Kitabı oku: «Memories of Megan», sayfa 3

Chapter Four

Cole stood in the hall, watching the hustle and bustle of the staff, troubled by the patient’s response to him. Schizophrenics often lapsed into delusional behavior, he reminded himself, so he shouldn’t be so disturbed that the man had accused him of doing disreputable things.

There was no way Daryl Boyd had ever seen him before.

The fact that he had a new face was proof of that.

But had he confused him with someone else?

He had heard about the trouble at the center a few weeks ago, that the CEO Arnold Hughes had disappeared and was thought dead, although some speculated that he might have escaped the explosion on his boat. That Hughes might return to Nighthawk Island to run the company or that he was still running it via some kind of secret mode of communication. Police suspected some questionable techniques were being tried at the center, and Nighthawk Island, with its special security and isolation was being scrutinized.

There couldn’t be any truth to the things the delusional Boyd had said, could there?

Why had Cole chosen to leave his old job and join the center with the negative publicity surrounding it?

Maybe because he believed in the research and development of the area; the doctors were doing revolutionary things and he wanted to be a part of it. Maybe because he’d believed all the trouble at the center had ended with Santenelli’s death.

Even as he rationalized the answer, it didn’t feel right.

Perhaps something had happened back at Oakland that had prompted him to transfer.

Megan Wells stepped into the hallway, looking calm in spite of the horrific wailing echoing from the confines of the room. “He’ll be okay in a few minutes, once the sedative takes effect. April’s going to stay with him until he goes to sleep.”

Cole nodded. “Does he have those episodes often?”

“No, that’s what’s so troubling.” Megan wrinkled her nose. “He’s usually very friendly with the staff. I’ve never seen him get so agitated with a doctor before.”

“Was he under your husband’s care?”

“Yes, but Dr. Jones is treating him now.” Megan folded her arms across her waist. “Boyd had been responding to this new drug. Hopefully Dr. Jones can adjust the dosage and stabilize him.”

“Right.”

“Are you going to be taking on patients right away?”

Cole’s hands tightened by his side. “No, not for a while. I need some time to acclimate. Review charts.”

Besides, how could he help others when he couldn’t sort out his own life?

“What’s your specialty, Dr. Hunter?”

“I…” he struggled to remember when the answer suddenly came to him. “Dissociative identity disorder. I was working on hypnosis techniques to help traumatized patients regain repressed memories.”

Megan’s gaze locked with his, her blue eyes sparkling in the glare of the hospital lights. His groin tightened, and the strong pull of sexual awareness thrummed through him. But he ignored the simmering attraction as research data on the disorder flashed through his head. The latest cases identified in the States. The patients here who were under Wells’s care.

Had he read about them or was it a memory surfacing?

“I should have known,” Megan said interrupting his thoughts.

“What? I mean why?”

“Because that was one of Tom’s areas. I suppose that’s the reason you were brought in to work with him.”

Cole nodded. “I’ll be looking over his files this week.”

April emerged from inside the room, thumbing her fingers through her bangs. “He’s finally resting. Did something happen to trigger his episode?”

Megan shrugged. “Not that I know of. He did get more agitated when Dr. Hunter came in, but he was upset before then.”

April introduced herself. She was attractive, Cole noticed, tall and slender with a heart-shaped face and almond colored eyes. Although she didn’t have the same gut-wrenching effect Megan Wells had on him.

Too bad; she was much more attainable than a woman who’d just been widowed.

Irritation hit him. How could he think about a flirtatious relationship with anyone, much less a dead man’s wife, when his life was in such turmoil?

For a brief second, April sized him up, a flicker of approval in her smile. “It’s nice to have you on board, Dr. Hunter. If you need help learning your way around, feel free to ask.”

“Actually, Me… Mrs. Wells has been giving me the tour.”

April’s smile seemed tight. So she had been interested.

“All right.” April brushed his hand with long nimble fingers. “I’d be glad to brief you on anything else you need.”

“Daryl mentioned something about patients being hooked up to electrodes,” Megan said, seemingly oblivious to the tension between him and her friend. “It sounded like shock treatment. April, do you know of anyone using that technique now?”

April shook her head, removing her plastic gloves. “But I wouldn’t go around asking questions, Meg.” Her voice grew low. “You know how sensitive some of the scientists and doctors are about their work, especially the classified projects. If I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut and do my job.”

APRIL’S WARNING BUGGED Megan as she walked Hunter back to his office. She certainly understood privileged information, confidential cases, and the importance of not divulging the research center’s confidential work, but in light of Tom’s death and this new man’s presence, curiosity ate at her. The timing of everything—Arnold Hughes’s disappearance, Tom’s death, Cole Hunter’s appearance and now Daryl Boyd’s claims about strange things happening at the center seemed way too coincidental.

“Thanks for the tour,” Cole said when they reached Tom’s office. Now Cole’s.

“Certainly.” Megan tried to ignore the subtle tension between her and this man. It had been eons since she’d felt this magnetism. Maybe never.

Guilt suffused her for the thought. Just what had attracted her to Tom?

The fact that he’d been safe. That he’d offered security, someone to lean on, when she’d never known any. She noticed a stack of mail on one of his bookshelves, a card on top. She picked it up without thinking, her eyes tearing when she noticed her name scribbled on the envelope. Tom had bought it for her but hadn’t given in to her.

“What’s that?” Cole asked.

“A card from Tom.” She opened the envelope and removed the card, smiling at the yellow daises on the cover. Daisies were her favorite flower. Inside, she skimmed the few words he’d written, Dear Meg. I know things have been rocky, but I still do love you.

Why hadn’t he given her the card?

She brushed a tear away, faintly aware Cole was watching her. Before she realized what had happened, he stroked her arm.

Megan jumped back, amazed at the tingle that spread through her at his touch.

“I’m sorry.” An odd look darkened his eyes as if he’d felt the same electric charge pass between them. Several tense seconds lapsed before he spoke again. He indicated a folder in his hands. “Did you know what your husband was working on?”

Megan startled, remembering how secretive Tom had been the last few weeks she’d seen him. “Not exactly. He pretty much kept his work to himself.”

But she wanted to know, she thought, a firm resolve setting in. She wanted to know that he hadn’t been involved in anything illegal or unethical. That he had loved her and that he had died in an accident. That if he had lived, they could have worked things out.

Then she could put the questions in her mind to rest. And maybe she could move on with her life without so many misgivings.

COLE SPENT THE AFTERNOON poring over the case files he’d inherited from Tom Wells.

Amazing, but Wells’s notes on hypnosis seemed familiar.

As did the details and information on three of his patients. Harry Fontaine. Frank Carson. Jesse Aiken.

Just as Wells’s wife Megan felt familiar.

He’d had another flash of an image when he’d touched her earlier today. Before he’d seen her open the card, he had known it had daisies on the front.

But how could he know that? And how could he recognize those files if he’d never read them or met the patients?

Impossible.

Unless he had spoken with Wells on the phone about them? Perhaps they’d consulted since they’d been studying similar areas of work. Maybe he should use some of the hypnotic treatments to try and regain his own memory. He’d have to speak to his doctor about it.

And maybe Wells had told him about Megan. That she liked daisies.

But he doubted it.

Remembering the questions he’d had about his work back in Oakland, he searched the Rolodex, listing the companies affiliated with CIRP until he found a listing for Dr. Frank Chadburn, director of the psychiatric department at Oakland.

He punched in the number. Maybe Chadburn could shed some light on Cole’s life and fill in some of the details about his move to Savannah.

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU WERE working today.” April poked her head into the file room.

Megan glanced up from the folders in her lap, hoping guilt didn’t show on her face. She’d been scanning the charts for anything that might support Daryl Boyd’s allegations. April would simply say the man was delusional, which she knew was true to an extent, but still, the timing of Tom’s death with Cole’s Hunter’s appearance, and the patient’s rantings bothered her. She had heard of a shock treatment similar to the one he’d described that had been used at another facility, but it had been banned. She didn’t know of anyone here who would try to implement it. But she had to know for sure.

Thankfully, she hadn’t found anything suspicious.

“I couldn’t face going home yet, thought I’d clean up the files.”

April frowned. “I know it’s tough, Meg. But you can’t stay here around the clock.”

Megan stuffed the folders back into place. “It’s just that the house is so quiet, April. Not that Tom was there that much before, but…but at least I knew he was coming home.” Even though they’d been separated, it hadn’t seemed final.

Not like death.

April leaned over and gave her a hug. “I know, honey. But it’ll get better. In time.”

Megan stood, her legs and back aching from bending over to reach the lower drawers. “I guess I’ll head home now.”

“You want to grab dinner?” April asked.

Megan shook her head. “I still have a dozen casseroles at home. Besides, I’m not even hungry. But if you want to stop by, I’ll heat one up.”

April shrugged. “Actually I’ll take a rain check. I may have a date later tonight myself.”

Megan arched a brow. “A keeper, I hope.”

April laughed. “Maybe.”

“So who is the lucky guy?”

“I’d rather not say, Meg. I don’t want to jinx it just yet.”

Curiosity niggled at Megan. “Someone from the center?”

April winked. “Now, that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Megan laughed, fighting irritation. Although she considered the woman her best friend, April could sometimes be secretive.

Just like Tom had been.

She grabbed her purse, ready to leave. Tonight she’d sort through his things, maybe see if she could access his files. And maybe she’d figure out what he’d been hiding from her.

“DR. CHADBURN, THIS IS COLE Hunter.”

“Yes, how are you doing?”

Cole’s fingers tightened around the phone as he focused on the man’s voice. He didn’t recognize it. “I’m settling in. I suppose you heard about my accident.”

“Yes, so sorry, son. You were on your way to Savannah when it happened.”

“So I’ve been told. My memory’s pretty foggy, though.”

“Ah, I see. Well, what can I do for you?”

Cole leaned back in the swivel desk chair and massaged his temple, fighting another headache. “I’m trying to talk to people and see if it jogs my memory. Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding my transfer from Oakland.”

A moment of hesitation followed. Finally Chadburn cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what you mean, except that you’d been in touch with the research center there for months. The facility is much larger, with more cutting edge techniques for treating psychotic disorders. It seemed a natural fit.”

Cole frowned. So it had been a smooth transition.

Then why did he have this nagging feeling that just before his accident he’d been arguing with one of the doctors? Trouble was, he didn’t know if it had been someone from Oakland or CIRP. And he had no idea what they might have argued about.

“I JUST RECEIVED A CALL from Frank Chadburn at Oakland. Cole Hunter called him.”

He yanked his cigarette pack from his pocket and tore open the cellophane. “Damn. What did he want?”

“Chadburn said he wanted to know the conditions of his transfer here. Chadburn stuck to the story we’d worked out.”

“Thank God. You think he suspects something?”

“I don’t know. Hunter claimed he was just trying to jog his memories by talking to people he knew.”

He lit the cigarette, inhaled, tried to calm himself.

“Just keep a handle on the situation. Spend some time with Hunter, make him focus on work. That’s the only reason he’s here, you know.”

“Right.”

“And Wells’s wife?”

“I’m watching her as well.” A job he didn’t mind at all.

But he didn’t like the fact that Hunter had spent the morning with her. Or that he was asking questions. And if he got anywhere near the truth, if he went searching for information about the real Cole Hunter, he’d have to do something to stop him.

MEGAN STOPPED BY CONNIE’S office to pick up the box of items she’d packed earlier.

“You heading home?” Connie asked.

“Yes. How about you? Don’t you need to pick up your son from day care?”

Connie flicked off her computer. “Yeah. After I check on Dr. Hunter, I’ll hit the road.”

“You want me to wait so we can walk out together?”

“No, go ahead. He might need something. You look worn-out, Megan.”

“I am. Give little Donny a hug for me.”

Taking a last look at the closed door where her husband used to sit, Megan clutched the box in her hands and left. But she couldn’t squelch the questions tumbling through her head as she walked down the hall to the lower parking deck. Why did Cole Hunter rattle her so?

The sun was beginning to fade, and the early evening shadows in the garage played havoc with her nerves. Last night she had thought someone had come into her house. Had she been dreaming? Had she somehow opened her window without remembering it or had someone really been there? And if so, who? And why?

Hurrying now, she fumbled with her keys, checking the parking lot for other workers. Odd that the place was nearly deserted when it was only a little past five. Of course, the evening shift had just come on the hospital at three, so she had missed the daily changeover. A footstep sounded behind her and she scanned the area behind her, but saw nothing. The whisper of cigarette smoke drifted toward her.

Her pulse racing, she finally unlocked her SUV and slipped inside. Still scanning the dark spaces of the garage, she locked the car door, then carefully placed the box onto the floor, and started the engine. Heart racing, she threw the car into gear and sped out of the lot. A pair of headlights nearly blinded her as she pulled onto the street. The car swerved and honked at her, then raced on. Megan exhaled a shaky breath and forced herself to lift her foot from the accelerator. She was fine. Safe.

For heaven’s sakes, if she didn’t stop this, she was going to need therapy herself.

Music usually relaxed her, so she switched on the radio and turned onto the highway toward Savannah. The bay bridge loomed ahead and she fell into traffic. A strange odor permeated the car, though. She sniffed, trying to put her finger on the scent, but she couldn’t figure out the source. She glanced around the vehicle for a damp towel or bag of trash that might be causing the foul smell, but saw nothing. The traffic slowly eased over the bridge, the pace picking up as some of the cars turned toward Whistlestop Island.

A small white puff of smoke drifted up in front of her. It took Megan several seconds to realize the smoke was coming from her vehicle. The engine was on fire.

She tried to remain calm as red-hot sparks spewed from the hood. It must have overheated. She’d pull over and let it cool. Call a mechanic.

She swung the Explorer to the side of the road, bouncing as it hit the rocks along the coastal line, then stopped just before going over the embankment. Her heart racing, she jumped out of the car. A second later, the entire vehicle burst into flames.

Chapter Five

Cole rubbed at his neck as he maneuvered over the bay bridge, his gaze straying to the envelope holding Tom Wells’s appointment book which he’d jammed in between the console and seat and passenger side. He’d found it as soon as Megan had left and had tried to catch her, but he’d missed her, so he decided to drop it by her place. He’d also discovered a silver compact in the desk drawer. Assuming it was hers, he’d brought it as well.

The thick evening traffic slowed, the sight of smoke drawing his eye in the fading sunset. He watched a flume of smoke curl into the graying sky, flames shooting upward in jagged orange and red lines. His chest caught when he realized the burning wreckage was a Ford Explorer. The same one Megan Wells drove. Was she inside?

He steered off to the left side of the road and drove along the embankment. Finally he spotted her standing a few feet from the burning wreckage.

Thank God.

But what had happened?

Hunched over, with her arms wrapped around herself as if she might collapse, she looked dazed and confused. And so damn vulnerable, a surge of protectiveness swept over him.

His heart pounding, he swerved off the road and screeched to a stop. He threw open the door, grabbed the cane, then limped toward her, cursing his weak leg.

MEGAN’S SHOCKED GAZE was glued to the site of flames consuming her SUV. A man in a black pickup had stopped and phoned 911, two other cars had joined him.

“Ma’am, are you hurt?” one of the bystanders asked.

“Did you get burned?” the elderly woman with him asked.

“No. I…I’m fine.” In spite of the heat, Megan’s teeth chattered. If she hadn’t gotten out when she had, she would be trapped inside.

And most likely dead.

“Megan!” Cole Hunter suddenly appeared beside her, winded and looking concerned. He gently grabbed her and turned her toward him. “Are you all right?”

Megan nodded, hating the sting of tears pricking at her eyes.

“What happened? Did someone hit you?” He checked the area, searching for another car, but the ones that had stopped were apparently innocent onlookers who’d tried to help.

“No, I smelled a weird odor, then I saw this puff of smoke—” Her voice broke, but she inhaled to gain control. “So I pulled over, but when I got out, the whole car burst into flames.”

Megan swayed. Cole pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as they waited on the emergency vehicles. A police siren wailed in the distance, and the sound of a fire engine roaring toward them drowned out the sound of the waves lapping at the shore. Heat scalded them, the crackling of burning metal splintering through the silence.

Seconds later, chaos erupted as firemen roared to a stop, jumped down issuing orders, and began trying to hose down the flames. One police officer instructed bystanders to move along and began to direct traffic, while the other one introduced himself as Wayne Lamont. “Ma’am, what happened here?”

Megan tried to pull herself together and reiterated the same story she’d told Cole Hunter.

“So no one else was involved?” the burly officer asked.

“No.”

Lamont wiped sweat from his face. “Did you hit something, run off the road, lose control?

“No.” Megan mentally replayed those last few seconds. “I just smelled something odd, wasn’t sure what it was, then I saw smoke so I figured the engine had overheated.” The flames were dying down with the onslaught of water from the fire hose. “When I stopped to check the engine, the whole car burst into flames.”

“Did you check your engine gage before you got out?”

Megan frowned. “Yes, when I first noticed the smell, but it was normal.”

“It wasn’t registering hot?”

“No. What would make it do this?”

The policeman pulled at his double chin. “I don’t know, ma’am. Faulty engine or a gas leak maybe. We’ll check it out.”

“You do that,” Hunter said in a strained voice. “Make sure there’s no foul play.”

The cop raised a thick gray eyebrow. “What makes you think it might be foul play, mister?”

Megan glanced at Cole wondering the same thing.

“Cars just don’t catch on fire,” Cole said, a dark look in his eyes.

“Can I get your name, sir?”

“Cole Hunter. A…a friend of Ms. Wells.”

A friend? She barely knew this man. And how had he arrived so soon after the fire?

Shadows darkened his eyes as he gazed at her. Had he read her mind?

“You really think the fire might not have been accidental?”

“Yes.”

But why would he suspect foul play? And why had he shown up when he had?

“I’m just trying to protect you, Megan.”

She remembered the questions she’d had about Tom’s death, Cole’s sudden appearance, the unsettling feeling that someone had been in her house, Boyd’s accusations earlier in the day, the whispered warning that she might be in danger in the night. Fear gripped her. What was going on?

“DO YOU NEED A RIDE HOME, Mrs. Wells?” Officer Lamont asked after he’d written down her insurance information. The other policeman questioned the two cars that had stopped, then sent them on their way.

“Thanks, that would be—”

“I’ll give her a ride,” Cole offered.

Megan opened her mouth to refuse, but he silenced her with another one of his dark looks. He didn’t understand the fierce protective instinct that came over him, but he had to make sure she arrived home safely.

“We work at the same place,” Cole explained when the policeman arched both eyebrows. “Besides, I was planing to stop by her apartment anyway. I have some things from the office for her.”

Lamont shrugged. “All right with you, ma’am?”

“I suppose.” Tension knotted Megan’s muscles. If Cole meant her harm, surely he wouldn’t announce to the police that he was driving her home.

“Let your insurance know about this right away, Ms. Wells. We’ll call you when our report is finished.”

Megan nodded and moved as if on autopilot when Cole led her to his Jetta. As soon as he slipped inside the car, the tension escalated.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Megan?”

“Yes.” She fidgeted with a loose thread on her shirt, then remembered the seat belt and buckled it securely. “Were you really coming by my apartment?”

“Yes.” He wove into traffic. “I found some more of your husband’s things. I thought you might want them.” He indicated the envelope stuck between the console.

Megan lifted the manila envelope, her hands still shaking. He ignored the urge to fold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. That he would take care of her.

He had no right. No connection to Megan Wells. And he had to remember it.

Recovering his memory had to take first priority.

She opened the clasp and pulled out her husband’s personal appointment book.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that, but—” He shrugged. “I thought you might.”

She flipped through the book, not really reading the contents, but absorbing the fact that it held Tom’s handwriting.

“There’s something else, too,” he said, gesturing toward the envelope.

She frowned and reached inside, then slowly removed the silver compact. Her eyes narrowed as she turned it over and examined the back etchings.

“Where did you find this?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He cut across the left lane and veered into town. “Tom’s desk. I figured you’d left it there sometime—”

“It’s not mine.”

If it didn’t belong to Wells’s wife, then whose was it?

The most obvious answer—it belonged to another woman. The same suspicions flared in Megan’s eyes.

Was her husband having an affair before he died?

MEGAN TRACED A FINGER OVER the expensive silver compact. Had Tom been involved with someone else? Had another woman captured his heart and given him the happiness she’d been unable to? Was this woman the reason for all his secrets and not his job as she’d thought?

Hurt and anger twisted inside her, carving a hole in her already shattered emotions. “It must belong to Connie,” she said finally, stuffing the compact back in the envelope.

He nodded, although she saw a muscle tick in his jaw. He didn’t believe her. Had he known more about Tom than he’d revealed?

She was surprised when he headed toward the section of town where she lived. In fact, he pulled into her driveway without once asking for directions. The beautiful azaleas had turned brown, shading the sun from the front door.

She studied Cole’s features. “How did you know where I lived?”

He shrugged, gazing at her with that same intense look. “I…I don’t know. Maybe someone told me. Maybe I’ve been here before.”

“You haven’t.” She glared at him. “How well did you know my husband, Dr. Hunter?”

His jaw tightened. “Not well. What little I did know, I’ve forgotten.”

She laced her hands over the envelope. “What do you mean, you’ve forgotten?”

Cole raked a hand through his hair, the scar more striking in the glare. “Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.”

“No, why don’t you tell me now. You’re hiding something and I don’t like it.”

“I don’t mean to be hiding anything.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I told you I was in an accident.” He reached for the door handle, then stopped as if he realized he was frightening her. “I suffered a head trauma in the accident, Megan,” he said in a low voice, “and I…I lost my memory.”

Megan’s breath caught. He sounded sincere, yet should she trust him? “You mean you have amnesia?”

“Yes. I may or may not ever recover the memories. That’s one reason I’m not ready to start seeing patients yet. I may never be.”

She unfastened her seat belt ready to escape if need be. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” he admitted. A long-suffering sigh escaped him. “When I read some of the files, I recognize the technical terms. But I don’t remember my name, much less anything about my life as Cole Hunter, not where I lived, my family, where I grew up, nothing except for the things Jones and Parnell told me. I don’t even remember coming here for an interview or taking this job.” He stretched his hands in front of him, rubbing a finger over the puckered scar. “All I know is that I came from Oakland Research Institute in Tennessee. That’s where I signed on to work with your husband. And…”

“And what?”

“And…” He hesitated again. His voice turned low, husky. A smoldering heat warmed his eyes as he stared into hers. “And that there’s something about you that is familiar, too.”

A strained heartbeat passed between them. Megan wet her dry lips with her tongue, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The car closed around her as if it had suddenly shrunk.

“But that’s impossible.” She hated the quiver in her voice. “We didn’t meet until Tom’s funeral.”

He touched her hand, stroked her fingers one by one, then turned her hand over and traced a heart in the center of her palm. Tears filled her eyes while a bizarre feeling engulfed her. Tom used to do the same thing.

Who was this man and how did he know that Tom had done that?

Panicking, she swung open the car door and nearly fell out. Heart sputtering, she hurried up the steps to her flat, fumbling with the key to the door. The older home had been divided into two apartments; hers occupied the bottom floor. Thankfully the other tenant had his own entrance.

Cole appeared beside her in a flash, yanked the keys from her hand and frowned at her. He’d left the cane in the car. Without it, he seemed even more imposing. Manly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Megan. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A shudder rippled up her spine. “I…I never said I was afraid.”

He cupped her chin in his hand, slowly rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth along her cheek. His eyes darkened to a smoky hue and his breath bathed her cheek in an erotic whisper.

A frightening sense of déjà vu encompassed her.

Then his lips parted and he tilted his head as if he meant to kiss her. Megan froze.

“I won’t hurt you, Meg,” he said in a husky voice. “You can trust me.” He cupped her face in his hands and hunger flashed in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. Megan couldn’t move, couldn’t force herself to stop him. His mouth brushed hers so gently, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. He closed his lips over hers, and pulled her to him, holding her against his hard body as he sipped at her mouth in a long slow kiss that made her body yearn for more.

A hot surge of need, of desperation tore through Megan at the low moan rumbling from his throat. She answered with one of her own, her heart thumping wildly as his tongue teased her lips apart, as he probed the inner recesses of her mouth with his tongue.

But this was all wrong.

She was a married woman, she could never cheat on Tom, no matter how far apart they had been…but she wasn’t married now, a tiny voice whispered. Tom was gone.

Forever lost. As was the chance to try to make their marriage work.

But he had only been gone a few short weeks. And she knew nothing about this man, except that he had unnerved her from the moment she’d met him. His hands raked down her back to pull her closer into his embrace. His chest felt like a band of steel, his shoulders so broad she ached to lean into him. Ached to let him make her feel whole again. To make her forget the harsh way she and Tom had ended their last night together. The hurtful things he’d said…