by J. R. Ward
He glanced out the picture window. The Range Rover was parked in front of White Caps. Alongside it were two pickups and an old Trans Am.
He’d been asleep when Cassandra had arrived, and considering he’d woken up at six-thirty, he had to wonder when she’d come. He’d also missed seeing the men because he’d been in the shower.
So it was time to head over and check out the crew.
Alex drew on his jeans, pulled on his last pair of clean socks and re-secured the cast over his pant leg. He shrugged on a T-shirt and a fleece, popped his free foot into a boot and headed for the door with his cane.
Outside, the ground was frozen solid, the light snow like powdered sugar over the lawn. His breath came out in puffs of white, and the cold hit his cheeks like a slap.
He paused, measuring the sky. It was a dull, gunmetal gray. Snow was definitely coming tonight.
From the direction of White Caps, a wrenching sound cut through the still air and then something was tossed out what had been the kitchen alcove’s window. The tangle of metal bounced on the lawn. Part of the stainless steel cabinets, he surmised.
Alex went over to the house. As he walked through the back door’s plastic sheet, he took stock of the men. Four guys, all mid-to late-thirties. He was bigger than all of them, and the deference in their eyes told him they’d noticed that, too.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Who are you?” replied a squat guy wearing red flannel.
Alex liked the guy’s suspicion. “I’m a Moorehouse.”
“Oh…wow. You’re Frankie’s older brother. The sailor. Who was missing—”
“Yeah. Where’s Cassandra?”
“She’s upstairs.” The man pointed with his hammer.
Alex eyed the scorched ceiling and hated the thought of her standing on any of the floorboards up there.
“Thanks.”
As he used the front stairs, he could hear the men’s hushed voices. Words like “storm,” “dead” and “injured” made him hurry to get out of earshot.
When he got to the top landing, he went over and pushed open the fire doors that separated the staff quarters from where the guests stayed. Walking down a plain, unadorned hallway, he looked in each one of the rooms, not lingering. They reminded him of his sisters, his parents, himself, and he found the burned-out floors and blackened walls depressing.
Down at the end of the corridor he heard a squeak, as if a board were being pulled up.
Must be another of the crew, he thought.
He peered into one of the bathrooms, expecting to see Cassandra standing in the middle of the chaos wearing some kind of perfect outfit. And high heels.
Where was she?
He headed for the noise, opening the door to the last of the baths, the one that was directly over the damage in the kitchen. There was a guy on the floor dressed in a hooded fleece, navy parka and blue jeans. He had a crowbar wedged under a plank of hardwood and was tearing it up. A pile of boards was next to him.
“Do you know where Cassandra is?”
The guy looked over his shoulder. “Hi, Alex.”
As he frowned, Cassandra pulled off the hood. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She had no makeup on. And her cheeks were blazing from exertion.
Alex blinked a couple of times.
Then ran his eyes over the baggy pants that had faded paint splotches on them. The heavy outerwear. The scuffed work boots.
If she was lovely in couture, she was crazy attractive in work clothes. He had a sudden urge to shut the door behind him and get under all that fleece.
She smiled a little. “Do you want a tour of what I plan to do?”
Actually, he’d only come to stare the men in the face so they’d know if they made trouble for her, they were going to answer to him. With that mission having been accomplished down in the kitchen, he really hadn’t had a reason to go looking for her at all. Other than to see her.
But then he remembered.
“I’m going to Gray’s late this afternoon,” he said. “Just wanted you to know. I do my laundry there.”
“Okay. Do you want to stay for dinner?”
Uh-huh, right. As if he needed to watch O’Banyon drool all over her.
Then again, ruining the guy’s night by stealing a romantic dinner right out from under his nose had some appeal.
“Yeah, I think I will. I’ll be over around six.”
* * *
As darkness fell, Cassandra walked into Gray’s kitchen, grateful for the warmth and the fact that the place didn’t smell like propane.
“Libby?” she called out while peeling off layers. “I’m home.”
There was a patter of dog feet, and Ernest came down the back stairs, moving slower than usual.
“Hey, big guy.” She crouched down. “You look a little droopy.”
The retriever circled in front of her, offering a lackluster wag before he lay down and rolled over onto his back. She stroked his belly as Libby came in from the stairs.
“Hi, there!” The woman pulled on her wool coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. “How was your first day on the job?”
“It went just fine.” Cass tried to keep her voice level. “Are you going somewhere for dinner?”
“My brother called. His wife fell down today and the two of them are in pretty rough shape. Her, for obvious reasons. Him, because he doesn’t know how to heat up a can of soup without needing a fire extinguisher. I figure, if I don’t get dinner made for them, you’ll have another charred mess of a house to work on. But don’t worry, I cooked an oven-stuffer roaster and left it in the refrigerator for you. I whipped up a salad, also.”
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
Oh, God. Dinner. With Alex. Alone.
“Say, are you okay, Cass?”
She stood up. “I’m fine. Just need a quick shower. Has Ernest been fed?”
“In a manner of speaking. He tore into a package of cookies that had slipped out of a grocery bag. Spent most of the afternoon in the yard.” Libby came over and rubbed the dog’s head. “No more Fig Newtons for you, right?”
Ernest heaved a big sigh as if answering.
“I’ll give him a little extra love,” Cass murmured.
“He’d appreciate that.” Libby headed for the door. “Oh, and don’t wait up for me. My brother’s a long talker.”
Twenty minutes later Cass put the blow-dryer down and didn’t bother to brush her hair out. There was no need to worry about the stuff. No need to put makeup on, either. It was the country, for one thing, and no matter where she was, she had no reason to primp for Alex, either.
Talk about surprised, she thought. She’d never expected him to take her up on the dinner invite. She’d only put it out there to be polite.
Cass threw on what she thought of as her dorm clothes: leggings and a floppy white turtleneck. Then she put thick cotton socks to good use and stuffed her feet into a pair of moccasin slippers. When she got to the kitchen, she went over to the refrigerator and figured she might as well wrestle up dinner. No doubt Alex was going to eat fast and run.
“Have a good shower?” he asked from behind her.
She wheeled around. “Holy…!”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” His eyes were hooded as they drifted over her hair.
“No, it’s fine. I, uh…” It was not fine. She was not fine. Especially as she looked him over.
Alex had on a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips and a black turtleneck sweater. His dark hair was brushed back and seemed a little damp. As he stood under the recessed lighting, he was so handsome, it was hard to take in his presence without blinking a lot. Worse, she had to force herself to forget she had a clear picture of his bare chest. And knew exactly what the skin across his stomach felt like.
“Ah, Libby left us something,” she said, turning to the refrigerator and thinking maybe she should get in it. The kitchen suddenly felt two degrees away from tropical.
; She thought of his hand leading hers down his torso and on to his…
Make that volcanic.
“Are we going to eat in here?” he drawled.
She put the chicken on the counter and went back for the salad. “Absolutely. No reason to be formal.”
When she pivoted around, Alex was eyeing the swinging door as if waiting for someone to come through it. Someone he wasn’t particularly fond of, going by his razor eyes.
“So, you looked surprised to see me this morning,” she said as she grabbed a plate and started cutting into the roast.
“Do you need some help?”
“Were you surprised?” It was perverse, but she wanted to hear him say it. She wanted the satisfaction of knowing she’d thrown him, even if it was just a little.
There was a pause. “Yeah. I was.”
She put the plate of chicken in the microwave and sent it on a merry-go-round ride. Then she took the salad over to the table, grabbed a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and tried to remember where the napkins were.
Somewhere over to the left. About where Alex was standing with his cane resting on his thigh and his cast kicked out in front of him.
“Would you get the napkins? They’re behind you. I think.”
His eyes flipped to the door again and he smiled darkly. “My pleasure.”
“Why do you keep looking over there?”
But he was bent down, opening drawers, and obviously didn’t hear her.
Maybe it was the dog. Ernest could be a lot to handle, and for a man with a cast, an eighty-pound canine flying across a room was a dangerous thing.
“You don’t need to worry about him,” she said. “He’s staying upstairs.”
Alex looked over his shoulder. “Oh, really.”
“He wasn’t feeling well.”
“Poor baby,” he murmured. “So it’s just you and me for dinner?”
She nodded. “Don’t feel bad. I gave him a lot of attention before you came.”
Alex frowned, a dark emotion settling into his eyes.
“I’m sure you did,” he said with an edge.
* * *
As Alex grabbed two napkins, he tried not to imagine the kind of “extra attention” she’d given O’Banyon.
“You don’t think you love him or something, do you?” he blurted out.
Oh, shut up, Moorehouse.
Cass frowned and then laughed a little. “I adore him. Although he can be a lot to handle…you know, always all over me.”
Terrific. Like he needed to know O’Banyon was a hungry lover. With stamina.
God, maybe he should just leave. Before he found out how big the man’s—
“Would you like some wine?” she asked.
No, actually, he’d like a concussion. At least that way he’d stop talking. And thinking.
And looking.
Cass was sexy as hell tonight. Black leggings and a loose turtleneck that hung past her hips. Her red hair was down and curlier than he’d ever seen it, as if she’d let it dry naturally or hadn’t brushed it out. He wanted to sink his hands into the thick waves and angle her head back and kiss her until they both went weak.
“Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Wine?”
“Sure. I’ll get the glasses. And the silver.”
The microwave dinged. She took the plate out with a potholder and carried it over to the table while he got the knives and forks.
Before they sat down, he went and put his wash in the dryer, peeling the nylon sweats away so they could air dry.
When he came back in, she was at the table, pouring the chardonnay. She looked tired.
“What time did you get to the house this morning?” he asked as he sat down. They traded bowls and plates until they’d served themselves.
“I don’t remember.”
“I woke up early. You were already there.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not paying me by the hour,” she chided gently, pushing her food around.
He finished what was on his plate. Went back for seconds. Was halfway through them when he realized she’d barely taken a bite. He lowered his fork.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, nodding to her food.
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Why aren’t you eating?”
Cassandra shook her head and went back to shifting lettuce leaves around.
Then she murmured, “You know, I’m thinking of selling Reese’s penthouse.”
“The one in Manhattan?”
When she nodded, he thought that was a weird way of referring to the place, considering it was her home, too.
“Where will you go?”
“I want something smaller. It’s not that I need the money. I just…” She took a sip from her wineglass and pushed her plate away. “Do you ever…get lonely?”
He stiffened and said the only thing that occurred to him. “I want you to eat more.”
She had another small drink. “Yeah, that’s probably a silly question, isn’t it? You aren’t the type who needs other people.”
Alex jabbed at her plate with his fork. “You worked hard today. You need to eat.”
If they kept this up, he thought, they would probably finish the conversations by themselves. Maybe move on to two new ones.
There was a noise from upstairs.
“Excuse me, I better go check on him.” Cass got up and went to the back stairwell.
Alex frowned, wondering why she and O’Banyon weren’t staying in the guest rooms in the front of the house.
“Oh, there you are,” she said, leaning up against the banister. “You okay, Ernest?”
Ernest?
She patted her thighs. “You want to go out?”
There was a soft padding noise and the jingle of a collar, then the golden retriever came into the kitchen looking sleepy. He wagged at Alex, but went straight for the back door as Cass held it open.
“Cassandra.”
“Hmm?” She shut the thing and came back to the table.
“Who else is in this house right now?”
She tilted her head to the side. “No one. Libby went to her brother’s. Why?”
Alex wiped his mouth with his napkin and eased back in the chair.
Idiot.
Jealous idiot.
Although mistaking O’Banyon for a dog did make some sense.
As she looked at him, he took a deep breath. “Tell you what. If you eat, I’ll try to…talk.”
Her luminous green stare became rapt. “So you do get lonely?”
“Pick up that fork.”
When she started eating, he took a drink and cleared his throat.
“No, I don’t get lonely.” He paused. “I, ah…I don’t get along with people that well.”
Her eyes widened as if she were surprised that he’d elaborated.
Well, that made two of them.
“You don’t get along…?” she prompted softly.
He shook his head. “Never really have. I mean, I’m great with them in a competitive environment. Otherwise, they make me…nervous.” When she stared at him, nearly openmouthed, he bristled. “What?”
“Sorry. It’s hard to imagine you scared of anything. Or anybody.”
“I did not say scared.”
Was that a smirk? He couldn’t tell because she’d covered her lips with her wineglass.
“So why do they make you anxious?” she asked.
“How about some more stuffing?”
“I don’t—”
“Yeah, I don’t feel like saying much more, either.”
She dug that serving spoon so far into the chicken, he could have sworn it came out the other side.
God, he hoped she got full quickly.
* * *
As Cass lifted her fork, she cocked her eyebrow. She had to keep Alex talking. Learning something, anything, about the man was unexpected. To have him admit to a weakness of sorts was extraordinary.
He took a long drink
from his wineglass. “I never know what to say. In social situations. I mean, all that small talk? My mind just shuts down. That’s one of the things I love about being on the ocean. No chatting. Plus every time I’m on land, people look at me like I’m some kind of god and it’s just too weird.”
His hand came up and pulled at the collar of his turtleneck.
Good Lord. Alex Moorehouse was shy.
It was like finding out the earth wasn’t round. She had to recalibrate everything she knew.
He was still hard as nails, radiating a kind of male power that was inherently sensual and somewhat dangerous. But the idea that he had a vulnerability made him appealing as well as sexy.
When he shifted in his seat, she realized she was staring. Seriously staring.
She looked down at her plate.
“Reese and I got along,” he murmured, “because he understood how I am. He liked all the attention. I couldn’t stand the reporters, the fans. The parties. We worked. Together…we worked.”
Cass felt an odd stirring in her chest. The parties.
She’d been well aware of how much Reese had liked the parties.
That was how she’d first learned for sure that he was cheating. He’d called her from one in Sydney, Australia. She’d heard the chatting and the music in the background and he’d reassured her it was just another celebration after a successful race. Right after they’d said goodbye and hung up, her phone had rung again. She’d answered it, and before she got to hello, she’d heard him whisper huskily, Meet me upstairs in ten minutes. You know my room. Then the phone had gone dead.
He’d never realized he’d hit Redial instead of whatever number he’d programmed into his cell.
Right after the incident, she’d thought about confronting him, and had agonized over it. But in the end she’d let it go. The status quo had somehow seemed more important than her anger.
Tonight, though, she wished she had put it all out in the open. Preserving the peace and the stability of her life had seemed so important back then. Except now, after the months of chaos following his death, she wondered why she’d protected the lie. An illusion of calm was in fact no peace at all.
The sound of wine clucking into a glass brought her back to the present. Alex put the bottle down and stared at what he had poured.
“You must miss him,” she said.
