Blogger Bundle Volume VIII: SBTB's Harlequins That Hooked You Page 3

“Well, I think they’re right,” Debbie said. “If you specialized in something else, you’d make more money.”

  “I have all the money I need.” Alex stripped off his white T-shirt while she was talking, so he missed what she said next. “Give me that again?”

  “I said, you have loans to pay off. Being in debt isn’t bad for a bachelor, but what about when you want to get married and have kids?”

  Alex sighed and threw his shirt through the window. “Debbie, we’ve had this discussion. I don’t want kids.”

  “Well, not right now, but someday you’ll want a family and then—”

  “I have a family,” Alex said. “They drive me nuts. Why would I want another one?”

  “A family of your own,” Debbie said.

  “Debbie, you’re not paying attention. I don’t want kids. Ever.”

  There was a long silence on the end of the phone, and Alex realized that she’d heard him for the first time.

  “I do,” she said.

  “I know,” Alex said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to warn you. I like you a lot. I have a good time with you. But I don’t want kids. I don’t even want to get married. I’ve had family up to here. I don’t want any more.”

  “Well.” Debbie cleared her throat. “Well, all right. I guess there’s not much point in us seeing each other anymore then, is there?”

  “Not unless you just want to kick back and have a good time.” Alex knew he was supposed to be panicking at her ultimatum, but all he could dredge up was a mild willingness to try again. “We could see some movies. Talk. Just be us together for a while. Get to know each other.”

  “Alex.” Debbie’s voice was tight with controlled anger. “We’ve been dating for six weeks. We know each other. We have seen enough dumb movies and done enough talking. I want a future. I want it all.”

  “Well, I hope you get it,” Alex said cheerfully. “Good luck.”

  Debbie hung up on him.

  Alex put the phone on the windowsill and leaned back against the fire escape again, trying to decide if he was depressed that Debbie was gone. He wasn’t. In fact, the only depressing part was that he wasn’t depressed. He should be depressed. Debbie was a very nice woman, but he didn’t care at all that she was out of his life.

  He was a slime. Worse, he was turning into Max.

  Still, he’d stuck it out with Debbie for six weeks. That was pretty good. Maybe next time, he’d find a woman who was happy just to be with him, cruising through life and the video store, without a need to produce more family obligations that would make him crazier than he already was.

  There was Tricia, the little blonde in the business office. She’d asked him to dinner once, but he’d turned her down gently because of Debbie. She seemed nice. Maybe Tricia would be more interested in food and Casablanca than in planning car pools and country-club memberships. Maybe he’d call her if he lived through his birthday tomorrow without being sent to prison for strangling a family member.

  The fire escape was cutting into the muscles in his back so he sat up and stretched and crawled through the window. The couch was close enough to catch a little of the breeze. All he needed was sleep. With any luck, he’d sleep through his birthday and not have to see anybody before he went back to work on Saturday.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Nina relaxed on her overstuffed couch with Fred heavy and warm beside her, now redolent of both the dog shampoo she’d washed him with and the Duende perfume she’d spritzed him down with on a whim. He’d been annoyed, but she’d bribed him with gourmet dog biscuits, and he was happy now, sighing in his sleep while she watched Mel Gibson blow up something on TV.

  She had the sound off so she could watch Mel without having to listen to him, and the traffic rumbled faintly outside in the May night, punctuated now and then by the sirens of the ambulances heading for Riverbend General two blocks away, reminding her that humanity was close at hand. Best of all, Fred was warm beside her, and for the first time that day, she felt secure enough to turn her full attention to her problems. With Fred around, they didn’t seem so bad.

  One problem was her job. She’d started as a secretary to Jessica Howard of Howard Press, a woman whose beige-suited exterior hid a warm heart and an appreciative spirit, and within six months Jessica had promoted her to editor. That was good. Unfortunately, she was editing memoirs of upper-class stiffs who’d never had an original thought, and collections of essays by academics on topics so obscure that even if they were original nobody cared. “Did you ever think about branching out?” she’d asked Jessica. “Into fiction? Something popular like romance novels? I hear they do very well.”

  Jessica had looked at her as though she’d suggested prostitution. “Popular fiction? Not in my lifetime. I’ll pass Howard Press on to the next generation as honorably as it was passed to me.”

  Nina had repressed the impulse to point out that the press might not survive Jessica’s lifetime. In fact, if the figures she’d seen while she’d been Jessica’s secretary were accurate, Howard Press might not survive lunch. And it was such a shame. Jessica was a good person who loved books; she should have a successful press. Unfortunately, Jessica wouldn’t have known a bestseller if it bit her.

  Nina cuddled Fred closer. “Want to write a book, Fred? That dog in the White House made a mint, and she didn’t have near your class.”

  Fred snored and twitched.

  Nina kissed the top of his sweet-smelling head. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Her other problem was the loneliness. It had been bad this last week, being in a new place and being so lonely. She’d been lonely before in the big house, but she was used to being lonely there. Her marriage had been a series of important parties and important charities and important career moves for her husband, but after the first couple of years, not much warmth and not much fun. She and Guy had laughed together at first, but then his future had gotten in their way, and the fun had stopped. That’s the way it was with professional men: they thought they were their careers and they forgot how to have fun while they built empires. And she’d been Mrs. Empire, feeling emptier and emptier until she’d finally gotten up the courage to leave Guy, to file for divorce and go looking for a life of her own, hoping for warmth and good times.

  He’d been stunned when she’d told him she was leaving. “Why?” he’d said. “I never cheated on you.” And Nina, annoyed that he’d missed how empty their lives had become, had said, “Good, I never cheated on you, either.” And Guy had said, “Of course not. You’re not the type. And now you’re going to live the rest of your life alone? You’re almost forty, Nina. You’re not going to find anyone else at your age. Why don’t you go get a facial? That always makes you feel better.”

  She’d thought he was wrong, thought it would be better once she had a place of her own, but she’d only been in the apartment a week when she’d realized what Guy had been talking about: lonely was lonely, no matter where you lived. He just hadn’t realized that it had been lonelier living with him than without him. She gathered Fred to her and put her cheek on his furry little head, grateful to have him with her.

  Her mother had been even blunter than Guy. “You’re leaving Guy just as your body’s going. You’ve put on weight, you’ve got crow’s-feet and I’m sure you’re sagging in more places than just your jawline. This is a mistake. Tell Guy you’ve changed your mind.” And when Nina had said, “No,” her mother had washed her hands of her. “Fine. Leave the money and society to be some drab, middle-aged divorcée. It’s your life. But don’t come crying to me when you realize what you’ve done.”

  Even Charity had put her two cents in. “Your mother’s an ice cube and always has been. Forget her. But I’ve got to tell you, Neen, it’s a jungle out there. Guerilla dating. Brace yourself.”

  Well, she wasn’t going to brace herself, because she was not going looking for another man. From now on, she was building her own life and staying as far away from men as she could. She had her career, her apartment, and now she
had Fred, too.

  Fred stirred again, and Nina held him close. Now she had Fred to come home to, and he was all she was ever going to need. Fred would always love her and would never leave her. “We’re going to be together forever,” she told him. Then she fell asleep with her arms around him, his snores echoing in her ears.

  DEBBIE WAS LICKING wet, sloppy kisses on his face. “No,” Alex mumbled. “No, I don’t want kids.” He tried to push her nose away until somewhere in the recesses of his sleep-fogged mind he remembered that Debbie’s nose hadn’t been long and furry. Then he opened his eyes and screamed.

  There was an animal on the couch next to him.

  Alex sat up and the animal rolled off and landed on the floor with a thud.

  “What the hell?” Alex turned on the lamp, and the soft light flooded the room and showed him the thing at his feet.

  It was a basset hound with all four legs in the air, looking like inflated road kill.

  Alex bent down. “Hello?”

  The dog rolled over slowly, blinking at him in reproach. This dog was very good at reproach. In fact, this dog could make Hannibal Lecter feel guilty.

  “I’m sorry,” Alex told him. “You scared me.” He scratched the dog behind the ears, and the dog’s eyes closed as he gave a little doggy moan. “Where you from, buddy? Better yet, how’d you get in here?”

  He looked over at the apartment door: closed shut. That pretty well meant the window. He looked at the dog in disbelief. “You came in the window? What are you, Superdog?”

  He walked over and stuck his head out the window. The back gate was shut tight. “You must live here in the apartments.”

  The dog turned his back and waddled to the door, but Alex caught a glint of metal on his collar before he turned.

  “Wait a minute.” Alex followed him to the door and bent down to read the tag. Fred Askew, it said. 2455 River Dr., Apt. 3. “You’re one floor up, Fred, old buddy,” he told the dog as he picked up his shirt, “let’s go see if anybody’s home.”

  Chapter Two

  Nina stretched and squinted at the clock on the mantel. Eleven. Time to wake up, put Fred out and go to bed.

  Fred?

  Fred wasn’t next to her anymore. She leaned off the couch to look under the end table, but he wasn’t there. Suddenly the apartment seemed too quiet, and she went from bedroom to kitchen to living room calling Fred’s name.

  He was gone. She’d fallen asleep, and he was gone. She stuck her head out the window and searched the yard anxiously for him.

  No Fred.

  She crawled out the window and ran down the two flights of fire escape, desperately searching the pavement below for Fred’s broken body.

  No Fred.

  She paced the backyard in the dark, inch by inch, looking behind and even in the Dumpster, just in case Fred had developed aspirations and had managed to climb inside.

  No Fred.

  The back gate was still locked, and the fence was too high for any dog to have jumped over, let alone the aerodynamically challenged Fred.

  Nina climbed back up the fire escape, her throat tight with fear and loss, and crawled through the window, not sure what she was going to do next. She sank into her big armchair and tried to think.

  Call the pound. Call the police. “I’ve lost my dog. He’s part basset, part beagle, part darling.”

  “Oh, Fred,” Nina mourned out loud, and then jumped when someone knocked on her door.

  The guy at the door was tall, blond, broad-shouldered and boyishly good-looking, and when she blinked up at him and said, “Yes?” he leaned against the doorjamb, loose-limbed, careless and confident. “Would you be Fred Askew’s mother?” he asked, and then she looked down and saw Fred sitting bored at his feet, his little silver ID tag glinting in the light from the hall.

  “Fred!” Nina shrieked and dropped to her knees to gather him into her arms. “Oh, Fred, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  Fred slurped his tongue over her face and then struggled to get free of her. Nina let him go and stood up, wiping her hand across her face to get rid of most of his spit. “Thank you.” She beamed at Fred’s rescuer. “Thank you so much. Where did you find him?”

  “He was sitting on my couch when I woke up.” He held out his hand. “I’m Alex Moore. I live in the apartment below you.”

  Nina wiped her fingers on her skirt and shook his hand, a little dazed. “On your couch? He was sitting on your couch?”

  “Surprised me, too.” Alex grinned at her. “I think he came in from the fire escape.”

  His grin was a killer, broad and friendly and a little evil, and Nina felt her pulse flutter in response. No, she told her pulse and turned to frown down at Fred. “I told you, it’s two flights. You have to climb all the way to the third floor, Fred. You can’t just pick any window and climb in.”

  Fred did the dog equivalent of a shrug and walked away.

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “You trained him to climb the fire escape?”

  Nina bit her lip. “I was hoping no one would notice. I’m sorry. I—”

  “No, I think it’s great. Weird, but great.” He grinned at her again, and Nina was struck by how nice he looked. Not handsome or distinguished like Guy. Just comfortably good-looking. Warmly good-looking. Stirringly good-looking.

  And he couldn’t possibly be thirty yet.

  This was a bad sign. It was also understandable since she’d been celibate for a year, but it was still a bad sign. This guy was a child. If she kept this up, she’d be buying a Porsche and cruising the local high schools.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Moore,” she began and stopped when he shook his head.

  “Alex.” His eyes went back to Fred. “How long has he been climbing the fire escape?”

  “Just since this afternoon,” Nina said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” His eyes came back to hers, brown and kind and alive with intelligence and humor, and she clamped down on any strange thoughts she might be having. “If Fred hadn’t climbed in my window, I wouldn’t have met you,” he said, “and I think knowing your neighbors is important. Of course, I haven’t met you yet. Let’s try this again.” He held out his hand again. “I’m Alex Moore.”

  “Oh.” Nina took his hand, flustered. “I’m Nina Askew.”

  “Hello, Nina Askew.” His hand was large and warm, and he had lovely long fingers, and Nina pulled her hand away as soon as she realized she was having thoughts about his fingers.

  “Hey!” he said, and Nina flinched before she realized that he was looking beyond her. She turned just in time to see Fred fling himself out the window, and she said, “No, Fred!” as Alex moved past her.

  She followed him to the window and watched with him as Fred waddled down two flights of stairs to the backyard where he promptly watered the Dumpster.

  “Smart dog.” Alex quirked an eyebrow at Nina. “Did you teach him to do that?”

  “I taught him the stairs,” Nina said. “He already knew how to lift his leg.”

  “Smart woman,” Alex said, smiling into her eyes.

  Oh, boy. “Would you like a Coke?” Nina asked and then kicked herself for asking. The last thing she needed was an incredibly sexy underage male drinking Coke in her kitchen.

  “Love one,” Alex said.

  FOR AN UGLY DOG, Fred had a very cute mother.

  Once Fred had scrambled back through the window, Alex followed Nina into the kitchen, trying not to admire the swing of her round hips in her wrinkled brown skirt. He was pretty sure she’d just woken up: her short dark curls were rumpled and her big dark eyes were still a little sleepy and her pale pointed face was creased from a pillow somewhere. Pillows made him think of beds, which only led to one thing, and he told himself to knock it off or he’d end up like Max.

  Of course, Max was a pretty happy guy.

  Alex sat down at the table, trying not to stare at the soft curves in front of him. Very attractive woman, Fred’s mother. He owed Fred.

/>   She took two blue-checked mugs from the cupboard and opened the freezer door, automatically putting her free hand up to push the large glass-covered pot on the top of the fridge farther back. Then she scooped ice into the mugs and nudged the door closed, and Alex admired her efficiency and her arms at the same time.

  When she took two cans of soda out of the fridge and put the mugs and cans in front of him on the round oak table, he saw her face clearly for the first time, the tiny lines around her dark brown eyes, the softness in her face. She was Max’s age, maybe a little older. Her face looked settled, not serene exactly, but not the searching, anxious look that Debbie’s face had. She looked wonderful and comfortable and centered in herself, and he wanted to tell her so, but he stopped in time. She might think it was a pass.

  Which it would be, come to think of it, and that would be a bad idea since she lived right above him, and if she took offense, there’d be tension whenever they met. And if she didn’t take offense at the pass, she would later when he explained he didn’t want to get married. He had enough problems; no point in screwing up the place he lived, too.

  “Thank you,” he said, and she said, “Thank you for bringing Fred home.” Then she smiled at him, and he felt a little dizzy for a minute.

  “I’m sorry Fred came through your window,” she said.

  “I’m not,” Alex said. “This way we get to talk. It’s a good building, and now it’s better because you’re here.” She flushed, and he thought, not used to getting compliments, huh? and wondered if there was a man in her life and if so, why wasn’t she used to getting compliments?

  “I haven’t met the other people yet.” She poured herself a Coke before she sat opposite him. “Well, I’ve met the landlord on the first floor, of course. And I hear somebody go by on the way up to the fourth-floor apartment sometimes, but I hate to open the door and introduce myself. It seems pushy.”

  Alex laughed. “The fourth floor is Norma Lynn. She loves pushy. In fact, I think she invented it. She’s seventy-five—”