Guarding Miranda by Amanda M. Holt Page A

ring. 
    So far as she could tell, he was unmarried...
    “Miranda,” he began, his Australian voice thick with warm recognition as he extended his right hand. “I’m Brian.  Brian Logan.”
    She reached for his hand and took it in hers. 
    His was so much larger, firmer, stronger than hers and yet gentle was the pressure of his hold, a grip that was reassuring, friendly.
    She was amazed by the warmth of his hand and the awareness of what that warmth did to her...  A current not unlike electricity flowed through her hand, up her wrist, to her arm, numbing the crook of her shoulder. 
    Her knees weakened a little at the contact.
    All the while, she was staring up at his smile.
    Miranda was by no means a short woman, at five feet nine inches tall but he towered over her, a looming, formidable form. 
    He was the personification of male sex appeal.
    Every incredible inch of him. 
    She caught the scent of his cologne and decided that it was well matched to him.
    An earthy, enigmatic, unmistakably male fragrance.
    “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Logan.” She managed to utter this in reply and in realizing that she had been holding both her silence and his hand for too long.  She released that warm hulk’s hand as though she had been stung by it. “Australian, is it?  Your accent, I mean.”
    “It is.” He grinned at her.  His dark eyes softened with amusement, as he added, “Good ear on you.” 
    “Thank you.”
    The scent of him was making her feel a bit... fuzzy headed. 
    She remembered the first time she had smelled the combination of his cologne and body and decided to confront him on it.
    In as friendly a tone as possible, she said, “You came to visit me, when I was in the hospital but you left as soon as I woke up. Why did you leave?”
    He looked pained by the memory.
    “I didn’t think you’d care to see a strange face, when it was family and loved ones you needed to be surrounded with.”
    “Yet you weren’t on the visitor’s list,” she concluded, intrigued.
    “You’re right.  I wasn’t.” His words were full of mystery. 
    She took his bait.  “Then how did you get by the nurses and guards? There were two very intimidating young men perched outside my door the entire time I was there.”
    “The nurses, I had to charm,” said Brian, dazzling her with another smile, “But as for the guards, I happen to be their employer.  I’m owner and operator of Logan Security and Investigations, you see.”
    “I see.” Miranda intentionally breathed deep through her nares, inhaling more of his enticing scent. “Well, I suppose I have a lot to thank you for, Mr. Logan-”
    “- call me Brian, love.”
    “Brian, then.” She took another breath.  This time, a steadying sobering one, through her mouth. God, he smelled amazing… “They say that I would have bled to death if not for your swift action.”
    Miranda watched as his mouth curled down into a frown and then wondered why it seemed as though he had to force his lips back into a smile. 
    His eyes darkened for the span of a few heartbeats and then lightened. 
    She wondered at the emotions crossing his face.
    “Miranda, I did what anyone with First Aid would have done, that’s all.”
    “Still, I owe you my life.”
    “So they say.” Brian gave a heavy sigh that made her all the more curious about the brooding look in his stormy grey eyes. 
    “Please know that I appreciate what you did. I really do owe you a lot.”
    “Love, you don’t owe me a thing.”
    His eyes had a hardened look in them now.
    He seemed to be struggling with the memory of the night.
    Miranda wanted to press the issue, wanted to understand his shift in mood. 
    In good taste, she decided to lighten the conversation. “I’m curious – were you there for the baroque, that night?”
    “The what?”
    Her brow furrowed with confusion. “At Tillings Hall.  The baroque performance...”
    “Uh, yes – it was, uh, wonderful.” Brian lied, though he hated having to