Dangerous Ladies (2009) by Dodd Christina

Author:Dodd, Christina [Dodd, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-03-26T18:08:49+00:00

2

"Are you crazy? We're not married!" Someone was shouting, and the noise made Meadow's head throb. Because, she realized, the shouting came from her own mouth.

"You poor thing. You don't remember, but we married eight months ago."

Lightning struck. Lights flickered.

"Right! That's why you welcomed me with open arms!"

"You left me. On one of the worst days of my life you disappeared, and I didn't know what happened to you. I've been worried to death, and when you showed up, hale and hearty and pretending not to know me, I . . . I just . . ." He did a good imitation of a man choking on his emotions.

Except he wasn't choking on his emotions; he was trying to think of a new lie to tell. She knew it--because she'd never met him before. Ever. She would remember him.

Any woman would remember him. He had the face of a dark angel and the eloquence of Satan's right-hand man. The flashes from outside danced across his craggy features like stage lighting in hell.

"You just what?" she insisted.

"All the months of uncertainty, of not knowing whether you were alive or dead. I wanted to shake you. But your poor bruised head saved you, and now I've got my senses back and I can hold you. Hold you as I've longed to."

Which was tightly and with an intimacy that took the edge off her pain and made her heart beat too fast. Of course, she'd had a scare. Probably that was why her heart thumped. It couldn't be the pleasure of discovering that the scent of citrus and sandalwood came from his skin, or that she could see the shadow of his beard darkening the cleft in his chin. Beneath his shirt, his chest had that taut warmth that made her want to run her hand over his pecs and down his belly. . . . Without a doubt he worked out, and while she liked a guy who was, as her grandmother would have said, built like a brick shithouse, Meadow was perfectly happy to view the bricks from a distance. In her experience, men who kept themselves buff were self-absorbed, and a brick shithouse-worthy man who wasn't self-absorbed would be deadly to her peace of mind.

Especially if he smelled good.

Good heavens. Was her nose buried in his chest?

She pulled away.

He gathered her closer again. "What caused the amnesia, darling?" he asked solicitously. "Did you hit your head then, too?"

"I don't know. I don't remember ever being with you." Pin him down. "Where did you say we were married?"

"In Majorca."

"Majorca." Majorca?

"A beautiful island off the southeast coast of Spain."

"Right." She didn't feel sick anymore. More like . . . giddy.

"I have a home there."

"Well, of course you do."

"You don't believe me?"

"I believe you've got a home on Majorca."

"And you can take my word, my darling amnesiac, that we met and married there. After all, you don't remember anything different, do you?"

She looked at him . . . at his tanned, rugged face, his dark, rumpled hair, his brown eyes .

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