Beauty and the Brooding Boss. Barbara Wallace
the perimeter of the property, just inside the tree line. Head down, he picked his way carefully, as if counting his steps. Kelsey watched him approach with a catch in her throat. He looked so alone. Not at all like the hostile man who had greeted her this afternoon. This man reminded her of a specter. That was the only word she could think to describe him. There but not there.
He came closer, and Kelsey drew back, not wanting to get caught watching. No sooner did she pull into the shadows than she noticed he’d stopped. His face slanted upward to her window. Kelsey stifled a gasp. What light remained hit his eyes just right, turning them to shining silver. Even from two stories up, she could see the emotion churning behind them, bright and unguarded. She couldn’t name what emotion she saw, but whatever it was, it struck a familiar chord, pulling her in and making her insides twist. It felt like he was looking straight at her. Or rather, inside her. Which was silly, since he couldn’t see her from where she stood.
Eventually he moved on, leaving the night air charged with his presence. Quietly, Kelsey lowered the shade. A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by a bedroom door clicking shut.
His room was next to hers. She hadn’t realized. Through the wall, she heard the scraping of a chair and she swore what sounded like a long, desolate sigh followed by another and another, each sounding more frustrated than the next. Suddenly there was the rattling rush of glass and paper punctuated by a groan. The door opened and footsteps, heavy, angry footsteps, sounded in the hall. Kelsey knew the front door would slam before she heard it.
Okay, so maybe she was wrong about the nighttime quiet. But she was right about it being a long summer. Maybe she should have stayed in New York and worked those three jobs after all.
And be tied to Grandma Rosie’s debt for even longer.
Letting out a long breath, she collapsed backwards on the bed. “Thanks a lot, Grandma,” she muttered. Looked like Markoff wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a choice.
CHAPTER TWO
“ALL I can say is thank God for coffee. Especially—” Kelsey took a long sip “—fresh-ground Italian roast. I swear this stuff might be the only thing keeping me upright today.”
Her companion, a large orange tabby, said nothing. Kelsey had found the furry critter dozing on the terrace when she arrived at dawn, and he’d been keeping her company ever since. She suspected the animal was a stray. Unless Alex had a hidden soft spot, she didn’t see him as the pet-owning type.
Then again, those eyes she saw last night definitely hid something….
Forget it. He didn’t deserve sympathetic thoughts. Not after the way he kept her up last night with his continual pacing and sighing.
“I thought writing was a sitting profession, not one that required moving across the floor all night long.” She took another drink and waited for the caffeine to kick in. She was going to need to be alert if she was going to spend the day deciphering his handwriting. “I’ll tell you one thing, Puddin’-cat, I don’t care how brilliant a writer he is, the man definitely needs to improve his social skills. He acts like my being here is some kind of plague. How much you want to bet he’s annoyed that I helped myself to the coffee this morning?”
The cat pulled a paw over its eyes in response.
“Exactly,” Kelsey replied. “Though seems to me, if you’re going to leave a fresh pot brewing at the crack of dawn, you shouldn’t be surprised when people help themselves.” The smell alone had been nirvana after a sleepless night. “Fair’s fair, right?”
“Who are you talking to?”
Kelsey nearly jumped out of her skin. Standing at the edge of the terrace was a very dark and bothered Alex Markoff.
Immediately, her insides somersaulted. How was it he could look so intimidatingly perfect at this hour? He wore a navy blue T-shirt the same shade as his sling, the hem of which skimmed the waistband of his jeans. Jeans, she noted, that looked made to hug his hips. He’d been up and about from the looks of it. His skin glistened with perspiration, the moisture darkening the collar of his shirt. Dark curls peeked out from the back of his neck with the unruliness that only came from damp hair. Though it shouldn’t, seeing them made her wonder what he might look like stepping from the shower.
“Good morning,” she said once she caught her breath.
He stared at her with unreadable eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you talking to?”
“Just the—” She pointed to the sunny spot on a terrace that was now deserted. “Myself.”
“Do you always do that?”
“When there’s no one else to talk with. What’s that they say, ‘You’re your own best company’?”
“So I’ve always believed.”
As she tucked her hair behind her ear, Kelsey swore he checked for an earpiece. Really, did he think she was lying? “Looks like I’m not the only morning person after all. I helped myself to the coffee, by the way.”
“I heard.”
Along with how much else? Quickly, she raised her mug, hoping he wouldn’t notice her skin flushing. “Have you been up long?” she asked over the rim. “I would think after such a long night, you’d be sleeping in.”
“Why do you think I had a long night?”
Why did he seem to scrutinize everything she said as though she had a hidden meaning? Along with staring at her with those probing gray eyes?
“I heard you,” she explained, resisting the urge to duck her head like a nervous teenager. “Kind of hard not to, actually. Old house, thin rooms. You sigh loudly.”
“Oh.”
Oh, indeed.
“I take it writing didn’t go well last night?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, to make conversation?” She shrugged. “Do I have to have a reason?”
“There’s always a reason.”
“Well, in this case, my reason was to be friendly. After all, we’re going to spend the summer working together, we might as well be civil to one another, right?”
He gave her a long look. Gauging her sincerity? While she waited, the part of her not insulted used the standoff to study his face, catching the details she’d been too overwhelmed to notice before. Things like the tanned complexion, the faint scar on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his Cupid’s bow.
And, of course, the emotion behind his eyes. Yet again it struck her that there was something sad and painful behind their turbulence. A kind of longing, perhaps.
Or loneliness.
What was his story? She really should have done some research before taking this job.
Her curiosity would have to go unexamined as the sound of crunching gravel on the other side of the house interrupted the standoff. Soon as he heard the noise, Alex’s expression changed. Again. His shoulders straightened and a soft curse escaped his lips.
“What?” Kelsey was having trouble keeping up with his collection of abrupt moods. Naturally he didn’t answer. Like yesterday, he simply turned and walked off leaving her to follow. She turned the corner in time to see a burly tree-trunk of a man step out of a green pickup with the words Leafy Bean, Farley Grangerfield Prop. painted on the side. The man looked from Alex to her with interest, but said nothing. Not surprising given the dark warning plastered all over Alex’s face.
Continuing in silence, both men reached over the side of the truck bed and each grabbed two canvas bags laden with groceries. Alex, she noted, carried both with his good arm. As the stranger passed, he shot her another look. “Last two bags won’t unload themselves.”
Taking