stand of fir trees marking the southern border of his land. He liked throwing the lumber and tools into the back of his pickup, liked the bumpy road that crisscrossed through the cattle fields, liked finding, a broken post or a sagging wire and fixing it. It was satisfying work, clear-cut, over and done with. And afterward, there was the shade of the trees, a perfect place for a cool drink and a well-earned lunch. Life reduced to basics, understandable, his to control.
Not like this. Not like wondering what the hell was happening to him, not like having his fate in someone else’s hands. Damn Natalie! He would never let himself be this vulnerable again. Never.
He popped to his feet and paced for a few minutes. Five steps to the wall, five steps back, over and over again while his thoughts jumped around in his miserable brain.
He was suddenly flooded with memories of her. The first time he’d seen her in the flower shop, standing behind the counter, all smiles and green eyes with those beautiful strawberry curls surrounding her face. He’d needed flowers sent to his grandmother. He remembered how she’d insisted on showing him every photo in a book full of floral arrangements, how she had touched his arm with her hand when she spoke, and how, when he’d finally asked her to dinner, she had smiled up at him as though she knew something he didn’t.
He remembered her in a bathing suit, all delicious curves and sun-warmed skin. She wouldn’t go in his swimming pool, said something about chlorine and her suit, but when he’d suggested they go down to the pond, she’d laughed at him. Women were such mysteries to a man like him, such intricate mazes with twisty corridors and high walls, full of secrets.
Natalie in a sundress, Natalie in his lap, Natalie’s eyes and her mouth and her perfect fingernails tapping against his arm. For four months there had been nothing and no one but Natalie, as if she’d cast some spell over him. Well, never again, he reminded himself. Never, never again.
He stopped pacing and crossed to the balcony doors, stopping on the way to look at Alexandra. Moonlight flooded her bed, kissing her face, so peaceful, in slumber. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, surrounding her face like a soft, dark cloud. Natalie hadn’t talked about this woman much. For that matter, she hadn’t talked about any of her women friends. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?
Alexandra. Such a long, fancy name for a woman so upfront and sweet, though she did seem to have a streak of humor that bubbled to the surface at odd times. She was sure being a good sport about all this, but he was ready to bet a bundle that come morning, she’d expect him to take her home. Maybe he’d just give her his keys and let her drive herself. At any rate, one thing was for certain—he wasn’t leaving this place until he’d faced Natalie. He did not leave loose ends and right now, Natalie Dupree was one gigantic loose end.
Alexandra. On second thought, he liked the name. It fit her, for he sensed in her slight body a strong will and a fierce streak of independence that probably defined her to herself. The name was bold in a way, reminiscent of Alexander the Great. If memory served him right, old Alexander had been the king of Macedonia, the conqueror of the Persian empire. Tilting his head, Thorn stared at the face on the pillow before him, her soft and feminine features blurred by the moonlight.
The outside air was crisp and clean and did a lot to clear his head. As he leaned against the rail, he acknowledged the certainty he felt that Natalie was in this building. There was no real proof, of course. He’d tried looking for her car, but there were dozens of red compacts and he had no idea what her license number was. Tomorrow, he’d stake out the restaurants. If that didn’t work, he’d start knocking on doors.
His headache all but disappeared as he stared up into the night sky. It was amazing that these ocean-hugging stars were the same ones he saw at home. For a second, he was back on the ranch, alone in the rambling house he’d built with his own two hands, out on the balcony that ran along the back of the house, gazing upward, picking out Orion and the Pleiades. He found these constellations now, smiling up at two old friends who didn’t tell him that he should have known better, that he was a fool. “Thanks, guys,” he whispered. “I appreciate it.”
Alex awoke during the night, unsure what had called her back from a restless dream she could no longer remember. For a second, she lay beneath the satin quilt, placing herself in the honeymoon suite of the Otter Point Inn, alone in a huge bed meant for lovers.
Gradually she became aware of a cool breeze blowing in from the glass doors, and raised herself on her elbows to find long sheer curtains billowing back into the room, which meant the doors were open. The balcony was lit by the moon and she could just make out a dark shape standing at the rail.
An instinctive gasp died on her lips as she realized the shape was actually Thorn. His back was to her as he stared out at the sea.
He wouldn’t throw himself down onto the rocks, would he?
No. As upset as he obviously was, he didn’t act suicidal, just humiliated and angry. Now, if Natalie was here, that might be a different story. Natalie he might very well like to toss off a balcony.
Would he, or do I just want to believe he would?
This second question came from nowhere and left Alex feeling shaken.
She heard him close the doors as she slowly lowered her head back to the pillow and feigned sleep. His footsteps hardly made a sound on the plush carpet as he crossed back to the sofa. She heard the creak of old furniture as he lowered his weight and tried to get comfortable. He was paying for the room and she was half his size—why hadn’t it occurred to her to take the sofa and let him have the bed?
Should she get up and offer the bed to him now? Would he want it? Maybe the sofa was a better place for a jilted bridegroom. She fell asleep again while trying to figure out what to do.
The next time she awoke, it was morning and sunlight streamed through the glass. As she got out of bed, Alex looked over at the sofa, half expecting to find Thorn gone again, but apparently his late-night reverie out on the balcony had taken its toll. He lay asleep, half on the sofa, one arm hanging off to the side, both feet dangling over the end. He’d kicked off the blanket she’d given him the night before and it lay in a heap on the floor. Thankfully, he at least slept in his underwear.
She stared at him longer than was strictly necessary. His hands and forearms were tanned the same deep color as his face, the rest of him a shade lighter. He had very nice legs, well shaped, muscular. She liked his ankles. He stirred and she turned away at once.
False alarm. When she dared to take another peek, he was sound asleep again, on his side, all arms and legs, his head half buried under an arm. Alex let herself out onto the balcony, anxious to escape Thorn.
The rocks below were black and jagged, the ocean that swirled around them, sapphire blue. For some time, Alex stared at the water. She was wearing the robe—indeed, she’d slept in the robe—and she tightened the belt around her waist. What was she going to put on this morning? Would Thorn have any clothes that would fit her? Maybe she could borrow his gold card and buy herself something in the gift shop—shorts and a T-shirt, a touristy dress printed with whales or dolphins. Anything!
She winced when she thought about the prices she knew she’d find. A confirmed bargain hunter, she tended to wait until clothing was marked down so far, it was a giveaway. Well, desperate situations called for desperate measures and all that.
As she turned to go back into the room, she caught sight of a small yellow sports car pulled up to the front of the inn. Then she realized what had really drawn her attention was the driver. He was a very tanned
