Good. This was the way to do it: keep things at a nice, domestic level. Her mouth curled into a challenging smile. “Just one of those simple, homemade dishes you probably don’t have time for in big city Chicago.”
She sounded perfectly normal now, didn’t she? If she managed to keep conversation on this level, he wouldn’t have the faintest idea how he affected her. And when he left, it would be good-bye forever. She wouldn’t be just another notch on that belt around his waist, the one her fingers itched to undo.
“Zucchini fritters.” He grinned. “I’m game.” He directed his gaze toward the long wooden table where only one place had been set. “Which one of us doesn’t get to eat?”
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Nonsense.” He wasn’t going to let her rebuff him again. “We’ve both been here for an hour and you haven’t so much as nibbled.”
“You are a paying guest and have the right to eat in private.”
“More nonsense. I’m responsible for grating the zucchini, therefore, my status has changed to co-worker. Besides, I hate eating alone.”
Alice turned and stared at him with exasperation. Was there no way of discouraging the man? Didn’t he have any pride? But he only looked amused. He probably didn’t mind eating alone, had been doing it for years. He just wasn’t used to having his invitations refused. Women would never say no to a man like Jace. Maybe this was the first time he was meeting with resistance; is that why he was so determined to break down barriers? Because he needed a challenge? Because success would make him feel good? So he could go back to the city a satisfied man?
He was watching her curiously. “Look, Alice? I’d just like to spend the evening with you. Get to know you better. Talk. I’ve even brought a bottle of wine for the occasion.”
She stared at him for a minute. “Wine?”
“French. A Buzet.”
“Nice,” she said.
“I’ll bet not everyone in the state of Nevada knows a Buzet is a nice wine,” Jace murmured softly.
Her eyes locked with his. Time stopped.
Until a staccato knocking sliced into the intensity. The dogs all barked. Alice blinked, then came up for air from what seemed to be the bottom of a warm green, reedy sea. Here was the real world again, knocking at the door, begging to be let in.
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
The unlocked front door moaned open, snapped shut, and Alice heard light tapping footsteps heading down the corridor. Rose Badger. Of course. It would be. With a new man on the horizon, nothing could discourage Rose. Why had it taken her so many days to show up?
“Alice?” Rose called.
Alice shoved down her feeling of irritation. Or was it jealousy? Ridiculous. Hadn’t it been her idea to get Rose and Jace together? If they were attracted to each other — and they certainly would be — she’d be out of the picture. And she’d also be safe from Jace, from her own emotions, from the attraction she was attempting to deny, from the riotous feelings of desire she was forcing herself not to feel. She’d be a free agent again. Alice tried, as hard as she could, to make the thought feel comforting.
“Ah, here you are.” Rose strolled into the kitchen in that naturally sexy way that was uniquely hers — you had to give it to her: when Rose made an entrance, she did it in a big way. Then she stopped, and stared at Jace. Began fluttering her lashes in a perfectly false semblance of surprise. “Oh, Alice. I thought you were here alone. Am I interrupting anything?”
Alice knew Rose’s acting talents far too well to be taken in. “Rose, this is my lodger, Jace Constant.”
“And I’m Rose Badger, Alice’s friend.” Rose gave her most winning smile.
Alice couldn’t miss the bright smile Jace gave in return, and she felt indescribably sad. And dowdy. And like an utterly useless third wheel. She and Jace had shared a delicate, magic moment only a few minutes ago, Alice was sure of it. But now she felt the magic sneak sulkily out of the room, to be replaced by a new piece of theater: the Rose Badger Show.
Now, of course, Rose would charm the socks off Jace. Rose was perfectly lovely: tonight she’d fluffed up those beautiful golden curls, and put on a delicious crushed raspberry shade of lipstick.
“Oh Alice,” sighed Rose. “What on earth are you cooking? It smells absolutely heavenly.” It was impossible to ignore the hint.
“I take it you haven’t eaten.” Alice’s tone was dry, although she did her best to muffle the sarcasm.
“I haven’t, as a matter of fact. I’m starving. There were so many clients showing up at the shop I didn’t think I’d ever get to close. I finally had to run away and come here, just to escape.”
This wasn’t the moment to mention that Rose’s clients had left her with enough time to spruce herself up for this “impromptu” visit, thought Alice, noting the tight, soft sweater that left little of Rose to the imagination. “Of course you’ll join us for dinner.”
“Alice and I were just about to sit down together and eat.” There was a little note of teasing laughter in Jace’s voice.
“Alice is a brilliant cook,” Rose chirped, unaware of any tension in the room.
“After the meals I’ve had here so far, I couldn’t agree with you more.” Jace’s eyes were still on Alice. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Just a question of liking to experiment, I guess. I’ve always loved cooking.” Alice smiled. “And eating.”
She felt his eyes travel over her body. She knew she was all length and bones. Stringy, she called herself. With no luxurious curves to tempt him.
“No one in the world could put on an ounce if they walked as much as Alice does,” chirped Rose who must have intercepted Jace’s glance. “She must cover at least twenty miles a day with those dogs of hers.”
Why didn’t they talk about something else! Why couldn’t they just forget her existence? Alice cracked an egg on the edge of the bowl with unnecessary violence. If only Jace and Rose would stop examining her like that — as though they were observing a strange bug under a microscope. She felt her cheeks glow pink.
“Who were your clients, Rose?”
“Rich tourists. On their way to Reno.” Rose launched into a description of a woman whose face had been lifted so many times “it looked like the skin on a snare drum.”
Jace laughed, and conversation became general. Alice listened with one ear, all the while observing how well the two of them seemed to get on together. How easygoing their chat was. How simple it was to have a conversation with someone like Rose; she was honest, humorous about herself and her life. And utterly spontaneous. It would be nice to be like that.
By the time dinner was over, real complicity seemed to have grown between Rose and Jace. But Alice was in a black mood. Both had forgotten she even existed. Never satisfied, she chided herself. One minute you want everyone to ignore you, and the next, you’re furious when they do.
Still, it would have been nice if Jace had resisted — just a little — Rose’s charm.
She glanced up at the ancient wooden clock ticking loudly on the opposite wall. Rose showed no sign of leaving, nor Jace of tiring. Alice was beginning to feel like a chaperone. Might as well leave the two lovebirds alone.
She stood. “Don’t forget to turn out the lights, Jace.” Her voice sounded ragged, sour. For heaven’s sake, what difference did it make to her if his interest in her had been so short-lived? She hadn’t wanted his attentions, had she? The fact that he’d let her drop so quickly showed how right she had been in her estimation of him, of the male sex in general.
“Goodness gracious,” exclaimed Rose. “Look at the time.”
“Time for bed,” said Jace, rising. Alice looked at him sharply, searching for innuendoes, trying to see if she could intercept a knowing glance between him and Rose. There wasn’t one. In fact, they were making an effort at showing that there was nothing more than polite friendliness between them.
“Bye, Alice,” said Rose and gave a little flutter of her hand
.
“I’ll lock the door after you,” said Jace.
There, that would give them time alone. Look at how quickly Jace had jumped at the chance to see Rose to the door. Alice stacked the dishes in the sink with a grim violence and tried not to notice how long he was gone, although it seemed to be hours. But she was less angry with the two of them than she was with herself and her evident jealousy.
She was so lost in morose thoughts that when Jace reappeared with a dishtowel in his hand, she jumped. He picked up a plate and began to dry it.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Drying the dishes,” said Jace calmly. “If we share the job, it’ll get done faster.” He examined her face. “And you are exhausted.”
“But you’re a paying guest! You can’t do chores.”
“I can. All you have to do is charge me extra.” He grinned.
“Look … ” Alice began.
“You’re dripping soap all over the floor.”
She was. The suds slid down over her hands.
“You can’t stop me from doing what I want, you know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a pretty determined guy.”
“I’ve noticed,” she answered grimly. Turning back to the sink, she tackled the rest of the dishes and found, despite her best intentions, that her mouth had twitched itself into a smile.
Okay. It was ridiculous, denying the pleasure his presence gave her. Standing here, side by side, doing this simple domestic chore together, it was as if they’d been doing it for years; that’s how natural it felt. She tried to calm the fluttering of her heart. He was only being nice. A polite guest.
When the last dish had finally been put away, she moved swiftly to the door. No reason on earth to prolong this intimacy a minute longer. He followed her out to the long dark corridor where only a feeble lamp burned. Pausing at the foot of the steps, she turned.
“Thanks.” She kept her voice cool, impersonal and dismissive although her nerves were pulled as tight as catgut strings on a violin. “Sleep well.”
He was standing too close, once again. He always did, come to think of it. The warmth of his body reached her in the dim, secret shadow. She saw his eyes drop to the curve of her lips and felt his want. She knew how he felt. Despite herself, despite her determination to resist, the slow flame was burning in her belly too.
He raised his hand, lifted her chin with the tip of his strong finger.
With any remaining resistance, she tried to shake her head. “No,” she whispered. She saw the gleam in his eyes. He would never accept “no” if he wanted something. Hadn’t he said that?
But he didn’t make a move.
She was the one who stepped in closer, letting her breasts caress the tightness of his chest. She was the one who sought his lips. She was the one who showed him she wanted him.
In the split second before his eyes closed, she saw the heat, the pleasure and his astonishment. He lowered his mouth to her warm, questing one, brushed her lips, once, twice. Brushed them again. Then the kiss deepened, expressed infinite desire. She soared, responded, melted, felt her hips lifting, arching against him, and when he groaned softly, she felt a thrill of triumph.
“Alice.” It was a gasp, a plea and a declaration, all at the same time. He pulled her closer.
She also wanted more, wanted him in her bed, wanted his nakedness against hers. But was it worth it? Worth the heartbreak of being a temporary partner in a lusty short affair? Here was raw desire. But what about other emotions? What about caring? Love? Those things weren’t even in the picture. They hardly knew one another.
“Stop, please, Jace!” She saw how his eyes gleamed, burned into hers. Hot, cold, hot, cold, they seemed to say. He was angry and excited, curious and confused.
Taking a deep breath he stepped back as if needing all his strength to do that.
Tease, she chided herself bitterly.
They were both silent.
“I want you,” he said finally. “Just like you want me.”
“I need time,” she whispered raggedly. Time to think, to weigh up the consequences, to reconcile herself to the misery of a one night, or one month affair: a simple conquest.
“Alice Treemont,” he said, his voice a caress. “Alice with braids, a haunted house, the desert, and dogs. You have a wonderful erotic power, and I want to make love with you.”
“Good night.” Her voice caught.
His finger traced a line down along her cheek, down her neck, between her breasts. She shuddered, almost wavered. Then, just that quickly, she turned, raced up the stairs in the shadow of the dim light. Didn’t look back.
The dogs followed sleepily, dark forms padding after her.
“Lucky dogs,” she heard Jace murmur.
Chapter Five
“Just as I expected,” muttered Jace when he came down to breakfast the next morning.
The kitchen was empty. No sign of the ever-elusive, mysterious Ms. Treemont. His place had been set at the table; there was hot coffee steaming in the pot by the stove. The room was cozy, inviting and the rich smell of freshly baked muffins filled the air.
“Exactly the way a real home should be,” muttered Jace. Except this wasn’t home. Not his, anyway. He was a temporary, unwelcome boarder and Alice Treemont wasn’t going to let him forget that. What did it matter in the long run? He was a city man, not some down-home rustic.
Then, for around the ten-thousandth time, he remembered the kiss they’d shared, the way her body had sought his, and his defiant thoughts vanished. He sat, picked a muffin out of the basket beside his plate, broke it open, and took a bite. His eyes closed with pleasure.
“Blueberry,” he declared in a very satisfied voice. If freshly baked blueberry muffins weren’t absolute total bliss, they were pretty close to it, as far as he was concerned. But there was still one very important element missing as far as the ideal breakfast went. Filling two cups with coffee, he set off in search of Alice. He wanted her company. He wanted to see her sitting across the table from him. And he was mighty fed up with this game of aloofness she was so intent on playing.
At this very moment, he didn’t care if he encroached on her territory, delved into her privacy, or stomped in where he wasn’t wanted. He wanted to know every single detail about her and he would ferret it all out. No matter what barriers she’d decided to throw in his way.
“Beware, Alice Treemont,” he muttered as he stepped out into the dark hallway.
The house was silent, peaceful — friendly feeling, even. He peeked into one room, then another and couldn’t help being impressed. Faded wallpaper, fragrant, waxed wooden furniture, framed watercolors portraying various desert scenes. But still no sign of Alice.
Until, at the end of a long corridor, he saw a light under a closed door. He knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob.
And found himself in an office — or was it a library? — ceiling-high shelves sagged under the weight of books. He noted the two inviting armchairs, a high, heavily curtained window and — thank heaven for miracles — there was Alice, sitting behind a vast, old-fashioned wooden desk covered by a mound of papers and what looked like photographs. Surrounding her were, — naturally — the dogs. They, at least, acknowledged his presence with happiness, opening their eyes sleepily, thumping their tails on the wooden floor before returning to their dozing.
Alice, however, was less welcoming, but Jace couldn’t help noticing the pallor of her face, the circles under her eyes. Had she had as much trouble sleeping as he? He hoped so. Now she stared at him defiantly, as if forbidding him to approach. Too late for that, my lady, he thought. You showed your true feelings last night.
Crossing the room, he held out one of the cups of coffee and saw her hesitate. Clearly, she was determined to refuse anything he had to offer. But he simply wasn’t going to allow her to rebuff him. Not anymore. They were going to play this out like equals.
“I’m working.” Her voice was no-nonsense cold. Still, she took th
e coffee he handed her, cupped it in her hands.
“Yes. I see that.” Not brilliant, Jace. You can do better.
“Your breakfast is waiting on the table.”
Trying to dismiss him again. She had a real knack for making him feel foolish too. “I saw that too. Great muffins. Also, the kitchen’s where I got this coffee, you know.”
She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes. Thank you for bringing me a cup.”
Jace took a deep breath. “So why are you hiding from me again, Alice?”
Wordlessly, she stared at him.
“Okay. Don’t even bother answering. I already know why. You’re hiding because of what happened last night. Right?”
She was fighting not to show any reaction, but he saw the quick nervous flicker in those strange golden eyes of hers.
“But that’s not all, is it?” he continued mercilessly. He paused. Her face had gone even paler. Still, he couldn’t stop. She had to know he wouldn’t let her call all the shots. “You liked what we shared and you want me. Just like I want you.” He saw her wince as color rushed into her cheeks. “And you hate yourself because of it. I make you feel something and that’s exactly what you want to avoid. Feeling. Opening the door to emotions.”
Lowering her eyes, she carefully put her cup down on the desk; he couldn’t miss the faint trembling of her fingers.
“Stop prying,” she said, finally. “Stay out of my life.”
He heard the chipped ice in her voice, felt its chill reach his bones. Decided to be tough. Not to listen to the message. “No way.”
“You have no right to intrude.” The words were clipped, hard.
Looking at things from her point of view, that was certainly true. He had no rights. This was her life and she could live it the way she wanted. He was the intruder. So why didn’t he just let go? Listen to his inner voice that told him to leave the lady in peace. That there was obviously something going on here, something too complicated to untangle. That he was just here for room and board. That soon he’d be home in Chicago, away from all of this. So why persist? Why run after a woman with an intimacy issue? Why even think of charming her?
All About Charming Alice Page 5