Kiss Me Forever (Bachelors & Bridesmaids #1) (17 page)

"Then I guess it's a good thing that you did." She walked around the island in the kitchen and stared at the clean, granite-topped counters. Somewhere in the mass of cabinets was a coffeemaker and probably some food, but where?

Tyler pointed to a cupboard by the refrigerator. "Cereal is in there if you want some."

"Thanks, but I was looking for a coffeemaker."

"Over there." Tyler motioned to the other side of the room, and Andrea followed his instructions to find the most complicated-looking coffeemaker she had ever seen in her life.

"It figures," she mumbled to herself, eyeing the thing with a grouchy frown. Alex Donovan would have to have the most deluxe equipment possible. She plugged it in and read the directions. Then she ground the beans, poured in water, punched a few buttons and hoped for the best. The opening drops looked promising, a dark, rich brown in color. As the pot began to fill, a pleasant aroma filled the room.

With a triumphant smile, she walked over to the refrigerator and examined the contents. Eggs, milk, butter. She could definitely handle scrambled eggs, maybe some toast. And there was always cereal.

By the time Alex came down the stairs, she had breakfast almost ready and was pleasantly awaiting his surprised expression. Not that she was trying to impress him. She had never bought into her mother's theory that any man worth having was worth cooking for. Still, it would be nice to know she could do it if she wanted to. And for some reason she did want to. Which made her a little worried that she was losing her focus. Her career had always meant everything to her. Now she was starting to want more.

"Smells good," Alex commented, sniffing the air.

She poured him a cup of coffee. "Cream? Sugar? Sweetener?"

"Black is fine."

She handed Alex his coffee. He took a sip and then walked over to the sink and spit it out.

She stared at him in astonishment. "Is it that bad?"

"Did you try it?"

"No, but it smells right."

He handed her the cup. Go ahead, take a sip."

After seeing Alex's display, she allowed only a small portion into her mouth, immediately gagging at the thick, chunky quality of the liquid. He was right. It was ghastly. She followed his lead and spit it out into the sink, then turned on the faucet and dumped out the rest of the cup. "Sorry. These million-dollar gadgets are a little beyond my experience."

"Andrea, the eggs..." Tyler's voice sent her attention to the stove cut where her scrambled eggs were now burning.

She quickly moved the pan and turned off the flame, but it was too late. "Sorry, I'm a lousy cook," she said with a sigh.

"Well, I'm not," Alex replied. "I'm pretty good. Let me show you."

"You're going to cook for me with one hand in a cast?" she asked doubtfully.

"Why don't we do it together?" he suggested.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

Making breakfast with Alex was more fun than she'd expected. She did most of the work while he gave instructions, but in the end they had beautiful golden pancakes, freshly squeezed orange juice and delicious chunks of cut-up fruit. The conversation over breakfast was light and easy, all of them choosing to stay away from uncomfortable topics.

"There are more pancakes in the oven," Alex reminded her, as she finished her last bite.

"Are you telling me that as a warning not to try to get anything off your plate?" she teased.

"Just pointing out that we have more food," he said evenly.

"Alex hates to share," Tyler interjected. "He won't even give me any of his popcorn when we go to the movies. He always makes me get my own."

"So you get enough," Alex replied, his lips turning down into a frown. "I don't think my eating habits need to be discussed."

Andrea rested her elbows on the table. "What's the big deal about guarding your food, Alex? Is that some primitive territorial urge? Or does it date back to your past, when maybe you didn't have enough to eat?"

"There was a time when I didn't know where my next meal was coming from," he admitted.

"And that feeling has never gone away?"

"I haven't really thought about it." Alex turned to Tyler. "I told the Monroes I'd take you to school. Do you need to stop by your house first to get anything?"

Tyler shook his head. "I have what I need."

"Then we should leave soon. Why don't you run a comb through your hair, maybe brush your teeth."

Tyler groaned but got up from the table, put his cereal bowl in the sink and then headed upstairs.

"You'd make a good parent, Alex," she commented.

"It's not hard to parent for a few minutes a day. But I'm not Tyler's father, just his friend."

"You're more than his friend. He adores you. He looks up to you, and he wants to be just like you."

"I hope I provide a good example."

"Of course you do." She drew in a breath, knowing it was time to cut to the chase. "Alex, we have to talk."

"I have to take Tyler to school in a few minutes."

"You can't keep putting me off."

"I'm just stating a fact."

"Well, we have a few minutes," she said with determination. "Why did you lie to me about your parents dying in a car accident?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "I first gave that answer about eight years ago. Someone threw the question out at me, and that seemed the simplest explanation. Once it was in print, I let it go."

"How did they die?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She stared at him in frustration. "You told me you would answer my questions."

"Why does it matter?" he countered. "My parents are not responsible for the man I am today. They were gone a long time ago. I am a self-made man, and that's the story I want you to write, because that's the truth. I built my business from nothing. I achieved my goals, and I give back wherever I can. Why isn't that enough for you?"

She ignored his question. "Who sleeps in the pink and white bedroom upstairs that looks like a little girl's dream room?"

The color drained from his face. "You snooped around my house when I was asleep?"

"Yes," she admitted. "And once again you haven't answered my question."

"It was furnished for some girls I thought might be coming to visit, but they didn't. End of story."

She didn't think they were anywhere close to the end of his story. In fact, they were finally beginning. "What girls? Are they relatives? Are they like Tyler—kids who need a parental role model?" She paused. "Are they your daughters?"

"No!" he said vehemently. "Why would you ask me that?"

"It's not an illogical question."

"I don't have any children, Andrea. Are we done?"

"You know we're not."

He looked back at her, all warmth gone from his eyes. "Well, we're finished for now. I'm going to drive Tyler to school. I'll call you a cab."

"We could talk after you drop him off."

"No, we can't," he said firmly. "I have meetings at the office."

She had no idea if that was true or just another stall, but Alex was up and out of the room before she could say another word.

She cleared the table, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. She was just wiping down the counter when Alex's phone began to buzz. She glanced over at it, seeing a text message that made her heart skip a beat.

I'll be at Pier 39 at four o'clock in front of the carousel. Please come. Mom.

Mom?

She was stunned at the three-letter word.

Alex's mother was dead. Wasn't she?

She jumped as the kitchen door opened, but it wasn't Alex, it was Tyler.

"Alex wanted me to grab his phone and tell you that a car service will meet you out front in five minutes. He said just to shut the door behind you. It automatically locks."

"Okay," she mumbled as Tyler picked up Alex's phone and left the kitchen.

She wondered what Alex would do when he saw the message. Although, he obviously knew his mother was alive, and they had some contact with each other, if she had his cell phone number. So what was going on?

She'd given Alex every opportunity to tell her the truth. Maybe it was time to find out for herself.

Chapter Thirteen

It felt wrong, Andrea thought several hours later as she walked toward Pier 39 just before four o'clock. But she couldn't stop herself from moving forward. The carousel beckoned. The chance to meet Alex's mother or at least see her was impossible to resist. But she still had no idea what she would do when she got there. If Alex saw her, he'd be furious. He'd know she'd read his private message. But it wasn’t like she'd gone through his phone. The text had flashed right in front of her. How could she not have read it?

Well, maybe she could have, but what was done was done. And she was too good of a reporter not to follow a lead. Unfortunately, Alex was more than a story. He was a friend. He was someone she cared about.

This was exactly why she shouldn't have gotten personally involved with him. Her feelings were clouding her professional judgment. She'd always known exactly what to do—until now.

She walked down the pier toward the carousel, still debating her options.

An older woman with dark hair stood in front of the carousel, her gaze darting every which way as if she were looking for someone. Tall and slender, she was the feminine version of Alex. She appeared to be in her early fifties and was obviously well-off, judging by the large diamond ring on her third finger, the one she was tapping nervously against her designer bag.

The details didn't make sense. Alex had supposedly grown up in foster care. If his mother wasn't dead, where had she been? And if she had money, why would Alex have ended up in the system?

The questions continued to race through her mind with every step. Finally, Andrea took a deep breath and walked over to the woman. "Mrs. Donovan?"

The woman flinched. "I haven't been Mrs. Donovan in a long time. Who are you?"

"Andrea Blain. I saw your text to Alex this morning, and I wanted to meet you."

"Why? Are you his girlfriend?"

"No. I'm just a friend."

"Is he coming to meet me? Or did he send you in his place?"

"I'm not sure if he's coming," she said evasively. It was quite possible Alex could show up at any moment.

Disappointment and pain filled her eyes. "He probably won't come. He never has before. Why should this time be different?"

"You've asked him to meet you before?"

"Dozens of times. I keep hoping one day he'll show up." Alex's mother paused. "Why are you here?"

She decided to tell the truth. "I'm a reporter. I'm doing an article on Alex, and when I saw your text, I knew I had to talk to you, because Alex told me you were dead. Obviously, you're not."

The woman's expression turned wary. "You're a reporter?"

"Yes for
World News Today
. We're doing an in-depth story on Alex. He's our
Man of the Year
."

"Well, imagine that—
Man of the Year
." The woman sighed. "I always knew he was going to be somebody. He had that drive even when he was a little kid." She paused, cocking her head to the right. "Alex is still telling everyone I'm dead? I thought he would have dropped the story by now. But to Alex, I probably am dead."

"Why?" As soon as the word came out of her mouth, Andrea knew she couldn't do it. "Wait, don't answer that."

"Why not?" the woman asked in surprise.

"I can't let you tell me. Alex has to be the one. This doesn't feel right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I hope Alex meets you, but I have to go."

"Wait. Will you give him this?" Alex's mother opened her bag and pulled out an envelope. "I wrote it just in case he wouldn't stay long enough to listen to what I had to say."

She hesitated. If she took the envelope, she'd have to tell Alex she'd met his mother, and he would be furious. On the other hand, she probably couldn’t and shouldn't keep this visit a secret.

"Please?" his mother begged. "It's so hard for me to get him to listen. Maybe he'll read this and he'll be able to understand."

She wondered exactly what Alex had to understand. "All right," she agreed. "I'll make sure he gets your letter."

"Thank you. It probably won't make a difference, but at least I will have tried."

* * *

Alex got home a little after four, having spent a couple of pointless hours at his office before picking up Tyler and meeting with the Monroes. That situation now seemed to be settled, at least for the moment. He tossed his keys onto the side table and walked into his den. He grabbed a beer from behind the bar and sat down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. His entire body ached from yesterday's fine, and his hand had been throbbing for the last hour. But the physical pains weren't the reason for his frustration and restlessness—that was all Andrea.

It was only a matter of time before she'd be back with more questions. He'd hoped he could persuade her that his past had nothing to do with his present. But since she'd caught him in a lie, her curiosity was even more engaged. She really was a bulldog.

The doorbell rang, as if on cue, and he got up to answer it, knowing that there could be no more stalling. The moment of truth had arrived.

He opened the door. "Andrea."

She gave him a tentative smile. "Hi."

He wished his heart didn't jump every time he laid eyes on her. It would be easier for him if he could see her like an enemy and not like a woman he wanted to sleep with. She'd changed her clothes since he'd last seen her, now wearing skinny jeans and a button-down sweater over a silky top. Her hair flowed around her shoulders and her eyes were bright. He didn't know if it was worry or anger that put the light in her eyes. She was definitely feeling conflicted about something.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

He stepped back. "Of course. I'm glad you came back." Despite the fact that she was here to rip his life apart, he was still inexplicably happy to see her, which told him just how far gone he was.

Andrea seemed to find his statement difficult to believe. "You're happy I'm here? You couldn't get rid of me fast enough this morning."