After That Night... Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Books by Helen R. Myers

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright

  “It’s no good. We aren’t going to pick up where we left off,”

  Jordan said, shaking her head, her smile bitter.

  Furious with her for sounding as if resisting their attraction was so easy, Stone challenged her. “Prove it. Make me believe you’re not interested in what we had that night.”

  Then he locked his mouth to hers in a kiss that was as unapologetic as it was fierce.

  Oh, yes. It was this that he’d been compelled—driven—to experience again. The flash of disbelief. That incredible heat. That searing sting of life. From the instant their lips connected, it was as if sunshine broke through the armor of night. Something unrepentant, free…and not quite controllable…took hold.

  No, Stone’s memory hadn’t exaggerated.

  It was exactly as it had been that shocking, anonymous night in Memphis…

  Dear Reader,

  What better cure for a hectic holiday season than settling in with romantic stories from Special Edition? And this month, we’ve got just what you’ve been searching for.

  THE JONES GANG is back, with bestselling author Christine Rimmer’s latest title, Honeymoon Hotline. Nevada Jones is November’s THAT SPECIAL WOMAN!, and this adviser to the lovelorn is about to discover love firsthand!

  Andrea Edwards’s latest miniseries, GREAT EXPECTATIONS, continues this month with One Big Happy Family. If Big Sky Country is your kind of place, you won’t want to miss Montana Lovers, the next book in Jackie Merritt’s newest series, MADE IN MONTANA.

  And the passion doesn’t end there—for her first title in Special Edition, Helen R. Myers has a tantalizing tale of reunited lovers in After That Night…Rounding out the month are a spellbinding amnesia story from Ann Howard White, Making Memories, and a second chance for two lovers in Kayla Daniels’s heartwarming Marriage Minded.

  I hope you enjoy all that we have in store for you this November. Happy Thanksgiving Day—all of us at Silhouette would like to wish you a happy holiday season!

  Sincerely,

  Tara Gavin

  Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  After That Night…

  Helen R. Myers

  With special thanks to Merle Davis,

  Texas Parks and Wildlife Department,

  for her insight and generosity,

  and

  to B. J. Atkinson for research, advice

  and, above all, true friendship.

  Books by Helen R. Myers

  Silhouette Special Edition

  After That Night…#1066

  Silhouette Romance

  Donovan’s Mermaid #557

  Someone To Watch Over Me #643

  Confidentially Yours #677

  Invitation to a Wedding #737

  A Fine Arrangement #776

  Through My Eyes #814

  Three Little Chaperones #861

  Forbidden Passion #908

  A Father’s Promise #1002

  To Wed at Christmas #1049

  The Merry Matchmakers #1121

  *Baby in a Basket #1169

  Silhouette Books

  Silhouette Shadows Collection 1992 “Seawitch”

  * Daddy Knows Last

  Silhouette Desire

  Partners for Life #370

  Smooth Operator #454

  That Fontaine Woman! #471

  The Pirate O’Keefe #506

  Kiss Me Kate #570

  After You #599

  When Gabriel Called #650

  Navarrone #738

  Jake #797

  Once Upon a Full Moon #857

  The Rebel and the Hero #941

  Just a Memory Away #990

  Silhouette Shadows

  Night Mist #6

  Whispers in the Woods #23

  Watching for Willa #49

  Montana Mavericks

  The Law Is No Lady #8

  HELEN R. MYERS

  satisfies her preference for a reclusive life-style by living deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas with her husband, Robert, and—because they were there first—the various species of four-legged and winged creatures that wander throughout their ranch. To write has been her lifelong dream, and to bring a slightly different flavor to each book is an ongoing ambition.

  Admittedly restless, she says that it helps her writing, explaining, “It makes me reach for new territory and experiment with old boundaries.” In 1993, the Romance Writers of America awarded Navarrone the prestigious RITA for Best Short Contemporary Novel of the Year.

  Prologue

  “I think the lady meant what she said.” As he spoke, the stranger stepped between Jordan Mills and the two men who’d been persistent in their attempts to pick her up. “Take a walk, boys.”

  His gray sports jacket stretched across an impressive back, more than wide enough to block Jordan’s view, so that when he shifted, she couldn’t tell whether he intended to back-hand one of them or was reaching into an inside pocket. Reaching for what? She suffered a moment’s anxiety over not knowing what this human guard dog was up to. But apparently his presence was enough. No doubt the two men came to the conclusion that she was more trouble than she was worth and backed away.

  Relieved, she murmured her thanks to her unsolicited protector and returned her attention to the snifter of brandy before her. Grateful though she was, she hoped he would go away, too. Surely he hadn’t chased off those two hayseeds just to make room for himself?

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Once she realized he’d directed that comment at her, Jordan groaned to herself. Welcome back to the South, she thought with a newly honed cynicism. She could almost hear huge, rusty gates slamming shut back at the Mason-Dixon line—and on what had been her life. Maybe this stranger meant well, but his words only reminded her of what lay down the road: a gray, cheerless existence. That’s why she’d been so impulsive about taking the extra day and stopping to spend the night in Memphis. It was also why she’d come into the hotel lounge before retiring to her room. She was trying to summon enough courage to face this new hand of cards that life had dealt her. Sir Galahad here wasn’t helping in the least.

  “And exactly which century do you come from?” she asked, making no attempt to hide her opinion of his statement. Although she didn’t look up from her drink, she could feel his intense scrutiny.

  “Listen, I’m only the messenger, okay?”

  “Fine. But I’m over twenty-one, and last time I looked, this was still a free country.”

  “Point taken. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  Jordan expected him to leave at that moment. No man she knew would find any encouragement in such a rejection. But he didn’t. To her surprise, he slid onto the bar stool beside hers.

  “Scotch,” he told the bartender. “On the rocks.”

  The man behind the counter nodded, exp
ertly flipped over a tumbler and dipped it into a bin of ice cubes. Jordan watched as the guy’s moussed hair wilted from the pace he’d been keeping in the dimly lit, busy lounge. Lovely, she thought with an inner sigh, apparently Sir Galahad intended to make certain she left sooner rather than later by making her as uncomfortable as possible.

  Well, you deserve it, sweetie.

  Her conscience was right. Just as it wasn’t like her to frequent bars, she normally went out of her way to avoid being confrontational, not to mention being rude. She was a staunch advocate of honesty and succinctness, to be sure, but never impolite.

  Terrific. She had only left Massachusetts two days ago and wouldn’t reach Mount Liberty, Texas, until noon or so tomorrow, but between Brent and the Reverend, her personality was undergoing faster alterations than Dr. Jekyll had suffered from his fictional serum.

  The bartender served the stranger his drink, and Jordan took a much-needed sip of hers. She knew she owed her rescuer an apology. The question was, would he understand that’s all she was offering? She was too physically and emotionally tired for another major error in judgment; nevertheless, there was only one way to find out.

  “I’m sorry for the way I reacted,” she told the speckled marble between her elbow and his.

  “No problem.”

  “It’s just that I didn’t come in here looking for company.”

  “Neither did I.”

  She nodded. That was good, as good as anything else he could have said. They could let things drop there…and did.

  Several minutes later, Jordan swallowed the last trickle of brandy. After replacing the snifter onto the counter, she slipped her bag’s strap over her shoulder and eased off the bar stool. The liquor warmed her stomach. The stranger remained silent. She felt…almost human again, and less as if she were teetering on the edge of some abyss. She could go up to her room and get a few hours of real rest instead of lying there tense and stiff, full of worry and regrets. But before she could slip by him, the stranger turned his head and looked at her.

  Jordan tried to convince herself that the punch she felt upon making eye contact had to do with their close proximity, not the dark-haired man’s expression. Maybe his eyes were heart-clenching blue and, like his hard face, so stark with pain and grief that she had to will herself not to wince. She had her own problems. She didn’t have room or energy to hurt for someone else. And yet…she couldn’t make herself move.

  “Take care.”

  She read his lips more than heard him speak. “You, too.”

  Somehow she managed to tear her gaze from his, to put one foot before the other and step away from the bar. Stunned, she was at the elevator before she recovered her sense of control and spotted him walking toward her.

  Her heart sank anew. Surely he didn’t think…he wouldn’t—

  “Don’t look at me that way,” he muttered, more grim faced than before. “I’m trying to help. Didn’t you see how those two guys watched you leave?”

  “No.” She’d been preoccupied with trying to deal with his attention.

  “Check behind me. I’ll bet you anything that they’ve come out into the lobby. They’re probably waiting to see if you go up alone.”

  She did as he directed and saw that he was right. “Maybe I should notify the front desk. I could ask for a bellman to escort me to my room.”

  “From what I can tell, the average age of the staff around here is somewhere between pension and death. If you’ll allow me, I’ll be glad to do it, then take the elevator straight down to the garage. I’m not staying over. I only stopped long enough to get something to eat and have one drink before getting back on the road. As it is, it’ll be past midnight before I get home.”

  Did he mean that? He seemed honest. At the same time, she found it unusual for a perfect stranger to offer to go that far out of his way to help someone. What stopped her from turning him down was that this was one of Memphis’s older hotels, and while merely a modest five floors high, there were long hallways that weren’t well lit. Since she’d previously concluded that many of the rooms on her floor seemed to be vacant, it might be smart to have an escort. Should it be him, though?

  He turned out to be decent at the bar, didn’t he?

  True. But beneath that banker-neat hair—which was brown, not black, as she’d first guessed—was a face of someone not to be taken for granted, a face that looked as if it hadn’t cracked a smile in ages. Good bones and attractive, she mused, interesting features, to be sure, but no less intimidating than a Marine drill instructor’s. Or a murderer’s?

  It was the other two men who convinced her to take a chance. They continued to meander around the worn but antique-rich lobby, all the while covertly watching them. Jordan decided if she had to face trouble, she would prefer to do it in the company of this capable-looking stranger.

  “All right. I would appreciate that,” she told him just as the elevator groaned to a halt and ornate doors slid open.

  She waited for him to follow her into the musty car before she pushed the button that would direct them toward the third floor. The doors rumbled closed. With a shudder, the elevator began a reluctant ascent.

  On this ride, the noise level seemed worse than the first two times she’d used the car. She was about to warn her fellow passenger of the less-than-smooth stops when the elevator surprised them with a violent lurch. Wearing high heels designed for something far less physical than amusement-park rides, Jordan felt herself thrown off balance and grabbed for the first solid thing she could reach. To her chagrin, that turned out to be her companion.

  “What the hell—?” The stranger used his entire body to keep her from toppling, but it was the electronic panel that earned a few more choice expletives from him. “We’ve stopped between the second and third floors!”

  Embarrassed to have been reduced to grappling with the man, Jordan struggled to regain her footing. As soon as she succeeded, she stepped back to take a firm grip of the handrail.

  “Are you okay?” He shot her a quick glance.

  “Yes, but I’m so sorry to have gotten you into this mess.” To think she’d chosen this landmark hotel for its quaintness. Now she had to wonder if her whimsical choice wasn’t about to get them both injured, if not killed!

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s concentrate on getting out of here.”

  His tone, though gruff, held a soothing note. Grateful for it, and that he seemed more than willing to ignore their unexpected intimacy, Jordan watched as he experimented with several buttons on the panel. It took a few tries, but finally, as abruptly as before, the car jerked into motion.

  “Thank heavens,” she whispered, already altering her plans as to how she was going to get herself and her suitcase downstairs in the morning. No way would she be gambling her life in this contraption again!

  They literally creaked the remaining distance to the third floor. If she wasn’t so anxious, she might have found it funny that her companion edged toward the doors the instant she did. No tentativeness here—and for good reason, too, she realized seconds later, when the doors slid open and the car suddenly gave another horrifying jolt before slipping several inches.

  “Move!” The stranger swept her out of the car and leapt himself.

  She’d never been more terrified in her life! They went skidding across the hall and crashed in a tangled heap onto the hardwood floor. As the stranger crushed her flat, the force of their fall and weight of his large frame squooshed the air out of Jordan’s lungs.

  His groan came as a hot expulsion against her nape, followed by another when he swore again. To his credit, he did attempt to get off her without becoming more familiar with her anatomy than he already was. Inevitably, however, thighs rubbed against thighs, and groin nestled with shocking accuracy against derriere; Jordan stopped breathing completely when—in the process of trying to help her up—the man inadvertently learned that her breast could fill his hand to perfection.

  He quickly adjusted his hold a
nd swung her to her feet.

  “I’m really sorry about all that. Did I hurt you?”

  Some part of her mind surmised that she would be lucky if she was merely black and blue by morning, but the rest of her concentration stayed elsewhere. On the hands that lingered at her waist, for example. She could also see awareness in his remarkable eyes and knew a similar sensitivity had to show in hers, as well.

  “You couldn’t help it. At any rate, I’m twice as embarrassed as bruised.” And from the way her right heel wobbled, she knew she wouldn’t be wearing her favorite sling-back pumps again. Doubting she could even make it to her door, she took advantage of his protective hold and slipped off both shoes. Unfortunately that reduced her more confident five foot nine to where she barely reached his chin.

  “You did fine. We should sue this place for negligence,” he added with a renewed surge of temper. “That damned elevator is going to kill somebody if it isn’t repaired.”

  “I—I’ll notify the front desk as soon as I get to my room.” She swallowed. Maybe it was aftershock or the depth of his anger, but her insides wouldn’t stop quaking, and the way his thumbs kept stroking her sides didn’t help. To make matters worse, her hair was tumbling loose from its neat chignon. With it flowing down to her breasts, she knew she resembled a lost flower child far more than a capable professional. The way the stranger stared at her only confirmed that.