Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever

“No, you didn’t.”

The corner of her mouth twitched upward with guilty amusement. “You don’t believe in cutting people slack, do you?”

“If I cut slack to everyone who betrayed my privacy, I’d need a much larger supply of scissors.”

She thought of the gossip articles and Web sites, and she understood. No one deserved to have their life splashed on the front page. “I’m sorry too, about your marriage.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still, you—”

“I don’t want to talk about Alyssa, Miss Albertelli. Our marriage failed. End of story.”

The myriad of emotions in his voice—anger, frustration, hurt—said otherwise, but seeing as how she was already treading on thin ice, Kelsey didn’t push. “Did you say the generator was in the basement?”

“At the foot of the stairs.” He sounded grateful for the change of subject.

“Mind if I turn it on? You can keep the lights out in this room, but I’d like to find my way upstairs without incident.” Not to mention, shedding light might diminish the intimacy of their situation. Maybe, if she could see his usual stormy expression, she wouldn’t feel his pull so intensely.

“Knock yourself out.”

Finding her way to the kitchen in the dark was easier said than done. Nuttingwood was one of those houses that had been added onto over the years, leading to an abundance of twists and turns and unexpected corners. During the day, the eclectic layout gave the house character, but at night, in the pitch black, the layout became a pedestrian nightmare. Kelsey was certain she’d fall and break an arm too. Worse, she’d break some piece of furniture or irreplaceable family heirloom.

Eventually she reached the double-swing door leading to the kitchen, just in time to hear footsteps approach from behind.

“You’ll need a flashlight,” Alex said, giving the door a push. Kelsey followed in silence, trying not to think about how his body brushed against hers when he passed.

He moved around the dark kitchen with a grace to be admired. At least she assumed he moved with grace since she didn’t hear any of the bumps or knocks that accompanied her own clumsy movements. The basement door was to the side, behind the farmer’s table. She was walking cautiously in that direction when she heard the scraping of a chair being dragged across the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“The flashlight’s in the back of the cupboard. With my cast, I can’t reach it flatfooted.”

“Then let me.” Making her way back toward his silhouette, she took the chair from his grip. “It’s pitch black in here. Break your other arm and I’ll be here till Christmas.”

“By all means then, be my guest. We wouldn’t want that.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, Kelsey smirked in his direction and stepped up. A warm sturdy hand pressed to her back. “I’m steadying you,” Alex said from behind.

Steadying, huh? Then why did her legs feel shaky? Why did her spine feel like it had an electrical current running up and down it?

“There a problem?”

“No problem.” It was the dark, she decided. It heightened everything. Turning something innocent, like a simple touch or Alex’s low-pitched voice, into something sensual. Once the lights came on, the illusion would disappear.

All of a sudden, a pitiful wail sounded in the kitchen.

“What on earth was that?” Alex asked.

“I’m not—” The wail sounded again and recognition dawned.

“Puddin’!” She’d wondered what kind of shelter the cat had found to ride out the storm. He must have heard her drive up and was crying to come in the house. “Poor thing must be drenched to the skin.”

“Who’s Puddin’?”

Jumping down from the chair, she hurried to the back door only to have a jet-propelled streak of water rush past her legs when she opened it. Loud meows filled the kitchen. There was a click, and Alex, who’d apparently retrieved the flashlight, focused the beam on the sopping orange mass shivering under the kitchen table.

“That,” Kelsey said, “is Puddin’.”

“It’s a cat.”

An extremely sarcastic retort jumped to the tip of her tongue, but Kelsey managed to bite it off. “A very wet one at that. Would you hand me the dish towel?”

“For what?”

“To dry him off, of course. Or would you rather he drip water all over the floor?” Alex sighed, but she heard him move toward the kitchen sink. All the while keeping the light shining on Puddin’s waterlogged form.

“Poor baby, he’s trembling.” She reached out her hand, letting the scared animal sniff her fingers. “You’re okay now. I think he’s been living in your garden. He showed up on the terrace the other morning and has been keeping me company since.”

“You mean you’ve been encouraging him?”

Don’t tell her, she broke another rule. Taking the towel Alex draped over her shoulder, she gently wrapped the stray up. The cat barely protested, an indication of how wet and miserable his state was. A low rumble sounded deep in his chest. “See, he’s happier already,” she said.

“Bully for him,” Alex grumbled. “Now that he’s happy, what are you going to do?”

“I—” Good question. She hadn’t thought much further than rescuing the little guy. “Well, we can’t very well put him back outdoors,” she said.

“We can’t?”

“Look outside. It’s raining cats and dogs.”

“Then he’ll be right at home.”

“Very funny. Why can’t he stay the night in the house? He’s not causing any trouble.” She lifted Puddin’ a little closer. The cat immediately curled into her, seeking warmth and attention. “See?”

Alex flashed the light at her. “He doesn’t belong here.”

His words pushed a button inside her. How many times had she heard that same disinterested tone? “Says who?”

“Says me, the owner of the house.”

Didn’t matter. She looked at Puddin’ who was flexing his front paws, oblivious to the debate around him, and felt frustrated anger swelling in her chest. Suddenly this wasn’t about keeping a cat dry; it was about being wanted. About having someone want you. “I’m not putting him outside in this weather. He’ll catch cold.”

“He’s a cat, not a child.”

“So what? He still has feelings. Don’t you?” Looking up, she found herself staring directly into the flashlight beam. “Surely you don’t hate the world so much you’d send a defenseless animal out to drown.”

She could hear his exasperation, and while she couldn’t see his face, she could picture the irritation clouding his expression. Okay, maybe that last remark crossed the line.

“The way I feel about the world, you’re lucky I don’t make both of you sleep in the rain.”

Kelsey was pretty sure he meant what he said. She clutched Puddin’ a little tighter.

Alex turned around, taking the light with him. As she blinked the spots from her eyes, she heard the sound of a door opening and for a wild second, she wondered if he planned on carrying out his threat. That is, until she heard him heading downstairs.

“Just make sure he’s gone by morning,” he grumbled. “And if he leaves any kind of thank-you present on my doorstep, I’m holding you responsible.”

A smile tugged the corner of her lips as she savored the moment of victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Maybe Alex Markoff wasn’t as hardhearted as he’d like the world to believe.

While she may have won this particular battle for Puddin’s rights, there were only so many times she could push her luck before Alex tossed her out, Stuart Lefkowitz’s threats be damned. By her count, she’d already pushed twice. Three times if she counted using the breach of contract threat as leverage. Therefore, Kelsey made a point of bringing Puddin’ to her room for the night, making sure the cat stayed out of Alex’s way.

“The less he sees of you, my friend, the better,” she told him. Puddin’, naturally, didn’t mind. He simply sprawled across her comforter and started bathing.

Next morning, she woke at the crack of dawn and deposited the now indignant Puddin’ on the doorstep before heading into town. The latest Grandma Rosie payment was due and she wanted to make sure the check went out registered mail. The storm had ended a few hours earlier, leaving only a few downed branches and puddles as evidence it existed. Pulling onto the main road, she saw a power truck restringing the line and was surprised at the small stab of disappointment. Surely she didn’t want to spend another night in the dark with Alex, with its odd mixture of intimacy and mystery. Did she?

She pulled onto Main Street, grateful the early hour meant an abundance of parking. Stockbridge was one of those sleepy towns that exploded in summer. Once a Gilded Age playground, the area had reinvented itself as an arts center featuring everything from symphony orchestras to offbeat art galleries. City dwellers flocked to the region, eager to soak up the pastoral atmosphere even as they disturbed it. For the residents, she imagined the crowds were a double-edged sword, simultaneously welcome and disdained.

Except for Alex. He simply disdained.

A sign on the post office window told her she had another fifteen minutes so she made her way down the street to the Leafy Bean. Farley’s grocery store captured the area’s atmosphere in one eclectic building. Part grocery, part café, part gourmet haven, the place featured everything from imported almond oil to homemade pastries served with a healthy dose of local color. And, as Kelsey discovered when picking up her grocery order, the store boasted an amazing selection of brewed coffee.

A brass bell announced her arrival. Farley was behind the counter, a large green apron covering his burly frame. His gloves and wrists were covered with flour.

“Morning, Farley,” she greeted him, getting a grunt in return. “Some storm last night, huh? Nuttingwood lost power.”

“Whaddya expect, up there in the middle of nowhere.”

Alone, where no one could find him. “That’s what Mr. Markoff likes about the place. It’s private.”

“Private like a hermit,” Farley muttered back.

The Hermit of Nuttingwood. The moniker fit. It was sad and enigmatic. Now that she knew his story, or part of it, she couldn’t blame him for wanting a little privacy, although retiring to the side of a mountain for five years still seemed a bit extreme. After all, she knew as well as anyone that life was seldom fair. The letter tucked in her satchel proved that. People used other people all the time. You learned to adapt.

Not to mention keep your distance. Mind your own business. Don’t get too attached and think too far into the future. For people who didn’t have the luxury of hiding on a mountainside, those rules were the key to survival. She knew because she’d been following them since she was four years old.

Except for this week. What was it about Alex Markoff that made her forget the rules?

“Better get your coffee while you can,” Farley said, coming around to pour himself a cup as well. “Once the tourists wake up, they’ll clean the place out.”

She took it as a supreme compliment that he didn’t lump her in with that group. “Isn’t business a good thing?”

“Pain in the neck is what it is,” Farley replied. “Always looking for some fancy flavor or asking if my beans are ‘fair trade’. Says right there on the sign clear as day. Can’t they read?”

Kelsey smiled over the rim of her coffee. “Guess not.”

The older man was about to add more when the doorbell jingled. A group of two men and three women, clearly tourists, entered. The men wore pastel island shirts and khaki shorts—an outfit that was nearly uniform among visitors—while the women wore various forms of linen. All of them wore some kind of hat—either straw or baseball—perched on their heads.

“Do you have cappuccinos?” one of the women asked as they approached the counter.

“Everything we’ve got is on the counter,” Farley replied, shooting Kelsey a look as if to say “see what I mean?”

“Who needs lattes, just give me a straight shot of joe,” one of the men said. He was tall and athletic looking with sandy brown hair. Smiling at Kelsey, he added, “Too bad you can’t hook up an intravenous line.”

“Then how would you add sugar?” Kelsey asked.

“Who cares as long as it’s going straight into my veins.” The stranger grinned, then after a pause, pointed a finger at her.

“Nels Bïrdgarten’s gallery showing, right? I was trying to think where we met. You look familiar.”

If she had a nickel for every time a stranger tried that come-on, she wouldn’t have to worry about paying off her debt. “Maybe our paths crossed somewhere in the city,” she suggested.

“Could be. Or it was a cheap excuse to introduce myself. Tom Forbes.”

At least he admitted the line was cheesy. Kelsey shook the hand he offered and introduced herself.

“So you’re from New York,” he continued. “Come to the Berkshires often?”

“First time. I’m here for the summer for a work assignment. You?”

“Every summer since I was eight. My parents have a place on the lake. Not a bad locale if you don’t mind quiet.”

You don’t know quiet, Kelsey thought to herself. “I don’t. Besides, you can’t beat the coffee.”

“Not New York standards, but it’ll do, I suppose.” Over at the register, Farley coughed. Oblivious, Tom raised the cup to his lips.

“Tom!” the female ringleader called over. “We’re heading to the arts and crafts store.”

“You go ahead, Moira. I’m going to finish my coffee, unless—” he flashed a bright smile “—I can talk you into breakfast at the Inn.”

Kelsey chewed her lower lip. She should head back to Nuttingwood. On the other hand, it felt good to have someone want her company for a change. What she wouldn’t give to have Alex toss even a hint of a smile in her direction.

She reached for a plastic to-go lid. “Why not?” she said, smiling back. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

She got back to Nuttingwood far later than planned. Tom turned out to be pleasant company: charming, talkative, entertaining. A tad pompous but nice enough. He described himself as a social gadfly, doing a little bit of everything. “You know,” he’d said when she asked, “a freelance project here, a blog article there.”

In other words, he was rich enough that he didn’t need to work.

When they parted company, he insisted on taking her cell phone number and made no bones about wanting to see her again. Had she been in New York, maybe she’d consider the offer, but here, under the circumstances, she wasn’t so sure.

And her reluctance had nothing to do with her antisocial boss, she insisted to herself. Even if she did spend a good portion of the meal wondering what sharing breakfast with Alex would be like.

True to form, Alex was nowhere to be found when she returned, but Puddin’ was. Someone had left the garden door unlatched and the cat had ensconced himself quite comfortably on her desk chair.

“And I thought I was pushing my luck,” she said. “You know that nine lives thing is a myth, right?”

Puddin’ rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a negative checking balance.” She’d made an extra large payment this month. It drained her account, leaving her barely enough to cover expenses. And Grandma Rosie’s debt still loomed as mountainous as ever.

So while Puddin’ might be willing to risk Alex’s wrath, Kelsey wasn’t. She needed this job.

“Sorry, pal, but I used up my defiance last night.” Since Puddin’ didn’t care to cooperate by moving on his own, she gathered him in her arms. “Now,” she said, walking outside and setting him gently on the stone terrace, “why don’t you go find a nice bush to sleep under before the boss sees you.”

“Too late.” Alex appeared out of nowhere, brandishing a walking stick.

How on earth did he manage to sneak up on her like that? It was like he really was some kind of ghost. He glowered at Puddin’, who appeared unimpressed.

“That thing’s still here, I see.”

“Good morning to you too,” she replied. In addition to his specter-like approach, he managed to look uncommonly good this morning. Those khaki shorts and hiking shirt suited him way more than Tom. Probably, she stole a glance at his toned calves, because he actually hiked. “And this ‘thing’ has a name. Puddin’.”

“You named a stray cat?”

“Even strays deserve an identity.” She knelt down to scratch Puddin’s head. “Everyone wants to know they matter a little bit.”

“As long as you don’t mislead them or make them think they mean more than they do.”

“Because they might get too comfortable.”

“Or burned.”

Were they still talking about the cat? No longer sure, Kelsey fell silent, letting the sound of Puddin’s purring fill the void.

“Where did you go this morning?”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“I saw you drive away.”

Kelsey wasn’t sure if she should resent or be flattered by the close attention. “I had some errands to run in town,” she replied.

“Errands.”

“Yes.” She did know she resented the skeptical way he repeated the word. “You know, post office, grocery store … Farley had fresh baked apricot turnovers. I brought back some if you’re interested.”

Alex appeared to be only half listening, too busy was he rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes were half-closed, and he twisted his head back and forth like it needed loosening.

“Stiff neck?” Kelsey asked.

Naturally he gave her a suspicious look. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re rubbing your neck same as you were last night. I made the assumption.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“And you shouldn’t rub your neck so hard if you don’t want people to make them.”

Her comment earned a grimace. “I have a headache. Nothing I can’t manage.”

“Are you sure?” Upon closer inspection, she could see dark circles under his eyes and that his normally ruddy skin had a slight pallor. The sight kicked her maternal instincts into gear. Without realizing, she reached out to feel his forehead. His skin was cool and smooth. Touching it made the pads of her fingers tingle. “Did you take anything?”

“I’m fine.” His expression remained guarded, but a note of tightness managed to creep into his voice. It was that note that drew her closer.

And closer. Until she’d practically eliminated the space between them. Her hand was still brushing his forehead. “You look pale,” she murmured.

“You don’t need to be concerned.”

“I know I don’t have to. Maybe I—”

The low sound of jazz music interrupted. Her phone. As expected, the moment the song rang out, Alex backed away leaving her hand hovering in the air. Balling her still tingling fingers into a fist, she reached into her skirt pocket with the other and fished out the phone.

“Frutti de Mar.”

Between the static and the non sequitur, it took her a moment before she recognized the voice. “Tom?”

“Looks like I made as good an impression as I thought.”

“We parted company less than an hour ago. Kind of hard not to remember.”

She turned her back. Feeling Alex’s probing stare burning holes in her spine, she tried her best to sound casual. “What can I do for you?”

“I told you. Frutti de Mar. Best gourmet seafood around, at least for this area. I find myself with a table for two and only one chair filled. I was hoping you could fill the other.”

“You want to have dinner? Tonight?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Alex walk away, their moment from before a distant memory.

If there had even been a moment. She could have imagined the whole thing. Just like last night’s spark in the dark.

Or the way she was imagining the air cooling with his departure.

“Seven o’clock okay?”

“What?” Her attention had been on the man disappearing into the trees.

“For dinner. Does seven o’clock work for you?”

“I, uh …” It’s not like she had any other plans. Tom was a nice guy. A pleasant guy who wanted to take her out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. But for some reason, she couldn’t work up the interest.

Her eyes drifted back to the tree line. “Can I take a rain check?”

She’d give him credit. The rejection barely fazed him. “Sure. But so you know, I have every intention of holding you to it. We will have dinner one of these nights.”

“If you say so.” But she already knew she’d turn down the next invitation as well.

They talked for a few more minutes, basically polite chatter so her refusal didn’t feel too unfriendly, before Kelsey went to work. For the next few hours she immersed herself in transcription until her brain couldn’t take the dark subject matter any longer and screamed for a break. Then, unable to look at the screen another second, she saved her document, grabbed her coffee cup and headed into the great room.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX sat by the French doors.

Actually slumped was a better description. Kelsey rushed towards him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Eyes closed, face paler than before, he was leaning forward with a hand cradling his forehead. His walking stick lay discarded by his feet. “It’s your head, isn’t it?”

“Go away,” he groaned through motionless lips. “I’m fine.”

“Liar. You look like you’re ready to pass out.” He looked up at her with glazed eyes, proving her point. “I’m calling your doctor. What’s his name?”

“No doctor.”

“Are you crazy? This could be a complication from your injury.” Like a blood clot or something. Her insides froze at the thought he could be seriously hurt and she hadn’t realized.

“It’s not a complication, it’s a migraine.” His eyes closed again. “I just need to sit for a while. Regain my equilibrium.”

From the looks of him, that might take a while. Kelsey didn’t think a person could look more miserable if they tried. She remembered when Rochelle, her second foster mother, would get migraines. She’d kick all the kids outside for the day, no matter the weather. “And no making noise either,” she’d order.

At her worst, Rochelle had never looked as miserable as Alex.

Remembering Rochelle made her think of something else. “Do you take anything? Some kind of prescription?”

Alex made a rumble deep in his throat. “Upstairs. In the bathroom.” He continued speaking that stiffjawed manner, as if the mere act of talking hurt.

“Do you want me to help you upstairs,” she asked, reaching for his elbow, “so you can take—”

“No!” He said the word forcefully, so much so he winced immediately, and dropped to a whisper. “I just need to sit. Alone. Please leave.”

“And let you suffer? I don’t think so. Where upstairs do you keep your prescription?”

“My bathroom medicine cabinet.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She dashed upstairs, making her way to the bedroom next to hers. Alex’s room was exactly as she expected, chic and dark and very masculine. Rust, beige and brown, like a fall landscape. Magazines and books covered what looked like an expensive, king-size bed.

She walked into the bathroom, momentarily envious of the airy modern style. The scent of wood and clove hung in the air telling her Alex had been there recently. A plastic sleeve, presumably worn to keep his cast dry, hung from the shower rod and the mat in front of the shower stall was still damp. Suddenly she was assaulted by the image of Alex standing under the stream, water cascading down his body …

Blushing from the inappropriateness, she shoved the image away. Now was not the time to start some kind of weird, useless fantasy. She found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet. Grabbing it and a glass of water, she headed back downstairs.

Alex hadn’t moved. If he hadn’t shifted uncomfortably when she walked back into the room, she’d have thought him asleep. “Probably a little late for this to kill the pain completely, but it might help a little. Hold out your hand.”

He grumbled, but did what she asked.