After Midnight Page 2

  Nikki was getting more nervous by the minute. Head injuries could be quickly fatal. She didn’t have the expertise to deal with something this serious, and she had no telephone. What if he died?

  He glanced sideways and saw the troubled look on her face. He glowered even more. “I’m not going to drop dead on the beach,” he said irritably. “Are you always this transparent?”

  “In fact, I’ve been told I have a poker face,” she said without thinking. She looked up into his dark eyes and found herself staring into them with something approaching recognition. How frightening, she thought dimly, to be like that with a stranger, and especially such an unfriendly one!

  “You have green eyes, “Florence Nightingale,”’ he said. “Green like a cat’s.”

  “I scratch like one, too, so watch out,” she murmured with far more bravado than courage.

  “Point taken.” He eased the pressure of his arm around her and went the last few steps up to the deck under his own power. He stopped, holding his head and breathing deliberately, for a few seconds.

  “I could do with a cup of coffee,” he said after a minute.

  “So could I.” She eased him through the sliding glass doors and into the kitchen, watching him lower his huge frame into a chair at the kitchen table. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’m sure that I’m tough as nails normally.” He rested his elbows on the clean surface of the oak table and held his head in his hands. “Do you often find strange men washed up on your beach?”

  “You’re my first,” she replied. “But considering the size of you, I’m hoping for an ocean liner tomorrow.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at her as she busied herself filling the drip coffeemaker.

  “Have you lived here long?” he asked, making conversation.

  “We’ve had the place a few years.”

  “We?”

  “The, um…man who lives here and I,” she replied noncommittally. It wouldn’t do to tell him she was single and on her own. “He normally drives down on Friday evenings,” she lied.

  He didn’t seem to register the information. Perhaps he didn’t know what day it was.

  “Today is Friday,” she said, just in case. “My friend is very nice, you’ll like him.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Any nausea yet? Drowsiness?”

  “I haven’t got concussion,” he replied tersely. “I’m not sure how I know that I’d recognize the symptoms. Perhaps I’ve had it before.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t.” She picked up the telephone and dialed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked curtly.

  “Phoning a friend. He’s a doctor. I want to…Hello, Chad?” she said when the person answered. “I’ve just rescued a swimmer who was suffering from a bang on the head. He’s conscious and very lucid,” she added with a meaningful glare at her houseguest. “But he won’t let me call an ambulance. Could you stop by here when you get back from the golf course and just reassure me that he isn’t going to drop dead on my floor.”

  Chad Holman laughed. “Sure. No sweat. Let me ask you a couple of questions.”

  He did and she fielded them to her guest, who replied reluctantly.

  “I think he’ll do until I get there,” Chad reassured her. “But if he drops off and you can’t wake him or if he has any violent vomiting, call the ambulance anyway.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  She hung up, feeling relieved now that she had a professional opinion on her guest’s condition. “Well, I don’t want any dead bodies in my living room, especially not one I can’t even drag!” she informed him mischievously.

  He scowled at her. “Dead bodies. Dead…” He shook his head irritably. “I keep getting flashes, but I can’t grasp anything! Damn it!”

  “The coffee’s almost ready. Maybe a jolt of caffeine will start your brain working again,” she suggested.

  She perched on a stool at the counter, her long bare legs drawing his eyes. She glared at him.

  “Don’t get any ideas about why you’re here, if you please,” she said, her voice soft but vaguely menacing just the same.

  “Don’t worry. I’m absolutely sure that I don’t like green-eyed women,” he returned shortly. He sat back in the chair with a rough sigh and shifted, one big hand idly rubbing the thick hair on his chest. He made her very self-conscious and nervous. He looked aggressively masculine, whether he was or not. She fidgeted.

  “I can find you something to put on, if you like,” she said after a minute.

  “That would be nice. Your male friend leaves things here, I suppose? To remind you that you cohabit with him?”

  She didn’t like the sarcasm, but she didn’t rise to it. She slipped easily off the stool. “The shirt may be a bit tight, but he’s got some baggy shorts with an elastic waist that probably will fit you. I won’t be a minute.”

  She darted into Clayton’s bedroom and borrowed the biggest oversize shirt he owned, a three-colored one, and a pair of big tan shorts. They hung on her brother, but they were probably going to be a tight fit on the giant she’d found washed up on the beach.

  She carried the clothes back in to him. “The bathroom is through there,” she said, nodding down the hall. “Third door on the right. You’ll find a razor and soap and towels if you’d like to clean up. Are you hungry?”

  “I think I could eat,” he said.

  “I’ll make an omelet and toast.”

  He got to his feet very slowly, the clothes in one large hand. He hesitated as he turned to leave the room, looking very big and threatening to Nikki. “I don’t remember anything. But I’m not a cruel man, if it helps. I do know that.”

  “It helps.” She managed a smile.

  “I’m not used to accepting help from strangers,” he added.

  “Good thing. I’m not used to offering it to strangers. Of course, there’s a first time…”

  “…for everything,” he finished for her. “Thanks.”

  He left the room and Nikki got out eggs and condiments, proceeding to make an omelet.

  He showered and shaved before he changed into the dry clothes and joined her in the kitchen. He was still barefoot, but the shorts did fit. The shirt showed off muscles that had obviously not been obtained by any lengthy inactivity. He was fit and rippled, very athletic. Nikki had to remind herself not to look at him too hard.

  “What do you like in your coffee?” she asked as she poured it into thick white mugs and set them on the spotless green-and-white checked tablecloth.

  He frowned as he sat down. “I think I like cream.”

  “I’d have thought you were a man who never added anything to his coffee,” she murmured with amusement.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You seem oddly familiar to me, as if I know you. But I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen you before,” she said quietly.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I have that kind of face.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “You?”

  He smiled, just faintly. “Thanks.” He sipped his coffee and pursed his lips. “Very nice. Just strong enough.”

  “I make good coffee. It’s my only real accomplishment, except for omelets. I’m much too busy to learn how to cook.”

  “What does your poor friend eat?” he asked.

  “He lives on fast food and restaurant chow, but he isn’t home much.”

  “What does he do?”

  She studied him. “He’s in energy,” she said, which was the truth. He sat on the Energy and Commerce Committee that dealt with it.

  “Oh. He works for a power plant?”

  “That’s pretty close,” she agreed, hiding the amusement in her eyes as she thought about the power that particular committee wielded nationally.

  “And what do you do?”

  “Moi?” she laughed. “Oh, I sculpt.”

  “What?”

  “People.”

  He looked around at the furniture, but the only artwork of any ki
nd that was visible were some prints she’d purchased.

  “I sell my work in galleries,” she told him.

  He decided to reserve judgment on that reply. The house was a dump, and she had to know it. She obviously had little money and lived with a man who had even less. He knew that he couldn’t afford to trust her. He wished he knew why he was certain of that. “Do you have any of your work here?”

  “A bust or two,” she said. “I’ll show you later, if you like.”

  He sampled the omelet. “You’re good.”

  “Thanks.” She studied his face. It was pale, and he seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “You’re drowsy.”

  “Yes. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m pretty sure that I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

  “Woman trouble?” she asked with a knowing smile.

  He frowned. “I’m not sure. Perhaps.” He looked up. “I can’t possibly stay here…”

  “Where would you go?” she asked reasonably. “You can’t wander up and down the beach here, the police will pick you up for vagrancy. Do you remember where you live?”

  “I don’t even know my name,” he confessed heavily. “You can’t imagine how intimidating that is.”

  “You’re right.” She searched his tanned face, his dark eyes. He looked incredibly tired. “Why don’t you have an early night? I’ll send Chad in to check you out when he swings by. He’s a friend,” she added. “He’ll do it as a favor, so you don’t have to worry about his fee. Things will look so much better in the morning. You might remember who you are.”

  “God, I hope so,” he said gruffly. “The man…who lives here. You said he’d be here later?”

  She nodded, her eyes as steady as if she’d been telling the truth, and he was fooled.

  “Then it will be all right, I suppose. I appreciate your trust. I could be anybody.”

  “So could I,” she said in a menacing tone, grinning.

  He got the point. When she showed him to the guest bedroom, he fell on the bed without bothering to turn back the covers. Within seconds, he was sound asleep.

  He was still sleeping when Chad stopped by to check him. Nikki waited in the living room until the doctor came out, bag in hand, gently closing the door.

  “He’s all right,” he assured her with a grin, his blond good looks fairly intimidating to her because he still reminded her a little of her ex-husband. “A little disorientation, but that will pass quickly. 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 helping the opposition.

  Her fingers closed around her coffee cup and she lifted her eyes with a schooled expression on her face. Everything would be all right. All she had to do was ease him out of here without letting on that she knew him. Since he didn’t travel in the same circles as Clayton and herself, chances were good that she’d never see him up close again anyway.

  “It’s a nice name. I like it.” She smiled as if she genuinely didn’t recognize him.

  He relaxed visibly. His firm mouth tugged into a smile. “Thanks for taking care of me,” he added. “It’s been a long time since anyone had to do that.”

  “Nobody’s invulnerable,” she reminded him. “But next time, you might check that there aren’t any rocks around when you decide to use the Jet Ski.”