her mother didn’t need to know. Alone in the remote, dense woods … away from any other human souls … It had happened twice more since that first encounter. Both times, that prickly awareness had returned.
Both times she’d scurried home to safety.
And hot, uncomfortable thoughts.
‘You’ve talked to him?’ Yvonne gasped. ‘What did he say to you?’
‘Nothing,’ Elena said quickly. She looked to the sky and sighed. She hadn’t wanted to worry her mom about this. ‘We don’t speak.’
No, they didn’t speak. They watched each other, sensed each other, and circled. ‘We don’t have anything to say to each other.’
‘You be careful of him. Elena, nobody knows the full story yet. Nobody knows what happened to his grandfather, and you’re there all alone with him.’
‘I’m not alone, I have Leonard.’
Yvonne let out a frustrated sound, but it cut off on a downward note. When Leonard had first made the offer of shelter, she’d encouraged it.
‘I spend all my time in the lake house,’ Elena said soothingly. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do. Remember? My PhD is our goal.’
Her mother blew out a breath. ‘Fine, you’re right, but I don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I, but that can’t be helped right now.’
‘If your father had just –’
‘But he didn’t.’ He hadn’t ever lived up to their expectations, and they both knew it. They both fell quiet for a long moment.
‘We need to talk more about this, but I have to get to work. Thea didn’t tell me she was running short on pastry bags,’ her mom finally muttered. ‘You call me if you need anything.’
‘I will.’ There wasn’t anything her mother could do about the situation, the reporters or especially Alex Wolfe, but talking to her always made things better. ‘Have a good day.’
‘You, too, honey.’
‘Bye.’ Elena tucked the phone into her pocket and inhaled the fresh air. She’d been cooped up for so long she couldn’t stand it any more. She needed to move around. She had to think about things other than supply, demand, stock evaluation and market volatility. She loved her studies, but sometimes they sucked her under.
Instead of going round the lake, she headed up the garden path. It was quiet, pretty and ruthlessly manicured. She hadn’t seen her manor mate on this part of the grounds. He kept mainly to the lake and the untamed woods, sometimes exploring for hours. She’d started to keep track of him from the window in her office, when she managed to spot him. He was like his namesake in the way he moved around, silent and elusive.
The muscles in her thighs fired as she walked up the limestone steps on the steeper part of the hill. She was beginning to understand why he spent so much time outside. She’d only been sequestered in the lake house for a week. He’d been in prison for a year and a half. She couldn’t imagine what that would do to a person’s mind, especially a Type A, determined, forceful man like him.
Not that she was feeling sorry for him.
Her spine snapped straight when she realised where her thoughts were wandering. He had brought this punishment upon himself; he was the reason the reporters were here. She hadn’t done anything to deserve any of this.
But she had to find a way to deal with it.
The back of her fingers brushed against something soft. Looking down she saw a blood red rose. Opening her hand, she cupped the heavy blossom. It was full and lush. Her thumb brushed over a velvety petal. Beautiful, yet hearty. It was thriving, even with the erratic temperatures and cold dew. Something inside her softened.
‘A lesson in resiliency.’
Lifting her chin, she looked about. The fall garden was waning, but it was still a riot of colours and textures. The Wolfe Gardens could compete with any public garden that charged entry fees. Then again, their private benefactor probably spent more money on them, and the wear and tear was less.
She began travelling through the wandering maze, appreciating the discoveries at every turn. The gardens ran all the way up beside the manor. Beyond that, there was a sweeping, expansive lawn, but then the trees started up again. They were thick all the way up to the main road.
An idea started clicking inside her head. She hadn’t seen the reporters for herself. What if the situation wasn’t as bad as Leonard had made it seem?
She was deep in thought when she turned into the English tea garden. So deep, she nearly barrelled in on the one man she was trying to avoid.
The Wolfe was in the garden.
Her breath caught and she quickly hid behind a white pergola laced with vines and roses. What was he doing here? Was he following her? She bit her lip, considering what to do. By rights, she should turn around, go back down the hill and lock herself in the lake house.
But the road was in the other direction.
She peeked around the corner. He was still heading away from her. Unlike her, he was a true pacer. She watched the way he stalked down the little path, his broad shoulders narrowing to a taut waist and even nicer butt. Her tongue ran over her lips.
Oh, damn. He was wearing the jeans again.
She ducked back into hiding when he pivoted. For a brief moment, she saw a muscled chest and bulging biceps. Yet she’d also seen the mussed hair and the shadows underneath his eyes. Something had him worked up.
She heard a curious tapping noise. When she risked another peek, she found that he’d stopped at the table. For the first time, she became aware of the patio furniture that had been set up in the centre square. It was white wicker with deep green cushions. What caught her attention, though, was the computer sitting on the table.
She frowned. What was he doing? Reading news articles about himself? Getting caught up on The Wolfe Pack’s bottom line? Emailing cohorts who still agreed to associate with him?
She watched as he typed then pulled back to reference something. It looked like a grade-school notebook. For a moment, the red colour threw her. Even though he was dressed so casually, she would have expected his notebook to be leather-bound with a Mont Blanc pen within reach.
He followed along in the notebook, tracing a line, before looking back at his laptop. That, at the other end of the spectrum, was top grade. His fingers flew as he typed, but then he stood upright. Lacing his hands behind his neck, he stared at the screen. Finally, he swore and turned. His foot lashed out at an outdoor ottoman, and it went clattering along the flat stone patio before abruptly coming to a stop.
Elena jumped at the violence of the movement, but more so at the anger that lay underneath. It was gritty and fierce, palpable from where she stood. Almost immediately, though, it was tamped. With iron-like mettle, the man before her reined it all in. The anger sank back below the surface – or, more likely, was shoved. Standing with his fingers still wrapped together behind his neck, he let out another curse and looked towards the sky. The word was low and breathy, but it was enough to make her realise she needed to be moving along.
She headed into the garden maze, intending to take a path further away from the house.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
She looked around quickly. Was there someone else around that she hadn’t seen?
He sighed. ‘Stay away from the front gate, Elena.’
That brought her straight upright. Her breath caught when she found him staring straight at her. His grey eyes were piercing and all too knowing.
How had he sensed her? More so, how had he figured out her plans? ‘I … I just thought I’d see if the reporters are still out there.’
‘Trust