Myths Of The Moon. Rosalie Ash

this morning,’ he added. ‘I’ve been sitting here staring at St Michael’s Mount out there, wondering why the hell I can’t remember who I am!’

      ‘Getting angry about it won’t help. Stress could make it worse.’

      ‘What a wise woman you are, Carla.’ The mockery was tempered with a wry smile. The sudden glimmer of warmth in his eyes made her look quickly away again.

      ‘At least you know that’s St Michael’s Mount,’ she pointed out.

      ‘Yup. Which tells me I’ve been in this part of the world before.’

      ‘So it does!’ She turned to him, eyes alight. ‘And slowly but surely it will all come back, Daniel.’

      ‘I’m sure you’re right. If I can survive the wait.’

      ‘Are you a naturally impatient person?’

      He shrugged. ‘Impatient is maybe the wrong word. Active. I’d say I feel like I’m naturally active. I get the feeling I’m used to a lot of challenge in my life. Mental and physical.’

      She gazed at him, her brain whirring in fascination.

      ‘Let’s just run over everything we know about you again,’ she suggested firmly. ‘You’re roughly…thirtyish, I’d say.’

      ‘Is that meant to be compliment or insult?’

      ‘Neither,’ she said crisply. ‘Let’s try to keep this impersonal, shall we?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’

      She shot him a vexed look. Couldn’t he take her efforts to help a little more seriously?

      ‘You don’t have an accent. Apart from an Oxford-style accent, that is. Which suggests you’re well-educated. You seem intelligent…’

      ‘Can my ego cope with all this?’

      ‘You were walking east along the coast path, from the Penzance direction. You were wearing denims, checked brushed-cotton shirt, brown leather walking-shoes, this green jumper and the Barbour jacket we’re sitting on. On your wrist you were wearing an eighteen-carat-gold Rolex Oyster Chronometer which the police seemed pretty sure was worth a small fortune. In the pocket of your shirt you had a hundred pounds in twenty-pound notes. And that cryptic note from “R”. Is that it? Is there anything else at all?’

      He slanted a ruthless grin at her. ‘You missed the dark green socks and the navy striped boxer-shorts.’

      ‘Are they significant?’ She would not blush.

      ‘Strangely enough, they could be,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘The boxer-shorts had a label from an up-market New York store. Not your run-of-the-mill boxer-shorts at all.’

      ‘Yes. Well, that’s interesting. You’ve either been to America, or you’ve got a sweet old American aunty who sends you American boxer-shorts for your birthday, maybe?’

      ‘Right.’

      She let out her breath in a rush, and shook her head.

      ‘This is hopeless,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m clearly wasting my time.’

      ‘Not at all. I appreciate the effort you’re making,’ he affirmed nonchalantly, ‘but, like you said, getting impatient doesn’t help. I can’t rush my memory back.’

      ‘Sorry. I am impatient, I admit,’ she confessed with a short laugh. ‘One of my many failings.’

      ‘Don’t put yourself down again, Carla,’ he advised, standing up. ‘If you want my opinion, I’d say you don’t have nearly as many failings as the rest of us mortals. Angelic verging on the martyred would be my verdict…’

      ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

      She began to jump to her feet beside him. She caught her foot in the sleeve of his jacket, and, losing balance, she stumbled against him, felt him stagger slightly under the impact of her weight. Her upper arms were firmly clamped in supporting hands as he retrieved the situation. Speechless, she tried to jerk shyly away, but he held her still. She looked up, and met his shadowed gaze.

      ‘Yes, it was,’ he said quietly, ‘of sorts…’

      There was silence between them suddenly. Carla opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. She was mesmerised by the expression in his eyes. Her throat tight, her heart thudding, she began shaking her head, unsure why.

      ‘Carla…’ It wasn’t a question exactly, more a stifled warning. Then slowly, and with almost exploratory caution, he bent his head and gently kissed her parted lips.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ALMOST simultaneously, they jumped apart as if they’d been stung. Daniel was gazing at Carla with blank, unfathomable eyes, then he squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to block out what he saw.

      She felt electrified. Every nerve-end tingling. Her heart pounding. Abruptly she thrust her shaky hands through her wind-blown hair, then clutched her arms around her defensively.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ she demanded huskily.

      He’d opened his eyes again. The sea-green gaze still held no recognisable emotion. Not anger, nor remorse, nor even mockery.

      ‘I’m not sure,’ he said flatly, expelling his breath on a short sharp burst. ‘It wasn’t a good idea.’

      ‘No. It wasn’t!’ Her response was automatic, but inside she vaguely recognised a surge of conflict. Unidentifiable emotions seemed to be scudding through her as haphazardly as the clouds across the sky. If he touched her again, if he touched his mouth to hers again, she didn’t know how she’d feel…

      ‘Maybe we’d better get one thing straight,’ she added frostily, dropping her arms and thrusting her hands into her pockets. ‘I’m not a…a frustrated widow, yearning for sexual fulfilment…’

      One dark brow tilted as he watched her.

      ‘I’m sure you’re not.’

      ‘And let’s face it,’ she persisted, her anger hardening as she detected that teasing glint, ‘you could be anyone!’

      He nodded slowly. ‘Anyone in expensive American boxer-shorts,’ he amended. The wicked gleam had sharpened to real amusement.