Safe In His Arms. Christine Scott
truck by inches. Her BMW bumped off the pavement, hitting the shoulder with a loud thump. The back end of her car spun out behind her. Crushed seashells crunched beneath the tires. Thick clouds of dust rose up around her, nearly choking her. Before the car finally settled to a wobbly stop, she heard the pop-pop, then the slow hiss of two tires going flat.
Coughing, covering her mouth to keep from swallowing any more dust, Jessie thanked the powers that be for saving her life. And then the tremors set in. Blaming the reaction on delayed shock, her hands shook so badly she barely managed to slip the car out of gear and turn off the engine. Even before the dust settled, she threw open the car door and scrambled outside, feeling the need for the anchoring strength of solid ground.
Her legs nearly buckled beneath her as she tried to stand. She leaned both arms against the door, giving herself a moment to calm her jittery nerves. A thick coat of dust covered her black sleeveless turtleneck and her white jeans. She didn’t even have the strength to brush the grit away.
“Are you all right?”
Jessie whipped around, startled by the deep, male voice. She tore her sunglasses from the bridge of her nose and squinted at the man approaching her. The driver of the pickup truck, no doubt. Perhaps it was just a trick of the hazy sunlight, or perhaps it was just that—considering the circumstances—she was feeling a bit more vulnerable than usual, but he appeared larger than life, towering over her.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered.
“You took a bad skid,” he said, narrowing his pale blue eyes as he scanned her body from head to toe. Jessie fought the urge to fidget beneath his assessing gaze.
“Really, I’m okay. There’s no need to worry,” she said, struggling to collect her scattered aplomb, wondering what it was about him that had set her body tingling and her mind racing with awareness.
He stood an inch or two over six feet and was a hard-muscled, tawny-haired and powerful male. But she knew it wasn’t only his size that drew her attention. There was something about the man, something that stirred recognition deep inside her.
She hesitated. Then, frowning, she asked, “Do I know you? You look so familiar.”
For just a second, irritation flickered in his eyes. Then quickly he hid the emotion behind a polite smile. “No, I don’t think so. I have that sort of face. So common, everyone thinks they’ve met me before.”
Common wasn’t the word she would use to describe the way he looked. Handsome, rugged, unforgettable, those were terms that came to mind as she studied him closely.
Realizing she was staring, she averted her eyes. What was wrong with her? No matter how good-looking he might be, it wasn’t like her to ogle a man. Especially when the man was a complete stranger. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I could have sworn—”
“It looks like your car’s the one that suffered most of the damage,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.
Not giving her a chance to answer, he strode past her, close enough that they brushed arms. She felt the heat of his body singe her bare skin. Sucking in a surprised breath, she inhaled the earthy, male scent of sweat and hard work. Jessie swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to ignore the sensations stirring in the pit of her stomach. What was happening to her? Never before had she experienced such a quick and intense awareness of a man.
The stranger glanced at her sharply, telling her he, too, had been affected by their brief contact. But he had the good grace not to comment. Instead, he focused his attention on her BMW’s flat tires. He gave the first tire a kick for good measure, then hunkered down on bent knee for a closer look at the second. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, Jessie tried not to notice the way his faded jeans hugged the taut muscles of his thighs.
“The rim’s bent on this tire. It’ll have to be replaced. Where are you headed?”
He’d been quiet for so long, the sound of his deep voice startled her. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one else was there, that the question was directed at her. Then, feeling foolish, the heat of embarrassment rising on her cheeks, she said, “I’m on my way to Prudence Island.”
His gaze slid from the BMW to her long legs encased in a pair of designer jeans, his lingering look one of pure male appreciation. “Are you staying at one of the resorts?”
“No, I’m not a tourist,” she said, her flush deepening beneath the heat of his gaze. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make the distinction. After all, this was her first trip to Prudence Island. Her stay hopefully would be brief, since she had no desire to keep the house on a permanent basis. To all intents and purposes, she was a tourist. “I own a house on the island.”
Slowly he rose to his feet, a frown furrowing his brow. “I’ve lived on Prudence Island all of my life. I’m sure I would remember if I’d seen you before.”
It was a statement of fact. One that did not offend her. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t a matter of disbelief on his part. Rather, he merely seemed curious. “That’s because I’ve only recently inherited a cottage on the island. Though it’s been in my family for quite some time.”
“Which cottage is that?” he asked, his tone still polite, friendly, encouraging her to answer.
“Gull’s Cottage.”
His reaction was immediate. He flinched as though he’d been struck. She heard the sharp inhalation of his breath. His face paled beneath his tanned skin, his eyes widening in surprise. He looked stunned by the news. In a strained, almost harsh voice, he demanded, “What’s your name?”
“M-my name?”
He stared at her, not saying another word, his lips pressed in a firm, unrelenting line.
“It’s Jessie, Jessie Pierce. Why do you want—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. Turning on his heel, he strode toward his truck. Jessie stared at him in disbelief as he climbed into the cab and slammed the door behind him. When he gunned the motor to life, a hot flush of anger melted her frozen limbs.
Her Good Samaritan was abandoning her.
“W-wait,” she called out, following after him. “Where are you going? My car…I’ve only got one spare tire. You can’t just leave me here.”
Glancing at her briefly, he forced his gaze to the road before him. His face stony with suppressed anger, he said, “I’ll send out a tow truck, as soon as I get to town. That’s all I can promise.”
With that he threw the truck into gear and peeled away from the shoulder, sending up a spray of crushed shell and dust in his wake. Jessie waved a hand in front of her face, trying to clear the air as she stood at the side of the road, unable to believe what had just happened.
One minute the handsome stranger had seemed polite, friendly, ready to help; the next, he’d become cool, distant. He had abandoned her.
Growling her frustration, she stamped a foot in a useless show of self-righteous indignation. For his sake, as well her own, it had better be the last time she ever laid eyes on—
Dammit, she didn’t even know the man’s name.
Well, hell! Whoever he might be, he’d just better stay out of her way from now on.
Samuel Conners glanced out the side mirror of his truck at the woman standing alone on the shoulder of the road. An arrow of guilt pierced his heart when he saw how vulnerable she appeared. Tiny and petite, she couldn’t have stood taller than five-three, or weighed much more than a hundred pounds. He almost smiled when she stamped her foot in a show of anger.
But he didn’t.
Instead, despite the sultry heat of the day, he shivered. And he knew that the coldness that had enveloped him had nothing to do with the weather. It had to do with a chilling memory from the past.
Jessie Pierce, all grown up and beautiful…
What