After Midnight. Diana Palmer
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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 kind 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