Strangers in Paradise (15 page)

She liked the way he looked in the kitchen, too. She paused in the doorway, watching as he moved from the cupboards to the refrigerator, barefoot and bare chested—and wearing his dress trousers.

Alexi went swiftly to the refrigerator herself and took out a carton of eggs and some cheese and bacon. Rex let her start the bacon and eggs, and he poured them each a mug of coffee.

“I'm probably the better cook,” he warned her.

“Good. You can prove it tomorrow,” she told him. Then she quickly lowered her head, letting her drying hair hide her features. What was she doing? She'd just come to the mature acceptance that he was a free agent, and here she was, assuming they'd be together for breakfast tomorrow.

“I will,” he promised her smugly.

She breathed a little more easily and asked him to hand her the grater for the cheese. He did, then told her that she was only cooking so that he would have to go down to the cellar to see what kind of mess the kittens had made.

She watched him when he started down the stairs. She thought about the burnt brown hue of his shoulders and the weathered tan of his features and knew the color had come from endless hours in the sun he loved so much. Then she realized that she was daydreaming and about to burn something, so she turned her attention back to the stove. But as she did so she frowned, noting that the tea and sugar canisters were out of place, and she could have sworn that she had left the kitchen spotless the night before.

Alexi grated cheese over the eggs, then shook her head. Something about the kitchen didn't feel right. She couldn't explain it—after all, Rex had entered the kitchen before she had; maybe he had moved things.

She scooped the eggs off the frying pan and onto plates and quickly turned several pieces of bacon that were starting to burn. She should have started the bacon first, she told herself reproachfully. Rex probably was the better cook.

She heard a slight noise behind her and turned around. Rex had come up the stairway from the cellar and was watching her; on his lips was a curiously tender smile that brought a tug to her heart. He swung away from the doorframe, sauntered over to her, took her into his arms and met her eyes with his smile intact.

“Your hair looks like hell.”

“I'm ever so sorry. I've just come from the most incredible night of my life.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

She laughed and grew breathless and he started to kiss her, but they both smelled the bacon starting to burn. Alexi quickly retrieved it and popped bread into the toaster while Rex poured juice and more coffee.

While they ate, Alexi told him some of the things she wanted to do with the place. Rex listened and asked questions, and she grew more and more excited, trying to describe what she envisioned in the end. “I love this house. I always have. There's something about knowing that it belonged to my great-great-great-grandparents that just fascinates me.”

“It is nice,” Rex agreed. He caught her fingers across the table. “Were you going to start today, though?”

“I was.”

“Is that negotiable?”

“Very.”

They'd eaten every scrap of food. Alexi decided that being in love created enormous appetites. They'd barely picked up the dishes before they were both calmly and breathlessly discussing the need for a shower, and then they were in the shower—together, of course. Rex couldn't begin to make up his mind whether he preferred making love to her on the beach or against the steamy spray of the shower or in the bed she had chosen for her own with the fresh-smelling sheets and the sweet scent of shampoo and cologne dusting her flesh.

It didn't matter, he was certain. They were both drugged with it, and in the end it was about noon when they fell asleep, exhausted and content, and nearly dark again when he awoke.

Alexi was still sleeping. Her hair, dry and fragrant now, lay in tousled waves upon his shoulders and hers. He brought a lock of it to his lips, then silently held his breath while he admired the way it fell over her breasts as she slept.

He crawled from the bed, stared out at the dusk, then pulled on his clean pair of jeans and started down the stairs. He rummaged in the refrigerator and found some frozen steaks. He set them on the counter, shoved a few potatoes in the oven and made a fresh pot of coffee. That completed, he decided to grab some paper and make a family chart so that he could determine just which one of his characters was actually the murderer of all the others.

* * *

Alexi awoke first with the most marvelous sense of peace and warmth and contentment and security. Naturally, she reached out to touch him. Then her eyes flew open and she was not quite so warm and content, for she realized that he was gone.

She bolted out of bed and rushed to the window and saw that it was already dark, and ruefully admitted that maybe she hadn't slept all that much after all, since she had been up all night and all morning. Her heart began to beat, a little painfully, as she hoped that Rex had not left her. She wasn't afraid tonight; she just wanted to be with him.

She slipped quickly into a terry robe, ran her brush through her hair with a lick and a promise and started for the stairway. At the top landing she paused, gripping the banister and breathing with a sigh of relief and pleasure. He was still there. She could hear him. He was talking to someone, but who—?

She frowned, instinctively clutching her robe to her throat and silently coming down the stairs. She could hear him clearly. But who on earth was he talking to? His voice was rising and falling, rising and falling.

He was in the parlor. Alexi crossed the downstairs hallway quickly to go there, and then she paused, amused but determined not to laugh until he saw her.

Rex, scratching his head, paper and pencil in hand, was pacing from one side of the room to the other.

“No, no, no, no, no. That leaves just the butler. And the butler can't do it. I mean, the damn butler just can't do it!”

“Oooh, but he can! He can! Give the poor man a break!” Alexi cried.

Startled, Rex swung around to her. First he wore a very severe expression; then he swore softly at her—and then he laughed. “Caught in the act, huh?”

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

“You talk to paintings.”

“Okay, okay—we're even,” she promised. She stepped into the room and curled up on the steam-cleaned sofa in perfect comfort. She hugged her knees and asked him wistfully, “Tell me about it. Why can't the butler do it? Maybe I can help.”

Rex looked at her doubtfully for a moment, then shrugged, smiled and joined her. He explained that having the butler do it would really be a cliché—unless it could be entirely justified. Of course, he might
want
it to be a cliché, if the book was to be a spoof. This wasn't going to be a spoof, though, so he had to be very careful that people didn't laugh at what was not intended to be funny.

Alexi listened while he went through his plot. To her amazement, his people quickly became as real to her as they were to him, and she could tell him why a certain character would or wouldn't behave in a certain way. She was excited to see that Rex was listening to her, and she was really pleased when he snapped his fingers, kissed her, picked up his paper and pencil and started back to work.

“You've got something?” she asked.

“I've got something.” He paused, looking up at her. “The potatoes are already baking. The steaks are on the counter. Put them in and toss up a salad, and I promise I'll be ready to come and eat when you're ready.”

Alexi smiled and nodded. She gave him a kiss on the top of the head, but she wasn't sure that he noticed. She asked if he didn't need to get the information down on his computer, but he absently assured her he was just writing notes and would transfer his work in the morning. Still smiling, Alexi went out to heat up the broiler for the steaks.

Samson and the kittens were in the kitchen. The big shepherd was stretched out on the floor; the little puffballs were audaciously curled right beneath his powerful jaws. Alexi shook her head and started to work again.

She put together a salad, then paused, perplexed, as she went through the cabinets again. She'd left them so organized. She'd spent yesterday really knowing what she had done with everything. It just didn't seem right that so many things had been moved.

When she went down to the cellar to find another bottle of wine, she had the same feeling. She didn't know what exactly was out of place, only that it was. The kittens had been down there, she reminded herself. And Rex had been down there, too—to let the kittens out, then to clean up after them. But she couldn't imagine the strange little chills running down her spine being caused by Rex's having been there. It was stupid—or perhaps it was instinct or a sixth sense. She was certain that someone else had been there.

She had just slipped the steaks into the oven when a pair of strong brown arms encircled her waist.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“Rex! Did you finish with your notes already?”

“I did...thanks to that wonderfully conniving little mind of yours. What an asset—beyond the obvious, of course.”

“Do I know you, sir?” Alexi retorted.

“If you don't now, honey, you're going to,” he replied in a wonderful imitation of Cary Grant, swinging her around in his arms. But his smile faded to a frown as he met her eyes.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing! Really.”

“No. Something is wrong.”

“You can read me that well, huh?” Alexi murmured, a little uneasily, her lashes sweeping over her eyes. She smiled at him, telling him he'd better get out of the way so she could turn the steaks. He obliged, but when she brought the broiling pan out and put the meat on the plates, he pressed the point.

Alexi picked up the platter with the two potatoes and the salad bowl and set them at the table. She handed Rex the bottle of wine to open and a pair of chilled glasses, then sat down.

Rex arched a brow in silence, opened the wine and poured it, then sat across from her. “Well?”

“Well, you'll never believe me,” she murmured.

His mouth tightened. “I have never not believed you, Alexi. But what are you talking about now?”

She sighed and sprinkled too much salt on her steak. “I don't know. This time it really does sound silly. Rex, don't you dare laugh at me. I have a feeling that someone else has been in the house.”

He chewed a piece of meat, his eyes on her. “Why?”

“Things have—moved.”

“Like what?”

“The sugar and tea canisters.”

He glanced across the kitchen. “Maybe I moved them when I was fixing the coffee.”

She nodded. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “I know, I know—I'm being ridiculous.”

“Maybe not.” His fingers curled around hers on the table. Her heart seemed to stop when she gazed into his eyes. He wasn't laughing at her—he wasn't even smiling. In fact, the glitter of suspicion in his eyes was far more frightening than amusing.

“Alexi, you're forgetting that I was with you in the restaurant. Someone was very definitely spying on us.”

She swallowed and nodded.

He looked around the kitchen. “It's just that...why would anyone want to come in here and move things around?”

“An antique buff?”

“Was anything taken?”

“No... I don't think so.”

Rex was silent for a minute. She felt his fingers moving lightly, pensively over hers.

“Alexi—would your ex-husband be jealous or spiteful enough to want to follow you?”

She inhaled sharply and stared down at her plate. She remembered holding her breath on her first day in Fernandina Beach, thinking that she had seen his handsome blond head in a crowd.

Cruel? Yes—that could be said of John. Opportunistic, callous, ruthless—determined. But this...this stealth? This senselessness?

She shook her head. “I don't think so, Rex. I really don't.”

His voice seemed tight and very low. “After what you've told me about the man, Alexi...”

“I know, Rex, I know,” she murmured uneasily. She met his eyes at last. She'd never felt so vulnerable, and she knew his temper, too, but she was entirely unprepared for the heat of the emotion that burned so deeply into her.

“Rex... I... John was certainly no gentleman, but the only time he really hurt me, he'd been drinking and he was in a fit. A lot of it was ego; I rejected him. It never occurred to John that his behavior was unacceptable. He wanted to hurt me for the fact that I could walk away.”

“He did hurt you. Badly.”

“But not like—this.” Her steak was cold. She'd lost her appetite anyway. In fact, a tremendous pall seemed to be falling upon a day that had been the most magical in her life. She smiled, trying not to shiver. “I probably am imagining things.”

“Well,” he murmured, sitting back, and his obsidian lashes hid his immediate thoughts. When he looked at her again he, too, was smiling. His fingers covered hers once again. “No one can be around now, huh? Samson would sound an alarm as loud as a siren.”

Of course. She had forgotten Samson. No one could be anywhere near them. It was a nice thought. Very relieving.

“You haven't eaten a thing,” Rex reminded her. He poured more wine into her glass.

Alexi sipped it and grimaced. “I'm really not very hungry.” She stood and smiled again, determined to recapture the laughter that they had shared. “I know exactly what to do with it!”

“Oh?”

“Samson? Come here, you great dog, you!”

Barking excitedly and wagging his tail a mile a minute, Samson came bounding toward her, the kittens not far behind. Alexi gave the kittens tiny pieces of the meat and the rest to Samson.

“You have a friend for life,” Rex assured her.

She laughed and picked up the rest of the dishes. She and Rex decided to take a short walk, but when they had gone only a few steps, Alexi gave him a playful pinch, commenting on the fit of his jeans. He laughed and cast her over his shoulder, commenting on the lack of fit of her attire and on everything that was beneath.