Falling for Alexander (Corkscrew Bay #2)

by Claire Robyns

The people I employ will not hesitate at slashing through your bullshit and hanging it out to dry.

  Another voice to add to the whispers driving her crazy.

  When it came to his sister, he hadn’t hesitated to shut Kate out. Who knew when and where the next line was?

  How was she even supposed to know when she’d crossed it?

  That was the question that sat Kate down in front of her computer again when she should have been wrapping up for the night. She pressed her palms to the desk, staring at the monitor. This was the moment, the turning point. She should walk away. From the screen. From Alexander. From the heartbreak lurking around the corner.

  She sat there for an age, chewing her lower lip, pretending she was searching for the right decision, searching for the strength to walk away. Pretending, because this was what she’d known, what she’d feared, right up front. She was lost to logic and reason, lost in Alexander.

  She wasn’t walking away from anything.

  But she did need to know how bad the situation was. She needed to know exactly how fragile they really were.

  Googling his name had already proven fruitless, so she went straight to the multitude of online resources she seldom had any use for. She opened her laptop beside her monitor and between the two, called up the various archived newspaper search engines she had access to. National archives, open source, some requiring paid registration that had lapsed but only took a couple of seconds to renew.

  …the press cost him his home, his country…

  “I was born in Verona, but I’ve lived in California since the age of fourteen.”

  She grabbed a pencil and scribbled notes as she worked through the information, estimating ages and dates, each time going back to the archives opened on her screen and filtering her searches.

  …his family…even his name…

  Mining the millions, billions of words for some tragedy in the 1980’s was a nightmare, not doable, until Kate recalled another pertinent fact.

  “God, no, I take strictly after my mother in that department.”

  Which implied Alexander took after his father.

  Once she’d narrowed the search to male singers, baritones, opera houses, her fingers flying across the keyboard as fast as the various permutations of anything music related came to her, she hit the root of the story that had exploded across the continent, the channel, and even the Atlantic.

  As she read, printing relevant articles as she went, that root grew branches that kicked her heart a little harder with each sprout.

  Alexander had started his life as Allesandra Agostino, son of the famous Basilio Agostino, a man whose incredible tenor vocal and adaptation of his operatic style to popular music had shot him to stardom in the late seventies.

  Her gut lurched as she read the crass interview where he’d learnt of his wife’s affair.

  Any comment about the man keeping Christina company during your long absences, Basilio?

  Basilio Agostino brought out his famous smile for us. ‘If you mean Nicoli, we are close family friends.’

  When shown the pictures of how close and friendly his wife of twenty years, Christina, was with the man he has previously described as being his adopted brother, we weren’t surprised to be given no comment from the man with the golden voice.

  The press had hounded them for the next six months as they’d attempted a reconciliation.

  Every snap caught of Basilio with another woman was revenge.

  Every picture of his wife anywhere with anyone was the start of another affair.

  The insinuations and speculations turned sinister after the couple’s convertible went over a cliff, killing them both instantly. Double suicide? A nasty argument that had distracted the driver? A new affair that had driven Basilio to take his wife’s life with his own?

  The custody battle for the children made the front pages as well. Basilio and Christina had never changed their will and Nicoli had still been named as their guardian. The press had as many opinions about that as the courts.

  And then nothing…

  Gerardo was the maiden name of Alexander’s mother. Kate could only guess at the rest. His aunt had stepped in and taken the children back with her to the States.

  She felt totally worn, emotionally quartered and inexplicably dirty by the time she’d inserted all the printouts into a folder and locked it in the bottom drawer of her desk. She should probably comb through the details properly, when she could think straight…although she wasn’t sure she needed any further insight. Her profession could be filthy, no doubt about it. Her profession could be filthy, no doubt about it.

  But could Alexander ever accept that she was different? Accept her into his heart and life without reservation? Look at how his mother had hurt his father. He’d learnt in the worst possible manner that love wasn’t sacred and didn’t come with protection clauses.

  Tears dampened her cheeks as she made her way home, pale blues and pinks streaking the black of night at the onset of dawn. Her head spun, sleep as elusive as the dream of Alexander ever abandoning himself totally to her, to anyone, after such deep betrayal.

  She did eventually fall asleep, face down at the kitchen table, her hand still clasped around the mug of coffee she’d doctored with a decent tot of whiskey. It was past two in the afternoon when she cracked one eye open, reaching for the cell phone buzzing in her back pocket. When she saw Alexander’s name, she let it ring. There was a previous missed call from him as well and two texts.

  Those she read.

  Just back from Penzance. Can we talk?

  Helena was gone then.

  She’d told him she needed to cool down. She’d said she’d see him on the weekend. But it hurt that he’d found it so easy to do just that.

  Are you okay?

  Wrong question. Of course she wasn’t okay. What he should be asking, though, was were they okay?

  She didn’t think so.

  Kate pushed up from the table, making her way upstairs for a desperately needed shower. Yesterday, she’d been unable to imagine walking away. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Amazing what a couple of hours of sleep could do.

  She wasn’t lost in Alexander, not so far that she couldn’t claw her way back to the surface. She needed to get a grip. How long had they known each other? More pertinent, how much time had they actually had together?

  She needed to get out now, before he shifted her so far onto the sidelines, she ended up hating both him and herself.

  Freshly showered, she dressed in jeans and a tank top, pulling her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head. She didn’t call him. This was a conversation that required face-to-face. The ache in her heart deepened with every mile along the valley road. It felt as if her insides had been hollowed out, an empty chasm to echo and reverberate that ache until the pain was sharp and physical. But she’d learn to live with that…until she healed. Humans were resilient.

  See? Her usual pragmatic optimism was already kicking in.

  She stopped the Jeep in front of the gates and hopped out to press the buzzer.

  “Kate,” he said on answering.

  She glanced up at the security camera, then turned her back on it.

  “Can I come in?” At least the static on the line ate up the croak in her voice.

  “The gates are opening,” he said. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  Hearing his voice, however distorted, brought on a threat of tears. She had to stay strong. But that was the problem. She’d known, from the start, that she wasn’t strong enough to fall without Alexander there to catch her. And now she knew he wouldn’t be, couldn’t ever be there one hundred percent for her.

  He couldn’t ever fall as fast and free and idiotically as she had.

  How could he, when she was his worst enemy?

  When she embodied the nightmare that had plagued his family?

  She saw him coming through the side gate when she pulled up at the fountain. She cut the engine and slid down from the Jeep, closing t
he door to lean against it for support.

  She didn’t look up until she’d taken a few trembling breaths, and then she did, her eyes glazing over as she watched him approach. So heart-staggering gorgeous, his hair swept in an unruly mess across his forehead and down one side of his face. The soft white, button down shirt contrasted starkly with the olive-brushed tone of his skin and reflected the glint of silver in eyes that were staring back at her.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to see me again, cara.” He held a hand out to her. His grin was hesitant, strained, and so damned sexy her insides curled up right then and there, folding into the hollows and squeezing out the thudding ache. “Are you still mad?”

  God, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk away from him.

  “I’m not mad anymore.” She took his hand, and he immediately drew her up against him, wrapping his other arm around her, surrounding her with his heat.

  Her cheek pressed flat to the curve of his shoulder, her arms snaked around him. Her eyes closed and her chest pulled tight. He might never abandon himself to her completely, but she could never abandon him. She just couldn’t do it.

  His mouth skimmed along her neck, feathering kisses that spread tiny electrical pulses humming over her skin. She tilted her head up and his mouth covered hers in a lingering, exploring kiss, tasting her lips thoroughly before delving deeper. She was weak with desire when he finally scooped her into his arms and carried her inside.

  She slid her hand beneath his shirt, her fingers tracing the familiar ridges of rippled muscle. Her head fell back into the crook of his elbow so she could look into his eyes. “Does this mean you missed me?” she asked cheekily. “I thought you’d be too busy.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he murmured, his gaze warming through her. “I’ve been working on a new song. It’s not finished yet, but I’d like you to hear it.”

  “You don’t mind?” She raised a brow at him. “I have a friend, a writer, and she’d kill us if we tried to sneak a preview of her current book before she was completely done and satisfied with the ending.”

  “Songs are different,” he said as he kicked the kitchen door closed behind them and put her down. His one hand cupped around the base of her neck, his other came to her chin, his thumb strumming her lower lip. “Sometimes they come at me in a rush of emotions, a palette of colour for me to play with but which never translates into a painting. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does.” She went up onto her tiptoes, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Will you sing it to me?”

  “That was the idea.” He took her hand again, leading her from the kitchen and down a short passage.

  When they entered a sitting room at the rear of the west wing, he pressed her gently onto a sofa, then grabbed one of two guitars propped against the wall. He joined her on the sofa, turning in to face her with his back against the armrest, one denim-clad leg squared over the other.

  Kate scooted to the opposite end of the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her, watching as he strummed chords for a few minutes, warming up the strings, his head bent and silky black hair falling over his face. Desire and longing filled her. Excitement trickled in her veins. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted him inside her, over her, holding her as if he’d never let her go. She wanted this, sitting with him, listening while he sang to her. She wanted it all.

  His head still bent, he started singing, the timbre of his deep voice sending warm shivers through her, leaving her almost as boneless as his lovemaking always left her. The soft, low-keyed intro fed into a faster, pulsing beat.

  If I loved you like you need me to

  If I loved you like I want me to

  I’d be everything you need or want

  I’d pull the sun down from the sky for you

  I’d pull the moon down from its perch for you

  She heard the ifs, how could she miss the ifs, but she’d already lost this battle with herself once today. She already knew all the things he wouldn’t do for her.

  She could never get enough of him. She wanted it all. But she was also prepared to take whatever she could get, no matter how little.

  His head lifted as the tone of the song darkened. His gaze, warm and intense, burnt into her and his voice, raw with unspent emotion, washed over her senses.

  You walk beside me in the dark, I can’t see you

  Are you there, please say yes

  I had no right to love that much

  The sun wasn’t mine to give

  The tide drags you from my grasp, I can’t feel you

  Are you gone, please say no

  I had no right to love you that much

  The moon wasn’t mine to give

  Tears choked her throat and welled up in her heart as she looked at him, into the eyes branding her with a hundred words he didn’t need to say. He was sorry. He’d hurt her and he couldn’t change that. He’d probably hurt her again the next time around. But he was hers, absolutely and completely. His boundaries and limitations were hers, too. The only parts of him he’d withhold were those parts that weren’t his to give.

  He loved her enough to destroy his world.

  He loved her, he loved his family, too much to destroy their world.

  The song trailed out into a humming finish, his gaze never leaving her. She smiled, feeling like an idiot, and idiot in love, the idiot who’d wanted it all and somehow fumbled her way into getting it.

  He set the guitar down and came closer. Her legs slid flat and he brought himself over her, his hard body fitting her soft curves in all the right places.

  “Mrs. Pinnings—Dora—returns on Monday,” he said, his breath skimming havoc down her throat. “This may be our last opportunity to take advantage of this sofa.”

  “You can take advantage of me all night long,” she groaned, lifting her hips to feel him flush against her and, at that exact moment, the impact of what she’d done gripped her in panic.

  The file locked away in her bottom drawer. A file filled with his past, his life, the overwhelming tragedy he’d suffered through at such a young age.

  He need never know. She could shred the printouts.

  But she couldn’t do that.

  She wouldn’t turn them into this lie, add another betrayal to his file. She couldn’t tell him that she’d researched him and she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened either…that she didn’t know a whole lot about him that she shouldn’t.

  He sensed her stiffening and brought his mouth up to hers, kissing her deeply before pulling back. “Is everything alright?”

  She arched into him, closing her eyes on a groan. “Keep doing what you’re doing and everything is just perfect.”

  There was another way out, she realised. She could get him to talk to her, to share his past. If the information was out in the open between them, that file was a tiny fib she could learn to live with.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Accustomed to late nights and even later mornings, Alexander grabbed the beeping cell phone when it went off at whatever ungodly hour it was and hurled it against the wall.

  The slide of a silken thigh between his legs eased his grouchy mood to a smile as he came fully awake. Everything was good about the weight of Kate’s breasts on his chest, her cheek pressed to his heart, the way she fit into the arm he’d wrapped around her while they slept.

  He inhaled the scent of her hair, entranced with everything about her.

  She’d bewitched him with her open heart, her quick smile, those gorgeous blue eyes that softened on him so often and, Dio, the way she burned him up in bed was more magic than chemistry and biology.

  He stroked her back gently until she stirred.

  “Wake up, cara.” His hand trailed over the rise of her bottom, his thumb making small whorls around the dimple at the base of her spine. “You have to go to work.”

  Did cavemen ever realise how good they had it? Not that he had any desire to club Kate over the head. But he was all onboard for dragging her int
o his cave for a day, a week, and not only because her damn paper might crumple if she stayed away long enough. The idea of asking if she’d ever considered changing professions had crossed his mind once or twice, but he never would. If he ever stopped writing songs to please someone else, he’d no longer be himself.

  She groaned, shifting against him with slow, catlike movements that woke up the rest of his body. Unfortunately, she rolled off him and onto her feet, taking the sheet with her.

  Her brow arched above the soft gleam in her eyes as she dragged her gaze over the length of his naked body. “Well, good morning there.”

  “Want to come and play?”

  “Any other day, except Mondays. The paper goes out tomorrow.” She pushed her hair out of her face, looking around her. “Where’s my phone?”

  “Ah, about that.” He swung his legs over his side of the bed and went to investigate the damage. “I might owe you a new one.”

  “You smashed my phone?”

  “I was half asleep.” He turned the phone over in his hands as he rounded the bed. “The screen’s cracked, but it still seems to work.”

  She shook her head, taking the phone from him. “Sleeping in your bed could become an expensive habit.”

  “One I’m more than willing to pay for.” He pulled her into his arms, the cool sheet between them doing nothing to douse his erection. He ran his hands down her back to cup her backside, bringing her in closer. “In more ways than one.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” She rubbed against him with a sensuality that promised everything, and gave him nothing except a quick kiss before scooting out of his arms.

  “I have to get home and you…” Her nose wrinkled as she pulled the sheet tighter around her. “Isn’t Dora returning this morning?”

  His mouth lifted in amusement. “My bedroom isn’t usually the first stop she makes.”

  “But I have to make a better impression on her than the last one,” she reminded him as she snagged her panties from the back of a chair. “And that doesn’t include a walk of shame.”

  He moved in front of her before she made it through the bathroom door. “No walk of shame, Kate, no slinking around my home.”