All About Charming Alice (6 page)

“Alice? Look at me.”

His touch seared through the thin cotton of her dress.
Fool. Letting him touch you when you know exactly where it will lead. Get your desire under control
. She recoiled. And felt how reluctant he was to let her go. But her rejection had cooled him. He took a step backward before grabbing the shredder and what remained of the zucchini.

“Let me do it,” he said, his voice gentle.

“I’m perfectly capable … ”

“I’m not saying you aren’t. But you were getting so violent with this poor vegetable, you’d have scraped your knuckles raw. And this is supposed to be a vegetarian dinner.”

She fought to get her nerves under control. The shock of his touch had sent live current zipping through her body and logic spiraling out of the picture. Leaning back against the counter, she tried to steady her trembling hands. Well, it was pretty clear what he was after, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. Intimacy. And what if … what if she just let it happen? How would it feel to lie in his arms? As good as she thought it might?

Repressed desire propelled her into action. She had to do something …
anything
…
move, busy herself with a plate, a glass, fork, knife, and spoon. She had to push all the hot, dark, sexy ideas out of her mind.

“What were you thinking of doing?”

Her throat was dry, her heart pounded. “What?” It came out as a croak.

He was watching her curiously. “I’m finished grating the zucchini. What will you do with it?”

Relief followed confusion, turned into embarrassment.
Calm down, Alice
, she told herself.
Calm down. He can’t read your mind.

She took a deep, calming breath. “I mix the zucchini with a little flour, eggs, salt, cumin, coriander and black pepper. Make fritters and fry them. They taste wonderful with fresh yogurt and mint.”

Good. This was the way to do it: keep things at a nice, domestic level
.
Her mouth curled into a challenging smile. “Just one of those simple, homemade dishes you probably don’t have time for in big city Chicago.”

She sounded perfectly normal now, didn’t she? If she managed to keep conversation on this level, he wouldn’t have the faintest idea how he affected her. And when he left, it would be good-bye forever. She wouldn’t be just another notch on that belt around his waist, the one her fingers itched to undo.

“Zucchini fritters.” He grinned. “I’m game.” He directed his gaze toward the long wooden table where only one place had been set. “Which one of us doesn’t get to eat?”

“I’ve already eaten.”

“Nonsense.” He wasn’t going to let her rebuff him again. “We’ve both been here for an hour and you haven’t so much as nibbled.”

“You are a paying guest and have the right to eat in private.”

“More nonsense. I’m responsible for grating the zucchini, therefore, my status has changed to co-worker. Besides, I hate eating alone.”

Alice turned and stared at him with exasperation. Was there no way of discouraging the man? Didn’t he have any pride? But he only looked amused. He probably didn’t mind eating alone, had been doing it for years. He just wasn’t used to having his invitations refused. Women would never say no to a man like Jace. Maybe this was the first time he was meeting with resistance; is that why he was so determined to break down barriers? Because he needed a challenge? Because success would make him feel good? So he could go back to the city a satisfied man?

He was watching her curiously. “Look, Alice? I’d just like to spend the evening with you. Get to know you better. Talk. I’ve even brought a bottle of wine for the occasion.”

She stared at him for a minute. “Wine?”

“French. A Buzet.”

“Nice,” she said.

“I’ll bet not everyone in the state of Nevada knows a Buzet is a nice wine,” Jace murmured softly.

Her eyes locked with his. Time stopped.

Until a staccato knocking sliced into the intensity. The dogs all barked. Alice blinked, then came up for air from what seemed to be the bottom of a warm green, reedy sea. Here was the real world again, knocking at the door, begging to be let in.

“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

The unlocked front door moaned open, snapped shut, and Alice heard light tapping footsteps heading down the corridor. Rose Badger. Of course. It would be. With a new man on the horizon, nothing could discourage Rose. Why had it taken her so many days to show up?

“Alice?” Rose called.

Alice shoved down her feeling of irritation. Or was it jealousy? Ridiculous. Hadn’t it been her idea to get Rose and Jace together? If they were attracted to each other — and they certainly would be — she’d be out of the picture. And she’d also be safe from Jace, from her own emotions, from the attraction she was attempting to deny, from the riotous feelings of desire she was forcing herself not to feel. She’d be a free agent again. Alice tried, as hard as she could, to make the thought feel comforting.

“Ah, here you are.” Rose strolled into the kitchen in that naturally sexy way that was uniquely hers — you had to give it to her: when Rose made an entrance, she did it in a big way. Then she stopped, and stared at Jace. Began fluttering her lashes in a perfectly false semblance of surprise. “Oh, Alice. I thought you were here alone. Am I interrupting anything?”

Alice knew Rose’s acting talents far too well to be taken in. “Rose, this is my lodger, Jace Constant.”

“And I’m Rose Badger, Alice’s friend.” Rose gave her most winning smile.

Alice couldn’t miss the bright smile Jace gave in return, and she felt indescribably sad. And dowdy. And like an utterly useless third wheel. She and Jace had shared a delicate, magic moment only a few minutes ago, Alice was sure of it. But now she felt the magic sneak sulkily out of the room, to be replaced by a new piece of theater: the Rose Badger Show.

Now, of course, Rose would charm the socks off Jace. Rose was perfectly lovely: tonight she’d fluffed up those beautiful golden curls, and put on a delicious crushed raspberry shade of lipstick.

“Oh Alice,” sighed Rose. “What on earth are you cooking? It smells absolutely heavenly.” It was impossible to ignore the hint.

“I take it you haven’t eaten.” Alice’s tone was dry, although she did her best to muffle the sarcasm.

“I haven’t, as a matter of fact. I’m starving. There were so many clients showing up at the shop I didn’t think I’d ever get to close. I finally had to run away and come here, just to escape.”

This wasn’t the moment to mention that Rose’s clients had left her with enough time to spruce herself up for this “impromptu” visit, thought Alice, noting the tight, soft sweater that left little of Rose to the imagination. “Of course you’ll join us for dinner.”

“Alice and I were just about to sit down together and eat.” There was a little note of teasing laughter in Jace’s voice.

“Alice is a brilliant cook,” Rose chirped, unaware of any tension in the room.

“After the meals I’ve had here so far, I couldn’t agree with you more.” Jace’s eyes were still on Alice. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“Just a question of liking to experiment, I guess. I’ve always loved cooking.” Alice smiled. “And eating.”

She felt his eyes travel over her body. She knew she was all length and bones. Stringy, she called herself. With no luxurious curves to tempt him.

“No one in the world could put on an ounce if they walked as much as Alice does,” chirped Rose who must have intercepted Jace’s glance. “She must cover at least twenty miles a day with those dogs of hers.”

Why didn’t they talk about something else! Why couldn’t they just forget her existence? Alice cracked an egg on the edge of the bowl with unnecessary violence. If only Jace and Rose would stop examining her like that — as though they were observing a strange bug under a microscope. She felt her cheeks glow pink.

“Who were your clients, Rose?”

“Rich tourists. On their way to Reno.” Rose launched into a description of a woman whose face had been lifted so many times “it looked like the skin on a snare drum.”

Jace laughed, and conversation became general. Alice listened with one ear, all the while observing how well the two of them seemed to get on together. How easygoing their chat was. How simple it was to have a conversation with someone like Rose; she was honest, humorous about herself and her life. And utterly spontaneous. It would be nice to be like that.

By the time dinner was over, real complicity seemed to have grown between Rose and Jace. But Alice was in a black mood. Both had forgotten she even existed.
Never satisfied,
she chided herself.
One minute you want everyone to ignore you, and the next, you’re furious when they do.

Still, it would have been nice if Jace had resisted — just a little — Rose’s charm.

She glanced up at the ancient wooden clock ticking loudly on the opposite wall. Rose showed no sign of leaving, nor Jace of tiring. Alice was beginning to feel like a chaperone. Might as well leave the two lovebirds alone.

She stood. “Don’t forget to turn out the lights, Jace.” Her voice sounded ragged, sour. For heaven’s sake, what difference did it make to her if his interest in her had been so short-lived? She hadn’t wanted his attentions, had she? The fact that he’d let her drop so quickly showed how right she had been in her estimation of him, of the male sex in general.

“Goodness gracious,” exclaimed Rose. “Look at the time.”

“Time for bed,” said Jace, rising. Alice looked at him sharply, searching for innuendoes, trying to see if she could intercept a knowing glance between him and Rose. There wasn’t one. In fact, they were making an effort at showing that there was nothing more than polite friendliness between them.

“Bye, Alice,” said Rose and gave a little flutter of her hand.

“I’ll lock the door after you,” said Jace.

There, that would give them time alone. Look at how quickly Jace had jumped at the chance to see Rose to the door.
Alice stacked the dishes in the sink with a grim violence and tried not to notice how long he was gone, although it seemed to be hours. But she was less angry with the two of them than she was with herself and her evident jealousy.

She was so lost in morose thoughts that when Jace reappeared with a dishtowel in his hand, she jumped. He picked up a plate and began to dry it.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Drying the dishes,” said Jace calmly. “If we share the job, it’ll get done faster.” He examined her face. “And you are exhausted.”

“But you’re a paying guest! You can’t do chores.”

“I can. All you have to do is charge me extra.” He grinned.

“Look … ” Alice began.

“You’re dripping soap all over the floor.”

She was. The suds slid down over her hands.

“You can’t stop me from doing what I want, you know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a pretty determined guy.”

“I’ve noticed,” she answered grimly. Turning back to the sink, she tackled the rest of the dishes and found, despite her best intentions, that her mouth had twitched itself into a smile.

Okay. It was ridiculous, denying the pleasure his presence gave her. Standing here, side by side, doing this simple domestic chore together, it was as if they’d been doing it for years; that’s how natural it felt. She tried to calm the fluttering of her heart. He was only being nice. A polite guest.

When the last dish had finally been put away, she moved swiftly to the door. No reason on earth to prolong this intimacy a minute longer. He followed her out to the long dark corridor where only a feeble lamp burned. Pausing at the foot of the steps, she turned.

“Thanks.” She kept her voice cool, impersonal and dismissive although her nerves were pulled as tight as catgut strings on a violin. “Sleep well.”

He was standing too close, once again. He always did, come to think of it. The warmth of his body reached her in the dim, secret shadow. She saw his eyes drop to the curve of her lips and felt his want. She knew how he felt. Despite herself, despite her determination to resist, the slow flame was burning in her belly too.

He raised his hand, lifted her chin with the tip of his strong finger.

With any remaining resistance, she tried to shake her head. “No,” she whispered. She saw the gleam in his eyes. He would never accept “no” if he wanted something. Hadn’t he said that?

But he didn’t make a move.

She was the one who stepped in closer, letting her breasts caress the tightness of his chest. She was the one who sought his lips. She was the one who showed him she wanted him.

In the split second before his eyes closed, she saw the heat, the pleasure and his astonishment. He lowered his mouth to her warm, questing one, brushed her lips, once, twice. Brushed them again. Then the kiss deepened, expressed infinite desire. She soared, responded, melted, felt her hips lifting, arching against him, and when he groaned softly, she felt a thrill of triumph.

“Alice.” It was a gasp, a plea and a declaration, all at the same time. He pulled her closer.

She also wanted more, wanted him in her bed, wanted his nakedness against hers. But was it worth it? Worth the heartbreak of being a temporary partner in a lusty short affair? Here was raw desire. But what about other emotions? What about caring? Love? Those things weren’t even in the picture. They hardly knew one another.

“Stop, please, Jace!” She saw how his eyes gleamed, burned into hers.
Hot, cold, hot, cold,
they seemed to say
.
He was angry and excited, curious and confused.

Taking a deep breath he stepped back as if needing all his strength to do that.

Tease
, she chided herself bitterly.

They were both silent.

“I want you,” he said finally. “Just like you want me.”

“I need time,” she whispered raggedly. Time to think, to weigh up the consequences, to reconcile herself to the misery of a one night, or one month affair: a simple conquest.

“Alice Treemont,” he said, his voice a caress. “Alice with braids, a haunted house, the desert, and dogs. You have a wonderful erotic power, and I want to make love with you.”