Chapter Fourteen

 

 

 

Dillon waited until he was certain the two were gone. Then he followed V into her office, but not before he nabbed a second piece of cake. He figured he’d need it for courage. “You put her in the Meadowlark suite?” he asked as she shut the door behind them and turned to face him. “You’re as subtle as a train wreck. You might as well just have put her right in his bed. It’s big enough for both of them.”

The woman shrugged. “He didn’t complain, did he?”

“I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I just said it wasn’t very subtle.”

“Not much in this house is subtle, and I see no reason to break with a long-standing tradition. Now tell me what happened.” She nodded Dillon to the small loveseat that took up a good chunk of the tiny room, then parked herself in the captain’s chair behind her desk.

Between hefty bites of cake, he told her the events of the evening in as much detail as possible, not because he didn’t want to cut to the chase, but because V was an interrogator extraordinaire—no doubt a part of her training for alien infiltration. By the time he’d gotten to what he really needed to talk to her about, she had consumed another travel mug of black coffee without so much as flinching. That had to be the alien bladder. He was about to piss himself from just watching her drink.

“The thing is, V, I may have put a little too much spin on tonight’s titillating adventure when I addressed the press, and I just want you to be prepared for it.”

“Oh?” She scooted forward and leaned over her desk like she was the principal about to decide if her student needed to be punished or not.

“Well, as I told Kelly, you can imagine how it looked—her coming to Lex’s rescue, the near cat fight—I mean, she literally called Spaulding a bitch. Of course, after that the press was primed and ready for it. Before I even addressed them, they were making the two into a couple. It’s the romance thing. They wanted it. They all wanted it. Well, except for Gale Ann Spaulding, of course, who wanted blood.”

“Dillon, what did you do?”

“Well… When one particularly romantic woman in the press asked me if our lovely Ms. Blake was Lex’s girlfriend…”

“You said yes. I know. I got that.”

“More like I said the charming Ms. B was Lex’s fiancée.”

“You what?”

For a second, Dillon thought the woman was going to catapult over the desk.

“Oh, don’t act so shocked. You’re the one who put her in the Meadowlark suite.”

“Yes, but I didn’t announce it to the press.”

“Her secretary went along with it,” he said, stuffing the last bite of cake in his mouth.

“Whose? Ms. Blake’s? You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am, very serious. She stood right up there next to me and lied. In fact, she’s damn good at it. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” she said.

“Oh, come on, like you wouldn’t have done the same thing, V! We talked about this. We agreed that we’d both do what we had to in order to be sure Lex had at least a chance with Kelly Blake. I mean, seriously, you saw them together. And if you’d been there, if you’d seen how she fought for him, how she led him out of the gallery, so careful not to touch him. And the chemistry between the two of them, well, it was all but sizzling from the moment they met.” He leaned forward in his seat and glanced at the door, as if he feared someone might overhear him. “And didn’t you see the way he pulled out her chair for her? Okay, so he didn’t actually touch her, but that’s a hundred times closer than you’d have gotten him without a major attack before, and you know it. Admit it, V, she’s good for him. Really good for him.”

V moved around the desk and sat on the edge in front of him, folding her arms across her chest. “But how are we going to convince Ms. Blake that he’s good for her? I mean we know him. We’re all used to his neuroses and his quirks and foibles, but she has no idea.”

“And that’s why you put her in the Meadowlark suite?”

This time the woman offered a twitch of a smile. “You said it yourself, everyone’s a romantic, but you’ve really upped the stakes here, Dillon. How do you suggest we deal with it, because you know neither of them is going to be happy when they find out what you and this secretary leaked to the press.”

He stood and came to sit next to her, one ass cheek hanging off the edge of the desk. “That’s why I had to up the stakes still further.”

She tap, tap, tapped her fingers on the blotter, the way she always did when she was scheming. “And just how did you do that?”

“Very simple, really. I accidentally let one of the reporters, one I know who has very good ears for news, overhear me saying that the couple were heading over to Kelly’s place for the night.” He stood and began to pace in front of the desk, empty cake plate still in hand. “Unless I’m sadly mistaken about that lust for the sensational and that instinct for romance, Ms. Blake’s lawn will be full of reporters tomorrow morning ready to camp out until they get a glimpse of the lovely couple.”

V responded with a chuckle only slightly this side of devious. “And all the time, they’ll be safely tucked away at Mountain View.”

He nodded enthusiastically nearly dropping his fork. “Exactly! No one else has even a clue where Alexander Valentine hangs his hat. That still hasn’t changed just because he’s made a public appearance, has it?”

“So then, basically, our Kelly Blake is stuck here with Alexander until the heat cools at her place, right?”

Dillon nodded. “That’s the plan. We’ll make it so they really and truly are stuck in each other’s space, then maybe the door between the Meadowlark suite and the Sunrise suite will be opened forever.”

For a moment, V sat in silence, toying with the lid of her empty travel mug. Then she began slowly nodding, as though a great idea was being born. “He did pull her chair out for her.”

“He did. Yes.”

“She did come to his rescue.”

“Yup. She did that.”

“I can see progress, real progress, and made in a very short time,” V said. “There’s certainly chemistry between the two. Plus, Ms. Blake is nice. I really like her. She suits him.”

“Lex’s chances for happiness, for any kind of a relationship, are slim at best. That’s the worst tragedy of his situation. If there’s an opportunity, even a slight one for some healing, for some genuine affection, maybe even for something more, then I think it’s worth the risk, V. Don’t you?”

 

* * * *

 

“Kell, honey, are you all right?” Myrna sounded breathless on the phone, like she’d been running. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Not worried enough to call and check in, though.” Kelly sat in the middle of the big bed, sheet pulled up over her breasts. Unable to sleep, she had decided to call Myrna. “What’s going on? Are you all right? Are the kids okay?”

“Kids are fine, we’re all fine. Kids are great. They’re with their Grandma Pearl for the weekend, and I would have called, but Dillon Matthews phoned to assure me you were fine, so I figured you’d be…you know, busy.”

“Oh.” Kelly waited for it, like she did with her clients, waiting for the person to speak in their own time, but that tactic seldom worked with Myrna. “You’re okay, though? Dillon said you helped him face down the press.”

“Yeah, right! I did, me and Terry. It was good. It’s all good. No worries.”

Kelly knew Myrna well enough to know when she was hiding something, but she also knew that it would be impossible to pry it out of her over the phone. A proper interrogation of Myrna Kieran required time, chocolate and lots of wine. The woman had the alcohol tolerance of a gorilla…though, come to think of it, Kelly doubted gorillas drank much alcohol.

“Listen, Myrna, I’m staying here for the night at Lex’s place. Dillon seemed to think it would be better, and it is late.”

“Right, okay, fine. Dillon did mention that to me. Listen, I have to go, sweetie. Call me in the morning?”

The phone went dead, leaving Kelly to frown at her lighted screen. Something was definitely going on. She’d expected Myrna to give her the third degree over whisking Alexander Valentine himself away right from under everyone’s noses. She’d expected to be asked details about the man, what he was like, what his place was like, what they did while she was with him. Oh, those questions would come, Kelly was sure of it, but in the meantime, something was definitely going on with her best friend.

From her seat in the middle of the bed, she could just make out the pale blue glow from the iMac in the study where she’d made a futile attempt to write. Yes, the suite actually had its own study with a library she’d like to make love to—one book at a time. Not tonight, though, nothing creative would happen tonight when her mind was so preoccupied with the enigmatic Lex Valentine sleeping in the suite next door…or not.

At first, she thought Lex was talking to someone. The two suites were joined by double French doors separating her from him by just thin panes of glass. They were covered with antique Belgian lace, which meant that the person on the other side was visible, but not in detail. That way-too-intimate arrangement was mitigated by the fact that the suites were connected between the two lounges rather than the bedrooms. Lounge, study, bathtub bigger than the local swimming pool…the Meadowlark suite even sported a fucking mini gym complete with an elliptical tucked away in an alcove near the balcony that guaranteed a workout with a view. Even in the dark, the discreet night lighting showcased the lush garden that would have been right at home in Renaissance Italy.

Lex had seemed embarrassed when he’d showed her the suite. At first, she thought that might be because he didn’t like to flaunt his wealth, until he explained that the Meadowlark suite was joined to his own Sunrise Suite. The two suites had belonged to his parents, he said, both wanting their own space, and not really very affectionate toward each other. The French doors ensured that the occasional conjugal visits, or lack thereof, were private. “Anyway,” he’d said, avoiding her gaze, “my mother seldom stayed here, though, in truth, I think she would liked to have lived here, but my father wouldn’t have it. The forest all around belongs to the Valentine Estate. My father used Mountain View more as a hunting lodge. He was a trophy hunter. If it walked or flew or breathed, he wanted to know what it felt like to kill it.” He caught his breath and tried to laugh. “Obviously, his trophies were the first things to go after he died. He brought his wealthy buddies and their women here several times a year.

“And then, when I…when I could no longer tolerate polite company or any other kind, he sent me here. For healing, he said, but the truth was he wanted to keep my embarrassing condition from becoming public knowledge. When he died, I chose to make the place my home, I had it gutted and redone to my tastes and to suit my needs as an artist. I don’t know why I kept the two suites joined. At the time, I had some idea about switching back and forth between them. There was a period around the time of my father’s death when I couldn’t stand to sleep in the same room two nights in a row. But that all changed once I redid the place. I don’t know why.

“Putting you here was V’s scheming, I’m sure. I’m sorry. If you’re uncomfortable, I can have you moved to another suite.”

She had reassured him she was fine where she was, though, in truth, the arrangement did make her a little nervous, as it clearly had him. Not so much because he was so close, but because sleeping, for her, was such a private thing, and knowing how close they were sleeping made her situation with Lex Valentine feel way more intimate than she was prepared for under the circumstances.

“I promise I’ll keep my hands off you,” he’d said. Then he had offered that little tease of a smile that always made her feel like her insides had melted to warm toffee. There had been a nervous shuffling of feet and a twitter of laughter as they’d said their awkward goodnights at the door.

She shoved her way from the bed and moved on tiptoe to stand next to the French doors, holding her breath. Listening. Perhaps he was talking to Dillon. But there was only one voice—Lex Valentine’s voice—and it was becoming more and more distressed by the second.

“Please move, please move, please move,” the words became a breathless mantra. It was then that Kelly realized he was dreaming, and it didn’t seem to be a good one, either. Perhaps he was dreaming about the press of people at the gallery. It could have been nothing less than terrifying for a haphephobic of his magnitude. “No! No! No! No! No!” His voice was filled with such fear that the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood and goosebumps rose over her arms. “No, no, no, no! Please move. You have to move. You have to move!” The last words were little less than the primal cry of absolute terror, and Kelly leaped away from the door with a cry of her own. Then there was silence.

She held her breath, pulse hammering against her temples. What the hell should she do? Was there someone she could call, someone who could help? Should she help? It was then that she saw a light go on, several lights. In fact, if the brightness were any indication, the man had turned on every light in his suite. She stepped around the corner into the bedroom and once again held her breath. A minute passed, maybe two, then there was scrambling around the room, the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor and a muffled curse. Another minute, and she thought she heard the toilet flush. Her heart ached to go to him. Knowing that he had put himself at such a risk tonight because of her brought on a wave of guilt. His distress had left her chilled and trembling, a sudden reminder of her nakedness. She fumbled for an oversized blue hoodie she’d found hanging on a peg by the balcony door and had been wearing in lieu of a bathrobe. The sleeves fell to her fingertips and it hung halfway to her knees. She fancied it smelled like Lex—evergreen and dark forest with a hint of high desert and ozone—but then it was probably just her imagination working overtime in an unfamiliar place, in a situation that was…well, bizarre to say the least.

There was some quiet moving about in Lex’s rooms, then she heard the door to his suite open and close. She strained to hear footfalls in the hall, and, for a second, she thought he might be coming to her. In truth, there might have been a pause in front of her door, but then the footsteps retreated, moving with purpose down the hallway. She listened, barely breathing, as they receded and were finally swallowed up by the silence of the huge house. Still uneasy, and even less able to sleep than she had been before, she moved back toward the study thinking to make another attempt at writing. It was then that movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Clutching the hoodie tightly across her breasts, she moved on silent feet to the open balcony, wondering if perhaps a deer or some other wildlife was moving about the garden, but instead, it was Lex who stood in the moonlight. She couldn’t blame him at all for wanting to be outside on a glorious night like this. She could think of no better way to clear the remnants of an unwanted dream than a moonlight walk.

He lingered near a tinkling fountain with Diana of the Hunt at the center. It wasn’t his work, she was sure. It was classical, but it was old and weathered, and though she was not a critic, the workmanship was not nearly as fine as his. She just barely managed to step back out of view when he turned, and his gaze rose to the balcony on which she’d been standing. With her heart hammering against her ribs, she stood watching him watch. Surely he couldn’t see her, and even if he could, well, he had to suspect that his nightmare had woken her. He would be concerned, she figured. At last, he turned and hurried through the garden, down a stone path that led to a non-descript outbuilding that was barely more than a shadow near the tall evergreens. As he opened the door and flipped on a light switch, her stomach cratered, and she stepped back onto the balcony, suddenly forgetting her efforts to stay hidden. The place was flooded with illumination and her angle was just right that she glimpsed a large open space. He left the door standing wide, a melon slice of light brightening the flagstone courtyard that surrounded the building just enough that she could see several lumps of unshaped stone and several more in varying stages of completion. She was looking at Alexander Valentine’s studio! She had spent hours poring over the photos of his sculptures in her battered coffee-table books, and now she had the chance to see the man himself in action. Her breath caught in her chest as she recalled the Horse and Rider, as she recalled her plan to stay at Hendricks Gallery until the security guards chased her out, so she could linger and study and enjoy Alexander Valentine’s genius just a few minutes longer. Okay, so that plan had gotten seriously kyboshed, but how could any person in their right mind resist the urge to watch Alexander Valentine create?