The stain in her cheeks deepened. Her discomfort and embarrassment had increased. What a stupid ass he was. He needed to explain himself better. “I mean, I don’t expect anything permanent. I’m not into long-term commitments, but I do value a good relationship with a woman. I’ve never had more than one relationship in my life at a time.”
Alex tried to pull away.
He increased the pressure at her shoulders and waited for whatever came next.
“Beck, it’s not just that. You don’t understand. You know nothing about me. Nothing about my background. Nothing about what’s happened in my life.”
Finally, she freed herself, but not before he saw she was ready to break down again. Something about the way she looked this time told him any tears now would be much different than the ones she’d shed earlier. She was hurting again—hurting real bad.
“I don’t think I could even take the chance on a shallow, noncommitted relationship.”
“I didn’t exactly say shallow,” he corrected, forcing a thin smile.
Her flush deepened even more. She hung her head and rubbed her forearms.
“I’m sorry, that was awfully crass. I didn’t mean to imply you were shallow or that your intentions were shallow or….” He dipped his head and met her gaze. “Can we call a truce? Save the rest of this conversation for a better time, when we’re both rested and our heads are a little clearer?”
She hesitated for a moment then a slow smile curved her lips.
Seeing her smile made him feel a hell of a lot better.
“You know, you’re a charmer, Mister St. Romaine. That was the first thing I noticed when you came charging at us that first day at the site.”
His ego shot way up. He figured he could afford as wide a grin as hers, wider even. “I always aim to charm, Ms. Kingsley. You don’t mind my not calling you doctor when we’re alone, do you?” He added a wink to the smile.
“Not if you don’t mind my not calling you mister when we’re alone,” she answered as she started toward the kitchen. “How about a cup of decaf?”
“Great.” He started to follow and only then realized he still had a hard-on half the size of a Mississippi pine tree. He turned quickly on his heel and called over his shoulder as he headed for the front door, “You put on the brew while I go out and check the truck. I want to be sure I locked it. I have some expensive tools in back.”
Outside, dusk was settling as he made a perfunctory try at the door handle for no logical reason other than he had to do something to regain his bearings. He needed the release of sex more than he could ever remember needing it in his entire life. Damn fool that he was, he would torture himself again by spending another night under the same roof with a woman he couldn’t lay for one reason or another. Hell of a fix you’re in, Becker St. Romaine. Becker, Becker, how’s your pecker? “Not doing very well at all tonight,” he mumbled as he cautiously made his way up the walk to Alex’s front door.
****
Alex rolled to her back, slung her arm across her forehead, and sighed deeply. The adrenaline rush she felt was enough to lift her right off the bed like someone possessed. After thrashing about for another quarter hour, she turned on her side and pummeled the pillow next to her head with a fist. Damnable hormones. When you needed them, they left you in a lurch. When you wanted to forget you had any, they dogged you to death.
Again, she rolled to her back and stacked her hands under her head. The room was pitch dark, and she was surrounded by silence. She felt safe with Beck in the house, the mysterious prowler identified, and any cause for worry eradicated. She should be asleep. Hah. She should be. But would she sleep at all tonight with Beck so close and yet so out of her reach?
But he needn’t be, she reminded herself. All she had to do was open the door, cross the hall, and tell him she’d changed her mind. Tell him she was willing to trust a relationship with him—even a short-term, uncommitted one. Especially one that didn’t promise forever, or promise she’d be number one, and the only one until death.
Oh God, why did her thoughts always turn to death? Wouldn’t death come soon enough? She tried to picture what the moment would be like when it finally happened. When she finally got the call. Would she collapse? Bear up well? Grieve herself into a stupor?
She reached for the bottle on the bedside table, opened it, and shook out two capsules into her palm. She picked up the ready glass of water and swallowed the medicine quickly, as if she might change her mind. Rarely now did she take the pills. Usually only when the pain and despair threatened to drag her down so fast and deep, she’d be down for days. Like she’d been a week ago. Like she’d been before… She dared herself to finish the thought. Like she’d been before Beck came into her life.
Turning on her side again, she faced the empty pillow and ran her hand over the cool percale covering. Many a night she had slept next to an empty pillow waiting for Bill to come home. Waiting to see if Bill came home at all. She gave herself a mental shake, not wanting to think of Bill right now. Thinking of him reminded her of every grievous, sinful thing she’d done wrong all the time they were together.
The sound of water rushing through the pipes broke the silence and the train of her thoughts. Beck. Was he having difficulty sleeping, too? Was it because of her? Because he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him?
A thrumming in her veins and a restlessness deep in her core insisted she give in to the need of the moment. After all, in the final analysis, the moment was all she had. The moment was all anyone had. Someone famous said that. But she couldn’t remember who. Nor did she care she couldn’t remember. She listened for a sign that Beck might be outside her door, debating the wisdom of turning the knob and putting her to the test.
A yawn caught hold, and she rolled onto her back once more, searching in the blackness for an answer to an unasked question. A question soon to be reckoned with. Was it worth the risk, or not?
Another yawn, this one longer and deeper, cornered the next couple of seconds. Snippets of the conversation she and Beck had before retiring replayed in her mind. He’d told her he’d checked his message service when he was out in the car in front of the restaurant. Or out in the car talking to a woman. Forget that, or you’ll never sleep.
An inquiry he’d made months ago about a challenging and lucrative job in southwest Georgia looked extremely promising. He’d been invited to a personal interview with the money men. He had to go. This job could be the salvation he and his associates needed in the event the deal to replace the land they’d lost also fell through.
She’d assured him she’d be fine. That all the students would be back, and she wouldn’t be alone at night in the cabin. He’d started his usual salvo of unkind remarks about Kent, but he eventually agreed to let the matter drop.
Her body relaxed. Her thoughts were muddled. Before she lost all ability to recall the last words Beck spoke, she pulled them back into consciousness, ‘I guess you’re better off with him than without him. At least he’ll protect you.’
Yes, she could always count on Kent for that. That truth was another one of the things she felt guilty about where he was concerned. But for now, she didn’t want to think of Kent, or guilt, or anything unpleasant. The mysterious mantle of sleep slowly slipped over her, and all she wanted to do was sink deeper and deeper into nothingness. she wanted to dream. To dream of Beck. Only of Beck.
****
Alexander Kingsley sighed deeply, pulled the door shut behind him, and crossed the hall to ring for an elevator. He usually didn’t work this late on Saturdays, but today was no usual Saturday. Today, he had finally signed the lease on the apartment in Champion Forest.
In the lobby, he opened the heavy glass doors and stepped into the humid downtown Houston air. A gust of wind swirled debris from the street around his feet. The Weather Bureau issued warnings of severe thunderstorms for the rest of the night. The storm would be through this area by morning and heading east toward Louisiana. He thought of Alex. Of how
she was and what she was doing. When he would see her next. How she would take his news.
With the remote, he clicked the door open and slid behind the wheel, the smell of expensive, seasoned leather sending a heady rush through his senses. The once-young man in him always surfaced at the smell of leather, the purr of a well-tuned engine, and the authority of three hundred plus horsepower.
The experience brought Alex to mind again. He could still see the expensive new car he bought for her very special birthday. A red convertible. He still felt her excitement when she took him for a spin on the freeway. She was sixteen then, and he was the most important man in her life. He was her hero. When did everything change?
He remembered her at five when she couldn’t wait to sit on his knee. At eight, pouting when business kept him from her softball games. At ten, when she talked about the day she would come to work for him.
Next, he remembered a particularly special day very well. She’d come downtown that Saturday to spend time with him while he worked. He’d returned from a trip down the hall to find her spinning like a top in his black leather desk chair.
“When I come to work here, Daddy, can I have a chair like this one?” she’d asked.
He remembered the pride he’d felt then. More than twenty years had passed since he’d told her, “Of course, sugar plum, and you can have one in any color you’d like.”
“Red?”
“Absolutely, if that’s the color you want.”
Red had been her favorite color. Was it still?
She had jumped out of the chair and raced to the windows that overlooked downtown Houston. “Can I have an office with lots and lots of windows like this one, too?”
“Bigger and with even more windows, if that’s what your little heart desires.” He laid his head back on the car’s leather headrest and swallowed down a fist-size lump in his throat. When had the little girl who wanted to be like him disappeared? What had made that ride up the freeway the last happy experience they shared?
When he turned the luxury sedan into the sweeping half-circle driveway, he took a deep breath. He cut the engine, sat for a few minutes, and prepared himself for what lay ahead. When he could delay the inevitable no longer, he got out of the car, walked the dozen or so steps to his front door, and let himself inside.
The house was dark except for the light in the foyer. With each step, his heart grew heavier. How many nights had he returned home early in his marriage, his step light and his heart filled with hope? Not nearly as many as the nights he’d returned home the last thirty years to a wife whose idea of love was obsession with her own body and a need for adoration of it by him.
He thought back over the last few decades and assessed his life and assessed himself. He had always considered himself an honorable man. Honorable even during these last three decades when he might have lost all ability to love were it not for the one person in his life who had never lost faith in him and who had never stopped loving him.
Perhaps he’d been even more honorable these past thirty years than ever before in his life. After all, hadn’t he honored all the vows he’d made on his wedding day that were always the most important to his wife? For these past thirty years, he had sacrificed what meant more to him than anything else in his life just to make her happy.
But no more. Today, his life would change. Today, he would put himself and the woman he loved first.
Today, he would tell his wife he wanted a divorce.
Chapter Twelve
“More coffee, child?”
Seated at the table in Beck’s grandmother’s kitchen, Alex smiled at her octogenarian host, affectionately known as GrammaU, and slid the heavy white mug forward. “Thanks, I’d love more. This is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“It’s my own secret brew. Mix a few different kinds together. Coffee’s one of the few pleasures I ain’t givin’ up ’til I’m six feet under. Even in bad times, I had to have my coffee.” She moved the sugar bowl closer to Alex. “And believe me, child, I’ve lived through some bad times.” She picked up a corncob pipe from the ashtray and clamped it between her teeth, took a long pull, and set it down again.
Alex thought how much Beck’s grandmother reminded her of Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies. Except this granny still had dark threads in her mostly white hair and the same dark, brooding eyes as her grandson.
The old lady put a gnarled, blue-veined hand over Alex’s and gave it a gentle pat. “How about we take our coffee into the parlor, child? These old bones need the comfort of a padded rocking chair.”
Alex followed as the old lady made her way slowly to the living room off the kitchen. She took a seat on the small sofa facing the maple rocking chair. While GrammaU, which she’d insisted Alex call her, settled herself in her rocker, Alex looked at the impressive array of photographs on tables around the room. Most of the photographs were old and had faded, but many were recent enough Alex could make out Beck in several of the pictures. In a couple of the photos was a young teen-aged Beck, and in one, he was a few years older.
“Are you my Becker’s girl?”
Alex laughed and shook her head. “Nothing like that. We were just thrown together in a bizarre way, and he thinks I need watching over, that’s all.”
The old lady snorted and reached for the pipe she’d carried with her from the kitchen and placed it in an ashtray next to the rocking chair. “Ain’t the way I see it.” She took a drag on the pipe, took it from her mouth, held it at arm’s length, and inspected it before she slipped the stem between her teeth again. She took another pull, but instead of removing the pipe, held it in the corner of her mouth and balanced the bowl with her bent fingers. “Ain’t the way I see it a’tall. I seen the way he looked at ya’. Same way my old man used to look at me when we was young.”
A thread of excitement ran through Alex. She didn’t want Beck’s grandmother to see how that declaration affected her, so she lifted the mug, inhaled the rich brew deeply, then put the mug to her lips and sipped slowly.
“You’re the first girl my Becker has ever brought around since his wife.”
Alex caught herself before she choked on the coffee. Married? “Beck’s married?” She hoped she had controlled her surprise.
“Not no more. Not for a long time. Thought he woulda’ told ya’. Don’t let on I said anything, or he’ll likely be upset. Likes to keep his business to himself, that boy.” She took the pipe from the corner of her mouth. “Still think he shoulda’ said something. Also, you oughta’ know it only lasted a month.”
Only a month? Alex set her mug down on the table in front of the sofa, careful not to touch any of the lace doilies that had obviously been washed and ironed very recently. “I really want to thank you for letting me spend this time with you while Beck takes care of some chores. He’s been so busy looking after me lately that I’m afraid he’s neglected his own business.” She didn’t really believe he had business to take care of that he couldn’t do with her along. She was certain whatever he had to do concerned the woman he’d spoken to on the phone. A spark of jealousy flared in her chest.
“More’n likely he went to see JoAnn.”
So, that was her name. Funny though that GrammU would know her name and yet never have met her.
“Is JoAnn Beck’s girlfriend?” Alex forced herself to ask.
The old lady chuckled. “Lordy no, child. JoAnn’s his sister. My only other livin’ grandchild.” She shook her head, her lips downturned. “Still breaks my heart, that one. Wish I could take care of her myself. Wish I could make up for all her mama never did.”
Alex suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She was being fed information about Beck’s private life she was certain he would rather she didn’t know. And yet, what she’d just been told caused her heart to miss a beat and her insides to do a crazy little dance of joy. He hadn’t gone to see another woman. He’d gone to see his sister. “Where does his sister live?”
The old lady shook her head from side to side
. “More of Becker’s business I should be keepin’ to myself, I suppose.” She squinted at Alex and stared a few moments before she bobbed her head up and down a few times. “Still, I seen the special way he looked at ya’. Likely he’ll be tellin’ ya’ soon himself so I’m only helpin’ things along.” She closed her eyes.
Alex didn’t move. Part of her was intensely curious to find out what Beck’s grandmother had to say, but another part of her was uncomfortable at the thought she was about to peer into his soul.
“Becker’s a good boy,” the old lady began. “He has a heart as big as the Mississip’. He acts like a bear sometimes, but it means nothin’ a’tall.” She paused to relight the pipe.
“Anybody Becker cares ’bout that needs help can count on him bein’ right there fer ’em. Been that way all his life. Looks after me and his pa, as well as his sister and his friends. He’d walk barefoot in hell fer any o’ us.
Alex nodded. Beck’s willingness to put the well-being of others before himself, especially those he loved, was something she could easily believe. He had shown that side with his steely resolve to protect both her and his friend.
“But of all of us, he’s most watchful of JoAnn. Poor thing ain’t never been right.” The old lady touched the side of her forehead with a gnarled finger. “Didn’t nobody notice ’til she was about two. When most younguns are talkin’.” She inhaled through her nose and held her breath, her eyes closed once again.
She might have been asleep except for the soft rise and fall of her ample breast. Alex waited, her own breath shallow.
“My baby, Becker’s mama,” GrammaU continued, “wasn’t cut out to take care of no little one that wasn’t right. Truth be known, she wasn’t meant to take care of one that was as right as Becker was.” She opened her eyes slowly and stared for several long seconds over Alex’s head.
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