“All right, fine.” Who am I to argue with a doctor who doesn’t charge me a cent? Yeah, he’s retired, and I have no idea how he still writes prescriptions. But he does come in handy. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” With that, I turn and head out of the spacious kitchen and up the interior stairs to the top level, which is all mine. My bedroom is in the turret, and I have my own bathroom and small office area as well as private exterior entrance. The place is my sanctuary and I love it.
A momentary pang of sadness hits me that I never met the great aunt who left this wonderful home to me, but I’m thankful for her every day. After my father died five years ago, I was adrift. I have the two best friends in the world, and either one of them would’ve taken me in, but my father’s will had directed me to this home that had been granted to me years ago. I found boarders almost instantly and have been repairing the building since. I’m uncertain about the pink color outside, and yet it really does lend that Victorian look to the place.
Sighing, I shut the door at the top of the stairs and move into my sanctuary. Something’s off. The air feels weird. I walk into my bedroom and pause at seeing Alexei Sokolov lounging in my one chair by the window near a fully stacked bookshelf. He’s thumbing through the latest J.T. Geissinger romance.
“There’s some good stuff in here,” he says. “She can write.”
Instant fire flashes through my body. Both anger and something else. A sensation I won’t admit to, no matter what. He exudes sex, even sitting in the plush pink chair. “What are you doing in my room?” I’ve about had it with the Sokolov family today.
He shrugs. I look over near my vanity, which is an antique that I’ve lovingly restored, to see a small shopping bag. “I’m staying here,” he says slowly.
I blink once and then again, my gaze wandering to the ornate silver mirror on the wall. The beautiful piece had been my grandmother’s, and sometimes when I look at myself in it, I see a hint of her. My grandfather always said I favored her, so the thought warms me. Right now, I take strength from that idea. “You most certainly are not sleeping in my bedroom.”
His gaze is so piercing, I feel it to the bottom of my spine. Maybe deeper. “I don’t think you understand the danger you’re in by representing me.” He stands, crossing to me and gently taking my wrist to turn my arm. “Who bruised you?”
I glance down at the purplish marks. “Your stepmother’s goon doesn’t know his own strength.” I tell him about my forced ride home.
Alexei’s nostrils flare. “What is his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Describe him.”
Warning skitters through me. “He was actually kind of funny.” At Alexei lowering his chin, I give the best description I can.
He nods. “Don’t worry. He will never bother you again.”
I gulp. It sounds like the guy will never botheranybodyagain. “I don’t want him dead.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Alexei leans down and kisses the bruises before releasing me.
Warmth encloses my heart, and I shrug the feeling away to put my hands on my hips. “Back to the matter at hand. All I have is the bed. There’s no sofa, no air mattress, and my desk chair in the other room is not comfortable.” He glances at the bed, which I have to admit is large. I like rolling around at night and spreading out.
“That’s big enough for the two of us.” His upper lip quirks. “Although I could do without the frilly red bedspread.”
I like frills, and I like red, and I like all girly things. He does not fit in this room. The man exudes raw male sexuality, and I’m in no mood for it. At least intellectually. My nipples harden and my hoo haw wakes right up and does a shivery dance that energizes my clit. How does he do that? Must be pheromones. I’ve read about them. The horny-creating chemicals must roll right off him and zero in on any available vagina.
It’s the only explanation for the sudden dampness between my thighs. Or the way my lungs are stuttering and holding onto oxygen I need for my brain.
I stare and am reminded of his overpowering height. Then I check out his clothes: faded jeans, plain black T-shirt, worn leather jacket, and motorcycle boots. “You found clothes that fit,” I mutter, telling my clit and traitorous vagina to go back to sleep. Now.
He nods. “I had enough cash for one outfit but will need my funds released soon. The clothing is in the farthest bag. Please return that to whichever boarder you borrowed it from.”
I look at him, naturally breathing him in. Male and something undefinable and dangerous. “What do you know about my boarders?”
“Not enough,” he admits. “I’ll know more soon, unless you want to tell me all about them.”
“They’re nice and retired elderly men who pay their rent the best they can,” I say evenly. I tilt my chin, hoping my bra is hiding my erect nipples. I have to concentrate on the case and not his broad shoulders. Is he as hard and rough as he looks? “Why does your stepmother fear you?”
If my words throw him, he doesn’t show it.
“She doesn’t fear me. She hates me with every fiber of her being. Why?”
“I think she’s terrified. Perhaps losing one son has made her realize what’s important in life. But she does fear you.”
While his eyes spark, his stance remains relaxed and his expression bland. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Like I said, neither she nor her employees will bother you again.”
“I don’t need you to take care of anything,” I retort. “I want to know if it’s possible that Hendrix set you up for David Fairfax’s murder seven years ago.” While I won’t call Lillian as a character witness for Alexei, she could be questioned to point toward Hendrix’s motive in the death and set-up of Alexei. Reasonable doubt is all I need.
