Falling for Alexander (Corkscrew Bay #2)

by Claire Robyns

  “Dora, you look well,” he greeted, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. We were in the area and thought we’d stop in to wish you a happy birthday.”

  “Why, that is so thoughtful of you.” Mrs. Pinnings clasped her free hand over her bosom. “Goodness, how rude of me to keep you standing on the doorstep.” She stepped back into the hallway. “Do come inside.”

  Kate rushed forward. “Mrs. Pinnings, could I have a quick word with you?”

  Mrs. Pinnings nodded, her gaze darting from Kate to Alexander. “I didn’t realise you two knew each other.”

  “We didn’t,” Alexander said, moving in behind Kate, “until very recently.”

  “That word?” Kate tugged on the woman’s arm. “In private? It’s important,” she stressed.

  “Go ahead,” Alexander said. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Nonsense,” declared Mrs. Pinnings firmly. “I’ve never left a guest stranded in the hallway and I’m not about to start today.” She ushered them along the passage and into a front parlour, seemingly unaware of the cat still tucked under her arm as she offered drinks all around.

  Kate’s head was about to explode. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Coffee would be great, Dora.”

  “I won’t be a tick,” Mrs. Pinnings said, gesturing at the arrangement of sofas. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  “I think…” Kate headed for the door, her eyes on the carpet. “I think I’ll just go and help make the coffee.”

  “Why don’t you do that?” he said, his voice a low, sensual rumble, at complete odds with the abrasive sentiment underpinning that suggestion.

  Kate shook off the urge to look at him, to search those piercing grey eyes for a clue as to which one it was. What did it matter? They were done.

  She passed two closed doors, finding the kitchen at the end of the short passage. Mrs. Pinnings stood over the sink, filling the kettle. The cat had been deposited on the window ledge, its silhouette casting an elongated shadow over the counter, across the strip of vinyl floor and up along the opposite wall. Dominating the small space very much like the man responsible for its purchase dominated Kate’s thoughts and senses.

  The faucet shut off, but Mrs. Pinnings didn’t immediately turn around. She returned the kettle to a circular base beside the sink and flicked it on, then reached up to collect a mug from a shelf.

  Kate stepped deeper into the kitchen and cleared her throat.

  Mrs. Pinnings spun about with a look of surprise.

  Kate grimaced. “Mrs. Pinnings, I really need to talk to you.”

  “Yes, of course.” She set the mug down and folded her arms. “I’m sorry, Kate. I seem to be awfully flustered at the moment. I didn’t expect—”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” Kate inserted with another grimace. “We shouldn’t have barged in like this, especially on your birthday.”

  “My birthday was yesterday.” She moved back, leaning a hip against the counter. “Is something wrong that brought you and Alexander here? Has anything happened?”

  Kate chewed her lip, hesitating, but there was only one way to do this. “Did he fire you, Mrs. Pinnings? Have you lost your position at the castle?”

  Mrs. Pinnings’ eyes rounded wide. Her voice came out in a papery whisper, “Is Alexander firing me? Is that why he’s here?”

  “No,” yelped Kate, surging forward. “No, I’m asking you if he fired you or are you really on an extended holiday?”

  Mrs. Pinnings released a slow breath. “Well, not extended, my dear. I take four weeks leave every year around this time, and another two over Christmas.”

  “Thank goodness,” Kate heaved, the pressure in her chest releasing for the first time in weeks.

  “But I still don’t understand,” Mrs. Pinnings said. “Does Alexander need me to cut my holiday short? Is there trouble at Darrock?”

  “The only trouble is—” Kate pushed her hands through her hair, instantly and overwhelmingly aware of the truth in her admission “—me.”

  She briefly filled Mrs. Pinnings in on the events that had led to this moment, starting at the article she’d run in the Corkscrew Weekly and closing with her claim to being the woman’s niece and Alexander’s offer of a ride to Penryn. All the while, speaking over the drum roll inside her head. Alexander didn’t lie. He didn’t stage any production. Harry was right all along. I’m an obsessive, neurotic, paranoid cow who just bloody well can’t keep out of other people’s business. Alexander’s squeaky clean. I’m filthy dirty.

  The pressure that had eased from her chest slammed back with reserves.

  Mrs. Pinnings appeared only slightly less baffled once she’d finished. “Alexander is protective of his privacy, and his staff are certainly selected to respect that. But he’s a fair employer, Kate, and I don’t recall ever being specifically instructed to not mention his name. We simply follow the rule that the less said, the better. None of us would ever wish any harm on him.”

  As if Kate couldn’t possibly feel any worse. “I’d never met him before, Mrs. Pinnings, and I had no idea what kind of man he was. I was terrified I’d cost you your position at the castle.”

  “You should simply have asked me, my dear.”

  Kate lifted her palms up, shrugging.

  “Oh, I see.” The fog finally cleared from Mrs. Pinnings’ eyes.

  “I’ll make absolutely sure Alexander knows you’re not involved with this mess in any way,” Kate promised. She dredged up a weak smile. “And now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your birthday celebrations in peace.”

  Mrs. Pinnings’ brow puzzled. “I don’t have anything special planned.”

  “Right.” Seemed Alexander wasn’t squeaky clean in the lie department. And, as if her own brain had been fogged and was only now clearing, Kate suddenly registered the silver pendant at the woman’s throat. “Mrs. Pinnings, that pendant you’re wearing. Is it new?”

  Her hand went to her throat. “I haven’t taken this off since my husband passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s been almost ten years.”

  Kate shook her head. “I know this sounds crazy, but do you mind me asking… is that chain white gold? Platinum?”

  Mrs. Pinnings gave a small laugh. “I’m not even sure if it’s silver. This was the first gift my Lenny gave me and, at the time, he was just out of school.”

  “It’s lovely,” Kate said, her smile genuine, if still a little weak.

  The kettle whistled, drawing Mrs. Pinnings’ attention and allowing Kate to slip out of the kitchen.

  Allergic to metal alloys, Alexander? Hasn’t worn jewellery in decades?

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t work up any steam as she retraced her steps to the front parlour. Alexander’s fibs came nowhere close to measuring up to the standard she’d set today. She’d dismissed everything about him as a lie. In her head, she’d accused and convicted him of firing his housekeeper. She’d imposed horribly on everyone’s privacy.

  Alexander turned as she entered the parlour, but didn’t come forward. He stood there, his legs braced, his back to the bay window.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said, halting her progress halfway into the room. “I’m not Mrs. Pinnings’ niece.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “Mrs. Pinnings played no part in any of my actions,” she went on. “I barely know her, Alexander. I used Mrs. Pinnings for my own agenda and…”

  “And?” he prompted.

  She squared her shoulders, swallowing past a lump of despair that was irrevocably attached to this man. They might be done. They’d never been. They were strangers, living worlds apart, and their paths would never cross again. And yet, here she was, regret and despair rising up her throat.

  “I needed an angle to get to you, Alexander, to get the scoop on the man behind the walls. Today…” She didn’t want to mention anything about Mrs. Pinnings’ job. She’d involved the woman enough wi
thout her consent.

  She choked on what had to be said next, but it wasn’t just about clearing Mrs. Pinnings’ name. This was a truth about herself, a person she didn’t like very much right now. “Today, you saw the lengths I’d go to for a story. Please, don’t hold Mrs. Pinnings responsible for my actions.”

  A hardness crept into his eyes, icing grey to silver. “Do you honestly think I’d ever do that?”

  She didn’t have to think that over for long. But she did need an extra moment to get her throat working. “I know you won’t.”

  He took a step toward her. “I could’ve sworn you were more interested in converting me over to your Easter egg hunt than drilling for dirty secrets.”

  “That would have sounded marginally better,” she said ruefully. It was also a reminder. While she was beating herself up, she’d forgotten Alexander wasn’t faultless. He was still the man who didn’t give a continental about the social conscience attached to a site like Castle Darrock.

  But, no, not even that exonerated her. She’d opened the Corkscrew Weekly as a voice for the town. She wanted to improve lives, celebrate the mundane moments that bonded the townsfolk, provide a platform to applaud success and expose threats. She wasn’t supposed to be the person who made things worse, who’d almost lost a woman her income, who’d driven a man to the lengths Alexander had gone to today.

  “Kate…?” His gaze seared her, but it wasn’t a judging, condemning fire. It was the kind of look that burnt a searching path through to her soul, as if he were more interested in finding answers than casting blame.

  “Ruins of Love really is your song, isn’t it?” she said softly.

  His slow nod sent another wave of emotion up her throat.

  “It’s beautiful, Alexander. You’re incredibly talented.” She blinked back a silly, useless tear. “I’ll find my own way home. Again, I’m sorry.”

  She hadn’t removed the backpack from her shoulder, so all she had to do was walk away. She was crossing the threshold of the parlour when the curse came.

  “What are you doing?”

  She stopped. Turned. “I’ll catch a train. A bus.” She shrugged. “I just need to get out of here.”

  “You came with me,” he said in a gravel hard voice. “I’ll take you home.”

  She almost laughed at the archaic notion. “Maybe you mean well. Maybe you’ve got some well-deserved punishment planned for the return trip. It doesn’t matter, Alexander. I’m not driving back with you.”

  “You damn well will!”

  Her spine snapped tight.

  He closed his eyes, taking a breath that strained his shirt across his chest. His eyes opened, softening into the creases at the corners as he looked at her. “That was uncalled for. I don’t usually bark orders.”

  “Bark all you want,” she informed him. “I’m still leaving and I’m leaving alone.”

  She narrowly missed bumping into Mrs. Pinnings as she marched from the room. How long had she been standing in the passage? From her bewildered expression, Kate concluded long enough.

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed quietly over her shoulder as she made her way to the front door.

  Chapter Eight

  Tension coiled in every muscle of his body as Alexander willed himself to watch her leave. He could hardly haul her back and physically restrain her, and that was exactly the reaction he was struggling to contain.

  His gaze went to the window when he heard the outer door close, watching as she walked down the path, walked away from him, out of his life. For good, he hoped. Wasn’t that what he’d spent the day trying to achieve? She’d lied and schemed to get close to him. To get the scoop on the man behind the walls.

  But he wasn’t so sure of that. She’d spent most of the trip romanticising the macabre history of Corkscrew Bay and the castle in a blatant attempt to persuade him to her cause. A cause that started with her Easter egg hunt, but no doubt didn’t end there.

  He’d been wrong. She wasn’t a cold-hearted reporter with her nose buried so deep in the job, she couldn’t smell the roses from the dung.

  When it came to Kate, all that stubborn, blind passion was for Corkscrew Bay. After what she’d said at lunch, he thought he understood. She may be whole, perfectly happy and fulfilled, but she spoke of herself as half-missing. Seemed to him, the town she’d grown up in was what she’d filled that missing half with. A hunger to be co-joined, connected to a whole, and she’d fight tooth and nail to protect it.

  Against his better judgement, admiration for the woman surged.

  The problem with Kate…she wasn’t all that different from most reporters he’d had the misfortune to come up against. She blurred the lines, erased them when it suited her.

  The problem with Kate…her current passion, her obsession to integrate his home with her town, wasn’t something he could work with. They were balanced on opposite ends of a seesaw. One soaring higher to their goal would be at the cost of the other plunging.

  The logic and reason was all there, but he couldn’t make it stick. Because right now his biggest problem with Kate was…she’d left before he was ready for her to be gone.

  “Alexander?”

  He turned to find Dora entering, a large white mug in one hand.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “You should know, she didn’t tell you the full story.”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “Everything she did today,” Dora went on, moving deeper into the room, “was to get to me, not to you. We’ve formed a passing acquaintance this last year and after you confronted her about some article she ran, she was worried you disapproved of the relationship.”

  His jaw clenched. “Why couldn’t she just say so?”

  “I imagine she’s still trying to protect me,” Dora said. “She thought you’d fired me and felt responsible.”

  “Fired you?” he ground out in disbelief, but then recalled his thinly veiled anger when he’d called the paper. He’d made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate her interference in any manner.

  And the first conclusion she draws is that I’d fire anyone of my staff she’s ever had contact with? Then again, he’d started out this morning without much regard for her character as well. The more time he’d spent with Kate, however, the more he’d learnt of her, the more he’d wanted to.

  This morning, he would have scoffed at the notion of a journalist with a conscience or a heart. But all he’d witnessed today was Kate taking every golden opportunity and using it for the benefit of others.

  “I’ll be right back for that coffee,” he told Dora, striding out the room. He was done with resisting, done with restraining the compulsion of a deeper, primal urge.

  He reached the end of the path just in time to see Kate disappearing down a narrow lane in the direction of Penryn’s seafront. Breaking into a steady jog, he closed the distance until he could fall into step beside her.

  She shot him an exasperated look. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “I never took you for a coward.”

  “I honestly don’t care what you take me for,” she returned, only to refute that indignant statement with, “I’m not a coward.”

  “Then why are you running?”

  She stopped dead, folding her arms as she faced him. “What do you want?”

  His gaze settled on the grim line of her lips. He’d kept his ardour on a leash for most of the day, provoking himself as much as her at every turn. What he wanted… What he wanted was to let go and give in.

  “I’m not going home with you,” she said firmly.

  “When you say it like that,” he murmured, stepping closer, his gaze drifting up until he was looking into her eyes.

  “Don’t.” She unfolded her arms, pushing a hand out as if to hold him off. “No more games.”

  “You don’t get to just walk away, Kate.” He moved in until that hand was pressed to his chest. The imprint warmed through his shirt and fed the want he’d spent too long denying. �
��Not after a day like today.”

  “I feel terrible. I’ve apologised and meant every word.” Her lashes dipped, dark-blond crescents on her pale skin. “There’s not much else I can do.”

  She backed away, taking that imprint with her.

  He slid his hands over the flare of her hips, halting her retreat. She went still beneath his touch, not resisting, drawing shallow breaths. His fingers drifted further, around her slender waist, a gentle exploration that was driving him crazy, his body demanding more.

  He angled his head a little lower, his voice husky with desire. “You could pay your dues.”

  Indignation flashed in her eyes and the moment of stillness, of absolute awareness of each other and nothing else, shattered.

  She spluttered a few times before the protest came out in the correct order. “You are not thinking what I think you’re thinking!”

  “That would depend,” he murmured, firming his grasp, invoking a gasp from her when he tugged her a step closer. “What are you thinking?”

  She strained away without sufficient effort for him to seriously consider releasing her.

  He gave another tug and one of her thighs brushed his, pulsing waves of heat inside his veins.

  Her lips twisted scornfully, but the sultry depth of her voice was a dead giveaway. “I’m thinking that I’ve never actually slapped anyone in my life.”

  His grin came over slow, marching to the heaviness filling his groin.

  “Ti voglio baciare,” he said, bringing his mouth down, his lips an inch from hers, looking into her eyes. “If you’re going to slap me, cara, now would be the time.”

  Her eyes softened with a longing he recognised within. “I really should.”

  “Probably,” he agreed, sliding his hands up her back and over the curve of her shoulders, further, spearing his fingers through the silky layers of her hair, tilting her head up to him.

  He feathered kisses over her lips, teasing them both, savouring the tremor of her warm breath. Her fingers bunched into the thin material at his chest, hanging onto him as her mouth melted against his. He deepened the kiss, plunging inside with his tongue, stroking, mating. He slid one hand from her hair, down her back, over the firm curve of her backside, pressing her into him. Fire licked him at every point of contact, her breasts against his chest, her soft belly against his thick erection, the full length of her legs melded between his.