by Ruth Langan
It would certainly be different, he thought. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d done absolutely nothing. Probably not since he was a kid. And even then he’d always been involved in a dozen different sports. Soccer, football, hockey, the skiing team. Not to mention cross-country and swimming. He’d always enjoyed the challenge of hard, physical sports.
He untied his trail boots and nudged them off, then turned down the quilt and sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling open the drawer of the night table, he slipped his pistol from its shoulder holster and dropped it inside, then closed the drawer and eased back against the pillows. Within minutes he was sound asleep. And once again facing the demons that stalked him in his dreams.
“I’ll take that.” Lem took the paint can from Alex’s hand and started toward the maintenance shed.
She picked up the paintbrushes and followed. Outside the shed the two worked in companionable silence, cleaning the brushes, using rags dipped in turpentine to remove the paint from their hands.
Alex glanced skyward. “If it doesn’t rain tomorrow, we should finish with the boats.”
“Won’t rain.” The old man touched a hand to his knee. “This old joint would know if rain was coming.”
He opened the door of the shed and carefully put away the brushes and rags. It was a matter of pride to him that this workplace was as spotless as the grounds. He’d been seeing to the care of this lodge for more than fifty years. It was then that he’d erected a sign above the door, each letter carefully burned into the wood, that read A Place For Everything. Everything In Its Place. He not only approved that motto, he lived it.
“Good. I’ll take your knee’s word for it.” Alex gave him a smile as she closed the shed door behind him and latched it. “See you tomorrow, Lem. Tell Marge I said hi.”
“Yep.” He headed toward his truck parked beside the Jeep. With his hand on the door, he turned. “If you change your mind about that grilled cheese, Marge said she was making venison stew. I could bring you some.”
“Thanks, Lem, but that’s too much trouble. Enjoy your evening, and I’ll do the same. Right now all I can think about is a long hot bath. Good night.”
“’Night, Alex.” He was whistling as he stepped into his truck.
She climbed the steps to the lodge and let herself in, then glanced around. In the growing twilight, her guest was nowhere to be seen.
She’d expected to find him sitting in front of a roaring fire, a drink in his hand. That was where most of the guests could be found unwinding after the long drive up here.
She tossed a log on the hot coals before heading off to her room. As she passed Grant’s room, she noticed that the door was closed. There was no light coming from beneath it. It seemed awfully early to be asleep. But then, travel had a way of throwing a body off schedule.
She made her way to her own suite of rooms and began peeling off her clothes as she crossed to the bath. When the tub was filled, she turned on the jets and sank into the warm, swirling water with a sigh of pure satisfaction.
More than an hour later, her hair damp and curling from the steam, she slipped into fresh denims and a turtleneck and headed toward the kitchen.
As she passed Grant’s room, she noted that the door was still closed.
She started to walk on when she heard a sound from within. Was that a moan? She turned back and pressed her ear to the door. She heard it again, only louder. Definitely a moan. Was he sick? In distress?
She turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Though the room was in darkness, the light from the hallway spilled inside, illuminating the figure in the bed. She hurried to his side and leaned down to touch his shoulder.
In the blink of an eye, everything changed.
Grant surfaced instantly. One minute he’d been locked in the throes of his nightmare, dueling with the demons from hell. The next he was aware of a figure leaning over him. His reaction was purely instinctive. Not knowing whether the hand beside his was holding a knife or a gun, he had but one choice.
His hand snaked out, closing around Alex’s wrist with such strength she found herself pulled off her feet and sprawled across him on the bed. In a flash he rolled over, pinning her down on the mattress. In one smooth motion he had her two hands held firmly in one of his, and pulled roughly over her head. His other hand was at her throat.
His face, so close to hers, was a scowl of fury. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I…” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d been caught completely off guard. This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting.
Though slender, Alex was in excellent physical condition. From the time she was no more than a girl, she’d been hunting, fishing and backpacking in these forests. She could climb a mountain, row a boat or paddle a canoe while barely breaking a sweat. But all her strength was useless against the body that was pinning her to the bed. It was pure muscle and sinew. A lean, taut weapon honed to perfection. Capable of meting out physical punishment without flinching.
She struggled against the fingers still locked around her throat. And though they could have easily crushed her windpipe, they were simply holding her immobile. “I’m Alex.” Her words were little more than a hoarse whisper. “Alexandra Sullivan. I heard a moan. I thought you might be sick. Or in trouble.”
He heard the nerves in that sultry voice. Remorse washed over him.
“Sorry.” In one smooth motion he released her and rolled from the bed. It occurred to Alex that he moved like a cat. Then he reached down and caught her hand, helping her to her feet. “You caught me in a dream.”
“Some dream.” As soon as she’d regained her footing she took a step back, away from the bed. Away from this strange, angry man.
The barely controlled violence she’d sensed in him frightened her. For a man who had been asleep only moments before, he was now completely alert, and watching her with an intensity that had the breath backing up in her throat. There was something dangerously primitive about this man.
“I was…” She swallowed and tried again, hoping her heart would settle. “I was just heading toward the kitchen. Would you like something to eat?”
For several more seconds he remained completely still, sensing her fear. The fact that he’d behaved instinctively didn’t matter at the moment. Mere words couldn’t explain his behavior. He could think of nothing that would make things right. Nor did he bother to try. How could he expect her to understand? What he was going through was his own private hell. He had no intention of sharing it with anyone else.
Her offer had him shaking his head. Right now the last thing he wanted was food. Or company. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Well, then.” She turned toward the door and prayed he wouldn’t notice the way her legs were trembling. “I’ll just fix something for myself. It’s been a long day and I’m famished.” She knew she was talking too fast. The words spilled out one on top of the other. But she wanted desperately to get away from this man. So desperately, she nearly ran in her haste to escape.
Over her shoulder she called, “If you get hungry later, help yourself to whatever you want.”
She didn’t wait for his response as she headed toward the kitchen. At the end of the hallway she stopped and turned around. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she was satisfied that he hadn’t followed her.
The last thing she wanted was to spend tonight in the company of a man who looked for all the world like a movie version of a professional hit man. A man who seemed to have more in common with the predators in the wild than with the gentlemen hunters who were the usual guests of the Snug Harbor Lodge.
“Oh, Grandpa Sully,” she whispered as she pushed open the door to the kitchen and snapped on the overhead lights.
Her grandfather knew that she looked forward to the privacy of her off-season. Not only because it gave her precious time to repair, repaint and restore the equipment and the lodge, but also because it gav
e her precious time for herself. There were so many books to be read. Videos to be enjoyed. Music to be savored. Not to mention mountains to be climbed and trails to be hiked. Alone.
She smiled, just thinking about that word. To Alexandra Sullivan, the thought of spending time alone was the most cherished gift of all. Whether she was hiking alone, boating alone or sleeping alone, she never equated such things with being lonely. She treasured time to herself. And considered it essential to restoring her soul.
She shook her head in disbelief. Whatever had her grandfather been thinking, sending this strange, angry man into her life?
Chapter 2
Distracted, Grant prowled his room before turning to stare at the closed door. He could still feel the imprint of Alexandra Sullivan’s body on his. What an unexpected shock it had been to his system. Without thinking he’d reacted to the threat of danger, only to find a very different sort than he’d imagined. In the space of a single heartbeat he’d been not only awakened, but fully aroused.
Alex Sullivan may be tall and slim, but the press of those soft curves had been a stunning reminder to him that she was all woman. And though his mind was still in a state of chaos, his body seemed to have no problem remembering how to react. That fact ought to please him. It had been some months now since he’d shown any interest in anyone or anything except the troubles that plagued him.
He walked to the window and peered out at the darkness, annoyed at the direction of his thoughts. The fact that she’d been able to enter his room and get close enough to touch him while he slept was proof that he was more exhausted than he realized. There had been a time when nobody could have accomplished such a feat. He’d always prided himself on having a sixth sense about such things. His friends had teased him about having eyes in the back of his head.
He listened to the sound of her soft footsteps as she passed his door and returned to her room. Heard the click of her door as she closed it. Minutes later he heard the soft strains of an orchestra and the pure clean voice of Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli. Not what he’d expected to hear in the middle of the New Hampshire wilderness. But then, nothing was what he’d expected so far. Least of all, Alex Sullivan. He couldn’t get the thought of her out of his mind. Or the way she’d felt, pressed to the mattress beneath him. What would she taste like? The question tantalized him.
Like a caged animal he paced the length of the room before picking up a book from the pile on the desk. But when he sat down and tried to read, the sounds of the music from the next room kept distracting him. Bocelli’s voice weeping over a lost love had him tossing aside the book with a hiss of disgust. To drown out the music he switched on the television. As he flipped through the channels, his eyes narrowed at the number of violent cop shows, and the scenes of death and destruction on the news. Finally, he found a cartoon and dropped onto the bed, determined to watch until it lulled him to sleep. But minutes later, as the cartoon dog and cat began tearing each other to shreds, he clicked off the set and sprang to his feet.
After more prowling, he decided he needed to escape these four walls. He emerged from the room and made his way along the darkened hallway until he came to the kitchen. Throwing on the light, he paused in the doorway, pulling himself back from his thoughts. Though this room appeared to be as rustic as the rest of the lodge, its decor was deceptive. On closer inspection he could see that it was as well equipped as any modern restaurant.
He let out a hiss of breath. “Not exactly what I’d expected to find in a simple hunting lodge.”
“My family believes in efficiency and service to our guests.”
The velvet voice behind him had him whirling.
“Sorry.” She took a step back, seeing again that heat in his gaze. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just coming out here for another cup of coffee. Can I get you something?”
“No. I…” He paused to watch as she crossed the room. This was the second time she’d managed to sneak up on him. He was definitely losing his touch. “Maybe I’ll have one, too.”
“If you’d like to add whiskey to it, there’s some in the bar pantry.” She pointed. “Help yourself.”
He opened the pantry and studied the array of bottles. “This is pretty impressive.”
Alex gave a smile of satisfaction as she looked around. “We have a walk-in cooler, a freezer stocked with the finest cuts of meat and seafood and a wine cellar that would rival any of the other hotels and inns in our chain.”
“How many hotels are there?” Not that he cared. But he thought it wise to make idle conversation after that scene in his room. Something impersonal to keep him from thinking about the way she’d felt in his arms.
“At the moment, more than a dozen.”
Grant selected a bottle of Jack Daniels and closed the pantry door. “All family-operated?”
“Not all.” She laughed. “There aren’t enough Sullivans to go around. But we’re working on it.”
He paused to study the bottles of wine behind the glass doors of the temperature-controlled wine cellar before turning to Alex, who was pouring two cups of coffee.
She’d brushed her hair long and loose and it flowed in soft waves past her shoulders. He’d thought at first it was brown, but now he could see that it was the color of honey. Warm, rich and lush. And her eyes weren’t brown but rather a shade of amber.
She was wrapped in a bulky white robe with the shamrock green Sullivan crest on one pocket. A simple hotel robe, he realized. But on her it looked anything but simple. He found himself wondering what she wore underneath.
She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “There’s fresh chicken salad in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“This is enough.” He splashed whiskey into his cup and tasted it before he began to prowl the room, studying the six-burner stove, the oversize ovens.
“Is it always this quiet around here?”
She nodded. “Especially this time of year.”
She found herself fascinated by the way he studied everything, as though memorizing his surroundings. He had a cat-like way of moving that was unnerving. She would have sworn he’d already noted every door and window, as though expecting an army of invaders to burst through at any moment.
“Where are you from, Grant?”
“New York City.”
She chuckled. “No wonder you’re intrigued by the silence.”
“I haven’t figured out whether I’m intrigued or annoyed by it.”
She smiled. “Whenever I go up to New York, I’m nearly overwhelmed by all the sounds of the city. In fact, even on the top floor of a hotel, I swear I can hear the traffic far below.”
She lifted the coffeemaker. “Want a little more before I unplug it?”
“Sure.” He set his cup on the counter. “May as well…”
There was a sudden crash outside the door, followed by a thumping sound.
Grant reacted so quickly, Alex didn’t even have time to utter a sound. In one violent sweep of his arm he shoved her behind him and reached instinctively for his pistol. When he realized that it was still in the drawer of his nightstand, he swore and reached for a kitchen knife before striding toward the back door.
“Grant, wait…”
He swung his gaze to Alex. She was stunned by the fierceness of his expression. It was a frightening thing to see. “Stay there.” His voice had the authority of command.
“But I…” She started after him.
He closed a hand around her upper arm and shoved her back none too gently against a pantry door. “I said stay here. I want you safe until I see who’s out there.”
He turned away and flung open the door.
It occurred to Alex in that moment that Grant Malone wasn’t just nervous or edgy. He was a man obsessed with danger. He anticipated it. Expected it. And faced it head-on. He wouldn’t be a man to cross.
She waited until he stepped outside before throwing on the floodlights. Three raccoons looked up, blinking in the blinding light. One had been
wriggling about in an overturned garbage can. A second was just knocking off the metal lid of another can. A third was rummaging through the remains of a plastic bag filled with potato skins and chicken bones.
“Go on.” Alex flailed her arms. “Get out of here.” As the three masked villains scurried away, she shook her head. “Those three little pests have become my nightly scourge. I never know where I’ll find them. Eating the garbage. Trying to chew through the roof. Tunneling under my maintenance shed. Lem and I call them Larry, Moe and Curly.”
Grant’s arm dropped weakly at his side. He glanced at the knife, still clutched in his hand. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation. Or maybe it was simply the surge of relief. Whatever the reason he began to laugh softly while shaking his head from side to side.
“Sorry. I guess it’s going to take me awhile to forget I’m not back in the city.”
“Yeah.” Alex righted the trashcan and began scooping up the litter. When the back porch was cleared of debris, she turned and made her way inside.
As Grant followed, he realized that, though she’d managed a weak smile, she’d been watching him with that same look of concern she’d worn earlier, during that unfortunate scene in his bedroom.
He set the knife on the kitchen counter. “I’ll say good-night now. Sorry about my overreaction to the raccoons.”
She shrugged. “No harm done.”
But there had been, he realized. Whatever relaxed mood they’d managed to create for a couple of minutes, it was now shattered. And it had all been his fault.
As he made his way to his bedroom, he cursed and called himself every kind of fool. A simple disturbance had sent him into a frenzy. He’d forgotten how to feel safe without a gun. He’d even forgotten how to walk into an unfamiliar room or carry on a simple conversation with a stranger without constantly looking over his shoulder. The violence of his world had chipped away at his humanity, until he’d forgotten how to live without calling up the violence within himself at every turn.
