They'd eaten every scrap of food. Alexi decided that being in love created enormous appetites. They'd barely picked up the dishes before they were both calmly and breathlessly discussing the need for a shower, and then they were in the shower--together, of course. Rex couldn't begin to make up his mind whether he preferred making love to her on the beach or against the steamy spray of the shower or in the bed she had chosen for her own with the fresh-smelling sheets and the sweet scent of shampoo and cologne dusting her flesh.
It didn't matter, he was certain. They were both drugged with it, and in the end it was about noon when they fell asleep, exhausted and content, and nearly dark again when he awoke.
Alexi was still sleeping. Her hair, dry and fragrant now, lay in tousled waves upon his shoulders and hers. He brought a lock of it to his lips, then silently held his breath while he admired the way it fell over her breasts as she slept.
He crawled from the bed, stared out at the dusk, then pulled on his clean pair of jeans and started down the stairs. He rummaged in the refrigerator and found some frozen steaks. He set them on the counter, shoved a few potatoes in the oven and made a fresh pot of coffee. That completed, he decided to grab some paper and make a family chart so that he could determine just which one of his characters was actually the murderer of all the others.
Alexi awoke first with the most marvelous sense of peace and warmth and contentment and security. Naturally, she reached out to touch him. Then her eyes flew open and she was not quite so warm and content, for she realized that he was gone.
She bolted out of bed and rushed to the window and saw that it was already dark, and ruefully admitted that maybe she hadn't slept all that much after all, since she had been up all night and all morning. Her heart began to beat, a little painfully, as she hoped that Rex had not left her. She wasn't afraid tonight; she just wanted to be with him.
She slipped quickly into a terry robe, ran her brush through her hair with a lick and a promise and started for the stairway. At the top landing she paused, gripping the banister and breathing with a sigh of relief and pleasure. He was still there. She could hear him. He was talking to someone, but who--?
She frowned, instinctively clutching her robe to her throat and silently coming down the stairs. She could hear him clearly. But who on earth was he talking to? His voice was rising and falling, rising and falling.
He was in the parlor. Alexi crossed the downstairs hallway quickly to go there, and then she paused, amused but determined not to laugh until he saw her.
Rex, scratching his head, paper and pencil in hand, was pacing from one side of the room to the other.
“No, no, no, no, no. That leaves just the butler. And the butler can't do it. I mean, the damn butler just can't do it!"
"Oooh, but he can! He can! Give the poor man a break!" Alexi cried.
Startled, Rex swung around to her. First he wore a very severe expression; then he swore softly at her--and then he laughed. "Caught in the act, huh?"
"Do you always talk to yourself?"
"You talk to paintings."
"Okay, okay--we're even," she promised. She stepped into the room and curled up on the steam-cleaned sofa in perfect comfort. She hugged her knees and asked him wistfully, "Tell me about it. Why can't the butler do it? Maybe I can help."
Rex looked at her doubtfully for a moment, then shrugged, smiled and joined her. He explained that having the butler do it would really be a cliché--unless it could be entirely justified. Of course, he might want it to be a cliche, if the book was to be a spoof. This wasn't going to be a spoof, though, so he had to be very careful that people didn't laugh at what was not intended to be funny.
Alexi listened while he went through his plot. To her amazement, his people quickly became as real to her as they were to him, and she could tell him why a certain character would or wouldn't behave in a certain way. She was excited to see that Rex was listening to her, and she was really pleased when he snapped his fingers, kissed her, picked up his paper and pencil and started back to work. "You've got something?" she asked. "I've got something." He paused, looking up at her. "The potatoes are already baking. The steaks are on the counter. Put them in and toss up a salad, and I promise I'll be ready to come and eat when you're ready."
Alexi smiled and nodded. She gave him a kiss on the top of the head, but she wasn't sure that he noticed. She asked if he didn't need to get the information down on his computer, but he absently assured her he was just writing notes and would transfer his work in the morning. Still smiling, Alexi went out to heat up the broiler for the steaks. Samson and the kittens were in the kitchen. The big shepherd was stretched out on the floor; the little puffballs were audaciously curled right beneath his powerful jaws. Alexi shook her head and started to work again.
She put together a salad, then paused, perplexed, as she went through the cabinets again. She'd left them so organized. She'd spent yesterday really knowing what she had done with everything. It just didn't seem right that so many things had been moved.
When she went down to the cellar to find another bottle of wine, she had the same feeling. She didn't know what exactly was out of place, only that it was. The kittens had been down there, she reminded herself. And Rex had been down there, too--to let the kittens out, then to clean up after them. But she couldn't imagine the strange little chills running down her spine being caused by Rex's having been there. It was stupid--or perhaps it was instinct or a sixth sense. She was certain that someone else had been there.
She had just slipped the steaks into the oven when a pair of strong brown arms encircled her waist.
"What's the matter?" he asked her.
"Rex! Did you finish with your notes already?"
"I did...thanks to that wonderfully conniving little mind of yours. What an asset--beyond the obvious, of course."
"Do I know you, sir?" Alexi retorted.
"If you don't now, honey, you're going to," he replied in a wonderful imitation of Gary Grant, swinging her around in his arms. But his smile faded to a frown as he met her eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing! Really."
"No. Something is wrong."
"You can read me that well, huh?" Alexi murmured, a little uneasily, her lashes sweeping over her eyes. She smiled at him, telling him he'd better get out of the way so she could turn the steaks. He obliged, but when she brought the broiling pan out and put the meat on the plates, be pressed the point.
Alexi picked up the platter with the two potatoes and the salad bowl and set them at the table. She handed Rex the bottle of wine to open and a pair of chilled glasses, then sat down. Rex arched a brow in silence, opened the wine and poured it, then sat across from her. "Well?" "Well, you never believe me," she murmured. His mouth tightened. "I have never not believed you, Alexi. But what are you talking about now?"
She sighed and sprinkled too much salt on her steak. "I don't know. This time it really does sound silly. Rex, don't you dare laugh at me. I have a feeling that someone else has been in the house."
He chewed a piece of meat, his eyes on her. “Why?'' "Things have--moved." "Like what?"
"The sugar and tea canisters."
He glanced across the kitchen. "Maybe I moved them when I was fixing the coffee."
She nodded. "Maybe." She shrugged. "I know, I know--I'm being ridiculous."
"Maybe not." His fingers curled around hers on the table. Her heart seemed to stop when she gazed into his eyes. He wasn't laughing at her--he wasn't even smiling. In fact, the glitter of suspicion in his eyes was far more frightening than amusing.
"Alexi, you're forgetting that I was with you in the restaurant. Someone was very definitely spying on us."
She swallowed and nodded.