it’d been since he’d been with a woman. Reactions this strong and immediate were not normal.
The thin pages rustled in the silence as she flipped through the phone book with one hand. Her other hand clutched the phone.
The soft overhead light played on the various rings she wore. Each finger hosted a different style—silver, gold, tiny gemstones trapped in the finest of wire, an openwork band. Only the ring finger on her left hand was bare. There, a wide patch of pale skin revealed a story all its own.
Great. Just what I need, a married woman. She’s probably a runaway wife and having second thoughts but doesn’t want to ask her husband to come fetch her.
The thought startled him. Why should he feel such disappointment that this woman might be tied to some other man? And none of that explained why she was carrying a gun she didn’t know the first thing about using.
“I can leave you alone to make the call if you’d like,” he offered, even though his mind shouted a denial. He wanted to know who she planned on calling.
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.” She rubbed her forehead, hiding her eyes behind her hand. Her long black hair fell forward as her head bowed, curtaining her face from his view. “I’m not sure where I’d go.”
Her quiet words stilled the noise of his inner voice. Without thinking, he reached across the table and touched her hand. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I think I must be.”
“Can you tell me?” He leaned close, straining to catch her soft words.
She shook her head.
“I might be able to help.”
Finally, she lifted her head and met his look. Tears trailed over her cheeks. More pooled in her eyes. “Can you tell me who I am? Because I haven’t a clue.”
Chapter Two
Her words hung in the air.
Okay, so she’s a runaway wife having an identity crisis. Tread lightly, boyo.
He ignored his mental warning and shifted out of his chair to kneel on the floor in front of her. He touched her hand, the hand once again clutching the shoulder strap draped over her knee, intending to lend some comfort and encouragement. The chill clinging to her long fingers startled him. Gathering both of her hands into his, he began chafing them, trying to ease the cold. He met her tear-filled eyes with a steady gaze. “It’ll be okay.”
She blinked her eyes closed and shook her head. “How can you know that?”
Ryan couldn’t stop the grin pulling up one side of his mouth. He shrugged. “Because things always work out. You couldn’t know this, but I live a charmed life. When I found you on the beach, you became part of it. So, I just naturally know everything will be all right.”
“You really believe that?”
“Nothing’s ever happened to show me different.” He brushed away the tear trailing over her cheek. It began as an innocent touch, but the contact sent a vibration through him, relaying an unexpected intimacy.
“Then I’d say you’ve been very lucky.”
“Like I said, sugar, a charmed life. So, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He gave her hands an encouraging squeeze before releasing them. Pulling his chair around the table, he sat down, scooting closer to her until their knees nearly touched.
She shifted on the cushioned chair seat, crossing then uncrossing her legs. With each movement, their knees brushed together, her dark leggings against his bare skin. Each brush sent heat curling up his leg. Ryan spread his legs, giving her a little more room. Giving himself a break from the unexpected torture of that oh-so-brief touch.
He took a sip of lemonade to ease the sudden dryness of his mouth. “Let’s start at the beginning. Will you tell me your name?”
Confusion flickered across her face, she blinked, her gaze darted around the room. “I…I can’t,” she choked out.
“I promise you, if it’s a matter of safety, no one else will know.”
A fine tremble shook her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s not that. At least, I don’t think so.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Then, what is it?” He kept his voice low and calm, then waited through the silence.
She sat up straighter, pulled her shoulders back and finally met his gaze head-on. “You want to start at the beginning?”
He nodded.
“That would be on the beach, when I woke up thirty-four minutes before you found me.”
“You slept on the beach? All night?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs and cupping her knees in his hands. The scent of the beach—sunshine, sand and salt—clung to her clothes. Another fragrance, subtler, more feminine, teased his senses. He thought of pulling back, putting some distance, some breathing space between them, but the fear on her face drew him closer. The need to protect and comfort her ignited a slow-burning fire deep within him.
He searched her eyes, trying to find the answers hidden in the stormy depths. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
She shook her head.
“Sugar, I can’t help you if you don’t give me anything to work with.”
“Ryan, I can’t tell you my name, because I don’t remember it.” Her words came out in a rush, tumbling one over the next in her urgency to say them. “I don’t remember why I was on the beach or how or when I got there. I don’t recognize my own voice. I couldn’t describe myself until I looked in the mirror. My mind is a huge void.”
Ryan sat back, staring at her for a moment before releasing a soft whistle. “Well now, that is a fix, ain’t it?”
Truth echoed in her words. Of course, she could just be a good actress. It wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful woman had fooled a man with tears and a woeful smile.
He studied her, searched her face for clues to what was really going on. Her gray eyes never wavered from his. He saw honesty and a silent plea asking him to believe.
Her body language reinforced the image. She sat with her arms wrapped around her waist, as though trying to hold the fear in before it overpowered her. She still held on to the camera-bag strap as though it was her only anchor of certainty in an unknown world.
His instincts said this wasn’t an act; she told the truth.
Another set of instincts, the undercover-survival instincts, kicked in. He leaned forward, reaching toward her.
She flinched at his first touch, but didn’t pull away, just sat motionless as he burrowed his fingers through her hair. The dark mass slid over his hands in a soft caress. The sensation called up the image of her hair falling in a curtain around him. He tamped down his reaction. Now was not the time.
Starting at her temples, he conducted
