Holiday Bound (2 page)

His brows rose at her show of wariness and he gave a sharp bark of laughter.

“He said you weren’t his type.”

Angeline froze.
“What?”

His glittering eyes swept down over her body. “Not a petite little doll,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Angeline couldn’t believe his nerve…his
meanness
. “Are you trying to imply that Mitchell has been talking about me behind my back? To
you
?”

His expression went cold once again. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He said it four years ago. The old man’s had plenty of time to change his mind and decide he likes ’em built like an Amazon. Come on. I’m gonna have a hell of a time keeping Daddy’s girl warm for the next few days.”

By a long shot.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of his oblique reference to what Mitchell had supposedly once said about her. She’d started working at Littleton, Marks and Carradine four years ago, so it was possible for Mitchell to have noticed her before they began dating.

But Mitchell had certainly
acted
like he was casting his first glance on her at that business dinner at the University Club just two months ago. Angeline recalled how flattered she’d been by his attentions—such an urbane, accomplished man. Every female at Littleton, Marks and Carradine, from the youngest administrative assistant to the most seasoned attorney, swooned a bit when Mitchell was near. He reminded Angeline of some combination of Richard Gere and Sean Connery. He didn’t have a Scottish accent, of course, but Mitchell was every bit as smooth as Connery’s portrayal of 007.

Angeline had grown up on a farm, the daughter of Greek immigrants. Truth be told, she felt proud to know that a man like Mitchell—a man who practically exuded class and sophistication—found
her
attractive.

Or did he
?
She’d wondered repeatedly about Mitchell’s apparent lack of interest in getting her into bed.

No. She wouldn’t believe Alex. Mitchell’s son was clearly hostile. Because he had such an abysmal relationship with his father, he wanted her to doubt her new relationship with Mitchell, as well.

What had she done in a past life to warrant spending Christmas with such a terse, nasty individual?

There were no Christmas decorations, Angeline noticed as she glanced around the dim room. The only exception to the Spartan furnishings was several woodcarvings on the timber mantel. She couldn’t quite make out the figures in the deep light, but she guessed they were carvings of animals.

Alex had picked up a flannel work shirt off a hook in the entry way and slung it on carelessly without buttoning it before he’d gone to work lighting the second kerosene lamp and adding wood to the dying fire. He hadn’t uttered a single word to her in the past several minutes, and his lack of manners was starting to grate on Angeline’s nerves.

“You never answered me. About your father. Has he called?”

He turned his head, the licking flames casting his hard profile in an orangish-red glow.

“No. Did you expect him to?”

She made a disbelieving sound. “Well…
yeah
. You
did
know your father and I were supposed to be staying at your ski resort for Christmas, right?”

“He might have said something about it,” Alex mumbled, turning back to his task.

“Well then?”

He sighed and shoved the poker back into the holder. The metal clanged jarringly in the still, cold room. “How long have you been dating Mitchell?”

“Two months,” she said slowly, a little taken aback that he called his father by his first name.

“You’re an attorney at Littleton, Marks and Carradine, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little unethical? For my father to be dating a young, impressionable female who’s under his employ?”

“I’m not that green, Alex.”

“Is that right?”

She stiffened at the low, rough quality of his voice. She blinked, breaking his palpable stare.

“I don’t work directly for Mitchell. I work in mergers and acquisitions, under Mr. Littleton.”

She took a step back when he stood. In the few minutes while he’d been kneeling, she’d forgotten how intimidating he was. Not that she was afraid of his size. Not exactly. At five-foot-ten, she rarely felt cowed by a man’s size. Alex Carradine just made quite an impact, that’s all. Angeline couldn’t describe exactly what that impact was on her, but she sensed it nonetheless. It felt like some kind of internal pressure in her chest and lower belly.

“If you’re so wise in the ways of the world, you must realize by now that while my father excels at making promises, his true expertise is in breaking them. When he said he’d meet you up here, surely you knew there was a good chance he’d call it off?”

Heat rushed into her cheeks despite the increasing chill in the room. Alex’s sharp sarcasm hurt all the more because there was an element of truth to what he said. Mitchell
did
frequently cancel dates. Still…there was always a damn good reason for his last-minute cancellations.

“Your father has a very demanding job. Becoming a name partner at his age at the largest, most prestigious firm in Chicago is no small feat. And as for tonight…” she nodded pointedly at the window where she could just make out the frantic movement of falling snowflakes, “…is it any surprise he’s not here?”

He shrugged carelessly. The action made her glance down at his chest. A strip of ridged abdomen and lightly haired, muscular chest was left exposed. She resisted an urge to blurt out that he needed to grow up…and
cover
up right this instant. When she glanced into his face, she realized he’d been staring at the exact same place on her body as where she’d been gawking at his. Her flash of defiance drained out of her. She shivered uncontrollably. Her nipples pinched tight.

“It’s only going to get colder,” he murmured, his eyes still fixed on her breasts.

Angeline shifted uneasily on her feet. Had he noticed her nipples becoming erect beneath her sweater? Is that why he’d mentioned the temperature completely out of context to their conversation? The knowledge that it hadn’t been the cold air that made her body respond left her flustered. It suddenly felt too confining in the flame-lit room. She grabbed one of the lanterns and headed toward the kitchen.

“Do you have anything to drink?”

“I’m going to finish my shower and shave while there’s still hot water. Get whatever you want.”

Angeline set the lantern down on the counter and watched as the large shadow sauntered down the hallway. Her mouth hung open. His manners were beyond inhospitable. They were intentionally rude. And the way he’d looked at her just now—

Alex Carradine seemed determined not only to insult his father, but her as well.

Or maybe he considered it one and the same thing?

She’d already guessed that Mitchell and Alex’s relationship was rocky. Why hadn’t Mitchell told her it verged on full-out battle? She noticed the phone on the counter and grabbed the receiver. She was thrilled to hear a dial tone—apparently the lack of electricity didn’t affect this type of phone.

Figured that grouchy Alex Carradine hadn’t told her.

Mitchell picked up on the second ring.

“Mitchell?”

“Angeline! I’ve been so worried. I left two messages,” Mitchell exclaimed.

“I keep dropping the cell here. I couldn’t make any calls out.”

“Where are you?”

“At Alex’s.”

“You actually made it there?” Mitchell asked. “The news is saying the interstate is closed.”

“They closed it after I took the exit, apparently. Conditions are a bit better coming from the north versus the south. I’m surprised you didn’t get stuck in the thick of this mess. Surely you would have had to leave Chicago before two to make it here by four thirty—”

“I got caught up with that Millington account. Good thing too, or who knows where I’d be spending the night tonight. By the time I finished, they’d already closed the interstate.”

“Oh…yes, it’s a good thing, then,” Angeline said with a little bit too much warmth. She knew they hadn’t closed the interstate until 3:50 p.m., well past the time when Mitchell would have had to be on the road if he wanted to make their scheduled rendezvous. She told herself the flash of disappointment and hurt she experienced had absolutely
nothing
to do with Alex’s comments about his father’s undependability.

It was
fortunate
Mitchell hadn’t tried to come. He would have wrecked, most likely…or ended up bedding down in some God-awful roadside inn filled with irritable holiday travelers whose Christmases had been ruined.

Like hers had, she admitted, thinking of spending Christmas with a surly, unpleasant man who clearly didn’t want her in his house. Perhaps there was a motel in the nearby town? But then she thought of the miles down the treacherous, winding road and regretfully dismissed the flickering hope.

May as well admit she was stranded with no hope for immediate escape.

“What a mess. Those weathermen ought to be shot,” Mitchell said irritably. “They say a hell of a snowstorm is moving in, just to top everything off. At least you’re someplace warm and safe.”

Angeline rubbed her arms briskly. Mitchell’s comment had made her hyper-aware of how frigid the room was. She didn’t mention the electricity had gone out. He had enough to worry about.

What with the Millington account and all.

An awkward silence ensued, only to be broken by Mitchell’s hesitant voice. “Alex…he’s treating you all right, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” Angeline replied bracingly. No father wanted to hear that his son was a rude brute. “My SUV slid into a snowdrift and I couldn’t get out. Your son came to my rescue.”

Mitchell’s laugh sounded harsh. “That’s Alex for you. Always the hero to a damsel in distress.”

An uneasy feeling crept over Angeline…a murky awareness of all the negative energy and emotions that frothed between Mitchell and his son.

It made her feel
alone
for some reason.

She asked about the Millington account in an effort to rid herself of the uncomfortable knowledge.

It wasn’t until after she’d hung up the phone that she realized Mitchell hadn’t even asked about the health or wellbeing of his son.

Alex welcomed the cool water hitting his roughening skin and tense muscles. It helped him think straight.

Not to mention held in abeyance the strong surge of animal lust he’d experienced when he noticed his father’s girlfriend’s stiffened nipples pressed against the soft, touchable-looking sweater she wore.

The unwanted memory of Angeline Kastakis walking into McAllister’s one spring evening four years ago sprang into his mind. McAllister’s was a favorite hangout for members and traders from the Board of Trade, as well as other LaSalle Street denizens. Alex was there for lunch regularly with his friends, and occasionally for a Friday night drink after work. He’d never seen Angeline there before—not that he knew her name at the time.

She was the kind of woman you’d remember if you saw her.

The three guys he shared a booth with were all staring exactly where he was when Angeline laughed at something her female companion said as they set down their briefcases. She’d removed her tailored jacket and Alex’s eyes had reluctantly left her exquisite face.

“Would you take a look at
that
,” Steven Ashland hissed in awe.

“Impossible not to. What a rack,” Mike Michevsky murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Alex suppressed a strong urge to tell his friends to shut up. This wasn’t the seventh grade. But then again…Angeline Kastakis was no seventh grader. She was all woman, one who likely inspired idiotic comments from drooling males on a regular basis. She sat down at the bar, her narrow skirt riding slightly higher on her long, stocking-covered legs. Her smooth, lustrous, dark brown hair gleamed in the subtle light as she nodded her head in agreement with what her friend said.

“She’s way out of your league,” someone said from behind their booth, his voice thick with amusement.

Alex glanced around. Mitchell rarely showed up at McAllister’s—it was a little too plebian for his refined taste. Still, Alex wasn’t shocked to see him there. Every once in a while, one of Mitchell’s clients wanted to patronize the popular bar-restaurant, and God knew his father was all about pleasing his clients.

He experienced a familiar flash of irritation when his friends sat up straighter and said polite, eager hellos to his father. Something about his dad always turned his friends into Eddie Haskell.

He slouched down farther in the booth and took a swallow of beer. “You’re undoubtedly right about that,” Alex mumbled, once again staring at the woman at the bar.

“I’ll put in a good word for you if you think you need the help,” Mitchell said.

Alex remained unmoving, glowering while Mitchell greeted and shook hands with Alex’s co-workers, all of whom stared at his father like he was the second coming. His father had quite the reputation in the business community.

“Well, what do you say, Alex?” Mitchell prodded. To everyone else, he probably sounded light and cheerful—a teasing, fond father—but Alex caught the needling edge to Mitchell’s tone. As a child, he’d become familiar with that subtle undertone. “Just say the word, and I’ll mention to her that I know of a strapping young buck who desires to make her acquaintance.”