Stranger in Her Arms

by Lorna Michaels

  Christy shook her head and swallowed tears that threatened to overflow. What she needed was human contact. She wanted J.D. to hold her, wanted it so much she ached, but she couldn’t find the words to ask him.

  She straightened, glanced at the closed blinds. “Will he come back?”

  “Good chance.”

  She shivered, and he said, “No point in lying to you. Let’s try the phone. Maybe the lines are repaired and we can get hold of the sheriff.”

  No such luck.

  “What do we do?”

  J.D. went to the door and turned the dead bolt. “Stay inside for now. Hope the phone is working by tonight.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  “I’ll keep watch.”

  Christy nodded, then got up and went to her room. She returned, carrying her gun. “You’ll need this,” she said and handed it to J.D.

  Chapter 8

  J.D. stared at Christy. He needed a weapon, but he hadn’t expected the woman who’d stayed up all night with a gun pointed at him to suddenly put one in his hands. He felt a lump rise in his throat. “You’re—you’re giving me your gun?”

  “You saved my life,” she said softly. “You could have been shot.”

  Their eyes met. Messages passed between them, words he couldn’t say, might never be able to say. Words like, I’d do anything to keep you safe. Put myself in harm’s way without a second thought. He settled for, “You saved mine the other night.”

  “I guess we’re even then.” She gave him the sweetest smile.

  “Yeah.” He turned the shiny new revolver over in his hand. “Is it loaded?”

  “Um, actually, no.”

  God, had he fallen for that old trick? “Were you pointing an unloaded revolver at me the other night?”

  “Oh, no. It was loaded then. I, uh, took the bullets out after we came back from the beach.”

  He laughed and the tension in the room evaporated. “Guns usually work better with bullets.”

  She reddened all the way from her forehead down to her neck. “I’ll, uh, get the—the ammunition.” She scurried out of the room and returned in a moment with a pouch of ammunition. Quickly he put the bullets into the chamber.

  Christy frowned as she watched him. “You do that like you’ve done it a thousand times.”

  He glanced down at his hands. “Maybe I’m an arms dealer. People like that get into trouble. It could explain why someone’s after me.”

  Christy shook her head. “You said ‘people like that.’ I don’t think you’d use those words if you were one of them.”

  “Maybe I’m not proud of my profession.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You wouldn’t make a living at something you weren’t proud of.”

  He smiled at her. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have given you the gun.”

  He laid the revolver on the table beside the couch. “Why’d you buy it? You’re clearly not comfortable with it.”

  “For safety. Sometimes I work late, and the Medical Center in Houston is a big place. I have to walk a long way to get to my car.”

  He eyed her thoughtfully. “I asked you once where you worked and you wouldn’t tell me.”

  She looked surprised. “I guess things are different now.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, then asked, “The other day, would you have shot me?”

  Christy stared down at her hands. After a moment, she raised her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Don’t threaten someone with a gun if you’re not sure you’ll use it.”

  “I—”

  “If you hesitate for even an instant, whoever you’re aiming at will disarm you in seconds.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I must be one of the good guys, then. I could have.”

  Christy shuddered. “J.D., you’re giving me the creeps.”

  “I mean to.” When he saw her hand tremble, he said, “After this is over, I’ll take you out to a firing range and teach you about guns.”

  “I already took a course,” she protested.

  “Yeah, but you need to gain confidence.”

  “And you can help me do that?”

  “Sure.”

  She grinned. “Then it’s a date.”

  God, what in hell had caused him to make that offer? He needed to get out of her life, not prolong their…association, or whatever they had. Not that coaching her in gun safety was a date, but it suggested they’d continue to see one another.

  She seemed to sense his discomfort and said gravely, “I won’t hold you to it.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t know what kind of complications I have in my life.”

  “And you don’t want to add more complications.”

  “I didn’t mean— Ah, hell,” he said. “I don’t know what I meant.”

  She smiled, but her eyes were serious. “I’m sort of flattered that you consider me a complication. But don’t worry. I don’t consider a lesson in self-esteem for carriers of concealed weapons a lifelong commitment.”

  “Good,” he said soberly, “because I need to take things one day at a time.”

  “Me, too,” Christy said. “Now, since we’re stuck inside, why don’t we finish putting the rest of the things in the living room back in place?”

  “Good plan.” It would keep their minds off whatever danger lurked outside.

  That night J.D. sat in the darkened living room. Holding the gun, he waited. He was certain whoever had shot at them wouldn’t give up. He’d come again, and this time he’d come closer.

  One thing J.D. was pretty sure about: the culprit didn’t know J.D. was armed. He’d cleaned out J.D.’s pockets the other night so if J.D.’d had a gun, the man had disposed of it. And he had no reason to assume Christy owned one.

  So J.D. figured he was one-up on the bad guy.

  He walked into the kitchen and peered out the back door. As he’d done each time he made the rounds of the house, he checked the lock. He went from room to room, checking the windows, looking out. He skipped Christy’s room. Although she’d protested, he’d insisted she get some sleep. And she’d had enough of a scare this afternoon without his awakening her in the middle of the night. He surveyed the backyard from the bathroom window next to her room, and he was satisfied all was well. For now anyway.

  As he passed Christy’s door on his way back to the living room, he slowed, allowed himself a quick glance inside. She was curled up on one side of the double bed. Her cheek rested on one hand. Because of the heat, she wasn’t covered. Thank God it was plenty dark so he couldn’t see what she wore, or didn’t.

  Being a gentleman was tough when you were alone in a house with a woman you desired, but he guessed he was a gentleman because he’d kept his distance. So far. To be sure that didn’t change, he tiptoed on down the hall.

  Back in the living room, he cracked the window a couple of inches, bent down and listened. In the distance he heard the steady sound of the Gulf. A vehicle turned onto the street, kept going. He stood and moved the blinds apart just enough to watch the car’s taillights disappear into the moonless night.

  He closed the window, sat on the couch and wiped sweat from his brow. After the hot, sunny day the house was stifling. And pitch-black.

  Darkness surrounded him, pressed against him. He took a breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to fill. Another breath and still he couldn’t get enough air. Funny, when he walked around, he didn’t have this sensation of suffocating. As soon as he sat down, he felt as if someone had put a hood over his head and was slowly, systematically draining the oxygen from his body.

  He gasped, stood and stumbled against the coffee table as he lurched across the room. He opened the window, wider this time, and dragged in a breath of still, humid air. After a few minutes, he shut the window, then pulled a chair next to it and sat.

  Here, he felt somewhat better, but the anxiety he’d experienced at the beach this morning still
lurked on the edges of his mind. His buddy out there must have locked him up someplace. Where? More importantly, why?

  Would he and his nemesis meet face to face? He hoped so. Then he’d know.

  The minutes ticked by, turned into hours, and still no one came. J.D. made his rounds and returned to the living room once again. Alert to every passing sound, he waited.

  Waiting was tough when you had no memories to keep you company. He felt as if he were suspended in some eerie third dimension. Once in a while, a thought flitted by, achingly close, but he could no more capture it than he could a moonbeam.

  His eyelids drooped, his head dropped forward, and he jolted. Straightening, he forced himself to remain vigilant, but he’d had so little sleep these past nights. Eventually, his eyes closed, and this time he didn’t wake up.

  And then, a rattling sound.

  The front door. Instantly alert, he was on his feet, gun at the ready.

  The doorknob twisted slowly, slowly. J.D. edged toward the door.

  Suddenly Christy appeared from the hall. She pointed to the door. “I heard something,” she whispered.

  J.D. put his finger to his lips. He motioned her to go back. A stubborn glint in her eye, she shook her head. J.D. scowled. “Then get behind me,” he mouthed, and she did, standing still as a statue.

  He inched toward the door, aware of Christy following close behind. Then he heard a sound. Was that a footstep? The knob jiggled but this time it didn’t turn.

  Cautiously, J.D. reached up and unlocked the dead bolt. Then quietly, holding his breath, he turned the doorknob.

  Now! He yanked the door open.

  And found himself looking into the soulful brown eyes of a German shepherd. “For Pete’s sake,” J.D. muttered. “A goddamn dog.”

  “A dog,” Christy echoed and began to laugh. She laughed until she collapsed on the couch.

  Hysterical or on the verge of it, J.D. thought. “Hush,” he ordered. “The dog didn’t rattle the door the first time. He followed someone here.”

  The animal had turned to face the bushes, ears pointed forward, tail aloft. It growled deep in its throat.

  J.D. leaned around the door and fired a shot over the shrubbery, then another.

  A tall, broad-shouldered figure burst out of the bushes, tore across the yard and into the field with the dog barking at his heels.

  “Did you hit him?” Christy whispered.

  “No, he’s gone,” J.D. muttered, “and dammit, I didn’t get a look at his face.” He slammed the door, locked it and turned to Christy.

  She’d gotten up and now she stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide. She’d quit laughing. Instead, she was white as chalk and trembling.

  J.D. set the revolver on the coffee table and stepped toward her. “It’s over,” he said. “He ran off.”

  “I know. I’m still scared.” She covered her face with her hands. “More than when he shot at us. I—I don’t know why.”

  Why didn’t matter, not now. He could no more stop himself than still his heartbeat. He went to her, put his arms around her, and pulled her close. She still trembled, and he felt her tears against his throat. Rubbing her back gently, he tried to soothe her with words. “Sure you’re scared. It’s okay, baby. You’ll feel better. Just take a deep breath, give it a few minutes.”

  Inane words. Not enough for her. For him either.

  Emotions warred inside him. Longing and guilt. Protectiveness and desire.

  The scent of her hair, the softness of her breath against his cheek, the warmth of her body overpowered him. In these few days, she’d become the center of his world, the only thing he wanted, needed.

  Her breasts pressed against his chest, her arms circled his neck. Do the right thing, he ordered himself. The right thing was to let her go. He knew it, but—

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered. She needed more than sympathetic words, and dammit, so did he.

  His lips hovering an inch from hers, he whispered, “I want to kiss you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Christy lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Yes.”

  She felt his warm breath against her cheek. Being in his arms was so safe, so right. She began to tremble again, not from fear now but from desire. “I want you to kiss me. More than anything. No matter what.”

  That was all he needed, all they both needed. Within a heartbeat he’d pulled her closer and then his lips covered hers.

  He took her mouth with the skill of a man used to kissing, with the tenderness of a man who’d discovered something precious. “Christy,” he murmured. “Sweet Christy.” His lips left hers and traced her cheekbone, her ear.

  Christy sighed and touched his cheek, caressing the rough stubble. He returned to her mouth, and she reveled in the firmness of his lips, the taste of him. Deep and earthy and thrilling. He kissed her harder now. His tongue swept across her lips, probed every corner of her mouth. Hers met it, luring it deeper into her mouth with a primal thrusting rhythm as close to lovemaking as they could get. Maybe he belonged to someone else, but tonight he was hers. Not just his mouth, but more. For these few moments, she knew he belonged only to her, heart and soul.

  All the pent-up hunger and longing she hadn’t even realized she had for him exploded. She pressed closer, feeling his erection against her belly, his heart pounding against her chest. He ran his hands through her hair, along her cheekbones and across her shoulders.

  And then he touched her breast.

  As if she’d received an electric shock, she jolted. With a cry, she pressed herself against his hand. Take more, her heart cried out. Take everything.

  Something slapped against the door.

  Christy gasped. They broke apart, and J.D. grabbed the gun. “Stay back,” he warned and strode across the room.

  Christy tried to catch her breath as she watched him part the blinds a fraction of an inch and look outside. She waited, watched until she saw his shoulders relax.

  “Your morning paper,” he said. “Look, it’s nearly daybreak.”

  Christy realized for the first time that the darkness in the room had subsided. J.D. opened the blinds to a gray pre-dawn world. They stood silently, then looked at each other.

  Both of them were tousled, their clothing in disarray. Christy glanced down, saw her breast, barely covered by the thin camisole she’d worn to bed, and hastily straightened her clothes.

  “Close call,” J.D. murmured, and Christy knew he didn’t just mean the prowler. “We almost—”

  “I know.” She studied her bare feet, then said ruefully, “We can’t let this happen again.” She’d been crazy to let him kiss her that way. They’d both been insane. Oh, it had been wonderful, but she knew what they’d done was wrong. “We won’t let it happen,” she said more forcefully, swallowing regret and longing.

  “Right.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll get the paper.” His voice wasn’t quite back to normal.

  “No, don’t go out,” Christy said. “Please.”

  “All right.” He put the gun down again. “Why don’t you grab some more shut-eye?”

  “Okay,” she said. As if she could, with the taste of him still on her tongue, with her cheeks tender from the scrape of his beard. With her arms too empty now.

  But she padded back to her bedroom and lay down. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she realized she was exhausted. Too much terror, too much…excitement. Her eyes closed, and within seconds, she was asleep.

  The black sedan braked in the parking lot of an all-night café, drawn to its bright lights in an otherwise dark world. He needed a beer. Hell, he needed something a lot stronger than that, the man thought.

  He’d been so close, and then the damn mutt had ruined everything. Even tried to take a chunk out of him as he’d raced away. He’d kicked the beast and it had slunk off. Lucky for the goddamned dog he hadn’t shot it.

  His mind returned to his quarry. “Damn that bastard again,” he snarled. Who would’ve thought he’d gotten hold of a g
un? Must’ve gotten it from the woman. Charmed her into giving him her revolver. Yeah, the bastard was a charmer. Probably was getting it on with the woman. That’s why he’d holed up with her during the storm. Sooner or later though he’d have to come out.

  Trouble was, he couldn’t wait around. The other night, just before the phones went out, he’d been quick-witted enough to call in to work and say he had a “family emergency” and needed a couple of days’ personal time. He never took time off, so when he asked, he got an immediate yes. Paid to be such a committed worker. “A good little soldier,” he muttered to himself. Just like his mother had told him when he was small, before she’d taken off for parts unknown.

  But his personal time was nearly up. He needed to be back at work soon or they’d start asking questions.

  He got out of the car, heard the low hum of the emergency generator, slammed the door, and went into the café. He’d have his beer, maybe two, then he’d drive to the causeway bridge. If it was open, he’d be on his way, get back in plenty of time with no one the wiser. If the bridge was still closed, he’d swipe a boat and sail across to the mainland, take a bus the rest of the way home. He’d wait until morning for that, he decided. A boat heading for the mainland in the middle of the night might arouse suspicion.

  And as for his buddy and the broad back there, they hadn’t seen the last of him. Next time he came he’d make sure he erased them both. Erase, he thought as he settled himself on a stool at the cafe’s deserted counter. He liked that. It’d make a good alias. Maybe after he finished with the two of them, he’d leave a note for the cops to find, sign it The Eraser. Yeah, he decided as the pretty waitress sashayed over to take his order. That was cool.

  “What can I getcha, Big Boy?” the waitress said, fluttering her lashes.

  “Bud Lite.” He smiled at the waitress. Little lady didn’t have a clue who she was talking to. Maybe someday he’d come back here and tell her. He glanced at her curly auburn hair. Maybe he’d even show her.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning J.D. watched as Christy picked at her bowl of dry cereal. The couple hours of sleep hadn’t been enough for her; she still looked exhausted.