“I took Surlock clothes that belonged to your father,” Ms. Abernathy began. “I was going to have them taken to Goodwill anyway. I also included a pair of swimming trunks. Since you insisted he stay in the guest house, please inform him I cannot have my staff in a state of agitation because he chooses not to wear clothes.” She turned on her heel and went back to the kitchen without another word.
Not as bad as Darcy had feared, but still, she had been soundly chastised. Surlock went skinny-dipping, but she caught the flack. Not that she could blame the maids for having their heads turned. Apparently, he’d caused more than one heart to flutter.
She hurried out to the guest house, and tapped on the door. As she went inside, Twila was just coming out of the bedroom.
“His vitals are all good this morning,” Twila told her. “I checked them on and off through the night and there was no change.”
“Does he remember anything?”
She shook her head. “No more than he did yesterday. It might be a week or so before he’s completely back to normal. Maybe longer.”
Darcy didn’t like the sound of that. What if he never regained his memory? Would he live in the guest house forever?
Surlock stepped from the other room wearing her father’s old clothes. They were about the same height, but Surlock was broader in the chest so the white shirt didn’t button, and showed a delicious expanse of bare skin. He’d rolled the sleeves past his wrists, giving him a casual beach look.
How could he look even sexier than when he was naked? Maybe he could live in the guest house for a few years. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of staring.
“The shoes didn’t fit.” He glanced down at his feet.
“No problem, we’ll get you some new ones.” She met his gaze. “How do you feel?”
“I still can’t remember anything.”
“Give it time,” Twila told him. She glanced at her watch. “There’s nothing more that I can do. Dr. Wilson will probably call this morning.”
“Yes, of course,” Darcy said. “Thanks so much for coming out.”
Twila gathered her things and left.
The room suddenly began to shrink. “Are you hungry?”
He nodded.
Surlock didn’t talk a lot. Her theory that he was raised by wolves was beginning to sound more plausible. He followed as she went across to the house. She glanced at the pool.
“You should wear clothes next time you swim.”
“Why?”
Why? She couldn’t think of one good reason. It would be nice to wake up to Surlock swimming naked in the pool every morning. It might cause her mother to have a heart attack though.
“Because Ms. Abernathy will lecture me again if you don’t,” she finally told him. It was as good a reason as anything else she could come up with.
He nodded. She didn’t ask if that meant he would or would not wear trunks the next time.
They went into the dining room. Breakfast was always buffet-style in silver warming trays on a side table. It had been this way as long as she could remember. No matter how many times Darcy told Ms. Abernathy a bowl of cereal or just some fruit would be fine, Ms. Abernathy still fixed her spread. She always said it wouldn’t go to waste since there were plenty of mouths to feed at the estate.
When Darcy glanced at Surlock, he only looked confused. “Scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, pancakes and fruit,” she said, pointing to the different dishes.
He nodded. She watched in amazement as he loaded his plate with some of everything. She got him another plate for his pancakes, buttered them, and added syrup. After she carried it to the table, she fixed her plate—two strips of bacon and some strawberries.
She took a seat at the table, picked up a slice of crispy bacon and took a bite. Honey-cured bacon was a weakness. Surlock watched her until she began to feel uncomfortable.
“Go ahead and eat.” She picked up her glass of orange juice.
He began wolfing down the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days. She choked on her orange juice when he picked up a handful of eggs and shoved them in his mouth.
He looked up, egg on the corner of his mouth. “What?”
She picked up her fork and waved it. “Use your fork for the eggs. You don’t eat food with your hands.”
“You did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I watched. You picked up meat and took a bite.”
“But that was bacon.” He still didn’t look as if he understood. “Bacon is okay if it’s crisp because cutting it would only make it crumble. The eggs are soft so you eat them with a fork.”
Maybe he had been raised by wolves. He’d even told her that he remembered a wolf. Coincidence? Why else would he be running around naked? Wolf Boy?
He hadn’t looked like a boy on the diving board.
Wolf Man?
Darcy could almost see him running through the woods, the leader of a pack of wolves. A shiver ran down her spine. He’d be completely naked, growling and snarling, ready to do battle. Or have sex.
“This is good,” he said.
You better believe it was.
Darcy mentally shook her head and quickly brought her thoughts back to the present. She watched as he took a drink of orange juice. At least he knew how to hold a glass. He picked up the fork and looked at it, then plunged it down into the pancakes, bringing one entire pancake up and toward his mouth.
“No!”
He frowned. “I eat it with my hands?”
She shook her head. “No, you cut it first. Like this.” She hurried over to him, took his fork and knife and cut the pancakes. “Now you take normal bites.”
She turned to look at him. Their faces were close. She felt as if she could drown in his whiskey-brown eyes. He suddenly leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. He tasted of orange juice. He deepened the kiss, pulling her head closer. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her palms grew moist when his tongue stroked hers.
Someone cleared her throat.
Oh, go away.
This was nice. Visions of him carrying her up the stairs to her bedroom filled her head.
A throat was cleared again.
Damn! She moved back, guilty warmth flooding her cheeks. One of the maids held the cordless phone. “Dr. Wilson is on the line, Miss Darcy.” The maid ducked her head, but a knowing smile played around the corners of her mouth.
“Of course.” Darcy smoothed her hands over her hair, then took the phone from the maid. The girl hurried out.
Darcy cleared her throat. “Yes, Dr. Wilson.” They spoke a few minutes, with Darcy agreeing to bring Surlock in later that morning. After saying good-bye, she set the phone on the table, and took her seat.
“Don’t kiss me again, please.” She primly laid her napkin across her lap, smoothing out the linen, but her hands trembled.
“Why?”
Why? Why did he always ask why? And why couldn’t she ever come up with a plausible explanation as to why he shouldn’t do something? The kiss had been nice. Better than nice. It had had made her feel warm all over. Hell, it made her want to straddle his lap and press her body against his and forget about everything except how he would make her feel.
She took a steadying breath and looked at him. Her insides turned to mush. He was way too tempting. “It’s just not done.”
“You don’t kiss?”
“Of course, I kiss.”
“But not me. You didn’t enjoy it?”
“Of course, I enjoyed it. Very much, in fact.” He was confusing her. “We don’t really know each other. Maybe kissing wouldn’t be a good idea right now.”
He forked some of the pancake, but stopped halfway to his mouth. “I enjoyed kissing you, too.” He took the pancake and slowly chewed, but his heated gaze never wavered from her. His words pleased her more than she wanted to admit.
Good Lord, the guy was a stranger. His words shouldn’t make her feel all giddy. She still wasn’t sure he hadn’t been raised by wolves. Maybe he just camped out a lot with the guys. Even if he had amnesia, he wouldn’t forget how to eat, though. Would he?