Intimate Stranger

by Jan Springer

“The past is in the past, Emily. Things can’t be the same.”

  His words dripped with iciness and she could feel her insides ripping apart at the finality in the tone of his voice. He didn’t even want to try to get back together? She knew if she said anything she would start crying. She needed to take some time away from him. Time to digest this insanity.

  Fighting the burn of tears that welled in her eyes she forced herself to stand and look at him. To her annoyance, he avoided her gaze. His head was once again bowed. He didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything else.

  She drew the robe tighter around her body, using it as if it were a security blanket of armor against his sudden coldness toward her. With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked out of her kitchen.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The swirling sickness in Emily’s stomach had settled to a somewhat tolerable sensation but mass confusion still hovered around her. Chance Donovan was Steve McCullen. Her dead husband was alive.

  To make matters worse, everyone in the family knew except her. The old saying was so true. The wife was always the last to know.

  Betrayal and hurt ran a rampant gantlet through her as with violently trembling fingers she frantically tried to make some headway knitting the booty with the baby wool she’d found in one of her drawers. She’d hoped knitting booties for both Jo and Sara’s babies would keep her mind off of Steve. Unfortunately her thoughts kept straying to the Saint Christopher medallion and to what might have happened had she not found it.

  She shook her head in disgust. If she hadn’t picked up the medallion and examined it, or if she hadn’t caught him breaking into the laptop, she’d still be in the dark.

  The delicate job of knitting just didn’t hold up under her anger and she whipped the knitting needles and tiny booty across the bedroom. The items landed square against Steve’s bare chest and he managed to grab them before they fell to the floor.

  “I guess I deserved that.”

  His gentle voice carried no hint of the anger that had been so evident between them when they’d fought several hours earlier. To her surprise, he smiled. It was a soft smile that just irritated her more.

  “Ever hear of knocking?” she snapped.

  “I did. I guess you were otherwise occupied.”

  “Oh.”

  She ripped her gaze away from his amused look and clenched her hands tightly together so he wouldn’t be able to see how much they were shaking.

  “You okay?”

  “Aren’t I always? What did you expect? A raging lunatic throwing pots and pans at your head?”

  “Just knitting needles. Can I come in?”

  God no. Please just go away! She couldn’t deal with him now.

  “It’s your bedroom too. Oh sorry, let me rephrase that. It used to be your bedroom. Seems to me you don’t want it or me anymore.”

  His sweet smile drifted away, replaced by an angry frown. Good! He deserved to be unhappy after everything he’d put her through. He walked into the room and held out a steaming mug.

  “Chamomile. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

  “Thanks.”

  She accepted the mug, careful not to touch his fingers. But the sight of his lean fingers evoked a fiery memory of how his gentle touch had traced seductively along the curves of her breasts and touched intimate parts of her body. She closed her eyes and chased away the images. This was not the time to be thinking about sex. Or love.

  It was time for war.

  Steve walked over to the window and peered out. She couldn’t help but to stare at his partially nude body as she sipped the warm chamomile tea. He’d had several hours to change, yet he still wore that towel wrapped low over his hips.

  “I added more fuel to the generator. We have enough for a couple of days.”

  She nodded and took another sip.

  Now that she knew the truth about him, she noted again how heart-stoppingly familiar he really looked and acted. She didn’t know how she hadn’t guessed his true identity on her own.

  Sure, his face was different. His voice altered. His eyes were the wrong color. The rest of his body should have clued her in. She’d known Steve’s body intimately. Touched him everywhere. Kissed him everywhere. Why hadn’t she known? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had many clues.

  The sizzling connection between them. What about his large hands? The shape of them. The way they’d gently cupped her waist when they’d danced together. It was now obvious he had requested their song that night at the fair. She’d melted in his arms just as she’d done in the past. What about the night she’d captured him in her room supposedly looking for the mace? That night she’d first realized Chance’s smile was so similar to Steve’s.

  “You must have had a good laugh. Get me into bed and when I’m sleeping, you have access to my safe and your laptop.”

  He frowned yet kept gazing out the window. It was gray out there in the early afternoon. The wind and rain still pounded against the panes. But the thunder and lightning were gone.

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then how is it?”

  “I love you, Emily but I can’t give you any children, so I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “As if you not being able to give me kids would make me love you any less.”

  “Emily, please. Don’t do this.”

  “Why not? I’m on a roll. Do you know how insulting it is for my husband not to want to see me after he’s been through whatever horrors he’s endured?”

  She emitted a strangled laugh that made him flinch.

  “I’m sorry you’re still upset.”

  He turned to leave, but she dropped her cup on the bed, not caring that it would make a mess and scrambled off. She was burning mad and she wanted him to know it.

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me Chance Donovan or Steve McCullen or whatever you’re calling yourself these days.”

  He stopped and turned to her. His eyes filled with tormented anguish and all she wanted to do was forget her anger, take him in her arms and tell him she loved him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to give in. Not this easily.

  “I realize I may have been too hasty walking away from our earlier conversation. You’re absolutely right when you said the past is in the past. You’re right when you said things can’t be the same,” Emily said.

  A chill scrambled up her spine as raw fear suddenly flared in his eyes. He was afraid she was dumping him. Turning him loose without a fight. The man needed his confidence boosted when it came to her love for him. Pushing aside her raw anger, she raised her hand to touch his face. He inhaled as she parted the fluffy hair covering his hairline. Electricity shot through her fingers as she lightly traced the faint white surgical line until it disappeared behind his ear.

  “A stranger’s face…” she whispered thoughtfully. “Yet beneath these physical changes, these scars, you’re still the same man I fell in love with. All over again.”

  He went completely still at her admission and she allowed her shaky fingers to lightly move down across his brow, his cheek then his stubbled jaw to rest in the dent in his chin.

  “You obviously were holding out some sort of hope for us getting back together or you wouldn’t have had them install a cleft in your chin.”

  She could see the pulse hammer in his throat, the uncertainty glowing in his eyes. Uncertainty about what? She’d just told him she loved him. What else was wrong?

  “I think we need to talk some more before you say anything else.” His voice sounded hoarse. She detected an underlying warning that made her believe he still hadn’t told her everything.

  Dizziness rocked her. My God! What else was there?

  “When I was in prison, they did things to me no human being should have to endure, let alone explain to his wife.”

  He watched her carefully, obviously expecting her to protest. She clamped down on the torrents of helplessness washing over her.

  “Okay. I understand. You need space.”r />
  “Some day I might be able to share, but not now. Maybe not ever.”

  What was he saying? Had he been raped? Tortured?

  Her heart began to thump wildly as she realized he was obviously setting down some ground rules. Ground rules for their marriage. It meant he was still interested in staying together.

  “I have nightmares. They come with the package, meaning me. Sometimes they can be violent. I haven’t had any bad ones since coming here, but if you can’t handle them, just say so and I’ll walk.”

  “I can handle it.” She could handle anything as long as he didn’t walk out on her without them at least trying.

  “There’s something else.”

  He held her gaze and she knew instinctively she had to agree to this next rule or else he’d walk, as he so eloquently put it.

  “Go ahead.”

  “My two brothers and their wives begged me to allow them to tell you I was alive. I just couldn’t let them. I see I was wrong. I’m sorry for not telling you. Please don’t hold my mistake against them.”

  “Of course I won’t. They’re my family too.”

  “And I’m broke.”

  “You look to be in fine shape to me.” But she knew what he meant. Financially broke.

  “I’m serious. I don’t have any money. My operations…there are debts.”

  “We’ll manage. Don’t worry. All married couples work off debts together.”

  “There’s something else I need to tell you. As I said on the beach the other day, I’m clean. The first thing I had done was tests for diseases. I’m not carrying anything.”

  Oh sweet Lord. He must have been raped. Once again Emily clamped down on the fears at the horrible visions of what might have happened to him behind bars.

  “One more thing. That is if you’re up to the challenge?”

  “Name it.”

  “I’m going to need lots of this to help me heal…”

  He cupped her chin with his left hand and her breath backed up in her lungs at his potent look.

  His eyes were fired up with raw hunger. A hunger that made her warm and tingly and excited with an achingly sweet need.

  “I’m going to need the love of a good woman,” he breathed.

  She could smell the faint scent of chamomile tea on his breath. Obviously he had needed some of the calming tea too after revealing to her that he was her husband. He tilted her face up and stared straight into her soul.

  “A good woman. With strong muscles to keep me in line and to challenge me at next year’s Timber Sports contest at the fall fair.”

  Strong muscles? Okay, humor was good. They would be okay. She knew that now. It would take time but they would make it.

  “I don’t know if I can agree to that. My muscles need daily workouts so they can stay strong and limber.”

  “These workouts…” His ragged breath caressed her lips and a delicious golden need uncurled deep inside her pussy.

  “Are these workouts a part of your set of ground rules?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Her fingers slipped off his chin and both her hands reached up to curl around to the back of his neck. The solid wall of his hot body pressed against her, firing her blood. She wanted his mouth on hers. Wanted his mouth, his fingers, his cock. She wanted all of him.

  “What are your other needs, Emily?”

  He grinned and a wave of love shot straight into her heart.

  “This.”

  She pulled his head down to her and brushed her mouth against his lips with a butterfly kiss.

  “And this.”

  She uncurled her hands from around his warm neck, ran her palms down the front of his muscular chest and stopped over his nipples. Then she pushed against him with all her might.

  Suddenly he was falling. Right onto her bed. He bounced there and the look of momentary shock on his face made her laugh with wicked intent. The towel around his waist suddenly loosened and flapped slightly open.

  Oh my, she thought as she spied the partial length of his swollen cock peeking from beneath the towel. Before he could move, she stepped in between his parted legs. Long legs that dangled seductively over the mattress.

  She grinned and pushed everything out of her mind. Pushed aside the fact Steve was alive. Steve was Chance.

  The reality that she still had so many questions but wouldn’t ask them yet made her think that maybe she was running away from what he’d endured over the past few years. But she knew when he was ready to talk he would tell her and they would deal with what had happened to him together.

  Until that happened she would focus on the warmth filling her heart at the way he looked at her. He had a stranger’s eyes yet they were so familiar to her now. His eyes were blazing with lust and love, and for a moment she was overwhelmed that he loved her so much. That he needed her so much.

  Needed her not only sexually but emotionally and spiritually.

  “Your towel seems to be too small for you. We’re going to have to get you out of it…” she said, feeling that his immediate needs were of a sexual nature.

  He blinked up at her. His eyes were wide with passion, his sexy mouth upturned into a gorgeous smile as she slid both ends of the towel apart and onto the bed, revealing his muscular thighs and swollen erection.

  Just looking at his rock-hard cock sent a furnace blast of heat through her. Feeling the desire of touching him and ignoring the raised scar on his side from the kidney transplant and the raised scar tissue from his bullet wound, she reached out and splayed her hands over his chest. Hot, sleek bands of muscles rippled erotically beneath her fingers. As she touched him, his breathing became louder and raspier.

  Obviously he was enjoying her playful mood, and she had every right to be playful. Her husband was back and she wasn’t going to waste another minute making war with him.

  “While I’m getting reacquainted with your body, I’m going to have to lay down some ground rules,” she whispered.

  Peeling the towel away from his hips, she felt her eyes widen at his size.

  Oh my! What a nice cock he had. So long and thick and hard as steel. So much longer and thicker than she remembered. She found herself visually inspecting his cock and balls for scars down there too. Found herself wondering if they’d touched him here.

  Oh don’t go there, Emily, she chastised herself.

  Steve is back. Just accept him. Live inside him until it’s time to go back to reality, a voice whispered inside her head.

  Yes, live inside him. They had so much time to make up for and she didn’t want to waste any time feeling sorry for him or for herself at what they’d lost.

  “Maybe you should drink some of that chamomile tea to calm yourself down,” she found herself saying as his cock seemed to just keep on growing the longer she studied him.

  “Only you can calm me down, Emmie.”

  Emmie. He was using his nickname for her. How had she forgotten that nickname? What else had she forgotten?

  Desperation and a wicked anticipation of making love to her husband had her trembling with such a fierce need she wasn’t sure if it was too soon to have sex with him. She’d only known the truth for a few hours. She was still reeling from the impact. Hadn’t even been able to process things. Would it be a mistake to follow her instincts and get physical with him without having her emotions under control?

  Doubts swirled. She didn’t know him. Not really. All this time she’d thought he was Chance, a friend of Steve’s. And now he was her husband. How could she jump into bed so quickly with him? Was it normal to be so aroused over a man she had thought long dead?

  Suddenly he reached out, curling his fingers around her biceps. She could feel the power in his hands as he tugged her down on top of him. Could feel the barely restrained control of his naked flesh as his heat seared straight through her clothing and fondled her skin. Molten heat rushed into her pussy where his bold arousal pushed against her body. The thought of him fucking her sent a jolt of adrenaline shoot
ing like lightning through her bloodstream.

  Oh man. It felt so good. So damn good.

  “This is crazy,” she found herself saying as the lust for him burned through her strong and bright.

  “Workout time,” he murmured.

  She noticed his voice, drenched with such gorgeous huskiness, it made her breath catch, made the ache inside her pussy explode for him. Looking down at his face, she found it roughened with desire and she’d never seen such a wild intense look in his eyes.

  He let go of her arms and slid his hands beneath her top, splaying his palms against her stomach. His fingers were like beautiful sparks of love upon her skin and he moved them upward until he cupped her breasts.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra. Had been too upset earlier to do much except just step into a pair of track pants and a track top.

  His hands squeezed her breasts gently and she inhaled at the erotic way he pinched her nipples.

  “You like?” he whispered. His eyes were such an intoxicating blue that she felt herself drowning in them. It was a good feeling. Very good to just let herself go and sink into him. Sink into this minute. This moment.

  “No fair. I’m still laying down my ground rules,” she protested, and positioned herself so that she straddled his bare thighs and his cock pressed against her clothed pussy.

  Despite her pants being between them she could feel the heat of him scorching her flesh. Could feel his cock pulsing beneath her as she began to gyrate her hips, using the material from her pants and letting the bulge of his cock provide just the right amount of friction against her clit.

  “Ground rules, which are?” he ground out between his teeth, obviously enjoying the rasp of the material against his cock and the sultry rhythm from her gyrating.

  “Breakfast in bed every weekend,” she stated, feeling the surging sensations of arousal take hold.

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  Reaching down she lifted her top and quickly took it off.

  His eyes blazed as he looked at her bared breasts. He let go of her nipples and uncupped her, his fingers now searing fire against the sides of her breasts. With deliberate strokes, he touched her there making her inhale sharply as fiery nerve endings sizzled to life.