Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever: Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever. Nikki LoganЧитать онлайн книгу.
himself into a sitting position. With his hair matted on one side and a crease on his cheek, he looked perfectly and adorably tussled. Kelsey’s stomach twittered. “Well, for one thing, you’d have woken to a dark and empty house.”
“News flash—I’ve done that for years. Goes hand in hand with the hermit thing.”
The medicine still had a hold; his words were slurred and punchier than normal. Try as she might, Kelsey couldn’t help a smile. “Funny, that’s what Farley called you.”
Sleepy cuteness turned sullen. “I’m sure they call me lots of things.”
“What makes you think they talk about you much at all?”
“Try four hundred thousand, ninety-four search engine hits,” he replied. “Or have you forgotten already?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped. When Alex sat up, the blanket she’d tucked over him slid toward the floor. Instinctively she picked it up. “But not everyone is as—”
“Nosy?”
“Curious,” she shot back, “as I am.” Her cheeks warmed remembering the whole exchange. Was he right? That once a victim of gossip, always a victim of gossip? She draped the blanket back over his legs. “Though if you ask me, moving up to a castle in the middle of nowhere, you’re kind of inviting speculation.”
“I’m here because I like my privacy,” he replied in a clipped tone that said the conversation was over.
Kelsey noticed him rubbing his eyes. “Head still hurt?” She remembered Rochelle’s migraines sometimes lasted for days, once getting so bad she ended up in the hospital on a morphine drip.
Alex grabbed the change of topic. “Some, but it’s definitely better. The medicine helped. Along with the sleep. A few more hours and I should be fine.”
Meaning she should take her cue and leave? “Are you heading upstairs?”
He shook his head, while at the same time closing his eyes and burrowing into the throw pillow. “Not yet. I’m comfortable right where I am.”
“Very well then, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Kelsey?”
He reached out and caught her wrist, an unnecessary gesture since she stopped as soon as he called out. “Yes?” she asked.
“Thank you.”
That was it. Two words and nothing more, but Alex’s expression was soft and sincere, and his eyes turned from metal to dove-gray, making the sentence sound like volumes. His grip stayed on her arm, simultaneously gentle yet firm. Kelsey could feel the pulse of each individual finger beating against her skin. Their cadence echoed the heart in her chest. A slow honey-coated sensation began twisting deep inside her, and she smiled.
“You’re welcome.” Reluctantly, she slipped her wrist free and headed upstairs.
“Did I really expect anything to change?” she asked Puddin’ the next morning. “I mean, so I helped him with a headache. Big deal.” One second of gratitude hardly changed anything.
“It was just for that one moment—” her skin tingled, remembering how his fingers encircled her wrist “—I felt like we understood each other, you know? That we connected.
“I should have realized it was my imagination.” For starters, she didn’t make connections. Not that kind anyway. And second, this morning Alex was still the dark, aloof man he’d been since her arrival. Worse, if that was possible.
“The guy’s been through the wringer, that’s for sure,” she said, hitting the save button. “I’d probably do the same thing if I’d been ripped apart like that. Makes you wonder what he’ll do when this book comes out.”
If the book comes out. Her gaze traveled back to the dwindling stack of yellow pads. This morning Mr. Lefkowitz sent an e-mail requesting a progress report which she was avoiding answering. With all the cross-outs and redirection, she’d transcribed maybe a third of the book. Certainly not a complete novel by any means. The editor wouldn’t be happy.
“If Alex doesn’t start producing soon, I’ll be stuck here till Christmas,” she said to Puddin’.
Did Alex even celebrate Christmas anymore? The image of a somber, undecorated Nuttingwood popped into her head, breaking her heart. Didn’t seem right he should spend the holidays isolated and lonely.
“Will you listen to yourself?” she said aloud. “What do you care how Alex Markoff spends his holidays?” This was a perfect example of why she didn’t do connections. Connections started you down the road toward foolish, elusive concepts like home and family and holidays …
And kindred spirits with stormy gray eyes.
“That’s it. Time for a break.” Her thoughts were getting way too out of control.
On the terrace, Puddin’ stretched and started to get up. Grabbing her empty mug, Kelsey sent a mock glare at the feline through the open French doors. “Don’t even think about coming inside while I’m getting coffee,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t listen.
Coffee was the one area where she and Alex had an automatic accord. Apparently they were both caffeine addicts so by unspoken agreement the pot remained full and fresh all day. Usually Alex made the first pot, then midmorning it was her turn.
There was only one problem. Alex had put the coffee grinder on the top shelf. He had been leaving the machine on the counter, but today he must have forgotten. Too much on his mind, perhaps?
She set her mug on the counter, then dragged a chair from the table, making a mental note to remind him he promised to keep the machine within her arm’s reach. Not everyone loomed over six feet.
“You’re standing on my counter,” Alex said from behind her.
“What the—”
She nearly dropped the grinder. Worse, she nearly knocked her cup off the edge.
“One of these days I’m going to buy you a bell,” she grumbled.
“I didn’t realize my comings and goings were so important to you.”
“They are when you insist on scaring the bejesus out of me every time you show up.”
Coffee grinder in hand, she hopped off the chair, bringing Alex closer than she expected. Cloves and wood and awkwardness packed the kitchen. For what felt like minutes, neither of them moved, their bodies and gazes stuck in place. Kelsey found herself suddenly painstakingly aware of the stubble on Alex’s cheeks and the way his lips were dry but soft-looking. Eyes traveling upwards, she realized he was studying her too. Or so it appeared. His eyes had an expression she’d never seen before.
“I’m—I’m making fresh coffee,” she finally managed to stammer. What was it about his proximity that made her brain short-circuit? “How’s your head?”
His hand touched his temple as if remembering what she meant. She had the crazy urge to do the same. “Better. Nothing left but a dull ache.”
“Have you had anything to eat? An empty stomach doesn’t help.”
He broke the moment, moving away. “Are you always this concerned about other people’s welfare?” he asked, opening the fridge, “or just mine?”
“Are you always this suspicious of people’s motives? Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask,” she added as he glanced over his shoulder.
With the atmosphere less charged, she returned to the task at hand, carefully measuring the beans into the grinder. A flick of a button filled the kitchen with a loud whir.
“Clearly you have no idea how awful you looked yesterday,” she continued over the noise.
“I’ve been having migraines my whole life. Last time I