Sinewy muscles rippled under his snug T-shirt, compact and appearing more the product of work than a gym, and low-riding jeans hugged his slim hips, displaying a good view of flat belly when he raised his arms over his head. His lower lip, slightly fuller than the top, gave him a pouting expression, and even the librarian-type glasses perched on his nose did nothing to lessen his appeal. In short, he was exactly the kind of man Alex liked. He even had light-brown eyes!
Forcing himself to recall who the guy was and what he was doing there, Alex scowled. Attractive or not, it was time to put the upstart in his place. “I know what you’re trying to do and I won’t allow it,” he announced, folding his arms across his chest.
The man laughed, his voice much deeper than Alex would have imagined coming from someone so small. “I’m changing a light bulb. Do you have something against me being able to see while I make dinner?”
A cook? The guy was a cook? Well, it made sense. Due to his uncle’s illness, hiring a chef would be logical. However, that didn’t give the man the right to take advantage of the situation. And where was Martha? Surely the woman who’d been employed at the house for ages hadn’t been tossed aside for the sake of a boy toy.
“No, I have no objection to youcooking,” Alex answered coolly. “What I object to is your crossing the lines with my uncle. You wouldn’t be the first to see dollar signs when they looked at him, and likely not the last. None succeeded in parting him from his cash, and let me tell you, he’s been conned by the best.”
Furious amber eyes burned into Alex’s as the man climbed down from the ladder. “I see. Well, rest assured there’s only one person in this room after Alfred’s money, and it sure as hell isn’t me!”
Alfred? The cook addressed his superior by first name? He’d also kissed Alfred in the hallway. Martha was the only servant in the house allowed to kiss her employer. Furthermore, what was that crack about money? The Anderson legacy belonged to Alex by right, or soon would. Who the hell did this man think he was? “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? My uncle just lost his partner and he’s vulnerable. Whatever game you’re playing with him, I want it stopped.”
A ferocious glare answered him.
“If it’s money you’re after, name your price. I’ll pay, you go away. Deal?”
Alex had to hand it to him. The guy played his role well, burning with righteous indignation so realistic Alex nearly believed it himself.
“You’re the asshole nephew, Alex,” the man growled through clenched teeth.
“Yes, and you’re the gold-digger who thinks he can flaunt his tight ass in front of a grieving old man and get himself a tidy bit of cash. Now that we’re properly introduced, why don’t you run along and find yourself another sugar daddy.” Alex couldn’t control the anger seeping into his words.
A reddened face and sharp gasp were Alex’s only warnings before the stranger loosed his wrath. “Look, Alex, while you’ve been out thinking only of yourself, screwing anything that’d drop its pants, I’ve been here when your uncle needed me!” He smacked his hand onto the countertop. “When his lover lay dying, I was here. The night Byron died, Alfred called for hours and only got your stupid voice mail. Me, he got on the first ring! Now I’m minding my own business, trying to cook one of his favorite meals, one of the few pleasures Alfred has left, and you stroll in here flinging accusations!”
The agitated hornet of a man marched across the room and yanked a phone book from a shelf beneath a wall-mounted phone. “Why don’t you take your overinflated ego out to a club somewhere and start fucking your way through greater Los Angeles, while me and my ‘tight ass’ get dinner on the table?” He flipped opened the directory to “Restaurants and Clubs” and flung the book at Alex, pages flapping. “There’s plenty of skanks at the local nightclubs. Only don’t bring them here. That would be disrespectful.”
He hoisted the ladder to his shoulder and then stormed out the back door, muttering under his breath.
Alex stood clutching the open phone book, speechless, something that didn’t happen often. Well, he certainly understood what his uncle saw in the feisty handyman/cook. Regardless of a deceptively unassuming appearance, the man exhibited the same spirit and fire of Alfred’s late lover. Feisty or not, Alex wasn’t going to give up with so much at stake. The usurper wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation, and Alex would see to it if it was the last thing he did.
OHDEAR. First impressions certainly hadn’t gone well, yet Byron remained convinced that his and Alfred’s nephews belonged together, each being similar to their uncles in temperament and personality. Their first meeting, while explosive, hadn’t been explosive in the way he’d hoped. He loved his nephew, but the boy did have a temper, especially when under attack, though Byron could hardly fault the apple for falling close to the tree. The Sinclair temper did little to dispel the myth of fiery redheads, and his and Douglas’s arguments had been legendary. If his plan failed, he had only himself to blame, since he’d planted the seeds of jealousy to begin with.
Regardless of the failure of the initial meeting, he stood by the belief that placing forbidden fruit before Alex’s nose was the only way to truly capture the boy’s attention. If Byron had learned one thing about the man over the years, it was Alex’s penchant for winning at all costs, and believing he couldn’t have something made the prize much more enticing, eventually pushing him toward the edge. Yes, Byron suffered a twinge of guilt for involving Alfred, but was sure he’d be forgiven. After all, Alfred often quoted, “Sometimes the end justifies the means.”
The one shining moment in the whole encounter had been the growing bulge in Alex’s slacks as he’d verbally sparred with Paul. The spark had lit; Byron simply needed to fan the flames until they blazed.The end justifies the means, indeed.
5
MURMUREDconversation greeted Alex, and he hesitated before the closed dining room door. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help eavesdropping, especially when one of the voices was deep and rich, totally unlike Alfred’s. The words made his blood boil.
“Alfred, you know I love you with all my heart. Still, I don’t think this is right. I know he’s your nephew, but I don’t trust him. He’s never here and hasn’t done anything for anyone in this family outside himself.”
“In this family?”How dare the meddler consider himself a relative? Adding insult to injury, even now the two-bit con man tried to turn the tables before Alex had a chance to expose the manipulative bastard for what he was.
“Now, Paul…,” his uncle said in tones once used to placate Alex’s stern grandparents.
Paul? Why did the name sound familiar? Frantically searching his mind for some reference to a servant or business associate named Paul, Alex strained to catch the words while his uncle continued, “While it’s true he’s not been here, I’ve never asked him to be. I’m sure if I’d told him….”
“Told me what?” Alex demanded, bursting into the dining room.
Paul regarded him from a position kneeling on the floor by Alfred’s chair, the tilt of his chin haughty and unapologetic. “His napkin fell, I was picking it up,” he offered as explanation for his compromising position. With fluid, graceful motions, he rose and obtained a new napkin from the adjacent buffet before seating himself to the old man’s left, eyes clearly challenging Alex to question him.
“Uh-huh,” Alex replied. An eyebrow rose in mocking disbelief. How dare this mere servant presume to sit at the same table with the family? His grandparents were probably rolling in their graves!
The butler chose that moment to enter the room. “Excuse me, sir, might I have a word?
As Bernard conversed in hushed tones with Alfred, Paul muttered under his breath, “Honi soit qui mal y pense.”
