Deflected

by Jami Davenport

“You aren’t getting your way.”

  He held his hands to his heart. “You are harsh, Rosalind.”

  Her heart fluttered at the way he said her name with his sexy Russian accent. What was wrong with her? She was a good girl. Alex was a bad boy, and she’d never been one of those girls who fell for bad boys.

  Until now.

  No, she told herself. She wasn’t falling for this man. She didn’t like him as a person. If she had a brain in her head, she’d keep her distance. No more dinners out, except for Sunday dinner. Nothing short of death would get her out of Sunday dinner at her parents’ house.

  She was a practical person, one who thought out every decision and made the best choices she could make. Alex would be a bad choice, a very, very bad choice. So what if he wrote the book on sexy bad boys? So what if his eyes were bluer than any blue she’d ever seen? So what if his body was the kind that made women drool and worship at his feet? She didn’t need a man like that. She needed smart, steady, and dependable. Not hot, fast, and unpredictable.

  “Rosalind? Are you listening?”

  She jerked her head up and blinked a few times. She’d been lusting after an almost stranger. She really did need to get a life outside of the bookstore to keep her occupied and hold her errant thoughts at bay.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Planning next day?” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had her figured out—somewhat. Normally, that’s just what she’d be doing.

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you ever do spur of moment?”

  “Of course, all the time.”

  “Name last time you did.” The waiter stopped off with the dessert menu, and Alex ordered the chocolate mousse and two spoons.

  “Alex, I said I didn’t want dessert.”

  “One taste?” His lopsided gin probably won many women’s hearts and got him into many beds. She wasn’t gullible when it came to sex and men. Even if there was a tug of attraction, she’d never act on it. She’d never been one who allowed her body to dictate her actions.

  “I really should leave.” She reached for her purse on the back of her chair.

  “Not yet. I hate to dine alone. Please.”

  The first mistake she made was to look into those pleading blue eyes. He was lonely. She recognized loneliness. The second mistake was to settle back in her chair rather than leave. Maybe she didn’t dislike him nearly as much as she had at first. Once she got beyond his bluster and flirting, he seemed to be an okay guy.

  “Where are you from in Russia?” she asked, making polite conversation by picking a safe subject.

  The sparkle left his once smiling eyes, and he shut down right in front of her, going from a devil-may-care guy to a brooding man in a split second. “Small town. Outskirts of Moscow.” He didn’t offer any more information, and she should’ve taken the hint, but the way he shut down intrigued her. She was driven to know more.

  “Do you go back often?”

  “Never.” His answer was so final, so definite, the vehemence in his voice caught her off guard. She should shut up now, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Do you still have family there?”

  His expression turned dark, almost thunderous. She hadn’t hit a nerve, she’d hit a hundred of them. “Not any I care about.”

  She had to know more. She had to dig. She was inherently curious, which was probably why she’d been such an avid reader all her life. “When is the last time you were there?”

  “I played junior hockey in Canada starting at sixteen. I haven’t been back since,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Ten years?”

  He nodded. He managed to control his emotions enough that his expression had become indecipherable and colder than a Russian winter.

  “Don’t you miss your family?”

  “I am orphan.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if he were telling her he liked the color blue or hated Brussels sprouts.

  Okay, now she was the one rendered speechless. There was a story there, and she wanted to know what it was, but she’d done enough damage for the night. Honestly, his past was none of her business. He’d move on in a month or so, and she’d never see him again.

  He poured another glass of wine and downed it in record time. He guzzled it like an alcoholic guzzled whiskey. Was that why he was here? Did he have a drinking problem? Her innate inclination to fix what was wrong kicked in, and she had to tamp it down. He wouldn’t appreciate her meddling. She barely knew him, and all she had was speculation and very few facts.

  “What book you reading?” He poured another glass of wine and watched her over the rim of the glass. As if realizing she was judging his alcohol consumption, he set the glass down quickly and folded his hands in his lap, assuming an expression of utmost innocence.

  “I’m working my way through the books on PBS’s Great American Read list of one hundred books.” She tried to tamp down her enthusiasm, but when it came to books, she would get as giddy a schoolgirl who’d just been asked out by the high school quarterback.

  “Where is list? I read too.” He was already tapping his phone screen in absolute concentration.

  “It’s on PBS’s website.”

  He grinned and held the phone up for her to see. “This is it? True?”

  “Yes, true.” A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. As hard as she tried to dislike him, he amused her.

  “I have read many of these already. We compete? See how many we can each read before I leave?” He eagerly watched her.

  “Compete? Is everything a competition with you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Reading a book is not a competition. A good book is to be savored and enjoyed and, if a person is lucky, discussed with like-minded readers. It’s not just checking a book off the list so you can impress your friends with how well-read you are.”

  He threw back his head and laughed as if she’d said something uproariously funny. “That would not work with my friends.”

  She imagined the kinds of friends this guy had, probably a partying crowd whose reading consisted of Facebook posts and their Instagram or Twitter feed.

  “My Wednesday night book club is going through the list.”

  “I join book club. I read and discuss.”

  She wanted to kick herself for offering that tidbit of information. She didn’t need to spend any more time with this man. He upset her routine, messed with her plans, and made her question all she thought she knew. He also refused to fit in the mold she’d made for him.

  “We’re very serious about our book discussions. This is not a joke to us.”

  “I can be serious, but books are to be enjoyed. They do not have to be treated as sacred. Books are entertainment.”

  “You are so wrong. Books are so much more than that. They can change lives. They can give us hope. They can help us understand the world.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and adopted a stubborn scowl. “They are entertainment to me. Maybe you take them too seriously and have lost the joy of immersing yourself in book.”

  The nerve of this man. He knew nothing about her. She loved books. All types of books. She immersed herself frequently in a good book.

  “You’re wrong. In fact, just last night I was so immersed, I forgot to take notes on a particular passage for the book club discussion and had to go back and—”

  One of his brows crept upward, and she stopped talking. She was proving his point.

  Flustered, she hurried to further explain herself. “I do read for pleasure when I have time.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I do.” She had no idea why she felt the need to justify her behavior to this man who was on his third glass of wine to her zero glasses of wine.

  His smug smile raised her hackles again. She glanced at her phone. “It’s late. I need to be going before it gets dark since I’m walking.”

  He almost looked disappointed. He had been enjoying himself. She had not—at least not too mu
ch. “I walk you home.”

  “No, really. That’s not necessary. There’s no crime on this island other than petty theft. I’m perfectly safe.”

  He put a hundred-dollar bill on the table and stood. “I feel better if I walk you.” She’d been around him enough she was starting to read his expressions, and this was his stubborn, getting-his-way expression.

  Not seeing another option, she stood and left the restaurant. “Don’t you want change?” Their combined bill hadn’t come to half that amount.

  “No.”

  He held the door open for her, and she brushed against him as she squeezed past. Her body sprang into action, ready and willing to have its way with this man.

  Using every ounce of willpower in her not-so-vast arsenal, she reined her libido in. He wasn’t right for her.

  She’d never been much of a gambler or risk-taker. She thrived on order and predictability. This man was her total opposite, yet the pull of attraction between them couldn’t be denied.

  Chapter 6—Around the Island

  Alex shortened his stride to match Rosalind’s shorter stride. He had a good ten-inch height advantage, which included much longer legs. He’d spent so much time lately with models, being with a much smaller woman was a unique experience, yet one he enjoyed. Rather than being eye to eye, he had to look down into Rosalind’s brown eyes, and he liked it. Being much taller brought out an untapped protective instinct. For the longest time, he’d only thought of himself and not considered anyone else beyond what they could do for him. Even in the short time he’d spent with her, his absorption with his own needs had begun to shift. It was weird and not necessarily welcome.

  In a few blocks, they ran out of sidewalk and were walking along a narrow, winding country road at the outskirts of Sunset Harbor.

  “Where to?” He reached for her hand and thought better of it, shoving his hands in the pockets of his thin hoodie.

  “There’s a path along the water that leads to my cottage. It’s this way.” She pointed to an almost hidden path that veered into the woods.

  He knew the path. He’d walked that same one many times in the past week. After a short walk through the woods, it emerged near a bank and wound along the bank near the water.

  “You live by me?”

  “I live a few blocks from the Parker Mansion.”

  Her evasiveness bothered him more than he cared to admit. She didn’t want to tell him where she lived because she had a low opinion of him. If she knew who he was, that opinion would sink to the depths of hell. Yet he had this insane need to impress her, not with his sexual prowess or ability to hold his liquor, but with his intellect and his good deeds, both of which he usually downplayed. He slowed his pace, realizing she was lagging behind.

  “Sorry.”

  She side-eyed him, as if to say par for the course. He wasn’t winning any points and wondered why he cared. All he could come up with was the novelty of being the hunter rather than the hunted. She was making him work for it, and he was having fun with their pseudo hatred and not-so-hostile banter.

  Being on this island wasn’t nearly the drudgery he’d envisioned, not with her around. The fact that she didn’t fall at his feet in worship of his money and fame made her all the more intriguing.

  They came to a fork in the trail. If he went right, he’d end up on Old Mansion Lane. She hesitated, and he grinned down at her.

  “I am guessing you go that way?”

  “Yes. Thank you for walking me this far.” She sounded all prim and proper and uptight. He’d love the chance to unwind her.

  He sighed. “A gentleman walks a lady home. I would be devastated if something happened.”

  “On this island?” Her amused laughter did this weird thing to his insides, much like a good cup of coffee in the morning picked him up or like the first sunny spring day in Seattle after months of torrential rain.

  “Not much crime on island?”

  “Just petty stuff. I’m fine.”

  He shrugged. “You are not getting rid of me easy.”

  She gave him one of those looks he’d come to recognize as exasperation mixed with resignation. He’d seen that very grimace a lot in the past few days, but he was heartened by the certainty he was wearing her down. He wasn’t sure what his end game was yet though. Before Rosalind, he had one goal when it came to women—get them in bed and give as good as he got.

  For the first time, he cringed at how sexist he sounded. He didn’t have any female friends. Not really. Amelia, Brick’s wife, was his closest female friend. He occasionally confided in her, though their confidences were superficial. His fault, not hers.

  Yeah, he wanted to get Rosalind naked, but he also wanted something else, and that something was so new to him he couldn’t define it and was scared to explore it. He’d never been one to take things slow, but Rosalind required a measured, steady approach, and he craved the novelty.

  The path was narrow and overgrown in places. He found himself ducking repeatedly to avoid a low-hanging branch whacking him in the forehead or poking out an eye. The height of the brush was perfect for Rosalind. She didn’t duck at all. She walked ahead of him, as there wasn’t room for both of them side by side.

  They emerged into a small clearing with a pleasant cottage on the other side. The place was so her, white with blue trim, a small front porch, and colorful flowers in tidy flowerbeds lining an equally tidy lawn.

  “I’m here. Thank you.” She turned to wave at him and almost smacked into him. He was only a few feet behind her and had to put on the brakes to prevent mowing her down.

  Their eyes met and locked. The world tilted on its axis. He didn’t know how or why or what, but something changed. A moment so seemingly small and insignificant, yet he knew it was anything but.

  His usual clever tongue ceased to function. His throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. He didn’t look away, even though he knew he should. He was a superhero, and she was his Achilles heel, his Kryptonite, his weakness. She had the power to bring him down, destroy the man he thought he was, and force him to face painful truths. He would never expose his weaknesses or his secrets. Alex’s only true relationship was with a hockey puck, definitely not with a woman.

  He’d never looked into someone’s soul and predicted their thoughts or instantly known what they needed. Even in the throes of an intense orgasm, he’d remained emotionally distant.

  Overwhelmingly flustered, he backed away. Stumbling over a tree root, he waved his arms and managed to grab a branch to keep from falling. He expected her to laugh. She didn’t. She merely stared at him in confusion.

  “I need to go,” he blurted, a coward on the run from a potential threat.

  “Yes, thank you. For walking me, I mean. I, uh, appreciate it.”

  She was flustered, too, which gave him a measure of smug satisfaction. He turned and hurried down the path, tripping over a large rock, recovering his balance, and lurching forward.

  He didn’t slow until he was safely inside the confines of the Parker Mansion with Milo ensconced on his lap.

  “What the fuck just happened, Milo?” he asked as he stroked the cat’s black fur. Milo gazed up at him and blinked his yellow eyes.

  Milo didn’t know the answer any more than Alex did.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Alex picked up Clarissa in his red sports car he’d brought over on the ferry. He drove along a winding two-lane road that hugged the water’s edge, stopping for lunch at a small café on the opposite end of the island from Sunset Harbor, after which they drove up to the top of the highest peak and enjoyed the view. They finished the day at a state park, sitting on a bluff and watching for whales to swim by in the channel below.

  The food had been good, the company was fine, and the scenery was nothing short of spectacular, but Alex was out of sorts. There’d been no burst of sexual attraction or uber-awareness of her every movement. Nothing. Not like he felt with the feisty Rosalind.

  As they sat on the bluff staring at the settin
g sun, he didn’t know what to say. He’d had a good time with her, but not great. She was attractive and had a great body, yet he wasn’t able to drum up any interest in her. She didn’t seem overly interested in him either.

  What was wrong with him? He’d never been disinterested in a pretty woman before.

  “What’s the problem?” Clarissa asked him. “You’re as antsy as my uncle when he’s out of scotch.”

  Funny she should bring up alcohol. He could use a good stiff one right about now. He glanced down at the water bottle in his hand and wished it was whiskey.

  Looking up, he met her gaze. She smiled at him, and her smile was open and friendly, which apparently was how she regarded him, as a friend but not as a potential bedmate. The Alex of a few weeks ago would’ve considered her disinterest concerning, but he actually liked the idea. He didn’t have female friends, and she seemed a likely candidate.

  “I’m not sure. Just a lot going on in my head. You’ve been quiet too. What’s up with you?”

  “I’m a single mom without a job, for starters.”

  He nodded. He couldn’t relate, but he could sympathize. “Homer mentioned they’re in need of a bartender at the veterans club in Sunset Bay.

  “They are? I’ve bartended before. I enjoy it.”

  “You might want to drop in there and apply.”

  “I will. Thanks for the tip. Now it’s your turn. Why are you really here? I’m not buying the story about Ethan rewarding you, especially for good behavior. Unlike Roz, I know all about you.”

  “Rosalind told you about my reason?”

  “Sure did. She thought your reason for being here was suspicious. You’re hiding something.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He shrugged, not willing to add more fuel to her fire.

  “Fess up. What’s the story?”

  Alex should’ve stuck with the original story, no matter how bad it was, but he did the stupid thing and told her a half-truth. “I am here because I have done too much partying, and the team is upset.”

  “I knew it.” She grinned smugly.

  “Yeah. I’d prefer you not spread though. It is embarrassing to be exiled by team owner and ordered to clean my act.”