Stranger in my Arms (2 page)

“Here you are, Miss Cole.”

Alex accepted a goblet filled with ice and carbonated water. “Thank you.” She took a sip, welcoming the chill bathing her throat as the man who'd come to her rescue returned. As he closed the distance between them she noticed, for the first time, his height. He was tall, as tall as her father and brothers.

However, there was something about the stranger that disturbed her more than Donald's unexpected appearance. She wasn't certain whether it'd been his eyes, the lethal calmness in his voice when he'd spoken to Donald or the speed with which he'd grabbed the man's throat. Everything about him radiated danger.

She forced a smile, dimples deepening as she extended her right hand. “I'd like to thank you, Mr…”

“Grayslake,” he said, reaching for a hand that was swallowed up in his much larger one. “Merrick Grayslake.”

Alex's smile did not slip. “Thank you, Mr. Grayslake, for diffusing what could've become somewhat embarrassing for my family.”

Merrick gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing them. He angled his head, his penetrating gaze taking in the perfection of her small, oval face in the bright light. Her eyes weren't as dark as he believed they would've been given her nut-brown coloring and inky-black hair, hair piled atop her head in sensual disarray and secured with jeweled hairpins. He fixed his gaze on her face rather than her petite, curvy body in a provocative halter dress with a generous front slit showing a liberal expanse of shapely legs. Her heels and upswept hairstyle put the top of her head at his shoulder.

“Please call me Merrick.” His voice was low, calming. “And whom do I have the pleasure of rescuing from the Big Bad Wolf?”

A soft laugh escaped her parted lips. “Alexandra Cole. But everyone calls me Alex.”

Merrick's dark eyebrows lifted with this disclosure. “Well, because I'm not everyone, I hope you don't mind if I call you Ali. Alex is for a boy.” And there was nothing about Alexandra Cole that even hinted of
boy.
Not with her curvaceous little body.

It was Alex's turned to lift her eyebrows. Over the years, she'd been called Alexa, Lexie and Zandra, but never Ali. “No, I don't mind.” Merrick moved closer and she felt his heat, inhaled the haunting fragrance of his cologne that was the perfect complement to his natural body scent.

“I can think of a way where you can really thank me, Ali.”

Alex went completely still. Merrick had gotten rid of one nuisance only to become one himself. “I don't think so, Mr. Grayslake. I don't date.”

It was Merrick's turn to recoil from her unsolicited frankness. A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. “I wasn't going to ask you out, because like you I don't date.”

She tilted her chin, the gesture obviously challenging. “Are you married?”

Merrick's impassive expression did not change. “No.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Do you prefer men?”

He blinked once and forced back a smile. “No. And to put your mind at ease, I absolutely have no interest in you romantically.”

A becoming blush darkened her face. Alex didn't know whether to be annoyed or embarrassed. Her quick tongue had gotten the better of her—yet again. She closed her eyes for several seconds as heat singed her cheeks. “I'm…I'm sorry, Merrick, but I—”

“It's all right, Ali,” he interrupted. The smile he'd struggled to hide softened the angles in his rawboned face. “There's no need to apologize. I can assure you that I'm not like your boyfriend.”

Her delicate jaw tightened when she clamped her teeth together. “Donald is
not
my boyfriend.”

“That's not what he said.”

“What did he say?”

“You were lovers.”

Alex's eyes conveyed the fury racing through her. She should've let her brothers take care of the drunken liar. “He was never
my
boyfriend or
my
lover.”

Merrick felt a strange numbed comfort with her disclosure; he'd thought Alex and Donald were having a lovers' spat. “Good for you.”

“Why? Even though you're not interested in me romantically you think you'd be better for me than Donald?”

He was momentarily speechless in his surprise. Alex Cole was as outspoken as she was beautiful, a trait he wasn't used to in the women with whom he'd been involved.

“No. That's because I've never been a good boyfriend.”

Alex took another sip of water, staring at Merrick over the rim of her goblet. “Do you realize you're an anomaly?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Most men would never admit to being less than perfect in the romance department.”

“That's because some of them are either liars or fools.”

“And you've been neither?”

Attractive lines fanned out around Merrick's luminous silver-gray eyes when a natural smile slipped under the iron-willed control he'd spent most of his life perfecting. “Wrong, Ali. I've been a fool a few times.”

He'd become a king of fools when he'd trusted a woman whose duplicity had cost him a kidney and a career with the Central Intelligence Agency.

What he didn't tell Alex was that whenever he'd gone undercover he became a liar—someone with a fictitious background. He'd become an actor in a role wherein one slip would compromise his mission. His focus hadn't been the risk that he would forfeit his life, but completing the mission. And it was always the mission.

A server approached with a tray of appetizers. She handed Merrick a napkin and he took several puff pastries, offering them to Alex. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I'm saving my appetite for dinner.”

“Speaking of saving, I'd like you to save me a dance.”

His request surprised Alex. “You want to dance with me?”

Slowly, seductively, his silver gaze slid downward before it reversed itself. “Yes.”

She felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach she found disturbing. Merrick Grayslake was disturbing to her in every way she didn't want. She would dance with the man, and after tomorrow she would never see him again.

“One dance,” she crooned, flashing her enchanting dimpled smile. She wiggled her fingers. “I'll see you later.”

Merrick stared at Alexandra Cole as she lifted the hem of her dress and walked out of the tent.

He'd come to West Palm Beach for a wedding and unwittingly found himself bewitched by a slip of a woman who just happened to be the groom's cousin.

A
lex spied her sister coming toward her. Her expression said it all: she'd recovered from her hissy fit. “That dress looks better on you than on me,” she told Ana.

The black sheath dress with a squared neckline and wide bands crisscrossing her bare back was a perfect fit. The garment's hemline, ending inches above Ana's knees, and a pair of black silk sling backs showed off her strong, shapely legs. She'd recently cut her shoulder-length curly hair, and the pixie-cut style called to mind the gamine look affected by a young Audrey Hepburn. There was never a doubt that Alex and Ana were related. In fact, she and her sister looked more alike than Ana and her fraternal twin, Jason.

Ana looped her arm through Alex's and smiled. “Thanks. Come with me.” She spun her around. “I've got a case of the munchies.” PMS always triggered a craving for salt, alcohol or chocolate. She steered her older sister back to the tent.
“Quién es él?”
she asked in Spanish, a language she and her siblings had learned from their bilingual parents.

“What you talking about?” Ana was notorious for talking in riddles.

“That guy over there staring at you.”

Alex slowed her step. She wanted to tell her sister about Merrick and Donald Easton, but knowing Ana, the story that she had a stalker boyfriend would be on the lips of their family members before the stroke of midnight.

“His name is Merrick Grayslake, and he's a guest either of Michael or Jolene.” He hadn't moved from where she'd left him.

“Damn-n-n-n-yum!”
The expletive came out in five syllables.
“El es Caliente!”
Ana whispered, sotto voce.

“He'll do,” Alex whispered back.

Leading Alex toward the bar, Ana stopped and placed the back of her hand to her sister's forehead. “Nope, you don't have a fever. Girl, is there something wrong with your eyes?”

She pushed Ana's hand away. “There's nothing wrong with my eyes. Just because I don't go buck wild over a good-looking man it doesn't mean there's something wrong with me either.”

It wasn't that she hadn't found Merrick Grayslake attractive, because he was that and more. She thought him attractive, well groomed, confident and stunningly virile.

“So, you agree with me?”

“What about?”

“That he's hot.”

“I'm too old to compartmentalize men as either hot or cold, Ana Juanita Cole.”

Ana knew she'd hit a raw nerve because Alex had called her by her full name. Sucking her teeth, she signaled for a bartender. “And you're beginning to take life a bit too serious, Alexandra Ivonne Cole. Ever since you came back from Europe you've become someone I don't know or recognize. Lighten up, Alex, or you're going to turn into a bitter old woman.”

Alex swallowed an angry retort. Ana wasn't the only one who'd mentioned that she'd changed. Perhaps it was because she'd matured while living abroad, that she had come into her own and knew what she wanted for her future.

Growing up as Alexandra Cole had afforded her a life of privilege. As a member of one of the wealthiest black families in the States, she and any woman who claimed the Cole name or blood were pampered and adored by their male counterparts and relatives. But as she matured she rebelled against the restriction that wouldn't let her travel like other young women who flew on commercial carriers, when she was forced to take the family-owned jet.

She'd lost count of the number of times she'd denied being “one of those Coles” when someone inquired about her name. Being the granddaughter of America's first black billionaire, the daughter of award-winning musician David Cole had distanced her from her contemporaries the moment she drew breath.

“I don't have time for a man.”

“Yeah, right,” Ana drawled. The two words dripped sarcasm. “You, Miss Party Animal, giving up men. I'm your sister, so spare me the melodrama.”

Alex's expression stilled and grew serious. “I'm not going to argue with you, Ana. So spare me the lecture.” She glanced over her shoulder. Merrick was gone.

Ana held up a hand in supplication. “Okay. No lectures. We're here to celebrate Michael and Jolene's wedding, and I intend to have a good time.” She waved a bartender over, flashing a sensuous dimpled smile. “I'd like two apple martinis.”

“I'm going to need some ID, miss.”

Ana's smile was dazzling as she gawked at the delicious-looking Jesse Metcalf look-alike. “I can assure you that I am over the legal drinking age.”

He winked at her. “You can't blame a guy for checking, beautiful.”

Alex rolled her eyes upward. Her sister was at it again. She was a serial flirt. Ana flirted while she'd sworn off men—at least temporarily. After Alex finished her course work, earned her degree and secured a position as an architectural historian, then she would consider becoming involved with someone. At the present time that was not an option.

Ana handed Alex a glass with a pale green liquid. “Drink up and loosen up, sis.” She touched her glass to Alex's.

Alex took a deep swallow of the icy-cold cocktail, feeling its potent properties immediately. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes. “Ahh-hh. That is good.”

Taking a deep swallow of her drink, Ana inclined her head in agreement. “Ditto.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, I'm going to ask you to take your seats. We'll be starting in less than fifteen minutes.” The voice of the wedding planner, who was carrying a cordless microphone, was heard over the murmurs of those gathered under the tent.

Alex and Ana placed their glasses on the bar simultaneously. It had been a couple of years since they'd celebrated a family wedding, and whenever the Coles came together it was always a festive and momentous event.

 

Merrick ignored the young woman on his right. The psychologist, a coworker of Jolene Walker's, had talked incessantly without pausing to take a breath. He'd met her when Michael and Jolene hosted a dinner party at their Georgetown home. His expression reflected ennui while his gaze was averted less than ten feet away; his rapt attention was directed toward Alexandra Cole.

She sat next to a man, her head resting on his shoulder, and he assumed the man was her father. He didn't know what it was about the petite raven-haired, outspoken minx that fascinated him, yet knew realistically he couldn't uncover what it was in a few hours. One thing he was certain of, it wasn't lust.

Lust was an emotion he'd learned to control with the onset of puberty. The realization that he could father a child reopened a wound that had festered, healed and reopened to fester again each time he was shuttled from one foster home to the next.

His libido was strong, healthy, but he'd learned to control his physical urges. Whether it was fasting, meditation or exercising to the point of exhaustion, he refused to succumb to lusting after a woman just to slake his sexual frustrations.

Merrick reluctantly tore his gaze from Alex to Jolene Walker as her father led her down the flower-strewn carpeted path where Michael waited along with his best man, Damon McDonald, to make her his wife.

“Doesn't Jolene look beautiful?” the young woman whispered reverently.

“Yes.”

Merrick was back to offering monosyllabic responses. The woman hadn't lied. Michael had confided to him that Jolene was carrying his child; impending motherhood appeared to enhance Jolene's natural stunning beauty that had most men holding their breaths and taking a second look whenever she entered a room.

The ceremony seemed surreal to Merrick as images of other weddings he'd attended in the past came rushing back, superimposed over the one taking place before him. He recalled those of his foster care siblings, fellow marines he'd met in the corps and one during a covert mission. He'd been so deep undercover that the man whom the U.S. had targeted as a terrorist had asked Merrick to be his witness at an impromptu wedding ceremony.

Applause brought him out of his reverie. Fifteen minutes had passed. It was over. Michael and Jolene Kirkland were now husband and wife, and he'd emotionally distanced himself from the ritual. As long as he did not acknowledge weddings, births and funerals he was able to plan for the next day.

Abandoned at birth, and not knowing his mother, his father or what he was had left a gaping hole inside Merrick that left him feeling detached and empty. Standing with the other guests and family members, he applauded the newlyweds as they traversed the path to a position where they'd receive those who'd come to help celebrate their new life together.

 

Alex felt the muscles under the jacket of her father's arm tense up before relaxing, wondering whether he'd reacted to his son Gabriel's rich baritone voice singing “True Companion,” his nephew exchanging vows with his bride or that it wasn't one of his own children getting married.

David Cole had endured the relentless teasing of his brothers, Martin and Joshua, that he would never become a grandfather because his four children appeared to shun relationships that would eventually end in marriage.

It wasn't that Alex did not want to marry. It was that she wasn't ready for it. She had plans, ones that did not include a husband and children at this time in her life.

She lifted from his shoulder. “Jolene looks beautiful,” she whispered.

David nodded and smiled. “She does,” he whispered back.

Alex glanced up at her father's profile. The diamond studs in his ears were a constant reminder that David Cole was the least traditional of the offspring of Samuel and Marguerite-Josefina Cole.

The faint scar running along his left cheek was also a constant reminder of the former musician's brush with death. Her father, who as CEO of ColeDiz International, Ltd., met her mother during a business trip to Costa Rica. He'd traveled to the Central American country to negotiate the sale of a banana plantation and found himself hostage of a deranged government official. He'd escaped, resigned his position with the family-owned conglomerate and set up Serenity Records.

She never tired hearing the story of how her parents met and fell in love. When she was a child it had become her favorite fairy tale, one wherein she'd imagined herself a princess who waited for her prince to rescue her from an evil king.

Princesses, princes and fairy tales were a part of her childhood with indelible memories of a home filled with laughter, music, exotic food and stories of Serena Morris-Cole's life in Costa Rica.

“Alex, are you all right?”

Alex's eyelids fluttered wildly, as she seemed to come out of a trance. “I'm fine, Daddy.”

Overhead light shimmered on David's close-cropped silver hair. He smiled at his wife and daughter. “I don't know about you two, but I'm ready to eat, drink and party until the sun comes up.”

Serena's short, reddish-brown hair framed a face that belied her age. She smiled up at her husband. “Steady there, sport. Do I have to remind you that you're sixty-seven, not twenty-seven?”

Lowering his head, David brushed a kiss over her mouth. “If you'd met me when I was twenty-seven you never would've been able to keep up with me.”

Alex walked ahead of her parents rather than listen to their banter. They had been married for more than thirty years and were still madly in love with each other. If and whenever she fell in love she wanted what her parents had—a love that promised forever.

As she waited in the receiving line, she spied Merrick with a blonde clinging possessively to his arm. The woman was so close to him they could've been joined at the hip. Merrick glanced up, his gaze meeting and fusing with Alex's. A beat later they both looked away.

Playa!
He'd asked her for a dance when he'd come with a date.
Liar!
she continued with her mental tirade. He said that he didn't date. But what did he call the woman draped over him like a second skin?

She shook her head. That was why she didn't date; she could not afford to be distracted by romantic notions. And like her free-spirited parents, she planned to eat, drink and party until the sun came up.

Alex inched along in the receiving line until she stood face-to-face with her cousin and his wife. Rising on tiptoe she wound her arms around Michael's neck and pressed her cheek to his smooth brown jaw.

“Felicidades, primo.”

Michael Kirkland's green eyes shimmered like priceless emeralds. “Thanks, Alex.”

She moved to her right, standing in front of Jolene. Extending her arms, she gave her a gentle hug. The two women had met for the first time earlier that morning. “Congratulations, cousin.”

Jolene, resplendent in a simple empire strapless sheath of crepe that shimmered like liquid through a lacy coat in an off-white shade, looked like a Shakespearean princess. Her short naturally curly hair was covered with a circlet of tiny white roses and baby's breath instead of a veil.

Jolene returned Alex's hug. “Thank you, Alex.”