Stranger in my Arms (8 page)

“Forgive me, sweetheart.”

The endearment seemed to take the fight out of her. Within a span of a minute Merrick had called her
baby
and
sweetheart
. What happened to friend?

Looping her free arm around his neck, Alex buried her face between his neck and shoulder and closed her eyes. He smelled of soap. Merrick had showered and shampooed his hair but hadn't shaved, and the dark stubble on his jaw and chin accentuated the masculinity he wore like a badge of honor.

She kissed the side of his strong neck. “I'll think about.”

Merrick massaged her back over a sweatshirt. “Don't think too long, beautiful.”

Alex eased back, giving him a long, penetrating stare. “What's going on between us, Merrick?”

He sobered, his expression closed. “What are you talking about?”

“Why are you calling me baby and sweetheart instead of Ali? And what happened to the pecks on the lips and cheeks? When you kissed me last night and I kissed you back, there was nothing friendly in what we shared.” Reaching up, she smoothed down several wayward strands of damp hair over his ear. “What are we doing to each other, Merrick?”

Merrick cradled her head, his fingers massaging her scalp. “We are friends, Ali.” He enunciated each word.

“But—”

“No buts, Ali,” he said softly, interrupting her. “I like you—a lot—but I'm not going to take advantage of you. That's not my style.”

Her gaze met and held his as she anchored her arms under his shoulders. “And I promise not to take advantage of you.”

Merrick released her head, momentarily speechless in his surprise. “You're incredible,” he whispered.

She gave him a saucy grin. “You just realized that?” she drawled without a modicum of modesty.

“Trash-talking will result in another beach-ball toss.”

“You wouldn't.”

Merrick nodded. “I would.”

She pantomimed zipping her mouth and Merrick threw back his head and howled. Her laughter joined his as the unrestrained shared moment brought them closer together, cementing their friendship.

 

Alex was lost—lost in the splendor of the rugged countryside—and she'd lost track of the days, time. And she'd done what she'd prayed would not happen—she'd lost her heart to Merrick Grayslake.

Their relationship was uncomplicated and open. He hadn't tried to kiss her again, and for that Alex was grateful. Any display of affection would make her leaving more difficult.

They developed a comfortable routine of waking early and walking in the frigid morning air before returning to the house to prepare monstrous breakfasts. She cleaned the kitchen while he chopped enough wood to feed the gluttonous wood-burning stoves from the stack stored in a shed at the rear of the house. All the wood came from trees on the five-acre property. Merrick contracted to have trees felled and cut into large stumps. He claimed chopping firewood was his way of staying in shape.

The man she'd fallen in love with continued to mystify her when he opened the garage to reveal a functioning body shop with two classic cars he'd restored to their original state. One was a 1948 pickup and the other a 1952 station wagon with wood paneling. When she asked whether he planned to sell them he'd given her an incredulous look that spoke volumes, then said emphatically, “No.”

He'd amassed an extensive reading and video library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves in the family room were packed tightly with fiction bestsellers and titles pertaining to history and military battles.

Most nights found them in the family room viewing movies. Alex preferred movies with foreign settings with romantic themes while Merrick liked sci-fi and action thrillers.

Fifteen minutes into
Man On Fire,
Merrick paused the DVD and stared at her. The film's theme dealt with the claim that every hour throughout Latin America someone was kidnapped and held for ransom. Alex belayed his fear that she would be a target of kidnappers because she'd enrolled in the
universidad
as Alexandra Morris. Her birth records listed her as Alexandra Ivonne Morris-Cole, and when she studied abroad transcripts listed her surname as Morris.

She was forced back to reality and what lay ahead of her when a call from Diego reminded Alex that he would accompany her on the flight to Mexico City before he continued on to Belize to meet with a consortium of banana growers.

The return drive to Arlington was accomplished in complete silence as she agonized over how was she going to leave Merrick now that she knew she was in love with him. And her love wasn't based on sex, because they hadn't slept together, and for that she was grateful. There was no way she wanted to confuse a physical connection with one that was emotional.

 

Merrick stood in the foyer with Alex, cradling her face in his hands. The eyes staring back at him were steady, trusting. He found himself at a loss when he longed to tell her how much he'd enjoyed their time together, how she'd managed to slip under the invisible wall he'd erected to keep all women at a distance, how much she'd changed him and how much he'd come to love her.

He loved everything about her, inside and out. He'd asked for friendship, got it, but wanted more. And the more was love. He wanted Alex to love him because he'd fallen in love with her.

“May I call you?” he asked.

Alex's lashes fluttered as she tried bringing her fragile emotions under control. “Of course you may. Call me at night because it's your voice I want to hear before I go to sleep.”

“Are you living on campus?”

“No. I'm staying in a converted convent near the
universidad
.” Her mood brightened. “Are you thinking of coming to visit me?”

Merrick's impassive expression did not change. “Do you want me to?”

A smile fired the gold in her large eyes. “Yes.”

“It won't interfere with your studies?”

“As soon as I get my schedule I'll let you know when I have a break.”

Lowering his chin, he lifted his dark, sweeping eyebrows. “I'll come to see you on one condition.”

“I know,” she said, laughing. “No museums.”

He winked at her. “You learn fast.”

“Not as fast as you,” she countered. Moving closer, she wound her arms under his shoulders. “I'm going to miss you, friend.”

Merrick dropped a kiss on her hair. Her curls reminded him of a field of wildflowers. “Hush, baby,” he crooned. “I'll see you so much that you'll get sick of me.”

“Never.”

“Never say never, Ali.”

Pulling back, she met his serious gaze. Like a chameleon he'd changed. Gone was the teasing man she'd come to look for, and in his place was the one who frightened her. Once again, he'd become a stranger.

She forced a smile she didn't feel. “I'll call you.” Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over his compressed lips.
“Hasta luego.”

“Hasta luego,”
Merrick repeated. Turning on his heel, he opened the door, then closed it softly behind him.

Alex stood there for a full minute before she sat down on the chair next to the foyer table and closed her eyes. Everything she'd shared with Merrick Grayslake flooded her mind like frames of film: the night they lay in front of the fireplace and he told her how he'd been abandoned at birth, their trips to countless D.C. museums and art galleries that always ended with them drinking lattes at Starbucks. The nights she'd dressed up to share dinner with him at his hotel's restaurant, and the days and nights at the house in Bolivar where she'd learned to appreciate nature in all its wintry splendor.

What she didn't want to recall was the image of Merrick in a tank top and jeans chopping wood in the noonday sun. Each time he swung the ax, the muscles in his back and upper arms tightened and relaxed under the strenuous exertion. The first time she saw the shirt, wet from sweat, pasted to his body, it had excited her so much that she went inside the house until he completed the chore. The images returned in an erotic dream that left her aching with a desire that threatened to swallow her whole.

Opening her eyes, she came back to reality. Alex didn't know where her relationship with Merrick would lead, but she knew it had to be resolved. The two large pieces of luggage sitting in the foyer reminded her that in less than two hours she would be on her way to Mexico City. She stood up and made her way to her bedroom to exchange her boots, wool slacks and sweater for a cotton dress and sandals.

When she emerged she was ready for Mexico City
and
her destiny.

A
lex found it hard to stay focused. She and the other students in her class had spent the past half hour staring at the image of an Olmec stone figure projected on the screen in the lecture hall.

The professor, a slight, middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a flair for the dramatic, had waxed eloquent about how the Olmec's “mother culture” inspired a series of successor cultures, including Maya settlements that began forming in the Mexican-Guatemala border region around 500 BC.

Move on and change the blasted slide!
she fumed inwardly. They were a month into the new term and she'd learned more from reading than she had during her lectures. Alex was enthralled with Mexico's history and its people, but Professor Riviera was making it increasingly difficult for her to stay awake in his classes, and the downside was that she had him for three Mexican art courses.

Pretentious prig,
she continued in her silent tirade, scowling.

“Señorita Morris, perhaps you can tell your fellow students the timeline for the rise and fall of the Olmec civilization.”

Everyone's attention was directed to Alex as she glared at their professor. There was a pregnant silence as she composed her thoughts.

“Records show that the first Olmec settlements were established around 1500 BC. In 900 BC the Olmec city of San Lorenzo was destroyed and desecrated. Historians and archaeologists are unsure who or what led to the destruction and the Olmec civilization faded into obscurity.”

Rivera smiled. “What else can you tell us about this culture?” he asked.

“They built ceremonial centers rather than cities, which suggests they were governed by a central authority. The Olmecs carved blocks of basalt into figures with massive heads like the one on the screen and other sculptures with stylized feline features. There is evidence they had ceramics, and digs have recovered jade figurines from this civilization.”

Nodding his approval, the professor of design and art of ancient cultures, pressed his palms together. “
Bien dicho,
Señorita Morris. It appears you are quite serious in your endeavor to learn about Mexico's rich and colorful history.”

Alex gave him a saccharine grin. “If I weren't, then I assure you I wouldn't be here.”

“I told you he has the
hots
for you,” whispered the student sitting next to her. Alex and Moira Morgan had formed a friendship within days of Alex settling into her room at the centuries-old converted convent she would call home for the semester. Moira, a tall, blond, thin Oklahoman, who spoke fluent Spanish, had ended a yearlong relationship with the son of a Texas oilman to study abroad. Alex cut her eyes at Moira. She'd come to Mexico to earn a degree, not form a relationship with her professor. Her mantra had become: once burned, twice shy.

“Señores y señoritas.”
Hernando Rivera addressed all women, whether married or single, as miss. “I would like to invite all of you to my home Saturday evening. A colleague has deigned to exhibit his private collection of art before donating it to several museums.”

A chorus of groans and murmurs followed his announcement as a hand went up in the back of the lecture hall.
“Señor profesor, la asistencía es obligatoria?”

Professor Rivera gave the young man an incredulous look. “What do you think, Señor Salinas?”

“Yes, it is,” said the red-faced student, answering his own query.

“You all have my address and telephone number. I will expect everyone at eight.” He held up a hand. “Before you ask, you may bring a guest.”

The bell rang signaling the end of classes and Alex gathered her books. It was her last class for the day and week. At least it was before Rivera's mandate that everyone attend an impromptu gathering at his home.

She attended classes Monday through Thursday, cleaned her apartment, picked up her laundry and shopped for groceries on Friday, slept late on Saturday and either stayed home or went out with Moira and a few other classmates Saturday night. Sundays were set aside for attending mass and doing homework. She liked everything about Mexico, its people and the cuisine.

But she missed home
and
Merrick, but managed to stave off homesickness by staying busy. She alternated calling and writing her parents and exchanging telephone calls with Merrick.

He kept her updated on national news, while she told him about the political climate in Mexico. He disclosed he'd spent several days with Michael and Jolene, who'd returned rested and tanned from their Jamaican honeymoon, and it was only after their calls ended that she felt totally isolated. She'd become an alien in a foreign land.

The week before, she'd sent him a letter with postcards bearing the art of Mexican muralists Diego Rivera, David Siqueiros, José Orozco and her favorite Mexican artist, Frida Kahlo. She included a note that read:
You don't have to go to a museum or gallery to enjoy these.—AIM-C.

“I've got better things to do with my Saturdays than look in Rivera's face,” Alex mumbled as she slipped her books into a backpack.

“I've heard he hosts some wonderful get-togethers at his house,” Moira said, gathering her own books.

“I still would rather pass.”

A sardonic smile parted Moira's pale mouth. She never wore makeup during the week, but weekends transformed her into a siren when she replaced long skirts and dresses and wooden clogs with skintight garments and artfully applied makeup that highlighted her dark blue eyes in a tightly tanned face.

“We'll show up and eat his food and drink up all of his tequila, then leave. Someone on our floor said they're going to a club near the Zona Rosa where they play music from the States on Saturday nights.”

“Who told you?” Alex asked as they made their way out of the lecture hall and down a hallway in the centuries-old building that had been dedicated to the study of Mexican art and architecture.

She hadn't bothered to make friends with the other students who had a habit of hanging out in one another's rooms. All of the rooms were equipped with a small utility kitchen, private bath and an expansive living/sleeping/dining area.

Alex cooked for herself during the week and took her meals at local restaurants on the weekend. With her dark hair and coloring, she was easily taken for a local; she wanted to blend in and not stand out as a foreigner. And it was not the first time that she was grateful her parents taught her Spanish.

“Umberto.”

“Isn't he the one who's been hitting on you?” Moira blushed to the roots of her pale hair.
“Cuidado, chica. Umberto puede ser la causa del problema,”
Alex warned in Spanish.

She wanted to tell Moira that she'd heard rumors that the handsome art student was keeping count of the number of women he could sleep with before the school year ended.

“If there's going to be a problem, then it's going to be for Umberto because I have no intention of going to bed with him.”

Alex gave her a sidelong glance. “I suppose you've heard about his exploits?”

“I saw him in action. I take that back. I saw him with his ass out. The first night I moved in I saw him leaving someone's room, clothes in hand. His behind was beet-red as if he'd been paddled.”

Alex wrinkled her nose. “Phew! It looks as if Casanova is a freak.”

“He can get his freak on, but without me.”

“I hear you.”

The two women discussed an upcoming exam covering the Mayan calendar. They were still deep in conversation when they reached their student housing. They entered through an open courtyard that led to a smaller courtyard and the large decorative wrought-iron gate that protected the property from outsiders. Inserting a magnetic card into a slot a buzzing and green light deactivated the lock.

Alex pushed open the door, stepping into a lobby and waiting room. The difference between the outdoor heat and the cooler indoor temperature was almost fifteen degrees. Two-foot-thick adobe walls kept the heat at bay.

The young woman who manned the front desk waved to Alex. “Miss Morris, there is someone waiting for you.” All visitors had to wait to be announced.

“Who is it?”

“He's sitting over there.” She pointed to her left.

Alex turned slowly to find a man, legs outstretched, sitting on a
butaca,
a leather sling chair; she couldn't see his face in the dimly lit space, but she recognized the hand resting on his thigh.

“Merrick.” His name came out in a whisper. “Merrick!” she shouted when he came to his feet. Closing the distance between them, she launched herself at this chest, her arms gripping his neck.

“Baby,” he crooned close to her ear. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her off her feet. The distinctive lines around his eyes deepened as he gave her a dazzling smile.

Alex brushed a kiss over his smiling mouth. “What are you doing here?”

He gave her a quick kiss. “I came to visit with my girlfriend.”

She pressed her forehead to his, her lips caressing the bridge of his nose. “How did you find me?”

Merrick's gaze photographed every inch of her face, noting the changes. Her hair was longer, the Mexican sun had darkened her face to a rich, mocha brown and she'd replaced the diamond studs in her pierced lobes with a pair of large gold hoops. Alexandra Cole was beautiful
and
sexy.

“You put your return address on the letter you sent me with those blasted cards.”

A sound of someone clearing their voice caught Alex's attention. “Please, put me down, Merrick.”

He complied and she turned to find Moira staring at them, foot tapping and arms crossed under her breasts. Holding on to Merrick's hand, she led him over to her classmate.

Alex had to admit that a month's absence made him even more attractive. His close-cropped hair hugged his head like a cap, and it appeared as if he'd put on weight, because the hollows in his cheeks were less pronounced. Today he wore a lightweight gray jacket over a sky-blue shirt, open at the throat, that he hadn't bothered to tuck into the waistband of a pair of navy-blue slacks. Italian slip-ons had replaced his ubiquitous Timberland boots.

“Moira, this is my very good friend, Merrick Grayslake. Merrick, Moira Morgan.”

Moira extended a limp wrist. “It's nice meeting you, Merrick.”

He nodded, reaching for her fingers. “It's nice meeting you, too.”

Moira shifted a leather book bag from one shoulder to the other. “I'm going to head up to my room and take siesta.” She knew she was staring at Merrick longer than what would be termed polite, but he was drop-dead gorgeous. Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze to Alex. “I'll talk to you Saturday.”

“Okay.”

Alex looped her arm through Merrick's. Never had she been so glad to see someone. But she had to admit that he wasn't just someone. He was the man with whom she'd fallen in love.

“When did you get in?”

“I came in on the red-eye a little after three.”

“You must be exhausted. Come on up to my room. We'll take siesta together.”

Merrick followed Alex as she led him down a narrow hallway to a stone staircase that led to the second story. He was exhausted, having spent a restless two days deciding whether he should go to Mexico. But he also wanted to tell Alex that taking siesta together wasn't a very good idea.

Talking to Alex had only served to increase his longing for her. She hadn't given him her address and he knew he would never ask her for it; however, his dilemma was solved when he received the packet with the postcards. She'd indicated her return address and that presented the opportunity he needed to come and tell her what lay in his heart.

“The accommodations here are simple but comfortable,” Alex explained as she opened the door to her room.
“Bienvenido.”

He stepped into the room, not seeing any of the furnishings. Reaching for Alex, he slipped the straps to her backpack off her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor, and closed the heavy oaken door with his foot. Lifting her off her feet, he crossed the room and sat her on the twin-size bed, his body following hers down. Flames of desire darkened his eyes; the silver had disappeared, and in its place was a shocking dark topaz blue.

Alex moved over and straddled Merrick's lap, her hands cradling his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his cheekbones and jaw. “Why did you come, Merrick?”

“Isn't it obvious, sweetheart?”

Her gaze fused with his. “No. I've never been one to make assumptions.”

Merrick closed his eyes, a thick fringe of lashes brushing the ridge of sculpted cheekbones. A knowing smile parted his lips. “I lied when I told you that I liked you.” She gasped. He opened his eyes, meeting her questioning gaze. “The truth is I love you, Alexandra Cole. I kept telling myself that I wanted you as a friend, that we could be friends, but it just didn't work.”