Lorna Michaels - Stranger In Her Arms

Christy woke abruptly. She sat up in bed, hugging the sheet around her. What was that noise?

A man’s voice.

Had someone broken in? Or was it J.D.? Was he all right?

Reaching for the gun, she held it in front of her as she’d been taught, then made her way down the hall. The noise came from his room: a moan, then a half scream.

With a trembling hand, she opened the door.

The sheets tangled around him, he tossed and turned on the bed, muttering unintelligible words.

She moved closer. The sheets were damp, his skin soaked with perspiration. She put her hand on his brow. “Shh, it’s all right,” she murmured…

From under the sheet, his hand whipped out. He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward with surprising strength.

Christy screamed as she toppled to the bed.

“No!” Christy choked, struggling against J.D.’s superior strength. “No.” The gun dropped out of her hand and crashed to the floor.

All her earlier fears about him now stared her in the face.

He had her by the shoulders. She tried to kick, but her legs were tangled in the sheet, tried to twist away, but he held her fast. He forced her onto her back and she lay powerless, helpless to get away.

Terrified, fighting for breath, Christy stared up at him.

He loomed over her, nostrils flaring, his lips peeled back in a grimace. His eyes were…shut.

Asleep. He had to be asleep.

Forcing air into her lungs, Christy cried, “Stop, J.D. Let me go.”

He made a growling sound in his throat. And then his eyes opened.

“Wh—?” He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then recognition dawned. “Christy?” he muttered. “What’s…going on?”

“You—you were having a nightmare.”

His grip loosened. “What happened? How did you…? How did I…?”

She sat up and struggled to control her shaky voice. “I—I stumbled into your bad dream. I came in to see what was wrong and—and you grabbed me.”

He stared down at the hand that had seized her. “Ah, Christy, I—I—”

She saw the shock on his face, heard the revulsion in his voice, and her fear faded. “You were asleep. You didn’t know what you were doing.” But still, she rubbed the arm he’d jerked.

He sat up, wide awake now, his tone sharp. “Did I hurt you?”

She dropped her gaze. “Not much.”

“Let me see.” He took her arm, carefully this time as if afraid he might break it. “You are hurt. Bruised.” His voice filled with self-loathing, he let go of her. “Damn, what kind of man am I?”

“Don’t,” she said softly. “You didn’t mean to hurt me. I’m sure of that.” And she was…now.

Without thinking, she bent toward him and gently touched his cheek. “Relax,” she murmured to him. “Go back to sleep.”

He raised his eyes to hers. “Christy,” he breathed as she stroked the rough stubble on his face. “Christy…”

He leaned closer; his mouth was inches from hers. Her lips parted.

He put his hands on her shoulders. He was going to kiss her. She wanted this—the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth. Her eyes closed.

Gently, he pushed her away. “No.”

Her eyes flew open. Humiliated, she straightened as her ex-husband’s mocking voice sounded in her ear: I don’t want you. Neither did J.D.

This man was a stranger. His rejection shouldn’t sting the way Keith’s had. But it did.

She wanted to run away, hide her embarrassment and her hurt. Turning her back on J.D., she struggled to her feet.

J.D. caught her hand. “Christy, wait.”

“No, I…you…need to get back to sleep.” But he held her in place.

“Look at me,” he said, giving her arm a gentle tug, and slowly, unwillingly, she turned.

He urged her back down on the bed. When she perched stiffly on the edge, he dropped her hand and caressed her cheek, his fingertips soft on her heated skin. “I don’t know…who I am…or what my situation is.” He glanced at his left hand.

Christy’s eyes followed his. “There’s no ring,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “There could be someone. I…don’t know, and until I do, I can’t do this to you. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I do. And just for the record, I was thinking the same thing.”

If he could fight this attraction, so could she. She cleared her throat. “I, um, should go.”

“Yeah, you should.”

She got up, bent and picked up the gun. “Good night,” she whispered.

In her room, she sat on the edge of the bed and touched her still-warm cheek. She’d told J.D. she hadn’t known what she was thinking. Trouble was, she hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d been feeling. Wanting.

She’d been alone for nearly a year. Was that the reason? No, she’d had her chances to be with a man. Friends had urged her to start dating so she’d given in and gone out a few times. But she hadn’t enjoyed the dating scene, the rush to take someone to bed. Acquaintances—really nonacquaintances—of a few hours were ready to hit the sheets. Not Christy.

But tonight had been different. If J.D. hadn’t said no, she’d be in his bed right now. She covered her face with her hands.

He was a man with integrity, she thought. He’d saved them both from embarrassment, maybe even heartache.

She thought of the gentleness in his tone when he’d let her go, the sincerity in his eyes.

How different he was from Keith. J.D. didn’t know if he was involved, yet still he wouldn’t take a chance of hurting someone. Keith had no compunctions about betraying the wife he saw every day.

Christy glanced at the revolver she’d set on the nightstand and shook her head. Another embarrassment.

All her pride in her ability to defend herself had been in vain. Even with a gun in her hand, J.D. had easily overpowered her. In his sleep.

With a snort of disgust, she opened the drawer and shoved the gun inside, all the way to the back.

When Christy woke the next morning, she hurried to the window and opened the blinds. The rain had stopped, but the sky still looked ominous, and though the water was beginning to recede, the road was still flooded.

She dressed slowly. She dreaded coming face to face with J.D. after last night. After she’d practically jumped into bed with him. Well, she couldn’t avoid him. They were, after all, the only two people in their tiny, isolated world. She’d just have to pretend last night had never happened and hope he had the good manners not to mention it.

He didn’t say a word. He greeted her in the kitchen and handed her a glass of too-warm orange juice. “Sorry, the kitchen is still closed,” he said.

“Did you try the phone?”

“Still down.”

She took out her cell. Low battery, the screen said. And of course, she had no way to charge it. Damn, if something could go wrong, it would. She wanted to fling the phone onto the table. Instead she put it carefully into her pocket.

Now they could do nothing but wait.

She glanced across the table at J.D. as she nibbled on half-stale, untoasted bread.

He looked up from his breakfast and met her eyes. Goose-bumps erupted on her arms, a blush warmed her cheeks, and all her plans to keep silent about what had happened between them evaporated. “Um, about last night—”

“I don’t recall a thing. I have amnesia, remember?” That quick, charming grin spread across his lips.

“I guess I don’t remember either, then,” Christy said. But she knew she wouldn’t forget, not even when J.D. was out of her life. She’d still wonder how his lips would have tasted, still regret not finding out.