off she heard a moan. A feminine sound, but low and gravel-like. She wanted to run toward the woman, embrace her, whisper soothing words. But where was she?
“You need to wake up.”
The male voice slashed through the fog of her mind. The sting turned sharp as she strained to do as she was commanded. She tried to move, tried to shake her head. But her limbs felt heavy, water-filled. All she wanted to do was sleep, just sleep.
“I know you hear me,” came the masculine growl once again. “Open your eyes or there’s going to be trouble.”
She felt fingers, strong and cool at the base of her throat. She inhaled sharply at the touch, taking in the scents of pine and leather and sweat and…male…
With great effort, she forced her eyes open. Inches from her was a man—a ruthlessly handsome man with mussed black hair, piercing eyes, obstinate jaw and previously broken nose that she’d seen…
When?
Muscles tense with fear, she stared into those brown eyes of his, dark as chocolate, melted, hot chocolate, and uttered a hoarse “Who are you?”
The man’s hard gaze moved boldly over her face, hovered near her mouth, then lifted to her eyes and narrowed. “You first.”
Confused, she felt her forehead crease, but she didn’t argue with him. For, a more alarming predicament was rising up, biting her on the ear. When she opened her mouth, fully expecting her name to slip out easily, thoughtlessly…nothing emerged.
Terror twisted in her belly, shooting off balls of anxiety that had no direction, no catcher. She began to shake. Her throat went dry as a summer wind. She shut her eyes, willed herself to concentrate, to relax. This was ridiculous. The truth was there, on the tip of her tongue, who she was and where she’d come from.
Moments passed.
Nothing came.
She lifted her eyelids. “I don’t know who I am.”
A curse, ripe and hot, fell from his lips.
There had to be a logical explanation for this whole situation, she reasoned, must be. She just had to think, take a moment and concentrate.
Forcing a calm tone she hardly felt, she asked, “Are we lovers? Married?”
He snorted. “No.”
“Friends, then? Acquaintances—”
“No.”
Nervously, she looked around the room. She was in a small bedroom, sparsely furnished with just the bed, an old dresser and rocking chair. Above, the ceiling sported scores of rustic wood logs, while the large windows in front of her peered out over imposing mountains.
A log cabin.
And none of it rang one tiny bell of recognition.
“This is your house?”
He offered only a curt nod.
She shifted nervously under the covers. “This is your bed?”
“Yes.” An almost imperceptible glimmer of danger passed through his eyes. “I only have the one. Thought you’d be more comfortable here than on the couch.”
“I…appreciate that.”
With another quick nod, he stood. “You should probably get some rest.”
Without thought, she reached out, grabbed his wrist. “Wait. Please.”
He glanced down, frowned. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry.” Blushing, she released her grip on him. “I just want to know what happened—”
“Later. Rest now.” He turned, started for the door.
“Can you at least tell me your name?” she asked.
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Dan.”
“Dan what?”
“That’s all you need to know.”
And with that, he left the room. Left a woman with no memory and a million questions staring after him.
As twilight arrested and called in the day, Dan hauled in the wood he’d chopped that morning and dropped it beside the fireplace.
Physical labor of any kind was his saving grace. If his mind dropped back to the past or shot into the future, he’d just grab the ax and have at it. Sometimes mucking out Rancon’s stall emptied his mind as well.
But not tonight.
The mystery woman with her violet eyes, I-need-you voice and fancy accent was sleeping in his bed, between his sheets—had been for the past four hours—and the thought was slowly but surely making him nuts.
He was now entirely over the fact that she could be a criminal or a spy or some such bull. Now his suspicious nature had turned into something far more dangerous: desire. With just a glance, that woman had his blood pumping and his curiosity piqued—two things he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Two things he’d never wanted to feel again.
Bottom line, if he wanted to stay marginally sane, she had to go. And soon. He wasn’t looking for romance. Anything close to that had rendered itself defunct four years ago.
Besides, foreign debutantes weren’t his thing. Especially foreign debutantes with zero memory. No doubt she had family, friends and some top-drawer kinda guy from England or Scotland—or wherever she was from—waiting for a word of her whereabouts.
After lighting a fire in the fireplace, Dan grabbed a beer from the fridge, cracked it open, took a healthy swallow, then plunked his body down on the couch. Tomorrow, if the woman was up for it, he’d take her into town, drop her off at the doctor’s and head back, back to silence and solitude and the always interesting notion of peace.
Dan paused, beer halfway to his mouth. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
He heard a small gasp behind him, glanced over his shoulder. Hands behind her back, the petite beauty stood a few feet away in her rumpled hiking gear with the moonlight beaming through the window, illuminating her face. She looked a little dazed. But beautiful. Too beautiful.
He turned back around. “You need to rest.”
“I know.” She walked around the couch, sat down beside him, crossed her legs at the ankles. “I woke up and felt a little scared, so I thought…”
“You thought you’d come hang out with me?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Mind? Why should he mind? Just because his body revved to life whenever he looked at her? “No, I don’t mind. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that it’s any safer out here.”
He watched her
