All About Charming Alice by J. Arlene Culiner Page B

about other emotions? What about caring? Love? Those things weren’t even in the picture. They hardly knew one another.
    “Stop, please, Jace!” She saw how his eyes gleamed, burned into hers.
Hot, cold, hot, cold,
they seemed to say
.
He was angry and excited, curious and confused.
    Taking a deep breath he stepped back as if needing all his strength to do that.
    Tease
, she chided herself bitterly.
    They were both silent.
    “I want you,” he said finally. “Just like you want me.”
    “I need time,” she whispered raggedly. Time to think, to weigh up the consequences, to reconcile herself to the misery of a one night, or one month affair: a simple conquest.
    “Alice Treemont,” he said, his voice a caress. “Alice with braids, a haunted house, the desert, and dogs. You have a wonderful erotic power, and I want to make love with you.”
    “Good night.” Her voice caught.
    His finger traced a line down along her cheek, down her neck, between her breasts. She shuddered, almost wavered. Then, just that quickly, she turned, raced up the stairs in the shadow of the dim light. Didn’t look back.
    The dogs followed sleepily, dark forms padding after her.
    “Lucky dogs,” she heard Jace murmur.

Chapter Five
    “Just as I expected,” muttered Jace when he came down to breakfast the next morning.
    The kitchen was empty. No sign of the ever-elusive, mysterious Ms. Treemont. His place had been set at the table; there was hot coffee steaming in the pot by the stove. The room was cozy, inviting and the rich smell of freshly baked muffins filled the air.
    “Exactly the way a real home should be,” muttered Jace. Except this wasn’t home. Not his, anyway. He was a temporary, unwelcome boarder and Alice Treemont wasn’t going to let him forget that. What did it matter in the long run? He was a city man, not some down-home rustic.
    Then, for around the ten-thousandth time, he remembered the kiss they’d shared, the way her body had sought his, and his defiant thoughts vanished. He sat, picked a muffin out of the basket beside his plate, broke it open, and took a bite. His eyes closed with pleasure.
    “Blueberry,” he declared in a very satisfied voice. If freshly baked blueberry muffins weren’t absolute total bliss, they were pretty close to it, as far as he was concerned. But there was still one very important element missing as far as the ideal breakfast went. Filling two cups with coffee, he set off in search of Alice. He wanted her company. He wanted to see her sitting across the table from him. And he was mighty fed up with this game of aloofness she was so intent on playing.
    At this very moment, he didn’t care if he encroached on her territory, delved into her privacy, or stomped in where he wasn’t wanted. He wanted to know every single detail about her and he would ferret it all out. No matter what barriers she’d decided to throw in his way.
    “Beware, Alice Treemont,” he muttered as he stepped out into the dark hallway.
    The house was silent, peaceful — friendly feeling, even. He peeked into one room, then another and couldn’t help being impressed. Faded wallpaper, fragrant, waxed wooden furniture, framed watercolors portraying various desert scenes. But still no sign of Alice.
    Until, at the end of a long corridor, he saw a light under a closed door. He knocked. There was no answer. He turned the knob.
    And found himself in an office — or was it a library? — ceiling-high shelves sagged under the weight of books. He noted the two inviting armchairs, a high, heavily curtained window and — thank heaven for miracles — there was Alice, sitting behind a vast, old-fashioned wooden desk covered by a mound of papers and what looked like photographs. Surrounding her were, — naturally — the dogs. They, at least, acknowledged his presence with happiness, opening their eyes sleepily, thumping their tails on the wooden floor before returning to their dozing.
    Alice, however, was less welcoming,