All About Charming Alice (7 page)

“Good night.” Her voice caught.

His finger traced a line down along her cheek, down her neck, between her breasts. She shuddered, almost wavered. Then, just that quickly, she turned, raced up the stairs in the shadow of the dim light. Didn’t look back.

The dogs followed sleepily, dark forms padding after her.

“Lucky dogs,” she heard Jace murmur.

“Just as I expected,” muttered Jace when he came down to breakfast the next morning.

The kitchen was empty. No sign of the ever-elusive, mysterious Ms. Treemont. His place had been set at the table; there was hot coffee steaming in the pot by the stove. The room was cozy, inviting and the rich smell of freshly baked muffins filled the air.

“Exactly the way a real home should be,” muttered Jace. Except this wasn’t home. Not his, anyway. He was a temporary, unwelcome boarder and Alice Treemont wasn’t going to let him forget that. What did it matter in the long run? He was a city man, not some down-home rustic.

Then, for around the ten-thousandth time, he remembered the kiss they’d shared, the way her body had sought his, and his defiant thoughts vanished. He sat, picked a muffin out of the basket beside his plate, broke it open, and took a bite. His eyes closed with pleasure.

“Blueberry,” he declared in a very satisfied voice. If freshly baked blueberry muffins weren’t absolute total bliss, they were pretty close to it, as far as he was concerned. But there was still one very important element missing as far as the ideal breakfast went. Filling two cups with coffee, he set off in search of Alice. He wanted her company. He wanted to see her sitting across the table from him. And he was mighty fed up with this game of aloofness she was so intent on playing.

At this very moment, he didn’t care if he encroached on her territory, delved into her privacy, or stomped in where he wasn’t wanted. He wanted to know every single detail about her and he would ferret it all out. No matter what barriers she’d decided to throw in his way.

“Beware, Alice Treemont,” he muttered as he stepped out into the dark hallway.

The house was silent, peaceful — friendly feeling, even. He peeked into one room, then another and couldn’t help being impressed. Faded wallpaper, fragrant, waxed wooden furniture, framed watercolors portraying various desert scenes. But still no sign of Alice.

Until, at the end of a long corridor, he saw a light under a closed door. He knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob.

And found himself in an office — or was it a library? — ceiling-high shelves sagged under the weight of books. He noted the two inviting armchairs, a high, heavily curtained window and — thank heaven for miracles — there was Alice, sitting behind a vast, old-fashioned wooden desk covered by a mound of papers and what looked like photographs. Surrounding her were, — naturally — the dogs. They, at least, acknowledged his presence with happiness, opening their eyes sleepily, thumping their tails on the wooden floor before returning to their dozing.

Alice, however, was less welcoming, but Jace couldn’t help noticing the pallor of her face, the circles under her eyes. Had she had as much trouble sleeping as he? He hoped so. Now she stared at him defiantly, as if forbidding him to approach.
Too late for that, my lady,
he thought.
You showed your true feelings last night
.

Crossing the room, he held out one of the cups of coffee and saw her hesitate. Clearly, she was determined to refuse anything he had to offer. But he simply wasn’t going to allow her to rebuff him. Not anymore. They were going to play this out like equals.

“I’m working.” Her voice was no-nonsense cold. Still, she took the coffee he handed her, cupped it in her hands.

“Yes. I see that.”
Not brilliant, Jace. You can do better.

“Your breakfast is waiting on the table.”

Trying to dismiss him again. She had a real knack for making him feel foolish too. “I saw that too. Great muffins. Also, the kitchen’s where I got this coffee, you know.”

She had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes. Thank you for bringing me a cup.”

Jace took a deep breath. “So why are you hiding from me again, Alice?”

Wordlessly, she stared at him.

“Okay. Don’t even bother answering. I already know why. You’re hiding because of what happened last night. Right?”

She was fighting not to show any reaction, but he saw the quick nervous flicker in those strange golden eyes of hers.

“But that’s not all, is it?” he continued mercilessly. He paused. Her face had gone even paler. Still, he couldn’t stop. She had to know he wouldn’t let her call
all
the shots. “You liked what we shared and you want me. Just like I want you.” He saw her wince as color rushed into her cheeks. “And you hate yourself because of it. I make you feel something and that’s exactly what you want to avoid. Feeling. Opening the door to emotions.”

Lowering her eyes, she carefully put her cup down on the desk; he couldn’t miss the faint trembling of her fingers.

“Stop prying,” she said, finally. “Stay out of my life.”

He heard the chipped ice in her voice, felt its chill reach his bones. Decided to be tough. Not to listen to the message. “No way.”

“You have no right to intrude.” The words were clipped, hard.

Looking at things from her point of view, that was certainly true. He had no rights. This was her life and she could live it the way she wanted. He was the intruder. So why didn’t he just let go? Listen to his inner voice that told him to leave the lady in peace. That there was obviously something going on here, something too complicated to untangle. That he was just here for room and board. That soon he’d be home in Chicago, away from all of this. So why persist? Why run after a woman with an intimacy issue? Why even think of charming her?

But he also saw the way she was really looking at him. With anger, yes. And passion. She was no chilly woman, and she couldn’t keep up her show of indifference. To hell with the wishy-washy inner voice that counseled prudence.

He put down his cup, just as deliberately as she had. Walked around to her side of the desk until he was standing right beside her, towering over her. Power position.

She looked up at him. Not with fear. Not that. She was a tough woman, he knew. Anyone could sense her strength vibrating in the air around her. Then, unable to resist the call of her fine, stubborn lips, he bent down, lowered his mouth to hers.

She wanted to fight him. Or she thought she did. He saw her hands rise with the intention of pushing him away. But they stopped in midair, fingers fluttering in a helpless gesture of submission. And want.

If he’d ever experienced a kiss that affected him like this, he couldn’t remember it. His senses spun, reeled. And her lips opened under his, met his demand. Sliding his hands down over her back, he again felt her body arching up toward him in mutual riotous desire.

This time he was the one who pulled back despite the senses running amok. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark. He observed her silently for a moment. Then felt his own smile. Not a smile of triumph, but one of complicity. A feeling she returned, with her eyes, her smile.

She was beautiful when her features softened like that.

Of course, what he really wanted to do now was pull her up into his arms, drag her up those steps to his big, lonely bed. Rip off the shabby cardigan and shapeless print dress that hid her. Possess every inch of her long, slender body. Watch passion chase away the last bit of reticence. But he knew he couldn’t try doing that. Not yet.
Cool down, Jace. Go slowly if you don’t want to be thrown out on your ear. There’s plenty of time in front of you.

And just then he caught sight of the photo lying on her desk. And, involuntarily, recoiled.

It was a picture of a snake — huge — curled. Thoughts of seduction and charm went spinning out of his head. “Ugh,” he muttered.

Alice’s brows arched, her eyes gleamed. But no longer with desire. “What did you just say?”

“It’s horrible.”

“What’s horrible?” She was relentless.

“That thing. That snake. It’s a rattler, isn’t it?”

“And a rattler — any snake — is something you hate?”

Jace moved to the other side of the desk, preferring to distance himself from the photo, from the vague feeling of nausea that had seized his gut. He took a deep breath. “Yes. I do.” He knew it was the wrong answer to give.

Alice might even like snakes — that wouldn’t surprise him in the least. He’d probably just sealed his doom now, ruined his chances with her. She’d mock him for his weakness, sneer him out of her life.

“What do you know about reptiles?” she asked calmly.

“Nothing.” Did he really want to pursue the subject? No, he didn’t. Better to be flippant and get this over with. “In a high-rise condo in Chicago, reptile encounters are exceedingly rare.”

She didn’t smile, only watched him with an unreadable expression. And gave him the feeling he had to justify his reaction. Just to save face, perhaps. Just so Alice wouldn’t write him off as a complete coward, a frail city boy. But how could he do it without delving into the past, into the most painful episode of his childhood? He couldn’t.

Jace lowered himself into the armchair on the opposite side of the desk.

“Okay. I’ll tell you a story.”

“Fine,” said Alice. “I’m listening.”

“It’s about something I don’t like remembering or talking about. You see, I have what I suppose you’d call a terrible revulsion or a phobia about snakes. Ever since my cousin Jerry was bitten by a coral snake.”

“A coral snake?”

“Jerry died.”

“I see.” Alice nodded her head slowly. “Where was this?”

“In Kentucky. My aunt and uncle had a cottage just past Weston. I used to go out there in the summer, visit Jerry.” So many years had passed since then, but Jace still remembered the sandy ground, scrubby pines, intense summer heat and the ubiquitous noise of insects. Even the rich smells — grass, hay, hot earth — had stayed with him, imprinted on his mind.

“It wasn’t the most exciting place on earth,” he continued. “But Jerry and I made it interesting. We’d go hiking, ramble around, discover things. One day we decided to explore an abandoned farm a few miles down the road — just poke around, see if there were ghosts in the place, or even forgotten treasure. My aunt and uncle wouldn’t have let us go out that far if they’d known, but that couldn’t stop us.”

“How old were you both?”

“I was thirteen. Jerry was two years older. I looked up to him as an authority on everything. He was the big brother I never had. And as far as snakes went, Jerry wasn’t afraid of them at all. He liked snakes, kept baby garters as pets.”

“Did he know anything about coral snakes?” Alice asked.

“He did. Or he said he did. But when we found the coral snake out on a sandy patch near an old barn, Jerry said it was a scarlet snake. That a scarlet snake can look like a coral snake, but it isn’t venomous. He wasn’t afraid at all. He went over, cornered it against the wall so he could pick it up, but it went for him. Bit him in the leg and held on. I was terrified. It finally let go and slithered away. Jerry said the bite hadn’t hurt, but I could see he was scared too because scarlet snakes never, or rarely, bite. So we decided to head for home. Even before we were halfway there, Jerry was having trouble breathing. I had to leave him by the side of the road, run for help. But it was too late.” Jace stopped.

A blind terror of snakes had stayed with him since. Would remain for life, he was certain of it. Even now, he had to force himself to look at the photo of the rattler. “And that thing looks huge.”

Alice nodded. “Around three feet long. They can grow to five feet or more, but that’s rare.”

“Are there a lot of those around here?” he asked, dreading a positive answer.

“Great Basin rattlesnakes? I found this one not a hundred feet away from the house.”

“You took that picture?”

“You can get fairly close when the weather gets cold, because they move slowly then. Besides, Great Basin rattlesnakes are timid and would rather slide away than strike.”

“That’s exactly what Jerry said about coral snakes,” said Jace dryly.

“He was right,” Alice answered. “All snakes are passive. If you leave them alone, watch them from a distance, they’d never think of hurting you. The snake that bit Jerry probably panicked because it was being cornered.”

“I know that,” said Jace. “I know that
now
. Because I had to understand what happened. To get information. Investigate.” He smiled faintly. “It was a way of living with tragedy. And I suppose, it started me out on my career of investigative journalism.”

“Turning a horrible experience into something positive.” Alice smiled at him.

“How do you know all this about snakes?” Jace asked. He’d confided in her; now it was her turn to let down her guard, tell a few secrets.

“I’m a herpetologist,” she said simply. “I study snakes, I photograph them, I write about them for nature magazines. I protect them.”

“Do you have snakes here in the house?” he asked, dreading a positive answer.

“Around the house, yes. I certainly don’t chase them off, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I see.” The list of things he had to tolerate was getting longer: desert dullness, endless dust, multi-colored dog hair, horrific reptiles — all that for a woman who was rarely welcoming, who would probably like to get him out of her house, out of her life.

“If this is a problem, Jace, I can understand your wanting to leave,” Alice said. “I did try to warn you when you said you intended to board here. I just didn’t realize it was such a big issue.”

And now she’d even found the best way of getting rid of him. But he knew one thing: he didn’t want to go — despite the snakes. If this fragile-looking woman had no fear of them, he could make an effort, tolerate their proximity, or try to. Yes, he’d stick around. For a while. Not for forever, of course. Just long enough to get to know Alice better, see what the world was like when you looked at it from her direction. Just to investigate another lifestyle. “No way I’m leaving. It’s not every day I meet a genuine herpetologist.”