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The cat shimmied between the bedsheets and Alysia’s body and she shifted accordingly. But when he flexed his paws in the manner of a contented feline, she immediately scooted from the four-poster bed. He stuck his rumpled head out and complained.
“Forget it,” she said, yanking clothes from the dresser. “Claws and satin don’t mix.”
A shower finished clearing her mind, but it wasn’t until she reached for a towel that Alysia remembered the trip to Portland. “Drat,” she muttered. It was bad enough to have Jacob moving into her house, now she had to be confined in a car with him.
An hour later she waited on the veranda, the keys to her truck in hand. When Jacob pulled into the driveway and got out she waved stiffly. He was wearing another expensive suit—blue this time. And though it was stuffy and formal, she couldn’t help noticing it fit him to elegant perfection.
He nodded, then walked to the passenger door and opened it. “Get in. Please,” he added when she hesitated.
“Uh, I thought we’d go in my pickup.” Alysia motioned to the battered vehicle at the side of the house.
Jacob blinked, then stared incredulously. Go in that? The truck was held together by nothing but rust and some baling wire. “That thing wouldn’t last twenty miles.”
“The pickup is very dependable.” Alysia planted her hands on her hips. It was then he noticed her jeans were just as tight as the ones she’d worn the previous day. For a crazy moment he imagined sliding them down her long legs, inch by silky inch.
“Uh, besides,” he said huskily, “you aren’t safe driving with a cast on your arm.”
“I do fine with this cast, and whose fault is it, anyway?”
He couldn’t argue, but on the other hand, he wasn’t getting into the ancient truck—with or without Alysia McKenna behind the wheel. “The Mercedes is more comfortable and it’s faster,” he said. “I thought you’d want to get this trip over with as quickly as possible. I mean, you have a business to run, right?”
“Why should you care? You want me to fail.”
All at once, Jacob wasn’t sure he wanted Alysia to fail, even if success meant she’d stick out her three-year lease. “I don’t want you to lose your business,” he said carefully. “I just want you to succeed somewhere else.”
“I guess the Reynolds family is too aristocratic for a common business venture on their land,” Alysia said evenly.
He glared. “This isn’t accomplishing anything. If we have to fight, let’s do it in the car.”
Alysia pursed her lips. “Maybe we should go in separate vehicles. I might find an estate sale in Portland. Then the day wouldn’t be such a waste,” she said, sounding innocent.
On any other occasion Jacob would have agreed. Alysia was the last woman he wanted to spend time with—she had an unsettling impact on his senses. Yet he truly believed it wasn’t safe for her to drive such a decrepit pickup, especially with a broken arm. “I’ll take you to any sale you want to go to,” he said through gritted teeth. “So get into the car and stop being so stubborn.”
For a moment Jacob thought Alysia would hit him, then her face softened and a mischievous grin curved her lips. Without further argument she climbed into the Mercedes.
Immediately Jacob felt a sense of impending doom.
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s go.”
When they reached their destination Alysia got out and stretched. She had dressed carefully for the occasion—extremely faded jeans, a faded flannel shirt and old sneakers. There weren’t any major holes in the fabric, and the clothes were clean, but she knew they irritated her companion. His expression had been grim every time he looked her direction, though they’d managed to have a lively and interesting conversation during the two-hour drive.
Inside the lobby of the office building Alysia’s eyes widened. The law firm was not only big, it screamed old money and conservative values. Fine artwork decorated the walls. And they actually had an elevator operator. An operator. Someone paid to take people up and down so they wouldn’t damage their fingers hitting the buttons themselves.
They whooshed up to the fifth floor and she followed Jacob to a corner office, guarded by several secretaries. “Jacob Reynolds and Alysia McKenna, here to see Mr. Braeden,” he said to the woman at the first desk. “I called last night and made a personal appointment.”
The secretary’s professional smile turned brilliant. “Of course. Mr. Braeden is expecting you. Go right in.”
Alysia felt the full weight of the woman’s stare as they passed by.
“Jacob!” A tall, ruggedly handsome man jumped up from behind his desk and hurried across the room.
As the two friends shook hands Alysia saw a warm, relaxed smile on Jacob’s face. It was nice, very nice, and it made a shivery sensation sink to her stomach.
Matt Braeden held out his hand. “This must be Alysia. We’ve talked so much, I feel as though we know each other.”
Prepared to despise the lawyer on sight, Alysia was surprised to find herself responding to his engaging grin and the lack of censure in his brown eyes. “We’ve talked,” she agreed. “Mostly about my lease.”
“Mmm, yes. Please, sit down. I hope you won’t lose much business by taking the day off.”
As she sank into a chair Alysia thought it was amazing how different the two men were, at least in personality. “I don’t have a lot of customers on Mondays,” she said. “Besides, Jacob promised to take me to some estate sales. He’s so thoughtful.” She deliberately used Jacob’s first name, knowing he’d never invited her to do so. His swift, hard glance told her he’d caught the implication that they were better acquainted and more amicable than was truly the case.
Apparently catching the subtle nuance between them, Matt Braeden’s mouth twitched for several moments be fore he spoke. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re getting on so well.”
“Oh, yes. He’s awfully concerned about my arm.” Alysia lifted the cast and waved it. “Since I broke it at the house.”
“I know—that rotten floor. Has it hindered your work?”
“No, not really.” Alysia’s gaze strayed to Jacob. His eyes were fixed on the window, his body tense. “Except I had trouble repairing a plumbing problem.”
“Everything is going to be fixed,” Jacob snapped, turning his head. “I told you that.” He looked at Matt. “She has this ridiculous obsession about historical accuracy.”
“That’s great,” Matt said. “Alysia has an outstanding reputation in her field. I checked everything before you signed the lease—you’d be smart to listen to her.”
Jacob’s scowl accused his friend of treachery. “Maybe I don’t care about historical accuracy. That house has never been happy. Sometimes I think it’s cursed.”
Startled, Alysia’s jaw dropped. Though she’d heard joking rumors of a curse, she never expected to hear such a fantastic statement from Jacob Reynolds. And it wasn’t true. The Victorian was beautiful—lonely and neglected-but not cursed. Yet she couldn’t deny the bitterness in his voice, or the reality that he’d avoided his grandparents’ home since their deaths.
Houses did reflect the lives of the people who lived there—sorrows and joys, love and betrayal. That Jacob would sense a brooding atmosphere in the Victorian disturbed her. Still, what really disturbed her was the urge to hold him close and tell him it was all right. It didn’t make sense. Jacob was the last person she should feel sympathy for—or desire.
Oh God, Alysia moaned silently. She had to get control of herself. Matt Braeden was more her type—why wasn’t she thinking about him in that way?
Because you’re an idiot, with a talent for wanting the wrong man. She was sex starved, that was the answer. Kissing Jacob had been a big mistake, reminding her body it needed more than sleep, food and hard work. Unfortunately, sex implied commitment to Alysia. She couldn’t have a casual affair.
“Jacob,” she said quietly, still trying to control her thoughts. “It’s just a house.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s stick to business,” he snapped. “Matt, were you able to get a contract written?”
“Er, yes, I have it in draft form. I believe Alysia had some concerns…?”
Though distracted, Alysia smiled at the lawyer. “It’s very simple,” she said. “I won’t sign any contract affecting my tenant rights. If Jacob wants to suspend payment while he’s staying in the house, fine, but the lease stays.”
Jacob muttered something unintelligible.
Matt winked. “You’re completely protected.”
“For heaven’s sake, Matt told me you tried to break the lease before,” Jacob burst out. “Why do you want to stay now?”
“Of course I wanted to break the lease. You wouldn’t take care of the repairs or anything. But now that I have your attention.” she said with a smile, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Just like a woman.” He snorted.
Alysia couldn’t decide if he hated all women, or just her. “I’m sorry you don’t like the situation,” she said. “But it isn’t my fault you signed the lease without reading it.”
“Damn it, I told you I was upset. My daughter—”
“Hey, stop it. Both of you,” Matt ordered. His lips twitched again and a moment later he burst into laughter. Jacob glared, which just made him roar louder.
“It isn’t funny, Matt,” he growled. “That’s my house, and you rented to a…a…”
“Woman?” Alysia supplied helpfully. “Let’s see, I think you said I was a disaster. A pushy woman with a dirty face and bare feet. You also mentioned my hair was a mess.”
Jacob shifted in embarrassment and glanced at his friend. “I, er, may have been a little tactless. Sorry.”
She shrugged. “You were partly right—I don’t like shoes and my face was dirty. As for my clothing—would you work under a sink in a cashmere suit?”
The subtle jibe made him flinch. Alysia was right. He’d made assumptions based on her appearance. It was neither fair nor rational. He supposed she had reason to resent him, as much as he resented her…probably more. Yet she’d been soft hearted enough to agree to them moving into the house.
“I think the contract will be acceptable,” Matt said. He went to the door, telling his secretary to print the final draft.
Alysia took her copy and read it front to back with an attention to detail that surprised Jacob. “It looks okay,” she said finally. “I’m ready to sign…in front of a notary public,” she added quickly.
Jacob stared at the printed page. He didn’t have a choice, he had to sign. Tracy was facing a long and difficult recovery and she wanted to live in the old mansion. More than that, she wanted to make friends with Alysia. He couldn’t remember the last time his daughter had taken so strongly to someone.
The sound of Matt deliberately clearing his throat brought Jacob’s head up. Humor still warmed his friend’s expression, but it also held a challenge. Alysia and the lawyer had never met before today, yet he knew Matt had formed a positive opinion of her. He’d told Jacob he approved of her determination to build and run a successful business. He also thought his friend was being irrational about the property.
There wasn’t any point in stalling. “Let’s get this over with.” Jacob sighed. “Where’s your notary public?”
Alysia held the classified section of the newspaper in front of her face, searching for listings of estate sales. It was rude, but no ruder than Jacob dragging her to a fancy, upscale restaurant without asking her preference. Every time she started to soften toward him, he did something to annoy her…which was a good thing. In Matt Braeden’s office she’d glimpsed another side to Jacob, a dark, hurting side. And it was tied to the house. Her house.
By the time their main course was delivered she had to ask. “Jacob, why do you think your grandparents’ home is cursed?”
Resigned, Jacob sat back in his chair and gave her a hard stare. She just looked back, her green eyes darkened by some undefined emotion. “No one has ever been happy in that house. Ever. If a place could be cursed, it would be there. I guess that’s what I meant. But I don’t believe in curses, or ghosts, or anything supernatural.”
“You’re very pragmatic,” she said. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of people believe in the curse and your ghost.”
“She isn’t my ghost. For God’s sake, we’re talking about rumor and superstition. I don’t want to discuss it.” But Alysia did—he could see it in her face.
Damn, he thought, she really was like a cat, curious and unpredictable. And she had their sensuality—stretching, gliding, licking the herb sauce from her lips. Jacob could almost feel her tongue, the rough velvet texture of it, tasting him. He shifted, trying to quell his swift, involuntary reaction. Even his wife had never affected him so much with a look or a gesture, and now he was lusting after an unkempt tomboy.
“Your grandparents weren’t happy?” she asked after a moment.
“My—” Jacob paused, trying to think of a way to describe the taciturn Marcus Reynolds. “My grandfather wasn’t an easy man to live with. He was stern, very quiet and kept to himself.”
She traced the pattern on the linen tablecloth with her finger. “I thought the house was built out of love,” she said, sounding oddly wistful.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember that Alysia knew little of the tragic affairs of his family. Her curiosity was natural under the circumstances. “Love doesn’t always mean happiness.”
No longer hungry, Jacob pushed his plate away. He recalled his father’s and grandfather’s lectures about not allowing the heart to rule the head and never letting a woman have control. He’d never completely understood their warnings until he met Alysia McKenna. She awakened something deep and powerful inside of him, something that clamored for attention. Something dangerous.
“When I first moved in,” Alysia said hesitantly. “I had nightmares. It must have been the stress…you know, from making such a big change in my life.”
Jacob leaned forward. For the first time since they’d met she looked vulnerable and he felt an irrational surge of protectiveness. Alysia McKenna didn’t seem the type to suffer from nightmares. “Tell me.”
She shivered. “I…I would wake up with images of a dark and damp place. There’d be a horrible pain in my chest. And I felt…terrified,” she said finally. “Anxious, like there was something I had to do—or tell someone—that was more important than anything else in the world. But I’m not afraid of the house, I feel it welcomed me. Silly, right? I know you don’t approve.”
“I doubt if you care,” he murmured.
Regret flitted across Alysia’s face, but she shrugged. “I don’t live by other people’s opinions, if that’s what you mean. Especially ones who don’t care about me.”
Don’t care? There was a hollow, brittle sound to the words. Jacob frowned, wondering what kind of life she’d led, to settle so far away from family. The protectiveness he hadn’t been able to control before came stronger now. Which was absurd. Alysia McKenna needed protection the way a drowning man needed a cup of water.
“Anyway,” she continued, “life’s too short for conformity. I’d be miserable doing what was expected of me.”
“And what was expected?”
Leaning back, Alysia gave him a determined smile. “It doesn’t matter. I know what I want. and where I belong.”
“Yeah, my house.”
“I’m glad you agree.”
“I don’t agree,” Jacob exploded before he caught the gleam in her eyes. Hell, she knew exactly which of his buttons to push. And she enjoyed pushing them. “Tell me, when did you start rebelling, or have you always been this way?”
Alysia raised her eyebrows. “About the same time everyone does—when I was a teenager. You’ll find out with Tracy.”
He stared, appalled by the idea that Tracy might rebel, might become like the wild teens he’d heard about and sooner or later he’d have to face it all.
“Hey, take it easy, Jacob,” Alysia murmured sympathetically. “You’ll handle it. Besides, a little rebellion is healthy.”
Jacob wanted to be reassured, but his confidence had been shaken. A father was supposed to protect his children, yet Tracy had nearly died in an accident. What kind of man let such a thing happen? He was responsible for his daughter’s safety—he should have prevented it. The thought nagged at Jacob, keeping him silent as he paid for their lunch, then drove Alysia to the estate sale she wanted to visit.
He’d barely brought the Mercedes to a halt before she threw off her seat belt and jumped out of the car. Jacob shook his head. How could someone get so excited about old junk? Sighing, he locked the car and hurried after her. The sight of her tight, denim-clad bottom was screwing familiar knots in his gut…familiar since meeting Alysia, that is.
“Hold up,” he called.
“Come on,” she said, fairly glowing with excitement. “I’ve got a feeling about this place.”
Her “feeling” turned out to be several sets of extremely greasy pottery bakeware and four iron Dutch ovens—not really antiques, she explained, but popular with collectors—and a large, dusty sea chest with rusty fittings. When she looked at him, smiled and innocently asked if the chest would fit on the back seat of the Mercedes, Jacob knew he’d been right about impending doom. This was Alysia’s way of getting back at him. His leather seats would never be the same.
“You’re not planning to go to another sale, I hope,” he said, sliding into the car.
She appeared to consider the matter. “I guess not.”
Jacob grunted and stuck his key in the ignition. Turning it, there was a curious whining noise, then a ticking sound. He held his breath and tried the key again. This time nothing happened.
“Problem with the engine?” Alysia asked, her voice choked.
“You might as well say it,” he growled, sneaking a look at her mouth. She was having a terrible time keeping the laughter inside and he could see it bubbling in her irreverent soul.
