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She huffed but didn’t call his bluff. As he walked through the little alley next to the bookstore that led to the courtyard, her head drooped onto his shoulder. The heaviness of her head against the crook of his neck made his arms tighten around her as the reality of what he was doing fully sank in.
He was holding Alexandra in his arms once more. Her head lay where it so often had after they’d made love, as her fingers had traced soft patterns on his chest or she’d stretched up to plant a gentle kiss on his jaw. He’d had lovers before her, and two lovers in the years after he’d left New York. Pleasurable experiences, but none had come even close to the kind of emotional intimacy he and Alexandra had shared. That he had been her first, too, had brought out a fiercely protective side of him that hadn’t existed with any of his other paramours.
A protective side she had adored. But tonight, until now at least, she hadn’t seemed to need him. She’d stood up to her attacker, dialed 911 and, instead of breaking down in tears and turning to him for comfort like she would have in the past, she’d stayed strong and independent.
Her show of strength had ensnared him. Alexandra had been beautiful and sweet and kind that summer so long ago. But she’d also struggled with standing up for herself, preferring to withdraw or smile and nod instead of creating a scene. He couldn’t picture Alexandra Waldsworth keeping calm during an attempted robbery, nor handling the aftermath with such aplomb.
But Alexandra Moss had done just that. She’d answered the doctor’s questions, submitted to the CT and MRI scans Grant had insisted on to verify that she didn’t have a concussion and argued with him when he’d provided his billing information.
“That’s ridiculous!” she’d snapped as the charge nurse’s head had swung back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match. “I can pay for myself.”
“Except you can’t,” Grant had fired back. “And you went back to the shop to do something for the job I hired you to do, making you my responsibility.”
“I can take care of myself,Grant.”
He’d gotten his way. But it had taken much more of a fight than he’d expected.
At first, it had been a relief to see that, aside from the nasty bruise developing on her forehead, she was okay. Then it had irritated him. He hadn’t been terrified in a long time. Not since that first year he and his mother had barely scraped by in a crappy apartment on the Lower West Side and every knock on the door had made him reach for a baseball bat, convinced the cartels had arrived to finish what they’d started.
But it hadn’t just been the initial fear when he’d realized something bad had happened inside The Flower Bell that still troubled him. Now it was the fear that he was worrying about Alexandra, admiring her strength, caring about her recovery. No matter what way he examined the issue, his feelings were undeniable.
Undeniable, but certainly not part of his plan.
Alexandra’s head drooped, then snapped back up as they entered the courtyard. There would be time for him to dissect this new development later. Now his first priority was getting Alexandra up to her bed so she could rest and heal.
“My key...”
“Where is it?”
She fumbled in her pocket and produced a silver key on a chain. He leaned down enough for her to insert the key in the lock and turn the knob, then kicked the door shut behind them and started up the stairs.
“You can put me down now.”
Judging by the slur in her words, the pain medication mixed with the sleeping pill the doctor had prescribed was having the desired effect.
“You’d probably fall down the stairs.”
“Would not,” she mumbled back as she burrowed closer to him, her face nuzzling his chest.
Querido Deus. He hardened at her touch, his arms tightening around her slender body as they neared the landing. He belonged in hell for even contemplating anything remotely sensual after the evening she’d experienced. But he couldn’t stop the rush of possessiveness that flooded his body with an old yet all too familiar heat.
The door to her apartment was unlocked. A good thing, too, because judging by the heaviness of her breathing and the limpness of her body, she had fallen asleep. He walked inside, noting details like the frayed furniture and worn rug along with the unexpected homey touches. The Alexandra he’d pictured these past few years—the too many times he’d thought of her—would have found some way to live in luxury, whether that was living off whatever the government had left her after exhausting her family’s finances to pay back her father’s victims, or finding herself a new beau with the income to keep her in her preferred lifestyle. He’d never imagined an apartment like this, much less the care that had gone into making it a home, evident from the plants lined up on the windowsill to the cozy egg chair arranged next to a shelf crowded with what looked like used books. Not the untouched rare editions that had crowded the mahogany shelves of David Waldsworth’s library in the Hamptons where Alexandra had broken up with him, but books with cracked spines and worn pages. Books that had been read and loved.
He walked over to the bed, his head spinning with a question that had been haunting him ever since Alexandra had walked back into his life last week: Who was she? Every time he thought he had an impression of who she had been and who she’d become, she turned around and surprised him.
He eased her down onto the lavender sheets with infinite care. The bed sagged slightly beneath her weight, a sign of its age. He frowned as she shivered and glanced at the thermostat. It was set fairly low for a chilly New York spring. He grabbed a blanket off the egg chair and covered her. There had been plenty of winters when his mother had kept the heat low, or opened windows in the sweltering heat of summer instead of turning on the air-conditioning, to save money. As soon as he’d banked his first major profit from his investments, he’d bought her the Victorian house in New York’s wine country equipped with the luxuries people dreamed of, like a private pool, and the luxuries they took for granted, like a working furnace and a refrigerator that never gave out.
Yes, he knew the realities of living without all too well. But seeing Alexandra skimping on basic necessities like a comfy bed and heat bothered him. Just like her shop. She’d obviously done what she could to make it look as presentable and professional as possible. Unfortunately, it would take more than her meager attempts at decorating to erase the reality of its location, or for her to continue to draw in business from the kind of clients she was trying to attract.
Not your problem.
He had to keep perspective. Just because they’d shared something once, just because Alexandra might have changed and grown during their time apart, meant nothing. He had a company to launch and a fortune to make. Alexandra had a business of her own to save. Even if she had changed, even if he could begin to understand why she’d done what she had all those years ago, how could he ever let himself trust her again?
He started to stand up as Alexandra rolled over and let out a soft sigh.
“Grant.”
Temptation reared and threatened to pull him under as the devil on his shoulder coyly whispered in his ear, encouraging him to lie down next to her for just a moment.
