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Benmore. ‘Like the beautiful gardens in Scotland?’ She asked absently as she steered the vehicle across the sand. He didn’t answer.
Misty concentrated on navigating the thick sand of the track onto the road and even then her four-wheel-drive 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 the deflation had 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. She’d had no idea the track was there and it wound through the seaside scrub parallel to the beach until 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 and tufts of coarse beach grass and wind-bent coastal shrubs ringed it.
The house was sturdily built on stilts and a lot larger than Misty’s idea of a shack. A wide, shaded veranda looked out over the vista below and she parked the car in the shade beside a late model Range Rover and some steep steps.
Ben’s eyes were still shut and she touched his arm. ‘Will you be able to get inside, Ben?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, and his eyes opened slowly to reveal the aqua irises she’d only glimpsed at the beach. His next words made her smile.
‘You OK?’ His concern 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.’ She shivered and the memory of him floating face down in the water hit her. How she’d almost been unable to hold him before the wave dragged them back made her shake her head.
She recalled those vital few seconds when he’d not been breathing and she’d urged him to wake up, and then he’d moved and coughed as he returned to life.
She still couldn’t believe she’d managed it. 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 out of nowhere and couldn’t be denied.
‘Excuse me,’ she gulped, and wrenched open her door to throw herself on the ground where at least she was out of sight to be ingloriously sick.
‘I’m sorry.’ Soft words full of self-reproach floated around her as Ben appeared beside her, 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 care.
‘Poor brave mermaid,’ he said soothingly, and his warm hand cupped her forehead in comfort. She could feel the prick of tears in her eyes as the nausea passed. She wasn’t brave. She’d been terrified.
‘I’m sorry.’ She allowed him to help her to her feet and then she backed away from him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and schooled any expression from her face. Weakness in front of this man made her feel like a self-conscious teenager and she was supposed to be in charge.
She banished any thought of what had just happened and changed the subject. ‘I’m supposed to be nursing you.’
‘I’m fine.’ When she didn’t look convinced he shrugged and gestured wearily to the stairs. ‘You can check me out now you’re feeling better.’
She could see he’d shifted his concern from himself to her and she felt the undeniable pull that shimmered around Ben as if her heart was telling her something her head had to disbelieve.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and the cadence, those simple words, caught her heart 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 magnetic attraction between them that shouldn’t be there.
Weakly, with her inner voice quietly insisting she leave, she followed him up the steps and into his house. She’d just see that he was OK.
CHAPTER TWO
INSIDE the house dark lacquered wood floors showcased several glowing rugs that screamed of ancient Persia and threw glorious splashes of colour against the darkness. Bizarrely, she felt strangely at home.
Odd-shaped chairs constructed from driftwood stood around the walls and a huge, ancient seaman’s chest used as a table was covered with books.
The glassed circular centre of the house had three other rooms leading off it. Ben drew her into a sunlit bathroom furnished like a shiny capsule from a luxury motor yacht complete with a huge round tub on one side that looked over the beach, then he finally let her go.
She looked down at her hand, and incredibly her fingers looked normal. So why did they pulse with the sensation of being held by this man? 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. ‘There’s a new toothbrush in the drawer. I’ll leave you to it.’ Then he closed the door behind him as he left.
She stared into the oval mirror that someone had surrounded incongruously with a circle of inexpertly glued shells. Were these the shells from the vision? Her pale and strained face stared back at her. So she was meant to be here?
OK. So 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.
She tried not to think of what would have happened if she hadn’t had the premonition, but she would never again even hint that she regretted the oddness of her occasional second sight.
That gift had saved this man’s life, and she would be forever grateful.
The cold water helped restore normality as it splashed against her heated cheeks, and as she brushed her teeth Misty glanced once more at her reflection.
A little colour had crept back into her face and she couldn’t subdue the tiny flutter of ridiculous satisfaction that all the years of her nurse’s training had stood by her on the beach.
She’d saved a life.
Here she stood, alone with a handsome stranger in his beach house, and she couldn’t deny there was a delectable magnetism about the man that had her intrigued.
As long as she remembered this was a moment out of time and not the real world.
When she opened the bathroom door the central room proved empty, and as she glanced around the worry returned that maybe Ben wasn’t as well as he’d seemed a few minutes ago.
‘In here.’ His voice sounded infinitely 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 she recognised from the vision now seemed indelible in her mind. His chest showed lines of angry abrasions and her sensible side returned as she crossed the room quickly.
She sank to her knees beside the bed in front of him and looked up into his face. She examined his eyes as well as she could in the dim room. Both pupils seemed equal and reactive when she shaded the light.
‘How is your head?’ She ran her fingers lightly over the spongy swelling under his hairline 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.
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.
Her hand slid around the base of his skull to check for further injury and his ink-black hair felt soft and springy, and curled around her fingers as if welcoming her touch. It seemed so long since she’d done that, she’d forgotten the sensation of running her fingers through a man’s hair.
‘It seems OK,’ she said as she forced her fingers to untangle themselves from a warm and welcoming place they didn’t want to leave.
‘My head is improving all the time, especially when you stroke it.’ His voice held a whisper of weary teasing and her hand bounced away as if scalded.
When she met his eyes he smiled wryly at her reaction. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m cold and headachy. But I am curious to know your name.’
‘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. She rested her hand over the wounds and felt the heat of inflammation.
‘Look at your poor chest.’ A sudden mad impulse to kiss her fingertips and pat his wounds better made her straighten away from him. What on earth was the matter with her? This man was an unknown entity and after today she’d never meet him again. She glanced at the blood on her fingers and admonished herself.
She stood and nodded towards the en suite she could see across the room. ‘May I use that?’
‘Of course. And there’s antibiotic powder on the shelf we could use.’
After washing her hands, she used a small clean towel to blot the 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 towel and the powder to the tiny bathroom. When she returned at least she’d thought of something. ‘Is your tetanus booster up to date?’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘and scratches are a small price to pay.’ He patted the bed next to him.
Seconds later Misty found herself sitting 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 in mutual comfort. They sat there side by side, contemplating his lucky escape.
It did seemed weirdly appropriate to hold each other at the memory of the event and surprisingly she drew the comfort he had intended from the gesture.
Suddenly she felt at ease with this man whose life had hung so precariously in the balance that very afternoon, and with the heat of his skin against hers came the reinforcement of the knowledge of his survival. The satisfaction grew that this man was here safe and solidly warm against her, and the other world outside the house seemed a million miles away.
He turned and dropped a gentle kiss, warm and fleeting, on her lips, and it was over before she could begin to avoid it, unlike the impact. Her lips seemed to vibrate with the memory and she mashed them together as if to blot the imprint out because the thrumming continued in decreasing waves.
She felt suspended in time and his voice floated over her. ‘Thank you for saving my life, Misty.’ She could do nothing but stare back at him. His eyes were as blue as the ocean he’d come from and his gaze roamed her face. She could feel heat beneath her skin under his scrutiny and suddenly there was a clawing tumble of unbidden sensations in her belly.
She blinked and broke eye contact as she looked away. ‘Let me see your back.’
Ben closed his eyes and twisted his body so she could see.
He sighed. At least one of them had their feet firmly on the ground. Perhaps it was his concussion but he was having difficulty concentrating on anything else but her beautiful mouth and luscious body pressed against his. This was 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 of hers, and not being able to see her hands on him made it more erotic than it should have been. He could imagine her leaving luminous trails on his skin, like lines in the water at night.
He shifted uncomfortably as desire stirred beneath the towel and he turned and reached across to capture her hand to still her fingers.
He looked down at her hand. Such long fingers as they lay in his. Such invisible strength within them. She must have a heart as strong as a lioness’s. He had no doubt that was her secret.
There was something pure and golden and unselfish 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. And he owed his survival to this woman.
All the more reason to act on the moment, his inner demon suggested unhelpfully.
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.
There seemed a certain naiveté about her that warned him he was the much more experienced of the two of them, but it also unmanned him.
‘Thank you, Misty. 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 even as it showed him more than anything that he’d done the right thing. So she could feel it too, he thought.
He stood to follow her to the door when without warning the room tilted away from him like the deck of a ship.
A rush of cold doused him and then nothing as he fell backwards.
Misty managed to reach out and guide him sideways and back onto the bed, but even lifting his muscled legs reminded her of the struggle she’d had to get him out of the water.
She bent to lift his lids but his eyes flickered open again 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.’
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 stilled. ‘That’s ridiculous.’ She ticked off his symptoms on her fingers. ‘You’ve lost consciousness twice from a head injury, had a respiratory arrest, and are probably brewing pneumonia. You need to be observed.’
Ben rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m fine. I just need to sleep.’
Misty couldn’t help her hands going to her hips and she stood over him and glared. The man was exasperating. ‘You might never wake up.’
He didn’t look like he cared and she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. ‘Imagine the waste of energy today for me.’
Ben sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Misty. You’re a darling. But I’m not going anywhere. Especially to a hospital!’ Finality rang in the last four words.
Misty stamped her foot and he winced at the noise. Then she felt guilty. Her voice dropped to nurse-speak. ‘Come on, Ben. Be sensible. I can’t just leave you.’
He sighed. ‘So observe me for another hour, or the four required, and then when you feel satisfied you can go. Or stay in a spare room and leave in the morning.’
Misty glanced at her watch. Four hours. It would be dark by the time she left but what choice did she have? She did not want to read in the paper about a man found dead in his beach house.
She could stay until she was sure he was fine. She wasn’t expected until tomorrow and would at least know he was going to be OK before she departed. She looked around but there wasn’t a chair in the room, which left only the bed. She’d drag in a chair from somewhere.
Ben had moved while she’d been going over her options. ‘So how did you stumble across me in my hour of need? The beach is usually deserted.’
Misty rarely spoke about her gift and she hesitated at sharing such a personal subject with a stranger. Now was not the time to get into a discussion that would probably end with Ben thinking her fanciful.
‘Just luck. I’ll get a chair.’
Ben lifted his arm and pulled a pillow across from the pile at the top of the bed and put it by his side. His weary eyes twinkled despite his exhaustion.
‘Here. Lie down next to me. I’ll put a wall up so I don’t attack you.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Misty said, and went to explore the house to find a seat. There was a huge old recliner in the next room that looked incredibly comfortable but it would never fit through the door into Ben’s room.
Then there were the driftwood chairs on the verandah that looked fabulous but when she sat on them they were like bony park benches with knobs and bends in uncomfortable places. She couldn’t lounge on them for four hours.
The kitchen had high-backed bar stools and she sighed as she carried one through.
