Strangers In Paradise

STRANGERS IN PARADISE

by

HEATHER GRAHAM

From The Cover:

Alexi Jordan had come to the old Florida estate to heal the wounds left by a bad marriage. But instead of tranquillity, she'd found danger. Someone was stalking her, tampering with the lights and making unsettling telephone calls. Alexi was convinced she could handle it. But Rex Morrow wasn't. As her self-appointed protector, and Alexi's neighbour, he suspected she was in real danger. The only danger Alexi sensed, however, came from Rex himself.

"Well," he murmured.

"Well. . ." she echoed. Her gaze fell from his, and once again she wasn't at all sure what she wanted.

He didn't want her on the peninsula. He had said so himself. It was certainly time that he left--and she should be happy for that, since he was such a doubting Thomas. But she couldn't help feeling uneasy. She didn't want him to go.

It was more than fear, more than uneasiness. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to watch him smile. Fool! she told herself. Tell him "Thank you very much," then let him go. A curious warmth was spreading through her. If he left now, they could remain casual acquaintances. But if she encouraged him to stay...

A slight tremor shook her; the warmth flooding her increased. She had the feeling that if she had him stay now, she would never be able to turn her back on him again...

First Published 1988

ISBN 0 733 53837 1

STRANGERS IN PARADISE © 1988 by Heather Graham Pozzessere

Prologue

June 2, 1863

Fernandina Beach, Florida

Miz Eugenia! Miz Eugenia! Look!"

Eugenia straightened, easing the pain in her back, and stared out through the long trail of pines to the distant beach, where Mary's call directed her. Her sewing fell unheeded to her feet; she rose, her heart pounding, her soul soaring, dizzy with incredulity and relief.

A man was alighting from a small skiff. The waves on the beach pounded against his high black cavalry boots as he splashed through the water. From a distance, he was beautiful and perfect.

"Pierre!" Upon the porch of the old house, Eugenia whispered his name, afraid to voice it too loudly lest he disappear. She wanted so badly for him to be real and not a fantasy created by the summer's heat, by the shimmering waves of sun pounding against the scrub and sand.

"Pierre!"

He was real. Tall and regal in his handsome uniform of butternut and gray, with his medals reflecting the sun. He was far away, but Eugenia was certain that he saw her, certain that his blue hawk's eyes had met her own and that the love they shared sang and soared likewise in his soul.

He started to run down the sand path, which was carpeted in pine needles and shaded by branches. Sun and shadow, shadow and sun--she could no longer see his face clearly, but she gave a glad cry and leaped down the steps, clutching her heavy spill of skirts in her hand so that she could run, too--run to meet her beautiful man in his butternut and gray and hurl herself into his arms.

Sunlight continued to glitter through the trees, golden as it fell upon her love. She felt the carpet of sand and pine under her feet, and the great rush of her breath. She could see the fine planes and lines of his features, the intelligence and tenderness in his eyes. She could see the strain in his face as he, too, ran, and she could see the love he bore for her, the need to touch.

"Pierre..."

"Eugenia!" He nearly wept her name. She flew the last few steps, those steps that brought her into his arms. He lifted her high and swirled her beneath the sun. He stared into her face, trembling, cherishing the mere fact that he could look upon her, and she was beautiful.

Eugenia saw that in truth he was not perfect. His butternut and gray were tattered and worn, there were slashes in his handsome boots, and his medals were rusted and dark.

"Oh, Pierre!" Eugenia cried, not so much from his uniform as from the strain that lined his handsome face. "Tell me! What has happened? Pierre, why are you here? Is something wrong?"

"Are you not glad to see your husband?" he charged her.

"Ever so glad! But -- "

"No, Eugenia! No buts, no words. Just hold me. And I'll hold you, tenderly, this night. Tenderly, with all my love."

He carried her back along that path of softest pine and gentle sand. His eyes held hers, drinking in the sight of her so desperately. And she, in turn, could not take her gaze from him, her cavalier. Pierre, handsome, magnificent, tender Pierre, with his fine eyes and clear-cut features and beautiful golden hair. Pierre, scarred and hard and wounded and sometimes bitter, but ever gentle to her, his bride.

They reached the house. Mary mumbled something in welcome, and Pierre gave her a dazzling smile. He paused to give her a hug, to ask after his infant son, who was asleep in Mary's old, gnarled arms. Tears came to Mary's eyes, but she winked back as Pierre winked at her and asked if they might have dinner a wee bit late that night.

Eugenia was still in his arms as he kicked open the screen door with his foot. He knew the house by heart, for it was his house; he had built it. He did not need to look for the stairs; he walked to them easily, his eyes, with all their adoration, still boring into those of his wife. He climbed the stairs and took her to their room, and although they were the only ones on the barren peninsula, he locked the door.

And then he made love to her.

Desperately, Eugenia thought. So hungry, so hard, so fevered. She could not hold him tightly enough, she could not give enough, she could not sate him. He was a soldier, she reminded herself. A soldier, long gone from home, barely back from battle. But he touched her again and again, and he kissed her with a fascinated hunger, as if he had never known the taste of her lips before. He entwined his limbs with hers and held her, as if he could not bear to part.

"My love, my love," she whispered to him. She adored him in turn; sensed his needs, and she gave in to them, all. Stars lit the heavens again and again for her, and when he whispered apologies, thinking himself too rough, she hushed him and whispered in turn that he was the only lover she could ever want.

Dinner was very late. Pierre dandled his son on his knee while Mary served, and Mary and Eugenia did their best to speak lightly, to laugh, to entertain their soldier home from the war. Dinner was wonderful--broiled grouper in Mary's old Louisiana Creole sauce, but Pierre had noted that fish was the diet because the domestic fowl were gone, and when Mary took their little boy up to bed, Eugenia was forced to admit that, yes, the Yankees had come again, and they had taken the chickens and the pigs and even old Gretchen, the mule. Pierre swore in fury, and then he stared at Eugenia with panic and accusation. She went to him, swearing that the Yanks had been gentlemen plunderers-- none had shown her anything but respect.

She hesitated. "They'll not come here again. Even as they waltz in and out of Jacksonville. They won't come because--''

"Because of your father," Pierre supplied bitterly, referring to Eugenia's father, General George Drew of Baltimore. His home was being spared by the Yanks because his wife was one.

"Dammit," Pierre said simply. He sank back into his chair. With a cry of distress, Eugenia came to him, knelt at his feet and gripped his hands.

"I love you, Pierre. I love you so much!"

"You should go back to him."

"I will never leave you."

He lifted her onto his lap and cradled her there, holding her tight against the pulse of his heart. "I have to leave," he said softly. "The Old Man--General Lee--is determined to make a thrust northward. I have to be back in Richmond in forty-eight hours."

"Pierre, no! You've just--"

"I have to go back."

"You sound so...strange, Pierre." She tightened her arms around him.

"I'm frightened, my Genie, and I can't even describe why," he told her. "Not frightened of battle anymore, for I've been there too many times. I'm frightened...for the future."

"We shall win!"

He smiled, for his Northern-born belle had one loyalty: to his cause, whatever it should be.

An ocean breeze swept by him, drawing goose pimples to his flesh, and he knew. They would not win.

He buried his face against his wife's slender throat, inhaling her scent, feeling already the pain of parting. He held her fiercely. "You need not fear, Eugenia. I will provide for you--always. I've been careful. The money is in the house."

He whispered to her, though they were alone.

"Yes, yes, I will be fine--but I will not need anything. When this is over, we will be together, love."

"Yes, together, my love."

Eugenia loved him too well to tell him that she knew the South was dead. She did not tell him that the money he had hidden in the house, his Confederate currency, was as useless as the paper it had been printed on. He was her man, her provider. She would not tell him that he had provided her with ashes.

And he did not tell her that he felt a cold breeze, a cold, icy wind that whistled plaintively, like a ghost moaning and crying. Warning, foreboding. Whispering that death was ever near.

He took her in his arms and carried her up the stairs once again. Their eyes met.

They smiled, so tenderly, so lovingly.

"We're having another baby, Pierre."

"What?"

His arms tightened. She smiled sweetly, happy, pleased, smug.

"A baby, Pierre."

"My love!"

He kissed her reverently.

All through the night, he loved her reverently.

Pierre woke before Eugenia. Restless, he wrapped a sheet around himself and checked his hiding place, pulling the brick from the wall in silence.

A beautiful glitter greeted him. He inhaled and exhaled.

He had to go back to the war. He wanted to take his pregnant wife and his young son and disappear forever. But he was a soldier; he could not forsake his duty. He could assure himself, though, that whatever came, Eugenia would not want for anything.

He replaced the brick. No, Eugenia would not want for anything.

Chapter 1

The fear she felt was terrible. It tore into her heart and her mind, and even into her soul. It paralyzed and mesmerized. With swift and stunning ease, it stole Alexi's breath, and as in a nightmare, she could not scream, for the sound would not come. She knew only that something touched her. Something had her.

And that it was flesh.

Flesh touched her, warm and vibrant. Flesh...that seemed to cover steel. Fingers that were long and compelled by some superhuman strength.

Flesh...

For what seemed like aeons, Alexi could do nothing but let the fact that she had been accosted sweep into her consciousness. It was so dark--she had never known a darkness so total as this night. No stars, no moon, no streetlights--she might have fallen off into a deep pit of eternal space, rather than onto the dusty floorboards of the decaying, historic house. She might be encountering anyone or anything, and all she recognized was... Flesh. Searing and warm and frightfully powerful against her own. It had come so quickly. She had crawled through the window and the arms had swept around her, and she had been down and breathless and now, as fear curled into her like an evil, living thing, she could begin to feel the body and the muscle.

And she still couldn't scream. She couldn't bear force. She had known it before, and she had come here to escape the threat of it.

She tried for sound, desperately. A gasped whimper escaped from her--she knew that she was being subdued by a man. Even in the darkness, she knew instinctively that he was lean but wiry, that he was lithe and powerful. Her position was becoming ever more precarious. Her wrist was suddenly jerked and she was rolled, and there was more warmth, warmth and power all around her as she was suddenly laid flat, her back to the floor.

A thigh straddled roughly over her; she was suffocating.

Good God, fight!

She tried to emerge from the terror that encompassed her. Again she could feel heat and strength and tremendous, taut vitality. In the darkness she felt it--the fingers groping to find her other hand, to secure it so she would be powerless in the horrible darkness.

At last the paralysis broke. Sound burst from her, and she screamed. She could fight; she had learned to fight. Panic surged through her, and she twisted and writhed, ferocious and desperate in her attempt to escape.

She tried to kick, to wrench, to roll, to flail at the body attacking her. Her voice rose hysterically, totally incoherent. And she punched with all her strength, trying to slap, scratch, gouge--cause some injury. She caught him hard in the chin.

He swore hoarsely. Belatedly she wondered if she shouldn't have remained still. Who was he? What was he doing in the house? She hadn't heard a thing, hadn't seen a thing, and he had suddenly come down on top of her. He was a thief, a robber...or a rapist or a murderer. And screaming probably wouldn't help her; here she was, out in this godforsaken peninsula of blackness, yelling when there was no help to be had, struggling when she was bound to lose.

She screamed again anyway. And fought. He was breathing harder; she knew it despite her own ragged gulps for air. She could feel his breath against her cheek, warm and scented with mint. She could feel more of his body, hard against hers, as he silently and competently worked to subdue her.

Flesh...

She felt more flesh against her wrists, and then he had her again in a vise. She felt her hands dragged swiftly and relentlessly high over her head, and she knew that she was at the mercy of the dark entity in the night.

No...

Tears stung her eyes. She had run too far for it to come to this! With an incredible burst of energy, she wrenched one hand free and sent it flying out full force. She struck him, and she heard him grunt. And she heard his startled "Dammit!"

His arm snaked out in the blackness to catch and secure her wrist once again.

And then all she knew was the sound of breathing.

His, mildly labored, so close it touched her cheeks and her chin. Hers, maddened, ragged, racing gulps. Fear was a living thing. Parasitic, it raged inside of her, tore at her heart and her soul, and she couldn't do anything but lie there, imprisoned, thinking.

This was it. Death was near. She'd been desperate to run away, and now, for all her determination, she was going to die. She didn't know how yet. He might strangle her. Wind one hand around her throat and squeeze...

"Stop it! I don't want to hurt you! All right, now, don't move. Don't even think about moving. Do you understand?”

It was a husky voice. Harsh and coolly grating.

"I don't want to hurt you. The words echoed in her mind, and she tried to comprehend them; she longed to trust him.

The darkness was so strange. She couldn't see, but she felt so acutely. She sensed, she felt, as he released her, as he balanced on his feet above her.

She was still shivering, still yearning to give way again to panic and strike out at him and run. She was dazed and she needed to think, desperately needed to be clever, and she could not come up with one rational thought. She could smell him so keenly in the black void of this world of fear, and that made her panic further, for his scent was pleasant, subtle, clean, like the salt breeze that came in from the ocean. She was so well-known for her reserve, for her cool thinking under pressure, and here she was, in stark, painful panic, when she most desperately needed a calculating mind. But how could she have imagined this situation? So close to that which she had run from, taking her so swiftly by surprise, stripping away all veneers and making her pathetically vulnerable.

Fight! she warned herself. Don't give up__

"Please..." She could barely form the whisper.

But then, quite suddenly, there was light. Brilliant and blinding and flooding over her features. She blinked against it, trying to see. She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the brutal radiance.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded.

Dear God, she wasn't just being attacked; she was being attacked by a thief or a murderer who asked questions. One of them was mad. She had every right to be! She was going to be living here. He had been prowling around in the darkness He must have waited while she had fumbled with the door; he had stalked her in silence, watching while she came to the window and broke it to tumble inside--and into his ruthless hold.

She couldn't speak; she started to tremble.

"Who are you?" he raged again.

Harsh, stark, male, deliberate, demanding. She lost all sense of reason. Her arms were free. He had even moved back a little; his weight rested on his haunches rather than full against her hips.

"Arrgh!" Another sound escaped her, shrill with effort. He swore, but did not lose his balance. Alexi managed to do more than twist her skirt higher upon her hips and bring him harder against her as he struggled to maintain his new hold on both her wrists with one hand and keep the flashlight harsh against her face with the other.

She wanted to think; she kept shaking, and her words tore from her in gasping spurts. "Don't kill me. Please don't kill me."

"Kill you?"

"I'm worth money. Alive, I mean. Not dead. I'm really not worth a single red cent dead. My insurance isn't paid up. But I swear, if you'll just leave me--alive--I can make it worth your while. I--"

"Dammit, I'm not going to kill you. I'm trying very hard not to hurt you!"

She didn't dare feel relief. Still, sweeping sensations that left her weak coursed through her, and to her amazement, she heard her own voice again. "Who are you?"

"I asked first. And..." She could have sworn there was a touch of amusement in his voice. "And you're the one asking the favors."

She swallowed, stretching out her fingers. If he'd only move that horrible flashlight! Then she could think, could muster up a semblance of dignity and courage.

"Who the hell are you? I want an answer now," he demanded.

His fingers were so tight in their grip around her wrists. She clenched her teeth in sudden pain, aware of the fearsome power that held her.

"Alexi Jordan."

"You're not."

He had stated it so flatly that for a moment she herself wondered who else she might be.

"I am!"

He moved. The heat, the tight, vibrantly muscled hold he had on her body was gone; he was on his feet and was dragging her along with him.

"Ms. Jordan isn't due until tomorrow. Who are you? Speak up, now, or I'll call the police."

"The police?"

"Of course. You're trespassing."

"You're trespassing!"

"Let's call the police and find out."

"Yes! Let's do that!"

He was walking next, pulling her along. Alexi was blinded all over again when the light left her face to flash over the floor. She tried to wrench her hand away as the light played eerily over the spiderweb-dusted living room, with its shrouded sofa and chairs.

He wrenched her hand and she choked, then spewed forth a long series of oaths. She was close to sobs, ready to laugh and to cry. She should have been handling it all so much better.

"You'll go to jail for this!" she threatened.

"Really? Weren't you just asking me nicely not to kill you?"

She fell silent, jerked back against him, this unknown this stranger in the darkness. Her heart was pounding man at a rapid, fluttering speed; she could feel its fevered pulse against the slower throb of his own, so close had he brought her to himself.

And she still didn't know his face--whether he was young or old, whether his eyes were blue or gray. She would never forget his voice or mistake it for another, she knew. The low, husky quality to the sure baritone. Cool and quiet and commanding...

And he had just said "kill." She was at his mercy and she had forgotten and lashed out in fury and now...

"What do you want?" she whispered, licking her lips.

She gasped as he lifted her; she landed upon the dusty sofa before she could protest again. He fell into the chair opposite her; she heard the movement, heard the old chair creak. The small splay of illumination from the flashlight fell upon her purse, which was in the hands that had so easily subdued her. She thought about bolting--but she could never make an escape. She could see the outline of his body. He was casually sprawled in the chair as he delved into her bag. She was still certain that he could move like the wind if she made any attempt to rise.

Alexi cleared her throat. It was only her purse, not her body. Despite that, despite her fear, she felt violated. "You don't--you can't..."

Her voice faded away, she could feel his eyes on her. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his eyes--compelling, scornful... amused?

“Five lipsticks? Brush, comb, pencil, pad, more lipstick, compact, keys, more lipstick, tissue, more lipstick--aha! At last, a wallet. And you are really...Alexi Jordan."

The light zoomed back to her face. Alexi bit her lip, reddening, and she didn't know why. If he was going to kill her, she didn't need to blush for her own murderer. But he had said something about calling the police. He had said that he didn't want to hurt her.

"Please..."she said.

He was silent. The light continued to play mercilessly over her features.

She was something out of a fairy tale, Rex decided, staring at her in the flood of light. Surely she was legendary. He barely noted that her eyes were still filled with terror; they were so incredibly green and wide. Tendrils of hair were escaping from a once-neat knot--hair caught by the light, hair that burned within that light like true spun gold. It wasn't pale, and it wasn't tawny; it was gold. It framed a face with the most perfect classical features he had ever seen. High, elegant cheekbones; small, straight nose; fine, determined chin; arching, honeyed brows. Even in total dishevelment, she was stunning. Her beauty was breathtaking. Stealing the heart, the senses, the mind...

He realized he was still standing there, thoughtlessly leveling the light into her eyes. At last he saw how badly she was shaking.

She Was Alexi Jordan. Gene's granddaughter. Hell, he'd supposedly been guarding the place. He'd attacked her. He hadn't wanted her here--he hadn't wanted anyone here. But he sure as hell hadn't meant to battle it out with her. He opened his mouth to say something. Then he knew that it wouldn't be enough. He had to go to her, touch her. She was still so afraid.

Alexi gasped as fear again curled through her. The man was coming toward her. She cringed; he leaned over her, touched her cheek, then took her hand.

"My God, you're shaking like a leaf!"

"You, you-"

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

"You attacked me!"

"I had to know who you were. I thought you were a thief, coming in that window the way that you did. You're all right now."

No, she wasn't. She was sitting in complete darkness with a man who had attacked her, and she couldn't stop trembling. He sat beside her, and she wasn't sure what he was saying, only that his words were soft and reassuring. Then, to her horror, she was half sobbing and half laughing and he was sitting beside her, and in that awful darkness she was in his arms as he stroked her hair--and she still didn't have any idea who he was or even what he looked like.

"Shush, it's all right now. It's all right." The same hands that had held her with such cold, brutal strength were capable of an uncanny tenderness. He held her as if she were a frightened child, easing his fingertips under her chin to lift her face. "It's all right. My God, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She knew his voice, knew his scent. She knew the harshness and the tenderness of his arms, but she didn't know his name or the color of his eyes. She stiffened, her tremors beginning to fade at last with the reassurance of his words and the new security of his form.

"I'm, uh, sorry." She pushed away from him, feeling a furious rush of embarrassment. She was apologizing, and he was in her house. Gene's house. A total stranger. "Who are you?"

He stood. She instantly felt the distance between them. It was over--whatever it had been. The violence, and the tenderness.

"Rex Morrow."

Rex Morrow. Her mind moved quickly now. Rex Morrow. He wasn't going to kill her. Rex murdered people-- yes, by the dozens--but only in print. Alexi had decided long before this miserable meeting between them that his work was the result of a dark and macabre mind.

She sprang to her feet, desperate for light. Rex Morrow. Gene had warned her. He had told her that he shared the peninsula with only one other man: the writer Rex Morrow. And that Rex was keeping an eye on the place.

He had promised that the electricity was on, too. She fumbled her way toward what she hoped was a wall, anxious to find a switch. She bit her lip, fighting emotion. Emotion was dangerous. Maybe she was better off with the lights off. She'd panicked at his assault; she'd fallen hysterically into his arms with relief. She'd screamed, she'd cried--she, who prided herself on having learned to be calm and reserved, if nothing else, in life.

The flashlight arced and flared abruptly, its glare of light showing her plainly where the switch was. She came to it and quickly hit it, swiveling abruptly to lean against the wall and stare at the man who already knew her weaknesses too well. Perhaps light would wash away the absurd intimacy; perhaps it could even give her back some sense of dignity.

He was dark, and disturbingly young. For some reason she'd been convinced that he had to have lived through World War II to have written some of the books he had on espionage during the period. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five. Equally disturbing, he was attractive. His jeans were worn, and his shirt was a black knit that seemed almost a match for the ebony of his hair. His eyes, too, were dark, the deepest brown she had ever seen. He was tanned and handsome, with high, rugged cheekbones, a long, straight nose--somewhat prominent, she determined--and a full mouth that was both sensual and cynical. He didn't seem to resent her full, appraising stare, but then he was returning it, and she was alarmed to discover herself wondering what he was seeing in her.

Dishevelment, she decided wearily. It would be difficult for anyone to break into a house through a window and be attacked and wrestled down and still appear well-groomed. "Alexi Jordan--in the flesh," he murmured. His tone was cool, as if everything that had happened in the darkness was an embarrassment to him, too. He shook his head as if to clear it, strode toward Alexi and then right past her in the archway by the light switch, apparently very familiar with the house. She watched him, frowning, then followed him.

He went through the big, once-beautiful hallway and disappeared through a swinging door.

The door nearly caught her in the face, fueling her anger and irritation--residues of drastic fear. She was the one with the right to be here--and he had assaulted her and mauled her, and had not even offered an apology.

Light--blessed light! She felt so much more competent and able now, more like the woman she had carefully and painstakingly developed. She paused, reddening at the thought of how she had whimpered in fear, reddening further when she recalled how easily she had cried in his arms when he had simply told her that he wasn't going to kill her. She should call the police. She had every right to be furious.

She slammed against the door to open it and entered the kitchen.

He'd helped himself to a beer. The rest of the house might be a decaying, musty, dusty mess, but someone had kept up the kitchen--and had apparently seen fit to stock the refrigerator with beer.

"Have a beer," Alexi invited him caustically.

He raised the one he had already taken and threw his head back to take a long swallow. He lowered the bottle and pulled out one of the heavy oak chairs at the butcher-block table.

"Alexi Jordan in the flesh."

What had he heard about her? she wondered. It didn't matter. She had come here to be alone --not to form friendships. She smiled without emotion and replied in kind. "The one and only Rex Morrow."

He arched a dark brow. "I take it your grandfather told you that I lived out here."

"Great-grandfather," Alexi corrected him. "Yes, of course. How else would I know you?" She should have known right away. Gene had told her that Rex Morrow was the only inhabitant of the peninsula. She had just been too immersed in her own thoughts at the time to pay proper attention. Thinking back, she should also have known that Gene might have him watching the place. She'd heard that Morrow had tried to buy the house so that he could own the entire strip of land. But, though Gene seemed fond of his neighbor, he would never sell the Brandywine house.

"My picture is on my book jackets," Rex told her.

"I certainly wouldn't buy your books in hardcover, Mr. Morrow."

He smiled. "You don't care for my writing, I take it?"

"Product of a dark mind," she said. Actually, she admired him. She couldn't read his books easily, though. They were frightening and very realistic--and tore into the human psyche. They could make her afraid of the dark-- and afraid to live alone. She didn't need to be afraid of imaginary things.

And his characters stayed with the reader long after the story had been read, long after it should have been forgotten.

Besides she felt defensive. She'd known him a few minutes; because of the circumstances, he had seen far too deeply into her fears and emotions. And he'd attacked her. He still hadn't apologized. In fact, it seemed as if he was annoyed with her.

"Would you like a beer, Ms. Jordan?"

"No I'd like you out of my house- I'd like you to apologize for accosting me on my own property."

He gazed down, then looked up again with a smile, but there was a good deal of hostility in that smile.

"Ms. Jordan, it isn't your house. It's Gene's house. And I don't owe you any apology. I promised Gene I'd watch out for the place. You weren't due until tomorrow--and who the hell would have expected you out here, alone, in the pitch darkness, breaking into the house through a window?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be inside."

"I wasn't expecting anyone to break in. We're even."

"Far from even."

As he watched her, she had no idea of what he was thinking; she felt that his assessment found her wanting.

"You won't be staying," he said at last with a shrug and a smile.

"Won't I?"

She liked his smile even less when it deepened and his gaze scanned her from head to toe once again.

"No. You won't be here long." He stood again and walked toward her. His strides were slow, and didn't come all the way to her. Just close enough to look down. She estimated that he was six-three or six-four, and she was barely five-six. She silently gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her now. He had already done so, and quite well. There was light now, and he wasn't touching her. She could bring back the reserve that had stood her so well against so much.

“This is a quiet place, Ms. Jordan. Very quiet. The biggest excitement in these parts is when Joe Lacey pinches the waitresses in the downtown cafe. There are only two houses out here on the peninsula--Gene's here, and mine. I get the impression that you need a certain amount of society. But you've only got one neighbor, lady, and that neighbor is me. And I'm not the sociable type."

"How interesting." Alexi crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. "Well, then, why don't you take your beer out of my refrigerator and then get your gruesome soul out of my house, Mr. Morrow?"

He took a long moment to answer; his expression in that time gave away nothing of his emotions.

"You can keep the beer. You're going to need it."

"Why is that?"

"This place is falling apart."

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she returned pleasantly.

"And you're going to handle it all?"

"Yes, I am. Now, if you'll please--"

"I don't want company, Ms. Jordan."

"You keep saying that--and you're standing in my house!"

He hesitated, taking a long, deep breath, as if he were very carefully going to try to explain something to a child.

"Let me be blunt, Ms. Jordan--"

"You haven't been so yet? Please, don't be at all polite or courteous on my account," she told him with caustic sweetness.

"I don't want you here. I value my privacy."

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Morrow. I think I did read somewhere that you were a total eccentric, moody and miserable, but there are property laws in the good of' U.S. of A. And this is not your property. You do not own the whole peninsula! Now, this house has been in my family for over a hundred years--"

"It's supposed to be haunted, you know," he interrupted her, as if it might have been a sudden inspiration, an if-you-can't-bully-her-out-scare-her-out technique.

She smiled.

"As long as the ghosts will leave me alone, I'll be just fine with them," she told him.

He threw up his hands. "You can't possibly mean to stay out here by yourself."

"But I do."

"Ah...you're running away."

She was--exactly. And the old Brandywine house had seemed like the ideal place. Gene had been pleading with someone in the family to come home. To this home. Admittedly, she'd humored him at first, as had her cousins. But then the disaster with John had occurred, and...yes, she was running away.

"Let me be blunt, Mr. Morrow," Alexi said. "I'm staying."

He stared at her steadily a long while. Then he took in her stature from head to toe once again and started to laugh.

"I'll lay odds you don't make a week," he said.

"I'll last."

He made a sound that was like a derisive snort and walked past her again. "We'll see, won't we?"

"Is that some kind of a threat?" Alexi followed him down the beautiful old hallway toward the front door. The light was low once again, filtering into the hallway from the living room and the kitchen. His dark good looks were a bit sinister in that shadowed realm. He really was striking, she thought. His features we re both beautifully chiseled and masculine, and his eyes were so very dark.

Mesmerizing, one might have said.

"I wouldn't dream of threatening you," he told her after perusing her once again. "I'd thought you would be even taller," he said abruptly.

It had taken him a long, long time to realize that he had seen her before this night. That he should have known Alexi Jordan for being more than Gene Brandy wine's expected relation. He had seen her in a different way, of course. In a classic, flowing Grecian gown. With the wind in her hair. He had seen her on the silver screen, seen her in fantasy.

Her classical features had been put to good use.

Despite herself, Alexi flushed. "You recognized me."

'"The Face That Launched a Thousand Ships,'" he quoted from her last ad campaign for Helen of Troy products.

"Well, you son of a--!" she said suddenly, her temper soaring. "You kept denying that I was Alexi Jordan when you must have known--"

"No, I didn't know then. I didn't really recognize you from the ad until we were in the kitchen." He was irritated; she really irritated him. She made him feel defensive. She made it sound as if he had enjoyed scaring her.

And, somewhere deep inside, she scared him in return. Why? he wondered, puzzled. And then, of course, he knew. Maybe part of it had been the way that they had met. Part of it had been the terror in her eyes, the fear he had so desperately needed to assuage.

And part of it was simply that she was so achingly beautiful. So gloriously feminine. She made him wish that he had known her forever and forever, that he could reach out and pull her into his arms. To know her--as a lover.

He didn't mind wanting a woman. He just feared needing her. And she was the type of lover a man could come to need.

"You don't resemble the glamorous Helen in the least at the moment, you know," he told her bluntly. It was a lie. Her face could have launched a thousand ships had it been covered in mud.

"And whose fault is that?"

He shrugged. Despite herself, Alexi tried to repin some of the hair that was falling in tangles from her once neat and elegant knot.

He laughed. "I should have known from all the lipstick."

"Go home, Mr. Morrow, please. I'm looking for privacy, too."

His laughter faded. He studied her once again, and again, despite herself, she felt as if she was growing warm. As if there was something special about his eyes, about the way they fell over her and entered into her.

"Go -- " She broke off, startled, as a shrill sound erupted in the night. She was so surprised that she nearly screamed. Then she was heartily glad that she had not, for it was only the phone.

"Oh," she murmured. Then she sighed with resignation, looking at him. "All right, where is it?"

"Parlor."

"Living room?"

"That living room is called a parlor."

She stiffened her shoulders and started for the parlor. She caught the phone on the fifth ring. It was Gene. Her greatgrandfather had turned ninety-five last Christmas and could have passed for sixty. Alexi was ridiculously proud of him, but then she felt that she had a right to be. He was lean, but as straight as an arrow and as determined and sly as an old fox. He seldom ailed, and Alexi thought that she knew his secret. He'd never -- through a long life of trials and tribulations -- taken the time to feel sorry for himself, he had never ceased to love life, and he had never apologized for an absolute fascination with people. Everything and everyone interested Gene.

But he was too old, he had assured Alexi, to start the massive project of refurbishing his historical inheritance, the Brandywine house outside Fernandina Beach.

He had known she needed a place. A place to hide, to nurse her wounds. She had never explained everything to him; the bitter truth had been too hurtful and humiliating to admit, even to Gene.

Gene's voice came to her gruffly. "Thank God you're there. I tried the hotel in town, and the receptionist told me you had never checked in."

"Gene! Yes, I--"

"Young woman, where is your sense?"

At that moment, Alexi wanted to rap her beloved relative on the knuckles. His voice was so clear that she was sure Rex Morrow, who had followed her back into the parlor, was hearing every word.

"Gene, I really didn't want to stay in town. I made it into the city by six--"

"It's pitch-dark out there!"

"Well, yes--"

"Alexi, there are dangerous people in this world, even in a small place--maybe especially in a small place. You could have been attacked or assaulted or--''

There are dangerous people out here, and I was assaulted! Alexi almost snapped. Rex Morrow was watching her, smiling. He could hear every word.

He took the phone out of her hand.

"What are you--"

"Shh," he told her, sitting on the back of the Victorian sofa and casually dangling a leg. He smiled with a great deal of warmth when he spoke to Gene.

"Gene, Rex here."

"Rex, thank God. I'm glad I asked you to watch the place!"

"Gene, there's really not much going on out here, you know. No real danger, though Alexi might tell you differently. We had a bit of a run-in. Why didn't you give her the key?"

Alexi snatched the phone from him, reddening again. "He did give me the key."

"What? What?" They could both hear Gene's voice. "Key? I did give Alexi the key."

Rex arched a brow. ''Why didn't you...use it?'' he asked her slowly, once again as if he were speaking with a child who had proved to have little adult comprehension. "Or do you prefer breaking in the window over walking through the front door?"

"You broke a window?" Gene was shouting. For such an incredibly old man, he could shout incredibly loudly, Alexi thought.

"The key doesn't work!" Alexi shouted back.

There was a long sigh on the other end. ' The key works, Alexi. You have to twist it in the lock. It's old. Old things have to be worked as carefully as old people. They're temperamental."

Rex Morrow stretched out a hand to her, palm up. “Give me the key."

"You go find it!" she hissed. "It's in my purse that you were tearing up!"

"Now what's going on?" Gene asked.

"Your wonder boy is going to go check it," Alexi said sweetly.

"Well, it works--you'll see," Gene said, mollified. "Now, you get someone in there right away to fix that window. You hear me?"

"First thing tomorrow, Gene," Alexi promised. "Hey!" she protested. Rex had dumped the contents of her purse onto the sofa to find the single key.

"Found it," he assured her.

"Oh, Lord," she groaned.

"What's wrong now?" Gene demanded.

'Nothing. Everything is wonderful. Just super," she muttered.

Rex Morrow was on his way back to the hallway and at the front door. "Really, Gene. I'm here and I'm fine, and you just take care of yourself, okay?"

"Maybe you should get a dog, Alexi. A great big German shepherd or a Doberman. I'd feel better--"

"Gene, why ever would I need a dog when you left me a prowling cat?" she asked innocently.

Her great-grandfather started to say something, but he paused instead. She could see him in her mind's eye, scratching his white head in consternation.

"I'll keep in touch," Alexi promised hastily. "I'm excited to be here; it's a wonderful old place. I promise I'll fix it up with lots of love and tenderness. Love you. Bye!"

She hung up before he could say anything else. Then she stared at the phone for a moment, a nostalgic smile on her lips. She adored him. She was very lucky to have him, she knew. In the midst of pain, chaos and loneliness, he had always been there for her.

"The key works fine," Rex announced.

He was back in the room, extending the key to her. She took it in silence, compressing her lips as he stared at her.

"You have to pull the door while you turn it," he said. "Want to try it while I'm still here?"

"No. Oh, all right--yes. Thank you."

Stiffly she preceded him down the hallway to the door. She thought that maybe she'd rather lock herself out and use the window again than falter in front of him, but really, why should she care?

She opened the door and threw the bolt from the inside. She slid the key in and twisted it, and it worked like a dream. Disgusted, Alexi thought it was a sad day when one couldn't even trust a piece of metal.

"I guess I've got it," she murmured.

Arms crossed over his chest, he shook his head. "Step outside and lock the door and try it. That's when you have the problem."

She stepped outside, but before she closed the door she asked him, "How did you get in?"

"I have my own key." He closed the door for her.

Alexi slipped her key into the lock. With the door closed, it was frightfully dark again. She could barely find the hole, and then she couldn't begin to get the damn thing to twist.

"Pull! Pull on the knob!"

She did. After a few more fumbles she got the key to twist, and the door opened.

She walked in, a smile of satisfaction brightening her eyes.

"Got it." She gritted her teeth. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't be quite so pleased. It took you long enough." Arms still casually crossed, he stared down at her, shaking his head. "And you're going to take on the task of reconstruction?''

"I'm a whiz at electricity."

"Are you?"

"Will you please go home?"

He smiled at her. "Your face is smudged."

"Is it?" She smiled serenely. She was sure it was. Her stockings were torn, her skirt was probably beyond repair, and she undoubtedly resembled a used mop.

He came a step nearer to her, raising a hand to her cheek. She remembered the tenderness with which he had held her when she was trembling and shaking in fear. When she had been vulnerable and weak.

She felt that same tenderness come from him now and the sensual draw of the rueful curl of his mouth. She should have stepped back. She didn't. She felt the brush of his thumb against her flesh and caught her breath. He didn't want her there; he had said so. And she wanted to be alone.

She didn't move, however. Except for the trembling that started up, inside of her this time. She just felt that touch.

"Good night, Ms. Jordan," he said softly. He was out the door, warning her to bolt it, before she thought to reply.

Chapter 2

Alexi rinsed her face at the sink and dried it with paper towels. She had showered in the powder room beneath the stairs, but that was as far as she had ventured in her new realm--which wasn't really new at all. Twenty years before, she had spent a summer here with Gene. But twenty years was a long time, and the house was truly a disaster since Gene had left it so many months ago.

She sat at the butcher-block table to do her makeup, thinking that she didn't look much better than she had the night before. She had slept poorly. Sleeping on the kitchen floor hadn't helped, but strangely, once Rex Morrow had left, she had been really uneasy--too frightened to explore any further. But when she had slept, nightmares had awakened her again and again. Nightmares of John combining with the horrid fear that had assailed her with Rex's first touch last night. Naturally, perhaps. She'd been attacked. But then her dreams had become even more disconcerting. She'd dreamed of Rex Morrow in a far gentler way, of his eyes on her, of his touch, of his smile. Dreamed of the assurance in his voice. All night the visions had filtered through her mind. Violence, tenderness--both had stolen from her any hope of a good night's sleep.

She felt better once her makeup was on. Even before she had left home on her own--before John--she had learned that with makeup she could pretend that she was wearing a mask and that she could hide all expression and emotion behind it. That wasn't true, of course. But as she had aged, she had learned to create masks with her features, and the more years slipped by her, the greater comfort she took in concealing her feelings.

Rex Morrow had seen her feelings, she reminded herself. But it had proved as uncomfortable for him as it had for her. He wanted her gone, right? He valued his privacy; he wanted the land all to himself.

"Sorry, Mr. Morrow," she murmured out loud. "I'm not quite as pathetic as I appeared last night. And I'm staying."

She took a sip of coffee, then bit her lower lip. She wished she could forget how his eyes had moved over her, how his thumb had felt when he'd smoothed away the smudge on her cheek.

And she wished that she would get up and start cleaning.

But she decided that she wasn't going to plunge right in. Chicken? she challenged herself. Maybe. After last night, she deserved to take her time. She'd explore later. She was simply feeling lethargic. Today she'd go into town and find a rental car. Today, she reminded herself, was half over. It had been almost twelve when she had risen, because it had been at least six when she had finally slept.

It was three in the afternoon when she requested a taxi at last. She'd called Gene to assure him that her first night had gone well and that she was happy at the house. She told him the truth about what had happened with Rex when she had arrived, but she didn't tell him how frightened she had been or how she had collapsed in tears into a total stranger's arms. She laughed, making light of the incident. Anyone would have been terrified, she assured herself. But Gene was astute. She was afraid he might have learned more about her past from the incident than she wanted.

By four-thirty she had rented a little Datsun. She had made friends with the taxi driver and the rental car clerk-- everyone knew Gene, it seemed. They were glad to meet his great-granddaughter and fascinated to discover that she was the Helen of Troy lady. Alexi was a bit uneasy to find that she was so recognizable--she would have preferred anonymity. She convinced herself that it would be okay, then decided that she was going to like small-town living. The people were warm--if just a little bit nosy.

"You just be careful out there," the old gentleman at the agency warned her. "That peninsula can be a mighty scary place."

“Why?'' Alexi asked. But he had already turned to help the businessman in line behind her. She shrugged and left for her car. Once inside, she tapped idly against the steering wheel. She should get going on her shopping. There was nothing in the house. And whether she had a professional cleaner or not, she needed all kinds of detergents. And bug sprays. She was sure that except for the kitchen the place was crawling.

But she wasn't really ready for work yet. And she decided she would drive back to the peninsula. It would be dark before long, and she wanted to see the little spit of land in its entirety.

Alexi started the car, then froze. She stared at the blond head and broad shoulders of a man slipping into a rented Mustang next to her car. For a moment, her stomach and heart careened; panic set in. Then he turned. It wasn't John. She exhaled, shaking.

He couldn't have followed her here, she promised herself. She had finished up with the Helen of Troy campaign--and then she had run. He couldn't know where. And no one would tell him.

She took several deep breaths and eased out of the parking lot. She got lost only once, and then she was on the one road that led to Gene's house. It was a horrible road, she quickly discovered. The town didn't own it, Gene had told her once; he and Rex Morrow owned it jointly. And apparently, Alexi thought with a smile, neither of them had been very interested in keeping it up. There were potholes everywhere.

She slowed to accommodate the bumps and juts, but apparently she did so just a moment too late. The car suddenly sputtered and died, spewing up a froth of steam from the front. Alexi stared at it in disbelief for a moment, then swore at herself and crawled out of the driver's seat.

For fifteen minutes she tried to figure out how to open the hood; once it was open, she wondered why she had bothered. Steam was still spewing out, and she didn't have the faintest idea of what to do. She looked around, wondering how long a walk it was to the house. The peninsula was only about four miles long and one across, but both houses were at the far end of it.

Alexi swore and kicked a tire. She decided that people lied when they said that doing such things couldn't help-- she felt ten times better for having kicked the car. She was annoyed that she didn't know what to do, but then she had never kept a car. She just hadn't needed one in New York.

It was getting dark, she perceived suddenly. And if she hadn't been stuck here, she would have thought that it was beautiful. The sky was burnt orange and pink, a lovely background for the pines and shrubs that littered the sandy ground. She had no idea how quickly the darkness fell there.

Alexi gave the car a withering stare, then decided she had best start walking toward the house. She could phone the rental agency, and they could call a mechanic and get the car out to the house for her.

Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Alexi started to walk. It really was beautiful, she assured herself. The sandy road at sunset, everything around it silent, the smell of the ocean heavy on the air. A breeze lifted her hair and touched her cheeks. She could imagine having a horse out here; it would be a beautiful place to ride. All the wonderful pines and palms and the endless sand, and beyond the trees, the endless ocean.

The sunset coloring around her slipped; the sky became gray. Alexi was glad that the house was on a peninsula; she knew she was walking in the right direction. There were no lights out here; she remembered the horrid blackness of the night before.

Suddenly she became aware of a sound behind her, following her. She stopped; the sound stopped. It was her imagination, she told herself. Darkness and solitude could do things like that. Who was she kidding? She was frightened. And she had a right to be. After last night...

Last night, Rex had pounced upon her right away. She had crawled through the window, and he had quickly grabbed her. This sound behind her was... stealthy. She was being stalked.

No. Her fears were getting out of hand. Rex had had an explanation. He'd thought that she was breaking into the house. But John couldn't have followed her--and John was a memory of misery, not terror. And this...this was a feeling that something evil was breathing down her spine. That some real injury was intended for her.

She inhaled--and then she started to run. Maybe her parents, in their distant wisdom, had been right. Maybe she shouldn't have come here, where there was no help, where there was nothing but darkness and the whisper of the breeze and if she screamed forever, no one would hear her.

She was breathless; she was certain that she heard soft footfalls on the sand behind her. She turned around to look and then screamed with total abandon as she ran smack into something hard.

She swung around again, looking up in amazement. She was about to fall when arms steadied her.

"Rex!"

"What in God's name are you doing, running like that?"

"Someone was following me."

She saw the doubt in his eyes and turned around again. Naturally, no one was there. Rex's hands were still on her arms. She looked up at him again, cleared her throat and stepped back. "I'm telling you the truth."

He walked around her and picked up her purse, which she hadn't realized she had dropped. He handed it to her. "We're the only inhabitants out here," he said lightly. She could still see doubt in his eyes.

"I didn't imagine you last night," she said angrily. His eyes seemed to darken as he studied her more intently, and for some reason she flushed uneasily. "I don't imagine things."

"I'm sure you don't."

He didn't believe her; she could hear it in his tone.

"I'm telling you--"

"What are you doing walking out here, anyway?"

"I was driving. The stupid rental car blew."

"Blew what?"

"Something."

He nodded. "Come on. We'll go back for it."

They didn't speak during the walk; he strode quickly and Alexi had enough to do to keep up. She was panting when they reached the car.

The steam had stopped. Rex took a look under the hood, then walked around to the driver's seat, arching a brow at Alexi as he took the keys from the ignition. He opened the trunk, found a container of water and filled something in the front. He slid into the driver's seat, turned the motor over--and it caught. He opened the passenger door.

"You blew a hose, that's all. I can pick one up for you in the morning. Come on, get in. I'll get you home. It'll go that far."

Alexi crawled in beside him and leaned against the seat.

"Thank you." She didn't look at him; she could feel his gaze slide her way as he drove. She wondered uneasily what he was thinking.

Rex drove the car up to the house. When they got out, he tossed her the keys, pointing to the house. "Glad you left a night-light on."

"I didn't know I had," she murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said quickly. But she'd be damned if she could remember leaving lights on. She hadn't even explored the house yet--all she had really seen was the kitchen.

Rex automatically walked with her up the path to the front door. He frowned, when he saw the window that she had broken.

"You didn't get that fixed today. You should have."

"I will." She wondered why she had said it so quickly, so defensively. She didn't owe him any explanations.

She managed to open the door on the first try, and that was a nice boost to her ego. She turned and smiled at Rex, laughing. "I did it."

"Yes, you did." he hesitated, wondering if she should invite him in. But then, he didn't want her anywhere near him, and she'd had a miserable night on his account. Still...

She trembled suddenly, looking down. He was a very attractive man. Tall, dark and--masculine. They were far from friends, yet in their first meeting they had taken a forbidden step toward intimacy. She had taken a step...and she wanted to retreat from it. He was rugged and blunt--a loner. They both wanted privacy. "Thank you," she murmured.

"You're welcome," he said, staring at her as she went into the house. "I'll pick up that hose for you tomorrow." "I should make the rental agency do it." "It's no big thing."

She nodded, then realized that she was returning his stare. His eyes were so dark in the night. He was wearing jeans again, and a navy polo shirt. His arms, which were mostly bare, were tanned and nicely muscled.

She wanted to ask him in. Of all the things that had happened the night before, she remembered the tenderness in his voice and the feeling of his arms as he'd held her. Something warm inside her stirred, something she quickly fought.

She wasn't ready for a relationship. She might never be ready again in her life.

She knew he didn't want her here on the peninsula. He had warned her to go--he had even laid odds against her staying. Still, she wanted to see him smile, to hear him laugh. She wanted to know what lay in his past that he would crave this solitude, that could have made him so ruthless when he had first touched her, so gentle when he had realized how terrified she had been.

"Good night, then. Sleep well, Alexi."

"Good night, and thanks again."

Alexi stepped into the house, frowning as she looked around the lighted hallway.

But then, even as she stared, she heard a little noise-- and the house was plunged into total darkness.

She didn't scream at first. Her heart shuddered instinctively, but she wasn't really afraid. The Brandywine house had been built in 1859, there could easily be problems with such things as electricity.

But then she heard the footsteps, loud and clear. They came crashing down the stairway. She could feel the wind.... The stairway was at the other end of the hall, and she was very aware that someone was close--very close-- to her.

And it certainly wasn't Rex Morrow--not tonight. He had just gone out the front door.

She did scream then, just like a banshee. Someone had been upstairs. In the house.

"Alexi!"

There was a fierce pounding on the front door, and she knew the voice shouting her name belonged to Rex.

She turned around, groping madly in the darkness and found the lock. The stubborn thing refused to give at first. Where was the person who had made the sound of footsteps? Her scream had cut off all other sound, and now she didn't know if someone was still coming for her in the darkness or if that same someone had bolted on past.

"Please, please...!" she whispered to the ancient lock, and then, as if it were a cantankerous old man who needed to be politely placated, it groaned and gave.

She threw the door open. In the darkness she could just barely make out Rex Morrow's starkly handsome features. She nearly pitched herself against him, but then she remembered that the man was basically a hostile stranger, even though she knew Gene held him in the highest regard--and even though she had already clung to him once before.

She stepped back.

"Why did you scream?"

"The lights went out and--"

"I thought you were a whiz with electricity."

"I lied--but that's not why I screamed. Someone came running down the stairway." "What?"

He looked at her so sharply that even in the darkness she felt his probing stare. Did he think that she was lying--or did he believe her all too easily? "I told you--" "Come on."

He took her hand, his fingers twining tightly around hers, and, with the ease of a cat in the dark, strode toward the parlor. He found the flashlight and cast its beam around. No intruder was there.

"Where did the...footsteps go?" he whispered huskily. "I--I don't know. I screamed and...I don't know." He brought her back into the hallway and stopped dead. Alexi crashed into his back, banging her nose. She rubbed it, thinking that the man had a nice scent. She remembered it; she would have known him anywhere by it. It was not so much that of an after-shave as that of the simple cleanliness of soap and the sea and the air. He might be hostile, but at least he was clean.

There was only so much one could expect from neighbors, she decided nervously.

He walked through the hall to the stairway, paused, then went into the kitchen. The rear door was still tightly locked. "Well, your intruder didn't leave that way, and he didn't exit by the front door," Rex said. His tone was bland, but she could read his thoughts. He had decided that she was a neurotic who imagined things. "I tell you--" she began irately. "Right. You heard footsteps. We'll check the house." "You think he's still in the house?" "No, but we'll check."

Alexi knew he didn't believe anyone had been there to begin with. "Rex--"

"All right, all right. I said we'll search. If anyone is here, we'll find him. Or her. Or it."

He released her hand. Alexi didn't know how nervous she was until she realized that her fingers were still clinging to his. She flushed and turned away from him.

"Why did the lights go, then?" she demanded.

"Probably a fuse. Here, hold the flashlight and hang on a second."

She turned back around to take the flashlight from him. He went straight to the small drawer by the refrigerator, then went toward the pantry.

"I need more light."

Alexi followed him and let the beam play on the fuse box. A moment later, the kitchen light came on.

He looked at her. "Stay here. I'll check out the library and the ballroom and upstairs."

"Wait a minute!" Alexi protested, shivering.

"What?"

Impatiently he stopped at the kitchen door, his hand resting casually against the frame.

She swallowed and straightened with dignity and tried to walk slowly over to join him.

"I do read your books," she admitted. "And it's always the hapless idiot left alone while the other goes off to search who winds up...winds up with her throat slit!"

"Alexi..." he murmured slowly.

"Don't patronize me!" she commanded him.

He sighed, looked at her for a moment with a certain incredulity and then started to laugh.

"Okay. We'll search together. And I'm sorry. I'm not patronizing you. It's just usually so quiet out here that it's hard to imagine..." His voice trailed away, and he shrugged again. "Come on, then."

Smiling, he offered her his hand. She hesitated, then took it. They returned to the hallway. Alexi nervously played the flashlight beam up the stairway. Rex grinned again and went to the wall, flicking a switch that lit the entire stairway. - "Gene did have a few things done," he told her.

There were only two other rooms on the ground floor-- except for the little powder room beneath the stairway, which proved to be empty. To the right, behind the parlor, was the library, filled with ancient volumes and wall shelves and even an old running oak ladder reaching to the top shelves. Upon a dais with a wonderful old Persian carpet was a massive desk with a few overstuffed Eastleg chairs around it. Apart from that, the room was empty.

They crossed behind the stairway to the last room--the “ballroom,'' as Rex called it. It was big, with a dining set at one end with beautiful old hutches flanking it, and a baby grand across the room, toward the rear wall. Two huge paintings hung above the fireplace, one of a handsome blond man in full Confederate dress uniform, the other of a lovely woman in radiant white antebellum costume.

Forgetting the intruder for a moment, Alexi dropped Rex's hand and walked toward the paintings for a better look.

"Lieutenant General P. T. Brandy wine and Eugenia,"

Rex said quietly.

"Yes, I know," Alexi murmured. She felt a bit awed; she hadn't been in the house since she'd been a small child, but she remembered the paintings, and she felt again the little thrill of looking at people from another day who were her direct antecedents.

"They say that he's the one who buried the Confederate treasure.''

"What?" Alexi, forgetting her distant relatives, turned around and frowned at Rex.

He laughed. "You mean you never heard the story?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean, I've heard of Pierre and Eugenia. Pierre built the house. But I never heard anything about his treasure."

He smiled, locking his hands behind his back and casually sauntering into the room to look at the paintings.

“This area went back and forth during the Civil War like a Ping-Pong ball. The rebels held it one month; the Yankees took it the next. Pierre was one hell of a rebel--but it seems the last time he came home, he knew he wasn't going to make it back again. Somewhere in the house he buried a treasure. He was killed at Gettysburg in '63, and Eugenia never did return here. She went back to her father's house in Baltimore, and her children didn't come back here until the 1880s. Local legend has it that Pierre haunts the place to guard his stash, and the locals on the mainland all swear that it does exist."

"Why didn't Eugenia come back?" Rex shrugged. “He was a rebel. At the end of the war, Confederate currency wasn't worth the paper it had been printed on. There was no real treasure. Maybe that's the reason that Pierre had to come back to haunt the place."

Alexi stared at him for a long moment. There seemed to be a glitter of mischief in his eyes. A slow, simmering anger burned inside her, along with a sudden suspicion. "Sure. Those footsteps belonged to my great-great-greatgrandfather. You will not scare me out of this house!"

"What--?" He broke off with a furious scowl. "You foolish little brat. I'm not trying to scare you."

"The hell you're not! You want me out of here--God knows why. You don't have to see me, you know." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe I should leave now." She lifted her chin. She wanted him to stay. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, but someone alive had been in the house. Someone who had come here in stealth. Even if Rex didn't believe her.

She swung around. "This is ridiculous! I came to my old family home on what is supposed to be a deserted, desolate peninsula, and it's more like Grand Central Station!"

"Alexi--"

"Just go, if you want to!"

Rex watched her, his mouth tight and grim, then swung around. "I'll check the upstairs. If someone tries to slit your throat, just scream."

He was gone. Alexi stared after him, shivering, hating herself for being afraid. She hadn't been afraid to come-- she'd been eager. She'd desperately wanted to be alone. Where there were no crowds, where people didn't recognize her. But she'd just barely gotten there, and already the darkness and the isolation were proving threatening.

Nothing was going to happen, she assured herself. But she wrapped her arms nervously about herself and returned to stare up at the paintings. Perhaps some kids believed in the legend about the gold. High school kids. They didn't want to harm her; they just wanted to find a treasure--a treasure that didn't really exist.

She smiled slowly. They were really marvelous-looking people; Pierre was striking, and his Eugenia was beautiful. "Even if you could come back as a ghost," she said to Pierre's likeness with a wry grin, "you certainly wouldn't haunt me--I'm your own flesh and blood." "Do you often talk to paintings?" Startled, she swung around. Rex Morrow was leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her. "Only now and then."

"Oh." He waited a moment. "Upstairs is clear. If anyone was in the house, he or she is definitely gone now." "Good."

"Want me to call the police?" "Think I should?" She realized that he still didn't be her. Or maybe he didn't think she was lying--just that she was neurotic. Paranoid. And maybe he even felt a little guilty about her state of mind, since he had attacked her last night.

He paused, then shrugged at last. "Whoever it was is gone. Probably some kid from the town looking for Pierre's treasure. He probably left by that broken window. You must get it fixed."

“I will--tomorrow. First thing. And maybe it was someone looking for Pierre's treasure. Numismatically or historically, maybe those Confederate bills are worth something."

"Maybe."

"They could be collectible!"

"Sure. Confederate money is collectible. It's just not usually worth..."

"Worth what?"

"Only rare bills from certain banks are worth much. But who knows?" he offered.

They stood there for several moments, looking at each other across the ballroom.

"Well," he murmured.

"Well..." she echoed. Her gaze fell from his, and once again she wasn't at all sure what she wanted. He'd checked the place for her; she was sure now that it was empty.

He didn't want her on the peninsula. He had said so himself. It was certainly time that he left--and she should be happy for that, since he was such a doubting Thomas. But she couldn't help feeling uneasy. She didn't want him to go.

Fool! she told herself. Tell him "Thank you very much," then let him go. A curious warmth was spreading through her. If he left now, they could remain casual acquaintances. But if she encouraged him to stay...

It was more than fear, more than uneasiness. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to watch him smile.

A slight tremor shook her; the warmth flooding her increased. She had the feeling that if she had him stay now, she would never be able to turn her back on him again. She was still staring at him and he was still watching her and no words were being spoken, but tension, real and tangible, seemed to be filling the air. Alexi inhaled deeply; she cleared her throat.

"I think I'll have one of your beers," she said. "Since they are in my refrigerator."

"Help yourself."

She hesitated. Then she spoke. "Want one?"

He, too, hesitated. It was as if he, too, sensed some form of commitment in the moment. Then he shrugged, and a slow smile that was rueful and sexy and insinuating curled the corners of his lip.

"Sure," he told her. "Sure. Why not?"

Chapter 3

Alexi passed him quickly and hurried on into the kitchen. She dug into the refrigerator for two beers.

“Are you the one who has kept the kitchen clean?'' she asked casually. It was spotless; Alexi imagined that one could have eaten off the floor and not have worried about dirt or germs. The rest of the place was a dust bowl.

“In a manner of speaking. A woman comes out twice a week to do my place. She spends an hour or so here."

Alexi nodded and handed him a beer. She walked past him, somehow determined to sit in the parlor, even though the kitchen was by far the cleaner place.

Maybe it was the only way she could get herself to go back into the room.

She knew he was behind her. Once she reached the parlor she sank heavily into the Victorian sofa, discovering that she was exhausted. Rex Morrow sat across from her, straddling a straight-backed chair. Cool Hand Luke in a contemporary dark knit.

He smiled again, and she realized he knew she was staring at him and wondering about him. And of course, at the same time, she realized that he was watching her speculatively.

"You're staring," he said.

"So are you."

He shrugged. "I'm curious."

"About what?"

He laughed, and it was an easy sound, surprisingly pleasant.

"Well, you are Alexi Jordan."

She lifted her hands, eyeing him warily in return. "And you are Rex Morrow."

"Hardly worthy of the gossip columns."

"That's because writers get to keep their privacy."

"Only if they hole out in places like this."

She didn't say anything; she took a long sip of her beer, wrinkling her nose. She really didn't like the brand; its taste was too bitter for her.

It was better than nothing.

"Well?" he said insinuatingly, arching a dark brow.

"Well, what?"

"Want to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"The rich, lusty scandal involving the one and only Alexi Jordan."

Only a writer could make it all sound so sordid, Alexi decided. But she couldn't deny the scandal. "Why on earth should I?" she countered smoothly.

He lifted his hands, grinning. "Well, because I'm curious,

I suppose."

"Wonderful," she said, nodding gravely. "I should spill my guts to a novelist. Great idea."

He laughed. "I write horror and suspense, not soap operas. You're safe with me."

"Haven't you read all about it in the rags?"

"I only read the front pages of those things when I'm waiting in line at the grocery store. One of them said you left him for another man. Another said John Vinto left you for another woman. Some say you hate each other. That there are deep, dark secrets hidden away in it all. Some claim that the world-famous photographer and his world-famous wife are still on good terms. The best of friends. So, what's the real story?"

Alexi leaned back on the couch, closing her eyes. She was so tired of the whole thing, of being pursued. She still felt some of the pain--it was like being punch-drunk. The divorce had actually gone through almost a year ago.

"Who knows what is truth?" she said, not opening her eyes. She didn't know why she should tell Rex Morrow-- of all people--anything. But an intimacy had formed between them. Strange. They were both hostile; neither of them seemed to be overladen with trust for the opposite sex. Still, though he was blunt about wanting the peninsula to himself, she felt that she could trust him. With things that were personal--with things she might not say to anyone else.

"We're definitely not friends," she blurted out.

"Hurt to talk?" he asked quietly. She felt his voice, felt it wash over her, and she was surprised at the sensitivity in his tone.

She opened her eyes. A wary smile came to her lips. "I can't tell you about it."

"No?"

"No." She kicked off her shoes and curled her stockinged toes under her, taking another long sip of the beer. She hadn't eaten all day, and the few sips of the alcohol she had taken warmed her and eased her humor. "Suffice it to say that it was all over a long time ago. It wasn't one woman--it was many. And it was more than that. John never felt that he had taken a wife; he considered himself to have acquired property. It doesn't matter at all anymore."

"You're afraid of him." It was a statement, not a question.

"No! No! How did--?" She stopped herself. She didn't want to admit anything about her relationship with John.

"You are," he said softly. "And I've hit a sore spot. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. Really."

"You're a liar, but we'll let it go at that for the time being."

"I'm not--"

"You are. Something happened that was a rough deal."

"Ahh..." she murmured uneasily. "The plot thickens."

He smiled at her. She felt the cadence of his voice wash over her, and it didn't seem so terrible that he knew that much.

"You don't need to be afraid now," he said softly.

"Oh?"

She liked his smile. She like the confidence in it. She even liked his macho masculine arrogance as he stated, "I'm very particular about the peninsula. You don't want him around, he won't be."

Alexi laughed, honestly at first, then with a trace of unease. John could be dangerous when he chose.

"So that's it!" Rex said suddenly.

"What?"

He watched her, nodding like a sage with a new piece of wisdom that helped explain the world. "Someone running after you on the sand, footsteps on the stairway, your blind panic last night. You think your ex is after you." "No! I really heard footsteps!" "All right. You heard them." "You still don't believe me!"

He sighed, and she realized that she was never going convince him that the footsteps had been real. "You seem to have had it rough," he said simply.

She wasn't going to win an argument. And at the moment she was feeling a bit too languorous to care.

"Talk about rough!" Alexi laughed. She glanced at her beer bottle. "This thing is empty. Feel like getting me another? For a person who doesn't like people, you certainly are curious--and good at making those people you don't like talk."

He stood up and took the bottle. "I never said that I don't like people."

She closed her eyes again and leaned back as he left her. She had to be insane. She was sitting here drinking beer and enjoying his company and nearly spilling out far too much truth about herself. Or was she spilling it out? He sensed too much. After one bottle of beer, she was smiling too easily. Trusting too quickly. If he did delve into all her secrets, it would serve her right if he displayed them to the world in print. He would change the names of the innocent or the not-so-innocent.

But, of course, everyone always knew who the real culprit was.

Something cold touched her hand. He was standing over her with another beer. She smiled. She was tired and lethargic enough to do so.

"My turn," she murmured huskily.

"Uh-uh. We're not finished with you."

He didn't move, though. He was staring down at her head. If she'd had any energy left, she would have flinched when he touched her hair. "That's the closest shade I've seen to real gold. How on earth do you do it?"

She knew she should be offended, but she laughed. "I 'grow it, idiot!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. How do you get that color? Shoe polish?"

"No, idiot," he said in turn, grinning. "I grow it." He returned to his chair and cast his leg easily over it to straddle it once again. "So let's go on here. Why are you so afraid of John Vinto? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. We hit the finale. That was it." "That wasn't it at all. You married him...what? About four years ago or so?" "Yes."

"You've been divorced almost a year?" "Yes," Alexi said warily. "He, uh, was the photographer on some of the Helen of Troy stills," she said after a moment. She shrugged. "The campaign ended--publicity about the breakup would have created havoc on the set." "You worked with him after."

"Yes."

"And you spent that year working--and being afraid of him."

She lowered her head quickly. She hadn't been afraid of him when there had been plenty of other people around. She'd taken great pains never to be alone with him after he...

She sighed softly. "No more, Mr. Morrow. Not tonight. Your turn." She took a sip of her new beer. The second didn't taste half as bitter as the first, and it was ice-cold and delicious. She mused that it was the first time she had let down her guard in--

Since John. She shivered at the thought and then opened! her eyes wide, aware that Rex had seen her shiver. Something warned her that he missed little.

"You shouldn't have to fear anyone, Alexi," he told softly.

"Really..." She suddenly sat bolt upright. "Rex, I don't talk about this--no one knows anything at all."

"I don't really know anything," he reminded her with smile. There was a rueful, sensual curve to the corner of his lip that touched her heart and stirred some physical response in the pit of her abdomen.

"No one will ever know what I do know now," he said. "On my honor, Ms. Jordan."

"Thanks," she murmured uneasily. "If we're playing This Is Your Life, then you've got to give something."

He shrugged, lifting his hands. "I married the girl next door. I tried to write at night while I edited the obituaries during the day for a small paper. You know the story-- trial and error and rejections, and the girl next door left me. She didn't sue for divorce, though--she waited until some of the money came in, created one of the finest performances I have ever seen in court and walked away with most of it. She was only allowed to live off me for seven years. I bought an old house in Temple Terrace that used to belong to a famous stripper. I raised horses and planted orange groves--and then went nuts because my address got out and every weirdo in the country would come by to look me up. They stole all the oranges--and one jerk even shot a horse for a souvenir. That's when I moved out here. The sheriff up on the mainland is great, and it's like a wonderful little conspiracy--the townspeople keep me safe, and I contribute heavily to all the community committees. Gene-- when he was still here--was a neighbor I could abide. Then he decided he needed to be in a retirement cooperative. I tried to buy the house from him; he wasn't ready to let go." He stopped speaking, frowning as he looked at her.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"What? Uh, no. How--why did you ask that?"

He chuckled softly. “Because your eyes are rimmed with red, and it makes you look tired and hungry.

"Want me to call for a pizza?"

"You must be kidding. You can get a pizza all the way out here?"

"I have connections," he promised her gravely. "What do you want on it?" "Anything."

Alexi leaned her head against the sofa again. She heard him stand and walk around to the phone and order a large pizza with peppers, onions, mushrooms and pepperoni from a man named Joe, with whom he chatted casually, saying that he was over at the Brandywine house and, yes, Gene's great-granddaughter was in and, yes, she was fine--just hungry.

He hung up at last.

"So Joe will send a pizza?"

"Yep."

"That's wonderful."

"Hmm."

She sat up, curling her toes beneath her again and smoothing her skirt.

"Hold still," he commanded her suddenly. Startled, she looked at him, amazed at the tension in his features. He moved toward her, and she almost jumped, but he spoke again, quietly but with an authority that made her catch her breath.

"Hold still!"

A second later he swept something off her shoulder, dashed it to the ground and stomped upon it.

Alexi felt a bit ill. She jumped to her feet, shaking out her hair. "What was it?"

"A brown widow."

"A what?"

"A brown widow. A spider. It wouldn't have killed you, but they hurt like hell and can make you sick."

"Oh, God!"

"Hey--there are spiderwebs all over this place. You know that."

Alexi stood still and swallowed. She lifted her hands calmly. "I can--I can handle spiders." "You can."

"Certainly. Spiders and bugs and--even mice. And rats! I can handle it, really I can. Just so long as--"

"So long as what?"

She lowered her head and shook it, concealing her eyes from him. "Nothing." Snakes. She hated snakes. She simply wasn't about to tell him. "I'll be okay."

"Then why don't you sit again?"

"Because the pizza is coming. And because we really should eat in the kitchen. Don't you think?"

He grinned, his head slightly cocked, as he studied her. "Sure."

They moved back to the kitchen. The light there seemed very bright and cheerful, and Alexi had the wonderful feeling that no spider or other creature would dare show its face in this scrubbed and scoured spot.

"Why didn't you have the rest of the place kept up?" Alexi complained, sliding into a chair at the butcher-block table.

He sat across from her, arching a brow. "Excuse me. I kept just the kitchen up because Gene asked me to keep an eye on the place--and I'm not fond of sitting around with crawling creatures. If I'd known that the delicate face that launched ships would be appearing, I would have given more thought to the niceties."

"Very funny. I am tough, you know," she said indignantly.

"Sure."

"Oh, lock yourself in a closet." "Such vile language!"

He was laughing at her, she knew. Tired as she was, Alexi was back on her feet, totally aggravated. "Trust me, Mr. Morrow--I can get to it! And I will do it. I'll make it here. You can warn me and threaten me, but I'm not leaving."

He lowered his head and idly rubbed his temple with his fingertips. She realized that he was laughing at her again "I will, and you'll see."

"Listen, the closest you've probably been to a spider before is watching Spiderman on the Saturday-morning cartoons. You grew up with maids and gardeners and--"

"I see. You toiled and starved all those years to make your own money, so you know all about being rough and tough and surviving. You couldn't have starved too damn long. You're what--? All of thirty-five now? They made a movie out of Cat in the Night ten years ago, so you weren't eating rice and potatoes all that long! And for your information, having money does not equate to sloth or stupidity or--"

"I never implied that you were stupid--" "Or incapable or inept! I've damn well seen spiders before, and roaches and rats and--"

"Hey!" He came to his feet before her. A pity, she thought--it had been easier to rant and rave righteously when he had been sitting and she had been able to look down her nose at him. But now his hands were on her shoulders and he was smiling as he stared down at her and she knew that he was silently laughing again.

"No one likes things crawling on her--or him. And let's face it--you can't be accustomed to such shabby conditions," he said. His smile faded suddenly.

"Or," he added softly, "a different kind of creepy-crawly. Intruders in the place."

"Oh!" She had forgotten all about the footsteps. Forgotten that someone had been in the house. That he or she or they had escaped when the lights had gone out and blackness had descended.

She backed away from Rex. "What...what do you think was...going on?"

Rex shrugged and grimaced. "Alexi, if--and I'm sorry, I do mean if--someone was in the house, I don't know. A tramp, a derelict, a burglar--"

"All the way out here?"

"Hey, they deliver pizza, don't they?"

"Do they? The pizza hasn't even gotten here yet!"

"Well, I'm sorry! It is a drive for the delivery man, you know. He isn't a block away on Madison Avenue."

"Oh, would you please stop it? We are not in the Amazon wilds."

"No, but close enough," Rex promised her good-naturedly. She stared at him with a good dose of malice. Then she nearly jumped, and she did let out a gasp, because the night was suddenly filled with an obnoxious sound, loud and blaring.

"Joe's boy's horn." Rex lifted his hands palm up. "It plays Dixie."

It did, indeed. Loudly.

"I'll get the pizza," he told her.

Still smiling--with his annoying superiority--Rex went out. Alexi followed him.

Joe's boy drove a large pickup. He was a cute, longhaired kid, tall and lanky. By the time Alexi came down the walkway, Rex was already holding the pizza and involved in a casual conversation.

"Oh, here she is."

"Wow!" the boy said. He straightened, pushed back his long blond hair and put out his hand to shake her hand soundly. "The Helen of Troy lady! Boy, oh, boy, ma'am, when I see that ad with your hair all wild and your eyes all sexy and your arms going out while you're smiling that smile, I just get...well, I get--"

"Urn, thanks," Alexi said dryly. She felt Rex staring at her. Maybe he had expected her to be like the woman in the ad. He was probably disappointed to discover she was quite ordinary. "The magic of cameras," she murmured.

"Oh, no, ma'am, you're better in the flesh!" He blushed furiously. "Well, I didn't mean flesh--" he stammered.

"I don't think she took any offense, Dusty," Rex drawled. "Well, thanks again for coming out. Oh, Alexi, Dusty wants your autograph."

"Mine?"

He lifted his hands innocently. "He already has mine."

She gave Dusty a brilliant smile--with only a hint of malice toward Rex.

"Dusty, if you don't mind waiting a day or two, I'll get my agent to send down some pictures and I'll autograph one to you."

"Would you? Wow. Oh, wow. Could you write something... kind of personal on it? The guys would sure be impressed!"

"With pleasure," she promised sweetly.

"Wow. Oh, wow."

Dusty kept repeating those words as he climbed into the cab of his truck. Alexi cheerfully waved until the truck disappeared into the night. She felt Rex staring at her again, and she turned to him, a cool question in her eyes.

"Well," he said smoothly, "you've certainly wired up that poor boy's libido."

"Have I? Shall I take the pizza?"

"No, my dear little heartbreaker. I can handle it."

He started back toward the house. Alexi followed him-To her surprise, she discovered herself suddenly enjoying the night. She felt revived and ready for battle.

But there was to be no battle--not that night.

Rex went through the hall to the kitchen and put pizza box on the table. "There's a bolt on the wood to the parlor. If you just slide it, you can be sure that one will come in by way of the window you broke. It was probably just some tramp who thought the house was unoccupied, but I'd bolt that door anyway. You can get the window fixed in the morning. You should have done it today."

"You're leaving?"

He nodded and walked to where she stood by the door, pausing just short of touching her. He placed a hand against the doorframe and leaned toward her, a wry grin set in the full, sensual contours of his mouth.

"You're playing a bit of havoc with my libido, too." He pushed away from the wall. "If you should need me, the number is in the book by the phone. Good night."

For some reason, she couldn't respond. She felt as if he had touched her...as if some intimacy had passed between them.

Nothing had happened at all.

By the time she could move, he was gone. She heard the front door quietly closing.

She hurried to it, biting her lower lip as she prepared to lock the door for the night. She was still so uneasy. Rex's being there had given her a certain courage. She knew that someone had been in the house. Had he really left? Was there, perhaps, some nook or cranny where the intruder could be hiding?

She gasped. There was another tapping at the door. Her fingers froze; she couldn't bring herself to answer it.

"Alexi?"

It was Rex. She threw the door open and prayed that he wouldn't hear the pounding of her heart.

Rex," she murmured. She lowered her face quickly, trying to hide her relief, trying not to show the sheer joy she felt at seeing him again. "Urn, did you forget something?”

"Yes." out.

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He studied her for the longest time, and then he sighed.

"You're making me absolutely insane, you know."

"I beg your pardon," she murmured.

He shook his head ruefully, then straightened. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her into the hallway to allow himself room to enter. Wide-eyed, Alexi stared up at him.

"I'm staying!" he seemed to growl.

"You're what?" she whispered.

"I'll stay."

"You--you don't need to."

He shook his head impatiently. "I'll curl up in the parlor. Since you haven't gotten the guest rooms prepared yet," he added dryly.

"Rex...you don't have to."

"Yes, I have to." He started for the parlor.

"You should at least have some pizza!"

"No. No, thanks. I should lie down and go to sleep as quickly as possible."

"Rex--"

"Alexi--dammit! I--" He cut himself off, his jaw twisting into a rigid line. He shook his head again and walked into the parlor. She heard the door slam. Hard.

Alexi retreated to the kitchen. She leaned against the door and breathed deeply. He was going to sleep in her house. She shouldn't make him do it. She shouldn't allow him to do it.

She trembled. She couldn't help it. She was very, very glad that he was just a few feet away.

Chapter 4

Even though she knew Rex was in the house--or perhaps because she knew Rex was in the house--Alexi spent a miserable night.

The kitchen floor was still a horrible bed; she swore to herself that she would get going on the house. When she first dozed off she nearly screamed herself awake, dreaming of a giant brown widow. She hadn't even known that "widows" came in "brown"--but she didn't want to meet another one.

Having woken herself up, she ate some of the pizza. Rex, bleary-eyed and rumpled, stumbled in, and at last they shared some of the pizza. When he returned to the parlor, she determined to settle down to sleep again. More dreams and nightmares plagued her. Disconcerting, disconnected nightmares in which men and women in antebellum dress swirled through the ballroom, laughing, chatting, talking. Beautiful people in silks and satins and velvets--but the dancers were transparent and the ballroom retained its dust aids and webbed decay. The only man with substance in her dreams was Rex Morrow--darkly handsome and somewhat diabolical, but totally compelling as he grinned wickedly and pointed in silence to the portraits of Pierre and Eugenia on the wall. She kept trying to reach him through the translucent dancers. She didn't know why, only that she needed to, and the more time that passed, the more desperate she became. Then, at the end, a giant brown spider with John's face pounced down between them and Alexi gasped and sprang up--and came awake, swearing softly as she realized a warm sun was spilling brilliantly through the windows.

She put coffee on and went in search of Rex, only to find the sofa empty, with a note where his body should have lain.

Gone home to bathe, shave and work. Checked on you--you were sleeping like a little lamb. Well, a sexy little lamb. Libido, you know. It's light and all seems well. Fix the window today, dammit! If you need anything, give me a ring. I'll be here.

So he was gone. Funny...she had been looking forward to seeing him. To sharing coffee. To laughing at her fears by the morning's light. She smiled, remembering how they had shared cold pizza. Neither of them had really been awake. She could barely remember anything they had said. She'd liked his cheeks looking a little scruffy; she'd liked all that dark hair of his in a mess over his forehead.

Well, Rex probably wouldn't be the same by daylight, either. He'd be hostile, annoyed, superior, doing that eccentric artist bit all over again. She swore that the next time she saw him she'd be in control. Competent, able--fearless.

Oh, yeah! But she had to get started.

Definitely. She had to do something here, she warned herself. When her dreams began to include shades of The ply, she was falling into the realm of serious trouble.

By morning's light she was able to roam around the lower level of the house. The place appeared even shabbier.

"Steam cleaners will make a world of difference," she promised herself out loud.

Still hesitant of the creepy-crawly possibilities, she kept her suitcase in the kitchen. When the coffee had perked, she poured herself a cup and sipped it while she opened her suitcase. It tasted good. Delicious. But not even the dose of caffeine really helped her mood. Her extended-wear contact lenses weren't "extending" very well--her vision was all blurry, and she swore softly again, wishing she could wear them with comfort and ease. She peered at her watch. It was only eight. She'd take a long shower, then remove her contacts, clean them and put them back in.

Alexi found her white terry robe, finished her coffee and considered exploring the upstairs for a bedroom and bath. Then, deciding that she would tackle the upstairs after she was dressed, she called and asked the steam cleaners in town to come out. Once they were finished, she would start vacuuming and sweeping and choose a room for herself. She really wasn't afraid of a few spiders and bugs--she just wanted to be a bit more fortified to deal with them.

So, determined, she grabbed her robe and headed for the little powder room beneath the stairs. She had noticed the night before that it did have a small shower stall. In fact, the little bathroom was really quite nice--tiled in soft mauve, with a darker purple-and-gold-lined wallpaper. Gene must have had it updated fairly recently.

Alexi turned on the light and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. There were purple shadows beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She certainly didn't look one bit like the Helen of Troy lady. She was pale and drawn and resembled a wide-eyed, frightened child. She pinched her cheeks, then laughed, because she hadn't given them any color at all. She reflected a bit wryly that the only real beauty to her face lay in its shape; it was what was called a classical oval, with nice high cheekbones. John had told her once that a myriad of sins could be forgiven if one's cheekbones were good.

She laughed suddenly; she looked like hell, cheekbones or no.

"Tonight," she promised her reflection out loud, "I am going to sleep!"

Sobering, she turned away from her image and stripped off her clothing; there were a million things she wanted to do that day. Clean, clean, clean. And Rex was supposed to be bringing a new hose for the car. She also wanted a stereo system and a television--modern amenities that had never interested Gene.

Alexi stepped into the little shower stall, surprised and pleased to see the modern shower-massage fixtures. She fiddled with the faucets, gasped as the water streamed out stone-cold, swore softly--then breathed a sigh of relief as heat came into the water. For several long, delighted moments she just stood there, feeling the delicious little needles of wet heat sear her skin. Steam rose all around her, and she closed her eyes, enjoying it. The shower felt so good, in fact, that everything began to look better. The Brandywine house was beautiful. A little elbow grease and she could make it into a showplace again. Gene had really done quite a bit already; the kitchen was warm and nice, and this little bathroom was just fine. Of course, she could see all sorts of possibilities. The kitchen could use a window seat, a big one, with plump, comfortable cushions,

Some copper implements, some plants. It was a huge room and could be made into an exquisite family center.

Alexi reached for the shampoo, scrubbed it into her hair and rinsed it. She paused then, reflecting that she really did mean to get things together.

She really couldn't wait to ask Rex in for a drink or a cup of coffee once she had things straightened out. I wonder why, she thought as the water beat against her face. Because, she reasoned, everything had gone wrong every time she'd seen him. She just wanted something to go right.

As she stood there, a little curl, warm and shimmering, began to wind in her stomach. She inhaled and exhaled quickly, alarmed at the realization that she wanted to see him again...just because she wanted to see him again. She was eager to hear the tone of his voice; she felt secure and comfortable when he was near.

It was a foolish feeling. She didn't want any entanglements; she didn't think she was really even capable of an entanglement. But the feeling was there, an ache, a nostalgia, poignant and sweet. She wanted to see him. No...he didn't even want her in the house. He wanted the land all to himself. He saw her as an intrusion on his privacy. But she couldn't help it; she found herself wondering about his relationships with other women. He had been blunt about his divorce, more cold than bitter. Yet she knew that his marriage had left a taste of ash in his mouth. Still, having met him...having experienced that strange feeling of intimacy on the first night, she started to shiver again.

She couldn't imagine him being alone, either. He was a man who liked women, who would attract them easily-- with or without fame and fortune. But once burned... She Knew the feeling well. He was quiet in his way; he spoke Plainly but gave away very little emotion, it wasn't there to give. But she had been determined to come into the shower and scrub her hair and herself and be as...perfect as she could be. For when she saw him again. She didn't want to be breaking in; she didn't want to be running because she'd blown a hose in the car. She wanted to be composed and poised. Perhaps even cool...cool enough to regain the control that seemed to be slipping from her.

Alexi sighed and turned off the shower. She had steamed herself until the water had gone cold as she'd thought about Rex Morrow. If she could put that much concentration into the house, she'd have it a showplace in no time.

Alexi opened the shower door and groped for her towel. She found it and patted her face, blinking to clear her eyes. The mist from the shower should have cleaned her lenses somewhat, but they felt grittier than ever. It must have been all the dust from last night, she reasoned.

She started to step out of the stall, then noticed a curious dark line on the floor. A wire? She blinked, wishing again that she had better luck with her lenses. There shouldn't be a wire on the floor.

Nor did wires move by themselves.

Alexi gasped, hypnotized at first. There was something on the floor about a foot long and as thick as a telephone wire. Except that the top of this wire was rising and moving, and it had a little red ribbon of color right under the...

The head!

"Oh, my God!" she breathed aloud.

It was a snake--a small one, but a snake nonetheless, slithering, slinking across the bathroom floor.

Her throat constricted; she didn't move. She didn't know whether the snake was poisonous or not, and at that point it didn't really matter. She hated snakes; they scared her to death.

The creature paused, raised its head again, then started slithering toward the toilet bowl.

She swallowed. She had to move.

Trembling, Alexi reached out for her robe. Soaking wet, she slipped into it and belted it, still standing in the shower stall--and barely blinking as she kept her eyes trained on the snake; In desperation she looked around the little bathroom. A little tile side pocket in the wall held a magazine. Alexi grabbed it and rolled it up.

Panicked thoughts whirled through her mind. If she didn't kill it on the first swipe, would it bite her? She could just run....

No. Because if it slithered out of sight, she would never, never be able to sleep in the house again.

She stepped from the shower stall with her rolled-up weapon. She inhaled sharply, then smacked the snake. She jumped back, screaming. The blow hadn't stopped the creature in the least. It was just writhing and slinking more wildly now.

She attacked again--and again. Somewhere in her mind she realized that paper would not kill the serpent. It might not be big, but it had a tough hide.

Finally, though, the thing stopped. Or almost stopped. She had most of the body smashed against the base of the toilet. Only the head wavered a bit.

She swallowed sickly. What was the damn thing doing in her house? She felt like a torturer--but she was terrified.

Alexi dropped the paper. She had to get something. A spade--something with which she could scoop the creature up and out.

And kill it. It wasn't dead--and even though it was a snake, she hated to think of herself torturing the thing. She backed away, then ran--into the kitchen and into the pantry. She wasn't sure what lay in the bottom shelves, but she had seen a number of tools there.

She found a heavy spade. Armed with it, Alexi made her way back to the bathroom, where she stopped dead still. The snake had disappeared.

"It couldn't have, it couldn't have," she whispered aloud, leaning against the wall. But it had.

She searched the bathroom, the floor, the shower stall. But there was no snake. She began to wonder if she had imagined the creature. Had the night been so bad that she had gone a little crazy? She didn't like spiders and bugs, but she could tolerate them. She was terrified of snakes, though. She had almost told Rex Morrow so last night after he had killed the spider.

Calm yourself, calm yourself. She tried to think rationally. She had seen the creature. And now it was gone. She drew in a deep breath. Had it been poisonous? What had it looked like? She was going to have to find out. She'd have to ask. She'd have to...

"Argh!" A gasping, desperate sound escaped her as she felt something slither over her foot. She looked down in terror. It was the snake.

She had her spade. She screamed, jumped--and slammed it down.

She dropped the spade, leaving the snake pinned beneath it, and backed away. Nearing the kitchen door, she turned.

Only to see another of the foot-long blackish creatures.

Sweat broke out all over her. Shaking, Alexi wrenched open the kitchen door and ran to the pantry again. She found a pipe wrench and raced back into the hallway. She swung the wrench down with force, careless of what she might do to the fine wooden floor.

She wasn't about to pick up the spade or the pipe wrench. She burst into the parlor instead. With trembling fingers she found Rex Morrow's phone number and dialed it.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon...!" she muttered as the phone rang. When she heard Rex's voice on the other end, she started to speak, then realized it was an answering machine. He didn't identify himself by name; in a deep, pleasant voice said merely, "I can't get to the phone right now, but if you'll leave your name and number at the sound of the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Alexi waited for the beep. "Rex, it's Alexi. Rex--" Her eyes widened, and she broke off with a long scream. There was another one! Another one, coming into the parlor!

She dropped the phone and raced to the fireplace. Grabbing the poker, she went for the snake. She got it. Or at least got it pinned beneath the poker. She had to get out. Just for a minute; just to breathe. Her hair was soaking wet, she was barefoot, and her robe was hardly even belted, but she had to get out.

Tears stinging her eyes, she raced for the front door. By the time she got the stubborn bolt to work, she was crying in great, gulping sobs.

She flung the door open and went running out and down the path, right into a pair of strong arms. "Alexi!"

She screamed in panic at the feel of the strong fingers tight around her shoulders. Everything that touched her had become a snake, and she couldn't see anything, as her face was crunched to his chest.

"Alexi! What is it? Oh, my God, what happened? Is someone in there? Did someone hurt you? Alexi!"

Somehow the fact that it was Rex filtered into her mind.

"Oh, Rex!" She grabbed his shirt, her fingers like talons as they dug in. She moved even closer to him, trembling.

He shook her gently.

"Dammit, Alexi, what the hell happened? Did someone attack you?"

She shook her head, unable to talk.

"Alexi!"

He caught her hands and gently unwound her fingers from their death clutch upon him. He held them between his own, then slipped his hand beneath her chin to raise her eyes to his. She saw the concern in them, the raw anxiety in the hardened twist of his jaw.

"I tried to call you--" she gasped out. "I know, dammit, I know! I was there! I heard you scream, and I ran here as fast as I could. Alexi, what--" "Oh, it was horrible, Rex!" "What, Alexi, for God's sake! What?"

Her eyes were glazed, her lips were trembling, her whole body was shaking. She was deathly pale, terrified.

And she was beautiful. Not even his confusion and fear for her could block that fact. She was scrubbed and damp, and her hair was soaked, but she was beautiful. Her eyes were huge and as green as emeralds with their glazing of moisture. She was pure and glorious beneath the sun. Her scent was soft and dazzling, as soft as the pressure of her body against his. She was a barefoot waif in a white robe, and he was painfully aware that she wore nothing beneath it.

And she called on everything primitive within him. He wanted to go out and do battle for her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, hold her to his heart and swear that things would be okay. And he wanted, with a throbbing intensity, to take her away with him, away from any horror, and make love to her. To tear away that slim barrier of terry and drown in the soft, feminine scent of her.

"Alexi!"

He shook himself, mentally, physically. There could be some horrible, stark danger at hand, and he was nearly as mesmerized as she, shuddering with the hot pulse that rent a savage path throughout his body.

"Rex! Rex! They--they..."

"They--who?" he shouted.

"Sna--" She had to pause to wet her lips. "Snakes!"

"Snakes?" he queried skeptically, looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

His tone returned some of her sanity to her. "Snakes!" she yelled back. "Slithery, slimy, creeping creatures! Snakes."

"Where?"

"In the house!"

She was still trembling, but much less. He himself was shaking now, with emotion and with a growing anger. He'd half killed himself to reach her, terrified that a murder was afoot, and she was babbling along about snakes.

The glaze was gone from her eyes. They were still a deep emerald green, but she was angry, too. He set her from himself and strode quickly up the path to the house.

Well, Rex quickly discovered, she hadn't been lying. The house looked like a scene from a macabre murder mystery. Pipe wrench, spade, fire poker. A smile curving his lips, Rex walked up to the first of the victims in the hallway.

It was just a little ringneck, not even a foot long. It was still wobbling pathetically. Rex picked it up carefully and decided the creature still had a chance. He returned to the doorway and tossed the snake into a row of that rimmed the front porch. Alexi, standing further down the path, stared at him incredulously.

"Alexi, it's just a ringneck."

"It's a snake!"

Rex frowned. "You shouldn't have tried to kill it; you should have just swept it out."

"It! There's a litter in there!"

He laughed. "Them."

"Don't you dare make fun of me! They could have been poisonous, and I wouldn't have known one way or the other. You do have poisonous snakes in the state, I take it?"

"Yes, we do have poisonous snakes. And I'm sorry. You're right; you wouldn't know. But these guys are harmless. They're actually good. They eat bugs. They till the soil. You should have just swept them all out."

"Fine!" she retorted. "They're welcome to be in the soil! But not in the house!" She was still shaking, he noted. "I'm not going back in! There are more, Rex! I have to get an exterminator. Today!"

He couldn't help it; he started laughing. She drew herself very, very straight and stared at him coldly. He raised his hands in the air.

"All right, all right. I'll see if I can rescue any of your other victims, then we'll go over to my house. It might be a good idea to get an exterminator."

Rex went back into the house, shaking his head at each "scene of the crime." The snakes were still alive--they were tough little creatures. He collected them in the spade and dropped them into the bushes. Alexi was still standing on the path. His brow arched, he waved to her, then went back inside and searched. He couldn't find any more of the ringnecks.

After putting her murder weapons away in the pantry, he paused, noting that her suitcase was on the kitchen table. He probably should take it for her, he thought.

He smiled slowly thinking, Uh-uh. After all, she had probably taken ten years off his life when she had screamed like that over the phone and then dropped the damn thing! He'd had horrible visions of a man's hands around her throat--and it had all been over a few harmless garden snakes!

Uh-uh. She was coming to his house now--because she was scared. With a streak of mischief, Rex determined that this was going to be a come-as-you-are party.

Still smiling, he closed the kitchen door. He had his own key to lock up the front.

He walked down the path, not sure if he wanted to strangle her himself... or take the chance of touching her again. He did neither; he walked past her a few feet, realized that she wasn't following him and turned back impatiently. "Are you coming?"

She looked from him to the house. It irritated him a bit that she made it seem like a choice between two terrible evils. But then, he'd been irritated since he had met her. He'd thought that she was a sneak thief at first. Then she'd been so indignant. Aloof, remote--and condemning. Then she'd turned on the charm for the poor kid with the pizza, and he'd felt the allure of it sweep over him, a draw like a potent elixir. And then he'd felt such acute terror...

Then such acute desire. Feeling her nearly naked, crawling against him, almost a part of him. He wondered vaguely if she had any idea just what she had done to him. She was so sensual, his reaction was instant. And he didn't like it. Dammit, he was a cynic. He deserved to be. His marriage had taught him a good lesson.

Especially when the female in question was Alexi Jordan. "Alexi," he began crossly, wishing Gene's great-granddaughter could have been someone else. "You can always just go back in and--"

"No!" Ashen, she ran to catch up with him. Gasping a little, she tugged at her loosening belt. Rex turned forward, a slightly malicious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. But it was also a wry smile. He wasn't sure whom he was tormenting in his subtle way: her--or himself. He should have been cool; he shouldn't have cared. Life ought to have taught him a few good lessons. But she got to him. She had crawled instantly into his system and more slowly into his soul, and he felt damned already.

"Where is your house?" she asked him.

"Just ahead," he replied curtly. He realized that she was panting in her effort to keep up with him, but he didn't slow down. "This isn't a big spit of land. Your house...Gene's house," he said, correcting himself, "is first. Mine is just past the bend."

Alexi looked around. By daylight, it seemed very wild and primitive to her, barren in its way. Right around the house, plants grew beautifully. There were tall oaks and pines, the colorful crotons and a spray of begonias. Out on the road, though, the terrain became sandy; there was scrub grass and an occasional pine. In the distance, toward the water, sea grapes covered the horizon.

They made a left turn. There was only one other man-made structure on the peninsula. Rex's house. Like hers, it was Victorian. The porch that ran around the upper level was decorated with gingerbread. The house was freshly painted in a muted peach shade and seemed a serene part of the landscape. Also like her house, it seemed to sit up a bit from the low, sandy turf that surrounded it. Right beyond it, she knew, was the Atlantic. She could hear the surf even as they approached it. There was a draw, warm and inviting, to the sound of the waves, she mused. Alexi bit her lip, thinking that she was crazy, that she wanted to be anywhere but here. But then again, there was no way she was going to go back into a house with snakes.

A sudden stab of sharp pain seared into her foot. She swore and stopped. Trying to balance on her right foot to see the left one, she started to keel over.

Rex caught her arm, steadying her. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I don't know..." she began, but then she saw the trail of blood streaming from her sole.

"Must have been a broken shell," he said, in a voice that seemed just a bit apologetic. As if he had just realized that he had been moving as if in a marathon race while she had been barefoot, Alexi thought.

"It's all right," she murmured. "I can manage." "Don't be absurd," he said impatiently. "You get too much sand in it and you'll have a real infection."

Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms. Out of a will to survive the rest of his breakneck-speed walk, she slipped her arms around his neck, flushing. "Really, I..."

"Oh, for Pete's sake."

Alexi fell silent. Maybe she would have been better off with the snakes after all. The sun was beating down on them both, but she wasn't at all convinced it was the sun that was warming her. He was hot, like molten steel. His chest was hard and fascinating; the feel of his arms about her was electric. She could feel his breathing, as well as each little ripple and nuance of his muscles, hard and trim, but living and mobile, too. She swallowed, because the temptation to touch was great. It was pure instinct, and she fought it. In fact, she hated instinct. He was probably annoyed that she might be thinking that being in his arms was more than it was....

And she couldn't quite fight that damned instinct, that feeling that he was everything wonderful and good 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.

"Shush, Samson. That's Alexi. She's a...friend. Alexi, this is Emily Rider. Emily, Alexi Jordan. Emily keeps everything in order for me."

"How do you do," Alexi said, wishing she could scratch Rex's eyes out. "I--I cut my foot."

"Oh," Emily said in disbelief. She smiled awkwardly, then gasped. "The Alexi Jordan?"

"There's only one," Rex said. "I hope." "It's--it's a pleasure," Emily murmured. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"There's nothing to interrupt!" Alexi said quickly--too quickly, she realized, for a woman who was sitting in her robe on a man's couch.

"Ah, well...have you had breakfast? I make wonderful omelets, Ms. Jordan."

"Really," Alexi protested. "Please don't go to any trouble--"

"No trouble at all!" Emily insisted. It was obvious to Alexi that the woman was dying to escape.

"Thanks, Emily," Rex called. Samson whined. Rex sat again, watching Alexi as he scratched the dog's head. "That is a most glorious shade of red," he told Alexi.

"What?"

"Your skin."

She whispered an oath to him.

He stood, still smiling. Samson trailed along with him, loyal and loving.

"Emily might need some help," he said.

Alexi rose carefully on one foot, using the couch for balance.

"Tell her the truth! She thinks that..." "That what?"

"That I--that we--that we were sleeping together!"

"I suppose she does."

"Well, set her straight! Do you want her to think that?"

Rex chuckled softly. He cupped her cheek for an instant; the warmth of his breath feathered over her flesh. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Alexi echoed furiously.

"Doesn't every man fantasize about sleeping with the face that launched a thousand ships?" His brow was arched; he was mocking her, she was certain.

"Rex, damn you--"

"Of course, Alexi, there's much, much more to you than a beautiful face--isn't there?"

Samson barked; Rex walked out. Alexi, trembling, wanted to scream at him.

But she didn't want to scream with Emily there, so she sank weakly back to the sofa.

Chapter 5

Emily was busy cracking eggs when Rex came into the kitchen. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk for her, smiling as he set it on the counter. He had seen her watching him covertly as she pretended great interest in the eggs.

"She's cute, huh," he commented, stealing a strip of green pepper and leaning against the counter.

Emily arched a brow. "Alexi Jordan? All you have to say about her is 'cute'?"

"Real cute?"

Emily sniffed. "She's probably the most glamorous woman in the world--"

Rex broke in on her with soft laughter. "Emily! Glamorous? You just saw her with wet hair in a worn terry robe!"

"She's still glamorous."

"She's flesh and blood," Rex said irritably, wondering at the bitterness in his own tone. He wanted her to be real, an ordinary woman, he thought dismally.

"Nice flesh," Emily commented dryly, pouring the eggs into the frying pan.

"Very nice." He grinned. "When did you meet?" "A few nights ago." "Oh."

Her lips were pursed in silent disapproval, and Rex couldn't help but laugh again and give her a quick hug. "There's nothing going on, Emily. Alas, and woe is me-- but that's the truth. She called over here this morning because her house was suddenly infested with snakes." "Snakes?"

"Just some harmless ringnecks." "How many?" "Five."

Emily shuddered. "That poor creature! Well, you were right to bring her over here. I wonder if she should stay the night."

"I'd just love it," Rex told her wickedly.

"I'll stay, too, Casanova," Emily warned him. When she saw that he was about to take another pepper, she rapped him on the hand with her wooden spoon.

"Emily...you're showing no respect to me at all."

She sniffed again. Emily had a great talent for sniffing, he thought with a smile.

“Well, Mr. Popularity, maybe this is just what you need. The lady is far more renowned than you."

"Oh, really?"

"She's glamorous. You're merely...notorious."

Rex laughed good-naturedly.

"And you're usually rude to women," she went on.

"I am not."

"You are. You had a bad break with your wife, and you think they're all after something. So you figure you'll just use people first--and not get hurt in the end."

He was grateful that Emily didn't see that his features had gone taut; she was busy adding ingredients to her omelet. She wouldn't have cared anyway; she loved him like a son and had no qualms about treating him like one.

“Emily, Emily, you should be opening an office instead of cooking and cleaning for me," he said coolly.

"Well, it's true," Emily murmured. "I've seen you do it a million times. Some sexy thing moves in and you're all charm. Then you get what you want--and you're bored silly when the chase is over. But you always win. You've got the looks; you've got the way with women." She turned, pointing her spoon at him. “But maybe you are in trouble this time. She has tons and tons of her own money, and..." Emily paused to grin. "She's prettier than you are, too."

"Thank you, doctor!" Rex retorted. "What makes you think I'm after her?"

"You're not?"

"I'm not half as black as you paint me," Rex said flatly. "I only deal with ladies who know the game--and are willing to play. By my rules."

"The rule being fun only."

"Emily, come on! Fine, I've been around; they've been around. What's so wrong?"

"What's wrong is that you're lacking caring and commitment, growing together--love!"

"Love is a four-letter word," Rex told her flatly. Then he paused, swinging around. He could have sworn he'd heard movement by the kitchen door. He strode toward it and got there just in time to see the figure clad in white hobbling across the hall toward the parlor. He followed, angry. He didn't like being spied upon.

She had almost reached the couch. He didn't let her make it; he caught her elbow. "Can't I help you, Ms. Jordan?" She spun to look at him, her cheeks flaming. "I--" "You were spying on me!"

"Don't be absurd! You're not worth spying on! I was trying to see if I could do something, but I realized that I had stumbled on a personal conversation and I didn't want to hear it!" She jerked her elbow away from him, lost her balance and crashed down onto the couch.

Rex didn't know why he was so enraged at her. He didn't move to help her; he just stared at her. “The thing to do would have been to make your presence known!" "This is ridiculous!"

Her eyes really were emerald, he mused, especially when they glittered with righteous anger.

She squared her shoulders, undaunted by his wrath or his form, which was rather solidly before her. She managed to stand, shoving by him, limping out of his way. "This whole thing is ridiculous! Thank you--I really do thank you for picking up the snakes. But I think I'll go home now. The snakes, at least, have better manners!"

She really was going to try to stumble home by herself. She was already heading toward the door. "Alexi!"

She just kept going.

"Alexi, dammit--" He came after her, caught an arm and swung her around. He knew she would have to clutch at him to maintain her balance. She did; she curled her fingers around his arms and swore softly under her breath, tossing back her head to stare at him. Her hair was drying and it was wild, he saw, a beautiful, disheveled golden mane to frame her exquisite eyes and perfect features. He inhaled sharply, remembering what it was like to feel her body. Fool, he chided himself. He knew why he was so angry. She had heard everything that Emily had said to him. Every damning thing.

And he wanted her. Really wanted her, as he had never wanted anything in his life.

"Alexi...I'm sorry." Apologies weren't easy for him. They never had been.

"And I'm leaving," she said.

He smiled. "Back to the snakes?"

She looked down fleetingly. "There are all kinds of snakes, aren't there, Mr. Morrow?"

He laughed. She had heard everything. "Look, Ms. Jordan, I really am sorry. Be forgiving. After all, you cost me ten years of life with that scream this morning. Stay... please."

She lowered her head. "I feel--ridiculous. Your housekeeper must think that I'm--that I'm worse than what the tabloids say. And I can't wear a robe all day..."

"You can take it off," Rex said innocently, which immediately drew a scathing glance from her.

He shook his head ruefully. "No...you can't take it off. Look, sit down with Emily and have some breakfast. I'll go back over for your things. Maybe the exterminators will be there by now and I can get them started."

"You don't need to--"

"I want to. Relax. Enjoy Emily's company." He stepped away from her and whistled. "Samson!" The German shepherd came bounding in. He was huge, and when he swept by Alexi, she teetered dangerously, trying to catch her balance again. "Samson!" Rex chastised him, stepping forward quickly to catch Alexi. He smelled the soft, alluring scent of her hair as he caught her; he felt its velvet texture graze his cheek. He wanted to swear all over again.

"You'd better stay seated," he muttered, lifting her swiftly and depositing her upon the couch. Another mistake. He felt too much of her body. Too much smoothness beneath the terry. Smoothness that reminded him that there was nothing beneath it.

"I'll be back with your things," he said brusquely, then strode out, the shepherd obediently at his heels.

He was barely gone before Emily came to the doorway, smoothing her hands over her apron. She smiled shyly at Alexi. "I have everything ready." She frowned. "Where'"

Rex?"

"He--he went back over to my house. To Gene's house," Alexi said apologetically. She flushed again, wondering what the woman must think of her. Rex Morrow-he was like a cyclone in her life. She never knew what to think. One moment she was fascinated; the next second she wanted to carve notches in his flesh...slowly. He was dangerous to her. To any woman, she thought, flushing all over again at the pieces of conversation she had heard. Oh, she couldn't be so foolish as to imagine having an affair with him. He was striking, sensual and sexual--and she was still reeling from the impact of her marriage. If there was anything she didn't need, it was an affair with someone like him.

Emily smiled at her suddenly; the smile was warm, shy only slightly awkward.

“You really are beet red. I apologize if I gave you the idea that I was thinking...something...that I shouldn't have been thinking," she added hastily. "Rex told me about the snakes." She shuddered. "Ugh. I know they're harmless snakes--and I would have been in a tizzy, too, I assure you."

"Thanks," Alexi said, a little huskily. And before she really thought she murmured, “Rex told you--the truth?"

"Oh, he can be a pill, can't he?" She shook her head, but then it was clear to Alexi that Emily's affection for him rose to the fore. "But he's really very ethical." Emily laughed. "Honestly. He can be hard--but he does play up-front, and he's a strangely principled man. For this day and age, anyway," she added with a soft sigh. "Oh, here I am, going on and on, when your food is nice and hot. I'll bring it out--"

"Oh, no, please don't bother! I can get to the kitchen with no problem, really. I have to start walking. I have a lot of things to do."

"Let me help you."

Alexi protested; Emily insisted. They walked back to the kitchen, Alexi learning to put a little more weight on her foot with each movement.

Emily sat down with her, sharing the omelet that Rex had left behind. Alexi found out that Emily was a widow with four grown children. She also learned that Emily counted Rex as an adopted fifth child--and adored him with a fierce loyalty.

There was something about Emily, she reflected. The woman was warm and open and giving, and Alexi found herself trying to explain what she wanted to do. It began when Emily asked her why on earth she would want to leave modeling.

Alexi smiled, then laughed. "It's a miserable profession, that's why. People poke at you and prod at you for hours for a 'perfect' look. It's hour after hour under hot lights doing the same thing over and over again. But still, it isn't really that I'm trying to leave modeling." She hesitated, smiled ruefully, and stumbled into a lengthier explanation. "It's strange; I did come from money. But there's always been a golden rule in the family: everyone goes to work, Gene, my great-grandfather, owns a number of businesses, and everyone does something. We aren't expected to go into a family business, but there can be no freeloaders. My older brother is a lawyer; my cousins went into the business side of things. But then, suddenly, when I came along, no one thought that... I don't know; they didn't seem to think I was capable of anything! I went to college and studied interior design, and they all thought, Well, great, she can marry the right boy and be a perfect wife, mother and hostess. It was serious to me." She sighed. "Anyway, I walked out in a huff one night and wound up in New York City. Broke. And I wasn't about to call home. None of the design studios wanted much to do with a beginner--and I didn't have the time to wait for a job. Out of desperation I walked into one of the modeling agencies. And I was lucky. I did get work.''

“But you want to be a designer?'' Alexi chewed on her omelet, thought a minute, then shrugged. "I don't know anymore. I lost a lot of confidence somewhere. But..." She paused, a grin curling her lip. "Gene is great. He has always been willing to take a chance. He was desperate for someone to come take care of the house--he doesn't want it out of the family after all of these years. And he believes in me. So I want to do the house for him, and I want to do it right."

Emily nodded as if she understood perfectly. "And you will do it!" she said firmly.

Alexi laughed dryly. "I'm not so sure. Last night I couldn't get the old key to work in the lock. This morning I ran in terror from garden snakes. I'm not proving very much, am I? And now Rex is out there with the exterminators and cleaners."

Emily smiled and put her hand over Alexi's. "Young lady, that doesn't mean a thing. That's one of the problems with people today--men and women! All this role business! Alexi, you'll do just fine. So what if you don't handle snakes well? That does not take anything away from your competence. We all need help now and then, and if people could just learn not only to give it but to accept it, the world would be a better place. And the divorce rate would be lower!"

"I don't know," Alexi said, chuckling. "I feel like an idiot right now. But maybe things will improve." She cut off another piece of her omelet, feeling that maybe she had blurted out too much to a stranger, no matter how nice that stranger was.

"Emily, where did Samson come from? Is he Rex's dog or yours?"

"Oh, no! That beast belongs to Rex. Body and soul." She went on to tell Alexi about Samson as a little puppy, and Alexi relaxed, feeling that the conversation had taken on a much more casual tone.

Tony Martelli, from Bugs, Incorporated, was just driving up to the Brandywine house when Rex reached it. He gave Rex a wave and hopped out of his truck, smiling. Rex waved back, smiling in turn. He liked Tony. He was a live-and-let-live kind of a guy. The man had a tendency to chew on a toothpick or a piece of grass and to listen much more than he talked. He gave Rex's house monthly service and was one of the few people Rex had invited to wander his beach when he had the chance.

"Snakes, huh?"

Rex laughed. "And everything else under the sun."

Tony squinted beneath the glare of the sun. "Well, we'll spray, but snakes... Well, you kind of have to find the little guys and put them out." He scratched his head. "It rained last night, but it wasn't really a flood. Wonder how they got in."

"There was a broken window."

"Maybe." Tony shrugged. "It wouldn't be unheard-of, but I find it kind of strange."

Rex frowned, remembering how Alexi had accused him of putting the snakes into the house himself to scare her out. She was convinced that someone had been in the house last night. Maybe that same person had come back in after he had left early this morning.

He walked up the path with Tony and opened the door. Tony whistled. “How long has Gene been out of here?''

"Awhile. Nine months, maybe."

"Nine months of breeding bugs. Well, I'll spray her real good. And I'll look out for a nest of ringnecks. I just doubt it, though, you know? If they were in the house, Miz Jordan should have noticed them when she came in, not this morning." He laughed suddenly, "I've heard of ghosts in this place, but not snakes."

"Yeah." Rex laughed with Tony, but he wasn't amused. Tony went out for his equipment. Rex went on into the parlor and called the sheriffs office. A friend of his--a budding story-teller named Mark Eliot--was on the desk. Rex listened patiently to Mark's newest plot line, then told him that he was pretty sure someone was sneaking around the Brandywine house.

"Anything broken into?" Mark asked.

"Well...only by the rightful tenant. She couldn't get her key to work," Rex explained. Then he told Mark about Alexi's hearing footsteps racing down the stairs--and about the snakes. He was annoyed when Mark chuckled.

"Snakes? You think somebody snuck in to leave a pack of ringnecks?''

"Never mind..."

"Sorry, Rex, sorry," Mark apologized quickly. "Want me to come out?"

"No, there's nothing you can do now. Maybe someone could make an extra patrol at night and keep an eye on things."

"Sure thing, Rex. Will do."

Rex hung up, wondering why he still didn't feel right about things. He heard a whining sound and felt a cold nose against his hand. He patted the dog absently; he had forgotten that Samson was with him. "You should have been here last night, monster," he told the dog affectionately. “You might have caught whoever ran. If there was a 'whoever.' Come on, boy. Let's get Alexi's stuff, huh?" That didn't even seem to be such a good idea. In the kitchen, Rex began to close the open suitcase on the table; he hesitated. Everything of hers had a wonderful scent. Her clothes...

He picked up the soft silk blouse on top and brought it to his face. It seemed to whisper of her essence. He dropped it back into the suitcase and slammed the suitcase.

Samson stood by him, thumping his tail against the floor. "This is getting serious, Samson. Frightening. I barely know her."

How well did someone need to know a face that could launch a thousand ships?

He groaned out loud at the thought and picked up the suitcase. He found her purse in the parlor, called out to Tony that he would be right back and left the house. Ten minutes of brisk walking brought him back to his own.

To his own amazement, he didn't go in. He set Alexi's suitcase and purse inside the screen door, called out that he was dropping them off and turned around to walk back, Samson still at his heels.

His fingers were clenched into fists, braced behind his back. He knew he wouldn't go back that night. He'd give Emily a call and tell her that he would just stay at Gene's--making sure no more snakes appeared--and that he'd be back in the morning.

He just couldn't see Alexi Jordan again right away. It was still true that he barely knew her, and it was damned true that she was having an extraordinary effect on him. Unsettling. Insane.

The exterminator was just finishing up when Rex returned, and when Tony pulled out with his van, the cleaners were pulling in with theirs. Rex let them in with all their heavy-duty equipment, then went into the kitchen and heated up the remainder of the pizza, which he found in the refrigerator. He had it with a beer, reflecting that everything had suddenly turned into a sad state of affairs. He should have been working, and instead he was over here, hiding out from a blonde.

"Well, she is damned good-looking," he told Samson, stretching his legs out under the table. "The type that can seduce a guy and steal his soul, you say, Samson, boy? I agree, a hundred percent. I should stay away, huh? Hmm. Those eyes. With my luck, I'd be dumb enough to fall in love again. And she'd stay around for a month, then take off for the big city and her glamorous career. Aha!" He was silent for a minute, staring at the bottle. "I'll go nuts if I don't give it some good, sturdy effort." He sipped his beer reflectively. "But not until tomorrow. I'm not so sure I could take seeing her again today--take it and behave civilly. Okay, Samson, so I haven't been so civil so far. I'm supposed to be a rude eccentric. I have my reputation to live up to, you know."

Just then the phone started to ring. It was Emily, worried. He assured her things were going fine. "Just tell Alexi to stay there tonight and I'll stay here. The cleaners seem to be doing just fine; Tony sprayed, and I can still smell the stuff all over. It will be much better by tomorrow.... Okay, take care."

He hung up, and walked into the hall, his hands in his pockets. The cleaning crew consisted of four men. They all knew what they were doing; they moved economically and efficiently. The house already looked better, and they hadn't even started with the steaming. He wandered back to the kitchen, restless. This was rough. He didn't know what to do. He didn't really know how to be idle.

He stared out the window over the sink for a moment, then smiled. In the drawer was a legal pad. He drew it out and sat at the table again. He could make this work.

He sketched out a rough story line about a wealthy family with a suddenly deceased patriarch. A family that began to die off rather quickly. He used Gene's house, and his victims fell as the snakes had, by the same weapons Alexi had utilized.

Within ten minutes, his fingers were flying over the page. A studious frown knitted his brow, and time became meaningless. His concentration was complete.

But then he realized that his heroine looked exactly like Alexi.

And his hero was strangely similar to himself.

He sat back, then forward again.

Well, what the hell, he thought. Who was he to argue with creative forces?

He was planning an awful lot of sex scenes for a murder mystery, though, he reflected. He paused, then laughed dryly.

What the hell...

Alexi stared up at the sun through the swaying fronds of a huge palm. She closed her eyes, the sun was so bright But the warmth felt good against her flesh.

She rolled on her beach sheet and stared out at the water. The surf curled in softly, then ebbed in near silence. It was beautiful. Exquisitely beautiful. From here, the Atlantic seemed to stretch away forever. The sky tenderly kissed the water. It was exquisitely peaceful and private. The sand was fine and white; the palms gave lovely shade.

She lay on her stomach, her chin cupped in her hands. She could even understand why Rex had seemed so aggrieved to discover that she was taking over the house. This was a paradise. Remote and exotic. Who would want intrusion?

She stretched and rolled onto her side again, idly drawing patterns in the sand.

Then, despite herself, she began to wonder if he came here often. Of course he did. Who wouldn't? The beach belonged to him. Not to both houses--to him.

He loved it, surely. His windows looked out over it. He probably walked over the sand all the time, possibly at sunset. At sunset, it would probably be even more beautiful. So very private.

And if he had a date...

He probably took her here. At sunset. He would hold hands with her, and they would walk along the sand. And maybe they would play where the water washed over the sand in a soft gurgle. Maybe she would laugh and spray him with water, and maybe he would retaliate and they would fall to the sand. They would make love with the water sliding over them, warm and exciting. Their clothing would lie strewn on the beach, but they really wouldn't need to worry; it was so private here. What would he look like...nude? Beautiful, she decided. He was so tall, broad-shouldered, lean where he should be, bronzed and so nicely, tightly sinewed. "Hello."

Alexi gasped and whirled around. Instantly fire-red coloring flushed her cheeks.

It was Rex. Of course it was Rex--it was his beach. But she hadn't expected him here. She hadn't seen him since he'd dropped her suitcase on his hallway floor. That was almost two days ago. She still hadn't been back into her house; she'd been in his, and he in hers. Impatience had brought her to the beach. Impatience and frustration. The cleaners had stayed so late on Monday that she hadn't gone back, and on Tuesday he had told Emily that the fumes were still too strong for Alexi to be able to do anything worthwhile.

Alexi had been determined to go back anyway. Emily had convinced her to stay, telling her that she would do much better for herself in the next few days if she allowed her foot to heal properly. And, Emily had told her with a wink, Rex was working--he was too immersed to notice the fumes.

"I said 'Hello,' not 'Take your clothes off, please.' Do you have to look so horrified to see me?"

"I'm not," she said quickly. She was. She looked down to the sand, not sure how to explain that he had interrupted her when she was imagining him without his clothes.

Not that he was wearing much. He was in a pair of cutoffs--and what she could see was very near what she had imagined. His flesh was very bronze, very sleek. His shoulders and chest were hard and sinewed; his legs were long and his thighs powerful. Dark hair grew on his chest in a swirl that tapered into a soft line down to the waistband of his shorts. He wore a gold St. Christopher medal and a black-banded sports watch.

He sank down beside her. She felt his gaze move over her, and it touched her with greater warmth than the sun. Actually, she wasn't exactly cocooned in clothing herself.

Her bathing suit was one-piece, but it had no back, and the cut was very high on the thighs. To her horror, she felt her heartbeat quicken. Surely he could see the throb of her pulse in a dozen different places.

"Must you?" she demanded huskily.

"Must I what?"

"Come out with all those things."

"What things?"

“About clothing. Or lack of them. Or sleeping with the Helen of Troy Lady."

He was silent for a moment, looking out to sea. He shrugged, then stared at her again. It took a lot of effort, but she finally lifted her eyes to his--and watched him as coolly as she could.

He smiled slowly, the curl of his lip very deliberate and sensual. "You were blushing before I opened my mouth." "The sun--" "Hah!"

Alexi threw her hands up. "Mr. Morrow, meet Ms. Jordan. How do you do? How do you do? Pleasant weather, isn't it? Lovely weather, really lovely. That, Mr. Morrow, is the type of conversation that people who have just met exchange!"

He laughed, leaning back on an elbow. "You're forgetting the way that we met."

"You mauled me."

"And I loved every minute of it."

"Would you stop?"

"If you want me to stop," he said evenly, "why are you out here on my beach in that bathing suit?"

"It is a beach! People wear bathing suits on beaches."

"Mmm. But not people who look like you, in bathing suits like that."

"I'll wear my long Johns next time."

He laughed softly, then suddenly reached out for her shoulder and toppled her down beside him. She gasped, ready to protest, but then the smile left his face and he stared down at her so intently that all words fled from her mind. There was something about him. His eyes were so sharp they were almost pained; his features were taut and haggard.

He drew a finger down her cheek very slowly, barely touching her. Then he breezed that same finger over her lower lip, very slowly, never losing the sharp, hungry tension of his gaze upon her.

For the life of her, she couldn't move. She could only imagine him as she had before: with a nameless woman on the beach--naked.

He was Rex Morrow, the famous, talented recluse, who used women--and the world couldn't possibly know that she was incredibly naive and pathetically vulnerable. Well, she had some pride, and she couldn't be used! "Rex--"

"It's going to happen, you know." "What?"

"Us. You and me. We're going to make love. Maybe right here, right where we are now." "You're incredibly arrogant." "I'm honest. Which you aren't at the moment." "Someone should really slap you--hard," she told him disdainfully, though with some difficulty. He was still halfway over her. She could feel his body, so warm from the sun beating down upon it. So close. And both of them so...barren of substantial clothing. Her pulse was beating furiously again. And she wanted to touch him. She had never before known such temptation--a desire that defied good sense and pride and reason.

"Is that someone going to be you?" he said slyly.

"If you don't watch it," she warned.

"Can't you feel it?" he asked her lazily. "The sun-baked sand, the whisper of the waves, rising, ebbing...rising. Can't you feel the heat from the sun, from the earth, becoming a part of us?''

He touched the rampant pulse at the base of her throat.

"Can't you feel the rhythm...throbbing?"

"You're an arrogant SOB--that's what I can feel," she said coolly.

He laughed. The tension was gone; the hardened hunger of his gaze. He pushed himself up and landed on his feet with the grace of a great cat. He offered a hand to her. "Come on. I've got a present for you."

She stared warily at his hand, causing him to chuckle again.

"Nervous, Alexi? Think I'm going to toss you to the sand and maul you?'' Impatiently he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

And then against his body. He arched a brow wickedly. "Don't worry. When we get to it, you'll be breathlessly eager."

Alexi coolly took a step backward, raising her chin, smiling as sweetly as she could.

"I hardly think so, Mr. Morrow."

He laughed, slipped an arm around her waist and started back toward the house. When they were nearly there, he lowered his head and murmured near her ear, "Liar."

"Ohh..." she groaned. Really. What incredible insolence, she thought. She stepped ahead of him again and turned around to face him challengingly. "You really like the suit, huh?"

"I like what's in it."

Alexi groaned. "Eat your heart out, then!" she teased.

Rex laughed. But when he caught up with her again and whispered what he did intend to do, it was so insinuative that the sensations that ripped through her, jagged and molten, felt dangerously as if he had followed through.

Chapter 6

At the path to the house, Rex suddenly stood still, crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded toward the front door.

"You first, Ms. Jordan."

She arched a brow, then shrugged, heading down the path. At the door she paused. "I don't have a key with me."

"It isn't locked."

She raised her brow more. "I'm having problems with people and footsteps, and you left the door open?''

"Samson is inside. I assure you--no one is in there with him."

"Oh." Alexi pushed open the door. Rex had been telling the truth; Samson was sitting in the hallway, just like a sentinel. He barked and thumped his tail against the floor. He was standing behind a large wicker basket with a red-white-and-blue checked cotton cloth extended beneath the handle.

"Good boy, Samson, but what is this?" Alexi said, then turned to look at Rex again.

"It's your present," he told her.

He smiled--a little awkwardly, she thought--and she lowered her head quickly, wondering if she was blushing again. There had been a nice touch to that smile. Endearing... frightening. She barely knew him, really. One minute he was making sexual innuendoes, the next he was avoiding her--and then the next he was doing wonderful things for her.

"Well, open it up," Rex urged her. Alexi knelt down and gingerly lifted up a piece of the cotton cloth. She saw movement first, and then she gasped, reaching into the basket. There were two of them--two little balls of silver fur. The one she held mewed, sticking out a tiny paw at her.

"Oh!" It was adorable. The cutest kitten she had ever seen. It was all that soft, wonderful silver color, except for its feet and its nose, which were black. Its hair was long and fluffy--and made it look much bigger than it was.

Samson barked excitedly. Alexi reflected that the giant shepherd could consume the kitten in one mouthful, but he didn't seem the least bit interested in trying. He barked again, watching Alexi as if he had planned it himself or as if he was very aware that he and Rex were handing out a present.

"Oh!" Alexi repeated, stroking the kitten. The second ball was crawling out of the basket, and she laughed, scooping that one up, too. "You're adorable. You're the cutest little things...."

She gazed up at Rex at last, aware that she was starting to gush. But they were a wonderful present. She was also certain that they were silver Persians--and that they had cost him a fair amount of money.

"Rex--"

He stooped down beside her, idly patting the dog. "I don't want Samson here getting jealous," he said lightly. "Do you like them...really?"

He gazed at her--somewhat anxiously, she thought--and she felt that the hall had suddenly become small. The two of them were very close and very scantily dressed, and yet it wasn't that at all, really; it was that expression in his eyes.

"They're darling. But Rex, I--I can't accept them."

"Why?"

"They're Persians, right? They must have cost a mint." "What?" He threw back his head and laughed, relieved. "I was afraid that you were allergic to them or something. Yes, they're Persians. They're three months old, but the breeder assured me they'd be perfect." "Perfect?"

He grinned, a little wickedly now. "Mousers--except that I don't think you have any mice. You could, though-- mice are rather universal. 'Snakers,' I guess you could call them. Cats are simply great to have for anything that creeps and crawls around."

"Oh! Oh, Rex, how thoughtful! Thank you, really. But again, how can I accept them?"

He shrugged. "You did me a great favor."

Alexi laughed. "I did you a favor? I haven't done a thing for you."

He grinned. "Want to pay me in trade?"

"Ha-ha. No."

"Ah, well." He shrugged. "I didn't think so. But, honest, you did me a favor."

"What?"

"I have my best plot in ages going now--thanks to your little murder victims all over the house."

"What?"

"The snakes," he explained. "I turned them into people. All murdered. One with the spade, one with the pipe wrench, and so on. I added some family greed and passion and jealousy, etcetera. It's going great."

"Oh!"

"See what I mean? You did me the favor."

"Oh. Oh..." Alexi stood up, cradling the kittens to her. She looked down the hallway. There wasn't a speck of dust. She hurried to the parlor door and threw it open. The window she had broken on her first night had been repaired; the room had been cleaned. The whole place smelled faintly and wonderfully of fresh pine. There couldn't possibly be a living bug in it, it was so spotless.

Rex stayed in the hallway, tearing idly against the doorframe. Alexi glanced at him, then brushed past him, hurrying to inspect the rest of the house. The ballroom had been scrubbed from ceiling to floor; the library, too, was devoid of a hint of dirt. The drapes and furniture even seemed to be different colors--lighter, more beautiful.

And there wasn't a trace of a snake--or of any of the weapons she had left lying around.

Rex was by the stairway, watching her. She maintained a certain distance from him as she rubbed her cheek against the kitten's soft fur.

"It's fabulous," she murmured. "Rex, thank you."

"Want to see upstairs?"

She nodded. He didn't move; he waited for her to precede him up the stairs. Samson rushed by, though, barking, and she nearly tripped over him.

She couldn't remember climbing the stairs as a child, so she didn't really have any comparisons to make. But it was wonderful. The subtle, clean scent of pine was everywhere; the windows were all open, and sunlight was streaming in. The house, which had always been fascinating, although a bit depressing in its dirt and darkness, now seemed warm and welcoming and bright. The runners over the hard wood were cream, with flower patterns in bright shades of maroon and pink and green. The hallway draperies were a cream tapestry, and the eight-paned windows were crystal clear. Alexi switched both protesting kittens to one arm and began to throw doors open. There were four of them, two on either side of the landing. To her left was the master bedroom, a man's room with heavy oak furniture. She found the mistress's bedroom next, all done more delicately than Pierre's. The molded plaster showed beautifully on the clean ceilings. The wood was shining; the beds were immaculate.

Alexi stopped by Rex in the hallway and shoved the kittens into his arms, startling him so that he had to straighten and abandon his lazy lean against the banister.

"It's wonderful," she said.

"Thank you. Well, I didn't do it. The company did-- and they'll bill you, you know."

"Oh, I know, but..." Her voice trailed away, and she walked down the hall to the next doors.

One of the rooms was a nursery. A shiny wooden cradle rocked slightly with the breeze coming in through an open window. The closet stretched wall-to-wall, and there was an old rocking horse, a twin bed and a cane bassinet. How darling! Alexi thought, and she hurried on out, eager to finish exploring.

The last room was a guest room--a genderless room, comfortable and quaint. The headboard was elaborately carved and went on to stretch the distance of the wall on either side of the bed to create great bookcases. The opposite wall was covered with a tapestry of a biblical scene. There was a fine brocaded Victorian love seat and another rocker; both faced the window, a little whatnot table between them.

Alexi loved it. She determined right away that this would be her room. She'd fill the cases with her books and also store discs and tapes for a stereo and television system. She could modernize for convenience without really changing anything.

She started to turn, only to collide with Rex. All of him. He must have set the kittens down somewhere, because she hit solid chest. Solid, masculine, hairy chest. Coarse dark hair teased too much of her own bare skin, and she stepped back.

"It's spotless. It's wonderful. They did a great job," she told him quickly.

He nodded. "They've got a good reputation." Alexi stepped around him. The day wasn't hot; it was perfect, with a nice cooling breeze. But she was suddenly warm. Hot flashes soared through her, and now she was very determined not to be alone with him. Her imagination had come vividly alive, all in an instant, living color. Perhaps it was more than imagination. Maybe it was the feel of the heat in the room, of the tension...of his nearness. She could visualize him sweeping her into his arms and falling with her upon the antique bed. They really shouldn't have been past the "How do you do, lovely weather" stage, and she wanted to reach out and stroke the planes of his cheek. Intimacy had never been that easy for her; making love had taken time, and it had come far from naturally. It was, by its nature, something that should come after knowing a man deeply and well.

But this one...she wanted simply by virtue of something that lived and stirred inside her, an aching, a wanting. And. though she was certain she could never instigate anything, he surely could. But to him it wouldn't mean anything; to her it would.

Alexi hurried into the hallway. Her heart was thundering her palms were damp. She didn't want him to see her eyes knowing they could bare her soul, tell him everything she'd been thinking. One thing she had decided about Rex Morrow--it would not pay for him to be aware of all her weaknesses.

He was following her; she could feel him. She hurried on down the stairs, talking.

"Rex, it's all wonderful. No spiderwebs, no dirt, no creeping, crawling creatures. Thank you. Thank you so much. And you went to just the right degree... I mean, thank you, but if you'd gone any further, it wouldn't have been good. Do you know what I mean? I'm trying to prove that I can do it. No, I don't have to prove anything. Well, that's not the truth, really. I suppose that I am trying to prove--''

"You're babbling--that's what you're doing." She'd reached the landing; he spoke from behind her-- close. A tingling crept along her spine, she was so aware of him. I'm confused! she wanted to scream. She'd never had feelings like this, and she didn't know what to do with them--but she did know that she should take things slowly and carefully.

"Am I?" she said, but she didn't turn around. She started walking again, pushing through the kitchen doorway. She let the door fall back, aware that he had plenty of time to catch it. She went straight to the refrigerator. "I'm dying of thirst. Don't you want something? The sun is murderous out on the beach. Hmm. I don't even know what's in here. I'm going to have to get out to the store today."

He curled his fingers gently around her arm and pulled her head out of the refrigerator and her body around so that she faced him. He wore a quizzical expression that was handsome against the fine, strong lines of his face. “What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing." She was breathless. "What do you want?"

He smiled slowly. "You."

"To drink."

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"Not in the least."

"Good. I'll have a beer. And I'll get it myself, thanks. Want one? That is all you've got in the refrigerator."

"I shouldn't--"

"Why?"

He brought two out. Alexi nervously sat at the table. He sat across from her, and their knees brushed.

"Ah..." he murmured, and she saw that a secret smile had curved into his lips. "You are afraid."

"Of what? That you're going to attack me in my house? You've already done that, right? The first night."

"There's attack, and then there's attack...."

"Whatever." She waved a hand dismissively in the air. He reached across the table and opened her beer. Damn him! She took a long sip, and he was still smiling, fully aware that she was drinking the beer as if reaching for a lifeline.

He lifted his bottle to her.

"Me and thee and Eden."

"Do you try to pick up every woman over eighteen and under fifty?"

"No. Actually, I don't." He took a long swallow from his bottle, watching her. "Alexi...you have to know that you're beautiful. A woman who does Helen of Troy commercials has to be aware that she--"

He broke off abruptly. Alexi's eyes widened, wondering what he had been about to say that would have offended her.

"That she's what?" she demanded. "Beautiful," he said with a shrug. "That's not what you were going to say." "All right." He sounded angry, she thought. "Sexy Sensual, sexual. Is that what you want to hear?" "No! No--no, it's not!" "Well, then, why the hell push the point?"

"Could you go home, please?" She realized that she was sitting very straight, very primly, and that, in the bathing suit, she wasn't dressed for dignity. Nor did the beer bottle she was clutching do much for a feeling of aloofness, either.

"Yeah," he said thickly, rising. "Yeah, maybe I should do just that. 'Cause you know what, lady? You scare the hell out of me, too."

"What?" she demanded, startled. No one could scare him; it had to be a line. But she felt bad--no, she felt guilty as hell. He had done everything for her. And somehow he seemed to understand her. She didn't want anyone in the family to know that she was anything but entirely competent; Rex didn't think that she wasn't competent, just because the snakes had nearly paralyzed her. He'd had the cleaners in; he hadn't really changed anything. He'd known instinctively just how far to go. He'd given her his own home; he'd spent time here--and he was a busy man. He'd bought her the beautiful kittens, just so that she would feel that she had some protection against things that slithered and crawled.

Rex reached across the table and gently cupped her cheek in his hand, stroking her flesh lightly with his thumb. "I said you're kind of scary yourself, my sweet. You own and you possess and you steal into a soul...without a touch."

Into a soul... She couldn't look away from his eyes. Dark and fascinating. All of him. She remembered spilling out everything on their first meeting, remembered thinking of him on the beach, aware that he was there, strong and masculine, and wishing that she could curl against him and laugh, because he seemed to understand so easily the things she needed.

She lowered her head; his hand fell away. She wondered if it wasn't time for a little more honesty, and she was amazed that she could bluntly say what she intended. "You'd find me atrociously disappointing," she said. Her voice was low, even weary. But she looked up and met his eyes again and felt the warmth suffuse her. “Looks can be deceiving. What you see isn't the real me."

"I see fire and warmth and beauty."

"It--it isn't there."

"It needs only to be awakened."

"And you're the one to do it, I take it."

"I think I already have."

"I think you have tremendous nerve."

He laughed suddenly. "Probably. But then, like I said, you do things to the psyche and the body...." His voice trailed away, and he shrugged. He had a bunch of papers on the counter, and he turned away, shuffling them together.

"Don't forget to feed the kittens."

"You're leaving?"

"You told me to."

"Well, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. All right, well, I meant it when I said it, but only because--"

"Because I was hitting on you?" He was amused, she thought. She cast him an acid gaze, and he laughed again. "Well, I can't promise to quit, especially when you're half-naked."

"You're more naked than I am."

He smiled. “I suppose I should be glad that you noticed. Aha! That's it."

"What's it?"

He thumped an elbow onto the table, then leaned forward. "You're more afraid of yourself than you are of me."

"Don't be absurd."

"You are. You don't want me asking, because you're willing to give."

Alexi groaned, wishing she weren't trembling inside. "You win; I give up. Go home."

"For now," he promised, straightening and going for his papers once again. "But you know how it is. A man, a woman, an island--"

"This isn't an island."

"Close enough. But for now, goodbye, my love."

Alexi stood and followed him out to the hallway. He whistled, and Samson came bounding out from the parlor. The kittens followed after him. Poor Samson had a tortured look about him. It seemed that the kittens hadn't recognized the fact that the shepherd was a hundred times their size; they had adopted him as a surrogate parent.

"Henpecked by a couple of kittens, huh, boy?" Rex said, laughing.

"His master would never be henpecked, I take it?" Alexi queried, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked at her across their menagerie. He took a long moment to answer, and when he did, his tone was careful, measured.

“No. His master would never be henpecked. Nor would he peck in return. Any relationship only works with give-and-take. ''

Alexi lowered her head suddenly, feeling a little dizzy. There were things she liked about him so much. He'd been amazed that she had been somewhat insane over a nest of little snakes, but he hadn't played upon that fear. She realized suddenly that he was blunt because he was honest, but that he would never gain his own strength from the weakness of another.

He opened the door and started to leave. Alexi nearly tripped over the kittens to reach him, bracing herself against it as she called him back.

"Rex!"

"Yeah?" Shading his eyes from the sun, he turned back to her.

"Thank you. For the kittens, for the house...thank you very much."

"How much?"

She merely smiled at the innuendo. "Dinner? I really can cook."

"I believe you. But not tonight. Let's go out."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight." His expression turned strangely serious. "I want to ask you a few questions."

"About what?"

"We'll eat at about eight; I'll come by here by six-thirty."

"Why so early?"

"I have all your clothing, remember?"

"Oh!"

He was right; her suitcase was now at his house, and she was here.

"See you then." He turned and walked away then. Samson barked, as if saying goodbye, too.

Alexi didn't leave the doorway. She watched them walk away, the man and his massive dog. She looked at Rex's broad, bronzed shoulders and at the ripple of muscle as he moved, and she shivered. He was right; she was very afraid of herself.

At precisely six-thirty, Alexi heard him knocking at the door. She answered it in one of Gene's scruffy old velvet smoking jackets, but apart from that she was ready. She had showered for nearly an hour, washed and blow-dried her hair and carefully applied her Helen of Troy makeup. She was smiling and radiant--and the warm caress of his gaze as it swept over her was a charming appreciation of her labors. He also issued a tremendous wolf whistle.

Alexi tried to whistle in return--she wasn't very good, but he did look wonderful all dressed up. His suit was a conventional pinstripe, his shirt was tailored, his tie was a charcoal gray. Color meant nothing--it was the fit upon him that was so alluring. That and the crisp scents of his clothing and aftershave.

"You're gorgeous," she said. "So are you."

"Thanks--but I really do have to change. Where are we going?" He had a bouquet of flowers for her in one hand and her suitcase in another. She smiled and thanked him, and he followed her into the kitchen so that she could put them in water.

"Can I help?" he offered. "I've got a vase--" "I meant with the changing."

"You would," Alexi retorted, but she was still smiling. It seemed fun. She felt curiously secure with him, even though she didn't doubt his intent for a moment.

And somehow it was tremendously exciting. He definitely let her know he wanted her; he also let her know that it would be at her time, when she was ready. And that she wouldn't have to be frightened. “You seem happy,'' he said.

Alexi poured water into the vase. "I am. I've been studying the original blueprints all day. I talked to Gene, and I checked on some contractors. I thought you might know something about them." "I know a few." "How about a glass of wine? I found a super-looking

Riesling down in the cellar."

His brows flew up. "You ventured into the cellar?" She chuckled softly. "I took the kittens with me. Your bug man did a good job--there's nothing crawling down there."

He smiled and said lightly, "A Riesling sounds great."

Alexi set the flowers in the water and made a little face at him. "Good. You open and pour. I'll run up and get dressed."

He nodded, reaching into the right drawer for the corkscrew. "Call me if you need any help," he told her.

"I'll do that," she promised sweetly.

He'd left her suitcase in the hall. Alexi grabbed it and raced up the stairs. She set it on the bed in the room she had chosen and quickly opened it. She wished she had followed him back earlier, for then her things wouldn't be so crushed.

She dumped everything, trying to decide what to wear. She settled on a cream knit, since it wouldn't need to be ironed, and then brushed aside other things to find the embossed stockings that went with it. Slipping into her underwear, she wondered if it was Rex who had repacked for her; then she knew that it must have been, because Emily had left to run errands right after breakfast this morning. She colored slightly, wondering what he must have thought. Her slips, chemises, panties and bras were all very feminine and exotic--her agent's sister owned a lingerie shop, and for every occasion, from her birthday to Valentine's Day, Alexi received some frothy bit of underwear. She smiled, glad that her things were respectable.

She hadn't realized that she was trembling with excitement until she tried to put her stockings on. She paused, inhaling a long breath. She was frightened. Rex was new to her, completely new. He was overwhelmingly male, yet there was that wonderful streak of honesty to him. She was excited, maybe dangerously so. But it was nice, too. The feeling was as wonderful as a fresh sea breeze, and it touched all of her. It was wonderful, and she felt that if it was dangerous, too, she really had no choice. She couldn't resist. He was as compelling as the relentless pull of the tide.

Alexi slipped into a pair of high-heeled sandals, dumped her things from her large purse into a smaller, beaded evening bag and hurried downstairs, afraid to sit and ponder her feelings too long. She glanced at her watch; it was barely seven. She was pleased that she had gotten ready so quickly.

Rex was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping his wine and watching the kittens as they tumbled over each other. He smiled when Alexi walked in, and his eyes fell over her with the same provocative warmth once again. He lifted his wineglass to her. "Stunning." "Thank you."

He picked up a second glass of wine and handed it to her. She murmured a thank-you, then sipped at it far too quickly. Rex watched her, amused. "Did you name them?"

She picked up one of the little silver bundles. "I went with Silver and Blacky--so far." She gazed at Rex and admitted. "I, uh, wasn't sure about their sexes, so I wanted to be careful."

Rex chuckled. "You've got one of each. Silver here is a--" he paused, picking up the kitten "--a girl. Blacky must be the male."

Alexi nodded, set her wineglass down and retrieved both kittens. She went to the back door with them and set them both outside. They tried to come in; she wouldn't let them. "Cruel!" Rex said.

"Hmph!" Alexi retorted. "You didn't get me a litter box for them," she reminded him.

"How could I have been so remiss! We can stop by the store on our way to the restaurant."

Alexi picked up her wine again, swirling the pale liquid as she said, "I thought you hid out a lot, Mr. Fame and Fortune."

He winced. "That sounded like a low blow. I probably should be hiding out with you. But we're going to a Chinese restaurant just north of Jacksonville where every table is secluded."

"You didn't recognize me when you first saw me," Alexi reminded him. “And people just point at me, anyway. They don't want my autograph."

"People don't usually recognize me, either. And not everyone is a mystery fan. The only reason I 'hide out' here is that there are a few nuts out there."

"Excuse me," Alexi teased. She bit her lip then, wishing that she hadn't spoken. She remembered him telling her that someone had actually shot his horse. No wonder he liked solitude.

But he didn't seem bothered by her words. He came closer to her and touched his glass to hers. "This time you're excused," he promised solemnly. He didn't move away from her. His eyes were on hers, dark and deep. Again she was aware of the delicious scent of him. For the longest time, she thought he was going to kiss her, and she didn't think she would protest. She wouldn't have the mind left to do so.

But he didn't. He turned around suddenly, going to the door. He started to call the kittens, but they were right there, tumbling over each other to get back into the house.

"They have to be locked in the cellar," Alexi said. She wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to have to search the whole house for what they might have needed to do."

"Sorry, guys," Rex told the playful pair. "You're being jailed for the evening."

"Well, where's Samson?" Alexi challenged.

"Probably lolled out on the leather sofa," Rex admitted.

"I forgot to tell him when he was a puppy that he was a dog." With that, he led her out.

His car was a sporty little Maserati. He asked Alexi if she minded the top down, and she assured him that she loved the air. They didn't speak much on the thirty-minute drive to the restaurant; the wind did feel good, and Alexi found herself content to lean her head back on the fine leather upholstery and close her eyes. He had a good stereo system, and the music and air seemed to blanket her in a shroud of comfort and lethargy.

"We're here--if you're awake," Rex told her when he parked.

"I'm awake--just a mess," she replied, fumbling in her bag for her comb. Rex came around to open the passenger door; when she stepped out, he took her hand, then smoothed back all the straying gold strands. Alexi didn't move; she just let him do that, wondering how such a simple service could feel so intimate and sensual.

"Ready?" he asked huskily.

She was ready...for almost anything.

The restaurant was beautiful. The lobby was dusky and intimate with ornately carved and very heavy chairs. A hostess in black silk trousers greeted Rex like an old friend, and Alexi experienced a moment's jealousy, wondering how often he came here--and with whom.

They were led down a little hallway. It was very intimate; silk screens and paneling divided each little room. The music was soft. When they reached their room, Alexi saw that the tables were low; she was to remove her shoes, and she and Rex would sit on cushions on the floor. The table was round, and they were seated very close to each other. Rex asked her if he could order the wine, and she said sweetly that since he knew the place so well, he should certainly do so.

Their hostess left them. Rex reached for her fingers and played with them idly in the small space between them.

"Jealous?" he asked.

"Why should I be?"

"I see...just naturally catty."

Alexi pulled her fingers back. "You forget, Mr. Morrow, I was in the most uncomfortable position of getting to hear all about your sex life."

"You didn't hear all about it. But if you want the finer details, I can always give them to you."

Their hostess bringing in the wine saved Alexi from having to reply. Once she had left again, Alexi turned her attention to the menu. Rex suggested the house specialty, which included samplings of their honey-garlic chicken and beef, and another platter with their mu-shu pork Cantonese and their spicy grilled fish.

Alexi closed the menu. “You know the place, Mr. Morrow."

He lifted her wineglass and handed it to her. “I wonder if you'll mellow out with age."

The way he said it, she had to laugh. She sipped the wine and found it delicious. And suddenly the whole evening seemed wonderful. The muted light, the soft Oriental music, the plush cushion beneath her...the man beside her. She felt as if one sip of the wine had given her senses greater power; she could hear more keenly, see more clearly and inhale and feel his scent sweep into her. She could have swirled around very easily, laid her head in his lap, closed her eyes--and luxuriated in the feel of it all.

"Who knows you're in Gene's house?" he asked.

"What?" Alexi shook her head to clear it. Rex was serious and intent; his eyes were brooding.

"Who knows you're here?"

She shrugged. "Gene. My agent. My family."

"Anyone else?"

"No--no, I don't think so. I wanted--I wanted to be alone for a while." Alexi hesitated, wondering. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I was just curious, I suppose."

Alexi studied him. "You're lying to me. Why?"

He shrugged again, looking toward the doorway. Alexi followed his gaze and saw that their pretty hostess was returning again with another woman and half a dozen small chafing dishes.

The woman opened the dishes to describe the food, then closed them again to maintain the heat. Rex thanked them both, but when they had gone, he still seemed to hesitate.

"Rex!"

"What?"

"Why? Why did you ask me that?"

He didn't answer her. Alexi saw that he was still frowning as he stared at the thin screen that separated their little room from the hallway.

"Rex...?"

He didn't look at her, but he pressed his finger to her lips and indicated the screen. He silently began to rise.

Alexi thought he had lost his mind. But then she saw it; the shadow of a figure standing in the hallway. There was something secretive about the shadow--someone had been listening to them.

Alexi didn't know that she was gasping until Rex swore softly at her, then bounded over the table like a talented linebacker and raced toward the door.

But the shadow, too, had obviously heard her gasp.

It straightened and disappeared just seconds before Rex went racing out after it.

Chapter 7

Rex didn't return. Confused, Alexi waited for several moments, then rose and hurried out to the hall. There was no sign of any shadow man, nor of Rex. As Alexi stood in the hallway, a group of slightly inebriated businessmen made an appearance from a room farther down the corridor. It was a narrow hallway, and Alexi stepped inside again to allow them to pass.

A short, stout man named Harold was telling a tall, lean, bald man he called Bert that now was the time to dump his electrical stock. And while he was at it, Bert should dump his wife, too.

They passed Alexi, and Harold caught sight of her.

"Oh, Nelly, I am in heaven!" Harold slurred out. He had small eyes, which lit up to look like pennies. "Are you ft' dessert, darlin'?" He braced himself in the slender doorway, leering in at her.

"No, I'm not the dessert," Alexi told him. He reminded her of her uncle Bob. Mild mannered by day--a lecher after one beer too many.

"You sure look like dessert."

"Go home," Alexi said. She couldn't help adding, "And Bert--I wouldn't dump your wife if I were you."

"You know Gertrude, huh?" Harold swung on into the room, staring at her incredulously. "Honey, you are cute. Come to think of it, I'm sure I know you. Don't we know her, Harry? Hey--aren't you from that massage parlor downtown?"

"No! I'm not from any massage parlor! Bert, go home and sleep it off."

"I'm in heaven!" Bert claimed. He winked. "We did, honey. We met before." He turned around to nudge one of the other men in the ribs. "She remembers me! She gave me the best little, er, massage I ever did have. You here with a loser, honey? You come on now, and Harry and Bert will make it worth your while."

He clamped sweaty, sausagelike little fingers around her wrist. Alexi sighed. So much for her Helen of Troy fame. He thought that she was a, er, massage artist.

"Bert, I'm not--"

She broke off. A pair of heavy hands had taken hold of Bert. He was lifted off his feet and set down in the hallway. Rex was there, rigid and scowling angrily.

“Hey, bud, I was just--''

Harold broke in nervously. "Bert, let's get home, huh?"

Rex crossed his arms over his chest. “Bert, I do highly suggest you leave--now."

Bert wasn't about to be put off. He straightened his coat and looked around the wall of Rex's chest. "Honey, you wanna stay here with this animal?"

"Now!" The command sounded like a bark; Rex took a lethally charged step toward Bert.

"Rex!" Alexi protested.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen! Have we a problem? How may

I help you?" The pretty hostess, anxious and distressed, came running down the hallway, speaking softly.

"Rex!" one of the other men said. "Hey, you're Rex Morrow, aren't you? I've seen your picture on the book covers! Hey, I hate to bother you, but could I have an autograph? My wife would be so thrilled. She buys all your books. In hardcover. And we both read them, every word."

Bert stepped back as if he had been slapped. "You're him?" He gaped. Alexi thought that at any second he would stutter and say "Gaw-ly," just like Gomer Pyle.

"Gentlemen?" the hostess asked anxiously. She glanced at Rex pleadingly. Alexi saw him relax, and then he laughed. "I'm sorry. I haven't paper or a pen--"

They were quickly supplied. Rex scrawled out his name several times. When he had finished and the men started walking away, "Bert paused long enough to look at Alexi longingly.

"So you're with him tonight, huh?" He gazed back at Rex. "She's expensive, but she's worth every penny."

"What?" Rex murmured.

"Good night, Bert," Alexi said sweetly.

Bert followed the others. Alexi turned on Rex. "That wasn't necessary."

"They asked me--"

"Manhandling that poor drunken sot wasn't necessary."

He was silent for a long moment, walking around to sink back into his seat at the table. Once there, he crossed his arms over his chest to stare at her. "So you enjoyed teasing that drunken sot, huh?"

"No--but I can take care of myself."

"Great. Next time four men are descending upon you, remind me that you can take care of yourself."

"You would've gotten into a fight if your ego wasn't so colossal that you were more determined to sign your name."

He stared at her a moment longer and then reached for one of the chafing dishes. Alexi didn't sit again, and he didn't pay her any attention. He dished out fried rice and then crisp, succulent little pieces of honey-garlic beef. The smell reminded Alexi that she was starving, and she wasn't sure whether she was still angry or embarrassed--or even a bit awed, since she had been taken for a prostitute and the whole explosive moment had been defused by his lousy signature.

At last his gaze fell on her again, and as it flickered over her length, the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. "So you're expensive, huh?"

"Maybe I should have gotten the old dear to take me home," Alexi said, sitting at last.

"Dear child, he was after one thing." "Mmm. And what are you after?" He grinned. "Several things." Then he sobered again, mechanically moving chafing dishes around to fill Alexi's plate. "I couldn't find him." "Him who?"