Falling for Alexander (Corkscrew Bay #2)

by Claire Robyns

  “Nice car,” she greeted, then slammed the door with the strength of ten amazons.

  He winced, but clamped his jaw on a retort of the proper care and handling of a custom-built Aston Martin. Instead, he clipped out, “Thank you.”

  She flicked a lock of hair off her shoulder and gave him a smile.

  That’s when he saw her lack of luggage. Her legs were crossed, her hands folded over one knee. She hadn’t even brought a purse. “Travelling light?”

  Her smile widened. “You don’t mind stopping by my place, do you? I didn’t want to leave my Jeep parked on the street and my bag’s too heavy to lug around.”

  “No problem.” He turned forward, reaching to turn the engine while she buckled her seatbelt in.

  “Straight ahead, then first right—”

  “I know the address,” he cut her off as he pulled out from the curb.

  Silence.

  No, not quite. Was that a hiss?

  He grinned. She was a fast learner. Good. He had a couple of ethics he was dying to teach her.

  “Number 22?” he asked when he hung a right into her street, then pulled up in front of the neatly clipped hedge without waiting for—or getting—a reply. He shifted slightly to face her. “Should I come in?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said as she stepped out.

  He unclipped his belt and leant over, just in time to buffer the slam with his palm against the door. The window glided down at the press of a button. “You sure you don’t need help lugging that heavy bag all the way out here?”

  She spun about and came down to his level, staring into his eyes. Her mouth opened, then closed in a grim line. With a shake of her head, she turned again and marched up the path to the front door.

  Alex chuckled under his breath. His eyes, however, remained glued to that shapely bottom and long thighs and his humour faded as his blood heated. The familiar weight of desire dragged at his pulse and fed into his groin until he had to lift his backside off the seat and adjust his jeans. Watching, all the while, until her front door closed behind her—with a soft click, he couldn’t help noticing.

  What was it about this woman? He’d had beautiful, sexy, powerful, kittenish, helpless… He’d never lost control before, though, never lusted over that which wasn’t already his for the taking.

  And this particular woman, Kate Hadley, fell into none of those categories.

  She was pretty enough; silky blond hair falling past her shoulders and striking eyes, high cheekbones and a full, wide mouth. The type of pretty that few men would turn down, but not the type of beautiful that turned heads.

  That form-fitting top proved she could do sexy if she put some effort into it, but Dio. Denims and flat shoes, not a scrap of make-up… The look was cute, but nothing to pant over compared to what some women had brought out for him.

  Powerful? Maybe she had some clout in this pint-sized town, but that wasn’t saying much.

  Helpless? Kittenish? That would be a definite no.

  As for taking Ms. Hadley, even if she were available and willing, that wasn’t going to happen. On a good day, reporters like her were his worst enemy. On a bad day, they were a blight on the whole of society. When he was in a reasonable mood, he tried to remember not every journalist deserved to be tarred with a generic brush, but this particular one had her name engraved on the damn handle.

  And what was taking her so long, anyway?

  He glanced at the time on the dashboard, then over to the closed door.

  Packing, he realised. She’d had a last minute change of mind about taking this game one step further.

  Alex shook his head. He’d know if his housekeeper had a niece in the area. Ms. Hadley couldn’t afford to arrive unannounced in Penryn. So what was her plan?

  Just then she emerged from the house, a small backpack looped around her shoulder.

  He climbed out and rounded the car to hold the passenger door open for her.

  “And here I thought chivalry was dead,” she said, pulling out a smile for him as she slid into the seat.

  His vantage point gave him a view of delicious cleavage he’d be a fool not to admire for a second or two before meeting her eyes. “I take care of mine.”

  She lost the smile, giving him a puzzled look.

  “Let’s just say a woman with a tendency to slam doors brings out the best in me,” he explained, pushing the door gently shut.

  By the time he’d settled in behind the wheel, her frown had smoothed. There was no apology. She flung her bag into the back and clipped in her seatbelt. “I really appreciate the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  “I am surprised,” she said thoughtfully. “Do your lawyers approve?”

  “That depends on what you are today,” he murmured as he started the engine and swerved into the left lane. “A reporter or Mrs. Pinnings’ niece?”

  “And if I said both?”

  He could feel her gaze on him as he merged into the high street traffic. “What are you saying when you cut out the hypothetical bullshit?”

  “You don’t like me. You don’t trust me.”

  He glanced at her.

  She twisted her lower lip into a grimace. “I feel like the scorpion invited into the bosom of the anthill and it doesn’t make any sense.”

  His laugh was a dry shout. “A scorpion can’t inflict much damage with its tail cut off and you’d do well to not mistake me for a harmless ant.”

  “My tail is not cut off.”

  He quirked a brow at her. “You don’t paint a flattering picture of yourself, Ms. Hadley.”

  “I’m not trying to impress.”

  “And let’s just call me a Good Samaritan and leave it at that.”

  “Good Samaritan?” she huffed. “You’re certainly not afraid to toot your own horn, are you?”

  They’d reached the main road out of town and he put his foot down, coaxing a deep-throttled purr from the Aston Martin. “Perhaps you should give your aunt a call,” he suggested without a trace of the irritation she stirred in him. “Let her know we’ll be there after lunch.”

  She looked him in the eye. “I spoke to her first thing this morning.”

  Alex almost believed her. His gaze snagged on the stubborn tilt of her chin, then drifted to those full, enticing lips. He had a deep appreciation for passionate commitment, even a fevered obsession. Any other cause, and he might have applauded her.

  How far would she go before calling the trip off?

  Meanwhile, why would she bother unless she was hoping to drain him dry for her paper?

  How far would he go to teach her a lesson? To make her squirm while he attempted to instil a quota of human decency in the woman so she’d leave him alone?

  They were two sharks circling each other, hungry for blood.

  Her lips pursed. “Eyes on the road, Mr. Gerardo.”

  “Alexander.” He set his eyes on the road, a narrow strip of asphalt that speared long and straight through at least another mile of shrubby fields.

  “Kate.”

  “Barely fifteen minutes in, and we’re already on first name terms.” He rested one arm on the door, keeping the wheel steady with his other hand. “I can’t wait to see what the next fifteen brings.”

  “No reason to wait,” she said. “I’m ready to take this intimacy to the next level if you are.”

  He believed he had a fairly decent measure of Ms. Hadley—Kate—and he knew she wasn’t offering sex on the side of the road. Still, his voice came out a notch husky as he said, “What did you have in mind?”

  “Why don’t you play and find out?” She shifted, uncrossing her legs in a slow slide that drew his gaze.

  A vision of her backside propped on the Aston’s low bonnet, those shapely legs wrapped around him as he sank into her, had him hard in zero-to-three seconds. Unfortunately, there was traffic ahead, requiring half his attention.

  He slowed down behind a tractor pulling a trailer stacked with hay bales.

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nbsp; “Yes or no, Alexander.” His name rolled over her tongue with promises she’d never keep.

  She’s not offering sex. But damn if his body hadn’t decided to pay attention anyway.

  He slanted a hidden glance her way from behind his shades. She was rolling her lower lip between her teeth. A pale flush tipped her cheeks. Her lids rested heavy, halfway closing her eyes with thick, long lashes.

  He looked forward again, swallowing a curse. Whatever it was with her, she’d hooked him. She sent a rush of want and need to his blood. He wanted to scrape his fingers through her silky hair, tilting that stubborn chin just so. He needed to crash his mouth against those plump lips and feel her skin flush with his.

  He shook it off with a firm resolve, the equivalent of an ice-cold shower.

  “Why not?” he murmured. He wasn’t a complete fool, smitten blind to Kate’s seductive tricks. Why not let her play a bit? He could turn her game on its head anytime he chose and make his own rules. If he’d disliked her even a little less, he might have done exactly that.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “Let’s start with the Easter egg hunt. Why are you so opposed to opening the gardens of Darrock Castle for a few hours?”

  A brittle smile sank into his grimace. “This is your idea of establishing intimacy between us? An interview?”

  “There’s no better way to get to know someone.”

  “Oh, I could think of a couple more interesting methods.”

  “I’ll just bet.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge.” He pushed his shades up to give her a disdainful once-over. “In this case…”

  Her mouth turned down at the corners just before she snapped her head from him to look out her window. “Are you going to answer the question?”

  He settled his shades in place again and concentrated on overtaking the tractor. He’d suspected this was where they’d be going, even if he hadn’t expected the seduction act that had gotten them here. He still didn’t have to answer anything. The only thing that had changed in the last minute was, if possible, he disliked her more.

  “I’ve already answered this one,” he replied. “Castle Darrock is my home, not a show place.”

  “That’s not an answer, it’s a symptom.”

  He tried to figure that out, but came up empty. “A symptom?”

  Her head swivelled from the passenger window in a graceful arc until she faced him. “You hide behind that massive perimeter wall, refuse to come out or let anyone else in. What’s the deal, Alexander? What made you so wary of human contact? What are you so afraid of?”

  His mood frosted over, his jaw tightening until his teeth ached. He let it go. Took in a shallow breath, released it. Turned on the radio with a flick to the short lever attached to the steering wheel. Soft music flowed from the high performance music system to smoothe his tension like a lover’s caress.

  “Alexander, I’m sorry.”

  The whispered apology confounded him. “Don’t do that.”

  “What? Apologise? I didn’t mean to pry, seriously.”

  “Like hell you didn’t,” he muttered beneath his breath. Louder, he informed her curtly, “Nothing you do or say can touch me. Please don’t assume otherwise.”

  “I don’t.”

  “An apology suggests otherwise.”

  The kind of sigh she gave him usually came with rolling eyes. “All I really want is to have the annual Easter egg hunt reinstated at the castle.”

  “And you thought psychoanalysing me would change my mind?”

  “That slipped out,” she shot back. “I said I’m sorry. If there’s something that’s stopping you, however, something I can fix—”

  “I’m not broken,” he drawled.

  “Something the town can do,” she continued with exaggerated patience, “to reassure you that we won’t intrude on your privacy. The kids stick to the forest near the entrance—”

  “No.”

  “We can erect a temporary fence enclosing the area—”

  “No.”

  “Why?” she blew out on an exasperated breath.

  Good. Now she knew what it felt like to have one’s wishes completely ignored. They were approaching the junction where the subsidiary road met the A30. Instead of veering Northbound, he hit a right, burning rubber as he made the tight corner without much reduction in speed.

  “Are you trying to kill us?” she yelped.

  He glanced her way to find one hand clutching the armrest at her door. Her face had drained of colour.

  “I know how to handle this car,” he assured her.

  “Famous last words.”

  He pumped the brakes, slowing down to fifty miles per hour. “Better?”

  “Shouldn’t we have turned left back there and headed inland?”

  “I’ve decided to take the scenic route,” he said. “We can stop along the coast somewhere for lunch.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You don’t eat?”

  “This isn’t a date.”

  “You only eat on dates?” His gaze flicked between the narrow, winding road and her.

  Blue eyes glittered at him. Fire and ice.

  His blood heated up again at the thought of stroking passion to that spark. Covering that saucy mouth with his, delving deep inside to taste and clash in a fight for dominance.

  “We’ll be arriving in Penryn later than expected,” he said abruptly, irked by this arousal. How was it possible for his body to be so at odds with his head? “Perhaps you should give your aunt a call and let her know.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “She might worry.”

  She tossed her hair and looked the other way. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  Her sheer audacity brought a chuckle from him that shaved the edge off his irritation. “Hmm, now there’s an idea.”

  She had no comeback for that.

  He didn’t push for the moment, content to enjoy the serenity of the green, rolling hills they were cruising through. When Ruins of Love came on the radio, he hummed along to the tune for one too many bars before he caught himself.

  Kate was looking at him with an intense expression.

  “I don’t hum that badly,” he said.

  She shook her head. Blinked. Then shook her head again. “I’d never have taken you for the soppy romance type.”

  “Ruins of Love isn’t soppy.”

  “It’s a romantic duet.” She cocked her ear. “You’re buried in the shadows of my heart. Lurking beneath the depths. Tearing me apart. Scraping at the edges. Filling me up, inside out and upside down. Treading on the pieces left behind…”

  “Expression of emotion doesn’t always equate to soppy,” he said when her voice trailed off. “And this isn’t a love song.” He held a finger up as the male voice filtered in. “Listen.”

  You’re burning up the shadows of my heart. Exposing the ashes beneath. Tearing me apart. Scraping at the edges. Emptying me out, inside out and upside down. Crushing any pieces left behind.

  “They both know they’re bad for each other, but she can’t release him from her heart. She thrives on the pain. The pain fills her up, inside out and upside down, not love. It’s a destructive obsession that fills her and drains him.” He looked at her. “The clue is in the title.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s a very morbid interpretation.”

  “There’s a happy ending,” he said. “Every day they stay together, the acid of their sour relationship burns away another layer of shadows until there’s nothing left of him but ashes and nowhere for the despair to hide. He faces the truth, crawls from the ashes and rebirths himself into another life.”

  “That’s all very poetic,” she said lightly, “but thanks for ruining my favourite song.”

  “Don’t you ever listen to the words of songs?”

  “Of course I listen to the words. I’ve just never thought about them too hard and now I know why.”


  “So,” he said, unable to repress the smile tugging at his lips, “that’s your favourite song?”

  She pulled a face at him. “It was a moment ago.”

  “That’s the music industry for you,” he said with a mock groan. “Blink and you miss your second of fame in the charts.”

  It was only after they’d settled into a stretch of easy silence that it struck him. For a moment, he’d actually enjoyed the banter with Kate. As if she were simply a beautiful travelling partner instead of a lying, scheming journalist on the hunt for her next scoop.

  Chapter Five

  Why the blazes did the man have to smell so good? With every breath, she inhaled another dose of Alexander Gerardo. The faintest traces of spice, forest and pine. All male and thoroughly intoxicating.

  Debating lyrics of what she still thought of as a romantic duet wasn’t helping her cause. Not by half. Since when did a guy pay that much attention or express that much insight? Especially one with dubious scruples that included, but possibly not limited to, random threats, unreasonable firings, community snubbing and suspicious helicopter activity.

  He was under her skin, an itch. The kind of itch you couldn’t wait to get your claws into, to scratch long and deep with no regard for the devastation left behind. Oblivious to all and everything until that itch had been sated.

  Oh, God, I’m in such trouble. How far was he going to take this stupid road trip anyway? His version of a scenic route had taken them onto a potholed, narrow road that swerved from one bend to another as it followed the shape of the coastline. If they’d actually been on their way to Penryn—which she’d looked up on the map last night and discovered it was indeed a small town directly across the peninsula—this diversion would have put at least an hour onto their journey.

  She pulled her gaze in from outside, from the ocean swelling on a rising tide, and risked a glance his way. Her eyes skimmed over his profile, a jaw with hard, clear lines that could have been sculptured from pure granite, down the sinful layers of black hair that dropped into the curve of his shoulder. His shirt was off-white and long-sleeved, one of those thin cotton cashmere hybrids that slithered against his lean, rippled torso and crept over the waistline of his jeans.