Falling for Alexander (Corkscrew Bay #2)

by Claire Robyns

  “You don’t think I’ll last past the first question.” A wicked glint chased the smoky glaze from her eyes. The desire remained, sharper, more intense. “Why did you leave Italy to move here…to England?”

  She didn’t choose the easy ones, did she?

  “I didn’t leave Italy to move to England.” He trailed a finger over the cute bump of her chin and along the column of her throat as he considered his reply.

  He could keep it succinct.

  However, he respected her need to glimpse inside him.

  “I was born in Verona, but I’ve lived in California since the age of fourteen.” His finger trailed the delicate skin between her breasts, barely touching. Just like that, her gaze was less sharp, more smoky.

  “Are you parents still there?” she murmured.

  “My parents died when I was young.”

  “Oh, Alex…” Her features softened. “I’m sorry.”

  “It happened a long, long time ago, cara.” He took a moment to simply smile at her, appreciating the sentiment. Then his finger stumbled on the top button of her bodice and his thoughts moved on. He worked his way down the line, twisting each tiny button free. “And I didn’t move to England, as such, I moved to Darrock Castle. I was looking for a change and a friend mentioned this castle was on the market.”

  “So, you did buy the place unseen.” Somehow, she managed to sound both indignant and half delirious. “Why was it so important to own a castle?”

  His gaze followed the path his finger had taken, coming to a rest on the swell of her breasts.

  “I didn’t want any castle,” he drawled, his tongue suddenly thick as he peeled back a flap of cotton to find she wasn’t wearing a bra. “But I tagged along with him to take a look, and the serenity of this place blew my mind.”

  His palm covered the creamy mound, squeezing tenderly, the pad of his thumb circling her nipple into a firm peak. A rush of desire vibrated along his veins, pricking his skin, pushing him to the edge.

  A shuddering sigh escaped her lips, nearly sending him over.

  Question time was done. He couldn’t hold out. This was as long as he lasted.

  His gaze snapped up, finding her head thrown back, her eyes closed, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth. He rolled his thumb and forefinger around her nipple until it pebbled into a rock hard throb.

  “Kate,” he rasped. “Look at me.”

  Her lids lifted slowly, heavily.

  He cupped her bottom cheeks with both hands again, supporting, positioning her so he could ease inside. Looking into her eyes as he entered, watching as her gaze melted into his with the single slow, deep thrust, was the most erotic sensation he’d ever experienced. “You are so beautiful.”

  She mangled her lip between her teeth, the ache of pleasure contorting her expression.

  He withdrew a little, then another slow, torturous plunge, invoking a whimper from her as he pressed deeper and deeper, until he was fully seated.

  “Oh, yes…” Her fingers slashed into his hair, gripping with the tension of desire racking her body, clamping around him.

  “Not yet.” A command. And a desperate plea, as he looked into the desire smouldering her eyes and knew she’d been right.

  Her mouth formed words, but only a moan came out. Her hips rocked against his, sweeping a shudder through him with enough force to blank his mind.

  He snapped out of it, sweat beading on his upper lip. “Please.”

  She swallowed noisily—a sob?—and stopped the rocking, stayed pressed up to him, her tight sheath wrapping him in tremors shot through hot coals.

  She was a fire inside him and he wanted to burn, burn down to the last, excruciating ember. If he had to write Ruins of Love now, in this moment, after Kate, it would be an entirely different story with another ending. She could burn him up a hundred times over, until there was nothing left of him but ashes, and still he’d never crawl away.

  She’d been right. They couldn’t do this…couldn’t finish this as strangers. He’d regret it for as long as he drew breath.

  “Castle Darrock is more than a home, it’s my sanctuary,” he said, his voice gruff with the madness of hunger. He brought a hand up to grip a fistful of hair at the base of her skull, tilting her head so he could meet her gaze. “I don’t hide behind these walls. But there was a time when I was not as strong as I’d have liked, and that time may come again, when the world becomes too ugly, when I need to close it out for a while.”

  “Oh, God.” No mistake now, tears blended with the passion in her eyes. Her hips started moving again, beyond her control, her body pulsing, milking him as her orgasm built. “When—when you say…things like…that, you undo me.”

  His other hand slid over her bottom and up, his arm a barrier between her back and the rough bark.

  “That, cara, is who I am,” he growled, his head coming down to claim her mouth, their tongues clashing, stroking, suckling as he cast off the restraint and pounded into her. Hard, deep, urgent thrusts that shook loose a shower of apple blossoms over them.

  He filled her, over and over again with each plunging thrust, and yet it felt as if she were filling him. Desire, white-hot waves rocking through him, swelling, filling spaces he’d never known were empty, crashing over walls he would have sworn he’d never erected. But the spaces and the walls had been there. He knew that, only now, even as she filled the holes and stripped his defences.

  He was lost to everything but the feel of her, inside and out, of the electrical charge surging inside his body and sweating out through his pores. Lost in an abyss of crystal blackness as she climaxed around him, coaxing his own release in the longest, bone-thrilling ride down from ecstasy he’d ever experienced.

  She softened in his arms, shuddering with the same weakness that swept through his muscles as a hot shiver. He went still, utterly spent, fully embedded in the folds of her heat and holding her close. He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath ragged, her soft sighs puffing air on his face.

  This…this wasn’t sex. This wasn’t making love. This was a collision of body, mind, heart and soul.

  He lifted his head to look at her. Her forehead was damp, wisps of hair plastered to her cheeks, lashes spiked as if wet with tears.

  “Kate?” His heart clenched. “Cara, talk to me. Are you okay?”

  “That was…” She opened her eyes with the slow, heaviness of a drug-induced sleep. Her fingers thread his hair, massaging his skull as she adored him with her gaze. “I don’t have the words, Alex. What I’m feeling now, what just happened, didn’t exist before today.” Her lips curled into a dreamy smile. “Amazing. Beautiful. I never knew… Alex, I never imagined it could be this.”

  “Neither did I, cara,” he murmured, dropping kisses on her forehead, over her eyelids, along the ridge of her cheek, kissing her until some measure of strength returned to his limbs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sprawled in an over-sized antique rocking chair beside the unlit hearth, legs dangling over one of the armrests, Kate observed the man responsible for her utterly boneless state. He moved around the kitchen with an easy confidence that added a few more degrees to his hotness.

  Another thing she’d never known about herself. She liked a man who could cook.

  A smile started in her belly, rolling up to squeeze her heart as she watched a wedge of silky black hair slide loose from the tuck behind his ear to fall across his face. He didn’t notice, or didn’t care, humming as he sliced a lethal looking red chilli, his voice a rumbling tenor with the kind of pitch and tone that would drop panties if he ever took it onto a stage.

  Oh, yes, she definitely liked a man who knew what to do in a kitchen. Almost as much as she, apparently, liked sex outdoors. A little rough, a little wild and one hundred percent mind-and-body-shattering.

  If he hadn’t carried her inside, she’d probably have had to crawl.

  She blew out a soft sigh. “Do you need any help?” she asked when he glanced up.

 
; “Save your energy for this afternoon, cara.” Those grey eyes warmed through her. “I plan to keep you busy.”

  She pulled a face at him. “So long as it doesn’t involve me moving from this chair.”

  “We can make that work.” His grin came on slow and sexy as his gaze moved over her, planting a fantasy in her mind that spiked energy to her drained muscles.

  A moment ago, she’d been thoroughly sated and half comatose. Now her libido perked with renewed interest.

  “How do you like your spice?” he asked. “Mild, medium or hot.”

  “Hot,” she murmured, dragging her lower lip through her teeth. “Very, very hot.”

  “You’ll get hot later,” he promised, chuckling as he scraped a pinch of the sliced chilli between his fingers and turned to the pan of shrimp paella simmering on the gas hob. “I think we’ll go with mild, hmm?”

  “Hmm,” she agreed, her gaze feasting on his physique. She longed to walk up to him, wrap her arms around him, nuzzle his neck and peer over his shoulder while he cooked. Would he freak out?

  She thought he might.

  The impulse freaked her out.

  They’d been as intimate as two people could get, no longer strangers even though they’d only just skimmed the surface, but not a couple either. She needed to slow down. Sex, even with Alexander, wouldn’t claim more than her body. Snuggling could claim her heart and she suspected she was already further along in that department than she had any rational right to be.

  Sex was safe, if that’s what one could call the plans he had for her and this rocking chair. “Are we really all alone here?”

  “Mrs. Pinnings doesn’t return for another two weeks.”

  Her brow arched in surprise. “You don’t have any other staff?”

  The Ashley’s had always employed two maids in addition to a butler and a housekeeper.

  Alexander slid her a quick look while he stirred the paella. “My land agent takes care of the grounds.”

  Of course, as imposing as Castle Darrock appeared from the outside, that was mostly crenulated walls and bluster. Inside, the west wing housed a moderate living area with four family bedrooms, although the kitchen was possibly larger than her entire house. But then there was the east wing with an enormous vaulted-ceiling ballroom below and the staterooms above.

  “How on earth does Mrs. Pinnings cope?” No wonder she needed a month’s holiday at a time.

  “You wouldn’t like the answer.” He scooped up a taste of shrimp and rice and brought it over. “What do you think?” he asked, pressing the tip of the wooden ladle to her lips.

  A hint of garlic, just enough to tame the lingering trace of salty ocean, and a kick of chilli blended with subtle herbs and spices, exploded in her mouth.

  “An Italian who lived in California before moving to England and cooks a paella that would make a Spanish grandma’s mouth water. You’re like…” She smiled up at him, licking her lips. “My personal festival of international flavours.”

  He put the ladle to his lips, licking where her tongue had been moments ago, a wicked glint in his eyes. “And who do I make love like, cara?”

  “A Greek god,” she retorted, playing to his ego. Although, she conceded, staring at where that ladle rested on his lower lip, the jury was still out on her joke. Not that she had the experience to compare, but how much better could it get than with Alexander? Actually, wasn’t his name more Greek than Italian anyway?

  “I can live with that,” he said, giving her an outrageous wink as he turned to collect the hot pan from the hob. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Ravenous,” she assured him. In more ways than one. She left the lazy comfort of the rocker for one of the hard-backed chairs around the oak table.

  “So,” she said, accepting the glass of red wine he pressed into her hand, “how does Mrs. Pinnings manage this entire place by herself?”

  “I’ve boarded up the east wing,” he admitted as he dished the paella and set a plate in front of her before pulling up a chair for himself.

  “Oh, well…” That was disappointing. The east wing had always held the glamour of the castle, a peek into the past. The four-poster beds and centuries-old tapestries, a gaudy gold plated claw foot bathtub and even a waxwork knight suited up in chainmail armour. “Isn’t there something you could do with that space?”

  “I bought the castle as is, fully furnished. I cleared out this wing and refurnished, but throwing out all that history in the staterooms doesn’t feel right.” He chewed around a bite of food, his eyes on her. “And they’re not really designed for living.”

  “The east wing was part of the public tour,” she told him.

  He must have vetoed the idea of donating to a museum. Perhaps he did have some qualms after all about divorcing Castle Darrock from its history.

  He shrugged, the kind of shrug that said, “What’s one to do, huh?”

  Yesterday, this morning, an hour ago, she would have jumped at the opening to push her version of answers. Reinstate the open days. Turn the east wing over to the public. Give us back our castle.

  Yesterday, Alexander had been a recluse of possible nefarious origins with more money than social conscience. A ball-busting billionaire who could take her punches without a flinch.

  This morning, an hour ago, he’d been the man who quite literally made her pant. Gorgeous, sexy as sin, intense, dark, tall, handsome, mysterious…had she mentioned sexy as sin? Alexander had more confidence in his small finger that most men saw in a lifetime and every ounce was backed up with humour, charm, steel grit and lethal pheromones.

  And yes, he was still all those things, with the exception of nefarious and ball-busting, but there was also a vulnerability Kate could never have imagined.

  I don’t hide behind these walls. But there was a time when I was not as strong as I’d have liked, and that time may come again, when the world becomes too ugly, when I need to close it out for a while.

  He was the strongest man she’d ever met, more so for showing that vulnerability to her. What had happened in his life? What tragedy, or travesty, had stripped his faith in his own strength?

  It didn’t matter.

  If he needed those walls, she’d build them higher.

  If he needed to close out the world for a while, she’d hunker down with him.

  Maybe this feeling couldn’t last. This feeling that, despite their irreconcilable philosophies, she could support him in every way he needed without losing herself, without selling out her beliefs and convictions along with the town.

  And maybe a part of her still wished he’d bought some other isolated estate as his haven instead of their castle. That they’d bumped into each other in a country lane with none of the conflict grafted to this relationship before they’d even met.

  And maybe, just maybe, anything was possible, even a future with Alexander that wasn’t totally doomed from the outset.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday was chaotic.

  Marge had organised an emergency meeting at the Corkscrew Weekly and, from what Kate could hear through the paper-thin walls of the office they were enclosed in, fresh plans were being steamrolled out faster than a printing press.

  Not that Kate had involved herself in the details. She had no desire to sit on the town committee, not even as a temporary volunteer. She’d act as intermediary between the ladies and Alexander’s estate manager and, of course, she’d committed herself to be present at the castle for the site visit on Thursday.

  The last minute arrangements, however, were stretching their deadline to the limit. The Easter egg hunt would be tomorrow’s front page spread and needed to include everything, from the exciting confirmation of the venue to the price of the tickets to the precise times of the busses that would shuttle people between the town and the castle.

  And then there was Alexander, a constant presence front and centre of her mind. After lunch, he’d shown her exactly what he’d meant by making that rocking chair work for him. Heat
flushed her skin every time she thought of it, the way he’d looked into her eyes while she straddled his lap, the sensual movement as he rocked inside her, the foreign words he’d whispered against her breast afterwards.

  Once they’d recovered, he’d taken her by the hand for a stroll down to the lake, where they’d sat and chatted until the sun dipped out of sight. Romantic, intimate, almost a couple. But when she’d mentioned it was time for her to leave, he hadn’t put up any argument. Hadn’t pressed her to stay a while longer…stay the night. Not that she would have. And normally it wouldn’t matter. But yesterday she’d felt closer to Alexander than any guy she’d ever dated, and now they were on different continents, an ocean apart.

  Assuming he’d already landed in California.

  She called up a browser to check the flight times, but quickly realised how little she knew. He’d have caught a direct flight, more than likely, but what time had his flight departed? What airline?

  A door banged open, disrupting her momentary panic.

  “We’ve finally got a confirmation from Bradley Coach Hire,” Marge exclaimed, gliding toward her on five-inch heels.

  They’d gone through school together, but their lives had taken drastically different paths since. At nineteen, Marge had married. At twenty-three, she’d been in possession of two daughters, three dogs and a parrot. Earlier this year, at the grand age of twenty-five, she’d popped the big one, head of the Corkscrew Bay Woman’s Legion, which was just a fancy name for the town committee.

  Kate didn’t envy Marge’s life as such, but she did admire her for achieving everything she wanted so early in her life. She tilted her chin up as Marge pressed perfectly manicured fingernails to her desk.

  “How did you know Neil was the one?” Kate asked her.

  “The one what?”

  “The one…”