by Laura Moore
He could easily have butted the screen door open with his head, she thought wildly. Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself that the driveway was long and far away from road traffic. She would check the house and grounds first, she decided, then head down to the beach. She tried not to think of Murphy lost in the dark.
The house was quiet. She wasn’t sure if Alex was around, or out doing whatever he did for amusement in the Hamptons. On the off-chance that he was in the house, she kept her voice a low, urgent whisper: “Murphy! Here, Murphy, come!”
When she neared the study situated off the living room, she heard the masculine voice she was coming to recognize so well. The door was open. Alex sat at the large oak desk, a cell phone pressed to his ear. The screen of his laptop was up, the computer making its distinctive humming noise.
She stepped inside onto the rich red of the kilim rug and gave the room a sweeping inspection. No, Murphy wasn’t there, either, she thought. As she was about to retreat from the room, Alex held up his hand, gesturing for her to wait.
“Thanks again, Robert,” he said into the phone. “I’m glad the press conference went so smoothly. Let’s talk with Bill after the market opens tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll be back in the office Monday. No, sorry, I’d love to join you for doubles but I’m flying to Boston for the day. Yeah, you can reach me on my cell if something comes up.” With a press of the button, Alex ended the call.
He put the phone on the desk and leaned back against the chair. The windows were open behind him and the breeze gently ruffled his hair, which the light from the study’s lamps had turned a burnished gold. “Are you looking for something?” he asked.
Gen would have preferred telling him that she was rooting around the house so she could steal the rest of his aunt’s silver than admit she’d lost her dog. Then she heard it: the thwack, thwack of a tail slapping wood. Her disbelieving eyes found the source. Murphy lay underneath the desk, his head resting on Alex’s feet. His traitorous eyes met hers and his tail thumped heavily once more.
“I’d have brought him back to you, but I enjoyed the company.”
“How long—”
“Half an hour, maybe.”
“I just can’t understand it,” she muttered to herself.
“You find it incomprehensible that anyone—man or beast—would seek me out?” he asked dryly.
Gen blushed. Though she hadn’t intended it, that was how her remark sounded. “No, I simply meant that Murphy doesn’t . . .” Her words ground to a halt. Did she really want to admit that Murphy rarely left her side? Did she really want Alex to know that her dog had formed some instant bond?
As if he understood that her sentence had come to a dead end, Alex spoke. “Actually, I was coming to find you. I’ve made arrangements for you to go to Boston this Saturday.”
“Excuse me?”
“My aunt informed me that you need to visit the hospital wing. Saturday happens to be the best day for a visit. The construction crews aren’t working so you’ll be able to do what you need without the distraction of noise and dust. And in turn, you won’t be getting in the way of the crew.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What an amazing coincidence. Saturday is also Bridget’s party.”
“Is it?” he replied easily. “I’d forgotten. It also happens to be the same day I have a meeting scheduled with the hospital’s director and chairman of the board. It’s at 10 A.M. We’ll leave at 8 A.M. and return in the early evening. If you find you have enough time to visit your family . . .” He shrugged.
She eyed him skeptically. She wasn’t buying his story for a minute. “And what do I do with Murphy?”
“Bring him on the plane if you wish.”
“We’re flying?”
He nodded.
“I don’t have an airline-sanctioned crate,” she said. Although thrilled at the prospect of seeing her family and Bridget on her birthday, Gen also felt a perverse triumph that she’d foiled his plan. He was really just a bit too high and mighty for her tastes.
“As I’m chartering the plane, I don’t think a crate’s required. A leash might be useful, though.”
Gen couldn’t reply. Her tongue had become a lead weight in her mouth, rendering her incapable of speech. Alex spoke of chartering a plane the way others spoke of going out and renting a movie for the night. Gen’s mind was still grappling—unsuccessfully—with the notion of traveling on a private plane when his cell rang.
Alex picked it up. “Miller,” he said and paused as the caller spoke. “Hello, Sydney. Yes, I am . . .”
Unwilling to eavesdrop on his conversation with his lover, Gen slipped away from the man who so effortlessly rocked her world inside and out.
NINE
Alex awoke at six in the morning and in the semi-darkness of his room rummaged through the dresser for his running shorts and T-shirt. This was the perfect hour to run in the Hamptons, when the roads that led past corn and potato fields and tall privet hedges, planted to screen the houses hidden behind them, were still empty and peaceful.
He walked silently down the hallway so as not to disturb his sleeping aunt and descended the stairs. At the kitchen sink he poured himself a glass of water. As he drank, his eyes strayed involuntarily across the backyard.
No lights shone in the studio. In his mind he pictured Gen’s delicately boned face, the fan of her dark lashes against her cheeks as she lay sleeping on the futon his aunt Grace had told him the local handyman had moved into the studio. “I offered Genevieve the bedroom opposite yours, Alex, but she insisted she was quite happy sleeping out there. Such an independent-minded girl—not at all like those New York City lemmings,” she’d added with a sniff of disdain for good measure, so Alex would know this was meant as a pointed reference to his previous girlfriends.
Aunt Grace was right, he thought, and took another sip of water, his gaze still riveted on the studio. Gen was different from those other women. He’d known her for less than a week and already she had a more profound hold on his thoughts than any other woman. And his fascination seemed to grow each time he saw her.
Out of habit, Alex left the house by the porch overlooking the beach, so he could have that incomparable first glimpse of dawn-lit ocean. He stood at the railing, taking in the wide sweep of sand, the roll of incoming waves—and froze as he spotted two dark forms bobbing in the surf. Everything inside him went still, except for the heavy thudding of his heart, which beat in sync with the waves pounding the shore. Only the bite of the porch’s wooden railing against his palms kept him from thinking that this was but a continuation of the dreams and fantasies he’d had of her.
Gen and Murphy were emerging from the surf, the dog bounding through the water in great deerlike leaps, she timing her advance with the rhythm of the incoming waves. Alex was filled with an instinctive urge to rush to her aid that eased only when he saw how comfortable she was negotiating the opposing forces of waves and undertow.
When he tensed again it was for a different reason.
She walked out of the sea like Venus at her birth, sleek, long-limbed . . . perfect nascent femininity. Alex had never beheld such a glorious sight.
Then Murphy gave a loud bark and shook himself vigorously, his long fur sending water spraying. Alex heard Gen’s shriek as the water hit her bare skin. With a laughing reprimand to the dog, who had begun racing over the sand in crazed zigzags and circles, she bent down and grabbed a beach towel, wrapping it about her before scooping up the small bundle of clothes by her feet.
Gen trudged through the deep sand that was still cool from the night air, and stepped onto the wooden stairway that led right to the front lawn. The grass was prickly and wet with dew. The moisture plastered the sand to her feet. As she crossed the lawn in the direction of the outdoor shower, a flicker of movement on the porch caught her eye.
“Good morning.”
Gen stopped in her tracks at the sound of Alex’s voice. Luckily her arms were clamped tight about her towel. Th
ough little good that did. Even from the distance of the porch, his gaze was a physical thing. Her skin tingled with awareness. And against the thick weave of the towel, her nipples grew taut and aching. She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t cold. She felt like she was melting from a single fiery glance. With an effort, Gen pulled herself together. “Uh, have you been sitting here long?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful here in the morning; the view’s always striking. This morning especially so. I liked your suit.”
She decided to brazen it out. After all, she had no hang-ups about her body—at least she hadn’t until three seconds ago. “Ahh, yes,” she managed lightly. “That would be my birthday suit.”
“And a more becoming one I’ve never seen. By the way, your mother’s wrong. You’re not too thin. You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. She felt his gaze slide over her and knew he was stripping her bare, seeing her as she’d been a few minutes before. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Still, be careful swimming alone. Much though I enjoyed it, I won’t always be here to watch over you.”
With that, Alex turned and headed back into the house, leaving Gen to stare after him. His words flowed through her like a warm, heady current. Had she acquired her very own guardian angel? she wondered bemusedly. One who, instead of wings, came equipped with a private plane? Certainly he had the fierce golden beauty of the Archangel Gabriel. And increasingly, when Alex looked at her as he had just now, Gen was sure she’d find heaven in the circle of his strong arms.
Alex strode through the house, leaving by the kitchen door. His hands still shook with the need to unknot that damnable beach towel and caress every inch of her damp, salty skin. To touch Gen until she writhed, needing him as much as he needed her.
He ran, pushing himself, making his heart pound and the muscles in his legs burn as sweat poured off his body. He ran as an act of will to control his unruly mind and body. He ran, but couldn’t escape the memory of Gen’s naked, glistening body rising from the sea.
Only the day before, Gen had wished that Sydney Raines might make an appearance, in the hope that her presence would serve as a physical reminder that Alex was quite unavailable.
It didn’t take Gen long to regret her wish.
That very morning, Sydney announced her arrival with three short honks of her BMW’s horn. Murphy, in the studio with Gen, barked back just as loudly. Luckily, Gen managed to grab his collar before he lunged out the studio door. Unluckily, Murphy’s strength was such that he dragged her after him—a canine version of a Nantucket sleigh ride.
As they loped across the lawn, Gen, in a last-ditch effort, threw herself forward in a clumsy hug of a tackle, uttering a breathless, “Down, Murph!” in the hopes that the dog would obey. The fates smiled on her.
Sydney did not.
Dressed in a silk blouse, a short pleated skirt, ballerina flats, and a patterned scarf tied around her head to protect her hair from the wind, she looked as if she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue. But seeing Murphy come hurtling toward her wiped any trace of a smile off her face. She stared wide-eyed at the pair of them, Gen and Murphy, both of whom were panting.
“What is that?” she said, pointing a finger at Murphy.
“My dog,” Gen explained, still sucking in gulps of air. “Murphy’s very gentle, just a little excitable when it comes to greeting new people. He won’t hurt you.”
Sydney raised her dark brows in a show of patent disbelief, continuing to stare at Murphy as if he were the fiend straight out of The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“Okay, Murph, I think it’s time we got back to work.” With a firm tug on the leather collar, Gen managed to pull the dog around in a semicircle. Seeing Alex, she faltered. Murphy didn’t. With a happy “woof,” he bounded out of her grasp, making straight for Alex.
This was the first time she’d seen him since she’d taken her morning dip in the ocean. And all she could think about was his thrillingly low voice saying, “You’re beautiful.” She couldn’t help but wonder if he still believed that, especially when she was standing next to a woman as gorgeous and glamorous as Sydney.
Realizing that Murphy was about to jump on Alex, Gen tore her thoughts away from the land of impossible dreams. But before she could open her mouth, Alex raised his right hand. “Down,” he said.
The dog skidded to a halt.
“Sit, Murphy.”
Without hesitating, Murphy sank onto his haunches, his tail sweeping the grass.
“Good boy,” Alex said. The sweeping redoubled.
Gen shook her head in disbelief. “That’s amazing.” Had Alex cast a spell on her dog? Though she hated to admit it, the whole obedience issue was a bit iffy with Murphy.
“Yes, amazing,” Sydney echoed. “You have such a way with animals, Alex.”
“He’s a smart dog.”
Alex’s reply made Gen feel ridiculously proud. Few people recognized that quality in Murphy.
“You’re here early, Sydney,” Alex said.
“I decided to beat the weekend traffic and the horde of well-wishers. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling. I’m so thrilled for you,” she said with a wide smile. Her gaze flicked over to Gen. Noting her blank expression, Sydney said, “One of Alex’s tech companies announced an initial public offering yesterday. The company’s share price rose by more than three dollars by the day’s closing.” With an arch glance at Alex, she continued, “I spoke with Mark Rodgers, darling. His guess is that you netted fifteen million yesterday. I told him I was sure it was more than that.”
Gen tried not to choke at the outrageous figure Sydney had named. Alex, however, simply looked bored, neither denying nor confirming her statement.
“Anyway,” Sydney continued with a light shrug, “I thought that we might spend some time together and celebrate your latest coup.”
When Alex leveled a long, inscrutable look at Sydney, Gen was left puzzled. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem more enthusiastic about his girlfriend’s arrival. But then he said, “I have a lot of work to finish,” and she realized that was undoubtedly the reason behind the tepid response.
Sydney must have interpreted Alex’s comment in much the same vein. “Don’t worry, darling. I promise not to distract you too much. Not unless you want me to, that is,” she teased, an intimate smile playing over her lips as she linked her arm in his.
Now was definitely the moment to make an exit, before Sydney started demonstrating her powers to distract. “Well, it’s been fun,” Gen said brightly. “I’ll see you around.”
Alex waited until he and Sydney were in the study he used as a makeshift office. He leaned against the edge of the oak desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Sydney, you’re making this really difficult.”
“Good. I want it to be,” she said, approaching until she stood close to him, the scent of her perfume enveloping him. “You never call me anymore, so what choice do I have?” Her eyes were huge, dark, and troubled. “I want to be with you, Alex, just like we were before.”
He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”
“Why? Can’t you see I’m miserable without you?”
“I’m sorry about that, but how do you think being ignored will make you feel, Sydney?” he asked. “Because that’s how it will be. The relationship is over. I only said you could stay here at my aunt’s because we have the tasting on Sunday. But that’s it. There’s nothing else between us.”
“The Howards’ party is tomorrow night. I thought we could go.”
Striving for patience, Alex forced himself to count to twenty. “I’m not going to the Howards’.”
“But Miriam told me—” Sydney had the grace to blush. She’d obviously been talking to Miriam Howard about him, keeping tabs.
“Miriam told you wrong,” Alex said curtly. “I’ve changed my plans. I’m flying to Boston tomorrow. When I get back, I’m going to spend the evening with my aunt.”
Sydney f
rowned. “Why are you flying to Boston on the weekend?”
“Gen needs to see the interior of the wing.”
“But surely you don’t need to go. She can travel to Boston on her own—” Her breath caught. “That’s it. It’s her, isn’t it? You want Gen.”
A champion at liar’s poker, Alex kept his face impassive. “No, Sydney, you’re wrong. There’s nothing between Gen and me.”
She was silent for a moment, her lips pursed into a thin, unhappy line. Then abruptly she said, “I’d like to come with you to Boston tomorrow. Harry and I finished writing the copy for the hospital’s bulletin yesterday. I could use a couple of hours at the hospital to have a one-on-one meeting with Pru Trudeau so we can discuss any changes to the text. Then I’ll be able to start on the revisions as early as Monday.”
Jesus, Alex thought with an inward sigh. When was she going to quit? The problem was, Sydney had always been able to think on her feet. She’d given a perfectly plausible reason to accompany them. He couldn’t refuse and at the same time accuse her of being unprofessional. Resigning himself to Sydney’s presence tomorrow, he said tersely, “Fine, come to Boston. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a conference call scheduled in five minutes.”
“May I come in?”
Gen glanced over to find Sydney hovering in the doorway of the studio. She was looking warily at Murphy, who was lying at the foot of Gen’s stool.
Involuntarily Gen searched for any signs that Sydney had been spending the past twenty minutes “distracting” Alex. It was impossible to tell. She was her cool and unmussed self.
Gen slipped off the stool. She’d been sitting on it, staring at the empty wall, trying to come up with images that might work for the hospital commission. But since her encounter with Alex this morning, she’d been unusually unsettled. And the image that too often appeared in her mind’s eye was of Alex’s face. Definitely the wrong thing to be dreaming about with Sydney here.
