There’s been no real damage. By morning he should remember his name and after he gets past the very terrible headache he’s going to have, he should be all right. I’m leaving some tablets for him when he wakes up groaning.” He produced them from his bag and handed them to Nikki. “Otherwise, you know what to look for. If you get in trouble all you have to do is call me. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Chad.”
He shrugged. “What are friends for?” he asked with a big grin. He left, closing the door gently behind him.
Later, when Nikki went back to check on her houseguest, he was lying on his back, completely nude in the soft glow from the night-light on the wall.
Nikki stood and just stared at him helplessly, feeling her body tingle and burn with old familiar longings that she desperately tried to bank down. This man attracted her as even Mosby hadn’t—in the beginning. She looked at the long, muscular lines of his tanned body with aching need.
He must sunbathe nude, she thought idly. He was magnificent. Even that part of him that was most male didn’t offend or repel her. She was surprised at her own lack of inhibitions as she stared at him, feeling vaguely like a Peeping Tom. He did look vaguely familiar as well. That bothered her. Not as much, of course, as his body did in stark nudity.
Oddly, she found men revolting for the most part. This one was special. She loved the way his big body looked without clothes. She wondered how that hand, almost the size of a plate, would feel smoothing over her soft skin in the darkness.
The thought pulled her up short. She turned and went out of the bedroom, closing the door gently behind her.
Chapter Two
Nicole slept fitfully that night, haunted by images of her houseguest sprawled in magnificent abandon on the bed in the guest room. She woke up earlier than usual. She slipped into a neat blue patterned sundress before she went to the kitchen, barefoot, to make breakfast. It was a good thing that she had plenty of provisions, she thought. Judging by his size and build, the man in the guest room was a man with a more than ample appetite.
She’d just dished up scrambled eggs to go with the sweet rolls and sausages when the man came into the living room from Clayton’s bedroom. He was wearing the shorts she’d found for him, an old pair that Clay had worn, with the shirt whose edges didn’t quite meet in front. He looked out of sorts, and vaguely confused.
“Are you all right?” she asked immediately.
He glowered at her. “I feel like an overdrawn account. Otherwise, I suppose I’ll do.” He spoke without any particular accent, although there was a faint residual drawl there. His was not a Charleston accent, though, she mused; and she ought to know, because her own was fairly thick.
“I do have some aspirin, if you need them,” she said.
“I could use a couple, thanks.”
She went to get them while he sat down at the table and poured coffee into his cup and hers. He shook out a couple of aspirin tablets into his big hand and swallowed them with coffee.
“You’ve remembered, haven’t you?” she persisted.
“I’ve remembered a few things,” he confessed. “Not a lot.” He felt for his watch and frowned. Hadn’t he had one when he went into the water? A diver’s watch?
“Oh, I almost forgot!” She jumped up and reached onto the counter by the stove, producing the missing wristwatch. “Here. This was still on your wrist and almost unfastened when I found you. I stuck it in my robe pocket and didn’t notice it until this morning when I started to put the robe in the laundry. Good thing I didn’t wash it,” she laughed. “However do you tell time with something so complicated?”
She didn’t recognize a diver’s watch. Did that mean she didn’t realize how expensive it was?
He took it from her. “Thanks,” he said slowly.
“It still works, doesn’t it?” she asked idly as she ate her eggs. “I didn’t know they made waterproof watches.”
“It’s a diver’s watch,” he informed her, and then waited for her reaction.
“I see. Do you skin-dive?” she asked brightly.
He did, occasionally, when he wasn’t sailing his yacht. He didn’t want to mention that. “Sometimes,” he said.
“I wanted to learn, but I’m too afraid of water,” she told him. “I can’t even swim properly.”
“Then why have a beach house?” he asked curiously. “Or isn’t it yours?”
She saw the way he was looking at her and interpreted it correctly. That watch wasn’t cheap, and he’d apparently remembered more than he wanted her to know. So he thought she was a gold digger, did he? She was going to enjoy this.
“Well, no, it belongs to…” She stopped suddenly, not wanting to give too much away. His face was all too familiar, more so this morning. “It belongs to the man who owns this place. He lets me stay here when I like.”
He glanced around and his expression spoke volumes.
“The hurricane got it,” she said quickly. “He hasn’t had time to do many repairs.” That, at least, was true. But it didn’t sound that way to her guest. In fact, he looked even more suspicious.
He didn’t say anything else. He concentrated on the meal Nikki had prepared. His dark eyes slid over her pretty face and narrowed.
“What’s your name?” he asked curiously.
“Nikki,” she replied. Even if he knew of her family, he wouldn’t know of the nickname, which was used only by family and very close friends. “Do you remember yours?”
He studied her thoughtfully while he wavered between the truth and a lie. She was obviously a transient here, in her boyfriend’s house. He was new to the area. It was highly unlikely that she’d even know who he was if he introduced himself honestly. He kept a low profile. In his income bracket, it paid to do that.
He laughed at his own caution. This woman probably didn’t even know what the CEO of a corporation was. “It’s McKane,” he said offhandedly. “But I’m usually called Kane.”
Fortunately, Nikki had her eyes on her coffee cup. She didn’t show it, but inside she panicked. The familiar face she couldn’t place before now leaped into her consciousness vividly. She knew that name all too well, and now she remembered where she’d seen the face, in a business magazine of Clayton’s. Kane Lombard was reclusive to the point of being a hermit, and the photograph of him had been a rarity for such a successful businessman.
Her brother had just had a very disturbing run-in with Kane Lombard over an environmental issue in Charleston. Lombard, she knew, was backing the leading Democratic contender for Clayton’s House seat.
Her mind worked rapidly. She didn’t dare let Lombard know who she was, now. They’d spent the night together, albeit innocently. Wouldn’t that tidbit do Clayton a lot of good in a national election? In some parts of the country, especially this one, morality was still enough to make or break a politician; even his sister’s morality. And Lombard was
