The first time he wakes up during the night he almost immediately starts panicking again, but this time does not pass out. He forces himself to get a grip on himself, and racks his brain for memories. But the more he thinks the more his head starts hurting, and he decides not to force the issue. He falls asleep easier and it is a deep healing sleep. The second time he wakes up he can feel morning approaching, and a delightful weight on him. During the night Clare has rolled over to his side of the bed, and has not only thrown her leg over his lower body but has snuggled up to him and with her face in his neck is holding tightly on to him in her sleep. Her back is a little open and as he reaches over with his free hand to cover her she stir in her sleep, holds him tighter and mumbles "Just hold me Storm, you'll be ok..." "Mm", he thinks, "Storm is as good a name as any." and take her at her word and gather her to him, wrapping his arms around her and falls asleep that way...
Clare wakes up with the delightful feel of laying in someone's arms, a faint masculine smell making her think to herself "Dammit, he smells delicious..." before realizing exactly where she is. Her body stiffens as she opens her eyes to slits and assesses the situation. And she blushes! Sometime during the night she has rolled over to Storm's, as she decided to call him, side of the bed and wrapped herself all over him! He has also wrapped his arms around her and for a moment she nearly relaxes into the intimacy of it but then berates herself again and slowly disengages herself so that she doesn't wake him up and embarrass herself. She slips out of bed and with a sigh of regret starts her day.
He wakes up and the fact that the headache has abated from a roaring tropical storm to a manageable level makes him smile. With mild regret he realizes the bed is empty next to him, but smiles to himself when he thinks on what she must have felt and done when she woke up and finding herself in his arms. The smile fades when he remembers waking up during the night and the resolution he came to. Feeling a little bedsore he sits up and is pleasantly surprised to find the headache manageable, even when upright. He swings his legs of the bed and he is still fine, but looking down he realizes he is dressed in a boxer and a t-shirt at least one number tool big for him. And there is a ridiculous picture on that, even though he obviously has amnesia, he is certain that he would not pick for himself. The realization that Clare must have undressed him makes him smile and feeling lightheartedly foolish, let her explain that one! He realizes though that the situation is not normal, and it strengthens his resolve. When he tries to stand he finds his knees very wobbly and curses himself for his weakness. But find strength in his depths he kept his feet and shuffles out of the room, still a little giddy but happy to be out of bed. He shuffles to where he hears Clare humming to herself in the kitchen but by the time he gets there he is out of breath. He pauses in the door and leans against the door-frame, absorbing the engaging sight of Clare preparing breakfast. Coughing a little makes her flip around quickly, knife in hand, but her eyes go wide when she sees it is him.
"Good morning Miss Clare." He manages to squeeze out. "May I please join you?"
His words is in contrast to the fact that he is barely hanging onto the door-frame to stay upright.
Staring dreamily in front of her and working like an automaton Clare prepares breakfast for two, her mind in turmoil about what happened that morning. Is she so starved of human companionship? Thinking back on the last two years after buying the farm she critically looks at herself. After the break-up with her ex she found her creativity stifled by the city, and then the opportunity to buy the farm came and it also seems a good way in which to invest her inheritance in spite of her brother's misgivings and protests. In the past two years she was content, painting again a little while still churning out the commercial art that keeps her larder full. She was asked out a few times by some of the young farmers of the district but, nice guys though they all are, there was never any spark with any of them so she declined. After a while they stopped asking and treated her like part of the community, and she was content. She was aware of some of the gossip about the "hermit artist lady" but she always felt that what people did not say to your face doesn't concern you. Then why for the love of pie did she roll over in the night and hold Storm? He is a stranger! He needed help and she did that, help him. But she can't deny his body is well developed, and she blushes again at the memory of undressing him, toweling him down and dressing him in clothes that her brother keeps here. His physical reaction to the toweling, even being unconscious, was impressive and she can feel the blush extending into her hairline. His smell when she woke up was more than delicious, and she clamps her legs shut at the physical reaction she gets.
"Get a grip Clare," she scolds herself "it is not as if you are a simpering virgin! Or a hormone guided teenager, you are twenty eight years old!" But the traitorous voice in back of her says softly: "But it has been three years you know..."
A sudden spate of coughing behind her makes her spin around, knife in hand ready to defend herself but she can feel her eyes go wide as the object of her thoughts are standing in the door of the kitchen, holding onto the door-frame. His voice is a surprise when he speaks, a husky baritone, and she feels shivers running up and down her spine at the sexiness of it.
"Good morning Miss Clare." He says weakly but with an undertone of strength. "May I please join you?"
She rushes to him as his lack of strength is obvious, scolding him almost viciously, unconsciously using the name that she gave him in her head.
"What the hell are you doing out of bed Storm?"
And supporting him gets him to the kitchen table and into a chair. Even through this she finds herself thinking that her five foot eight compares nicely with his five foot ten. And they fit well together, the thought making her flush again.
"I apologize Ma'am." he says out of breath after she has helped him to sit down.
"My body was a little bed sore. I thought I would be okay, but it seems my legs are still made of jelly."
He pauses and frowns a little putting on a little act but smiling inwardly, he had known since sometime during the night that is what she is calling him.
"You called me Storm, is that my name?"
She falters in her step as she is walking over to the stove, momentarily at a loss for words.
"I...uhm...no, it is not. Asking you what your name was I said "stranger in the storm" and the storm part sort of stuck in my brain. I hope you don't mind!"
After the appropriate amount of time to make her squirm a little he answers her slowly.
"No, not at all thank you ma'am. I like it, it will definitely do until further notice."
Her traitorous heart went warm at his words and try as she might she could not suppress it, so she mentally sighed and carried on preparing breakfast. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved in the kitchen, and she unconsciously began to move more freely, more sensuously, like a lioness prancing in front of the maned male. Then he asked her the question that she dreaded, and she could feel herself blushing deep red...
