The Adventurous Bride

by Molly Liholm

  Whoever was after him thought he was dead. He’d made the quick drive to Sedona and then spent the remainder of the day checking out Abigail Milton’s store. The fact that he could make contact with her was his only advantage.

  But if he didn’t get out of here soon, he might as well be dead. “I can’t stay. I have to leave.”

  The crazy, if pretty, woman gently pushed him back down, and he found he was too weak and too tired to resist. He had to fight to keep his eyelids open.

  She assessed him calmly and then informed him, “The medical textbook said you needed lots of rest. It also looked like you took quite a beating. As a result, I’ve kept you sedated.”

  “I have to leave,” he mumbled thickly, wondering what was wrong with him.

  She picked up the water pitcher and stood, examining him critically. He wanted to tell her to go away, but he couldn’t make his mouth move. “There was a double dose of sedatives in the water. I didn’t think you’d take it voluntarily. You might as well relax and enjoy.” She smiled at him. “We haven’t had any time for the social niceties. My name is Megan Cooper.” She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, but he scowled and dosed his eyes.

  More sleep might clear his head. It felt thick and jumbled and he couldn’t concentrate. When he woke, if he was lucky, he might be back at the Phoenix airport, where he’d been ambushed. And the pretty but crazy woman would be gone, a figment of his fevered brain. Then he’d be safe.

  HE WOKE AGAIN.

  Opening his eyes, he was glad to see that he was alone. The crazy woman was gone. Megan Cooper, he remembered. It wasn’t a name he’d forget anytime soon. The next time he heard it he was going to run as fast and as far as he could. She reminded him too much of his family.

  He spent a minute testing the aches and pains in his body before sitting up. The wound in his shoulder was only a dull ache. Once he got his ribs taped, he’d be fine. He’d been hurt a lot worse. The knife wound felt surprisingly good, although the stitches were beginning to itch. His crazy doctor-wannabe had done a good job.

  He looked around the storage room. He was lying on a tiny fold-out bed tucked against one wall; the opposite wall held shelves. All kinds of weird junk filled the space: rocks, jewelry, old books, boxes of papers. He shook his head. Neither Abigail Milton nor Meg Cooper were much into organization.

  He’d spent more than long enough here, it was time to go.

  The door was locked and surprisingly strong, he discovered when a good kick didn’t knock it off its hinges. He kicked it again, this time out of frustration, and then had to lean against the wall to gather his strength. The ambush had taken more out of him than he liked to admit.

  Someone was unlocking the door. He was too weak to make it across the small space and surprise whoever was on the other side, so he lowered himself to the bed, feigning even greater weakness.

  It was the woman. The last ray of sunshine backlit her shiny brown hair, catching the golden highlights. Be careful , he warned himself. He’d had experience with her type before.

  “What was all that noise? Are you all right?” She moved into the room, bringing a wave of freshness in with her, but that was only because the small storage room had grown stuffy. She knelt by his bed, concern on her face.

  Even if her little nurse routine wasn’t an act, even if she really was worried about him, she was still trouble, he reminded himself.

  Meg touched the bandage covering her surgery, a frown creasing her brow. “Does it hurt?”

  He captured her small hand against his bare chest.

  “What?” She raised her eyes to his and tried to free her hand. He held it a little tighter and watched her eyes grow wide with fear and something else. Good, he could use fear. He was going to ignore that “something else.” He knew how much trouble a woman like Megan Cooper could be for him—his personal Achilles’ heel. Instead, he studied the open door, but so far, he hadn’t seen or heard anyone else.

  “Why did you lock me in here?”

  “I didn’t want one of my customers stumbling across you by accident.”

  “You could have dosed the store.”

  She’d stopped trying to pull her hand away. “I have no idea if whoever is after you knows where you were headed. A break in my routine would be suspicious.” She looked at him proudly. “I’ve read a lot of mystery and spy novels.”

  She had a point. He let go of her and she scrambled away from him, holding her hand against her breast as if it had been branded.

  He stood, crowding in on her. She took another quick step backward. At least she had the sense to be a little afraid of him. “Do you have any more medical tape? I need you to bind my chest.”

  “Your chest.” Her eyes darted to his bare chest, up to his eyes and then back to his chest. He watched her blush. So she liked his chest. That was something else he could use. Carefully. He knew how easily he could get burned. But first he needed fresh air. “I have some broken ribs. It’s easier to move if the injury is bound.”

  “Oh, of course.” She blushed again and blinked. “Come to the kitchen—there’s more room.” She led the way through the store. It was one of those touchy-feely, in-sync-with-the-universe places that he found so ridiculous. He hated places like this and the kooks who believed in all the mumbo-jumbo. Kelly had probably spent time here and liked it. Ignoring the shop, he watched the sway of Megan Cooper’s butt under her flowing skirt.

  The kitchen was a regular kitchen decorated in the Santa Fe colors so prevalent throughout the area. The window offered a spectacular view of one of the highpoints, a landscape of red rocks.

  “That’s Coffeepot.” She pointed at the natural monument of red rocks, which didn’t look anything like a coffeepot, as far as he could tell. “I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was when I got here. It’s why I’ve stayed.”

  “You’re not a lifelong Sedona resident?”

  She ignored his tone, which made it clear she fit in just fine with the leftover hippies and mystics that populated the area.

  “It’s a nice town,” she said simply, still sorting through the first-aid kit. She advanced toward him with the Ace bandages and a pair of scissors. He suddenly wondered what she’d done with his gun; he needed to find it before he left.

  Meg was flipping the pages in a book, and he saw it was a medical textbook. He was glad he’d been unconscious when she’d performed her beginner surgery on him—though she couldn’t be quite as flighty as he’d pegged her for if she’d taken care of him herself.

  But was she foolish enough to leave herself alone with him?

  “Raise your arms,” she commanded, frowning at an illustration in the book. “Okay, I’ve got it.” She placed her arms behind him, securing the Ace bandage and pulling it tight across him. She bit her lip as she concentrated.

  She was pretty when she did that. To distract himself, he asked, “How did you get me into the storeroom?”

  Meg frowned as she concentrated. “Oh, the bed rolls. Luckily, you regained consciousness near the end of the...procedure and were able to get yourself on the bed. I just rolled you into the storeroom.”

  So the silly little fool had taken care of him by herself. Exactly the kind of woman he had vowed to stay away from, he told himself yet again as he felt her breasts brush his chest, smelled her scent...of roses. Very feminine and lovely. He let himself enjoy it for a few seconds and then clamped down hard on his weakness.

  “There.” She stepped away from him. “As long as you don’t run into any doors you should be fine.”

  “It wasn’t a door that did this.” He made his voice gruff, intending to scare some sense into her. She was too much like Kelly, and Kelly had almost died. He needed to scare some sense into Meg so that when he left she’d be smart enough to take care of herself. In spite of himself, he couldn’t bear the thought of this sweet, brave fool ever getting hurt.

  Her startled gaze flew to his. She exhaled her breath in a soft gasp, color rising under her fair skin. But
she wasn’t as scared of him as he’d wanted. She was mesmerized by what she saw in his eyes. He knew what she saw and cursed himself for a fool. But he couldn’t help himself.

  He raised one hand to trace the softness of her cheek. She was so lovely, with that beautiful skin, the golden brown hair framing a perfectly oval face. He liked her neck, long and slim, perfect for a man to trail kisses along to her breasts. Great breasts, great butt. He hadn’t seen her legs yet—her long skirt covered them—but he knew he’d like them.

  She was breathing faster, her breasts pushing against her blue silk blouse. He lowered a hand and held on to the edge of the kitchen table behind him to stop from reaching out and covering one of her breasts with his palm, just to see how she’d react.

  He’d bet Meg was one of those woman who flushed from head to toe during climax. And he’d like nothing better than to make love to her for a long, slow time and watch the color spread over her body. No throwing her across the kitchen table for him; he wanted a soft bed and all night.

  He broke the spell first, reminding himself, again, that this impulsive kind of woman was dangerous. He’d learned all about women like her through painful experience.

  “You should have phoned the police.”

  Meg stepped back as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her and glared at him. “You are awful,” she exclaimed. “I save your life, I keep you hidden and all you do is criticize! Well, that’s it. I’ve had it. I am going to phone the police.”

  She walked across the room and picked up the phone—actually, she flounced, and he admired the movement very much before he acted. He grabbed the phone out of her hands and hung it up. “I don’t think so,” he whispered into her ear, realizing he was holding her too close. He let go, but it was too late.

  Meg flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Enthusiastically and passionately. Like she’d been imagining kissing him for days. He felt his equilibrium slip as her soft lips tantalized and her even softer body melded itself to his. God, she smelled like roses and sunshine and woman. He could imagine what it would be like to make love to her: she’d be giving and so damn sexy.

  Meg moved seductively against him, but he resolutely kept his arms down by his sides, hands balled into fists. When she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, searching for entrance, he pulled her off of him.

  She raised bright, sparkling eyes to him. “Do you want some soup?”

  SOUP. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him if he wanted soup, but she wasn’t good at asking for what she really wanted. Do you want to have sex right now? Fast, hot sex on the kitchen table if necessary.

  When she’d asked for adventure she’d had no idea what she was asking for. No man had ever been able to turn her on with just a look before. Or with a kiss—even if he hadn’t kissed her back.

  He hadn’t kissed her back, she thought as she poured pea soup into two bowls. But he’d wanted to. The look he’d given her earlier had revealed that. He’d wanted a lot more than a kiss then.

  He was probably being noble or something, not wanting to involve her in his troubles. What a guy!

  Her hands trembled slightly as she passed him the bowl of soup. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. He eyed her soup suspiciously, his slash of a mouth turned down. “How do I know it’s not drugged?”

  She raised a spoonful of her pea soup to her lips and swallowed. “Delicious.” Running the shop and checking on her mystery man hadn’t left any time for herself, so she was starving. She sneaked a glance at him. He was still frowning and stirring the soup. Finally, he raised the spoon to his lips and tasted. She remembered what those lips had felt like pressed against hers and had to busy herself with her own soup, trying not to drop her spoon due to suddenly clumsy fingers. She’d just thrown herself at him!

  He didn’t comment on her culinary skills, but she shouldn’t really have expected him to notice that she had made the soup from scratch that morning. She might as well have opened a couple of cans.

  He helped himself to another bowl. That was good. He needed to build up his strength. So they could catch the men who had tried to kill him, and do whatever else he needed to do.

  She hadn’t spent half her life reading mysteries and thrillers for no reason. Or watching every Alfred Hitch-cock film and every episode of Columbo. Meg knew she would be of invaluable help to this stranger. This was what she’d been waiting for her whole life. What she’d been searching for during the past fourteen months.

  She was going to have a real-life adventure.

  All the other things she’d tried over the last fourteen months—volunteering at the clinic, the stint as a kindergarten teacher’s aide, working as a personal assistant to a TV star, bungee jumping and rock climbing to test herself—had really only been leading up to this man. To this moment. To helping him.

  As soon as he started talking.

  “What?” he finally asked, when he noticed Meg staring at him.

  “I want to know everything,” she said enthusiastically. He swallowed some more soup. “What’s going on? Who tried to kill you? How I can help?”

  “You can help by getting me my gun and saying goodbye.” He pushed away his empty bowl.

  Meg put the teapot on the table in front of him with more force then she’d meant to. “You could at least tell me your name.”

  “Smith.” He paused slightly and his green eyes bored into hers. “John Smith.”

  Meg thought that one corner of his mouth twitched. Let him laugh at her all he liked; she just had to remember no one had ever said that having an adventure was easy. She also remembered how he could make her sweat with just one look. Calm, cool, collected Megan Cooper turned into a puddle of longing with just a look. She loved it!

  Their eyes locked for a second and Meg heard that little click again. Definitely the right man. Her man. Now all she had to do was convince him.

  John Smith, or whatever other absurd name he liked to call himself, could pretend all he wanted, but he felt it, too. By the time he figured it all out, it would be too late. He’d be hers. She was sure of this. How she felt about him wasn’t at all how she’d felt about Max.

  Meg knew it was silly, but all her life she’d believed that if she just waited long enough she’d find her soul mate. That the other half of herself was out there somewhere, searching for her as well, and when she met him she’d know immediately he was the man for her. She’d feel a click as their two souls connected. But she’d spent a lot of time waiting in New York, she’d spent her entire life getting ready and then... nothing. Then she’d met Max and decided her romantic dreams were ridiculous, that she should be mature and marry a man who loved her and was right for her. So what if there weren’t any fireworks and or a soul-clicking moment.

  After the debacle with Max, she’d decided to find out what else there was in the world for her. But after all these months, she’d grown tired and discouraged. She’d tried all kinds of new things, met all kinds of odd and wonderful people, but she still hadn’t felt that click.

  Not until this man.

  Meg smiled as John Smith finished his tea and she poured him some more. “Why are you here? Why are you looking for Abby?” He didn’t answer. Instead he leaned back and surveyed her kitchen.

  She liked her kitchen. It was in this cozy room that she’d finally made the time to cook, and learned that she liked it. The earth tones of the view outside the window were reflected in the decor. She’d had a good time shopping for the dusty rose placemats and matching tea towels, for the oversize mugs and brightly colored dishes. This kitchen was the first home of the new Megan Elizabeth Cooper.

  John Smith yawned, then looked surprised.

  She bit back her smile. “Maybe you should go back to bed. At the clinic we recommended lots of rest,” Meg offered innocently.

  “Nonsense.” John yawned again. He glared at her, those green eyes fierce and compelling. She felt like he was reaching out into her very being. Oh yes, John Smith had to be w
hat she’d been searching for and she wasn’t about to lose him. “I’ve been here too long already.” He stood, but grabbed the chair for support. He looked at her in astonishment.

  “You’ve drugged me. Again.”

  Meg nodded. “The book insisted you needed rest. And you did say you wanted to leave—I didn’t think you’d listen to reason.”

  “Damn you for interfering, meddling...” His voice slurred and he swayed.

  Meg was at his side, tucking herself rather nicely under his arm and tingling a little at the feel of his body pressed against hers. She tried to steer him back toward the storage room.

  He didn’t budge.

  My, he was strong. Meg couldn’t wait until she was in his arms when he was healthy. She knew they would be fantastic together. Would their first time be fast and explosive or all night long? She shivered in anticipation.

  She wished she could tell him everything she was feeling, but one look at his hard face told her this wasn’t the time.

  Still refusing to move, he glared at her. “How did you do it? You ate the soup as well.”

  Meg sighed. “The tea.” She nodded at her untouched cup of tea.

  Smith shook his head, and some of the tension in his body eased as he let her walk him back toward the storeroom. “I’ve always hated tea.” Once there, he shook her off and lay back on the bed himself.

  Resisting the urge to curl up beside him, Meg wondered how long it would take him to fall in love with her.

  “You,” he accused with a scowl, “are going to be nothing but trouble.”

  3

  HE WOKE AGAIN.

  He stirred cautiously, checking out his various body parts again. Everything moved better, didn’t hurt as much. His ribs hurt only when he breathed, and he was aware of the knife wound only when he wasn’t thinking about his ribs. The forced rest had done him good, but he wasn’t about to tell his crazy captor that.