The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(16)

Cass got out of the car. The cold air felt good, a brisk handshake of sorts that welcomed her to the Adirondacks.

She’d been tempted to go to Gray’s right away so she could unpack and relax a little. She’d driven up from the city after a breakfast meeting this morning and was still in the Escada suit she’d put on at 6:00 a.m. But she wanted to review the original set of plans over dinner, and according to Frankie, the drawings were somewhere in the workshop.

Besides, she wanted to rip the Band-Aid off when it came to seeing Alex.

It was going to be hard and she was dying to get the first meeting behind her. With him in the shop and her working on the house, she was going to be running into him a lot over the next three months, and she might as well get used to it.

Walking over to the barn, she decided the out-building was a real charmer. Painted a deep red with bright white trim, it was cheery from the outside even though the roof was bowed and the walls listed a little. Then again, the imperfections were probably why the place appealed. Its good nature was amplified by its disabilities.

She straightened the collar of her silk shirt. Fussed with the gold chain belt around her waist. She didn’t know why she bothered. The last thing Alex Moorehouse was going to care about was what she wore.

Knowing him, his priority would be hustling her off to anywhere he wasn’t.

The door to the shop had no knocker or bell to ring so she rapped on it. When there was no answer, she tried again.

As she waited, the cold became not so welcoming. It seeped through the fine wool of her suit, the chill nipping at her shoulder blades.

She blew some warm air into her hands and gave the knocking another shot. Her knuckles stung as they hit the wood, and she rubbed them against her hip.

Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t there.

Stamping her high heels, she was debating whether to go back to the car when she heard something inside. A metal clinking sound.

Cass took the toggle handle and lifted upward. The door opened easily.

“Hello?”

The noise, a rhythmic shifting of sorts, got louder.

She slipped through the door and closed it, wanting to preserve the heat. As she turned around, her legs stopped working.

Oh…good…Lord.

Alex was flat on his back, pushing a tremendous amount of weight up and down on a Nautilus machine. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose nylon pants. Sweat gleamed on his bare chest.

She told herself to look away and couldn’t. His muscles moved with a coordinated power that was intimidating and…well, erotic. Under his smooth skin, all that bunching and releasing reminded her of the incredible moment they’d shared.

The one only she knew had actually happened.

He released the weights, a metal clank cutting through the room. Then he sat up and focused ahead as if in a trance. He was breathing deeply, and a hissing noise came out of the earphones he had on.

She was about to clear her throat when his head snapped around.

His frown was totally expected.

“I knocked,” she said. “A number of times.”

With a jerk of his hand, his earphones popped out and dangled between his legs.

“I knocked,” she repeated.

His eyes flicked over her, a quick head-to-toe review that was about as passionate as what she’d done to his family’s house out in her car. He reached to his waist and unclipped a little black square.

Without saying a word, he picked a cane off the floor, stood up and limped away from her. His back was every bit as strong as the front of him was, the muscles fanning out from his spine. He had a black tattoo that covered his right shoulder blade: a beautiful, old-fashioned compass, like something you’d see on a medieval map.

What a difference a month made, she thought. His body was getting back into fighting shape and he seemed so much healthier.

When he bent down and grabbed a T-shirt out of a line of duffels on the floor, she didn’t watch as he pulled it on.

“Your sister said the plans to White Caps are somewhere in here.” She glanced around.

How did he fit on that twin bed? she wondered.

When she heard his footsteps, she brought her head up. He was coming over to her.

No, he was heading for the little refrigerator that was under a wooden table in the corner by the door.

God, she wished he’d say something.

He took out three small cans and lined them up in a row. One by one, he cracked them open.

She was about to start doing cartwheels to get his attention when he broke the silence.

“You’re early. I thought you weren’t coming until next week.”

“I wanted to get started. Which is why I’m looking for the plans.”

“I haven’t seen any around here,” he said, picking up the first can and downing it in one shot. He pitched the empty into the trash and went for number two. “But I’ll help you look after I finish getting through these.”

As if the consumption were a workout in and of itself.

“What’s that you’re drinking?” she asked.

“Ensure. Good source of vitamins and calories. Tastes like vanilla-flavored wallpaper paste.”

“Um, you’re looking much better.” Actually, he was looking out-of-this-world good. His coloring was back. His strength, too, clearly.

But he had yet to meet her eyes, so she couldn’t get a read on his emotions.