diaries—Sarah’s diaries—of a life that was in the past.
“Miranda?”
She heard the query but it seemed to come from a long distance. Her past was all too alive, threatening to mess her up again and she didn’t know when or where that would stop, now that Bobby had access to her.
“Is there something wrong?”
Wrong... the awful sense of wrongness was so twisted up inside her... Nathan here at the wrong time... Bobby coming to do more wrong...another wave of tears swam into her eyes. She shook her head, too choked to say anything.
“You did say you wanted to read them.” The edge in his voice seemed to slice into her heart. “If you’ve changed your mind...”
She swallowed hard, fighting to order her mind to come up with something that might cover her failure to welcome his company. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I’m not...” Her voice was wobbling. She scooped in a quick breath and forced herself on. “This is bad timing. But thank you for...”
Her chin was forcibly tilted up. The swift action halted her erratic little speech. She was startled into looking at him, though the moisture in her eyes blurred her vision, preventing any clear view of his reaction to her all too obvious distress.
“You’ve got a problem. Best you use me to talk it over with, Miranda,” he stated firmly.
Before she could raise a protest or deter him from his purpose, he pushed her door wide-open and was steering her around, his arm hugging her shoulders as he walked her to the closest armchair in her sitting area. He set her down in it, retrieved the diaries from her hold, placed them on the bench that divided off the kitchenette, then closed her door, sealing their privacy.
“Now tell me what’s upset you.”
She shook her head, knowing he had no control over this situation. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Nathan.”
“If it’s resort business, Tommy would want me to help, Miranda,” he asserted strongly.
Hopelessly agitated by his insistence on getting involved, she pushed herself out of the chair to plead for him to leave her. “It’s personal. You can’t help. Please...”
“Try me!”
He stood there, a strong mountain of a man, emitting immovable purpose, and Miranda could feel her own will crumpling under his. She didn’t know what to do, couldn’t see a way of resolving anything. She wasn’t aware of her hands fretting at each other, wasn’t even aware that her tear ducts were betraying her inner distress again.
Then he was coming at her and suddenly she was enveloped in a warm embrace, her head was pressed onto a broad shoulder, and a hand was stroking her hair.
“It’s okay,” he murmured comfortingly. “We’ll sort it out. A problem is always better shared.”
“No, it’s not,” she cried, even as she passively accepted his physical support, inwardly craving more.
“Trust me.” It was more of a command than an appeal. “Sooner or later you’ll have to learn to trust me, Miranda. You might as well start now.”
She wanted to, but the thought of explaining everything was so daunting, her heart cringed from it. And what if he misunderstood her position? He hadn’t lived in Bobby Hewson’s world.
“It’s not good,” she blurted out.
“So what? Who’s perfect?”
Anguish splintered her mind. She could no longer find the point of arguing. “It’s the man I told you about,” she confided in a fearful rush. “Bobby Hewson. He’s coming tomorrow. With his wife. And he knows I’m here. He knows.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tension! Being pressed so close to Nathan, Miranda instantly felt it whipping through him, transmitting a stiffening jolt to her shredded nerves. The firm wall of his chest expanded. The hand stroking her hair clenched. The muscular thighs supporting hers tautened to rock-hardness. It seemed for several seconds, he didn’t breathe at all. And neither did she!
Sheer panic threw her mind into chaos. What had she done by spilling that information?
“Miranda?”
She heard the query but it seemed to come from a long distance. Her past was all too alive, threatening to mess her up again and she didn’t know when or where that would stop, now that Bobby had access to her.
“Is there something wrong?”
Wrong... the awful sense of wrongness was so twisted up inside her... Nathan here at the wrong time... Bobby coming to do more wrong...another wave of tears swam into her eyes. She shook her head, too choked to say anything.
“You did say you wanted to read them.” The edge in his voice seemed to slice into her heart. “If you’ve changed your mind...”
She swallowed hard, fighting to order her mind to come up with something that might cover her failure to welcome his company. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I’m not...” Her voice was wobbling. She scooped in a quick breath and forced herself on. “This is bad timing. But thank you for...”
Her chin was forcibly tilted up. The swift action halted her erratic little speech. She was startled into looking at him, though the moisture in her eyes blurred her vision, preventing any clear view of his reaction to her all too obvious distress.
“You’ve got a problem. Best you use me to talk it over with, Miranda,” he stated firmly.
Before she could raise a protest or deter him from his purpose, he pushed her door wide-open and was steering her around, his arm hugging her shoulders as he walked her to the closest armchair in her sitting area. He set her down in it, retrieved the diaries from her hold, placed them on the bench that divided off the kitchenette, then closed her door, sealing their privacy.
“Now tell me what’s upset you.”
She shook her head, knowing he had no control over this situation. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Nathan.”
“If it’s resort business, Tommy would want me to help, Miranda,” he asserted strongly.
Hopelessly agitated by his insistence on getting involved, she pushed herself out of the chair to plead for him to leave her. “It’s personal. You can’t help. Please...”
“Try me!”
He stood there, a strong mountain of a man, emitting immovable purpose, and Miranda could feel her own will crumpling under his. She didn’t know what to do, couldn’t see a way of resolving anything. She wasn’t aware of her hands fretting at each other, wasn’t even aware that her tear ducts were betraying her inner distress again.
Then he was coming at her and suddenly she was enveloped in a warm embrace, her head was pressed onto a broad shoulder, and a hand was stroking her hair.
“It’s okay,” he murmured comfortingly. “We’ll sort it out. A problem is always better shared.”
“No, it’s not,” she cried, even as she passively accepted his physical support, inwardly craving more.
“Trust me.” It was more of a command than an appeal. “Sooner or later you’ll have to learn to trust me, Miranda. You might as well start now.”
She wanted to, but the thought of explaining everything was so daunting, her heart cringed from it. And what if he misunderstood her position? He hadn’t lived in Bobby Hewson’s world.
“It’s not good,” she blurted out.
“So what? Who’s perfect?”
Anguish splintered her mind. She could no longer find the point of arguing. “It’s the man I told you about,” she confided in a fearful rush. “Bobby Hewson. He’s coming tomorrow. With his wife. And he knows I’m here. He knows.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tension! Being pressed so close to Nathan, Miranda instantly felt it whipping through him, transmitting a stiffening jolt to her shredded nerves. The firm wall of his chest expanded. The hand stroking her hair clenched. The muscular thighs supporting hers tautened to rock-hardness. It seemed for several seconds, he didn’t breathe at all. And neither did she!
Sheer panic threw her mind into chaos. What had she done by spilling that information?
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