‘Well, you can keep it and be damned to you,’ Alix suddenly cried aloud. Striding angrily into the bathroom, she splashed cold water onto her red, tear-swollen eyes, then returned to begin all over the packing of everything she had unpacked only hours before.
She flung dresses and slacks indiscriminately into her suitcases, tore the few cherished books from their new home on the cottage’s spacious bookshelves, and snarled at Nick each time he managed to locate himself in her way. She let physical action work upon her anger so completely that she didn’t consciously hear the knock upon the door, yet turned to’ face the figure that strode into the room without bothering to knock twice.
‘What the hell are you doing now?’
Alix was momentarily stunned. How could he possibly have the nerve to walk into her home as if he owned the place? Then the incongruity of that thought struck her, and she was forced to subdue the chuckle that struggled up through her anger. Of course ... he did own it. Then anger took over, a slow, white-hot, cold-as-ice anger that flowed and ebbed through every nerve.
‘I’m baking a cake, obviously,’ she retorted scornfully. ‘Get out!’
One dark eyebrow raised in a gesture that was so mockingly complacent she shivered in frustrated rage, but Quinn Tennant said nothing. He just stood there. Looking at her.
‘I said get out. Out ... out ... out!’ Alix’s voice raised itself into a scream that bordered upon hysteria, and her entire body trembled.
‘You sure do get excited.’ His words were softly spoken, almost a whisper. But they echoed in the room like thunder, beating upon Alix’s ears and then falling away into a troubled silence.
They stood glaring at each other, and Alix was irrelevantly struck once again by the rugged, masculine handsomeness of this arrogant, self-assured personage. Her eyes seemed to be drawn by a will of their own, ranging from his heavy, downturned eyebrows across the strong chin and the muscular column of his throat. He had taken off his tie, revealing an expanse of tanned throat and chest where tight-curled, coffee brown hair poked through the V of the half-open shirt.
Standing there, legs slightly spread and arms folded across his chest, he looked every inch the totally self-controlled master of all he surveyed. Except that in this case he was surveying her. The thought was sobering.
‘If you don’t leave here this very instant I shall set my dog on you,’ said Alix with a great deal more confidence than she felt.
Quinn Tennant laughed, and she was surprised at the depth and warmth of that laughter. It was so genuine, so full, that she almost joined in without thinking.
‘Nick? He hasn’t got a vicious bone in his body,’ he chuckled, and on hearing his name the dog sprang from his prone position just inside the bedroom door and trotted over to sit politely in front of the arrogant intruder, one paw uplifted.
‘Good boy, Nick,’ Quinn muttered gently, reaching down to shake the proffered paw. ‘Now run along outside and let your friend out for a run. That’s a good lad.’ And before Alix could stammer out a denial, Nick was gone and the door closed silently behind him.
‘Now,’ said Quinn, ‘what’s all this packing about? Surely you’re not planning to deprive us of your company so soon?’
‘I certainly am,’ Alix snapped.
He grinned. ‘Do you always let your temper win out over your better judgement?’
‘Frankly, I don’t feel it’s any of your business,’ Alix replied haughtily.
‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ he replied suavely. ‘How would it look if you decamped after only one day here? People would think I’d been assaulting you or something.’
‘Too bad!’ She snapped the reply at him and turned away, reaching over to fling one last book into a suitcase already over-filled.
‘Mr Jennings went to a lot of trouble to find this place for you. He won’t be pleased if you don’t even give it a fair go’
Alix said nothing; she shut her ears to him and reached for something else to put into the suitcase.
‘Damn it, look at me when I’m talking to you,’ Quinn Tennant growled, reaching out to grasp her shoulder and fling her round to face him.
Fingers clawed, Alix reached out for his eyes in a catlike gesture that almost succeeded. ‘Take your hands off me!’ she hissed.
Quinn Tennant spread his hands in a retreat, stepping back out of range, ‘It’s just that I can’t bring myself to apologise to somebody behind their back,’ he said with a wry grin.
Apologise? Alix didn’t believe it for a minute. He had already refused to apologise, and she knew instinctively that Quinn Tennant wasn’t the type of man to change his mind easily. Besides, what difference could it make? He had made it abundantly clear that her presence here didn’t please him.
‘Save your breath,’ she grunted, starting to turn away but halting when his hand reached out again.
‘Damn it, don’t be so stroppy, woman!’ he snarled. ‘You have a right to be a little upset, but there’s no reason for taking it to extremes.’
‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Tennant,’ Alix retorted. ‘I’m so glad you’ve acknowledged my right to be a little upset. Now would you get it through your head that I’d be a lot less upset if you’d just get out of here?’
‘But I’ve come to apologise.’ He said it in a deliberate little-boy voice that under almost any other circumstances would have drawn at least a ghost of a smile from Alix for its very incongruity. She said nothing,
‘My God, but you’re an exasperating woman,’ he growled, and just for an instant Alix thought he was going to turn around and storm out the door. But instead he shook himself like a dog coming out of water and then continued.
‘My dear Miss McLean, may I sincerely apologise for misjudging you, for accusing you of something you didn’t do, and in addition may I invite you to join me for dinner this evening as a small recompense for being forced to endure my terrible manners in this affair?’
It was pompous, and they both knew it. But his sincerity was evident in his direct, piercing gaze, and with the sincerity was the clear statement that this was as far as he would go. It was an apology, but this wasn’t a man to crawl or throw off his dignity in the making of it. Alix was torn between the desire to laugh at the pomposity of it or to fling the apology back in his face. She did neither. Instead, she took several deep breaths to regain some composure of her own. It was ridiculous to carry this fight any farther.
She didn’t really want to fight any more with Quinn Tennant, and suddenly she realised that she didn’t really want to start looking for another place to live ... certainly not at this time on a Sunday evening. To fling it in his face and remove herself from the cottage would be cutting off her nose to spite her face, and with that realisation came a subtle calming.
‘I accept your apology,’ she said slowly, ‘but I must, I’m afraid, reject the dinner invitation.’
‘I think you should reconsider.’
‘You what?’ She could feel herself growing rigid all over again at the audacity of it all.
‘I think you should reconsider. In fact I insist upon it.’ Quinn kept his voice calm and cool, standing there without any obvious aggressiveness. ‘Because the invitation is not only mine, but Mrs Babcock’s, and she’s gone to a great deal of trouble to make it a fitting welcome dinner for you.’
‘I see,’ said Alix, who didn’t see at all. How could Mrs Babcock have gone to all this trouble? Obviously it was a spur-of-the-moment invitation from Quinn Tennant himself, and his housekeeper would be simply following his orders.
It was as if Quinn was reading her mind. ‘I was supposed to mention it to you at the trials this morning,’ he said, ‘but we were ... interrupted before I got the chance. And I was on my way to invite you when I found Anna loose, only somehow we never got on to the right speaking terms then either.’
‘Somehow? It’s very difficult to be on reasonable speaking terms with somebody who’s shouting at you for something you didn’t do,’ Ali
x retorted hotly.
‘For which I’ve already apologised, so let’s not discuss it again, if you don’t mind,’ Quinn replied with suspicious calm. Alix could see then that he was holding himself under rigid control, and for a moment she almost thought of apologising herself for bringing it up again. Almost.
‘And what about your Miss … Keir?’ she said then. ‘Somehow I don’t see .. .’
‘Miss Keir has nothing to do with it, although she’ll be at dinner too,’ he interrupted, ‘I just drove her home to change, and now I think I’d best leave and give you the same opportunity. Shall we expect you at eight, then?’
His final remark was more a statement than a question, and before Alix could reply he was turning away to step out of the door. He closed it behind him without a farewell, and by the time Alix reached it, he was halfway across the yard and reaching down to caress the dogs as they trotted up to him.
The abruptness of his retreat had made any response impossible, and Alix turned back to sit herself at the kitchen table, wondering at the strange turn of events. Then she looked at her watch and decided that having been committed to the engagement she had better do something about getting ready.
She had just stepped from the shower and was standing naked in the bathroom doorway when a thunderous knock at the door made her gasp in alarm. What if he were to follow his earlier precedent and simply barge in? Alix shouted from where she stood, alert for any movement of the doorknob and ready for an instant leap back into the bathroom.
‘Please don’t come in! I’m not—’
‘Decent?’ The single word was followed by an audible chuckle. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t decide that this is the ideal moment to collect on my rain check, although it well might be. I’ve just come to say that Nick’s kennelled up beside Anna and I’ve put in food and water for both of them.’
‘A ... er ... thank you,’ Alix stammered, unsure just what might be the proper response. It seemed just a bit unusual that Quinn could take charge of her dog after creating such an unholy stink about her supposedly letting his out, but she wasn’t disposed to start another argument in her present state of undress.
‘Good. I’ll come for you just before eight, then.’ And he was gone. He hadn’t bothered to wait for an answer, and Alix tiptoed to the window just in time to see him striding round the corner of the house with a cheery wave to the dogs as he passed them.
What a strange man, she thought. So volatile: warm one minute and icy cold the next. And some people accused women of being moody!
One of her father’s more irreverent sayings sprang to life upon Alix’s lips and she grinned at the naughty appropriateness of it.
‘Up and down like a whore’s petticoat,’ she repeated, ‘and I wonder how you’d like hearing yourself described in those terms, Mr high-and-mighty Tennant?’
Whereupon she stalked back into the bathroom and began drying her long hair with slow, sensuous sweeps of her blow-dry comb. At first she simply stood, slightly hip- shot, relaxing in the warm breeze from the dryer as it swept through her hair. But then she was drawn, inexplicably, to a study of herself in the full-length mirror on the door. And to making idle comparisons between her own tall slenderness and that of Michelle Keir.
Alix was slightly taller, she realised after looking back at the afternoon’s encounter. And certainly not so slim. Her breasts were small and high-set, yet indisputably balanced to the rest of her figure. Her slender waist gave way to a gentle swelling of hips that were infinitely more substantial than those of Michelle, who Alix considered in retrospect to be closer to skinny than slender.
Alix had the type of figure which looked perfect in jeans, with a protuberant bottom that was self-contained without the usual accompaniment of fat thighs. Michelle, while suave and svelte-looking in her dark trouser suit was probably too slender to look her best in casual clothes.
‘Those probably were her casual clothes,’ Alix muttered almost enviously. That pants suit had been expensive.
Whereupon she was forced to give serious thought to her own attire for the evening, and she immediately regretted not having asked Quinn Tennant just how special the dinner was being considered. She debated for an instant trotting over to the house to find out, then decided it would be unnecessary. If he had planned something terribly formal, Alix somehow felt he would have warned her, and he hadn’t.
Still there was this Michelle woman to consider, and instinct told Alix that Michelle’s concept of casual could be very broadly interpreted to mean the dark-haired woman would always stand out. Not that it mattered if Michelle intended to keep emphasising her claim on Quinn Tennant. Alix couldn’t care less about that, she decided. But still, it would be nice to look ... competitive, just for the sheer deviltry of it.
When her hair was dry, Alix turned to her meagre wardrobe with an unspoken thanks that serious decisions weren’t going to be required. She only had one dress that was entirely suitable for the occasion, being classy enough to hit the top end of the casual bracket without being showy. It was a tailored affair with cape sleeves under a wide yoke, and the tailoring was saved by the fabric, which was soft and warm-looking in heather colours of gentle pinks, purples, greens and blues, draping softly from the yoke to just below her knees. She called it her rainbow dress, both for the colours and the fact that it always made her feel. special when she wore it.
She decided to wear her hair in a tidy chignon rattier than leave it loose. If nothing else, the style added maturity and set off her own features to best advantage; with her hair down she tended to look quite young unless the clothes were exactly right for that style.
Chunky, soft pink earrings and bracelet, soft green suede shoes and bag completed the outfit, and with a quick look in the mirror Alix decided she was quite acceptable. She wore only a hint of pale eyeliner and mascara, knowing her fresh complexion had more allure than any make-up could achieve for her.
And she was early, which was no surprise since her parents had firmly established in her mind that feminine lateness might be chic, but it was poor manners at best With fifteen minutes to spare, Alix poured a glass of cold white wine and sat relaxed in her single armchair to drink it.
Having completed her toilette, she stared into the glass and pondered the motives behind taking such care about her appearance. It was one thing to pass it off as irrelevant competition with Michelle Keir, but another thing entirely to convince herself that she wasn’t all that attracted to Quinn Tennant herself. He might be arrogant and argumentative, but she couldn’t deny his handsome masculinity. Much less the tingle his touch had roused in her when he had stroked her shoulder earlier that day.
In some respects, she thought, it was a pity they always managed to strike sparks off each other. The kiss he had given her by the roadside held promises best not considered.
Living at such close proximity, she decided, could have more potential for problems than anything else, especially since Michelle Keir seemed firmly implanted in Quinn Tennant s affections. She couldn’t underestimate his obvious interest in herself, but it would be wise to remember that It was purely a casual interest.
Alix didn’t want even that much of a relationship, much less anything serious. Her betrayal by Bruce still rankled, and she felt indisposed to trust any man now, especially one so self-assured as Quinn Tennant. Mr Tennant, she decided, was probably all too used to having his own way and she felt just a touch uneasy at the casual way he’d mentioned his ‘rain check’. Did the man never forget?
But then why should he? She herself hadn’t forgotten Nor was she likely to, since the prospect held a full measure of pleasure and risk. It would be rather nice to be kissed by him again, but Alix determined that if it were to happen it would be she who picked the time and place.
Maybe even tonight, she thought, and giggled slightly at the suggestion. How could it possibly be tonight, with Michelle Keir on hand to protect her investment? Still...
She was spared further speculation by a soft k
nock at the door, and she opened it to find Q,uinn Tennant standing there. He was casually but expensively dressed in a cashmere sports jacket and complementary-toned slacks and tie. If this was any example, she thought immediately, her own outfit was just right, and she smiled a little at the comfort of the thought.
‘Not only punctual, but happy as well,’ he grinned. I’ll have to invite you to dinner more often, Alix; it makes a most pleasant change from feuding.’
Alix ... There was a subtle sensuality to the way he spoke it, and Alix felt a warm shiver flow through her. It was almost as if he had touched her, and she realised that he was appraising her dress with a look of genuine pleasure as well.
‘Very nice,’ he confirmed, and his eyes said it wasn’t only the dress he was appreciating.
‘Thank you,’ Alix replied with unnecessary coolness as she strove the contain the butterflies that erupted into flight in her stomach. It was terribly unsettling to have this man turn her bones to water merely by speaking her name.
And more so by taking her arm gently as they walked round to the front of the house, pausing momentarily to speak to the dogs as they passed the kennels. Alix couldn’t resist running her fingers over the latches, and she was disproportionately pleased to see the sudden glance of speculation the action provided from Quinn Tennant.
They entered the house into a massive, high-ceilinged hallway, from which Quinn directed her to a large, comfortable-looking lounge room. The furniture was expensive and obviously carefully chosen to complement the graciousness of the room, and it was noticeable that Quinn considered his house first of all as a home.
When Mrs Babcock entered the room a moment later it became obvious as well that the diminutive woman was far from being only the housekeeper.
‘My dear, how lovely you look,’ she said, flitting around the room to prepare their drinks and talking a mile a minute just as she had on their first meeting. Alix noticed that Quinn accepted the chatter with an amused tolerance, treating the older woman more like a mother than anything else.
The Everywhere Man Page 6
