A Memorable Man Read online

  “Dammit, Woman,”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Joan Hohl

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Notes

  “Dammit, Woman,”

  Adam erupted, “we have no past. I have never met you, don’t know you, and you sure as hell can’t know me.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Sunny persisted, meeting his narrow-eyed glare with fearless composure. “I would know you anywhere.”

  “How do you know me?” he insisted. “How, when we have never met, never seen each other?”

  “Not in this lifetime, no,” she agreed.

  Oh, hell, Adam thought savagely, seeing his hopes for a mutually satisfying holiday dalliance growing dimmer with each statement she made. He, Adam Grainger, so selective about his female companions, was attracted—strongly attracted—to a cuckoo bird!

  Dear Reader,

  A book from Joan Hohl is always a delight, so I’m thrilled that this month we have her latest MAN OF THE MONTH, A Memorable Man. Naturally, this story is chock-full of Joan’s trademark sensuality and it’s got some wonderful plot twists that are sure to please you!

  Also this month, Cindy Gerard’s latest in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, A Bride for Crimson Falls, and Beverly Barton’s “Southern sizzle” is highlighted in A Child of Her Own. Anne Eames has the wonderful ability to combine sensuality and humor, and A Marriage Made in Joeville features this talent.

  The Baby Blizzard by Caroline Cross is sure to melt your heart this month—it’s an extraordinary love story with a hero and heroine you’ll never forget! And the month is completed with a sexy romp by Diana Mars, Matchmaking Mona.

  In months to come, look for spectacular Silhouette Desire books by Diana Palmer, Jennifer Greene, Lass Small and many other fantastic Desire stars! And I’m always here to listen to your thoughts and opinions about the books. You can write to me at the address below.

  Enjoy! I wish you hours of happy reading!

  Lucia Macro

  Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  JOAN HOHL

  A MEMORABLE MAN

  Books by Joan Hohl

  Silhouette Desire

  A Much Needed Holiday #247

  1Texas Gold #294

  1California Copper #312

  1Nevada Silver #330

  Lady Ice #354

  One Tough Hombre #372

  Falcon’s Flight #390

  The Gentleman Insists #475

  Christmas Stranger #540

  Handsome Devil #612

  Convenient Husband #732

  Lyon’s Cub #762

  2Wolfe Waiting #806

  2Wolfe Watching #865

  2Wolfe Wanting #884

  2Wolfe Wedding #973

  A Memorable Man #1075

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Thorne’s Way #54

  Forever Spring #444

  Thorne’s Wife #537

  Silhouette Romance

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  Someone Waiting #358

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  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Moments Harsh,

  Moments Gentle #35

  Silhouette Books

  Silhouette Summer Sizzlers 1988

  “Grand Illusion”

  Silhouette Christmas Stories 1993

  “Holiday Homecoming”

  Silhouette Summer Sizzlers 1996

  “Gone Fishing”

  JOAN HOHL

  is the bestselling author of almost three dozen books. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the Romance Writers of America Golden Medallion Award. In addition to contemporary romance, this prolific author also writes historical and time-travel romances. Joan lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband and family.

  To my editor, Melissa Senate,

  for being such a nice bully

  One

  It was fascinating, like stepping back over two hundred years in time.

  Bemused by the novelty of the experience, Adam Grainger came to an abrupt halt behind the two elderly ladies blocking his passage to Duke of Gloucester Street. In no particular hurry, instead of circling around them, he waited patiently for them to finish their conversation and then either cross the street or part company.

  It had been snowing when Adam flew out of Wyoming that morning, snowing and windy and bitterly cold. Rather normal weather for mid-December. At the time, since he was flying toward the eastern seaboard, he had presumed it would be cold in Virginia, as well.

  But it wasn’t cold; in fact with the temperature hovering around 62°, the air felt balmy against his face.

  While waiting, basking in the gentle sunshine, Adam slowly took in his surroundings, the sights and sounds of the restored capital city of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.

  Lowering his gaze to his hands, he studied the well-marked map, which delineated every street and restored building in the area. His bearings set, he raised his eyes. Directly opposite, across the cobbled street, stood the Bruton Parish Church, and beyond the church, the Governor’s Palace rose majestically at the end of the two-block-long Palace Green.

  But it wasn’t the lovely old church or even the more imposing palace in the background that caught Adam’s attention and fancy, riveting his gaze.

  A young woman was approaching the street from the green. Although attired in the period costume of a reenactor, she strode forth with the free and easy long-legged gait of the modern woman, a long dark red cape swirling around her ankles, a mobcap swinging by its strings from her fingers. Sunlight glimmered in loosened strands of gold streaking her brown hair, which was gathered into a carelessly fashioned topknot.

  An odd sensation of familiarity flared to life inside Adam. Startled by the feeling, he stood staring, arrested by the very sight of her beautiful composed face.

  “A pity, really, she’s such a lovely girl.”

  Adam couldn’t help but overhear the remark made by one of the ladies standing less than a foot in front of him. A movement of the lady’s head indicated the remark had obviously been intended to apply to the young woman coming to a halt at the opposite curb.

  A pity? he thought, frowning. What could there be to feel pity for such an enchanting creature? The thought had no sooner struck him than the answer was forthcoming.

  “A bit odd, you know,” the lady murmured in a sympathetic tone, shaking her head.

  “So I’ve heard,” the other lady replied, heaving a sigh. “Although she seems fine most of the time, I understand she is subject to moments of delusions or some such.”

  The first lady nodded in agreement. “Not only that,” she informed sadly. “But I’ve been told she goes off on rather wild and strange flights of fancy.”

  Delusions? Wild and strange flights of fancy? Containing an urge to laugh aloud, Adam shot a glance at the woman under discussion. Although the woman hesitated near the curb, her expression of growing consternation seemed merely to indicate mild indecisiveness. She certainly didn’t appear to Adam as either odd or given to sudden wild and strange flight
s of fancy.

  At that instant, just as Adam heard the two ladies say their goodbyes and separate, the woman stepped off the curb and into the street. Adam did likewise, strolling toward her as she strode toward him. As they drew alongside one another he felt another decidedly strange jolt, at the same time noting the sudden widening of her eyes.

  What the hell?

  Even as the thought flashed through his mind, Adam was brought up short by the sound of her voice.

  “Andrew?”

  A case of mistaken identity. Surprised by the sharp sense of disappointment he felt, Adam turned to offer her a small smile and a reluctant disclaimer.

  “Sorry, but no, I am—”

  “No, of course not.” She smiled, raised her eyes, and sighed, as if impatient with herself. “You wouldn’t be Andrew. Not again.”

  Huh? Clueless, Adam stood there, right in the middle of Duke of Gloucester Street, not only speechless but dumbfounded to the point of being oblivious to the horse-drawn wagon lumbering toward them.

  “Oh, dear, after all this time, you still don’t know, do you?” She sighed again, then, before he could think of a reply or even so much as how to reply, she glanced beyond him and grasped his arm. “Come along,” she urged, leading hum back the way he had come from the other side of the street. “We’re in danger of being run down here.”

  Run down? Adam frowned, but nevertheless moved at her bidding. Surely the woman knew better than most that vehicular traffic wasn’t allowed within the restored area? His silent query was answered the next moment, when the touristladen wagon rumbled by, missing them by a mere foot or so.

  Well, damn, he reflected, staring in bemusement at the horses and rough-hewn conveyance. He couldn’t recall seeing anything about the availability of wagon rides in the packet he’d been given at the visitors’ center. Of course, at the time, wanting to experience the place for himself, rather than read about it, he had given the information little more than a casual perusal.

  “It’s a wagon,” he said, unnecessarily, and more to himself than to the woman standing beside him...now well out of harm’s way. “A horse-drawn wagon.”

  “I know.”

  The thread of amused understanding woven through her voice snagged Adam’s attention. Forgetting the wagon, he turned to level a probing look at her. “What did you mean earlier, when you said I wouldn’t be Andrew again?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” she replied, her smile enigmatic and knowing.

  Knowing what? Adam wondered, frowning. She was a total stranger to him; what could she know? One of them was slightly off kilter here, and he knew that he was not the one. He suppressed a sigh, deciding that perhaps those two ladies had been correct in their assessment of the woman. Nevertheless, he forged ahead.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re talking about.” He offered her a sympathetic smile. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

  She shook her head. “No, no mistake about your identity.” Her eyes, as green, deep and mystifying as a shaded mountain glen, stared into his. “My mistake was in believing, hoping that by this time you might remember.”

  “Remember what?” he demanded, his voice rough edged with impatience and a startling deeper sense of disappointment. “I’ve never seen you before. What’s to remember?”

  “Oh, lots.” The smile she gave him was wistful, overshadowed with longing. “More than you probably could ever imagine.”

  Adam felt a jolt of something stirring inside his mind, and a thrill of...excitement?...inside his body.

  But this was ridiculous, he reasoned, trying and failing to shake off the mental and physical activity. Those two elderly ladies were right; there was something not all together about this woman.

  So distracted was he, Adam didn’t notice the man coming abreast of them. The soft drawl of the man’s voice brought him into awareness.

  “Good afternoon, Mistress Dase.”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she replied respectfully, dipping into a quick curtsy.

  Confused by her abrupt change of demeanor, Adam glanced at the man. Obviously another reenactor, he was elderly, pleasant faced, his costume denoting a personage of means and some standing in the community.

  “You are on your way home?” The gentleman’s gaze dropped to the cap dangling from her fingers, then back to her face. A twinkle of intelligent amusement sparkled in his otherwise plain brown eyes.

  “Oh...yes.” A becoming flush infusing her cheeks, she raised her hands and settled the cap over the knot.

  The man’s lips twitched. “I wish you a good evening, then,” he said, beginning to move on. His laughing eyes made contact with Adam. “And you, also, sir.”

  “Good evening, sir,” she responded.

  Thoroughly confused by the exchange, Adam could manage no more than a nod of acknowledgment in return.

  “What was that all about?” he asked the moment the gentleman was beyond hearing.

  “It’s bad form to be out of costume or character while in the area,” she answered, an unrepentant smile tugging at her full lips. “He gave me a teasing reminder of my cap.”

  “I...er...” Adam began, only to be interrupted by the very same gentleman.

  “Mistress Dase, on the chance you have forgotten where you are, you are standing in the middle of the road.”

  She groaned, grabbed Adam’s sleeve, and made for the curb before replying, “Ah...yes, thank you, again, sir.”

  Chuckling, the man went on his way.

  The woman beside Adam laughed as well.

  Adam shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this,” he confessed. “Who is that man?”

  “A reenactor,” she answered, her smile reflecting the laughter lightening her incredible eyes. “This time, his name is Mr. White, and he’s playing the role of a very important figure of the period.”

  Adam’s pragmatic mind latched onto two of her words. “This time?” He eyed her warily, as if steeling himself for a sudden flight of fancy. “What do you mean by ‘this time’?”

  “Oh, he’s been here before.”

  Uh-huh. A wave of regret washed over Adam. The ladies apparently knew whereof they spoke, he thought in abject dejection. Then, gazing at her laughing, beautiful face, another thought sent his spirits soaring on the wings of hope. Perhaps, forewarned and halfway expecting the odd, he had misconstrued her remark. Maybe, just possibly, she had meant that the older gentlemen had done this work before, and at that time had enacted a completely different type of role.

  “I see,” he said, not quite truthfully. “And... er, have you also done this before?”

  “Several times.” Her smile shifted from secret delight to soft compassion. “But, of course, you don’t remember.”

  Oh, hell, not again. Adam suppressed a groan, and raked his mind for an intelligent or even merely adequate response, hating the sensation of being way out of his depth. But before he could come up with anything, another, younger voice came into the confusing mix.

  “Good afternoon, Mistress Dase.”

  Turning to the source of the call, Adam observed a young boy loping along on the far side of the street. The bright-faced boy sported a wide grin; his lanky frame was clad in the period clothes of a reenactor.

  “Good afternoon, Master Robert,” she called, grinning back.

  Watching the boy, Adam’s mind homed in on one point in particular about the intriguing woman.

  “You’re name is Daze?”

  “Hmm,” she murmured, turning to face him.

  “Like...in a daze?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “D-A-S-E.” She spelled the name aloud.

  “Oh.” He frowned, thinking she was as forthcoming as the proverbial clam. “And do you have a first name?”

  “Of course. Do you?”

  Nudged into remembering common courtesy, he extended his hand. “Adam,” he said. “Adam Grainger.”

  “How do you do, Adam
Grainger,” she returned in tones of deceptive formality, sliding her hand into his.

  The touch of her palm against his, the slight friction of skin on skin, caused an electrifying sensation inside Adam unlike anything he had ever before experienced and way out of proportion to the minimal contact. The thought burst in his mind of what effect he might feel should he touch her lips, her breasts, her...

  “Sunshine.” Her one spoken word scattered his erotically galloping thoughts.

  Adam blinked, then frowned. “What?”

  “My given name,” she explained.

  “Sunshine?” He shook his head—an action he seemed to be repeating frequently since encountering her. “Sunshine Dase?” he asked in patent disbelief. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.” Now she shook her head. “That’s it.” She grinned. “My parents were repressed flowerchildren wannabes. But most folks call me Sunny.”

  Sunny Dase. Oh, Lord. Adam felt torn between a desire to laugh and an urge to groan. “I can’t imagine what kind of teasing you must have endured growing up,” he murmured in understanding and commiseration.

  “It was a challenge,” she said, shrugging. “But, as you can see, I survived.”

  “Very nicely,” he commended, skimming a glance over her caped form, feeling his body clench in the process. Nice barely described her appearance, but... Adam wondered if perhaps the trials and tribulations of her former years had been a contributing factor in her strange behavior.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she responded, dipping into another quick curtsy. “Actually, I’ve grown to like the name,” she confided. “It’s different.”