Read Online Stranger in my Arms by Rochelle Alers - Free Book Online Page A

definitely prolific.
    Alex watched Merrick as he studied the framed photos of her relatives. “I’ll be back as soon as I put the flowers in water.” Seemingly as if in a trance, he turned and stared at her. “Can I get you something hot to drink?”
    â€œI’d like that, thank you.”
    â€œWould you like chocolate or a hot toddy?”
    â€œI prefer the toddy.”
    Alex smiled. “Good. I just brewed a pitcher before you got here.”
    Feeling as gauche as a schoolgirl on her first date, she left the living room as Tina Turner’s “I Can’t Stand the Rain” flowed from wireless speakers concealed throughout her condo. How was she going to maintain a friendship with Merrick Grayslake when everything about him radiated unabashed male sensuality?
    Walking into her gourmet kitchen, she opened a cabinet and reached for a vase. She arranged the lilies in the vase, filled it with water, then removed a glass pitcher of cider brewed with mulling spices from the refrigerator. Pouring a generous amount into a saucepan, she put it on a stovetop burner to heat.
    Merrick’s sock-covered feet were silent as he made his way out of the living room with mahogany furniture reminiscent of pieces he’d seen in West Indian homes that had once belonged to wealthy European merchants and planters. Rich motifs of stylized carved pineapples and palm fronds decorated the legs of tables and chairs. A gleaming black concert piano was positioned in an alcove with a vaulted ceiling.
    He entered a formal dining room with a table set for two. Prisms of light from a chandelier fired the facets in crystal stemware at the place settings.
    Leaving the dining room he walked into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Alex placing cinnamon sticks in two large mugs as she gyrated to “Nutbush City Limits.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the entrance to the enormous stainless-steel kitchen filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat, watching her as she closed her eyes, snapped her fingers and danced to the catchy tune. A smile touched his mouth when he remembered her dancing with Michael.
    The selection ended and he put his hands together, applauding. “Bravo.”
    Alex spun around, her face flaming with embarrassment. Merrick had caught her pretending she was an Ikette. She’d spent her teenage years wishing she were a backup dancer for Tina Turner.
    Recovering quickly, she bowed from the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she drawled, blowing kisses to an imaginary audience.
    He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You missed your calling. You should’ve become a dancer.”
    Alex emitted an audible sigh. “That was never going to happen. My mother made me take dance lessons, and when the kids went to the right I went to the left. The instructor thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t follow the steps she’d choreographed and eventually expelled me from class. I never told anyone, but Madame H pulled me aside after my first lesson and lectured me sternly about showing up the other little girls. That ignited an undeclared war and I did everything I could to make her life a living hell.”
    Merrick, lowering his arms, straightened. “Remind me to never cross you.”
    She affected an attractive moue, wrinkling her nose. “It wasn’t often that I was a horrible little girl, but there was something about Madame H that pulled me over to the dark side.” She pantomimed leaning to her left, limp fingertips grazing her forehead in dramatic fashion.
    Shaking his head and smothering a laugh, Merrick found it hard not to respond to Alex’s theatrics. Everything about her was young, fresh, uninhibited and spontaneous.
    â€œAre you always this bubbly?”
    She sobered, meeting his questioning gaze. “Don’t you mean silly?”
    He shook his head. “No, Ali. I meant exactly