresses that she couldn’t even remember collecting them.
“My aunt’s having lunch out today. And I can help you with those.�
� He held out his open palms. Reluctantly she transferred some of her cache. With a hint of a smile he said, “There. Got any other excuses, Gen?”
Wishing she did, she settled for a frosty stare. “Actually, it seems to me the person you should be talking to is Sydney, not me.”
“Sydney and I have already said everything that needed to be said,” he replied evenly. “Listen, Gen, things hadn’t been right between Sydney and me for some time. She knew it as well as I, and though I’m sorry she saw you and me together, at least she’s finally accepted that what we had would never have worked.”
The joy that burst into flame inside her at hearing Alex say that his and Sydney’s relationship hadn’t been working was quickly doused by a wave of self-reproach. After all, Gen had heard Sydney talk about her and Alex’s future together. Today, she’d seen Sydney’s stricken face awash in tears because that future was over. Gen hated the fact that she’d played the role of the other woman, that she’d let her wild attraction for Alex hurt Sydney.
“Well, I’m thrilled I could help you sort out your personal life. Whenever you need to dump a girlfriend, just give a call,” she said sarcastically, relieved to find they’d reached the base of the shallow wooden stairs, which led up the dune.
“Wait just a damned second. I did not use you to dump Sydney,” he said angrily.
“Fine, whatever, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling rotten about the whole thing.” Before Alex could come up with some palliative to soothe her conscience, she turned toward the stairs and motioned for Murphy to precede her. Following Murphy’s wagging tail, she took the steps two at a time, all the while acutely aware that Alex was right on her heels. She knew that he wasn’t going to let her escape to the solitude of her studio, where she could try to forget everything that had happened this morning.
Gen’s ire mounted with each step.
She muttered a grim “Thank you” when Alex held the studio door for her. Murphy brushed past them, heading straight to his water bowl, and drank noisily, splashing water on the concrete floor, then ambled over to his bed, flopping down on it with a long-suffering sigh. Gen wished she could do the same with her futon, but she didn’t think falling into bed would be the way to get rid of Alex. Quite the opposite.
Tired and guilt-stricken, Gen felt the tension grow inside her. A part of her was tempted to scream at Alex so he’d leave, another part wanted to beg him to look deep in her eyes and see how much she wanted him, how much she longed for his touch. As she wasn’t about to succumb to either impulse, she decided that the best way to get Alex to leave would be to ignore him. The sheer novelty might throw him off balance. Gen doubted many people ever ignored Alex. He was too darned charismatic. Determined nonetheless, she walked over to her worktable. Opening her hands, she let the pieces of shell and rock clatter onto the plywood. She stood, head bowed, staring down at the exotic bounty she’d accumulated, her fingers lightly tracing their shapes and textures . . . acutely aware of Alex standing a few feet away.
Alex watched her with a mixture of frustration and tenderness. He was coming to know her, increasingly attuned to her voice, the flash of her eyes, the way she held her body. It made it easy to read the emotions coursing through her now. She was angry, nervous, and uncertain, but he refused to let her burrow like a hermit crab in her shell until he finally took the hint and left her alone.
No damned way.
He wanted her back in his arms.
He came and stood beside her, pretending he didn’t notice that her muscles stiffened until she was as taut as a bow. “Here’s the rest,” he said, laying the other shells Gen had collected on the table.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, without even sparing him a glance.
His eyes followed the clean lines of her profile. “Beautiful,” he said quietly.
“Excuse me?” Her voice squeaked her inner tension.
You, he thought. “These shells and pieces of sea glass. Even these rocks, they’re beautiful.”
So much for being able to ignore him, thought Gen. He only had to say one word and her heart beat like a mad thing. Yet in her volatile mood, Alex’s use of the word “beautiful” stuck in her craw. She realized she was spoiling for a fight. Spinning around to face him, she said, “So you find these beautiful, huh? Okay, pick one object from this table and tell me why it strikes you so.”
Alex saw the challenge in the stubborn line of her jaw, the light of battle in her narrow-eyed gaze, and understood that this was some kind of a test, one she was sure he’d fail. Arching a brow in silent acknowledgment, he turned to the table and studied the different objects. At last, he picked up a dark oval-shaped stone. “This one,” he said, holding it out to her.
Gen looked at the rock cradled in the palm of his broad hand. The color of gray flannel, it had two white veins running through it. It was a simple-looking rock, so plain one might easily overlook it. Intrigued in spite of herself, she wondered why Alex had chosen it over one of the shells or pieces of worn driftwood, whose colors and shapes were far more eye-catching. “Why?” she asked. “Why do you find this one beautiful?”
“Because it reminds me of us.”
Gen stilled. “Us? What do you mean, ‘us’? Like ‘you and me’?” she asked, trying for a suitably scoffing tone.
“Yeah, you and me, us,” he repeated. “Do you see these two lines?” he asked as his long index finger skimmed first one and then the other. “Look at how they start out so far apart. All this solid space separates them. And yet, here, in the middle of the stone, they come together . . . and join. And when they do, the line becomes thicker and stronger. Truer.” He raised his head and looked at her directly. “I want you to give us a chance, Gen, so we can see if together we’re like these two lines. I want to find out whether my hunch is right.”
“Do you read tea leaves, too?” she demanded. “Look, we kissed. It was my fault—totally—I threw myself at you. It must have been hormones or pheromones or something. A momentary insanity. But one kiss doesn’t mean you can start talking about any us. That’s even crazier. You don’t even know me. Look at you”—in her mind she thought of all the things Alex was: wealthy beyond imagination, brilliant, intelligent, handsome, and most important of all, awe-inspiringly generous— “and look at me. I’m a nobody from Somerville. I could never fit in your world. I’m not glamorous and sophisticated like Sydney. You can’t—oomph!—”
Gen’s words were stifled as Alex seized her in a rough, breath-stealing kiss, a kiss that brooked no resistance. Contrary to the core, Gen instinctively squirmed against the wall of his body, fighting the sweet thrill that swept through her the second his lips touched hers.
But she was no match for Alex. He already knew how she responded to his touch, to the stroke of his clever hands, and to the erotic rhythm of his tongue plundering her mouth. He knew just how to wring helpless shudders of pleasure from her. The assault he mounted on her senses was relentless, defeating every one of her defenses until with a helpless moan she arched against him, her body surrendering to his masterful touch.
It was as if he’d been waiting for her capitulation, for the moment she responded with a passion that rivaled his. He raised his head, ending the kiss. Dazed, Gen stared at him. Even with desire fogging her brain, she could see the fierce need glittering in his eyes, hear it in the harsh rhythm of his breathing, feel it in the tension of his body. Confusion filled her. Why had he stopped?
As though he’d read her mind, he said, in a voice low and rough with desire, “A single kiss from you and I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. So there goes your nothing-but-a-casual-kiss theory, Gen. And for your information, you hardly threw yourself at me. Not this time, nor the last. Get Murphy’s leash.”
She shook her head, desperately trying to clear it. She couldn’t have possibly heard him correctly. “What?”
“The leash. Get it now.”
Something in Alex’s tone had her gaze flying back to his face. Determination was stamped
on it. More confused than ever, she stammered, “Why—why do you want Murphy’s leash?”
“Because I damn well need to show you something,” he ground out, glancing around the studio. “There it is,” he said, his sharp eyes locating the leather leash. He moved toward it, Gen following— his hand was wrapped around her wrist, not so tight that it hurt but she didn’t kid herself that she could break free.
With a sharp whistle Alex roused Murphy from his canine dreams. The dog immediately leapt from his bed and trotted over to them. While Alex snapped on the leash, Gen, who’d managed to collect a few of her scattered wits, glared at his bent head. “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” she asked stiffly.
Straightening, he replied, “You’ll see when we get there.”
Infuriating man. He began leading her out the studio. “You could at least let me get my bag,” she said, giving an experimental tug on her arm. As she thought, his hold remained firm.
“You won’t need it.”
Provoked by Alex’s high-handedness, she snapped, “You know, you have some serious control issues. Does everyone just lie down like rugs for you to walk over?”
“Yeah, basically. You’re the irritating exception.”
“Good. Because I’m not going . . .” But Gen’s words died away. Mrs. Miller was walking toward them.
“I was just coming to find you two,” she said, her smile widening as she neared, doubtless misinterpreting the picture they made—Alex holding on to her arm, his other hand wrapped around Murphy’s leash. “So you’ve finished with the modeling session for the day?” she asked.
Gen was surprised she wasn’t incinerated on the spot from the fire that stole over her face. She wished she could mumble some excuse about losing the light, but that was not only lame, it was implausible.
“We’re going to be gone for a while, Aunt Grace,” Alex said. “Will you be okay on your own until tonight?”
“Tonight?” Gen squeaked, appalled. “I can’t—”