about the male of the species, that the sun was warm, the surf inviting. That she wanted to touch all that taut muscle and flesh and that it might well be the most natural thing in the world to lie with him in the sand.
So much for being perfect! So much for being cool and aloof and completely in control! She thought of when she had been in the shower, where she'd dreamed of her next meeting with him. And here she was--cool, remote and dignified. Hah! She looked like hell again. Barefoot, with not a shred of makeup, her hair soaking wet, and dressed in nothing but a robe. And it wasn't just the miserable indignity of how she looked. She'd been hysterical at first, and she wasn't doing much better now. No wonder he wanted her out; she was nothing but trouble to him. Of course, he had been there when she'd needed him. And sometimes, when he looked at her, he was so very masculine and sexual that she was certain she must appeal to him in some sense. He was rude, but he could also be kind. He had been very frank in saying that he wanted the house, that he wanted her out--but he had still helped her. Of course, he had tried to scare her last night, too. All that ridiculous bit about ghosts.
She paled in his arms, feeling ill. He'd brushed the spider off her and killed it. And she had almost told him how frightened she was of snakes. She had almost said the word.
He had pressed her.
He had known. Known that she didn't like the bugs, but that she could bear them. He was intuitive; he was quick. He wanted her out...
She gasped suddenly, released her hold about his neck and slammed a tight fist against his chest.
'Hey--' Startled and furious, he stared down at I
'You bastard!'
'What?'
'You did it! You knew I was terrified of snakes! You put them in there. Here I thought that you were being decent. You did it! You put me down, you--'
She didn't go any further, because he did put her down,
In fact, he almost dropped her, then stood above her with a dark scowl knit into his features, his hands locked aggressively on his hips.
'I did no such damn thing!'
'You knew--'
'I didn't know anything, Ms. Jordan. And trust me, lady, I don't have the time to go digging up a pack of harmless little ringnecks just to get to you. You don't need help to blow it--I'm sure you'll manage on your own.'
'Oh! You stupid--' She had tried to rise, but the weight on her foot was an agonizing pain. She broke off, gasping against the pain, teetering dangerously. He stretched an arm out; she tried to push him away, but as she started to fall she grabbed at him desperately.
Rex, unprepared, lost his balance, too. They crashed down into the sand together.
In a most compromising position. He was nearly stretched on top of her. And her robe...
Was nearly pushed to her waist.
And they were both aware of the position. Very painfully aware. Alexi couldn't think of a word to say; she couldn't move. She could only stare, stunned and miserable, into the hard, dark eyes above her. It seemed like an eternity in which she felt her naked body pressed to him, an eternity in which she felt all his muscles contract and harden.
An eternity...while she wished that she could be swallowed up by the sand.
Abruptly he pushed himself away from her. With supple agility, he landed on the balls of his feet. Blushing furiously, Alexi pushed her robe down.
'Damn you!' he said angrily. 'Now, this time you just keep quiet! Throw out your accusations once we're there.'
His arms streaked out for her so fast that she almost shrieked, afraid for a second that he meant violence. He picked her up again, his arms as rigid as pokers, shaking with anger. He started off again, his pace faster than ever. He walked her up the steps to the porch, threw open the screen door and carried her inside. He turned almost instantly to the left, to the parlor. Seconds later she was deposited roughly upon a couch that was covered in soft beige leather. She scrambled to right herself, to pull her robe down around her knees.
'Don't move!' he warned her sharply. She tried miserably to relax. She made herself breathe slowly in and out as she looked at her surroundings. It was a nice room. Contemporary. The soft leather sofa sat across the width of a llama-skin rug from two armchairs, all on warm earthen tile. A deer head sat over the mantel, and a wall of arched windows looked out on the sea below. Her house and his were similar in construction, but here two rooms had been combined to make one huge one. To the rear, bookshelves lined the walls, and there were two long oak desks angled together with a computer-and-printer setup. She imagined that Rex must like his view of the sea very much. He could work, then stop and walk to the windows to watch the endless surf and the way the sun played over the water. She tried not to imagine Rex at all. And then he was back.
He had a bowl of water and a little box, and he sat by her on the sofa without a word, pulling her foot up onto his lap. His dark hair fell over his forehead; she couldn't see his eyes.
He moved quickly and competently, not apologizing or saying a word when she winced as he washed off her foot.
'Shell...it was still there,' he said at last. She didn't reply, but bit her lip. He wasn't big on TLC, she mused wryly.
He opened the little box and sprayed something on her foot, then wrapped it in a gauze bandage. He moved back, dumping her foot less than graciously on the sofa. He stood, picked up the bowl and the box and disappeared again. The pain, which had been sharp, began to fade, and she wondered distractedly what he had sprayed on it. She felt like a fool. She realized that he most probably had not dug around in the ground to find a pack of snakes to set loose in her bathroom. Snakes. It was just the damn snakes. Anything else she could surely have dealt with....
She'd been half-naked. He'd known it; she'd known it. And they'd both felt the hard, erotic flow of heat. Where was he? She had to get out of here. Her palms began to sweat. She couldn't go back if there were more snakes. But she couldn't stay away forever. She couldn't stay on his couch, barely dressed....
Then he was back. He set a steaming mug on a small side table beside her, then walked across to sit in one of the chairs, staring at her. With hostility, she was certain. He had his own mug of steaming liquid, and sipped it broodingly.
Alexi tried to sit properly. She had to moisten her lips to speak. 'Rex, I'm sorry. Perhaps--'
'Drink the coffee. It's spiked. It will help.'
'I doubt it--'
'It's sure as hell helping me.'
She didn't know why; she picked up the coffee cup. She didn't know what it was laced with, but it was good, and it was strong. It warmed her hands and her throat, and it did help.
'I--' she began.
'The exterminators don't really do snakes,' he told her dryly, 'but they're coming out. I talked to a guy who said that they were probably just washed up by the rain and came through the broken window. When they finish, you won't have anything else. No spiders, no bugs. And a friend of mine from Ace GlassWorks will be out this afternoon to fix that window. His sister manages a cleaning outfit, and they'll be out, too. They do the works-- sweep, wash and steam-clean. You should be in business then.' 'Rex, thank you, but really--' 'You've got objections?'
'No, dammit, but really, it's my responsibility--' She broke off, frowning. She could hear the front door opening. Rex heard it, too. His brow knit, and he started to rise. Then he sat back.
'Who is that?' Alexi asked.
But by that time the woman was already in. 'Rex?' She came into the parlor, carrying a bag of groceries. Trim and pretty, she looked to Alexi to be approximately fifty. There was an immense German shepherd at her heels; the dog instantly rushed to Rex, barking, greeting him.
The woman stared uncomfortably at Alexi, who sat there in a robe and nothing else, curled on the couch, the coffee cup in her hands. The woman blushed.
Rex smiled. 'Emily, hi. I forgot you were coming this morning.' He stood. The dog sat by his chair, panting, and woofing at Alexi.
