Falcon's Lair. Sara Orwig

yet she guessed there was a great deal he was leaving unsaid. When he turned around to look into her eyes, she became aware of his maleness, and she wondered about his effect on her. Was it because of her helplessness and his comfort? Or was it a sheer physical magnetism? He didn’t seem happy with her, yet he had been kind to her, so the anger had to be bound up with his father.

      “When daylight comes, I’m going home. You can wait here if you want— I’ll take care of the bill. I know my father will send someone for you.”

      Panic gripped her and she knew it was unreasonable, but it was frightening to not be able to remember anything and to not know anyone.

      He moved closer to the bed and looked down at her, touching her knuckles lightly with his fingertips. “Or if you’d feel better about it, I’ll take you home with me until someone comes to get you.”

      She closed her eyes and caught his hand in hers. “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling a surge of relief.

      Ben experienced tiny sparks from her clasp. He looked at the top of her head, her shining hair. She seemed so vulnerable that sympathy rose inside him for her, yet he knew if she worked for Weston, she was tough and intelligent. He should walk out tonight, tell her goodbye and save himself some trouble. But he couldn’t do it.

      He went to sit down and she watched him, meeting his steady gaze. “I know I should stay here, but I feel more secure with you.”

      A strange humorless smile flitted across his face. He settled back on the chair. “You won’t when your memory returns.”

      “You don’t get along with your father.”

      He shook his head. “No, I don’t. Weston is ruthless, determined and unrelenting. He’s been incredibly successful in business, and he did it on his own. He came from a poor farm background. My grandmother was a Comanche, my grandfather had a tiny farm that finally failed. Weston has built an empire and he was determined that he would raise his sons to run parts of it exactly the way he had, only, neither of his sons were carbon copies of him.”

      “So, you have a brother?”

      “He’s deceased now. Geoff was younger. My mother was as strong-willed as Weston, fighting him to her last breath. When I was ten, she died in a car wreck. Weston said I inherited all her rebellion and wildness. My brother tried to be what Weston wanted, and failed. I fought him. He’s never given up trying to get me back— using coercion, bribes, beautiful women— ” He broke off when she frowned at the last.

      “He couldn’t have sent me as an enticement!” The words were out before she thought, and she blushed.

      One dark brow arched and curiosity flared in his dark eyes. “Why not?”

      Her cheeks burned, and she waved her hand, looking down at herself. “I guess I know that instinctively. I looked in a mirror here. I’m not the type of woman to be a— a physical inducement. I have freckles.”

      “You also have a body and you have this— ” he said softly, leaning forward to stretch out a long arm and wind a lock of silky auburn hair around his fingers. She felt the gentle tug on her scalp as she looked into his dark eyes. He was leaning over the bed, only inches from her now. Her awareness of him intensified, startling her because she was having reactions that were strong. She decided it was because of her circumstances.

      “I’m not fishing for compliments,” she said, avoiding his steady gaze and feeling embarrassed by the conversation, yet certain he was wrong, “but I don’t have the kind of body you’re talking about. Thank you for your compliments though. And look— ” She waved pale slender fingers at him.

      He arched his brow again at her, catching her hand and glancing down at her small hand in his large, callused palm.

      “Even if you ignore the cuts from the wreck, this doesn’t look like the hand of a woman who would be a beautiful enticement,” she said, too aware of the solid warmth of his hand holding hers. “Whatever work I do, I use my hands enough to prevent long, red nails. No, if you’re right, he must have sent me to use my wits to talk you into coming home.”

      “That would be a first where a female is concerned,” Ben replied dryly, leaning back against the chair, but still holding her hand, his thumb running idly across her knuckles. She wondered if he noticed what he was doing; she was too conscious of it. “And the most dangerous to me,” he added softly with an arch of his eyebrow.

      “I’m not a threat to you. I might not remember anything, but I know what my instinctive reactions are.”

      Suddenly his eyes twinkled as he gazed at her. “Stop arguing, Jennifer. I believe you.”

      “I’m glad you do.” She studied him, wondering what he was like, what would make him laugh. “When did you leave Texas?”

      “When I was twenty-six, eight years ago. The first time I left was when I was seventeen and ran away from home. After a couple of rebellious years, I decided to cooperate with him. I got a degree in petroleum engineering and went to work for him. Unfortunately, he wanted to make every major decision.”

      “You couldn’t work any satisfactory agreement out between you?” she asked. Ben continued to rub his thumb across her knuckles, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises.

      He shook his head, trying to bank the anger he felt as he remembered the struggle with Weston. “No, we couldn’t. It was his way or no way.”

      “Maybe he was right. He was older and more successful.”

      Ben looked into her clear green eyes that appeared guileless and wondered how she had become entangled with Weston. She seemed intelligent and quietly self-possessed, not the type of woman he associated with his father. “My father was demanding and brutal when I was growing up. Geoff always conformed to save himself beatings, but he couldn’t achieve the excellence my father demanded, so he paid a price emotionally.

      “After I grew up a little, I finally decided that maybe I had been too bullheaded, that I should try Weston’s way. When I got into the business, I found out things I had only suspected. My father places success first. He’s not above hurting others, lying, cheating or anything he can do as long as it’s within the law or he knows he won’t get caught.

      “It finally came to a takeover where he was going to crush good people to get a small company that would be a toy to him, something he’d discard as soon as he acquired it. I killed the deal and packed and left. I’m cut out of the will, and with Geoff gone, the fair-haired boy is Jordan Falcon, an older cousin who works for Weston.” Ben shifted restlessly. “My cousin tries to be what Weston wants. They can have it all.”

      He became silent when a tall, white-uniformed nurse came to take Jennifer’s blood pressure. As soon as the nurse left, Jennifer turned to him. “When did you move here?”

      “I bought the ranch eight years ago. For the first four years Weston sent people to force me to come back. But the past few years, I haven’t been bothered by him and I figured he had finally given up on me.”

      “Maybe you’re wrong about me,” she said quietly.

      Studying her, Ben wished he were wrong, wished that she was trying to find him for an entirely different reason— one that had no connection to his father. He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jennifer.”

      “I might be related to someone who works for you and looking for him or her.”

      “No women work for me.”

      “I’ve talked too much. You’re probably exhausted after working today in this storm. You don’t have to stay awake.”

      “I’m all right and I’m glad to talk,” he said, releasing her hand.

      “I wish I could remember something. Do you think my purse was destroyed?”

      He shrugged. “I’ll go tomorrow and look for it, but it’s probably blown to bits.”

      She