He entered a formal dining room with a table set for two. Prisms of light from a chandelier fired the facets in crystal stemware at the place settings.
Leaving the dining room he walked into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Alex placing cinnamon sticks in two large mugs as she gyrated to “Nutbush City Limits.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the entrance to the enormous stainless-steel kitchen filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat, watching her as she closed her eyes, snapped her fingers and danced to the catchy tune. A smile touched his mouth when he remembered her dancing with Michael.
The selection ended and he put his hands together, applauding. “Bravo.”
Alex spun around, her face flaming with embarrassment. Merrick had caught her pretending she was an Ikette. She’d spent her teenage years wishing she were a backup dancer for Tina Turner.
Recovering quickly, she bowed from the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she drawled, blowing kisses to an imaginary audience.
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You missed your calling. You should’ve become a dancer.”
Alex emitted an audible sigh. “That was never going to happen. My mother made me take dance lessons, and when the kids went to the right I went to the left. The instructor thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t follow the steps she’d choreographed and eventually expelled me from class. I never told anyone, but Madame H pulled me aside after my first lesson and lectured me sternly about showing up the other little girls. That ignited an undeclared war and I did everything I could to make her life a living hell.”
Merrick, lowering his arms, straightened. “Remind me to never cross you.”
She affected an attractive moue, wrinkling her nose. “It wasn’t often that I was a horrible little girl, but there was something about Madame H that pulled me over to the dark side.” She pantomimed leaning to her left, limp fingertips grazing her forehead in dramatic fashion.
Shaking his head and smothering a laugh, Merrick found it hard not to respond to Alex’s theatrics. Everything about her was young, fresh, uninhibited and spontaneous.
“Are you always this bubbly?”
She sobered, meeting his questioning gaze. “Don’t you mean silly?”
He shook his head. “No, Ali. I meant exactly what I said. Bubbly.”
Alex returned to the stove and poured the warm liquid into the mugs. “It comes in spurts,” she said truthfully. “There are times when I’m as serious as a heart attack, but most times I’m pretty loose.” She didn’t want to think of her family’s assessment that she’d changed since she’d begun her graduate studies.
Merrick moved closer, inhaling the fragrant scent of cinnamon, cloves and orange wafting from the mugs. He was pleased that she felt comfortable enough with him to be loose, because he was more than aware that he’d made some people uneasy whenever he was in their presence.
“Are you concerned as to how people perceive you?” he asked.
“No,” she said without hesitation. “And even if I was there’s nothing I could do about it. There was a time in my life when I changed myself completely to please someone, and in the end I hated myself for it.” She extended her arms.
“What you see is what you get. Take it or lump it.”
Merrick wanted to tell Alex that he would take it—take all of her just as she was. “I like what I see, Alexandra Cole.”
She curtsied as if she were royalty. “Thank you, Merrick Grayslake.” Her head came up as she straightened. “And I like what I see.”
Resting his elbows on the cooking island, he impaled her with a penetrating stare. “What do you see, Ali?”
Boldly, unflinchingly, Alex met his stare, noticing things about Merrick that she’d missed New Year’s Eve. There was a minute scar on his left cheek, a slight bump on the bridge of his aquiline nose as if it had sustained an injury and a hint of blue in his gray eyes. What she’d remembered was the shape of his mouth, a perfect masculine mouth with firm lips, and the close-cropped hair that was more red than brown.
She smiled. “I see a man who I look forward to calling a friend.”
Merrick’s eyebrows flickered. “I thought we were already friends.” Reaching for one of the mugs, he waited for Alex to take hers. He raised his mug in a salute before taking a sip of the warm spicy beverage.
Alex sipped her toddy while she replayed Merrick’s statement: I thought we were already friends. To her, friends supported, protected and comforted one another in the good and not-so-good times. A friend would be someone she could confide in and trust with her innermost secrets. And she wondered if Merrick Grayslake would and could become her friend in the true sense of the word. Only time would tell.
Setting down her mug, she handed him the vase of lilies. “Would you please put this on the dining-room table?”
“Sure.”
Alex smiled when he left to do her bidding. Unknowingly, Merrick had just passed the first test. His expression hadn’t changed, nor had he hesitated when she’d asked him to do something for her.
Merrick removed the fireplace screen, stoked the burning embers with a poker, then added another piece of wood on the grate. The flames caught and he replaced the screen; the sweet redolent aroma reminded him of the wood-burning stoves in his West Virginia home, a home where for the past two years he’d become a recluse, venturing out only to shop for food. Weeks would go by before he refueled his sport-utility vehicle.
At thirty-three he’d dropped out of sight as if he’d never existed, and it wasn’t until Michael Kirkland came to see him that he was jerked back into the reality that there was another world outside Bolivar, West Virginia. In the past three months he’d visited D.C., Georgetown, West Palm Beach, Miami, Key West and now Arlington, Virginia.
But when he returned home after visiting with Rachel he’d been tempted to settle back into what was now a comfortable and secure routine of waking up at dawn and walking several miles in the cold mountain air before returning home to spend the day reading, chopping wood or watching television.
However, his plan to reconnect with Alexandra Cole thwarted the inclination to fall back into what was familiar when he packed enough clothes for a two-week stay in the Capitol District. And he never questioned or second-guessed himself once he’d checked into the Hyatt.
Sharing dinner with Alex had become an enjoyable event. Her exquisite culinary skills were only surpassed by her delightful companionship. Dinner had begun with shrimp cocktail with a piquant cocktail sauce, a salad of endive stuffed with lump crabmeat, marinated pork tenderloin stuffed with spinach and corn bread. A pale blush wine had become the perfect complement to the differing flavors that had lingered on his palate.
He’d offered to help her clean up, but she’d refused with the excuse that she didn’t like anyone in her kitchen. It was apparent she liked being in control.
Alex walked into the living room to find Merrick stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, his head cradled on folded arms. She smiled. He’d truly made himself at home.
Closing the distance between them, she lay down beside him. She didn’t have time to catch her breath when he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. Shifting to her right, she rested her head on his shoulder as if it was something they’d done countless times before, feeling safe, protected in his arms. His warmth and the lingering scent from his cologne urged her closer.
“It’s still snowing,” she said softly. She’d turned on the under-the-counter television in the kitchen to the Weather Channel; the snow totals for the D.C. region had surpassed fourteen inches.
“We’ll probably get two feet before it’s over,” Merrick drawled, not opening his eyes.
“I hope you’re not thinking of trying to make it back to your hotel tonight.”
He opened his eyes. “It’s not that far.”
“It’s too far for you to walk in a blizzard, Merrick. I have a spare bedroom. You’re about the same height as my
brother Jason, so you won’t have an excuse that you don’t have anything to wear.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re the second woman within the span of a week who has invited me to stay with her.”
Alex went completely still, her heart pounding a runaway rhythm as she held her breath until she felt her lungs burning. Had Merrick lied when he told her that he wasn’t involved with a woman?
“You stayed with a woman in Florida?”
Tightening his hold around her waist, Merrick pulled her closer to his length. “It’s not like that, Ali. Rachel’s someone I used to work with. She threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t check out of a Key West hotel and stay with her.”
Some of the tension left her. “What did she threaten to do? Shoot you?” He nodded. Tilting her chin, Alex stared up at Merrick staring down at her. “Would she have shot you?”
“Of course not. Why are you taking what I’m saying so seriously?”
Vertical lines appeared between her eyes. “It’s just that I don’t need some crazy-ass woman looking to cap me because she believes I’m hitting on her man.”
“That will never happen because I’m not involved with anyone. Tell me how it was growing up a Cole,” he asked, deftly changing the topic.
“That all depends on which Cole household you’re talking about. I believe mine was the most unconventional. My uncle Martin is rather traditional, and so are his children. My aunts Nancy and Josephine were raised believing they were Afro-Cuban royalty, so they passed their values down to their children and grandchildren. The Cole-Thomases and Wilsons have this air of entitlement that can really work my nerves. My uncle Joshua is quite conservative, but that comes from a career in the military.
“Perhaps it’s because my dad opted for a career in music rather than devote his life to the family business that we were raised without the restrictions imposed on my other relatives. I remember Abuela lecturing Daddy that he was raising ‘los animalitos pequeños.’ My mother took offense to her mother-in-law’s reference to her children as little animals, and it took months before they declared a truce.”
“What did your parents do that ticked off your grandmother?”
“We played music all day and half the night—loud. The house was always open to our friends for sleepovers and pool parties. And because Daddy had set up his own record company, there was an unending stream of popular and wannabe musicians coming to the in-home recording studio. It was cool to see them come to record a demo, and a year later see them on television in their own music video.”
“It sounds as if you had a lot of fun.”
“It was. Where did you grow up?” she asked Merrick.
“Texas.”
“I knew it.”
“What did you know?”
“I knew you were from the South.”
“Southwest,” he corrected softly.
“Texas is still the South. Where in Texas were you raised?”
“Dallas, Waco, San Antonio, McAllen, Lubbock, Corpus Christi. You name it, I’ve lived there.”
Easing out of his loose embrace, Alex sat up. “Why did your family move around so much?”
The last CD had finished minutes before, and there was only the sound from popping wood and showers of falling embers. Merrick lay on the rug, lifeless as a statue as he stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. He couldn’t chide Alex for asking him about his past because he’d opened the door when he’d asked about her childhood.
“My family didn’t move. I was the one who moved whenever social workers shuttled me from one foster home to the next. I stopped counting at six.”
Alex rested a hand on his shoulder. “Where were your parents?”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Ali. I never knew my mother or father because I was abandoned at birth.”
Feeling as if her breath had solidified in her throat, Alex was unable to form a response or comeback. Here she was running off at the mouth about the Coles while Merrick had been passed around like an inanimate object to whoever was willing to accept him.
Merrick sat up. For a long moment he studied Alex intently. “Aren’t you going to say what all of the others have said?”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re sorry.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she registered the coldness that’d crept into his voice, and she wondered whether he’d grown up listening to people pitying him for a turbulent childhood. What about those who’d been presented with an opportunity to change his life, yet stood by and did nothing? However, there was something about the prideful man sitting inches from her that silently conveyed that he wouldn’t accept her pity.
“You’re wrong, Merrick. Who am I to pity you when something tells me you’d throw it back at me?”
The hard, gray eyes that shimmered like glacial ice softened as a smile touched his mobile mouth. “You’re right, Ali. I don’t want your pity. My past is exactly that—the past.” He traced the outline of her cheek with a forefinger. “It’s getting late, so I’d better be going before I’ll be forced to accept your offer to spend the night.” He rose to his feet, extending his hand and pulling her up with him.
Alex looked up at him. “I doubt if the fund-raiser will go off as planned tomorrow night.”
Merrick nodded. “It’s going to be a couple days before things are back to normal.” Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to Alex’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner and for your company. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his chin. “Thank you for coming.”
She followed him to the foyer where he opened the door and retrieved his boots. Sitting down on a chair beside the table, he put them on. Reaching for his jacket, she held it out for Merrick as he slipped his arms into the sleeves.
He turned, they shared a smile, and then he was gone. Alex closed and locked the door behind him. She returned to the living room and extinguished the candles. She stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the dying embers and recalling the past four hours, when she’d shared the most pleasurable time with a man that she had in years.
What had surprised her was that she’d felt comfortable with Merrick until he revealed his childhood, and she didn’t think she would ever forget his expression when he said he’d been abandoned at birth. He’d closed his eyes and his face had been totally void of emotion.
What abuses, she mused, had he suffered in his various foster homes? Had he gone hungry? Was he beaten?
She’d grown up with both parents loving her and she loving them; they’d protected and spoiled her, and nothing had been beyond her reach. Merrick couldn’t go back in time to right the wrongs, but she made a silent vow that she would become a friend on which he could rely.
Chapter 6
Merrick stood several inches behind Alex as she explained the significance of a piece of sculpture at the National Museum of African Art. It had taken Washingtonians two days to dig out from under twenty-two inches of snow while those in northern Virginia took longer with nearly twenty-eight inches of the frozen precipitation.
The fund-raiser to which Alex had purchased tickets had been rescheduled to the middle of February. They wouldn’t attend because Alex would be out of the country and he’d planned to return to West Virginia the day before she was scheduled to leave for Mexico City. He stared at the raven curls secured in a ponytail rather than at the strange-looking pieces that were now part of a permanent collection.
Alex gestured toward an elaborately carved wooden staff. “This piece comes from the Yoruba culture of southwestern Nigeria. The staff is named for the god of thunder, Shango, and was carried by Shango cult members as a symbol of their office.” She pointed to a sculpture of a mother and child. “Although the mother and child figures represent an archetypal Yoruba theme, the oshe Shango also displays several unique qualities, namely for its three-dimensional form, its contrast of hard geometric shapes and its smooth surface with detailed…”
Her voice trailed off. She turned and stared up at Merrick, who wasn’t looking at the sculpture, but directly at her. “Merrick!” she hissed through her teeth.
He blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “What is it?” he asked softly.
“I’m talking a mile a minute and you’re not listening.”
Reaching for her hand, Merrick led her away from the exhibit and over to a sitting area. “I’ve heard every word you’ve said. We’ve spent the past week together visiting every museum and gallery in this blasted city. I can tell you the portrait of Mary Cassatt painted by Edgar Degas hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. The Rhyton, a silver and gilt drinking cup dating from the fourth century A.D., probably of Iranian origin, is at the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery.
“The Abandoned Doll by Suzanne Valadon, who was also a model of Toulouse-Lautrec and Renoir and the mother of painter Maurice Utrillo, was renowned in her own right. This painting is evocative of the theme that brings drama and psychological truth to the universal rite of passage when the mother tells her pubescent daughter about the physical changes in her body. The doll on the floor symbolizes that the daughter must leave her childhood behind in order to embrace womanhood.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “If you take me to another museum I’m going to go ape shit, Alexandra Cole.”
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Alex stared at Merrick as if he’d taken leave of his senses. She wasn’t as stunned by his refusal to go to another museum as she was by his knowledge of what he’d observed and retained. Although she thought herself cogent in the art field, she still was hard-pressed to remember where every piece was housed.
Lowering her hand, she glared at him. “Where’s the Angel by Abbot Henderson Thayer?”
“It’s at the National Museum of American Art.” He gave her a Cheshire cat grin. “Now can I have my A?”
Stranger in my Arms Page 6
