Never Love A Stranger Part 1

NEVER LOVE A STRANGER.

By Ellen Fisher.

For Don, the Vulcan Husband, whose logical mind helped iron out all the details and unravel all the paradoxes' I never would have gotten this one done without you.

Chapter 1.

At 6:28 Friday evening, Annie Simpson stood up and stretched, switched off the local news, and wandered out to her kitchen to microwave some leftover spaghetti.

There was a naked man in her kitchen.

Annie let out a strangled shriek and jumped backward as the man turned to face her. She noticed vaguely that he was a startlingly gorgeous specimen of manhood--easily six and a half feet tall, blond and blue-eyed, with a powerful, sculpted musculature like none she had ever seen before in her life. And he was entirely naked.

Unable to help herself, she regarded the more intimate portion of his anatomy and was shocked. Long years ago, at seventeen, she had furtively flipped through a copy of Playgirl her girlfriends had brought to school and been suitably impressed.

But Playgirl had not featured a single man who approached this man's magnificence.

The man took a step toward her. Snapping out of her momentary distraction, she made a leap for the knife block on the counter. s.n.a.t.c.hing up the largest and most wicked-looking knife, she brandished it at him. "Don't come any closer or I'll'I'll maim you," she warned.

The man regarded her through calm blue eyes. He seemed unimpressed by the huge knife, despite the fact that some of his best attributes were decidedly lacking in protection. "I will not hurt you," he said. His voice was as gorgeous as the rest of him--deep and gentle and mellow. Aware that she should not be mooning over a clearly deranged stranger, Annie firmly squelched her automatic reaction to the seductive depths of his voice.

"Of course not," she agreed with heavy sarcasm. "You were standing naked as the day you were born in my kitchen, but you don't intend to hurt me. Sure, I believe you. How the h.e.l.l did you get in here, anyway'"

A corner of his mouth quirked upward. "That would be difficult to explain." Annie took her eyes off him for an instant and noticed the door that led out to the garage was still closed and locked. The window over the sink looked perfectly intact, too. She'd had the TV turned up pretty loud, as was her habit, and probably wouldn't have heard if he'd smashed the wall with a bulldozer. But everything was still locked tight. She was d.a.m.ned if she could figure out just how he'd broken in. "Fine. Don't bother to explain," she growled. "I wouldn't want you to strain yourself coming up with a story. But what exactly do you want from me' Dinner'"

To her shock, he nodded. "Dinner would be appreciated, thank you."

Now I know he's crazy, she thought numbly. She waved the knife at him again. "Get the h.e.l.l out of my

house or I'll use this thing, d.a.m.n it."

"I do not intend to hurt you," he repeated, "but I cannot leave. As you can see, I have no clothes."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"It would be unwise of me to leave while unclothed."

"You'd probably be arrested for indecent exposure," she agreed. "And wouldn't that be a pity'"

"I need clothing."

She was beginning to suspect he was not really dangerous. The simplicity of his answers was disarming.

There was something almost childlike about him, despite his enormous size and obvious maturity. Just some poor lunatic escaped from a hospital, she thought with a pang of pity.

"Why don't you put on the clothes you had on'" she suggested.

"I have no clothing."

Her moment of pity faded, and she began to grow irritated. He was concerned about being picked up by the cops for indecent exposure now, but apparently that hadn't worried him when he broke into her house.

She narrowed her eyes at him, revising her earlier opinion. Maybe he wasn't so harmless after all. Unless he had been wandering around the suburbs stark naked, he must have had clothes on when he came in, and the fact that he had taken them off meant he had plans for her. Plans she had no intention of facilitating by putting down her butcher knife.

"If you don't get the h.e.l.l out right now," she said through her teeth, "I am going to call the cops."

He gave her a blank stare. "Cops'"

"The police, d.a.m.n it!"

He shook his head, almost sorrowfully. "I'm sorry," he said with what appeared to be real regret, "but I really can't permit that."

He stepped toward her. Automatically, she swung the knife toward him in a savage arc. She had never wielded a knife in this fashion before--the only thing she'd ever knifed was the Thanksgiving turkey--but she was d.a.m.ned if she was going to let herself be raped.

Unfortunately, he was quicker. He caught her wrist and twisted it, just hard enough to compel her to drop the knife. It clattered to the floor, leaving her defenseless.

She cursed and drove her knee into his crotch.

Pain radiated out from her knee and shot up her leg, and she gasped. He, on the other hand, did not seem in the least affected. She realized with annoyance that she must have missed her target, striking him in his very muscular thigh instead of the more vulnerable area she had aimed for. Her kneecap felt bruised.

He caught her other arm and held it, pinning her. She looked up into his face, seeing the high cheekbones, the thin, straight nose, and the startling blue eyes, framed by a shoulder-length mane of golden hair that glistened like a newly minted Sacagawea dollar. He was undeniably beautiful.

Just my luck, she thought grimly. I find the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in my life, and he's a psychopath.

"I think you have gotten the wrong impression," he said mildly.

His baritone voice flowed across her nerves like dark honey, soothing her despite herself. He did not seem insane, but she could think of no sensible reason why a sane man should be lurking naked in her kitchen. He had to be crazy, no matter how sanely he behaved. She decided to play along, to play for time, until she saw an opportunity for escape.

"What do you want'" she whispered.

"I need help. Clothing, to be precise."

"I can get you clothing," she offered hastily. Men's clothing, untouched since her husband died, still hung in the closets upstairs, but Steve had been more than half a foot shorter than this man. "I can purchase it for you."

He c.o.c.ked his head quizzically, obviously suspicious of her sudden capitulation. "I could not repay you. I

have no money."

Naturally, she thought wryly. The most gorgeous man I've ever met is not only a psychopath, he's a broke psychopath. "Yeah, I don't know where you'd be keeping a wallet."

He ignored her desperate attempt at levity, or perhaps he simply failed to notice it. "I need clothing that will permit me to blend into your society," he said gravely.

"My society'"

"I am unfamiliar with your world."

It was all Annie could do not to roll her eyes. Just what she needed to wind up the work week, to be trapped alone with a science fiction freak who'd seen one too many episodes of Star Trek. Or maybe he was a Mork and Mindy fan. He certainly had Robin Williams' clueless alien routine down pat.

"If you'll let me go," she said, trying not to sound too eager, "I'll drive right over to the mall and get you some clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt all right, or do you need a tux'"

"I require nothing elaborate."

"Marvelous. Jeans and a T-shirt, then. Levis okay with you'"

He hesitated, looking oddly blank. She would have sworn he'd never heard the term "Levis" before. "I will defer to your judgment."

"Great. Let me go, okay'"

He released her arms, and she backed cautiously away. She didn't dare make a dive for the fallen knife--he was too quick, and she'd never reach it in time. She could try to make it up the stairs, lock herself in the bedroom, and call the cops, but she was pretty sure that a man with such incredibly long

legs could outrun her. And given his bulging muscles, he certainly wouldn't have any difficulty in breaking down the door. Getting him to let her outside the house was definitely her best option. "I'll be back in half an hour," she said brightly, backing toward the front door. "Before you go--" She cursed inwardly. d.a.m.n it, she should have known he wouldn't let her escape so easily. "Might I have some food'" "Sure," she said, infinitely relieved. "Help yourself. There's some stuff in the fridge." "Fridge'" "The refrigerator," she said. The unrelenting tension of the situation made her more of a smart-a.s.s than usual. "Or don't they have those on Vulcan'"

When he still looked blank, she waved a hand at it. "The big white thing."

"Oh," he said. While she watched, he stepped toward it, contemplated it thoughtfully, then placed his hand on the handle. And pushed.

That, more than anything, convinced her that his weird behavior was no act. Naked or not, he had a serious mental problem. There was something very wrong with the guy. Everyone in America knew how to open a refrigerator, for G.o.d's sake. She hesitated in her stealthy retreat, pushing aside her desperate desire to escape in her concern for this man.

"Have you been in some sort of accident'" she asked.

He looked at her and offered a slight smile. "You could say that." He tried to pull the handle, obviously as an experiment, and nodded with satisfaction when the door opened.

"You've lost your memory, haven't you'"

"My memory'" He bent and peered inside the refrigerator.

"Yes. You have amnesia. That's why you're acting so strangely."

"Not precisely," he said, pulling out a plastic container that held the long-dead remains of some anonymous ca.s.serole.

"Don't eat that," she said hastily. "It's been in there for weeks."

He blinked at the container and set it on the counter, then pulled out another bowl full of something that had been canned fruit in a former life.

"I wouldn't eat that, either. There's mold growing on it."

He frowned. "Is all your food in various stages of decomposition'"

"Yeah, a lot of it. I never clean out my fridge, okay'" She stepped forward, picked out the remains of yesterday's spaghetti dinner, and handed it to him. "Here. This won't give you food poisoning. I was going to have it, but I'll just have a sandwich instead. No big deal."

He looked at her oddly. "You would give your dinner to a stranger'"

Annie shrugged. "It's just spaghetti. Anyway--" She gave him a strained smile. "You've obviously got problems. Am I right' Amnesia' You can't remember who you are, can you' Are you lost'"

He opened the container and sniffed at it cautiously. "Actually," he said, "I remember perfectly well who I am and where I'm from."

"Oh, really. Please enlighten me, then. Who the h.e.l.l are you'"

"My name is James." He stuck a finger into the spaghetti sauce and tasted it, then looked down at her. "I'm from the future."

Chapter 2.

"The future," Annie repeated.

He nodded. "The future." He held the container out to her. "This seems suitable for consumption. Is there some method of heating it'" Automatically, she took the bowl. "I guess I was wrong," she murmured, to herself as much as to him.

"You are crazy." "Crazy'" The way he repeated perfectly normal words as if she had spoken in Latin was beginning to get on her nerves. "Yes, crazy," she snapped. "As in psychotic." "I am not psychotic," he said. He gave the container a significant look and smiled slightly. "I am, however, hungry."

He looked down into her eyes, and she met his gaze and was stunned by what she saw there. There was a rock-steady sanity in his eyes. Whatever this man was, he was no psychopath. He might have lost his memory, but he wasn't crazy. A little delusional, maybe. But she was pretty sure he wasn't dangerous. Something in the depths of his eyes a.s.sured her he was no threat to her. "Oh, what the h.e.l.l," she grumbled, stalking across the kitchen to the microwave. "Maybe I'm the crazy one." She thrust the container into the microwave, slammed the door, and punched several b.u.t.tons in rapid succession. The machine began whirring. "I ought to call the cops. I really should." "I'd rather you didn't." "No kidding," she retorted. She turned around and found herself staring at his bare chest. "Just a minute,"

she said. "I'll find you something to wear." "I thought you said you had no clothing." "None that you could wear outside the house. But I do have some men's clothing that will cover you." His forehead wrinkled. "Do you live with someone'" The correct answer, she knew, was to a.s.sert she had a male roommate who would be home any minute.

But to her surprise, she decided to be honest. She realized she was no longer afraid of this peculiar man.