The Last Man She'd Marry

by Helen R. Myers

  “Alyx…may I?”

  Lost deep in her thoughts, Alyx was slow to realize that Jonas had risen from the barstool. He wanted to hold her.

  “I didn’t tell you that so that you would pity me,” she said, frowning at her glass. “If anyone deserves—”

  “Stop.” Jonas gently turned her chair and eased her to her feet. “It’s not pity. I’m just…I’m damned sick of all of it.”

  Feeling his arms come around her, Alyx realized that she hadn’t been this close to a man since the night before the attack. Her body responded accordingly, trembling from long restraint and tension. Even the blood surging through her veins seemed to be a discordant mixture of hot and cold. What to feel…what to feel? it seemed to be asking.

  “I’m sorry that first SWAT officer was such a good shot,” Jonas said against her hair. “I would have carved that man up with the dullest knife in that house.”

  Alyx shuddered.

  “Am I touching someplace that’s still tender?” he asked immediately, gentling his hold.

  “No. The worst lingering pain is in my shoulder. I just don’t want to think about all that again. It took long enough not to see him whenever I closed my eyes.”

  Jonas shifted to touch his lips to her left shoulder. Even through the cotton of her blouse, Alyx felt the warmth.

  “You want to tell me where else it hurts?” he murmured.

  Tempted to brush her fingers across her breast, she made herself step back. “You’ve been extremely kind, Jonas, but…”

  “It’s better if I drink the wine…which is marvelous. My compliments to your cousin’s friend.”

  “I’ll be sure he gets the message. It probably isn’t every day that he gets praise from one of the government’s finest.”

  Jonas cast her a warning look from under his eyebrows. It would have been intimidating but for the dismay in his eyes when he noted the trembling in her hand as she picked up her own glass. She would have blushed with embarrassment but had lost that ability so long ago, she’d forgotten what it felt like.

  “Relax,” Jonas said, breaking into her thoughts. “I’m going.” He polished off the wine and set the goblet with impeccable care onto the counter. “But I’m going to make one request.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you get a wild impulse to stop by the airport, don’t fight it.”

  Alyx swirled the contents of her own glass. “There are times between midnight and three in the morning when I do pace around Parke’s studio hoping to get tired enough not to have to fill buckets and mop floors.”

  Jonas pretended to take her reply seriously. “At that hour the gates are locked and there’s a security guard on duty. While I’ve no doubt he would enjoy your company, I’d prefer you come to talk to me.”

  “Well,” she began slowly, “you managed to lure me there twice already despite my being warned off by young Miranda. Who knows what may happen?”

  Jonas made a face. “So you noticed that little problem.”

  “Nineteen is the new thirty—sexually speaking. She’s determined that you will notice her.”

  “I’ll keep my guard up.”

  He got to the living room before he did an about-face and returned to her. Taking hold of the iron back of her stool, he turned her to face him.

  “While you’re focusing on what everyone else is doing, try to keep this in mind.”

  Then he locked his mouth to hers in a gentle but without question an I-will-not-be-ignored kiss.

  It was over before she could think to pull away, and there was something in his step that made her not only follow him but watch him through the distortions of the glass entryway as he strode to the Mustang. None of that eased her yearning for more.

  Chapter Six

  “Did I wake you?”

  As soon as she awakened to the ringing phone, Alyx knew it was Parke, and as she listened to her question, she sat up in bed and checked the clock. Although it was almost daylight in the room, quick math told her that her cousin had once again forgotten the time difference. It was about the hour that vino began pouring in Italy. But then, to Parke, it was almost always a good time for wine.

  “No, I was lying here trying to decide what to do with my day. After a workout at the gym,” she added, hoping to avoid a lecture from her cousin. “How are you?”

  “Miserable. It’s raining…again. I can’t get the lighting I need for this landscape that I wish I’d never started, and I was stood up for lunch. Tell me some wonderful news so I don’t fall into the black hole of lousy moods.”

  “Have pity, Parke, I haven’t even had my first dose of caffeine yet. In fact, Venus is still peeking around the edge of the miniblinds.”

  “Is she? Oh, blast, I’m sorry, sweetie. Hang up and go back to sleep.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Throwing back the green satin bed sheet, Alyx shifted to the side of the bed and scratched upside-down Grace’s tummy with her toes. “Morning, Gracie. It’s your mommy on the phone.”

  The greyhound immediately wriggled right side up and whimpered.

  “Oh, how’s my girl? Let me talk to her a second, Alyx.”

  Grinning at her cousin’s sweet but fun entreaty, she replied, “Of course. I knew the real reason you called.”

  Lowering the handset to the dog’s left ear, she asked, “Who’s this, Grace?”

  She watched the dog’s eyes widen as she leaned into the phone, then writhed as Parke baby-talked to her. When Grace yelped and ran from the room, Alyx put the handset back to her ear. “Well done. She’ll be glued to the front door waiting for you to get home and when you don’t come, she’ll refuse to eat and she’ll look at me like I’m the bad guy.”

  Parke sighed. “I’m sorry, but I miss her.”

  “You need a life.”

  “If by chance you mean a man, I could say ‘Go stand in front of a mirror and say that again.’”

  As Jonas’s image flashed before her eyes, Alyx pushed herself to her feet and padded down the hall to the kitchen, her white satin nightshirt brushing against her thighs. What she needed was coffee if she was going to have this conversation. “The point I was trying to make is that if you can’t find romance in the country of love, what’s the point of being there?”

  “France, specifically Paris, is the assumed center for love.”

  About to suggest she book a flight, Alyx’s attention backtracked. “What’s wrong with your date’s eyesight that he stood you up?”

  “It wasn’t a romantic rendezvous. He’s practically sixty, for pity’s sake.”

  “Wow,” Alyx drawled. “Almost old enough to be an uncle.”

  “Keep at it and you can forget the thank-you present I was going to bring you for watching Grace and the house for me.”

  After her own rough day the day before, she couldn’t continue taunting her relative. “You don’t have to bring me anything, but I am sorry for teasing you. Is the gentleman in question an artist, too?”

  “A dealer. He could have been a welcome conduit in selling my work here.”

  After switching on the coffeemaker, Alyx swept the heavy fall of her hair back from her face. She knew very little about how Parke’s business operated, and except for a few paintings she’d bought at local fairs and the pieces Parke had given her through the years, she avoided the social scene of showings at galleries. “Isn’t that what the Internet is for? E-Bay…Craig’s List, to name the two I’ve heard about.”

  “You know I’m almost computer illiterate, and who has time to do all of that clerical work and whatnot? I’d have to hire someone, which defeats the purpose of having a studio in my home so I don’t have to deal with people underfoot. Plus I don’t want to be bothered with all of the minutiae of selling and collecting payment. That’s the whole point of having a rep who believes in me and knows immediately who to target.”

  “It sounds complicated, and tedious—and potentially dangerous. How do you know that you won’t get ripped off, and who to trust?
It takes you so long to create your work.”

  “There’s risk in every business. After what you’ve been through, surely you can see that?”

  “Well, you have me there.” Alyx couldn’t help but touch her wounded shoulder. “So what do you think happened to the guy? Where did you meet him?”

  “At Corrado and Ilsa’s dinner party on Sunday.”

  Alyx recognized the names as those of the couple who were Parke’s hosts during her stay in Italy. “Maybe he fell ill, too sick to call and postpone? Have you been in contact with your friends to see if he sent a message?”

  “I’m heading back there as soon as I hang up with you.”

  “Call me when you learn what’s what?”

  “Of course, but wait a minute. How are you really? I mean aside from the daily routine there—are you enjoying it at all?”

  Since Parke had already had enough bad news for one day, Alyx replied, “Great. Grace is great.”

  “Isn’t she? How are her ears? Does she need her medicine?”

  “Swabbed her last night, Parke. All is well.”

  Her cousin took a few shallow breaths. “Yes, of course. Thanks, Alyx. Are you really okay? Is the therapy helping?”

  “Well, I’m not certain about Grace’s, but as for me, after a rough start, Sharleigh and I have made peace and have found a good working relationship. Professionally speaking, she’s still a bit too young not to get on my nerves—”

  “She’s you at twenty-six. Okay, without the law degree, and with a priority for snaring a wealthy husband—preferably someone established in sports or medicine—”

  You’re telling me, Alyx thought. “She definitely makes sure she gets first dibs on any new men coming in.”

  “But she’s helping you? You’re getting more movement out of the arm? The pain is easing?”

  “Good grief, this is turning into an inquisition,” Alyx said, glancing at the clock. She wasn’t scheduled for therapy today, which meant she intended to take Grace for a long walk before it grew too hot for the old girl’s tender paws.

  “Sorry,” Parke continued. “I just keep thinking I hear some hesitation in your voice—that’s not the term you lawyers would lock in on, but it’ll have to do. Suffice it to say that I get the feeling that you’re not telling me something.”

  Her equally privacy-loving cousin might not be a modern-day Jane Austen with language, but there was nothing wrong with her intuition. Alyx wondered if she should tell her about Jonas? Something would have to be said about the incident with the grocery manager’s nephew. No doubt the manager would mention the “friend” who had rescued her, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave Parke in the dark having to grapple with figuring out the right response to make to the man.

  “Okay,” she said, hoping to shorthand this. “As luck would have it, I ran into someone I know from back in Texas.”

  “Is that what I’m hearing? He’s there?”

  “What, here? Now? Of course not! And why do you assume I’m talking about a ‘he’?”

  “I like to think we’re both perceptive women, cousin. If you were referring to a woman friend, you’d have already mentioned her. So how did this reunion occur?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get back.” Only last month Alyx had learned that the latest communication technology could allow you to eavesdrop on a conversation going on in the next car through your own mechanism. This week she’d learned that the most secretive agency in the government was recording all phone conversations in over a dozen cities. Although she and Parke were two continents and oceans apart, for all she knew some ten-year-old electronics wizard could bounce a beam off Grace’s rabies tag and look up her nightshirt. She was taking no chances mentioning Jonas’s own government connections. “Frankly, you’ll be bored,” she added, hoping to diminish some of Parke’s curiosity, “and that’s no way to spend your international minutes.”

  “At least assure me that you were nice to him?”

  Alyx moaned. “Please, Parke. You’ve obviously inherited the few romantic genes not pickled in gin and Scotch in the family. There’s nothing happening, nor is there going to be…but I do appreciate the interest,” she added, prompted by her abiding respect and love for her cousin.

  “You should have invited him to dinner.”

  “No dinner. We did open a bottle of your pinot noir. I promise to replace it by the time you get back.”

  “You don’t have to if you tell me that you let him stay until it was finished?”

  “Parke, Gracie is eyeing your Persian rug as though it’s nice, thick golf turf.”

  “I don’t own a Per—okay, I’ll stop.”

  “And I’m hanging up to make sure you do. Love you, cousin. Good luck with Uncle No-Show.”

  As Alyx disconnected, she drawled to Grace, “Your mother. Let’s get outside and do something constructive.”

  Jonas decided he could wait for Alyx to take him up on his invitation to meet again. It was important to him that she make the decision and choose the time on her own, but by closing time at the airport on Saturday, he found himself disappointed. She’d remained incommunicado; therefore, he had to assume that she was still hiding behind scars—literal and psychological. If he’d been back at his desk in Washington, D.C., he could bury himself in work and wait for exhaustion to make him not care anymore. Here, the much lighter schedule left him with too much time to ponder…and yearn.

  And too much lust, he amended, with his usual need to be honest with himself.

  As he locked up the hangar and shut off the fluorescent lights, he turned to finish locking up the front office only to find young Miranda standing by the doorway. Her slinky purse strap was slung over a bare shoulder, the tight, off-the-shoulder top and her matching white, rhinestone-studded jeans looked more appropriate for a disco or a spur-of-the-moment Vegas wedding than an airport office. Jonas knew he had to get out of there.

  Miranda had been doing her best to tempt him with her assets since his arrival—even Alyx had figured that much out—and today the kid was clearly going for broke. He wanted no part of what he suspected was going on in her one-track mind, and hoped he could get her out of here without having to hurt her feelings or embarrass himself.

  “Miranda, you’re still here? You should have felt free to cut out early.” Did he sound anywhere close to paternal as he’d hoped? “As slow as it’s been what with the plane trouble this week, no need to waste more of your personal time than necessary sitting behind that counter.”

  “I didn’t want to go while you were still up in one of the planes.” Offering him a dazzling smile, she asked, “How about you let me buy you a drink? You’d be rescuing me from a family dinner that I can only miss if I have a good excuse.”

  Groaning inwardly, Jonas gestured for her to go ahead into the reception area, then he locked the door to the hangar. “That couldn’t possibly be me, kiddo. You’ll have to dig deeper into your cell phone’s address book for younger companionship. I’m going to take my weary bones to Zane’s place and sleep until the next sunrise.” Although he was restless, not tired, Jonas made the point of acting the part as he checked to make sure the bathrooms were empty. When he returned to her, he held out his hand. “Deposit bag?”

  Looking more than a little miffed, Miranda dropped it onto his palm as though not wanting to contaminate herself by touching him. “You don’t know what you’ll be missing,” she said with all of the haughtiness only someone her age could manage.

  “Oh, but I do—I’m going to miss the chance of your family finding out and your father coming after me with a tire iron or worse. I’m old enough to be your father.” He grasped her elbow and urged her to the front door. “Have a great evening and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  With an insulted huff, Miranda strode off to her car never looking back.

  “Round two—Hunter,” he declared under his breath. He didn’t believe for a moment that this was the end of Miss Miranda’s attempts to lasso his attention, despite h
is having hoped he’d quelled her interest earlier in the week. Young she might be, but Alyx was right about her; Miranda was one of those women who clamped on to people the way most bloodsuckers did their hosts, refusing to let go until she’d consumed every ounce of life from them.

  Pitying Miranda’s next target and hoping Zane’s broken leg healed faster than estimated, he climbed into the vintage Mustang and checked for messages on his BlackBerry. There was nothing from his son, Blake, or from Alyx, only a few interoffice memos from the Agency that he would automatically get, regardless of whether he was in-office or on the road. Blake’s silence didn’t concern him too much. About to turn fifteen, his technology-insatiable kid did well to know what day it was and to get to school on time. Grasping that an absent parent cared to know what new gizmo he’d turned into his latest favorite playground wouldn’t occur to the left-brainer who lived happily in his own head. Thank goodness these days he could count on Claudia to let him know if something was seriously amiss. After a few rough months in the beginning of their separation, their divorce had become amicable, no small thanks to her being happy in her second marriage.

  When he got to Zane’s airy adobe-style home, Jonas let himself inside to find his groaning friend being helped back onto the couch by a small, plump woman with short and spiky eggplant-colored hair.

  “Whoa—wait, Betty!” He dashed to help. “Watch your back with that big loaf of bread.” He got to them in time to help ease his well-muscled friend down onto their big sectional couch. “What happened?” he asked as Zane groaned.

  “He tripped getting the mail,” Betty replied breathlessly. “I told him I’d get it. I told him that the sidewalk wasn’t wide enough for him and his crutches both, but did he listen?”

  “I listened,” Zane groaned.

  “What Mr. Denial did was slip off into the garden rock. I think he pinched a nerve and probably injured a few muscles and tendons in his good leg trying to save the cast.”

  Just the image of that had Jonas wincing. He cast his friend a doubtful look. “You are trying to get better, aren’t you?”