The Alpha's Choice Page 4

  "Did they hurt you?" He wasn't laughing now.

  "No." Kat's laugh was a little shaky because of the look on his face. "Scared me a little. No big deal."

  In fact, it had terrified her, but she had a plan and she needed the money to see it through and so she bought the uniform and forced herself to go back… and kept a container of pepper spray in the pocket. Luckily, she never had to use it.

  "What happened to them?" he asked with a little more than curiosity in his tone.

  "The two guys? I don't know. They went home to their unsuspecting wives, I guess." She rose and started collecting dishes and flatware.

  Charles rose, too. "Who stood for you? Who stood against them? Why were you allowed to work in a place like that to begin with?"

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, uncomfortable with his concern. He sounded fierce, affronted on her behalf.

  "You mean like who stood up for me? Who rescued me?" This last was mocking and sarcastic. "No one," she answered her own question. "There was no one to stand up for me."

  Her mother was long gone by then and her father was reduced to a shadow that flitted in and out of her life according to how much he drank that week and how guilty he felt about it. Grams was already confined in their fourth floor walk-up by the wheeled chair she spent her life in, as effective as any prison guard.

  "There should have been," Charles said and Kat was surprised at the anger in his voice. "You'll find it very different here. I stand for those who stand for me. We stand for those who stand with us. That's what makes us who and what we are. My father taught me that. It's one of the few things we agreed on."

  Charles looked around as if suddenly remembering where he was. He grinned sheepishly. "I sound like a pompous ass instead of a... Oh, never mind," he laughed and the anger melted away as quickly as it had come. "I'd better get my pompous ass in gear. My crew will be back here tomorrow night and I've got money riding on having the place ready for them."

  Chapter 5

  Charles was right about the weather. By late morning, the sky had turned into a solid sheet of dull and leaden gray that leached all remaining color from the gold and pale green tones of the earth and left it gray and dingy looking, too.

  Paint roller held like Liberty's torch, Kat stared out through the uncurtained windows of what would be her future schoolroom. They'd torn the window coverings down and tossed them out the front door when Charles declared them good for nothing but burning.

  She'd spent the morning scrubbing the grime from those windows while Charles washed walls and prepared them for their first coat of paint. Then, while he trimmed out the walls along the ceiling and woodwork with precise even lines, she rolled on the light, buttery yellow that had been chosen for the walls. At first, Charles objected to her offer of help.

  "I thought you came down here early for a few days' vacation?" Once he pulled out his paint buckets and brushes, all flirtatious bantering stopped. Charles was all business as he skillfully unrolled a line of blue tape along the edge of the dark stained paneling that ran around the bottom half of the room. "Your job doesn't begin until next week. Relax and enjoy."

  "Truth? I'm not sure I know how. I've never had a vacation before. I always wondered what it would be like. It seemed so wonderful to be able to kick back and do whatever you want even if that's do nothing at all. That's what I did yesterday. I built myself a fire out on the patio, relaxed in the chaise lounge, had a glass or three of wine..."

  "Swam in the pool," Charles filled in her list. He snapped off the last bit of tape with his thumbnail and folded the edge over in a self-sealing flap, ready to be pulled from the roll when he needed it next.

  Kat blinked. "Yeah, how did you know?" She'd been admiring his taping efficiency and the way his shirt molded to the muscles of his back when his arms reached forward.

  "Lucky guess?" His eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked like he was waiting for her to say something more and then looked at her strangely when she did.

  "Do you know anything about wolves?"

  "Real wolves?"

  Now she looked strangely at him. "Well they weren't stuffed." She turned to the window and pointed with the roller. "I saw them last night, five or six maybe more, out there along the trees."

  "No you didn't." He sounded so sure of himself Kat was taken aback.

  "Yes I did," she said with more conviction than she felt. The nerve of the man. She might have been mistaken about those animals along the trees, but there was no mistaking the big fella at the pool.

  "No. You didn't," he insisted.

  "Yes. I did," she snapped, "If they weren't wolves, then they were the biggest damned dogs I've ever seen." She turned from the window, shaking her paint roller for emphasis…

  …And laid a swath of yellow paint like a blindfold across his eyes. The stripe, running between the upper edges of his slightly arched eyebrows and the tip of his aquiline nose, was perfectly straight and even like the brushwork he'd used throughout the room.

  Kat was so shocked by what she'd done, she couldn't speak, could only stare at the yellow striped face in front of her which showed no response to the assault other than to tilt its chin a little higher. The reaction was all in his hands which were held closely to his sides and clenched into white knuckled fists. He made no move to wipe the mask away.

  His jaw tightened. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. The yellow lids and lashes lifted slowly, exposing the flashing eyes beneath. Kat found her voice.

  "Holy shit," she said, steeping back from the blazing eyes shining from the yellow bandit's mask. "Why didn't I notice that before?"

  Of course, she knew why. She'd been too busy checking out the imagined beefcake body beneath the loose fitting clothes. Damn, how many times had she complained about guys undressing women with their eyes and here she'd been doing the same thing to the painter. Shame on her.

  Charles' jaw tightened some more and his eyes rolled heavenward in an exaggerated petition for patience. "What, pray tell, did you not notice before? What could possibly be more obvious than my face full of paint?"

  A tick started in Kat's cheek and then the corners of her mouth started pulling upward in a smile. She sucked her cheeks inward to stop both tick and smile, but it was no use. The laugh snickered out between her compressed lips in a crude and unladylike spurt.

  "I'm sorry, so sorry," she sputtered. She grabbed the rag that hung from her torn back pocket like a tail and began to dab at the paint with one hand while resting the other on his chest for leverage, forgetting the roller still clutched in her fist.

  "Oh! Shit! Sorry!" The bandit now had a yellow paint beard.

  "Give me the damn rag and go stand over there," he growled, snatching the rag and running it over his face which only served to smear the paint further.

  Kat dropped the roller into its tray and reached again for the rag. "No, no, you're making it worse. Here, let me, before you get it in your eyes."

  Her hand, now free of the roller, went to the last clean spot on his face and held his cheek. His hand gripped her wrist as she gripped the rag. Both painter and painted froze in place.

  A surge of sexual desire such as Kat had never felt before coursed through her. Like a wave of electric shock, it began where Charles grasped her wrist and zinged up her arm and through her chest, a heart attack in reverse. It tightened her breasts and curled downward into the lower, most private regions of her body. It made her gasp.

  Kat stared into the vivid green eyes that had startled her into this fiasco, unable to look away. Charles' eyes held hers for a startled moment, and then dropped to her open and quivering lips. His tongue darted out, moistening his own lips before his mouth descended on hers.

  Practical and pragmatic Kat knew this wasn't right. She'd only met the man that morning and as attractive and charming as he was, she wasn't foolish enough to fall for a pretty face and form. She knew nothing about him except that with his charming ways and handsome face
, he was probably a great one with the ladies and she had no wish to be another notch in his belt or on his bedpost. The only sensible thing to do would be to turn her head away and her rational mind called to her to do just that.

  But fanciful and romantic Kat, the Kat she kept caged and silent because no good ever came from daydreams and fantasies, chose that moment to make a break for freedom and regardless of what good sense dictated; her body sided with the rebellion. She'd never felt like this before, never felt this swell of want and need, this rush of heady emotion she'd only read about in her silly books.

  In spite of her desire, she met his mouth hesitantly, almost timidly, unsure of what to do with this new craving. She needn't have worried.

  Charles' lips met hers with a demanding force that overwhelmed and put to rest any hesitation she might harbor. He claimed her with that kiss. No sweet and diffident touching of lips in a tentative first kiss, this was deep and devouring. Consuming. And she wanted to be consumed. By it. By him.

  His fingers slid through the loose curls at the back of her head, holding it in place as he slanted his mouth over hers. The hand holding her wrist released its grip to wrap around her waist and mold her body to his. Her back bent with the pressure and she dug her fingers into his broad and muscled shoulders to keep from falling backward to the floor. She could feel the heat from his body searing through the layers of cloth that separated them and she wanted that clothing gone.

  His lips left hers to work their way along her chin and neck and her head fell back to give him access to the sensitive place in the hollow of her throat and she released a small whimper of pleasure when he found the perfect spot to attack with fluttering kisses.

  Her hands had teased their way around to his back and after a frenzied bout of pulling and tugging his shirt from the waist of his pants, she found what she was searching for, the smooth, warm, rippling muscles of his back. She felt his body sigh beneath her kneading fingers and another sensation swept over her.

  It, too, was one she'd never recognized before. Charles' desire was as great as her own. That such a man wanted her and so desperately, gave her a heady mix of potency and pleasure. There was power here and it was hers.

  Charles moved forward toward the canvas draped sofa, leading her in a dance of passion toward the next series of steps and she was ready, oh lord, how ready she was to follow his lead.

  Just before he reached their destination, Charles stopped so suddenly, Kat stumbled and had it not been for his strong arms circling her waist, she would have fallen.

  His head snapped up and cocked slightly to the left, listening. He blinked, twice, and looked at Kat as if he was surprised he held her in his arms.

  "Fuck!" he hissed and pushed away from her. This time, it was her grip on his shoulders that kept her from falling.

  Charles stared at her in horror, as if she'd grown another head. A glance at her reflection in the glass of the window showed he wasn't far from wrong. Her face was smeared with the same yellow paint as his and her chocolate brown curls were now streaked as well.

  As soon as he released her, the overwhelming passion she'd felt began to recede and sanity prevailed. And why shouldn't it? Between his curse and shove and horror stricken face, she felt about as sexy as a snail, yet not so lucky as the slimy little mollusk. She had no shell to crawl into and hide.

  "Who put you up to this? You're not one of us," he accused.

  "That's a relief. I wouldn't want to be whoever the hell you think you are," Kat snapped. She was humiliated and furious with him and with herself for whatever it was that came over her and made her act like a common…

  Something in the other room caught Charles' attention. "Quick. Wipe your face," he ordered. He scooped the paint spattered rag from the floor, tossed it to her and began tucking his shirt back into his pants.

  Kat scrubbed the rag, now stiff with dried paint, viciously over her nose and lips. It was too late to remove the paint which had dried to a thin crust, but that wasn't why she scoured her skin and it sure as hell wasn't because he told her to.

  She could still smell him and the lingering scent of woods and meadows irritated her nose. She could still taste him, coffee and bacon and that unique flavor that was all his own and she was sure she'd never look at breakfast the same way again. Damnit! She still wanted him and that angered her more than her initial lapse in judgment.

  Her cleaning efforts only added the faint odor of paint to the mix. Kat scrubbed harder. Foul words were on the tip of her tongue when she heard the heavy front door in the foyer open.

  "You just set those right there, Buddy, and go on out and get another load while I see what's what." The voice was a woman's, high pitched and sing-song with a no nonsense tone about it. "I can see right off this front hall won't do. Yes sir, Buddy, we've got our work cut out plain as day. Go on, now, move that truck and get those things under roof before it rains."

  Chapter 6

  Kat stood straight and hid the paint covered rag behind her back as the woman came through the door to the room where they stood and greeted them with a judgmental "humph".

  Taking them in with hawklike eyes, her head snapped from side to side like the predatory bird she resembled. She folded her skinny arms over her nonexistent bosom and tapped a foot that looked too large for her long, skinny legs.

  Holy smokes! It was one of those dour housekeepers from those awful gothic novels. If she'd been wearing gray bombazine, Kat would have wet her pants.

  This woman wore a cotton print dress buttoned up the front to just below her neck and cinched at the waist with a matching belt. Her shoes were black, heavy heeled and sturdy, the kind Kat remembered the nuns wearing in the school she attended until she was nine.

  "Humph," the woman said again and there was no doubt about the opinion expressed in that one sound. "Looks like I wasn't a minute too soon." She looked them over again, pursing her lips into a disapproving frown, and pointed a bony finger at Charles who stood there with a belligerent look on his yellow face.

  "You, young man, had best be about your business. Save your foolishness for the Road House and your hanky-panky for a motel room. And you!" she turned to Kat. "You look to be an intelligent young woman, once you get that paint off. Not the kind to be charmed by a handsome face and lustful body. You want to keep your reputation here abouts, you'll use that sofa for settin' and nothin' more." She ignored Kat's flaming face and looked around the room. "There'll be no more carryings on in the parlor."

  "Schoolroom," Kat corrected without thinking and then blatantly lied, "That wasn't what we were doing."

  "You're the housekeeper." Charles was clearly bewildered.

  "What you were doing is as plain as that paint on your face… and elsewhere." The woman stared pointedly at Kat's chest. Swiveling her head to Charles, she said, "Of course I'm the housekeeper. Who else would I be?"

  Yeah, who else? Kat looked down at her chest. A perfect yellow handprint like the kind children make with finger paints was emblazoned on her chest completely covering her left breast and the hand that made it was clearly not a child's. Well, damn. The evidence was pretty incriminating.

  "You aren't the housekeeper," Charles was saying and it took Kat a minute to realize he was talking to her, "Who the hell are you?"

  "I think you'd best be on your way, young woman, to do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. And you, young man, better get back to work. This place will be full up tomorrow and the Alpha expects it done."

  "I never said I was," Kat answered. "I'm the teacher," she explained, though at that point she wasn't sure anybody was listening or cared. "I'm supposed to be here."

  "I am the Alpha!" Charles snarled at the woman. "No, you're not!" he turned on Kat.

  "Yes, I am." Who the hell did this guy think he was?

  "Good God Almighty," the woman breathed.

  Having said pretty much the same thing when she met him, Kat almost rolled her eyes, particularly since the woman's hand went to her chest
in the same heart protecting way. She would have laughed if she hadn't been so angry at the man who caused such a reaction.

  The woman winced as she peered more closely into Charles' yellow face. "It is you." She took a step back and looked him over once again and shook her head. "Well ain't that a fine howdy-do."

  Charles looked more closely at the woman. "Mrs. Gregory?" he asked, looking a little shaken himself.

  "What was. It's Martin now. After Bill died, I married Stuart Martin and went north to live with his folk. Now he's gone, too," the woman said with a hint of defiance as if daring Charles to ask another question.

  Charles didn't ask it. "I remember now," he said instead and then he smiled his most charming smile and Kat was amazed to see the older woman thaw under his warming gaze.

  What was it about this guy that he could melt the drawers off every woman he met?

  "I didn't recognize you either," he continued, "Good God, how many years has it been? It must be twenty-five at least."

  Mrs. Martin suddenly closed her eyes and swayed dangerously. The woman's mouth opened and closed and opened again. Her eyes popped open and her face paled. She swayed dangerously. The predator had become prey; a gasping fish out of water.

  Kat ran to catch the woman before she fell. "Don't just stand there. Help me get her to the chair," she snapped at Charles.

  Charles did more than help. He scooped the woman up and carried her to the chair where he set her down gently and knelt on the floor in front of her.

  Mrs. Martin took a deep breath, shook her head to clear it, and opened her eyes to the kneeling Charles. This seemed to upset the woman even more. Fanning her hand to shoo him away, she tried to rise.

  "Don't need to sit. I got work to do. I'm fine," she insisted. She tried to rise and quickly sat back down. "Just give me a minute."

  Charles lifted her chin with the knuckle of his index finger. In an odd gesture, he leaned forward almost as if he was zooming in for a kiss and sniffed sharply, twice. "When was the last time you ate?"