by Karin Story
A few moments later he let out a shaking sigh. His jaw clenched tight. "No. Nothing else."
Slowly, she let out her own breath as disappointment for him flooded through her. "It's okay. Relax for now. You've had a rough night." She began trailing her fingers through his hair again—not so much to inspire his memory as much as to relax him.
The tension ebbed off his face and she thought he'd fallen asleep. Until he spoke again.
"Do you believe what they said tonight?" His voice was a husky whisper that did funny things to her insides.
Maris twirled another strand of his hair between her fingers. "They said you were wanted for questioning about a murder victim in New York."
"I heard. Before I went on the roof."
"Did you kill him?"
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, she saw pain in them. "I don't know."
That pesky lump in her throat was back again, and it ached something fierce. She couldn't speak. All she could do was nod. But she realized that for now, she believed in this man.
His expression still troubled, he sighed and closed his eyes again.
What was it about him that turned her into an emotional maelstrom? He appeared out of nowhere, with no name, no background, and a past shrouded in mystery. She could almost see Grandma Sophie standing over her, shaking her gnarled finger, reminding her of her promise. A promise to go back to school, to make something respectable of herself, to give up her free-spirited life and live up to everyone's expectations for her. "You owe it to your mother. You owe it to me," the old woman had said. And in the end, in a deathbed promise, she'd caved in and let her grandmother win.
But the part of her that yearned for the mountains, for freedom and adventure, wanted to reach out and grab onto this mysterious man's coattails and go along for the ride. It didn't matter where the ride took her…as long as it was away from here.
Still, Jerry's words last night haunted her. She'd "saved" Eric, too. Had rescued him in a climbing accident. Then she'd fallen for all his sexy flirtation and the adventure he'd offered. But in the end, he'd only been using her. She'd been a challenge for him, just another mountain to be conquered, and once he'd gotten to the top and planted his flag, so to speak, the thrill was over and he was ready to move on.
Yet here she was doing it all over again. In twenty-four hours time, this man had become incredibly important to her. Important to her self-preservation in some strange way, like he could help her find herself again.
She lowered her head onto her upraised knee, and twined her fingers through his, savoring the feel of his roughened, warm hand. "I wish I knew what to call you," she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open slowly. "Tom."
"Tom?" Another prickle of uncertainty about him reared its ugly head. How had he come up with that name?
"A while ago, when you were touching my hair, when I felt…when I felt like I remembered…" He sighed. "I don't know. It just feels right." His voice was soft, yet she heard every word in crystal clarity, and her suspicion evaporated once again.
Looking into his eyes, she soaked up his pain and confusion and hurt, and even his wariness. And she absorbed all of it, letting it tangle in her aching heart, letting it furrow its way through her mind and body, then feeling it pass on out to become just another batch of molecules in the universe.
"It's nice to meet you, Tom."
He reached up and trailed his fingers over her lips, causing her to part them slightly and suck in her breath. His gaze focused on her mouth, lingering there for an eternal moment. Then, his eyes burning with passion, or maybe it was just fever, traveled back up to meet hers.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Maris."
Molten lava flowed through her body, and for the first time in a very long time she wanted desperately to be close to a man. Not just any man…this one. Maybe it was rebellion. Maybe it was plain old lust. Or maybe it was something even more than that.
But she wanted him.
Chapter 5
* * *
"What is that godawful noise?" he heard Maris groan in a sleep-heavy voice.
Tom didn't look up from the foot of the bed where he sat trying to rewrap the bandage around his thigh. He was having a goddamned hard time of it since his left hand was pretty much incapacitated. "The TV downstairs, I think. The electricity just came back on."
He fumbled the wad of gauze for the third time in as many minutes and it rolled onto the braided rug. Swearing under his breath, he finally turned toward her. He'd been trying to avoid the vision of her for the past ten minutes he'd been awake. She'd been too damn tempting, curled up asleep in the wing chair, with her legs thrown over the side, her face peaceful, and her cinnamon-colored curls falling in a riotous mass around her shoulders. Hair like that should come with a warning label, telling all the sex-starved males of the species to stay back unless they were prepared to lose their souls.
"It's still dark out," she said, her eyebrows drawing together over eyes the color of rich forest moss. Glancing at her watch, she announced with another groan, "4:45 A.M." She tossed aside the blanket that had been covering her, and before he could blink, she'd shot out of the room. He heard the soft pounding of her footsteps on the wooden stairs. The racket downstairs shut off a few seconds later.
He bent to retrieve the gauze and cursed as pain gouged his ribcage. He was a mess, no doubt about it—cuts on his chest and back, a head that seemed insistent on battering out the 1812 Overture complete with cannons firing against his skull, the gunshot wound in his leg, and since he couldn't catch a deep breath, he figured a cracked rib or two.
But the part that ate at him, that caused a deep, cold fury inside his gut, was that no matter how much he tried, he couldn't remember a damn thing about his life before he woke up in this house.
He rose to his feet unsteadily, his jeans wadded around his knees, and jerked the bandage around his leg. It pulled tighter than he'd meant it to. "Shit! Son of a bitch!"
"What are you trying to do to yourself?" Maris was back, padding silently into the room in her sock-clad feet. She set an open can of Diet Coke down on the bedside table and knelt in front of him. "Let me fix it."
She held out her hand for the gauze, which he gladly gave up.
With deft hands, she started winding it around his leg. "Why did you have it off at all?"
"Because I needed to see it for myself," he muttered.
He willed her to hurry because having her kneeling in front of him was more than a man should have to deal with. Forget the rest of his damn pains. That head of hair was inches from his groin, and if she didn't move out of the way and let him pull his jeans back up, it was going to become pretty damn obvious in a few seconds just what part of his body he was thinking with. He took a deep breath and tried to look elsewhere, focusing his gaze on the fire that had burned so low it was almost out.
"There." She patted the tape back in place, her hand warm and gentle against his leg. She rose to her feet, and not a moment too soon.
Turning his back on her, he dragged his jeans up as best he could and eased them over the beginnings of a particularly eager hard-on. He had to get out of here. Soon. Now.
"I started coffee while I was down there," she said. "I don't drink it, but I figured you might."
Tom stared at the still open snap and zipper on his jeans. There was no way he was asking her to help with that, especially not in his current condition. He pulled the black sweatshirt down, covering most of his problem. Shoes and socks would be nice, but he didn't see any sitting around that were his size. He'd have to pick up some later.
Maris moved into his view and bent over to toss a couple of small pieces of wood on the fire. She'd shed the gray sweatpants at some point and now had on a pair of green and blue plaid flannel boxer shorts. And the only word he could think of to describe her legs was sexy She was on the short side, and didn't have anything even close to model proportions. But damn, the woman was in excellent
physical shape. Her legs were muscular and toned, but not to the point where she looked butch. She looked sculpted. Beautifully so.
He adjusted his jeans again. Time to go. "I'm going to borrow your sweatshirt. I don't know if I'll be able to get it back to you."
She whirled around to face him, frowning. "What do you mean you won't get it back to me? Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. New York." He stepped closer to her and took her hand. "Thank you for all you've done."
She jerked her hand away and a spark flamed in her eyes, turning them deep emerald. "Thank you for all you've done—and that's it? Then you just walk away?"
He frowned, not following why she was angry. "The police have already come looking for me. I have to find out what the hell's going on. There's a man in the morgue who might have answers. You didn't expect me to stay, did you?"
Maris grabbed another log and tossed it into the fire. "Of course you have to find out what happened to you. I wasn't implying you didn't."
"Then what?" Was it a woman thing? Why did he feel like he was in deep shit and he didn't remember ever taking the step that sunk him?
She wrapped her arms around herself, almost protectively. Her eyes glittered with what appeared to be hurt. "Have you forgotten that I lied to the police for you last night?"
He sighed. "No, I haven't forgotten that."
"Do you honestly think they're not going to figure out that I lied?"
"By that time I'll be long gone and you won't have to worry about it."
"Gee, that sounds so simple, doesn't it? How convenient for you. You can manipulate me to say whatever you need me to say, but you're not willing to participate in the consequences." She turned her back to him and stared at the wall.
In two steps he stood behind her. He put his good hand on her shoulder and squeezed, then moved closer still, until he felt the heat coming off her back. "I am thinking of the consequences. I had plenty of time to ponder it up on the roof last night. The police may figure out that I was here, but the best thing I can do for you is to be gone before they discover that. Then when they ask you, you can tell them I made you lie for me. You can say I threatened you if you didn't do it."
"I see, so you want me to follow up lie number one by telling lie number two?"
"It's the safest thing for you to do. I can't ever tell you in words how indebted I am to you for taking me in, but what I can do is keep you safe."
She snorted. "Keep me safe? How noble." She spun around and met his gaze steadily. "Okay, then let me ask you a question. How are you planning to get to New York?"
"However I have to. Walk. Catch a ride."
Maris studied his body, head to toe and back up again. "Barefoot? With a gunshot wound in your leg? According to Jerry and the police, the road's underwater, so that means there aren't going to be a whole lot of rides to catch. And has it occurred to you that whoever did this to you might very well be looking for you?"
"Yes, it has occurred to me. But what would you suggest, Miss Know-It-All? Staying here until the police come to arrest me for a murder I know nothing about, and maybe haul you in for harboring a criminal?" The anger burned in his stomach again, and her attitude only fanned the flames.
She glared at him, but underneath it, Tom could still sense her earlier hurt, and wondered again why she was hurt.
"I would suggest getting yourself some clothes for starters. Boots. A coat. Then I'd suggest making use of the assets you have readily available to you. Like a car, for example."
A shot of hope soared through him. "You have an extra vehicle? I would never leave you stranded out here under the circumstances, but if you've got two—"
"No, just one." Her eyebrow raised in triumph as if she knew something he didn't.
That caused his anger to flame hotter still. "Damn it! I don't have time to play games. If you've got something to say, just say it."
Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, let me spell it out for you. Instead of trying to be some kind of he-man protector, try being practical instead. I'll take you to New York. I have a four-wheel-drive Jeep that'll get you where you need to go whether the main road's open or not. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride."
"No way."
She moved in front of him, blocking the door. "The way I see it, you don't have a whole lot of options right now, so you might as well accept it. But first we're both taking hot showers, then you're going to get some food into you and some clothes to wear so you'll at least have a marginal chance of staying on your feet if the creeps who hurt you decide to try again."
"I don't need a goddamned nursemaid. Now get out of my way and let me take care of my business."
She recrossed her arms and stood her ground. "You are a stubborn ass."
He grabbed her chin. "Look lady," he said in a low, threatening voice, "I don't know who you are, but you don't boss me around. You've been very nice to me and I appreciate it, but now, I'm leaving. Move."
He was close enough to her that her floral scent teased at his senses. Her eyes sparkled, like she was about to embark on some great adventure, and that caused an ache somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.
Who was this woman? She should be thrilled to see him go, to get him out of her house and out of her life. But instead she was standing here like a rock, daring him to push past her. And damned if he didn't find himself, once again, liking that about her. He also liked a whole lot, the way her saucy little mouth spewed out whatever she was thinking, no holds barred. He found himself staring at her mouth, at the moist softness of her lips.
"Are you threatening me?" she asked.
He had trouble pulling his gaze away from those lips. But he did. Barely. "No, just stating the facts. You've done enough for me. I will not put you in any more danger."
"Don't you think that's my decision to make?"
"No." Damn, she smelled good. And that hair. Those eyes. That mouth.
"You know what? I don't have to do anything you say. Fuck you."
"Christ," he growled. "Do you have to talk that way?"
"What's the matter? Does it shock you?"
"No." He leaned closer until her face was mere inches from his. He brushed his lips against her ear. "It turns me on."
She jerked her head back and stared at him.
He wasn't sure if he moved first or if she did, but their mouths met with urgent demand.
Their tongues tangled together. Her hands locked in his hair. He cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him, not giving a damn anymore if she discovered his body's response to her. It was hunger in its raw, emotional form. She tasted like sunshine, and passion, and spice. Too damn good to let go of, and too damn seductive to keep.
It was new, but intimately familiar somehow, and he had the strange premonition again that he'd had last night, about drowning in a nameless abyss and her pulling him out.
A clock downstairs wheezed and whirred, then began donging the time in an onerous tone. Five o'clock.
He pulled away. Son of a bitch. He didn't even know this woman. It was time to get out of here.
Their breathing came out in ragged gasps. He brushed a curl off her cheek and fought the urge to tangle his hand in her hair and drag her back against him. "I should probably apologize for that. But I'm not going to."
"I don't expect you to. I'm a big girl." Her gaze was filled with tenderness.
Red warning signals flashed in his brain. "Don't look at me like that." He took a step away from her.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some kind of knight in shining armor. You don't know a damn thing about me. I might be a murderer, remember? So back off."
Her body snapped to attention and her chin tilted up. "I'm no damsel in frigging distress and I don't need or want a knight. So get over your delusions of grandeur, asshole." She turned away with a glare.
He caught her by the arm and pulled her back. "Good, because I'm no frigging knight." Then he kissed her again, hard.
When he pulled
away once more, he saw a twinkle in her eye.
"Does this mean you've finally come to your senses about me giving you a ride?"
The woman was impossible! Did she ever give up? No, probably never.
"Fine. I'll let you play chauffeur," he heard himself say against his better judgment. "For today. But once we're there, you're dropping me off and coming straight home, comprende?"
The tiniest of smirks curved her lips, and sent another surge of raw desire straight to his groin.
"We'll see."
* * *
Standing in the garage, Maris eyed the duffel bag wedged onto the floor of the small backseat in her Jeep, then slowly ran her gaze up Tom's body.
He'd showered and shaved, and thanks to the fact that Jerry kept all his climbing and hiking gear at her house because his wife didn't want it cluttering up her perfectly decorated Victorian town home, Tom was now dressed in his own freshly washed jeans, and a blue plaid flannel shirt and hiking boots compliments of Dr. Spengler. Not a bad fit considering Jerry was unusually tall. But Tom wasn't exactly a slouch in the height department either.
When her gaze finally finished roaming his body and drew up to his face, he had a dangerous, seductive gleam in his eyes that sent her heart into palpitations.
She cleared her throat. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. All six feet two inches of you lying in that little backseat spells nothing but misery."
His expression turned serious again. "No choice. We can't take the risk of anyone seeing me with you. Unless of course you'd like to give up this harebrained idea of going with me? I could—"
"Not a chance."
He gave her a scathing glare as he climbed into the backseat.
A few minutes later, Maris pulled onto the main highway and peered in the rearview mirror. By the time they'd showered, eaten, and done a little research on the Internet to find out where exactly a dead, unidentified body would be taken, it was late morning. The rain had stopped, finally, but dark clouds still billowed in the sky, threatening more. The road, so far, was wet and nearly deserted. "I don't see anyone following us."