Cold and wet, with no memory of who she was, no idea of where she found herself, meant she followed the broad back of the man who’d rescued her. A nice back, she should add, but, still, that of a stranger.
She didn’t know him or his motives. What did he plan? And why did he risk his life for her?
Yet, despite her questions, following his advice about not calling the police was probably the most prudent thing she could do. After all, what did she know of surviving a murder attempt?
But the more worrisome question should be: What did he know? And how?
Something about the man who saved her seemed off-kilter. Had she imagined the goldenlike glow of his gaze when they bobbed in the water? There was no denying the fact that he spoke and acted like a man used to getting his way—and not getting any argument.
Well, guess what, I am not going to play the part of subservient maiden. She might not recall her identity, but somehow she knew meekness was not something she allowed.
What apparently did seem allowed was an admiration for the male who moved with uncanny grace before her on the shadowy path. The feeble moonlight along with scattered solar lamps let her catch glimpses. Despite her sodden and chilly state, what she saw warmed her.
Apparently, I haven’t forgotten what I like in a man. And she did like the width of his broad shoulders, the height of him as well, at least a foot taller than her own frame. His pants clung to a tight rear, and as she let her gaze rove upward from it she noted the play of his muscles, outlined by his damp, clinging shirt.
As for his face, sharp cheeks, piercing eyes, a strong jaw, and lips that needed softening.
By a kiss.
She shook her head at the startling thought. Then winced. Her poor skull throbbed, the end result of the blow to it. Odd how she remembered what had recently happened and yet everything before it … just a blank slate in her mind.
Who am I?
It belatedly occurred to her she should check her pockets. Perhaps she had some form of identification, a wallet if she was lucky, maybe a phone. If she had pockets. Patting herself, she noted her outfit and made a moue.
Leggings with an oversized blouse meant no hidden recesses with a driver’s license. While the outfit might prove comfortable under normal circumstances, she couldn’t wait to shed it. The cold and wet fabric clung to her skin, and it was all she could do to not let her teeth chatter.
She couldn’t have said how long they walked, in silence since he didn’t seem in a hurry to start a conversation and she was too miserable to bother.
When he did finally speak, she almost stumbled.
“You’ll be able to see the house around the next bend,” he announced.
A house, he says?
As they came around the corner in the path, the foliage that previously blocked their view thinned. She gaped at the mansion, and her steps slowed as they approached.
Lights illuminated the exterior, a Southern-style plantation home with white columns, wide double doors in gleaming carved wood, and a multitude of windows.
“You live here?” A note of incredulity seeped into her query.
“Yes.”
“With your wife?” Okay, she honestly couldn’t say why she’d asked that.
His lips twitched as he caught her gaze. “I’m not married.”
Excellent. Although why she cared she couldn’t have said.
“Surely you don’t live here alone.”
“I have staff. Some of them have quarters in the attic. A few have cabins. I tend to host many visitors. So while I technically live alone, I am never truly without company.”
As they approached the front step leading up to the porch, a sweeping wide affair that wrapped around the mansion, the double doors were flung open with a flourish, and a balding gent, properly dressed in a suit, stepped forth, holding out some towels.
How did he know we needed some?
“Hot from the dryer, milord.”
Milord? Before she could giggle at the title, the warm, fluffy towel was draped around her shoulders. She couldn’t help a sigh of delight. So this is what butlers do. Hand out warm towels when their boss goes for a midnight swim. Handy.
Also handy was the mug thrust into her hand.
“A warm toddy for the lady?”
She stared stupidly at the steaming liquid. She had no idea what a toddy was, but it smelled like cinnamon. Given her trembling body and the cold nestled deep within, she probably needed it. She sipped and gasped as the alcohol burned its way down.
Her sodden rescuer chuckled. “As my father likes to say, fire in the hole!”
Fire indeed. She took another gulp and peeked around as the butler and his lord—snicker—had a chat in low tones.
If the outside of the house proved grand, the inside appeared even more opulent. Whoever this man was, he had wealth. Lots of it.
But I’m just as rich.
I am?
The certainty didn’t leave, but it also didn’t give her any memories or facts to support her belief.
The marble floor gleamed, and she stared at her feet, still clad in sandals, the leather straps holding them firmly to her feet. Brilliant red polish adorned her nails while a French manicure showed on her fingers. No thick calluses on the pads of her hands. I obviously don’t work in a labor-intensive field.
Because I’m the boss.
She was? Boss of what?
“Follow me.”
Distracted from her inner thoughts, she lifted her head and saw her rescuer stood on the first step of the sweeping staircase.
“Where are you going?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you to a room.”
She didn’t move. “What happened to talking about what happened and what to do next?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to do that after a shower and a change into dry clothes?”
It sounded so tempting. She took a step forward but halted before taking a second step. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? Offering you basic hospitality?”
“Yes, that and the whole saving-me thing. I mean who dives into a river to save a drowning woman and then acts so blasé about the fact that someone is shooting at them? Who are you?”
“I am Fabian Garoux.”
She snickered.
“I’m sorry, you find something amusing?”
“Did your parents not love you?”
“I’m not following.”
“Who saddles their child with a name like Fabian Garoux?” She laughed again. “I mean, it sounds like something out of a cheesy romance movie or novel.”
How indignant he appeared. His chin rose, his chest, if possible, widened, and his tone held a degree of imperial cool as he replied, “It is a name that makes people shiver.”
“With repressed mirth.”
“I am beginning to think I should have let you drown,” he grumbled as he turned and headed up the stairs.
“Oh please don’t tell me you’re going to mope. I hate it when men mope.”
“I do not mope,” he grumbled, shooting her a dark look over his shoulder. “I brood.”
“Because that’s so much better, Fabio.”
“It’s Fabian.”
“Whatever.”
“Says the river rat.”
Her grin faded. “Excuse me?”
“Well, since you can’t remember your name, we need something to call you by. Since you look like a drowned rat and I pulled you from the river … I’d say it should be self-explanatory.”
How nice of him to point out she looked less than presentable. “You suck.”
“I thought we’d already ascertained that I did. Although I would prefer if you bathed before I place my lips on your skin.”
“There will be no lips placed anywhere on my body,” she announced, even if said body shivered in response to his words.
“We’ll see,” was his enigmatic reply. “Here is your room.” He twisted the handle of a door and swung it open before sweeping his arm in a grand gesture.
She entered what could only be termed a suite, a large one by any standards. Thick carpeting of a creamy color offset the dark wood of the furniture. A patterned gray comforter piled with varying shades of pillows garnished the king-size bed.
Fabian strode to the fireplace in the room and ran his fingers under the mantel. Flames erupted in the hearth, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to their promised warmth.
“There is a bathroom through there.” He gestured to another door. “Clothing is being gathered as we speak and will be left on the bed as you bathe. We will speak once we’ve both refreshed ourselves.”
“Speak or do you mean you’ll order me around some more?” She didn’t say the words with any true vehemence. Rather, she peered at him through thick lashes with her lips curled in a partial smile.
“I doubt anyone can order you around, vixen.” With a smile that did warm and decadent things to her, he turned and left, the soft click of the door a signal to release the breath she held.
Alone. At last. Yet a part of her wished he’d stayed. She couldn’t have said why. It wasn’t as if she was in danger and in need of him for protection.
Who was to say he wasn’t dangerous in and of himself? He certainly wasn’t a rich yuppie, not with that physique, manner, and brash self-assurance.
He’d faced down danger without a qualm. Only the truly brave—or stupid—showed no fear. But she doubted anyone could call Fabian stupid.
Sexy yes, though.
But she had more important things to worry about than a handsome man who made her pulse flutter.
Someone tried to kill me. Someone had also given her a wicked shiner, she noted as she entered the bathroom and caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror.
She raised fingers to the colorful swelling that ran the length of her cheekbone and truly popped around her eye. It went well with the bird’s nest known as her hair and the mascara that ran down her one unblemished cheek in dark rivulets.
Pretty. Pretty ugly. And to think Fabian had still flirted with her. It could mean only one thing. He probably flirted with every woman he met.
She let out a big breath, surely not of disappointment. Upon inhaling, her nose wrinkled. She sniffed.
Oh, eww. That stench came from her. No wonder he’d suggested she bathe. She reeked.
A hot shower later—a long one that she luxuriated in where she scrubbed herself, twice—she smelled a lot better. She also looked better, given there was a hair dryer in the bathroom along with a brush that she used to tame her unruly mop.
What she didn’t find, though, was clothes. But hadn’t he said someone would leave some in the room for when she was done?
Leaving behind the wet towels, she stepped from the bathroom, the steam of the shower billowing out with her, but the shock of warm skin meeting cooler air wasn’t what made her nipples tighten.
Desire slammed her, hard and furious as she met Fabian’s smoldering gaze.
She took a step toward him. He took one back. Did he fear her? It almost seemed that way. Yet he couldn’t stop staring.
Another step forward. He hit the bed and could go no farther. She entered his space and waited for him to do something. Anything.
Nada. His eyes moved from her body to her face. His lips tightened, and his eyes flashed. Way to remind her she was less than perfect at the moment.
Stung, she snapped. “Take a picture. It will last longer.” Or take me and let’s remember this moment forever.