His fingers linked behind his head, he lowered his upper body to the floor then pulled up twisting his torso to touch his right elbow to the left knee, down to the floor, then back again to touch his left elbow to his right knee. He repeated the exercise over and over again without the slightest sign of strain.
He was ignoring her. Frustration tightened her jaw. “You sound like a cheap prostitute.”
She was sick of not being told the truth for her own protection. She had worked hard to get away from the suffocating life she had, courtesy of her father. And now somehow she’d gotten sucked back again.
Alex sat on his haunches like a jungle cat ready to pounce. His dark gaze held hers, cold and unyielding. “Is that what you want?”
What was he talking about? She had to search her brain to think what she’d said. God, had she just called him a prostitute? “It’s not what I meant.” She watched, rooted to the spot, as he unfolded his enormous frame and moved toward her.
And kept moving closer. “I—” She tried to step away, but it was too late. They were nose to chest, an arm braced on either side of her. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the muscles that bulged under his shirt in front of her face. How did he get there so fast?
“Do you have a problem with me, Nicola?” His voice was velvety smooth.
She lifted her chin, and their eyes met. Holy Mother and the Trinity. He’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent. This is a professional discussion.
“No. Of course not.” She tried to wiggle away. Even in business, there were times when the best course of action was to step back a little.
His gaze swept her face. He was measuring her up, testing her. She stiffened her spine and gave him a level look. “No problem at all.”
“Good,” he replied without letting her go. “Because we are going to have to work together.”
Dear Lord, his lips were close. Great lips, but too close. Not at all what you’d expect in a strictly business-type situation.
Chapter Three
She had to focus on something else. Nicola let her gaze slip to his neck, to the tail of what she supposed was a tattoo of a snake disappearing under his shirt. The tail seemed to wiggle with each pulse of the artery underneath and she felt mesmerized by it. She didn’t like snakes. Snakes ate birds, and she loved birds. She was definitely losing her mind.
“The finches.” She said the first thing she could think of. “They’re all alone.”
He stepped back.
“We have to get them. What if the terrorists hurt them?” Now that she thought of it, the possibility horrified her. Would they go that far? If they were willing to kill her, they probably wouldn’t balk at doing in a couple of defenseless birds. “What if they’re kidnapped?”
He pulled up a black eyebrow and watched her closely as if he were trying to determine whether she was serious. “I don’t think that’s a worry at this stage.”
“It is for me, damn it! I’m not going to sit here safe and sound while who knows what’s happening to them.”
A slight grin played on his lips. “Politically motivated assassinations of small birds are a relatively rare occurrence.”
“I’m not kidding. At the very least, I need to call my friend to go over and get them.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea. I don’t want anyone in the house.”
Right. In case the terrorists were hanging around to blow it up. The thought took a moment or two to digest. Her brain wasn’t used to running along those lines. She had to keep her girlfriend Sheila out of this.
“I want my babies. My Tweedles need me.” She hung on to the issue, knowing in the back of her mind that she was probably using the birds to take her thoughts—and his—off more immediate things.
“Tweedles?”
“Umm…Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” Shouldn’t have said that. Should have stuck with “birds.” Okay, so they were stupid names, but when she had first gotten the birds from Richard as a surprise present, she had hated them. With time she had grown to love the bickering pair, but by then the names had stuck.
“Birds are born to survive under rough circumstances. They make it in the wild through periods when there’s no food.” His voice was full of studied patience, almost to the point of sounding gentle. It was scary.
“Are you crazy? They were born in a cage. Their grandparents’ grandparents were born in a cage. They have no fortitude, they have no instincts. Tweedle Dee once tried to hatch a red peanut M&M for over a month.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” She wasn’t about to explain the nesting instinct to a man who had so little regard for birds. She had to push him into going somehow. Even if only for a little while, she needed to get out of this house. “I’m going if I have to hitchhike.”
He shook his head, not at all looking as if he was buying her false bravado. “Listen to me, lady. You are not going. I am not going. We are not going. Understood?”
“You’re scared?”
He swore.
“You don’t think you can protect me? That doesn’t make me feel all that secure, you know. Maybe you should call for backup.” Now that she had miraculously found the strength to stand up to him, she wasn’t about to back down.
Color crept up his neck to his face.
“Do you feel incompetent about keeping me safe in general, or only if we have to leave this house for any reason? I’m really not happy about this. I think I need to talk to my father.”
Not that she would ask her father for a favor in the next hundred years or so, but Alex didn’t have to know that. It seemed important that she regained some semblance of control, that she won at least this one argument.
The vein in his temple bulged as he reached for his cell phone and dialed.
“We’re going to need backup.” He listened for a few seconds. “Very funny. The lady wants her damn birds. What’s the earliest you can get someone to the house? Tell them to give me a call when they get there.” Alex closed the phone and clipped it back on his belt. “Anything else you desperately need?”
She gave him a list.
HE COULD TELL it took all her self-control not to gloat. Smart woman. He respected self-control in anyone. He certainly got to exercise his a lot since he’d been around her. His hands itched to glide over those maddening curves that taunted him with her every move.
He turned from her to open the fridge, welcoming the cold air that hit his face. Nothing in there but partially used bottles of ketchup and mustard, and a lonely fuzz-covered pickle in a glass jar on the bottom shelf. He went through the cabinets—Ramen noodles, coffee, tea, sugar, powdered milk, a couple of packages of pasta, paper
