Jean Thomas - AWOL with the Operative

The coat was enough to keep out the worst of the cold. But it was no protection when a minute later, just as she had feared, the heat of the fire reached the wings containing the fuel. There was a horrific blast, followed almost immediately by a second explosion.

Eve’s reaction, when she flung herself full length over Sam’s inert body, was an instinctive one. Or so she told herself. Face buried against his neck, she heard the hiss of hot metal raining down on the snow. Thankfully, none of those shards fell on them.

There was snow, too, in the air. She noticed it when she turned her head. It must have been drifting down in feathery flakes even before the crash, but Eve hadn’t been conscious of it until now. It was a soft, gentle snowfall. An ironic contrast to the violence she had just experienced.

There was something else she was acutely aware of. The hardness of the body she was covering. Even through the layers of the coat, she could feel his muscular strength. More than that. With her nose pressed against the exposed skin of his throat, she was able to detect his scent. The faint, clean fragrance of his soap mingled with something masculine. Something that was distinctly Sam McDonough.

Eve had a sudden longing to do more than inhale him. A longing to flick her tongue over that warm throat where his pulse beat a seductive rhythm. A longing to taste him.

Insanity. Don’t go there. Not with a man you don’t like and who doesn’t like you.

Hastily pulling away from him, she rolled over and sat up in the snow, drawing her knees to her chest. Tragic though it was, the fire made a welcome distraction. The crackling blaze by now had engulfed the entire plane. Several of the trees nearest the aircraft had gone up like torches, but fortunately the snow prevented the flames from spreading into the forest.

Eve knew she should be thankful for their safety. And she was. But a new reality was beginning to settle on her. A harsh one. The reality that they were on their own in the Canadian wilderness, and no one knew where they were.

Except—

A sudden recollection occurred to her. Last spring she had edited an article for her magazine about recreational aviation. The author had described the safety features of small, private airplanes. One of those features was a unit that automatically sent out signals in the event that a plane went down.

What was the thing called? Eve searched her memory. Emergency Locator Transmitter. That was it. And if Ken Redfeather’s plane had been equipped with an ELT, then—

Forget it. If such a device had existed, then it would be toast by now in the conflagration that was still raging. There could be no prospect of the plane being found and its survivors rescued. At least not by that method.

No question about it. Their plight was a dismal, desperate one. Forced down in the middle of nowhere, where the vastness was still locked in winter. An enemy somewhere out there who might not be satisfied that she was no longer a threat. And all of it complicated by a difficult man who shared this calamity with her.

Sam McDonough, who from the beginning had made no secret about what he thought of her. Never mind asking herself why. He just had.

She looked down at him, her eyes lingering on his mouth as she remembered his gruff commands to her. And even if the wide mouth that had issued those commands was the most sensual male mouth Eve had ever laid eyes on, the man behind it was still unpleasant.

This isn’t helping. You can’t go on sitting here like this doing nothing.

Right. But whatever decisions confronted her, they had to wait. First she needed to make some effort to rouse Sam.

And don’t let yourself wonder if that might not be possible. Just do it.

How? Exactly how was she supposed to manage that? There was only one way she could think of. Getting to her knees and scooping up a handful of snow, Eve leaned over him. She started to apply the snow, but her hand paused in its descent, her gaze captured by the sight of his face.

It was a strong, compelling face beneath a thatch of dark brown hair. A seasoned face with angular features and a square jaw. There was a certain toughness about it that didn’t surprise her. What she didn’t expect was the complete lack of tautness. A tightness of expression that had clearly been there during his conscious state, hinting at some dark, inner struggle. Or was she just imagining the whole thing?

All right, so you’re sexually attracted to this man. You’d better control your susceptibility if you don’t want to get hurt.

It was a sensible instruction. Eve obeyed it as she briskly rubbed the snow over his face, hoping its wet cold would wake him. Praying he wasn’t in some coma she couldn’t penetrate.

“Sam,” she called to him urgently, “can you hear me?”

Her treatment must have worked, but not as she’d anticipated. Instead of stirring slowly, he startled her when he came to with a sudden jerk of his body, as if shocked out of a deep sleep. The next thing Eve knew she was gazing into a pair of brown eyes with amber lights in them.

Those eyes focused on her face bent over his. There was puzzlement in them. She waited for the familiar scowl when he recognized her. She didn’t get it. There was something entirely different. A grin of pleased discovery that spread across his rugged features. It was accompanied by his deep, rich voice with a low but untroubled tone that amazed her as much as the words that came out of his mouth.

“Whoever you are, angel, please tell me that we’re more, much more, than just casual acquaintances.”

Eve caught her breath in disbelief. This was a man she didn’t know. She was looking into the eyes of a stranger. What on earth was happening?

When she was able to breathe again, she uttered a hoarse “You can’t be serious. You must know I’m Eve. Eve Warren.”

“Hello, Eve Warren,” he said, caressing her name with a slow softness that, in spite of her promise to herself, sent a warmth spreading through her whole body.

Thoroughly confused, she sat back on her heels, afraid to ask but knowing she had to. “But you remember everything else, don’t you?”

“Sorry. Afraid I don’t.”

Her questions came swiftly then, one after the other. “Not what happened? Not where we are? But you know who you are, don’t you? You have to know that.”

To all of those questions, he replied by shaking his head from side to side.

His head injury from smacking so hard against the window, she thought. A trauma apparently sufficient to have short-circuited his memory. Maybe only temporarily. Maybe all she had to do was prompt him, and the rest would follow.

“You’re Sam McDonough,” she told him. No response. She tried again. “You’re an FBI agent.”

No use. He looked at her blankly. She hadn’t triggered his memory. Like it or not, she had to accept his condition. God in heaven, she realized suddenly, on top of all else, she was stuck out here with a man suffering from amnesia!

He must have read the concern on her face. “Don’t worry, Eve. I’m running on empty now, but I’ll get it all back.”

He was worried about her, not himself. What’s more, his reassurance had been expressed in a kind voice. Even the smile that followed it was a pleasant one. Nothing like the hard cynicism before the crash. Was it possible that someone’s attitude, perhaps his very nature as well, could change so totally like this? If so, she was ready to be thankful for it.

“The thing is—” he started to say, then broke off, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air. “I smell smoke.” Before she could explain, he lifted his head from the ground in order to gaze at the now-blackened remains of the plane. The flames that had consumed it were beginning to die down. “What happened?”