Free Strangers in Paradise by Heather Graham

feet away.

Chapter 4
    E ven though she knew Rex was in the house—or perhaps because she knew Rex was in the house—Alexi spent a miserable night.
    The kitchen floor was still a horrible bed; she swore to herself that she would get going on the house. When she first dozed off she nearly screamed herself awake, dreaming of a giant brown widow. She hadn’t even known that “widows” came in “brown”—but she didn’t want to meet another one.
    Having woken herself up, she ate some of the pizza. Rex, bleary-eyed and rumpled, stumbled in, and at last they shared some of the pizza. When he returned to the parlor, she determined to settle down to sleep again. More dreams and nightmares plagued her. Disconcerting, disconnected nightmares in which men and women in antebellum dress swirled through the ballroom, laughing, chatting, talking. Beautiful people in silks and satins and velvets—but the dancers were transparent and the ballroom retained its dust and webbed decay. The only man with substance in her dreams was Rex Morrow—darkly handsome and somewhat diabolical, but totally compelling as he grinned wickedly and pointed in silence to the portraits of Pierre and Eugenia on the wall. She kept trying to reach him through the translucent dancers. She didn’t know why, only that she needed to, and the more time that passed, the more desperate she became. Then, at the end, a giant brown spider with John’s face pounced down between them and Alexi gasped and sprang up—and came awake, swearing softly as she realized a warm sun was spilling brilliantly through the windows.
    She put coffee on and went in search of Rex, only to find the sofa empty, with a note where his body should have lain.
    Gone home to bathe, shave and work. Checked on you—you were sleeping like a little lamb. Well, a sexy little lamb. Libido, you know. It’s light and all seems well. Fix the window today, dammit! If you need anything, give me a ring. I’ll be here.
    So he was gone. Funny...she had been looking forward to seeing him. To sharing coffee. To laughing at her fears by the morning’s light. She smiled, remembering how they had shared cold pizza. Neither of them had really been awake. She could barely remember anything they had said. She’d liked his cheeks looking a little scruffy; she’d liked all that dark hair of his in a mess over his forehead.
    Well, Rex probably wouldn’t be the same by daylight, either. He’d be hostile, annoyed, superior, doing that eccentric artist bit all over again. She swore that the next time she saw him she’d be in control. Competent, able—fearless.
    Oh, yeah! But she had to get started.
    Definitely. She had to do something here, she warned herself. When her dreams began to include shades of The Fly , she was falling into the realm of serious trouble.
    By morning’s light she was able to roam around the lower level of the house. The place appeared even shabbier.
    â€œSteam cleaners will make a world of difference,” she promised herself out loud.
    Still hesitant of the creepy-crawly possibilities, she kept her suitcase in the kitchen. When the coffee had perked, she poured herself a cup and sipped it while she opened her suitcase. The coffee tasted good. Delicious. But not even the dose of caffeine really helped her mood. Her extended-wear contact lenses weren’t “extending” very well—her vision was all blurry, and she swore softly again, wishing she could wear them with comfort and ease. She peered at her watch. It was only eight. She’d take a long shower, then remove her contacts, clean them and put them back in.
    Alexi found her white terry robe, finished her coffee and considered exploring the upstairs for a bedroom and bath. Then, deciding that she would tackle the upstairs after she was dressed, she called and asked the steam cleaners in town to come out. Once they were finished, she would