She realized that she’d been staring and thrust out her hand to cover her confusion. “My name is Alex. Alex Warrington.”
“Luke Gévaudan,” the stranger returned, taking her hand. He met her gaze the same direct way Kieran did.
A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. Howie’s bunch was not among them, but their whispers and gestures stretched Alex’s feigned calm to the limit.
Luke Gévaudan released her hand and glanced at the bystanders with a cynical twist of his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.” He turned and stalked toward the spectators. There was a brief silence, a ripple of uneasy glances, and all at once the crowd broke up, some retreating back into the bar and others walking away. Even Gévaudan disappeared.
Only one man was left, slim and handsome in an expensive and impeccable fur-lined coat.
“Alex,” he said. “I was hoping I’d see you.”
“This isn’t a good time, Peter.”
He raised an eyebrow and looked past her to the truck. “Your… friend doesn’t hold his liquor very well, does he?” he said. But his smile had an edge to it.
Alex glanced over her shoulder. Kieran was slumped in the seat, eyes closed. “He doesn’t drink much. I want to get him home.”
Peter’s smile gave way to a look of convincingly wistful sincerity. He extended his hand toward her. “You can’t spare even a few minutes for me, Alex?”
She stared at his hand. Oh, he was so certain. So certain she would fall for him again as she’d done so long ago, when he was the only one who’d seemed to accept her for what she was.
So certain he could mold her to suit himself.
She pushed away from the truck and circled to the far side of it, putting its bulk between her and any observers in the bar. Better to have it out here. She didn’t want him at the cabin again.
“I read the letter,” she said without preamble.
He followed her. “Then you know—”
“That I’m wealthy?” She smiled at him, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “That Father left me his entire fortune?”
Peter shook his head in a parody of sorrowful exasperation. “That he cared about you, Alex. At the end, he wanted to make it right. He always—”
“Loved me?” Alex stared at the finely formed deft in Peter’s chin. “The money proves it, of course.”
“It counts for something.”
“Money always counts. But then you know that, don’t you?”
He stared at her, and she saw the faintest flicker of unease in his eyes. Peter, uneasy. It was an oxymoron. He was desperate indeed.
“I know what you’re thinking, Alex,” he said at last.
“Do you?”
“Jesus, Alex. I know how it looks.” He forgot himself so far as to disarrange his neatly groomed hair with a nervous sweep of his fingers. “I knew about the money, but that isn’t why I came. I wanted to start over. To prove to you that things can change.”
Here it came. More penitent protestations of undying love, impassioned pleas for another chance. He had to be badly off; Schaeffer Industries must be sinking fast. Had he, spent all of Bev’s money? Maybe she’d kicked him out. And even though he’d stayed in contact with William Warrington, the association obviously hadn’t paid off for him.
Until now. He’d probably taken one look at her simple cabin, and her face, and convinced himself she was more than ready for his “comfort.” Kieran’s presence might have thrown a wrench in his plans, but it wouldn’t have been in Peter’s nature to consider a man like Kieran any kind of rival.
What a sacrifice it must be for you, Peter, to contemplate giving up your high standards in exchange for my money. Just like before.
“Alex! Listen to me, for God’s sake. I love you.”
Peter’s touch brought her out of her thoughts. By the time she came back to herself he was already holding her loosely in the circle of his arms, his face a mask of desperate passion.
“You’re trying to shut me out, Alex. Damn it, don’t do this to me!”
He must have seen the look in her eyes. He muttered a curse very much unlike him. “I don’t know how I’m going to make you believe me. But if you’ll just give me time, if we can just talk, get to know each other again…”