Misty, page 2
‘You okay?’ She reached across hard abs and a wide chest to buckle his seat belt.
He mumbled something she didn’t catch and Misty stared anxiously into his shadowed face as she leaned back into her own seat. She studied him.
The strong line of his jaw and angled cheeks were softened by spiky bristle, as if he hadn’t shaved that day. Funny how that darkened stubble in no way detracted from his rugged good looks. The longer she looked the more attractive he seemed.
More attractive? Ouch! Mind on job, she admonished herself silently. First, he had to recover.
‘Hello, Big Guy? Wake up.’ She rested her hand on his damp shoulder. ‘I need directions if you want me to take you home.’
She was definitely having second thoughts about leaving him alone in some beach shack to die. If he started to look worse than he did now, she’d ring her brother. Even though Andy’s hospital at Lyrebird Lake was hours away, his advice would help.
‘I’m awake.’ He didn’t open his eyes, but his words emerged clearly this time, recuperative devil, and she felt the tension ease a fraction from her neck. He paused, as if it hurt to talk, and she realised it probably did. Der.
‘Name’s Ben Moore,’ he said. ‘My beach shack’s about two kilometres along out of the national park.’ He paused again. ‘There’s a side road past the camping ground on the left.’ Without opening his eyes, he added, ‘You can drive around the gate instead of opening it. You’ll see the sign. Benmore.’
‘Like the gardens in Scotland or like your name?’ she asked as she steered the vehicle across the sand. He didn’t answer and that was okay with Misty. She had enough to concentrate on, navigating the thick sand of the track while her Jeep slewed sideways over the mounds made by other off-road vehicles.
Once she hit the hard dirt the noise from the tyres reverberated through the cab. She’d have to remember to fill them with air when she passed the next gas station but letting the air out always made a huge difference in the soft sand.
She turned her Jeep left at the campsite, spotted the entrance he’d mentioned and drove around the locked gate onto another dirt road. Although she’d visited this beach – even camped here a few times – she’d never noticed this track winding through the seaside scrub parallel to the beach. Now they climbed a grass-covered knoll.
On top and surrounded by smaller sand dunes stood a solid beach house made of sand-coloured wood. Because of the height of the knoll it overlooked the beach in both directions yet blended into the hills. Tufts of coarse beach grass and wind-bent coastal shrubs ringed it.
The house stood sturdily on stilts and looked a lot larger than Misty’s idea of a shack. A wide veranda gazed out over the vista below and she parked the car in the shade beside a late model Range Rover. Steep steps led up to the door.
Ben’s eyelashes rested on his cheeks and she touched his arm. ‘Will you be able to get inside, Ben?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ His lids lifted slowly to reveal aquamarine corneas, the blue of the waves she’d been fishing this morning, and just as mesmerizing. ‘Are you okay?’
She smiled. His concern for her was sweet but unfortunately the brightness of his eyes made his pale cheeks even more concerning. ‘I’ll be better when you have a bit of colour in your face.’
The memory of him floating face down in the water resurfaced in all its horrific glory. How she’d almost been unable to hold him as the wave dragged him back. She recalled those vital few seconds when he’d not been breathing. Still couldn’t believe she’d managed keep him alive.
This flesh-and-blood, breathing human being would be dead if she hadn’t been there.
That thought left her with a deep nausea that rose ominously. She shook her head. Battled an intense bout of the shivers as her stomach roiled.
‘Excuse me,’ she gulped, wrenching open her door to fall to the ground where at least she could be out of sight to throw up. ‘Sorry.’
The soft word of self-reproach had not been intended to be heard. Yet he appeared, still swaying, beside her. With one hand on the car for support he scooped her ponytail from her face and held it behind her head while she completed the job.
For the moment she was too unwell to push him away. Or care.
‘Poor brave mermaid.’ His words soothed as his warm hand cupped her forehead offering comfort.
Misty shook her head. She wasn’t brave. She’d been terrified. She could feel the prick of tears in her eyes as the nausea ran its course.
‘I’m sorry.’ She took his hand to help her to her feet and then she backed away from him. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and schooled any expression from her face.
Weakness when she was supposed to be in charge wasn’t good.
But she’d have to let go of what had just happened, could cringe about it later, and changed the subject. ‘I’m supposed to be nursing you.’
‘I’m recovering. Thanks to you.’ When she didn’t look convinced he gestured wearily to the stairs. ‘Come in. We’ll both catch our breath. You can check me out when you’re feeling better.’
Funny how he’d shifted his concern from himself to her and she felt the pull that shimmered around this Ben, this man she’d never met before – not in this lifetime. An awareness and recognition as if her heart was telling her something her head had to disbelieve. No idea what it meant.
Mentally she shrugged. She’d had years of weird feelings and this was just more of the same.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and the cadence of those simple words caught her as his long fingers caught her other hand. There it was. That recognition she’d noticed before.
It was as if his whole arm pulled her along not so much by his strength but by a magnetic attraction between them that shouldn’t be there. Weakly, with her inner voice quietly insisting she was meant to be here, she followed him up the steps and into his house. Holding his hand.
* * *
Inside the house, dark lacquered wood floors showcased several glowing rugs. Rectangular works of art that screamed ancient Persia and threw glorious splashes of colour against the darkness in delicate stitches. Rugs she wanted to lean down and lay her fingers against and stroke.
Odd-shaped chairs constructed from driftwood leaned around the walls, big but comfortable looking, and a huge, ancient seaman’s chest used as a table stood covered with books.
The circular centre of the house had three other rooms leading off it. Ben drew her into one – a sunlit bathroom furnished like a shiny capsule from a luxury motor yacht, complete with a huge round tub that looked over the beach. Then he finally let her hand go.
She looked down and, incredibly, her fingers looked normal. She’d expected her skin where he’d touched to at least glow. No such fanciful complaint seemed to bother him as he passed her a fresh facecloth and towel.
‘You’ll find a new toothbrush in the top drawer. There.’ He gestured toward a rustic dresser. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Then he closed the door behind him and left.
Turning toward the mirror, Misty saw her pale and strained face and realised that he looked more recovered than she did now. Huh.
The mirror’s incongruous frame caught her attention. Someone had surrounded the glass with a circle of inexpertly glued shells. Were these the shells from the vision? Did this mean she was meant to be here?
It didn’t matter. She was here. And she’d made a fool out of herself by throwing up.
But it wasn’t every day you came across a man face down in the water. And had to do mouth to mouth to start him breathing.
She tried not to think of what would have happened if she hadn’t had the premonition, hadn’t found the right headland so soon after he fell in, but she would never again even hint that she regretted her second sight.
That gift had saved this man’s life and she would be forever grateful.
The cold tap water splashed against her heated cheeks helped restore normality. As she brushed her teeth, Misty glanced once more at her reflection. Some colour had crept back into her face and she couldn’t subdue the tiny flutter of satisfaction that all the years of her nurse’s training had stood by her on the beach.
She’d saved a life.
As long as she remembered this was a moment out of time and not the real world, she could admit it was not how she’d seen her day panning out. Here she stood, looking into a mirror in a handsome stranger’s beach house, and she couldn’t deny there was a magnetism about the man that had her intrigued.
When she opened the bathroom door, the central room stood ominously empty. She glanced around, the worry returning that maybe Ben wasn’t as well as he’d seemed a few minutes ago.
‘In here.’ His voice, from beyond another of the open doorways, sounded fatigued and her step quickened.
Ben sat on the edge of a wide white bed with a towel around his waist. She pulled her eyes and thoughts back from considering what lay underneath that towel – what on earth was she thinking – and looked at his face.
The profile from the vision now seemed carved in her mind.
Lines of angry abrasions crossed his chest and a trickle of blood skimmed his hairline. Her sensible side reasserted as she considered what needed to be done. She picked up a box of tissues from the dresser before she crossed the room to sink to her knees beside the bed.
She looked up into his face and narrowed her eyes.
Both pupils seemed equal and reactive when she shaded the light from the window. One, then the other again. Yep. Pupils reacting and equal in size. So far so good.
‘How’s your head?’ She ran her fingers lightly over the spongy swelling under his hairline, dabbed the blood away with a tissue, and he winced.
‘Ouch,’ she said in sympathy, but didn’t pause as she continued her check. He’d have to put up with the discomfort because she needed to know if there was something worse to find.
‘I can tell you’re in the medical profession,’ he murmured. ‘Too much common sense.’
She grinned and palpated his scalp to ensure the bone didn’t feel displaced underneath. The bump seemed slightly smaller already than when she’d first checked it on the beach. Her hand slid around the base of his skull to check for further injury and his ink-black hair felt distractingly soft and springy. The darn strands curled around her fingers as if welcoming her touch.
It seemed so long since she’d done that to a lover. She’d forgotten the sensation of running her fingers through a man’s hair. Which wasn’t a medically professional thought at all.
‘From what I can tell you seem to have come out pretty well,’ she said as she forced her fingers to untangle themselves from a warm and welcoming place they didn’t want to leave. Where they did not belong.
‘My head is improving all the time.’ His voice held a whisper of weary teasing. ‘Especially when you stroke it.’
Her hand bounced away as if scalded. When she met his eyes he smiled wryly at her reaction.
‘The joker is back.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ he replied in a more serious tone. ‘I’m cold and headachy. But I am curious to know your name.’
She balled the tissues she’d used and placed them on the floor. Grabbed a new handful. ‘Misty.’ She nodded at his chest and looked at him for tacit permission before she touched it. The jagged scratches were red and welted but she couldn’t see any pieces of shell in the wound and felt nothing jagged when she wiped the wounds. She flattened a clean tissue over the now dry wounds and felt the heat of inflammation.
‘Look at your poor chest.’ A sudden mad impulse to kiss his cheek in sympathy made her straighten away from him. She glanced at the bloody tissues in her hands and admonished herself. What on earth was the matter with her? This man was an unknown entity and after today she’d never meet him again.
She stood and nodded towards the en-suite she could see across the room. ‘First aid in there?’
‘Yes. And there’s antibiotic powder on the shelf you could use.’
After washing her hands, she used more tissues to blot the seeping blood from his chest and then puffed the powder onto his wounds. She stood back and tried to think what else she could do for him, but her mind was suddenly blank so she returned the powder to the tiny bathroom and disposed of the waste.
When she returned at least she’d thought of something. ‘Is your tetanus booster up to date?’
‘Yes,’ he supplied quietly, ‘and a bump on the head and a few scratches are a small price to pay.’ He patted the bed next to him. ‘Sit for a minute. You’re very safe. I think we both need reassurance.’
Misty found herself hip to hip with him and she had no idea how she’d got there as he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. She felt small under the weight of his arm yet the contact soothed her jangling nerves. They sat side by side, contemplating his lucky escape, and surprisingly she drew the comfort he had intended from the gesture.
She felt oddly at ease with this man whose life had hung so precariously in the balance that very afternoon, and with the slow warming of his skin against hers came the reinforcement of the knowledge of his survival. Satisfaction grew that this man
was here safe and firm against her and the world outside the house seemed a million miles away.
He turned and his mouth touched hers, warm and fleeting. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. The kiss was over before she could avoid it, unlike the impact which lingered, pure and beautiful, like a note from a Tibetan bowl.
Her mouth vibrated with the memory and she mashed her lips together as if to blot the imprint out because the thrumming continued in decreasing waves.
‘Thank you for saving my life, Misty.’ His eyes were as blue as the ocean he’d come from and his gaze roamed her face as if he wanted to imprint her on his mind.
Time stopped and she could do nothing but stare back at him as his voice floated over her. Heat rose beneath her skin under his scrutiny and suddenly there was a clawing tumble of unbidden sensations in her belly.
Whoa there.
She blinked, broke eye contact and searched desperately for something to say. Something at least tinged with professionalism. Something like...
‘Let me see your back.’ Definitely not let me see your backside.
Ben
Ben closed his eyes and twisted his body so she could see. Pushed away the flicker of frustration he had no right to feel.
At least one of them had their feet firmly on the ground. Perhaps it was a by-product of his concussion, but he was having difficulty concentrating on anything else but her beautiful mouth and luscious body pressed against his. This being a damn inappropriate time to start dreaming about what she would look like with her shirt off.
Then she touched his back with those slender mermaid’s fingers and not being able to see her hands on him made it more frustratingly erotic than it should have been. He could imagine her leaving luminous trails on his skin, like phosphorescent lines in the water at night.
Desire stirred beneath the towel and he shifted uncomfortably as he turned and reached across to capture her hand and still her fingers. He looked down. Such long fingers as they lay in his. Such invisible strength within them.
She must have a heart as strong as a lioness. He had no doubt that was her secret.
There was something pure and powerful and golden about Misty that shone so brightly even someone as jaded as he could see her worth.
His grip tightened and unconsciously he inched her back to face him until their sides touched again. And then he froze. What was he doing?
His head ached, his chest hurt and he’d nearly died. He owed his survival to this woman. All the more reason to act on the moment, his inner demon suggested unhelpfully. He staunched that devil with determination that took almost more effort than he had.
He did not need another complication in his life and from the little he’d seen of her, he had no doubt this woman could be extremely complicating. That subtle air of naivety warned him he was the much more experienced of the two of them, but it also worried him.
‘Thank you, Misty,’ he said. ‘I think you’d better go.’
Her eyes widened and he saw the moment she realised what he meant. Heat dusted her cheeks and she stood up quickly and looked around the room as if she’d forgotten where the exit was. He smiled at her disorientation, sympathetic because he’d suffered some recent confusion too at her hands, even as it showed him more than anything that he’d done the right thing to call a halt.
She could feel it, too, he thought.
He stood, intending to follow her to the door, when the room tilted away from him like the deck of a ship as it rode a swell. A rush of cold doused him and then nothing as he fell backwards.
Misty
Misty managed to reach out and guide him back onto the bed before he crumpled to the floor. But even lifting his muscled legs, one at a time, reminded her of the struggle she’d had to get him out of the water. He was, indeed, a big guy.
She bent to lift his lids but his eyes flickered open and he blinked groggily as he tried to sit up. His face shone like alabaster even in the dim room. ‘What happened?’
‘You fainted. I think you should stay down, Ben. I’ll call an ambulance so they can check you out at the hospital.’
‘No. I’ll refuse to go.’ He lifted his hand and rested it over his eyes. ‘I don’t need a hospital. It would be a wasted trip for emergency services when they could be saving someone else.’
Misty stared with wide, incredulous eyes. ‘You are kidding me. Right?’ God save her from stubborn men with more pride than good sense.
‘That’s ridiculous. You’ve lost consciousness twice from a head injury, had a respiratory arrest—’ she ticked off his symptoms on her fingers ‘—and are probably brewing pneumonia. You need to be observed.’
Ben rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m fine. I just need to sleep.’
