Hideaway Cove (A Windfall Island Novel) (29 page)

P
aige Walker—Oscar winner, Tony nominee, Hollywood’s Darling, and America’s Sweetheart—surveyed her gurgling toilet and thought about just how far she’d fallen. One minute she’d been on top of the world—hell, she’d owned the world, or at least the part of it that either made movies or saw them. And those were the people who’d mattered to her. It gave her no pleasure to admit that now. In fact, it made her feel even smaller—if that were possible—after the very people, those moviemakers and moviegoers she’d once treasured, had dropped her flat on her religiously exercised and very well-shaped ass.

Then she smiled, because instead of the inevitable rocky landing, Windfall Island had caught her. Or maybe they’d let her catch herself. It had been her idea to come home, but after ten years without a single visit, they could have shunned her. Or worse.

One call to the press would have brought reporters circling like vultures to peck at her already bruised feelings, photographers to snap up whatever scraps of her privacy remained, so they could perpetuate and feast off the scandal that had rocked her world and sent her running to the only place she’d thought she could find shelter, welcome, and acceptance.

Whether or not the Windfallers believed she’d made the sex tape currently burning up the World Wide Web, not one of them had ratted her out. Once a Windfaller, she thought fondly, always a Windfaller. There’d been a time that would have embarrassed her.

But she’d learned the value of friendship.

She’d learned the value of home, too, something else she’d discovered too late.

Her doorbell chimed the first four notes of “Somewhere My Love,” and she curved up the corners of her mouth as she made her way downstairs. “Somewhere My Love” was the theme song of
December Sunshine
; Laura Galloway had been her breakout role, the one that had made her famous at the ripe old age of eighteen. Just yesterday, she recalled, and yet so long ago.

She opened the door, then managed to stop herself from shutting it again, even as her mouth flattened. Alec Barclay—tall, dark, handsome, and hostile—stood on her front stoop.

“‘Somewhere My Love’?” he said, his deep voice dripping with sarcasm.

She snapped back, drew Paige Walker—the slightly raised brow, the purposely sarcastic smile, the overtly sexual body language—around her like armor. And gave him an explanation, because she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing his opinion mattered to her. “I had the house renovated after my father died.”

Even knowing he was gone, she’d hadn’t had the heart to sell the house, although she’d had it renovated to her exact specifications. After that she’d rented it out to summer vacationers who preferred the semblance of home to the convenience of a hotel. When she’d first walked in, she’d been pleased and surprised to discover it still had the feel of a cottage, even with the modern improvements.

She’d had the back windows widened to bring the Atlantic, with all her moods, right into the house. Otherwise, she’d gone for utility, comfort and peace. The kitchen was granite, glass and stone, with appliances paneled to match the cabinets. The rest of the house boasted dark wood floors, furniture chosen for comfort, and walls in a pale cream color that seemed to glow warmly in even the tiniest amount of light.

“I’m not sure what the contractor was thinking when he chose those particular chimes for the doorbell,” she continued, “but since he’s a Windfaller, I’m leaning toward humor rather than flattery.”

“There was nothing funny about
December Sunshine
.”

“Ah, you’re a moviegoer.”

“I was dating a woman who liked that kind of sappy melodramatic romance.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry she made you suffer so horribly. But you probably deserved it.”

“No man deserves that kind of punishment.”

Paige leaned against the edge of the door, truly amused now, instead of only acting so. “Millions of people around the world would disagree with you, including the critics.
December Sunshine
won several awards.” And so had she.

He shrugged. “No accounting for taste.”

“True, but it’s not too late for you to cultivate some,” she said, nearly laughing out loud when he only sent her a bland stare. “Why are you here?”

He hefted the toolbox she hadn’t noticed he was holding. “To fix your toilet.”

She felt only a split second of surprise before she retreated into her role, but Alec Barclay was nothing if not observant.

“I can fix a toilet,” he said with the snap of insult in his voice.

“Who said you couldn’t?”

“You did, by the way you looked at me.”

“Well, Counselor,” she said, “it’s not every day one of the Boston Barclays shows up at my front door to play plumber.”

“There’s more to me than a suit and a family name.”

She smiled. “Don’t like it when someone makes assumptions about you?”

His brows beetled over eyes gone frosty gray. “Can we just get this over with so I can get Jessi and Maggie off my back?”

Now her smile widened, and when he stared at her she realized she’d let her guard down. But she’d grown up with Jessi Randal and Maggie Solomon, and while their paths had diverged for ten years…Okay, she was the one who’d neglected to maintain the connection. But now they’d come back together, and proven there was a silver lining in every cloud.

Those who’d sought to bring her down had instead reminded her of what was important in life, and therefore given her a precious gift, one she wouldn’t take for granted again.

“I’ll wait for Yancy,” she said, referring to Walt Yancy, the one and only plumber on the island.

“Now you’re just being stupid.”

“Well, put another black mark in my character column, Counselor.”

“This is ridiculous,” Alec said, and shoved by her to stand, dripping, in her foyer. “Where’s the bathroom?” He stripped off his coat and handed it to her, retrieved the toolbox from where he’d set it, then turned in a slow circle before heading off toward the kitchen.

Paige threw his coat to the floor and followed him, collecting her cell phone from the counter before she followed him into the little hallway leading to her back door, with her laundry room on one side and the downstairs powder room on the other.

Alec took one look into the little half bath, with its pale blue walls and crisp white and chrome fixtures, and turned on his heel. “That one’s fine,” he said abruptly, brushing by her again to retrace his steps to the staircase opposite the front door.

She whisked up the stairs behind him and into the master bedroom, and found him staring at her bed, an old iron frame she’d found online and had hired Maisie Cutshaw to paint white and dress with a quilt of her mother’s.

He glanced over his shoulder, their eyes locked, and heat slammed into her, a wall of heat and hunger that arrowed straight to her belly then spread through her. When his gaze dropped, she felt it slide over her like a caress—but not a particularly gentle one, considering the set of his jaw.

“Calling the sheriff?” he said. “Going to report a breaking and plumbing?”

She looked down, remembering the cell phone in her hand. And felt foolish for thinking he’d spent even a split second admiring her body. Alec Barclay wanted nothing to do with her, lust notwithstanding.

This time when she met his eyes, she had no trouble recalling that. “I’d tell you to stop being an ass, but it’s too late.”

“I’d tell you a thing or two,” he said with a faint smile and a quick glance at the bed, “but my mother would know somehow.”

“Afraid of your mother?”

“I’d call it healthy respect.”

“Nice to know you respect someone.”

“I respect a lot of people.”

“Just not me.”

He shrugged. “That’s your take.”

“Right.” She crossed her arms. “Nothing you’ve said or done would lead me to believe your opinion of me is slightly lower than subterranean.”

“Gives you plenty of room for improvement.”

“Maybe if I cared what you think.” His grin brought a smile to her face. They both liked a little conflict, it seemed. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll watch one of my movies and bask in my own greatness. I’d say it’s been nice, but—”

“But you don’t like me. Since I’m only here to provide menial labor, you can think of me as one of the little people who are easily overlooked.”

That did it. Maybe because he was right—not that she’d overlooked the “little people,” but because she’d thought of them like children, whose love she never had to question. Until they’d bought into a lie—just like Alec Barclay.

She stepped in front of the bathroom door. “Get out.”

He simply shifted her aside. He didn’t touch her any longer than necessary, she noticed.

“I’ll go,” he said, “just as soon as I’m done.” He walked into the bathroom and set down his toolbox. His eyes went from the still-gurgling toilet to the bathtub, a bottle of cleaner and rubber gloves on the edge of it. He looked over his shoulder, both eyebrows raised.

“I know how to clean a bathtub.”

He snorted softly. “I’d take some photos, if I thought anyone would believe it.”

No, but they’d believe she would prostitute herself with a director so he’d cast her, when in reality all it would take was a phone call from her agent to have them begging her to be in their little movie.

But while she didn’t blame the public for being taken in, Alec Barclay should have given her the benefit of the doubt. There were two sides to every story, right? A lawyer should know that. A lawyer should at least ask her if the rumors were true. Alec Barclay—well, she didn’t know why he wanted to believe the worst of her. But he did.

“Small minds always believe what’s easiest,” she said.

“All minds believe what they see.”

“Oh, so you’ve watched it?”

“No.” And she could see he realized how neatly he’d trapped himself. “But you haven’t denied it.”

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Counselor. We’re not in court, even if you’re playing judge and jury.”

“The innocent don’t run away and hide.”

“Get. Out.” She bit off the words, let anger take her toe-to-toe with him.

He loomed over her; she glared up at him. Her heaving chest brushed his, and with their mouths only inches apart, the heat of fury turned to a fire in her blood. Her eyes dropped to his mouth. If she lifted to her toes, or he leaned down…

She raised her eyes, saw the heat in his, the edge of temper turning to desire. But as he started to close the distance between them, she took a step back.

She had no idea what to do with the need burning through her like molten gold, but she knew if he saw it they were both lost. So she turned away. She couldn’t let him see how desperately she wanted him, how it stung to know he saw her as a fame…junkie. If he knew and pushed, she’d let him think whatever he wanted, as long as he touched her. Took her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his deep voice still so close beside her, driving the ache of need even higher.

It was a need she could so easily surrender to. Alec wouldn’t say no.

And she would only look cheaper in his eyes than she already did.

“Suppose we call a truce?” she suggested. “I don’t like the idea of pulling our friends into”—she spread her hands, risked a glance at him—“whatever this is.”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I’ll be at the Horizon later. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

“No, I really don’t think so.”

“You’re going to hold a grudge because I almost…”

“You don’t matter enough for a grudge, Counselor. I’ve had enough experience with people like you in Hollywood—”

“People like me?” He stepped around to face her. “Care to elaborate?”

She really shouldn’t have. There was enough animosity between them already. But, hell, he’d made no secret of how little he thought of her. “You’re a judgmental hypocrite,” she said. “The minute you met me you decided what kind of woman I was. You think I made that sex tape, that I made it and released it for publicity.”

“Tell me you didn’t.”

“That makes me pathetic and needy in your opinion,” she plowed on. Hell would freeze over before she defended herself to him. “That makes me…less,” she finished for lack of a better word. “But you’d go to bed with me anyway.”

“Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?”

“No.”

“Now there’s a word you weren’t saying a minute ago.”

But she was the one who’d backed off first, and they both knew it. “You should go.”

He held her eyes, nodded. “Just one thing. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other until this thing with the Stanhopes plays out.”

“And?”

“I won’t have any trouble keeping my hands to myself. Until you ask me to put them on you.”

“Aren’t you taking a lot for granted?” she parroted back at him.

“No.”

She shook her head, smiled a little. “There’s heat between us, Counselor; I won’t deny that. But there’s no warmth, and I find these days that I value warmth much more.”

“So you’re looking for love and devotion?”

“No.” Not from him, at any rate. “Friendship would be nice, or at least some level of respect. You don’t strike me as a man who changes his mind or his opinions.”

“Not without a good reason.”

She spread her hands. “I can’t give you one.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” He stepped forward, but the hand he reached toward her curled into a fist before he dropped it back to his side. “Give me a reason, Paige.”

She shook her head. “As you said, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each another. Best you hold on to that low opinion of me. It’ll save you from doing anything you’ll regret.”

He stared at her for a long, humming moment, his eyes as unreadable as his expression. As he turned on his heel and stalked out, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d lied to him, after all, Paige thought.

Alec Barclay desired her with a straight and honest lust. But she didn’t feel heat unless there was warmth, too, at least on her side. Heaven only knew why she should be drawn to Alec—his strength maybe, his intelligence, his humor.