Storm Front (Reunited Hearts) (3 page)

She
would face more than one danger in this house, stranded alone with Michael in
the middle of a storm.

“I
might have a minor head injury,” Michael murmured, an even more erotic texture
to his tone. “But the rest of me is working just fine.”

As she walked away from
Michael, Allison realized that she wouldn’t need to hunt through the old house
for some dry clothes. Her overnight bag was still in the back of her SUV.

Although
she hated the idea of braving the storm again, it would be worth it for her
luggage, so she unlocked the front door of the house, got her car keys ready,
took a deep breath, and dashed out into the rain and wind.

A
minute later, she was back inside with her overnight bag in hand. She carried
it with her as she explored the second floor, peeking into bedrooms and
checking out the contents of medicine cabinets and closets.

For
the most part, her search turned up furnished but otherwise empty rooms, but in
one large suite she found a closet of musty clothes and some stored toiletries.
She gathered what she needed and headed off to find Michael again.

She
discovered him in the kitchen, digging through the pantry. The kitchen was
old-fashioned and pleasant, although very dim, since it was lit only by the
gray light from one window and a few candles Michael must have found.

“There
are plenty of matches,” he said, his head still stuck in the pantry. “And
there’s some canned food in here. Better than nothing, I guess.”

“That’s
good.” Allison dumped her treasures on the butcher-block table. “I found some
medical supplies. And lots of towels. And I got you a change of clothes if you
want to get out of your wet ones.”

When
she finished speaking, she wished she hadn’t mentioned his wet clothes. Because
all she could see was the way his soaked trousers molded the firm contours of
his ass.

He
glanced over his shoulders and caught her leering at him. She knew because his
eyes took on that hot expression again.

“I
got my bag out of the car,” Allison said hoarsely, trying not to do something
as ridiculous as blush. “If you let me fix your head, we can get into dry
clothes.”

“I
hope you’re not planning to fuss over me.”

“Don’t
flatter yourself, but you’re bleeding all over the place, and it’s only
sensible to disinfect and bandage the wound.” She exaggerated the extent of his
bleeding because his lofty tone annoyed her. He had bled quite a bit, though, and
the sight of it smeared on his skin and his collar was disturbing.

He
relented, frowning as he sat down at the kitchen table. “I checked the stove,
and the gas is working. We should be able to light a burner.”

“Good.”
She was genuinely relieved to hear this piece of information, but she was too
distracted to focus on it. She dampened a washcloth and used it to wipe the
blood from Michael’s head. Once the excess blood was cleaned off, she applied
the antiseptic wash she’d found and taped a bandage over the wound, trying to
avoid his thick hair as much as possible.

She
worked in silence, her hands strangely shaky but as gentle as she could make
them. She felt tense and anxious as she tended his injury. Part of it was
concern about hurting him, but it was more than that. The act felt personal,
intimate, and she stood very close to him as she worked.

She
wished he would say something. She wished he didn’t pulse with a kind of
masculine, powerful energy. She wished her fingers didn’t tremble as they
brushed over his skin. And she wished she didn’t sense the tension in his
muscles as he sat perfectly still and submitted to her care.

When
she finally finished, her belly twisted with nerves and emotion, and another
kind of compulsion coursed through her with her blood.

She
couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to kiss him, touch him, make love to
him. She’d just been a teenager, easily swayed by the attractions of an older
man, but she wanted him again now—just as strongly as before.

He
was no longer the quiet, careful young man she’d known before, however. Although
he might be attracted to her for the moment, she had no desire to be one in the
long list of Michael Martin’s sexual conquests.

So
she pitched her voice matter-of-factly as she moved to rinse the bloodied
washcloth out in the sink. “There. That’s all I can do. It doesn’t look too bad
really. Are you still dizzy?”

“I’m
fine. If it’s a concussion, it’s a mild one.” His words were convincing, but he
didn’t move from his chair. He watched her with deep, intense, blue-gray eyes.

She
felt oddly self-conscious as she turned around, and her whole body shook with
inexplicable waves of anxiety and need. She was usually a confident,
no-nonsense woman, and she wasn't used to feeling this way, so she reacted with
her characteristic sharpness. “Are you just going to sit there and drip on the
floor?”

Michael’s
eyes narrowed astutely. “You’re shivering.”

“Well,
what do you expect? I’m cold, wet, and stranded with you in the middle of a tropical
storm!”

Chuckling,
Michael stood up and picked up the white t-shirt and jeans she’d brought down.
“This all you could find?”

“There
were some old tweed suits and a couple of pairs of overalls. I figured you’d
prefer the jeans.” The image of Michael in tweed or overalls made Allison
snicker despite herself.

“Good
call.” He ran his eyes up and down her form, his eyes lingering on her breasts
beneath her wet, clinging shirt. “I’m going to change clothes. I’d suggest you
do the same.”

Even
such innocuous words fueled Allison’s desire. She felt her nipples tighten and
her intimate muscles clench at the expression in his eyes.

But
she told herself to be sensible. There were far more urgent things for her to
worry about than jumping into bed with Michael Martin.

*
* *

Michael dried himself
off with one of the towels Allison had found and then pulled on the dry
clothes. The t-shirt was fine and the jeans basically fit, but he’d prefer to
wear his own clothes.

Had
he been thinking, he would have grabbed his bag from his SUV before they
abandoned it.

Before
he returned to the kitchen, he took a minute to school his body’s reactions. He
was responding to Allison in ridiculous ways, turned on by the feel of her
gentle fingers on his head and by the ironic lilt to her voice. He’d been
partially hard as he left her a minute ago. Her wet, transparent shirt was
temptation enough, revealing that body he was dying to touch again, but he was
usually far more controlled than this, even with a woman he desired.

His
only explanation was that the blow to his head had affected his composure and
good sense.

He
was about to leave the room he’d ducked into—furnished as a study or
office—when something on a shelf against the wall caught his eye.

An
old, portable radio.

He
grabbed it and brought it with him as he returned to the kitchen. There, he
took a can of soup from the pantry and a pot from the pot rack. He was in the
middle of lighting the burner to the stove when Allison returned.

“Oh!”
she exclaimed, coming into the kitchen wearing a pair of casual gray pants and
a red top that flattered her figure. “You found a radio. Are there batteries?”

“They’re
dead, but maybe we can find some elsewhere in the house.” Michael hunted
through the utensil drawer until he found a can opener. “Chicken soup?” he
asked with a wry note of amusement. “There’s a tea kettle there too, if you’d
like.”

Allison
blinked at him for a moment. Then evidently remembered her tart comment from
the drive to the house. “Tea and soup sounds good to me, but don’t expect me to
serve it to you in bed.”

The
last word conjured up a series of erotic images in Michael’s mind, and they
evidently showed in his expression.

Allison
glanced away, looking delectably embarrassed. “I didn’t mean
that
.”

Michael’s
lips twitched up. “I know. Although you wouldn't hear me complaining.”

He
wished he knew more about her life over the last seven years. She’d dropped off
his radar completely after she left Whitesville for college, and his dad had
moved their company to New York.

There
seemed to be so many layers to her now, though. She was obviously an
attractive, intelligent, and confident woman, but at times he caught flickers
of something like innocence lingering under the surface—in the way she blushed,
in the way she glanced away.

It
fascinated him. Mesmerized him. Called to him in a way that just a beautiful
body wouldn’t.

He’d
seen hundreds of beautiful women before. He’d taken an endless number of them
to bed.

But
there was so much more to Allison that he couldn’t yet define. She was a
mystery, a puzzle, a challenge.

Even
the frown she was giving him now, obviously annoyed at the way he was staring
at her, made him want to sink into a kiss, sink into her body.

Clearly
the head injury had hopelessly rattled his brain.

He
turned back to dump the soup into the pot on the stove, and Allison puttered
around, filling up a tea kettle with water from the sink—which thankfully still
worked—and then starting to search through the rest of the drawers.

After
a minute, she let out a squeal. Michael turned to see her holding up three
packs of batteries. “What size do we need?” she asked.

“C.”

Allison
tore open a pack, beaming at him with a breathtaking smile. “We’re in luck.”

While
Michael heated up the soup and poured it into two bowls, Allison got the radio
working and turned the dial until she found a station.

They
listened to weather reports while they ate their meal, and by the time they
finished they’d heard enough about the situation to be relieved.

The
storm had reduced in intensity significantly by the time it hit land, and it
was moving fast. The immediate coastal areas were the ones in most danger from
the storm surges. The rest of the region, including where they were now, could
expect tumultuous rain and heavy winds, but the forecasters expected the worst
to be through by tonight.

It
wasn’t going to be as destructive as storm as everyone had feared.

“Whew,”
Allison said, leaning back in her chair. “That’s a relief. We should be all
right here, then.”

“And
we can probably get out tomorrow. One night shouldn’t be too bad.”

Now
that he knew they weren’t in a real crisis, Michael decided it wouldn’t be
unreasonable to indulge some of his other impulses.

They
were stuck together for one night. They were obviously attracted to each other.
His headache had reduced to just a low throbbing. And they had nothing else to
do to entertain themselves.

His
engagement to Gina had lasted six months. For a while, he’d actually thought he
was in love. He’d known Gina for years, and he’d believed she truly understood
him. She was sweet and pretty, and she fit well into his social world as a
beautiful companion who could charm everyone they met. She didn’t make Michael
worry too deeply or stress too much. She was easy, and it seemed a natural
match.

She’d
been pliant and accommodating—in the bedroom and out of it—which had suited Michael
just fine. But he’d never felt the kind of hot, intense physical need for Gina
that he was experiencing now.

For
Allison.

Whom
he hadn’t seen for years.

And
who really wasn’t his type.

He’d
been dead wrong about Gina, in every way that mattered, and it would be a long
time before Michael let himself commit to a woman in that way or let himself be
so vulnerable again.

But
one passionate night with Allison wouldn't be a risk, and it might be exactly
what he needed.

She
was attracted to him too. He knew it. He saw her cheeks flush deeply and her
breathing quicken to an eager panting as she stared at him, the heat in her
green eyes smoldering to match his before she glanced away.

What
was it about her that he found so compelling? He still couldn’t identify it.
But his body tightened excitedly as he noticed the outline of her erect nipples
and the delicious curve from her waist to her hip.

Michael
definitely wasn’t going to waste this one night.

*
* *

Allison wished Michael
would stop staring at her that way.

It
was as if he wanted to swallow her alive, as if she’d be burned to embers by
the heat of his intensity.

She
remembered some of that intensity from when they’d known each other before, but
it had gotten even more powerful over the years as he’d matured into the man he
was today.

She
knew what he wanted. She wasn’t a fool, and she wasn’t inexperienced. She had a
relatively active social life, although it had been a year since she’d had a
real boyfriend. She was, however, perfectly capable of identifying the
particular blaze she saw in his eyes.