On the Wings of Love

He released her, and she spun away from him. They stood a pace apart, both of them breathing heavily. As Alex stared at him, she felt panic welling up in her body. She’d wanted a life in which there was no question of her being in control. Now, suddenly, she felt threatened. Rafe Garrick was all the things she despised in a man, all the things she had spent her life protecting herself from. And he had just violated her safe, well-ordered world.

Rage and fear exploded in her. Her hand came up and she struck him with all her strength across the face. The force of her own blow sent her staggering backward.

He did not move. He did not laugh, scowl or even wince. Only his eyes mocked her anger as he spoke. “If it’s an apology you’re wanting—”

“No!” Alex spat out the word. “I’d never accept anything of the kind! Not from you!”

He laughed then—bitter, knowing laughter—as she whirled toward the door. It was as if he saw through her anger, as if he knew how deeply he had stirred her, and how frightened she was of her own emotions. Damn him. Oh, damn him!

Slamming the door behind her, she hurtled down the hall. Her face burned. Her eyes stung. She wanted to hide. Damn Rafe Garrick! She never wanted to see him again!

At the landing she almost collided with her father.

“Alex, are you all right?” Buck gazed at her in surprise. He had spent the morning in the city and was dressed in a dark business suit, white shirt and bowler. He smelled of the expensive Havana cigars he smoked.

“I’m quite all right, Papa.” Alex smoothed her skirt in an effort to compose herself. “Your fallen angel, Mr. Garrick, is all right, too. You’ll find him on the balcony. Dr. Fleury said he should stay in bed, but I think he’s well enough to leave!”

She brushed past him to go to her room, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You’re sure you’re all right? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine, Papa. A little too much sun on the beach, that’s all. I was just going to my room to freshen up.”

“Well, you might want to hurry it a bit. Your mother mentioned something about tea at the Townsend place this afternoon.”

“Oh!” Alex gasped. “Oh, drat!” She’d completely forgotten about that ridiculous tea, but she had no desire to further upset her mother. “Tell her I’ll hurry!” She flew down the long corridor to her room.

Through the glass panel in the door, Rafe saw the husky, well-dressed man staring after Alexandra for a long, thoughtful moment. Then the stranger turned, strode down the hall toward the balcony and opened the door. “So you’re on your feet already!” he boomed.

Rafe was still leaning on the rail of the balcony. “You might say that,” he replied. “Though I’m still not up to walking without a crutch. I was just trying to figure out how to get back to bed by myself. You’d be Mr. Bromley, right? Your daughter’s got your eyes.” The last was a lie. Alexandra’s eyes were unlike any he had ever seen.

“Yes, I’m Bromley. You can call me Buck.”

They shook hands. Buck Bromley’s grip was bonecrushing in its power, as if he’d exercised his hand to strengthen it. “So you’ve met Alex,” he said. “She was the first one to reach you in the water. I was the second.”

Rafe rubbed his chin, which was shadowed with whisker stubble. “I’m much obliged to you for taking me in after the crash,” he said.

“We could hardly have left you lying on the beach,” Buck laughed. “Besides, I’m a curious man, and I’m intrigued by you and that machine of yours. I wouldn’t mind keeping you around until you and the aeroplane are both mended. It would be worth it, just to see what makes the thing fly.”

Was this an invitation? Rafe wrestled with his pride. He’d been keeping his plane in a small hangar at the Hempstead aerodrome. He could make minor repairs there, but its cramped space wouldn’t do for rebuilding the craft. And there was his tiny flat in the Bronx with its shared bathroom, as well as the motorcycle he wouldn’t be able to ride to the airfield until his leg healed. Staying here would solve any number of problems. But he’d be damned if he’d ask for charity.

“I owe you a debt,” Rafe said. “I repay my debts. I don’t like being obligated to anyone.”

Bromley’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “If you’re talking about money, forget it,” he said. “As you see, we’re not exactly paupers here.”

Rafe shook his head. “Most of what I have is tied up in that aeroplane out there. But I’m not useless. I can work.”

“With a broken leg?”

“I had two years at M.I.T. Mechanical engineering. I’m good with engines. Got fine marks in draftsmanship—”

“You’ve no family?” Buck interrupted him.

“None. I was fourteen when my parents died. I’ve been on my own since then.”

“M.I.T., you say.” Buck’s tone was cynical. “I never went to college myself. Never needed it. But why only two years?”

“Time. Money. I wanted to build my own aeroplane and fly it. I couldn’t do that, work to support myself and still go to school. I had to make a choice.”

Buck followed Rafe’s gaze out across the sunsplotched expanse of lawn to the rise of the dunes where the aeroplane had been dragged and abandoned. “Was it the right choice? Was the end worth it?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.

“Come on,” said Buck. “I’ll help you back to your room. Tomorrow we’ll go out and look at your machine, eh? We’ll see how much of it can be salvaged.”

He took Rafe’s weight on the right side and they moved off the balcony and through the door, into the hallway. In spite of the pain and difficulty, Rafe strove to move mostly under his own power. He had never been one to lean on others.

They had almost reached Rafe’s door when Alex came out of her room at the far end of the hall. She was dressed in pale yellow organdy trimmed with ribbons that fluttered when she moved. Her hair, freshly brushed, shimmered loose over her shoulders. Rafe caught his breath as, ignoring them both, she swung around the newel post and skimmed down the stairs in her low-heeled slippers.

Bromley, he realized, was studying him again, with that slit-eyed gaze of his. “So you like her, do you, lad?” he murmured. “Of course you do. What man wouldn’t? She’s beautiful…intelligent…spirited, and heiress to everything I own. Isn’t that right?”

Rafe swallowed, taken aback by the man’s bluntness. “She’s all that, and well beyond my reach, sir,” he said carefully. “As a pilot and a man, I know where my limits lie.”

“Do you, now?” Bromley’s left eyebrow slid upward. “Judging from the way you look at her, I’m not so sure you do. My daughter isn’t to be trifled with, Garrick. I’m saving Alex for a man who can keep her in style and keep her in line—a man who’ll breed grandsons to run my company someday. And since he won’t get a penny of her fortune, he damned well better have money of his own—preferably old money and plenty of it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.” Rafe had no problem with anything the man had said. He’d had his share of experience with rich, spoiled, beautiful girls. They liked playing around with the bad boy from across the tracks, but in the end it came down to one thing—money. Alexandra Bromley was prettier than most, but she was no different from the others and this was no time for games.

From here on out, Rafe resolved, he would put that blistering kiss out of his mind and give the girl a very wide berth. For him, Buck Bromley’s daughter could be nothing but trouble.

Chapter Four

Maude’s white-gloved hands clung helplessly to the side of the open-topped Pierce-Arrow. “For heaven’s sake, slow down, Alexandra! You’re going to get us both killed!”

Alex eased back on the gas pedal of the elegant black automobile. “I was only going thirty miles an hour, Mama. It’s a perfectly safe speed.”

“Not on this road. You can’t see around the curves. You could hit a cow or a horse or even a child. And you’re throwing up dust all around us. Use some sense!”

Alex sighed. Since Felix, the chauffeur, had gone home sick, it had fallen to her to drive herself and her mother to tea at the Townsend mansion. Ordinarily she would have been pleased. But after her encounter with Rafe Garrick, she was in no condition to sit behind the wheel of a dangerous machine.

“What’s bothering you, dear?” her mother asked. “I’ve never seen you in such a state.”

Alex’s only answer was a tightening of her jaw. The yellow ribbons on the shoulders of her dress streamed out behind her like battle flags. Her heart was pounding like the pistons on a runaway locomotive. She could still feel the burn of Rafe Garrick’s kiss on her lips and the raw, masculine pressure of his body against hers. Heaven help her, she didn’t want to feel this way. She didn’t want him, or any man, to have this kind of power over her. Anything would be better than ending up like her mother—a faded ghost of a woman, cowed and emotionally frozen.

She swerved to avoid a white leghorn rooster that ran squawking out of her path. The auto lurched as its left front wheel hit a pothole. Alex cursed. Her mother gasped.

“Alexandra! Wherever did you learn to talk like that?”

“Where do you think?” Alex sighed and eased back on the gas again. The engine slowed to a chugging purr. “Maybe you should learn to drive, Mama. It isn’t hard at all. In fact, it’s fun. I could teach you today, on the way home from the tea.”

“Goodness gracious!” Maude shook her head. “I could never do that! What would people think?”