by Leslie Kelly
Not that she expected it to happen. From what Sophie said, her cousin was a dashing, world-traveler who’d made a name for himself in the FBI before he’d ever started writing. He spoke several languages, lived on intrigue, and never spent more than a few months a year at home. Didn’t exactly sound like someone who’d be up for hanging out in his old hometown of Derryville.
Gwen changed the subject. “Speaking of coming around, I hope our Mr. Stone does soon. I don’t know how much longer I can keep him hidden up there without anybody finding out he’s here. And you’ve certainly been no help.”
Mick brought a hand to his chest, looking offended. “I’ve been working hard to try to prevent the arms dealer from meeting up with his potential buyer.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You know who Miss Jones is?”
“Not definitely,” Mick admitted. Then he lowered his voice to whisper, “But I have my suspicions. Why do you think I’ve been sticking so close to Dr. Wilson?”
“You don’t think…but she doesn’t have a birthmark!”
“She does have a small scar on her collarbone,” Mick replied. “Maybe the birthmark was removed. Speaking of which, I think five minutes is long enough to let her out of my sight.”
Gwen felt her blood grow cold. “You sent her up to his room. She’s alone with Miles right now. Are you crazy?”
Mick shrugged, looking unconcerned as he turned toward the stairs. “Don’t worry about it. I made up a story about how I know who he is and have known him forever. I told her I’d always heard it was better to let people regain their memory naturally. She agreed. She has no idea what he’s doing here.”
“Someday, you’re going to have to tell me how you got caught up in this whole thing,” Gwen said, her curiosity temporarily overriding her concern. “If I hadn’t been existing on pure adrenaline for the past twenty-four hours, I’d be asking a whole lot more questions.”
He paused, his hand on the railing. “Adrenaline, huh? That’s the reason why you haven’t been asking anything?” He looked skeptical, and curious.
She knew what he meant. Why hadn’t she questioned this whole crazy scenario more than she had? A number of times she’d been tempted to reach for the phone, check things out, ask information for the listing to the top-secret agency called the Shop. She could have searched the Internet. Cornered Mick. Called the police. Absolutely anything.
Something had stopped her each and every time.
“What really stopped you from figuring out what was going on here this weekend?” he asked, as if he could read her mind.
“I’m not sure myself,” she admitted. When he laughed softly, she raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m just amused that you’re enjoying the hell out of this. Who’d have ever figured the nice, quiet innkeeper has such an adventurous soul?”
An adventurous soul. She had once upon a time. She’d nearly forgotten the dreams she’d had growing up, the thrills she’d always envisioned being a part of her future. The fits she’d given her parents as a teen who’d let her love of excitement overcome her common sense on more than one occasion.
“Is that why you got involved?” she asked.
“I’m always up for new and exciting ways to get in trouble.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed glance. “And somehow an attractive woman always ends up involved.”
“True,” he admitted. “Getting to know Dr. Wilson hasn’t exactly been a hardship.”
“I’ll bet.”
They began walking up the stairs together. “Speaking of her, you’d better be right. Miles had better be safe with her. He’s not in a position to defend himself.”
“You don’t have to worry about Agent Stone, sweetheart,” Mick replied. “He’s a tough hombre. Black belt. Weapons expert. Long history of successes.”
Not sure she wanted to know the answer, she asked, “Successes?”
Mick paused and met her stare, lowering his voice. “Don’t ask. You don’t wanna know what that man’s done. All, of course, for his country.”
She tried to reconcile that dangerous, deadly image with the one of the man dangling against the side of her house earlier today, bemoaning not having any Inspector Gadget-type equipment. The pictures didn’t quite match up in her mind. “He’s an unusual man.” She was speaking more to herself than to Mick.
“Uh-huh. I get the feeling you like unusual. Something’s different about you this weekend. Excitement suits you.”
“Who wouldn’t be excited? Secret agents with amnesia? Arms dealers? Mysterious buyers?”
When they reached the second floor, Gwen turned to walk to Miles’s room. The door was open, which she figured was a good thing. If Dr. Wilson or Miss Jones or whoever she was had mischief on her mind, she’d likely have closed the door.
Before she could walk away, Mick put a hand on her arm. “I like this new you, Gwen. I hope this sparkle I see in your eyes doesn’t go away too quickly.”
In spite of his flirtatious charm and sexy playfulness, Mick was generally a nice guy. She saw a mutual feeling of affection in his expression. “Can I admit I do, too? I guess I’m not quite ready to go back to boring and conservative. I’m liking adventure. A lot.” Probably too much.
Mick squeezed her hand. “Good. Listen, I’m going to wait for Dr. Wilson in my room. It’s probably good that she doesn’t see me with, uh, Agent Stone, just in case he suddenly remembers something and blurts it out. Will you tell her where I am?”
She nodded, then waited for him to walk away toward his own room. Standing outside Pretty Boy’s Pad, she watched through the open door as Dr. Wilson chatted with Miles, examining his eyes, his balance and asking him memory-related questions.
She took advantage of the moment to stare at him, at this man who’d turned her world upside down in a single day. It amazed her, truly astounded her, that yesterday morning she hadn’t known he existed. Because, as crazy as it seemed given their short relationship, she hated the thought of being without him.
It was more than excitement, more than attraction. Though attraction had a lot to do with it. After all, she’d never in her life made love with someone who’d made her forget the rest of the world existed. When she was with Miles, that’s exactly what happened. The inn didn’t exist. Her guests didn’t exist. There was no former fiancé, no ghosts, no Hildy. Just him. His hands. His lips. His tongue. His knowing eyes and sultry whisper.
Miles was the dark, dangerous man of her most secret dreams.
Yet she also liked him. She’d liked him before he was hurt, and since they’d spent nearly every hour since then in each other’s company, she’d gotten to know him pretty well—even though he didn’t completely know himself. But amnesia didn’t change the way someone smiled or the things that made him laugh. A knock on the head couldn’t disguise the tenderness he’d show to others, the wicked sense of humor, the intelligence and the wit. Nor could it hide the intrinsic goodness in a man. Those things were as much a part of Miles as his full name or birth date, and she’d seen evidence of all of them since they’d met.
She liked talking to him, laughing with him, just sitting in a quiet room with him, having a normal conversation, as they had when she’d first shown him up to his room the night before.
That didn’t mean she didn’t want to know even more. She wanted to know his dreams and his plans, wanted to know what kind of kid he’d been, if he’d terrorized his siblings, what his parents were like. She wanted him to get his memory back because she wanted to learn more about his past. Probably, most of all, she wanted to know if he was going to be a part of her future.
“Get real, Gwen, it’s impossible,” she whispered, leaning against the wall and tilting her head back in frustration. “This has been an illusion. It would never work.”
A fantasy. A dream. That described this whole Halloween adventure pretty well—it had certainly had its share of surreal moments. She dreaded the one when she’d have to wake up
and face reality. Because dark, dangerous, worldly men like Miles didn’t stick around. Not with small-town innkeepers whose biggest weekly adventure usually involved trying to find good pablano peppers at the tiny local grocery store.
A whirlwind relationship with a dark, dangerous man might suit Gwen fine for a weekend, but it certainly wasn’t something they could ever maintain. In the real world, in the mundane existence of Gwen Compton, innkeeper, how would she and Miles find any common ground? How soon would it be before he realized she wasn’t the daring woman he thought her to be, and leave for more exciting pastures? When the talk turned from spies to reliable maid service, from weapons to breakfast dishes, how long would it take him to realize he’d made a horrible mistake?
She already mourned the loss of the most passionate relationship she’d ever known. But it was inevitable. Whether Miles stuck around for a few days, or even a week, sooner or later he’d have to get back to his real life. A life she wasn’t in a position to share.
Maybe you could share it, a voice whispered in her brain.
Impossible. Even if there wasn’t the inn to think about, she had to take care of Aunt Hildy. She wasn’t free to go off on adventures with a mysterious, jet-setting man. And while she had loved every minute they’d shared, deep down inside, she really didn’t want to. Adventures in small doses were one thing, but a lifetime of them? Always on the move to new towns with new risks? Exciting, perhaps, but not very conducive to long-term happiness.
She was twenty-eight years old. While the thrill of physical danger appealed to her now, so did the thought of building a life with someone. Having children. Settling down and creating a home. Taking walks in the fall and camping trips in the spring. Curling up in front of a fire on a cold winter’s night and being wrapped in a pair of strong arms when she’d had a bad day.
Finding adventures in everyday things would suit her fine, in the long run. She wanted a normal life in the normal world. Which meant a world that didn’t involve trips to foreign lands, gun-carrying secret agents, arms dealers or mysterious buyers.
A world with no Miles Stone.
12
MILES SENSED Gwen had something on her mind that evening. Funny, though he’d only known her a short time, he already felt in tune to her moods and knew when something was wrong.
Throughout the afternoon she’d been every bit as warm, sexy and playful as she’d been since he’d first woken up in the kitchen and had seen her kneeling over him. She’d kept him amused while he was trapped in his room—both for his own good, and because she’d taken all his clothes away to wash them. They’d talked, they’d laughed, they’d teased, they’d even played a game of strip poker. She’d won. After all, he’d had no clothes until an hour ago when she’d brought them back from the laundry room.
But through it all, there’d been a slight reserve, a hint of sadness that hadn’t been in her eyes this morning.
He didn’t like that look. Miles wanted to sweep it away, to see her glowing with happiness, bouncing with energy, as she had been earlier in the day. And he’d do anything to ease her shoulders of that slight, weary slump.
He had to concede, she wasn’t the only one with something on her mind. He was having the same problem. Unfortunately, what was on his mind was nothing. Having nothing on his mind—no memories, no clues about his real life, no idea where he lived—could really be a pain in the ass.
Only one good thing had come out of this whole mess. And she was curled up in his arms on his bed right now, watching the room grow shadowy as the last of the daylight faded away with the sunset.
“You okay?” she whispered against his chest, as if knowing he was deep in thought.
“Fine. Just thinking.”
“About?”
Figuring she’d tell him what was bothering her on her own time, he hedged. “About what happens if I don’t get my memory back. I wasn’t too worried today. Hell, anybody slammed by your Aunt Hildy would have his brain scrambled for a day.”
She laughed softly, as he’d intended.
“But I am getting a little concerned about tomorrow. I told Dr. Wilson I’d go to the hospital if I’m not okay by then.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Gwen replied. Then she added, “Dr. Wilson…you talked with her for quite a while today.”
He pulled back to look her in the eye. “You can’t possibly be jealous.”
“She is very pretty.”
“I like blondes.”
“How do you know?”
“Okay,” he admitted, “I like you.”
Like, however, didn’t quite nail it. What he felt for Gwen already went beyond “like.” He didn’t know if he was the emotionally impulsive sort. That didn’t sound like the kind of person a secret agent would be. But there was no doubt: he was developing feelings for Gwen.
He wasn’t fool enough to call it love. At least, he didn’t think he could call it that, particularly because he didn’t know whether he believed in love at first sight or not.
Or maybe he did. Maybe that personality trait was locked away in the uncharted territory of his mind and what he was feeling made perfect sense in his normal life.
Reason and logic, however, said love took time. It meant knowing someone, inside and out. Their past, their present and future. Knowing what they wanted out of life, and where they’d come from. Knowing what was important to the other person. Above all, wanting nothing more than to make that other person happy.
Looking at it from that perspective should have convinced him there was no way he could possibly be in love with Gwen Compton. Because he couldn’t claim to know any of those things.
With the exception of one. Since he’d opened his eyes and seen her the night before, he’d thought more than once that he’d consider his life successful if he only ever managed to do one thing. Make her happy.
And so far, the happiest he’d seen Gwen, other than the times they’d been making love, had been when they’d been involved in one adventure or another. “You know, babe, as much as I appreciate you taking care of me, I’m going a little stir-crazy locked up in this room.”
She lifted a brow.
“I think we should get outta here for a while.”
She nibbled her lip, looking greatly tempted. “I have to play hostess during cocktail hour.”
“You have to?”
She hesitated, then mused aloud. “Well, the hors d’ouevres are all prepared. And Aunt Hildy usually makes the drinks.”
He had her now. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind—hmm, boring cocktail hour…or a little outdoor adventure? “Come on,” he cajoled. “Let’s blow this place.”
Gwen finally grinned and nodded. He immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed.
“Now?”
“Right now. By the time we get outside, it’ll be dark.”
He was right. After they made their way down a back staircase, which led from the second floor into an area Gwen called the mudroom, they slipped out the back door into a pitch-dark evening. Night had fallen rapidly once the sun had gone down, and without those warm rays, it had grown chilly. He could see his own breath making misty circles in the cold air. He reached over to zip up his leather jacket—which Gwen wore.
“I should have gotten mine,” she protested. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’m fine. We secret agents have thick blood, you know.”
She chuckled. “Sure you do. And hard heads.”
“Ah-ah, no penny cracks tonight.”
“Okay. Um, any idea where we’re going?”
He thought about it for a second, trying to let his intellect give way to instinct. Instinct said…“Let’s drive.”
She nodded, then took his hand and pulled him along the side of the house. She clung to the shadows as if she belonged there, peering around the side of the building before rounding the corner. Miles had to hand it to her—for an innkeeper, she was pretty good at this skulking around stuff.
&nbs
p; “The streetlight’s on in the driveway,” she said in a deep whisper. “We’ll have to make a run for my car.”
He didn’t protest, and made a mad dash with Gwen toward the parking area. She beelined for a little white sedan, but his feet somehow skidded to a stop next to a wicked-looking black sports car that practically sang to him. “Let’s take this one.”
She stared at him from a few feet away, her eyes wide, reflecting the glow of the lamppost. “Miles, that’s not my car.”
He couldn’t tear himself away, feeling almost compelled to get behind the wheel of this sleek monster and let loose all eight of her cylinders. His fingers curled in anticipation and his heart beat faster. Figuring it was useless, he tested the door handle anyway. Then he smiled. Fate. “It’s unlocked.”
“Miles, no. That car has to belong to one of the guests.”
“Which one? Maybe it’s the suspect’s. If so, we should search it. For clues.” And acceleration rate.
Knowing he was using twisted logic, he gave her the most reasonable, calm look he could manage. Truthfully, the thought of driving like a bat out of hell under the autumn night’s sky, with Gwen at his side, was making the blood pound in his veins. His want was so strong he could almost taste it. He wanted nothing more than to ride with her all night long. Going wherever the road took them. Leaving everything else behind.
“We can’t do this.” She frowned, obviously trying to look stern. She failed miserably.
He pulled the door open, giving her a look that said I dare you.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“We can’t.”
“We are.”
She tilted her head, thinking about it. “Actually, I don’t remember anyone registering a Viper.”
He nodded, knowing he had her. “That settles it. If it wasn’t registered, it shouldn’t be parked here. Owner’s lucky you didn’t have it towed.” He got in, sitting comfortably behind the wheel. Perfect. He didn’t even have to adjust the seat.