Stranger in my Arms (3 page)

In lieu of wedding gifts, Jolene and Michael had requested donations be made to the Jeanine Walker Retreat House, a facility named for her late twin sister who'd died at the hands of an abusive husband. As executive director of the Sanctuary Counseling Center, a D.C.–based treatment center for victimized women, she'd dedicated the past five years of her life helping women empower themselves.

Alex admired her cousin's new wife because she was so focused. Although a year older, Jolene knew exactly what she wanted and where she wanted life to take her. Her board of directors' fund-raising efforts had generated enough money to begin building the retreat house for battered women and their children. She'd fallen in love, married Michael Kirkland and now she looked forward to becoming a mother the following summer.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asked Jolene when the new bride pressed a hand to her slightly rounded belly.

“Bless you, Alex,” Jolene said in a hushed whisper. “Please bring me some water and a few shrimp puffs.”

“I'll be right back.”

She wove her way through the throng waiting to offer their best wishes to the new couple. Her steps slowed when she came face-to-face with a man she hadn't seen since the last Christmas holiday family gathering.

Reaching for his hand, she smiled up at him. “Come with me, Diego, while I get something for Jolene to eat.”

“Hold up, Alex.”

Tightening her grip on his large hand, she forcibly pulled him along as she quickened her pace. “Unless you want to see your cousin's bride faint in front of her family and guests, you'll help me.”

“Is she sick?”

“No, she's pregnant.”

Diego Cole-Thomas smiled, an expression that was as rare to those who knew him as it was to see snow in the desert. “It looks like Michael couldn't wait to become a daddy.”

Ignoring his cynical remark, Alex asked, “When did you get in?”

When she'd questioned her aunt Nancy as to the whereabouts of her eldest grandson, her answer was “He's expected at any moment.” Any moment had come nearly twenty-four hours later.

“The jet touched down an hour ago. I barely had time to make it to my place to change before driving like a bat out of hell to get here before midnight.”

Alex asked a member of the catering staff to bring her what Jolene had requested, then turned to stare up at her elusive second cousin. Diego Samuel Cole-Thomas was being groomed to take over as CEO of ColeDiz International, Ltd. Women liked the thirty-five-year-old confirmed-bachelor venture capitalist and he liked them back. However, whenever one broached the topic of marriage Diego managed to extricate himself from the relationship unscathed.

Looking at Diego was like seeing Samuel Claridge Cole reincarnated. Not only did he look like his great-grandfather but he'd also inherited his business acumen. Diego's genes had reached back several generations wherein he'd inherited Samuel's height, powerful build, lean angular face and large deep-set eyes, dark eyes that glowed like polished onyx. If women weren't drawn to the slight cleft in his strong chin, then it was to his smooth sable-brown skin.

“Did you bring Lisa?”

Diego lifted thick, silky black eyebrows a fraction as he shook his head. “No. We stopped seeing each other a couple of months ago.”

Alex shot him a skeptical look. “Is it because she mentioned the M word?”

His solemn expression didn't change. “No. It was by mutual agreement. How are you doing with your hip-hop boyfriend?”

A rush of heat stung Alex's cheeks. She and Duane Jackson had dated each other exclusively for five months, then without warning he'd stopped calling. She'd left a message with his housekeeper at his Miami mansion, another voice-mail message on his cell phone before relegating him to her past when he failed to contact her.

“That's over.”

“I thought you guys were serious.”

Alex accepted a small plate wrapped in a napkin from a waitress. “When have you known me to get serious about a man?”

Diego inclined his head at the attractive young woman who handed him two bottles of chilled water. He fell in step with Alex as they made their way back to the garden. “It's time you got serious about someone.”

She ignored his censuring assessment of her love life. “I'll get serious about a man when you do the same with a woman.”

“It's not going to happen, Alex. Not when my father has been talking about retiring.” Timothy Cole-Thomas had announced he planned to turn over the reins of ColeDiz to his son the day he celebrated his sixtieth birthday. And that would become a reality in another four months.

“And it's not going to happen for me until I complete my graduate studies.”

Diego gave her a sidelong glance. “Does this mean I can expect to see my little cousin married in the very near future?”

Alex rolled her eyes at him. “You wish.”

“No, Alex. Your parents wish.”

“Careful. Don't go there, Diego,” she warned quietly in defense of David and Serena Cole.

Diego knew he'd struck a nerve with Alex. She was fiercely loyal and supportive of her free-spirited parents who'd raised their four children in an environment reminiscent of the seventies hippie culture. Gabriel, Alexandra, Jason and Ana Cole had grown up independent, headstrong, tolerant, secure, artistically gifted, while marching to the beat of their individual drums.

He stole a quick glance at his petite cousin. Men were drawn to her because of her beauty and carefree attitude yet none were able to tame the wildness that surfaced when least expected. And, if one did, then he would be deemed more than special; he would be exceptional.

A
loud hiss preceded the explosion of color in the nighttime sky as pyrotechnics spelled out HAPPY NEW YEAR! to the surprise and joy of those gathered outside the large tent. Amid cheering, applause, hugs and kisses, Merrick watched the faces of those closest to him. Dressed in their evening finery, many who'd had more than a few predinner cocktails, they were enjoying themselves.

“Happy New Year,” a woman whispered close to his ear before planting a kiss on his unsmiling mouth.

He went completely still as he stared at the stranger. The tall model-like woman smiled, flashing her porcelain veneers. Although beautiful, in typically plastic Hollywood fashion, she definitely wasn't his type.

“Same to you,” he mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his trousers for a handkerchief. Moving into the tent, he wiped the bloodred lipstick off his mouth. He wasn't one for public displays of affection, especially when unsolicited.

He wouldn't have been as repulsed if Alexandra Cole had kissed him; however, he doubted whether she would've kissed him even if it was under the pretense that the holiday called for the ritual of exchanging kisses.

The pyrotechnics went on for another ten minutes much to the delight of the young children whose
oohs
and
aahs
turned to protests as they were led back to the house. Those sixteen and over were permitted to join their adult relatives in the frivolity that would go on for hours.

Merrick was directed to his table under the enormous tent set up with seating for two hundred; he and Alex weren't seated at the same table but she sat close enough for him to take furtive glances at her; he'd lost his chatty hanger-on who, to his relief, was seated at the opposite end of the tent. Even if he'd wanted to reply to the psychologist, she hadn't let him get a word in edgewise, and he wondered whether her clients were given the opportunity to talk in their sessions.

And if he hadn't been so taken with Alexandra Cole's natural beauty he would've taken notice of the exquisite centerpiece of white roses, hydrangea, paperwhites, poinsettias and dusty miller spilling over crystal vases, the flickering pillars under glass chimneys and the exquisite place settings with Royal Crown china in a Derby Panel Green pattern and Vera Wang sterling and crystal.

Prerecorded music featuring the works of Gershwin and Ellington provided a soothing background to muted conversations as silent, efficient waitstaff filled wine and water glasses. They served course after course of endive with crème fraîche and caviar, bowls of delicious oyster soup, Caesar salad with crisp pancetta and garlicky croutons, wild-mushroom lasagna, grilled salmon, filet mignon and chicken cordon bleu.

Merrick lost count of the number of different wines poured for each serving as he alternated exchanging pleasantries with the two women flanking him while surreptitiously stealing glances at the woman who, despite his declaration that he wasn't interested in her romantically, had ensnared him in an invisible web of curiosity.

She was a Cole, a member of one of the wealthiest African-American families, if not the wealthiest, and was related to the groom. She hadn't worn any rings and professed she didn't date, and therefore he assumed her single.

Had her declaration that she didn't date mean that she wasn't into men? A hint of a smile tipped the corners of his firm mouth.

He would just have to ask her.

 

Throughout dinner Alex took surreptitious glances at the table to her right. There was something mysterious yet frightening about Merrick Grayslake. She wasn't certain whether it was the timbre of his drawling voice that indicated that he had southern roots or that he hadn't raised his voice to Donald; there was no mistaking the cold warning. And when he'd reached for Donald's throat she'd thought for an instant that he was going to strangle the poor man.

Staring at him through her lashes, she bit down on her lower lip, holding her breath. He'd caught her staring. The seconds stretched into a full minute. He acknowledged her interest with a barely perceptible nod. The corners of her mouth curved upward as her lips parted in an inviting smile.

Merrick was hard-pressed not to return her smile, his silver-gray orbs darkening with an emotion he hadn't felt in a very long time. He'd lied to Alex and to himself. There was something about her that made him want to know her. Putting two fingers to his forehead, he gave her a mock salute. A lump formed in his throat when she went completely still, then turned away to say something to the man on her left. Her expression before she'd glanced away was one of demure innocence.

Was she?
he mused.
No, she couldn't be,
he continued with his mental monologue. Pushing back from the table, he looped one leg over the opposite knee; he studied Alex with a curious intensity that was so foreign to him. She reminded him of a lump of coal that appeared cold until touched. At that moment he likened her to a dark fire.

Alex had promised him one dance, and he hoped the single interaction would be enough to put his mind at ease as to why he felt drawn to his friend's cousin.

His attention was redirected to the bridal table where the best man offered a toast to the newlyweds. Flutes of champagne were hoisted over and over with the various toasts from a very pregnant maid of honor and the parents of the couple. Jolene and Michael cut the first slice of a four-tiered double-chocolate wedding cake decorated in white-chocolate curls and topped with marzipan roses and leaves. Individual wedding cakes in airtight containers and decorated with dark green satin ribbon were given to each guest.

With the pomp and circumstance of the wedding behind them, the bride and groom left the tent for an area where a portable dance floor had been erected in an open meadow. A DJ, alternating with a five-piece band, was on board to provide nonstop music.

The music was going full tilt when Merrick found himself standing off to the side watching couples twirling to a remix of Red Carpet's “Alright,” a dance hit he'd first heard in a club in Amsterdam. He couldn't take his eyes off Alex as she danced freestyle with Michael Kirkland, sans jacket and tie. Others on the dance floor moved back to watch their spectacular routine.

Carefully coiffed curls fell over Alex's forehead as Michael spun her around and around on her toes. Reaching for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, Merrick's gaze never left the petite figure. Their dance ended in applause as Michael lifted Alex off her feet, kissing her cheek.

Alex, her face flushed, made her way through the crowd. Merrick took two long strides and thrust the flute at her. “I believe you could use this.”

She went completely still, only her chest rising and falling from the vigorous exertion, and stared at Merrick as if seeing him for the first time. There was a pause before she took the glass. Raising it to her lips, she took one sip, then another.

“Thank you.”

Merrick inclined his head. “You're quite welcome.”

Resting a hand in the small of her back, he led her away from the crowd. He wanted to talk to Alex, but didn't want anyone to overhear what he wanted to say to her.

Her spine stiffened against his arm. “Where are you taking me?”

“Relax, Ali,” he said, leaning closer.

“Why should I when you haven't answered my question?”

His hand moved up to her narrow waist. “I want to ask you something.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I thought you wanted to dance, not talk.”

“We'll dance later.” Alex stopped suddenly, causing Merrick to plow into her. She would've lost her balance if his reflexes were slower. Wrapping both arms around her body, he pulled her against his length. “Careful.”

His breath whispered over an ear, and she felt a shudder of awareness of the man cradling her to his hard, lean body, awareness that she'd found herself attracted to a stranger when there was no room in her life for romantic fantasies.

“You can let me go now.” He dropped his arms and she pointed to a cushioned wrought-iron bench under a magnolia tree. “We can talk here.”

Merrick waited for Alex to sit before he sat down beside her. She took another swallow of champagne, handing him the half-empty flute. Cradling the stem of the glass between his thumb and forefinger, he fixed his gaze on the pale sparkling wine. There was a comfortable silence, neither seemingly wanting to initiate conversation.

He shattered the silence and asked, “Are you into women?”

A soft gasp escaped Alex's parted lips when she processed his query. “What!”

“Do you prefer women to men?” Merrick asked, this time rephrasing his question.

She gave him a hostile glare. “No. Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you said you didn't date.”

Her nostrils flared in anger. “Because I told you that I don't date you assume I'm into women?”

Merrick lifted his eyebrows. “There was always the possibility.”

She met his challenging stare with one of her own. “The answer is no, Merrick. I am
not
into women.”

Rising to his feet, Merrick extended his free hand. “I'm ready for that dance now.”

Alex shook her head. “No, Merrick.” She patted the cushion beside her. “Please sit down.” Waiting until he retook his seat, she turned and stared at his distinctive profile. She was certain he could hear the runaway beating of her heart that echoed in her ears like a kettledrum. Ana was right. Merrick Grayslake was exotic and
caliente!

“Why should my sexual preference matter to you when you're here with a woman? Could it be you were afraid I'm going to make a play for her? And if you are, then I must disappoint you because I'm not into threesomes.”

Merrick turned and looked at Alex as if she'd just grown a third eye. “Are you always this outspoken?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly.

More amused than insulted, he smiled at her face in the diffused artificial light. “I'm not here with a woman. The young lady you saw me with works with Jolene. We met at a party at Michael's house in Georgetown a few months back. I, too, am not into threesomes, or foursomes. I'm a very private person, and if by chance I sleep with a woman, then there will be only the two of us in bed. And I asked about your sexual preference because I thought the two of us could possibly become friends.”

Her delicate jaw went slack. “Friends?”

He lifted a shoulder under his suit jacket. “Yes, Ali, friends. You don't date and neither do I, so I thought we could hang out together.”

Alex sat there, somewhat shaken by the unpredictable man sitting next to her. He wanted them to become friends when all she wanted was to flee his presence and surround herself with her family who always made her feel safe and protected.

But what, she asked herself, did she have to fear from Merrick Grayslake? After all, she was a Cole and the Coles always protected their own.

“I don't believe that's going to be possible.”

There came a pause. “Why not, Ali?”

“I'm leaving the States in three weeks to study art in Mexico City.”

Merrick swirled the remains of the champagne in the flute, then put the glass to his mouth and drained the contents, savoring the taste of the premium wine on his palate.

Resting his right arm over the back of the bench, he stared straight ahead. Alex's declaration that she was leaving the country gave him conflicting emotions. He'd found her vaguely disturbing and exciting at the same time. He couldn't say she was his type, because he'd found himself attracted to all women irrespective of their race, nationality or culture. Perhaps it was because he didn't know who or what he was that permitted him to be more open-minded and accepting of others.

“Are you an artist?”

“No. I'm an architectural historian.”

“What made you select art as a career?”

She lifted her shoulders under the revealing dress, bringing Merrick's gaze to rest on her exposed throat and neckline.

“I've always loved museums. Whereas other children wanted to visit theme and amusement parks, for me it was museums and art galleries.”

Looping one leg over the other in one continuous graceful motion, Merrick smiled. “I know absolutely nothing about art.”

Shifting on the bench to face Merrick, Alex saw a flash from his incredibly perfect white teeth. Why hadn't she noticed them before? However, she knew the answer even before the question was formed in her head. It was the first time she'd seen him smile, and the gesture transformed his face, softening the sharp angles to make him even more breathtakingly attractive.

“Don't tell me you wouldn't recognize Leonardo da Vinci's
Mona Lisa.
”

His smile grew wider. “That's the only exception.”

“What about van Gogh?”

“Isn't he the one who cut off his right ear?”

“It was the left,” Alex correctly softly.