Her Miracle Man

by Karen Sandler

  By the time they cleared the table, Jack had himself under control, his mind directed to the tasks he had to complete before tomorrow. He helped Mia bring in the few dishes they’d used, put away leftovers while she loaded the dishwasher. He was all but patting himself on the back at the way he’d leashed his impulses, had kept his head on straight while he worked with Mia tidying up the kitchen.

  He wasn’t sure how it happened. She was wiping down the granite countertop and he was reaching around her to stow a serving bowl on an upper shelf. She turned just as he leaned in toward the counter. Her slender body curved into his, the wet cloth in her hand dropping to the floor.

  He should have backed away. But the heat rekindled instantly inside him, keeping him fixed in place, his hands covering hers on his chest. Without even thinking, he tugged her even closer, hand at the small of her back, pulling her hips into his.

  His erection pressed into the softness of her belly. Her eyes wide, her fingers curled into his sweater, and he thought she would push back, twist away. It would have been better to stop this before it started. But instead she wound her arms around him, bringing him even closer.

  “Mia,” he said, her whispered name a warning, a supplication. He didn’t seem to have any sense left; he prayed she did. But she stretched taller, tipping her head back, her lips parting. There was a roaring in his ears, like the sound of the swollen creek, wild and reckless, overflowing its bank.

  He never should have let it get this far. Because if he kissed her, he feared it wouldn’t stop at that. That he wouldn’t let her go again until he had her in his bed, her naked body under his. And that would be insanity—he’d only met her yesterday. When he’d wanted nothing to do with women these past few years, why suddenly had this one so quickly stripped him bare?

  He brushed his mouth against hers, the lightest touch. He wouldn’t let it go any further than that. Wouldn’t run his tongue along that silken lower lip, wouldn’t dip just inside for a first taste. Even though his body felt as if it would explode if he didn’t press inside her soon—now. He would hold back.

  Her tongue, tentative, searching, was his undoing. He felt the wet tip of it graze the corner of his mouth before it retreated. He couldn’t suppress a groan that shuddered through his body. He was lost now, beyond caring about consequences.

  He turned her, lifting her to the countertop, spreading her legs so he could stand between them. His hands slipped from her waist to her hips, his thumbs stretching toward the cleft of her thighs. He wanted to reach inside her jeans and feel the dampness. Then he would put his mouth there and push her over the edge.

  Overlaying the pounding of his heart, the ringing of his office phone snagged one small corner of his focus. He didn’t give a damn about whoever was calling, had no intention of hurrying to his office to answer the phone. But it was enough to inject a grain of sanity into his brain. Enough to persuade him to pause, to reconsider.

  His gaze locked with hers. If he’d seen only the heat he’d seen a few moments earlier, he would have continued, done all the things to her that his fertile imagination had laid out. But behind the desire in those compelling gray eyes, a trace of doubt had bloomed. She might be nine-tenths ready for him, but it was the one-tenth that mattered.

  The phone had stopped ringing, rolling over to voice mail. If it was Dawson, he’d try the cell next. Jack would be ready to answer it.

  With her arm around him, Jack helped Mia scoot down from the counter. He turned away to adjust his jeans, then started toward his office, grabbing up his cell phone from the dining-room table. A savage impulse to throw the palm-size piece of electronics across the great room welled up inside him, but he just gripped the phone harder. He didn’t dare look back at Mia. If there was embarassment in her face, he wouldn’t be able to stand the guilt. If it was unresolved passion, it was better he didn’t know.

  The cell trilled just as Jack stepped over the threshold of his office, the caller ID telling him it was Dawson. He took a long breath, lowering himself into his chair before he answered.

  “Hey, what’s up?” The informal greeting sounded stiff to his own ears.

  “Three-hour delay in Denver. Thought I’d never get home.” Dawson’s heavy sigh revealed his exhaustion. “Just downloaded e-mail and didn’t see that spreadsheet. Didn’t know if it got caught in my spam filter.”

  “I haven’t sent it yet. Still had to check a few figures.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mia move through the great room. He swung the door shut. “I’ll get it to you within the hour.”

  “As long as I’ve got it by morning for the weekly status meeting.”

  The oak office door might as well have not been there. He could so easily imagine Mia curled on the sofa, the firelight edging her dark hair with gold.

  With an effort he pulled his attention back to Dawson. “Any progress on finding a work crew?”

  “No interest from anyone out of state to take on a job that small, even with a pay incentive. Hate to say it, but you’ll just have to wait it out.”

  He hadn’t expected anything different. He’d seen the articles on various news sites earlier in the day, saw the extent of the disaster on Highway 50. Several homes had been destroyed, taken out by the hillside’s fall. His road blockage was trivial by comparison.

  Jack’s gaze strayed to the home page on his computer screen. While checking the news that morning, he’d also scanned for anything that might identify Mia. Not an in-depth search—he’d promised her he wouldn’t dig around. But there was a way to set Dawson, a confessed Internet-news junkie, on Mia’s trail without breaking that promise.

  Pitching his voice lower, Jack asked, “Have you heard anything about that missing woman?”

  Dawson yawned in Jack’s ear. “What missing woman?”

  “A young woman, maybe late twenties. Saw something about it on the Web. She went missing yesterday.”

  “I was in meetings all day yesterday. Incommunicado most of today. I haven’t heard a thing. What Web site did you see it on?”

  “I can’t remember now. Just wondering if you’d heard an update about her.”

  Dawson couldn’t quite stifle a second yawn. “I could do a search for you. You have a name?”

  “Mia something.” Guilt twinged inside him that he’d told Dawson that much. “Get to bed. I want you awake for tomorrow’s status meeting.”

  After they said their goodbyes, Jack set the cell beside his monitor. He’d at least planted the seed with his friend. As busy as Dawson was, he’d watch for stories about missing women, would likely find mention of Mia’s disappearance long before Jack would.

  By the time he finished the spreadsheet and the calculations for the engineering report, his eyes were burning and his shoulders ached. He rose, trying to stretch out the kinks in his cramped body, wincing when he saw the time. Nearly 1:00 a.m. The status meeting started at seven-thirty and there was still an hour more of prep work he needed to do. He’d have to get up early, finish it then.

  At least Mia was already asleep, out of temptation’s way. He cracked open his office door and flipped off the light at the same time. The small lamp on the end table and the yellow-orange glow of flames in the pellet stove were the only illumination in the great room.

  Rubbing his eyes, Jack made his way to the stove and shut off the pellet feed. As he passed in front of the sofa, his feet caught on something—the shoes he’d loaned Mia. When he bent to set them out of the way, he saw her.

  Her head cushioned by a pillow she must have borrowed from the guest room, she lay stretched out on the sofa. A book was splayed spine up on her stomach, her thumb hooked between the pages as a bookmark. He imagined her setting the book down, maybe intending to just close her eyes for a few moments. But from the deep, regular sound of her breathing, she’d been asleep for some time.

  Red orange spilled from the dying flames of the stove, mixing with the white glow of the lamplight. She would have been beautiful in any light, but the dimnes
s of the room added a mystery to her face. He wanted to rest his hand on her cheek, feel her breath curling against his wrist. Listen to every soft inhalation.

  How many times had he watched Elizabeth sleep? Not enough. He would have done it far more often if he’d known how little time they would have together. He would have dedicated his life to watching her.

  Jack snapped off the lamp, then dropped to his knees and sat cross-legged beside the sofa. Mia’s free hand lay uncurled, relaxed beside her body. Moving slowly, Jack rested his hand lightly in hers. He leaned his head against Mia’s leg and gazed up into her face.

  Just for a few minutes. Then he’d carry her to her room so she’d be more comfortable. So she wouldn’t be frightened if she woke in the night.

  But for the moment he would drink her in. Watch her chest rise and fall, feel the warmth of her against his hand. Appreciate this woman, this stranger. As he would Elizabeth if he could have.

  He kept his gaze on Mia until the last of the fire died away and darkness cloaked the room.

  Chapter Seven

  When Mia opened her eyes and looked around her at the milky light seeping through the blinds, the first thing she noticed was the utter silence. No wind, no raindrops falling on the roof, no dripping from the trees. Just cotton-wool silence.

  As she rose, pushed aside the thick comforter, she remembered. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa, reading in front of the fire. Despite the romantic-suspense novel’s riveting climax, she’d drifted off. And Jack had brought her here.

  At least he hadn’t undressed her as he had the first day. She’d thrown away enough of her dignity last night when she’d all but begged him to kiss her. He’d responded—there was no mistaking that thick ridge of flesh he’d pressed against her. But thank God he’d had enough chivalry to pull back. If he’d taken advantage of her lack of self-control, they might have woken up in bed together, and she wouldn’t still be wearing her blue jeans and sweater.

  Just as she wondered how she could wear the same grungy clothes another day, she noticed the stacks on the dresser. She expected the same baggy sweat suits Jack had offered her before. Instead she found jeans and sweaters only one size larger than her own size. He’d unearthed a worn pair of slippers and another pack of panties, as well.

  Grabbing up a change of clothes, she hurried across the hall to the bathroom, one eye cast toward Jack’s office. She wasn’t keen to confront him yet this morning. A shower and fresh clothes would make the awkwardness easier to bear.

  And awkward it would be. She was determined to talk to him about what nearly happened last night, make it clear that whatever subconscious impulses from her former life might be driving her, she intended to resist them. If her behavior of the past few days was any indication, she was apparently a promiscuous woman. The thought made her squirm with embarrassment, but she had to accept the possibility.

  When she stepped out into the great room, feeling blessedly fresh and clean, the view out the large front window derailed her thoughts. Snow blanketed the woods outside, clumped on the branches of the cedars and redwoods. Fat flakes continued to fall, at times so thick they obscured the trees behind them.

  That explained the silence. She crossed to the window, mesmerized by the white-on-white landscape. As she stared at the dizzying fall of snowflakes, she was struck by the newness of it all. She’d never seen this before, not face-to-face, anyway. She would have seen photos, movies with scenes of snowfall. But she’d never watched the real thing.

  She wanted to go out in it, to gather it up in her hands and feel the iciness of it. Pat it into a ball and throw it at a tree, make a snowman, a snow angel. Let the flakes fall on her tongue and decorate her hair.

  Rapt, she barely heard Jack’s office door open. She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling, filled with joy. He moved toward her, stripping off his headset and shoving it in a back pocket.

  “You found the clothes.” His voice was rough with exhaustion.

  “Thanks. They do fit better.”

  “Found one last bag of Elizabeth’s things out in the shed. She didn’t wear those much. She went on a crazy diet one year, dropped thirty pounds.” He yawned. “She was too skinny.”

  “Like me,” Mia said, hands falling to bony hips.

  “You’re the right size for you. Maybe a little too thin.”

  She was suddenly aware of how close he was standing. Her gaze dropped to his hands, large and capable, then drifted up his muscular forearms. He’d shoved the sleeves of his black sweater up, and her fingers itched to stroke him from wrist to elbow.

  Impatient with herself, with the way her thoughts seemed beyond her control, she edged away from him. “I’ve never seen it snow before.”

  “Then you’re from somewhere it doesn’t snow.”

  “I guess so. That doesn’t exactly narrow things down much.” She spread a hand on the window glass. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is,” he said softly. But when she glanced over at him, he was staring at her, not at the winter storm.

  “I’d like to go out. See what it’s like.”

  She thought he’d tell her no. Instead he pulled the headset from his pocket and tossed it on the window seat. “I have some old ski overalls we can make work for you. No boots, so we can’t stay out for long.”

  The overalls swam on her, the legs sagging around her ankles. He made her pull on two more pairs of socks, then the oversize shoes. Gloves tucked in the zippered pocket of the bib would keep her hands warm, a wool hat covered her head.

  He wouldn’t let her go beyond the gravel drive, obliterated beneath a foot of snow. But she could tip her head back and snag snowflakes on her tongue, could pack together enough of the lacy white stuff to make a credible snowball. Her throw fell short of the nearest tree, the ball poking a hole in the soft drift piled below it.

  Jack watched her from the front of the garage, a bemused smile on his face. It was the most relaxed she’d seen him since she’d first woken to find him standing over her. It seemed she was getting a glimpse of the man he used to be, when Elizabeth was still alive.

  Her heart ached at the thought of being loved so powerfully by a man. Had she felt that kind of love? Was there a man in her life, someone who, even now, desperately sought her, would give anything to have her back with him?

  A love that strong—wouldn’t she feel it even now, despite the loss of memories? Wouldn’t that love be lodged so deeply in her heart it would be as much a part of her as her own breath? A brilliant light that couldn’t be dimmed or forgotten?

  But as she struggled to remember, it wasn’t light that glimmered in the back of her mind, but something dark, something edged with fear. Her heart hammered violently in her chest as an iciness that had nothing to do with the snow overcame her.

  The air was suddenly too cold to breathe. Her fingers, still warm in the heavy gloves, spasmed as if to ward off something frightful. Alarm bloomed inside her, building into terror.

  Jack’s gaze narrowed on her. “We should go in.”

  Her teeth were chattering now, as if she were chilled from deep within. She hurried past him, arms wrapped around herself. The fear seemed to nip at her heels, impelling her toward the safety of the house.

  She kicked off the wet shoes and peeled off the overalls in the tiled foyer, her hands shaking despite the warmth indoors. She tried to convince herself it was just the cold that had sent shudders through her. But even when she pushed off the damp socks and thrust her feet into the slippers, even when she moved to the stove to stand inches from the roaring flames, her body still shook.

  Jack threw the afghan around her shoulders. Then, when she still trembled, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to the blast furnace of his body. As flashes of fear jabbed at her, clutched at her heart, she burrowed even deeper into his embrace. She wondered how one man could generate so much heat, could melt away the knot of dread inside her.

  Finally her body relaxed and she felt too hot to stand so
close to the fire. She tugged away, wary of the sensual response that she risked with Jack’s nearness. Keeping her eyes downcast, not yet ready to see what might be in his face, she huddled on the sofa, the afghan draped around her.

  He sat opposite her on the sofa. She could feel his gaze on her. “That wasn’t just the cold,” she told him, her fingers pleating the crocheted throw.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I had a—” she tried to think of an innocuous label to place on the blackness that had crouched inside her “—a flashback.”

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It was more what I felt.” She tried to get a handle on the fear, but in the warm, well-lit house, it seemed to have dissipated. “Afraid,” she said finally, irritated at the inadequacy of the word. “Just out of the blue.”

  “Any idea what set it off?”

  Something in his tone lifted her gaze to his and she saw the intensity in his eyes. Could he possibly know she was thinking about him, about the love he’d felt for his wife? Surely not. And she wasn’t about to reveal her thoughts to him.

  “I was enjoying myself in the snow. Wondering if there’s…anyone missing me, worried about where I am.” She stretched her mouth into a stiff smile. “Trying to psychoanalyze me?”

  “Elizabeth was the psychologist, not me.” He shifted on the sofa, rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, crossed and uncrossed his legs. “Listen, about last night—”

  “I won’t do that again,” she blurted out.

  He turned toward her, surprise in his face. “Do what again?”

  Heat burned her cheeks. “Push myself on you. Come on to you that way.”

  He stared for a long, uncomfortable beat. “I think you’ve got it backward.”

  “In that other life, the one I can’t remember…I must be more…casual about sex.” She said the last word in a whisper.

  “Less discriminating about men.”