All the Feels, page 14
LAUREN ROSE FROM her bench when she spotted Alex striding hurriedly toward her at the airport Sunday evening.
Oddly, it felt like seeing him for the first time. Or maybe . . . seeing him for the first time in color, instead of gray scale.
He wore a slate-blue Henley and slim-fitting, dark-wash jeans, and his golden-brown hair flopped just so over his brow. His beard offered grit and depth to his pristine features. His forearms were strong and muscled, his hands broad and capable as they gripped his carry-on and another huge, random bag.
His rapid walk could better be termed a prowl, because he was all animal grace, all fluid motion. When he saw her, his rakish grin creased his cheeks, and . . . oh. Oh.
Forget all those fluorescent bulbs overhead. Alexander Woodroe emitted his own light, and she had to blink against the glare of it.
At the charity event, she’d called it star power. Charisma. But his appeal, his draw, was more personal than that now. Too personal.
Lauren swallowed hard and watched his rapid approach, almost light-headed at the prospect of his nearness.
Only yesterday, mere hours ago, she’d told Sionna he was sexy, and she’d believed it. But today she felt it. In the exact spot where her friend had advised pressing her phone when it vibrated for the millionth time from one of Alex’s texts.
Dammit. Her libido had chosen a terrible time to emerge from hibernation.
A moment later, he was there, halting only inches away, his gray eyes aglow with warmth and crinkled in good humor. He was breathless from his haste in a way that emphasized the rise and fall of that honed chest. The chest she’d spotted damp and shirtless several times, but hadn’t appreciated properly. The chest she suspected she’d be seeing in her dreams now.
For a moment, she could have sworn he was going to hug her. If he did, she was relatively certain she’d pass out.
Then the moment was gone, and they were walking toward the exit, and he flashed that infuriating, charming smirk at her. “Miss me, Wren?”
“Terribly,” she said dryly, and with more sincerity than she would wish.
“Likewise.” He slung an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side for a split-second embrace before releasing her. “In fact, your absence made me philosophical. If a tree misbehaves in a forest and no one is there to scold it, did the tree really misbehave at all? I say no. Let me explain my reasoning, in scintillating and exacting detail.”
His monologue lasted for several minutes straight, which was convenient, because the imprint of his body against hers had left her unable to speak.
But the ache in her chest was gone. Completely, utterly gone.
Texts with Carah: Sunday Afternoon
Alex: In an airplane AGAIN
Alex: So BORED
Alex: ENTERTAIN ME, CARAH
Carah: Where’s Lauren, you whiny bitch
Alex: I thought I was the designated gossipy bitch, but if I can be two types of bitches, all the better
Alex: I contain bitchy multitudes
Alex: Anyway, Nanny Clegg is off having fun with her friend Sionna for the weekend, which is completely unfair, since she won’t let ME have any fun
Carah: I liked Lauren
Carah: I enjoyed meeting her at the auction
Carah: What exactly has she stopped you from doing, may I ask
Alex: SO MUCH, SO SO MUCH
Alex: She nags me to eat enough breakfast when I take my ADHD meds, even when I’d prefer to get going and do other things, which is really annoying
Alex: To be fair, my stomach hurts today because I didn’t eat enough breakfast
Alex: Which is really annoying too, because I hate it when she’s right
Carah: . . .
Alex: And I should have been having fun with Marcus and April, and I did have fun, but Lauren stopped me from having MORE fun by having her phone on silent and not answering my messages, and then I was checking my phone all the time instead of paying attention to Marcus and April, and that’s totally on her
Alex: And THEN, when I should have been binge-watching baking shows with my best friend, instead I had to go out and buy her a present
Alex: I got her a blanket, because she’s a wet blanket
Alex: Get it????
Alex: It’s really soft and quilted and fluffy
Alex: A pretty green with just a hint of blue
Alex: I think that’s my favorite color
Alex: She’s a killjoy and the worst but she deserves soft, pretty things, and she doesn’t do anything nice for herself ever, which is also extremely annoying, as you might imagine
Alex: As I said: THE ABSOLUTE WORST
Alex: Carah?
Alex: Carah, it’d be nice if you RESPONDED at some point
Carah: Sorry, too busy laughing to type
Carah: Alex, you are a fucking delight
Carah: I have to go film myself eating lutefisk in Maria’s honor, so entertain your own whiny ass while I try not to hork on camera
Carah: BYEEEEEE, MOFO
Alex: Carah?
Alex: CARAH, COME BAAAAAAAAAAAAACK
14
THE NEXT TWO MONTHS DID NOT PASS IN A HAZE. ALEX’S presence wouldn’t allow for that, and neither would Lauren’s newfound attraction to him.
She might sometimes be tired from late-night walks, frustrated at the intractability and irascibility of her charge, and irritated beyond belief at his continual needling, but she was wholly present. Wholly engaged, body and mind. Wholly herself in a way she wasn’t with anyone but Sionna.
For years, she’d spent her daily life encased in a bubble of calm and neutrality and observation, but no more.
Alex punctured that bubble daily—hourly—with his sharp gaze, incisive commentary, and biting sarcasm. With his unabashed flaunting of his honed body. With the way he flung himself headlong at her and everything else he cared about in his life, like it or not.
Often, she didn’t like it. But she liked him.
Despite his quick temper and caustic sarcasm, despite the way her skin prickled in his presence, she’d never laughed more in her damn life, and she’d never flipped someone off more either. He loved aggravating her. Loved it.
With Dina, though, he was as soft as Captain Fluffytail.
Evidently, he’d first met his housekeeper on a tour of his charity’s shelters, and after hearing her story, immediately offered her work.
Dina was Lauren’s age. Beautiful, plainspoken, savvy, and confident. Engaged to a good, kind woman. Her own hero, as Alex might have said. But he’d been a supportive sidekick in her time of need, and Dina adored him for it. Sometimes, when Lauren saw the two of them together, laughing in the kitchen, sunlit and affectionate, the sweetness of the sight stole her breath.
The feel of her gorgeous blanket did the same, as she curled up beneath it every night, encased in soft warmth because of him.
This morning, however, he hadn’t stolen her breath. Just her patience.
“Finish your breakfast, Woodroe. We need to get going.” She tapped the edge of his plate, still half filled with velvety scrambled eggs and roasted herbed tomatoes. “You’ve already missed one appointment with your stylist, and from what you’ve told me, she’ll eviscerate you with her trimming shears if you cross her a second time.”
Also, he definitely needed a haircut and beard trim, stat. Con of the Gates, the annual fan convention for Gods of the Gates, began tomorrow, and at the moment, he resembled a particularly fetching hobo.
“Every time I try to look at you, my neck hurts,” he whined in between bites. “How am I supposed to eat under such inhumane conditions? And why are you literally the height of a growth-stunted mouse?”
They’d discussed proper usage of the word literally too many times. She wasn’t having that particular conversation again.
“Then don’t sit next to me on the bench. Take one of the chairs, where you won’t have to bend your neck so much to see me.” Once he’d scraped up the last of his meal, she removed his plate and stacked it with hers on their tray. “Or better yet, just don’t look at me.”
“But I like looking at you.” He stood with a luxuriant stretch. “And if I sat farther away, I couldn’t complain that you’re a literal pain in my neck.”
Automatically, she said, “That’s not what lit—”
Wait a second.
“Oh, I know what it means. I’ve always known.” He smirked down at her. “I just like fucking with you, Nanny Clegg.”
I will not toss him down this mountainside, she told herself. I will not.
His smile died, and his brows slammed together. “Uh, just to be clear, I meant ‘fucking with you’ in the sense of teasing you, not, um . . .”
Instead of shoving him over the cliff’s edge, as he so richly deserved, she elbowed him in the ribs. “I know what you meant.”
He yelped and cast her a wounded look as he clutched his side. Even though she’d put zero force behind the jab.
“Abject cruelty,” he complained. “Just for that, I’m not letting you carry the tray back to the kitchen, you vicious virago.”
Then he swept off in a dramatic huff, flawlessly balancing the tray on one arm like a seasoned waiter. Which, given his profession, he’d probably been at one point, now that she considered the matter.
Their debate over neck pain continued during the entire car ride to the salon, and even while he gave his keys to the valet.
Yes, curbside valet service. At a hair salon.
She sighed. Stars. Just like us, my ass.
As they neared the salon’s discreet entrance, bracketed by ornamental palms, she stopped and made her final stand. “By looking down, you’re at least working with gravity, Woodroe. When I look up at you, I have to fight against the laws of nature.”
He snorted. Which she could see very clearly at this close distance and from so far below.
Even his nostrils were attractive. It was highly unfair.
Nevertheless, she made her closing statement with what she considered laudable aplomb. “Which means, of course, that my looking at you causes more neck pain than your looking at me. Thus, you are a bigger pain in the neck than I am. QED.”
“QED? Really, Wren?” He laughed down at her, and then—oh, asshole—casually leaned over and rested his forearm on top of her head, as if she were a console in his damn car, and he was going to pay—
“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind Lauren. “Are you Alex Woodroe?”
In a doomed attempt to recover her lost dignity, Lauren slid out from beneath Alex’s arm and backed several steps away, allowing the fan to greet him without an interloper.
The woman was a pretty redhead, maybe in her early twenties, and the usual conversation occurred. He confirmed his identity, thanked her for her gushing admiration, and agreed to a selfie. And then—
Cell phone held aloft in one hand, the woman nestled close and placed her other hand on the upper swell of his ass. With a strained smile, Alex tried to slide away, but his fan wasn’t giving up so easily. She laughed and followed his movement while taking more photos, and no.
No.
“I’m so sorry,” Lauren said as politely as possible, “but I’m afraid that will have to be your final photo together.”
The fan didn’t move an inch, and she didn’t acknowledge Lauren’s words. Another photo. Another. Then she began filming a video.
Alex’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Lauren could almost see him grasping for his self-control, could almost hear him urging himself to stay calm and out of trouble.
“—and lucky me, here I am with Alex Woodroe,” the woman was saying. “You would not believe how hot he is in real—”
At that point, Lauren marched behind the pair and physically removed the fan’s hand from Alex’s ass. The woman gasped. Apparently at Lauren’s effrontery, which was rich irony indeed.
The redhead swung around, livid color streaking her cheeks.
“Wait your turn, you ugly bitch,” she hissed, and suddenly she wasn’t so pretty anymore. “I wasn’t done yet.”
“Yes,” Lauren said simply. “You were.”
The other woman took a step toward her, still filming, and Lauren honestly wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but she was ready for it. No one was putting unwanted hands on Alex in front of her. No one.
Then he was smoothly stepping between the two women, his own cheekbones ruddy, his breath coming hard and fast.
The smile dawning on his face—
Lauren had never seen anything like it before. It was the fevered, gleeful beam of a berserker leaping into battle, wild and sharp and full of rage, and oh shit, she had to—
But he was already speaking, each word suffused with poisonous good cheer. “How grateful I am that you took time out of your busy schedule to grope my ass without my consent and abuse my companion.” When the redhead gasped again, Alex’s anarchic grin only widened. “She has too much dignity and kindness to say what needs to be said. Namely, that if you have nothing better to do with your free time than insult total strangers, you should occupy said time better. My suggestion?”
The woman was trembling with affront and humiliation, cell phone pointed toward Alex, and Lauren tried to tug his arm and lead him away, but he was a stone statue under her fingers.
Alex leaned in close to the redhead, his tone genial. “Go fuck yourself, lady.”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her, before erupting.
“You asshole!” She was shouting at him so loudly, people a full street over were craning their necks to watch the confrontation. “I’m going to tell everyone on social media about this!”
His laughter dripped with mockery. “Please do.”
At his total lack of either fear or remorse, she stomped away, already stabbing feverishly at her phone’s screen.
His chest still heaved with every breath, and incredible heat radiated from his lean body, even through his tee and jeans. He stared after the woman, and when she turned around to film him again from a distance, he offered a jaunty wave.
Oh, shit. If Ron heard about this—and he would, Lauren was almost certain—he was going to retaliate against Alex somehow.
“Alex.” She rubbed her temples. “You can’t—”
He turned to face her again, his expression abruptly darkening. “I have an appointment to keep, and if I talk about what happened right now, I’ll lose my shit. Let’s just go inside.”
When she hesitated, he sighed. Not one of his usual, overdramatic gusts of breath, but a genuine sigh.
“Please, Lauren.” Waving aside the waiting doorman, who’d watched the entire encounter with barely contained glee, Alex swung open the salon’s heavy wooden door and held it for her. “Please. Let it go. Just for now.”
Slowly, she nodded.
They went inside, and the waiting area was cool and elegant. The impeccably styled man who greeted them from behind a glass desk asked if they’d care for refreshments, before gliding into a nearby room to gather their chosen drinks.
While they waited for his return, Alex blew out another hard breath and ran his fingertip down her bare forearm. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, the fine hair there standing on end, and she jerked her gaze up to meet his, startled.
“I still can’t talk about it.” He stared at his fingertip, now skimming over the veins on the back of her hand. “But are you okay?”
She covered his hand with hers. Squeezed it. “I’m fine.”
One more deep breath, and Alex dropped his hand and stepped away. “Then let’s focus on the matter of greatest importance here: me. Specifically, whether I should cut my hair short and get rid of the beard entirely, or just trim things a bit.”
“It’s your hair.” Confused, she frowned at him. “Why are you asking me?”
“Holy shit, Nanny Clegg.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and this time, his sigh was gusty and dramatic and entirely fake. “Why must you make everything so difficult? Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a millstone around the neck of humanity.”
Indignant, she set her hands on her hips. “Look at me, Woodroe. Do I seem like the kind of person who knows how best to cut and style hair?”
His lips twitched, but he opened his eyes and attempted a deadpan stare. “Yes.”
“Didn’t you once tell me I was a terrible liar?” Raising her brows, she flicked the limp ends of her straggly hair. “Pot, meet kettle. I believe you two will have much in common.”
He bit his lip and glanced away for a moment, then got himself under control.
“Lauuuuuuuuren.” It was an outright whine. “Tell meeeeeeeeeeeee.”
Fine. If he really wanted to know what she thought . . .
“The longer hair and beard kind of make you look like a Viking.” A stupendously gorgeous one. The whole look was way too enticing, frankly. “So if that’s what you’re going for, just get a trim.”
“Ahhhhhhh.” And now he wasn’t a Viking anymore. He was a big cat instead, with a shaggy mane and a purr that vibrated through her in that familiar, disconcerting way. “You like my beard, Wren?”
It was a lazy taunt, and she wanted to deny it.
She couldn’t. Because she was, in fact, a terrible liar.
He bent close to her ear.
“Admit it,” he breathed. “You like my beard. You like my hair.”
She clenched her unsteady hands, unable to speak. Unable to think.
Thankfully, a tall, lovely, elegant woman swept through the door to the waiting room then, her impeccable greeter close behind her carrying a tray of drinks.
Alex scowled at both of them for a moment before shrugging and gathering his stylist into an enormous hug, which she returned.
After a few social niceties, the two of them disappeared into the actual salon. Lauren stayed in the waiting room, took a seat on the low-slung, velvet-covered couch, and accepted her iced tea gratefully.
Her ear still tingled from Alex’s breath. And for reasons she preferred not to parse, she was way, way too hot.
15
WREN STOOD FROM THE COUCH AS ALEX ENTERED THE room. For a moment, she simply gazed at him, blank-faced.
