Strangers in Paradise (6 page)

He was laughing at her, she knew. Tired as she was, Alexi was back on her feet, totally aggravated. “Trust me, Mr. Morrow—I can get to it! And I will do it. I'll make it here. You can warn me and threaten me, but I'm not leaving.”

He lowered his head and idly rubbed his temple with his fingertips. She realized that he was laughing at her again. “I will, and you'll see.”

“Listen, the closest you've probably been to a spider before is watching Spiderman on the Saturday-morning cartoons. You grew up with maids and gardeners and—”

“I see. You toiled and starved all those years to make your own money, so you know all about being rough and tough and surviving. You couldn't have starved too damn long. You're what—? All of thirty-five now? They made a movie out of
Cat in the Night
ten years ago, so you weren't eating rice and potatoes all that long! And for your information, having money does not equate to sloth or stupidity or—”

“I never implied that you were stupid—”

“Or incapable or inept! I've damn well seen spiders before, and roaches and rats and—”

“Hey!” He came to his feet before her. A pity, she thought—it had been easier to rant and rave righteously when he had been sitting and she had been able to look down her nose at him. But now his hands were on her shoulders and he was smiling as he stared down at her and she knew that he was silently laughing again.

“No one likes things crawling on her—or him. And let's face it—you can't be accustomed to such shabby conditions,” he said.

His smile faded suddenly.

“Or,” he added softly, “a different kind of creepy-crawly. Intruders in the place.”

“Oh!” She had forgotten all about the footsteps. Forgotten that someone had been in the house. That he or she or they had escaped when the lights had gone out and blackness had descended.

She backed away from Rex. “What...what do you think was...going on?”

Rex shrugged and grimaced. “Alexi, if—and I'm sorry, I do mean if—someone was in the house, I don't know. A tramp, a derelict, a burglar—”

“All the way out here?”

“Hey, they deliver pizza, don't they?”

“Do they? The pizza hasn't even gotten here yet!”

“Well, I'm sorry! It is a drive for the delivery man, you know. He isn't a block away on Madison Avenue.”

“Oh, would you please stop it? We are not in the Amazon wilds.”

“No, but close enough,” Rex promised her good-naturedly. She stared at him with a good dose of malice. Then she nearly jumped, and she did let out a gasp, because the night was suddenly filled with an obnoxious sound, loud and blaring.

“Joe's boy's horn.” Rex lifted his hands palm up. “It plays Dixie.”

It did, indeed. Loudly.

“I'll get the pizza,” he told her.

Still smiling—with his annoying superiority—Rex went out. Alexi followed him.

Joe's boy drove a large pickup. He was a cute, long-haired kid, tall and lanky. By the time Alexi came down the walkway, Rex was already holding the pizza and involved in a casual conversation.

“Oh, here she is.”

“Wow!” the boy said. He straightened, pushed back his long blond hair and put out his hand to shake her hand soundly. “The Helen of Troy lady! Boy, oh, boy, ma'am, when I see that ad with your hair all wild and your eyes all sexy and your arms going out while you're smiling that smile, I just get...well, I get—”

“Um, thanks,” Alexi said dryly. She felt Rex staring at her. Maybe he had expected her to be like the woman in the ad. He was probably disappointed to discover she was quite ordinary. “The magic of cameras,” she murmured.

“Oh, no, ma'am, you're better in the flesh!” He blushed furiously. “Well, I didn't mean flesh—” he stammered.

“I don't think she took any offense, Dusty,” Rex drawled. “Well, thanks again for coming out. Oh, Alexi, Dusty wants your autograph.”

“Mine?”

He lifted his hands innocently. “He already has mine.”

She gave Dusty a brilliant smile—with only a hint of malice toward Rex.

“Dusty, if you don't mind waiting a day or two, I'll get my agent to send down some pictures and I'll autograph one to you.”

“Would you? Wow. Oh, wow. Could you write something...kind of personal on it? The guys would sure be impressed!”

“With pleasure,” she promised sweetly.

“Wow. Oh, wow.”

Dusty kept repeating those words as he climbed into the cab of his truck. Alexi cheerfully waved until the truck disappeared into the night. She felt Rex staring at her again, and she turned to him, a cool question in her eyes.

“Well,” he said smoothly, “you've certainly wired up that poor boy's libido.”

“Have I? Shall I take the pizza?”

“No, my dear little heartbreaker. I can handle it.”

He started back toward the house. Alexi followed him. To her surprise, she discovered herself suddenly enjoying the night. She felt revived and ready for battle.

But there was to be no battle—not that night.

Rex went through the hall to the kitchen and put the pizza box on the table. “There's a bolt on the wood door to the parlor. If you just slide it, you can be sure that no one will come in by way of the window you broke. It was probably just some vagrant who thought the house was unoccupied, but I'd bolt that door anyway. You can get the window fixed in the morning. You should have done it today.”

“You're leaving?”

He nodded and walked to where she stood by the door, pausing just short of touching her. He placed a hand against the doorframe and leaned toward her, a wry grin set in the full, sensual contours of his mouth.

“You're playing a bit of havoc with my libido, too.” He pushed away from the wall. “If you should need me, the number is in the book by the phone. Good night.”

For some reason, she couldn't respond. She felt as if he had touched her...as if some intimacy had passed between them.

Nothing had happened at all.

By the time she could move, he was gone. She heard the front door quietly closing.

She hurried to it, biting her lower lip as she prepared to lock the door for the night. She was still so uneasy. Rex's being there had given her a certain courage. She knew that someone had been in the house. Had he really left? Was there, perhaps, some nook or cranny where the intruder could be hiding?

She gasped. There was another tapping at the door. Her fingers froze; she couldn't bring herself to answer it.

“Alexi?”

It was Rex. She threw the door open and prayed that he wouldn't hear the pounding of her heart.

“Rex,” she murmured. She lowered her face quickly, trying to hide her relief, trying not to show the sheer joy she felt at seeing him again. “Um, did you forget something?”

“Yes.”

He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He studied her for the longest time, and then he sighed.

“You're making me absolutely insane, you know.”

“I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

He shook his head ruefully, then straightened. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her into the hallway to allow himself room to enter. Wide-eyed, Alexi stared up at him.

“I'm staying!” he seemed to growl.

“You're what?” she whispered.

“I'll stay.”

“You—you don't need to.”

He shook his head impatiently. “I'll curl up in the parlor. Since you haven't gotten the guest rooms prepared yet,” he added dryly.

“Rex...you don't have to.”

“Yes, I have to.” He started for the parlor.

“You should at least have some pizza!”

“No. No, thanks. I should lie down and go to sleep as quickly as possible.”

“Rex—”

“Alexi—dammit! I—” He cut himself off, his jaw twisting into a rigid line. He shook his head again and walked into the parlor. She heard the door slam. Hard.

Alexi retreated to the kitchen. She leaned against the door and breathed deeply. He was going to sleep in her house. She shouldn't make him do it. She shouldn't allow him to do it.

She trembled. She couldn't help it. She was very, very glad that he was just a few feet away.

Chapter 4

E
ven though she knew Rex was in the house—or perhaps because she knew Rex was in the house—Alexi spent a miserable night.

The kitchen floor was still a horrible bed; she swore to herself that she would get going on the house. When she first dozed off she nearly screamed herself awake, dreaming of a giant brown widow. She hadn't even known that “widows” came in “brown”—but she didn't want to meet another one.

Having woken herself up, she ate some of the pizza. Rex, bleary-eyed and rumpled, stumbled in, and at last they shared some of the pizza. When he returned to the parlor, she determined to settle down to sleep again. More dreams and nightmares plagued her. Disconcerting, disconnected nightmares in which men and women in antebellum dress swirled through the ballroom, laughing, chatting, talking. Beautiful people in silks and satins and velvets—but the dancers were transparent and the ballroom retained its dust and webbed decay. The only man with substance in her dreams was Rex Morrow—darkly handsome and somewhat diabolical, but totally compelling as he grinned wickedly and pointed in silence to the portraits of Pierre and Eugenia on the wall. She kept trying to reach him through the translucent dancers. She didn't know why, only that she needed to, and the more time that passed, the more desperate she became. Then, at the end, a giant brown spider with John's face pounced down between them and Alexi gasped and sprang up—and came awake, swearing softly as she realized a warm sun was spilling brilliantly through the windows.

She put coffee on and went in search of Rex, only to find the sofa empty, with a note where his body should have lain.

Gone home to bathe, shave and work. Checked on you—you were sleeping like a little lamb. Well, a sexy little lamb. Libido, you know. It's light and all seems well. Fix the window today, dammit! If you need anything, give me a ring. I'll be here.

So he was gone. Funny...she had been looking forward to seeing him. To sharing coffee. To laughing at her fears by the morning's light. She smiled, remembering how they had shared cold pizza. Neither of them had really been awake. She could barely remember anything they had said. She'd liked his cheeks looking a little scruffy; she'd liked all that dark hair of his in a mess over his forehead.

Well, Rex probably wouldn't be the same by daylight, either. He'd be hostile, annoyed, superior, doing that eccentric artist bit all over again. She swore that the next time she saw him she'd be in control. Competent, able—fearless.

Oh, yeah! But she had to get started.

Definitely. She had to do something here, she warned herself. When her dreams began to include shades of
The Fly
, she was falling into the realm of serious trouble.

By morning's light she was able to roam around the lower level of the house. The place appeared even shabbier.

“Steam cleaners will make a world of difference,” she promised herself out loud.

Still hesitant of the creepy-crawly possibilities, she kept her suitcase in the kitchen. When the coffee had perked, she poured herself a cup and sipped it while she opened her suitcase. The coffee tasted good. Delicious. But not even the dose of caffeine really helped her mood. Her extended-wear contact lenses weren't “extending” very well—her vision was all blurry, and she swore softly again, wishing she could wear them with comfort and ease. She peered at her watch. It was only eight. She'd take a long shower, then remove her contacts, clean them and put them back in.

Alexi found her white terry robe, finished her coffee and considered exploring the upstairs for a bedroom and bath. Then, deciding that she would tackle the upstairs after she was dressed, she called and asked the steam cleaners in town to come out. Once they were finished, she would start vacuuming and sweeping and choose a room for herself. She really wasn't afraid of a few spiders and bugs—she just wanted to be a bit more fortified to deal with them.

So, determined, she grabbed her robe and headed for the little powder room beneath the stairs. She had noticed the night before that it did have a small shower stall. In fact, the little bathroom was really quite nice. Gene must have had it updated fairly recently.

Alexi turned on the light and grimaced at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. There were purple shadows beneath her red-rimmed eyes. She certainly didn't look one bit like the Helen of Troy lady. She was pale and drawn and resembled a wide-eyed, frightened child. She pinched her cheeks, then laughed, because she hadn't given them any color at all. She reflected a bit wryly that the only real beauty to her face lay in its shape; it was what was called a classical oval, with nice high cheekbones. John had told her once that a myriad of sins could be forgiven if one's cheekbones were good.

She laughed suddenly; she looked like hell, cheekbones or no.

“Tonight,” she promised her reflection out loud, “I am going to sleep!”

Sobering, she turned away from her image and stripped off her clothing; there were a million things she wanted to do that day. Clean, clean, clean. And Rex was supposed to be bringing a new hose for the car. She also wanted a sound system and a television—modern amenities that had never interested Gene.

Alexi stepped into the little shower stall, surprised and pleased to see the modern shower-massage fixtures. She fiddled with the faucets, gasped as the water streamed out stone-cold, swore softly—then breathed a sigh of relief as heat came into the water. For several long, delighted moments she just stood there, feeling the delicious little needles of wet heat sear her skin. Steam rose all around her, and she closed her eyes, enjoying it. The shower felt so good, in fact, that everything began to look better. The Brandywine house was beautiful. A little elbow grease and she could make it into a showplace again. Gene had really done quite a bit already; the kitchen was warm and nice, and this little bathroom was just fine. Of course, she could see all sorts of possibilities. The kitchen could use a window seat, a big one, with plump, comfortable cushions. Some copper implements, some plants. It was a huge room and could be made into an exquisite family center.

Alexi reached for the shampoo, scrubbed it into her hair and rinsed it. She paused then, reflecting that she really did mean to get things together.

She couldn't wait to ask Rex in for a drink or a cup of coffee once she had things straightened out. I wonder why, she thought as the water beat against her face. Because, she reasoned, everything had gone wrong every time she'd seen him. She just wanted something to go right.

As she stood there, a little curl, warm and shimmering, began to wind in her stomach. She inhaled and exhaled quickly, alarmed at the realization that she wanted to see him again...just because she wanted to see him again. She was eager to hear the tone of his voice; she felt secure and comfortable when he was near.

It was a foolish feeling. She didn't want any entanglements; she didn't think she was really even
capable
of an entanglement. But the feeling was there, an ache, a nostalgia, poignant and sweet. She wanted to see him. No...he didn't even want her in the house. He wanted the land all to himself. He saw her as an intrusion on his privacy. But she couldn't help it; she found herself wondering about his relationships with other women. He had been blunt about his divorce, more cold than bitter. Yet she knew that his marriage had left a taste of ash in his mouth. Still, having met him...having experienced that strange feeling of intimacy on the first night, she started to shiver again.

She couldn't imagine him being alone, either. He was a man who liked women, who would attract them easily—with or without fame and fortune. But once burned... She knew the feeling well. He was quiet in his way; he spoke plainly but gave away very little emotion.

Maybe it wasn't there to give.

But she had been determined to come into the shower and scrub her hair and herself and be as...perfect as she could be. For when she saw him again. She didn't want to be breaking in; she didn't want to be running because she'd blown a hose in the car. She wanted to be composed and poised. Perhaps even cool...cool enough to regain the control that seemed to be slipping from her.

Alexi sighed and turned off the shower. She had steamed herself until the water had gone cold as she'd thought about Rex Morrow. If she could put that much concentration into the house, she'd have it a showplace in no time.

Alexi opened the shower door and groped for her towel. She found it and patted her face, blinking to clear her eyes. The mist from the shower should have cleaned her lenses somewhat, but they felt grittier than ever. It must have been all the dust from last night, she reasoned.

She started to step out of the stall, then noticed a curious dark line on the floor. A wire? She blinked, wishing again that she had better luck with her lenses. There shouldn't be a wire on the floor.

Nor did wires move by themselves.

Alexi gasped, hypnotized at first. There was something on the floor about a foot long and as thick as a telephone wire. Except that the top of this wire was rising and moving, and it had a little red ribbon of color right under the...

The head!

“Oh, my God!” she breathed aloud.

It was a snake—a small one, but a snake nonetheless, slithering, slinking across the bathroom floor.

Her throat constricted; she didn't move. She didn't know whether the snake was poisonous or not, and at that point it didn't really matter. She hated snakes; they scared her to death.

The creature paused, raised its head again, then started slithering toward the toilet bowl.

She swallowed. She had to move.

Trembling, Alexi reached out for her robe. Soaking wet, she slipped into it and belted it, still standing in the shower stall—and barely blinking as she kept her eyes trained on the snake. In desperation she looked around the little bathroom. A little tile side pocket in the wall held a magazine. Alexi grabbed it and rolled it up.

Panicked thoughts whirled through her mind. If she didn't kill it on the first swipe, would it bite her? She could just run....

No. Because if it slithered out of sight, she would never, never be able to sleep in the house again.

She stepped from the shower stall with her rolled-up weapon. She inhaled sharply, then smacked the snake. She jumped back, screaming. The blow hadn't stopped the creature in the least. It was just writhing and slinking more wildly now.

She attacked again—and again. Somewhere in her mind she realized that paper would not kill the serpent. It might not be big, but it had a tough hide.

Finally, though, the thing stopped. Or almost stopped. She had most of the body smashed against the base of the toilet. Only the head wavered a bit.

She swallowed sickly. What was the damn thing doing in her house? She felt like a torturer—but she was terrified.

Alexi dropped the paper. She had to get something. A spade—something with which she could scoop the creature up and out.

And kill it. It wasn't dead—and even though it was a snake, she hated to think of herself torturing the thing.

She backed away, then ran—into the kitchen and into the pantry. She wasn't sure what lay in the bottom shelves, but she had seen a number of tools there.

She found a heavy spade. Armed with it, Alexi made her way back to the bathroom, where she stopped dead still. The snake had disappeared.

“It couldn't have, it couldn't have,” she whispered aloud, leaning against the wall. But it had.

She searched the bathroom, the floor, the shower stall. But there was no snake. She began to wonder if she had imagined the creature. Had the night been so bad that she had gone a little crazy? She didn't like spiders and bugs, but she could tolerate them. She was terrified of snakes, though. She had almost told Rex Morrow so last night after he had killed the spider.

Calm yourself, calm yourself. She tried to think rationally. She had seen the creature. And now it was gone. She drew in a deep breath. Had it been poisonous? What had it looked like? She was going to have to find out. She'd have to ask. She'd have to...

“Argh!” A gasping, desperate sound escaped her as she felt something slither over her foot. She looked down in terror. It was the snake.

She had her spade. She screamed, jumped—and slammed it down.

She dropped the spade, leaving the snake pinned beneath it, and backed away. Nearing the kitchen door, she turned.

Only to see another of the foot-long blackish creatures.

Sweat broke out all over her. Shaking, Alexi wrenched open the kitchen door and ran to the pantry again. She found a pipe wrench and raced back into the hallway. She swung the wrench down with force, careless of what she might do to the fine wooden floor.

She wasn't about to pick up the spade or the pipe wrench. She burst into the parlor instead. With trembling fingers she found Rex Morrow's phone number and dialed it.

“C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon...!” she muttered as the phone rang. When she heard Rex's voice on the other end, she started to speak, then realized it was an answering machine. He didn't identify himself by name; in a deep, pleasant voice said merely, “I can't get to the phone right now, but if you'll leave your name and number at the sound of the beep, I'll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Alexi waited for the beep. “Rex, it's Alexi. Rex—” Her eyes widened, and she broke off with a long scream. There was another one! Another one, coming into the parlor!

She dropped the phone and raced to the fireplace. Grabbing the poker, she went for the snake.

She got it. Or at least got it pinned beneath the poker.

She had to get out. Just for a minute; just to breathe. Her hair was soaking wet, she was barefoot, and her robe was hardly even belted, but she had to get out.

Tears stinging her eyes, she raced for the front door. By the time she got the stubborn bolt to work, she was crying in great, gulping sobs.