Falcon's Lair. Sara Orwig

a memo pad with the name Jennifer printed in blue at the top. He stuffed the paper into his own pocket and walked over to the bed.

      “C’mon, Jennifer or whoever you are—we’re going for a ride,” he said in a tight, angry voice. Yet he worked slowly and with care as he eased her slacks back on her, lifting her slim thighs as he slid the dark wool up over them, trying to avoid letting his gaze roam to the pink lace. He slid his hands beneath her soft, round bottom, his breath catching while his manhood swelled and hardened. He tugged the slacks up to her waist, buttoning them and feeling his body respond as intensely as if he had been undressing her. When he pushed back the covers, she groaned and opened her eyes, staring at him and frowning. She rubbed her head.

      “Where am I?”

      “I’m Ben Falcon,” he said carefully, watching her closely.

      She frowned and rubbed her head. “Ben,” she said hesitantly, “I know you, don’t I?”

      “I saw your car go off the road and found you and brought you here.” Her green eyes had a crystal clearness that at the moment held a troubled vulnerability. “I’m Ben,” he continued, “and you’re—?”

      She rubbed her forehead again. “I’m—” She paused and looked up at him and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said in a whisper. “I can’t think. My head hurts....”

      “I found a slip of paper in your pocket that had the name Jennifer written on it, so I guess we’ll go with that.”

      “Jennifer,” she said quietly, while shaking her head and frowning. “I don’t know.”

      “You have a bump on your head. I’ve called an Albuquerque hospital. They’re flying a chopper here, and I told them we’d be ready and waiting. Relax and don’t worry. You’ll be in good hands. I have an orthopedic friend who’ll meet us in Emergency.”

      “I don’t remember. I remember snow. So much snow. My friend Mary.” She paused and looked up. “Mary is my friend.”

      “Mary who?”

      She thought and shook her head. “Do you have my purse?”

      He sat down on the bed, still feeling the deep-running current of anger, yet right now she looked frightened and in need of comfort and a friend. He took her hand in his. “You were traveling in a snowstorm and went off the mountain, wrecking your car. The car burned, and I didn’t see a purse when I found you. I’ll go back tomorrow and look to see what I can find.”

      “I’m lots of trouble for you.”

      “No, you’re not,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She looked down at his dark-skinned fingers holding her slender, pale ones.

      “I don’t remember anything,” she said softly, frowning at him while worry clouded her eyes. “Thank you for helping me.”

      “You’ll be all right,” he said gruffly. “Here’s your coat. Probably when shock from the wreck wears off, you’ll remember everything.”

      She brightened and touched his cheek. Her fingers were cool and light on his skin. Startled, he felt an uncustomary awareness from such a slight, casual touch. “You’re hurt,” she said quietly. “Is that from trying to help me?” she asked, running her finger alongside the cut on his temple.

      “It’s only a scratch.”

      “You must have been in danger to get bruised and scratched like that. Thank you for taking me in and caring for me. You’re patient and kind,” she remarked, and smiled at him, revealing even white teeth and a dimple in her left cheek.

      Startled, Ben was aware that never before had a woman told him that he was patient or kind. There was a trusting look in her eyes that tore at him because he couldn’t forget why she was in his bedroom. When her memory returned, she would not call him kind and he wouldn’t tolerate her in his house.

      “I’ll put on my coat,” he said, standing and walking away from her, feeling as if he had moved away from warmth and sunshine, yet at the same time annoyed by the sensation. He yanked on his sheepskin parka, stuffed leather gloves in his pocket and jammed a broad-brimmed black Stetson on his head. Picking up her parka, he turned to find her watching him.

      He crossed to the bed and she sat up, swinging her feet over the side. She paused, studying her slacks. “Did I dream I tried to get out of bed?”

      “No. I caught you when you fell, and helped you back to bed. You’ve injured your ankle.”

      “I didn’t think I was dressed,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly.

      “I took off your slacks to tend to your injured thigh, but when I saw we had to go to the hospital in Albuquerque, I put your slacks back on you,” he said in what he hoped was an impersonal tone. Her blush deepened while she looked away.

      As he helped her into the coat, his fingers brushed her nape and her shoulders and he was intensely aware of each contact. She slanted him a thoughtful glance.

      “I feel as if I’ve known you a long time.”

      “I never met you before your car wrecked on my property,” he said evenly, trying to keep his voice impassive and curb his anger.

      She frowned and bit her lip, and his gaze was drawn to the small, even white teeth that bit slightly into her rosy, full underlip. As he watched her, the pink tip of her tongue touched her upper lip and he felt desire stir, a curiosity to lean down and taste her lips and tongue and mouth that looked so enticing.

      “I don’t have any difficulty remembering your name.”

      He shrugged and began to fasten the front of her coat, zipping it closed as if she were a child. “I remember how to do that,” she said with a trace of amusement, and he looked into her eyes, seeing a warmth that made him like her in spite of her errand.

      He smoothed her collar, brushing her hair back from her face, suddenly reluctant to move away from her. The moment he realized what he was doing, he stood, pushing up his sleeve to look at his watch.

      “Let’s go to the kitchen to wait.” When he picked her up, she slid her arm around his neck. He tried to ignore the pleasant fit of her in his arms as well as her delicate scent that was growing familiar now.

      “Where am I?”

      “You’re in northern New Mexico in the mountains.”

      “That means nothing to me,” she said with panic in her voice. “I don’t remember where I live or my name or why I’m here. Would you know if I lived near you?”

      “You don’t. I own a spread of land on this mountain and along the valley—I raise cattle. The only other people in the valley are boys on a ranch for homeless kids.”

      “I don’t know why I was driving in this storm, but I feel as if there’s something I need to do.”

      He crossed through the kitchen and hooked his toe beneath a bar stool to pull it out and set her on it. “We’ll wait here for the chopper. I expect it within the next five minutes.” The husky followed them into the room, walking up to the woman and wagging his tail. As she scratched his ears, his tail wagged faster.

      “His name’s Fella.” Ben handed her gloves to her and flipped the parka over her head, fastening it beneath her chin. She watched him solemnly, and he felt caught in the probing look, feeling an electric tension spark between them. His fingers stilled while her gaze seemed to wrap around him and pull him closer into a warmth that he needed.

      His gaze lowered to her mouth, and then he raised his eyes back to hers. Fire danced in the emerald depths, and her eyelids drooped in a sensual look. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt as if danger threatened him while at the same time, desire was as hot as a flame curling inside him. He slid his hand beneath her hood behind her neck, pulling her head toward him as his gaze lowered to her mouth again.

      “We’re strangers,”