White Lies

by Linda Howard

  Excitement speared through her. “Yes,” she whispered, her hands digging into his shoulders. She wanted him so much that she didn’t care where they were or how urgent he was. There would be time for seduction later, as well as worry. Right now there was only this quick, primitive mating.

  There was no foreplay, no leisurely petting or stroking. For months there had been too much between them while the final intimacy had been denied, and suddenly the walls were down. He disposed of her panties by the simple means of tearing them apart, then unfastened his pants and shoved them down only as far as was necessary. He pushed her legs wider apart and lowered himself onto her.

  She made a little sound of pain as he tried to enter her and couldn’t. He swiftly adjusted his position and pushed again, this time sliding deep into her. Shock reverberated through her body as she tried to adjust to his girth, and this time she groaned.

  He braced himself on his elbows, and Jay looked up at him dazedly. His yellowish eyes were fierce, his face hard and intent, his neck corded as he drove into her. She arched up to accept him, her heart almost exploding with love. This was what she had wanted, to see his face, to see his eagle-fierce eyes, to imprint his image on her mind and heart even as he imprinted his touch on her body. With the icy earth beneath her and the pure blue sky above, with the bright sun on his face, they were as pure and primitive as their surroundings. No matter what his name or what he did, he was her love, her man.

  This was for him. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, her flesh quivering under his pounding force. He groaned unintelligibly and slid his arms beneath her to lift her up even more, as if he could grind their bodies so tightly together that they would mesh, then convulsed in release.

  She held him tightly, her legs around his hips, her arms about his shoulders as he heaved into her, groaning and shivering. “I love you,” she said over and over again, though her lips moved soundlessly and only the warm winds heard her. She closed her eyes, feeling that warm wind on her cheek and his heavy weight both on her and in her, and knew that no matter what happened when he regained his memory, this hard, fast possession had made her his in a way that could never be shattered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEY LAY TOGETHER, motionless, the only movement that of the wind stirring their hair, the only sound that of the trees rustling together, sighing. Jay felt dazed by what had just happened, her senses buffeted as if she had just weathered a storm. She was totally incapable of action.

  Then he braced his hands and lifted his weight off her, staring down at her with an expression so fierce that she almost cringed from it, without knowing why. He swore, his voice low and gravelly, as he disengaged their bodies and shifted to a kneeling position. Uncertainty paralyzed her as her sluggish mind began trying to grasp the reason for his anger.

  He pulled his pants up but didn’t bother fastening them; instead he tugged her up and into his arms, lifting her from the ground and rising to his feet with a lithe grace that belied the strength necessary to do it. He climbed the steps and strode into the house without saying a word, then carried her into the bathroom. After carefully standing her on the rug, he bent to turn on the water, then straightened and turned back to her. Her dress was unfastened and gently pulled over her head, leaving her naked and shivering from both chill and reaction. She stood docilely, her arms limp at her sides, her eyes wide and dazed and a little frightened as she watched him. What was wrong?

  He hurriedly stripped, then lifted her into the tub and stepped in beside her, pulling the shower door closed. Jay moved back, a little bemused by how much room he took up, and watched the rippling muscles in his back as he adjusted the water, then turned on the shower. Warm water blasted out of the shower head, immediately filling the small area with steam. Steve pulled her under the water and held her there even when she gasped a protest, because the water was stinging her cold skin.

  “No, you need to get warm,” he said roughly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms and shoulders. “Turn around and let me wash your hair.”

  Numbly she did so, realizing that they must have gotten mud all over them. His hands were gentle as he lathered and rinsed her hair, then washed her all over. She began to feel very warm from the combination of water and the stroking of his soapy hands, first over her breasts and abdomen, then her legs and buttocks, and finally between her legs. Her breathing began to hasten as heat built in her.

  His touch slowed, and a spasm twitched his tight facial muscles. Her breathing halted altogether as he probed tantalizingly at the entrance to her body, his fingertips barely stroking, one finger barely entering. She caught at his shoulders, her nails digging into his sleek, wet skin. Her breasts were tight and aching as she hung there in an agony of anticipation, waiting for that small invasion, wanting so much more. She felt him hardening against her hip, and a great shudder of pleasure shook her.

  He muttered something, but the sound was so rough she couldn’t understand it; then she was in his arms, and his mouth was bruising hers. She yielded to his urgency, sliding her hands to the back of his neck. Their water-slick bodies rubbed together, his abrasive chest hair rasping at her nipples, his muscled stomach rippling against the softness of hers, his hardness pushing at her. “Yes,” she whimpered.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, the words rough and frantic and urgent. He slid his mouth down her throat, biting at the sensitive arch, licking the small hollow at the base, where her pulse throbbed visibly. “I didn’t mean to be that rough.”

  So that was why he was angry, not at her, but at himself. But even that wasn’t enough to keep him from having her again. She could feel the hunger in his big, powerful body, and again his loss of control thrilled her in a deeply primitive way. She had been married, but Steve had always kept his cool, kept part of himself securely locked away from her, and the passionate part of her had been hurt, because she’d needed more. The man in her arms now was savage in his hunger, driven out of control by his need for her, and his wildness matched the fierce passion of her own nature. All her life she had needed this answering intensity to balance her; without it, she had withdrawn behind a shell of rigid control, and only now was she being freed.

  She clung to him like a vine, her wet body undulating against him. “I love you,” she groaned, because that was the only thing she could say, the one outstanding truth in the maze of lies and subterfuges.

  He lifted his mouth from her throat, his face so close to hers that his burning gaze was all she could see. “I hurt you,” he growled.

  She couldn’t deny it. “Yes,” she said, and fitted her mouth to his, her tongue delicately probing. His arms tightened so convulsively that she couldn’t breathe, but breathing didn’t matter. Kissing him mattered. Loving him mattered.

  But finally he did find some remnant of control, enough to allow him to turn off the water and haul her out of the tub. She never released her hold on his neck as he swept her up and carried her, both of them dripping wet, to his bed. She didn’t care about the sheets. All she cared about was his hot mouth on her breasts, the rasp of his slightly roughened fingertips on her silky skin, and finally his powerful invasion of her body. It was still such a shock to her senses that she cried out, instinctively trying to close her thighs. But her legs tightened on his muscled thighs and the movement only drew him deeper.

  He ground his teeth together, trying to force himself to stillness when every instinct told him to move. The need was so urgent that it smothered everything else in the world except the woman he held in his arms, the woman whose slim body clasped him so tightly and pushed him to the edge of insanity. But for her sake he managed to hold still until she was more comfortable with him. Lying propped on his elbows so his weight wouldn’t crush her, he looked down at her and shuddered with pleasure at the intense, absorbed look on her face as she lifted her hips slightly, tentatively, to accept all of him. A deep groan tore from his chest. He knew he’d been too rough and urgent to allow her time to enjoy it before, but this
time she was with him.

  Her lips parted slightly in a smile so female it took his breath away, and her deep blue eyes beckoned him, dared him. Once again her hips lifted. “What are you waiting for?” she breathed.

  “For you,” he answered, and even as he lost himself in the mindless ecstasy of making love to her, the truth of that remained. He’d waited for her forever.

  He was a light sleeper, so much so that even in the heavy-limbed aftermath he was disturbed by the damp sheets, a discomfort they hadn’t noticed before. Jay lay in his arms, exhausted and deeply asleep; he didn’t want to disturb her, but neither did he want her to become chilled from the wetness. He eased from the bed and lifted her light weight in his arms, then carried her into the other bedroom to place her on the dry bed. She made a disgruntled noise as he jostled her, then relaxed again, and her breathing evened out as he stroked her back. He joined her on the bed, and she snuggled closer, into his hard, possessive embrace.

  The way he felt about her was so intense it edged into pain. Even without his memory, he knew no other woman had ever shattered his control as she did. He’d never desired another woman so intensely, never would have waited as long as he’d waited for her. She overshadowed every other concern. Because of her, he hadn’t dwelled on his loss of memory, beyond a peculiar irritation and a certain detached interest in the curiosities of what he had retained. His past life didn’t matter, because Jay was here in the present. They were linked in a way that went beyond memory.

  A slight frown creased his brow as he held her, his rough hand sliding from the curve of her hip to the warmly resilient mound of her breast. Of all the knowledge he’d kept, why wasn’t any of it of Jay? Those were the memories he resented losing. He wanted to remember every minute he’d spent with her, and he wanted to remember why he’d let her slip away from him. He wanted to remember their wedding, the first time he’d made love to her, and the total lack of those memories ate at him. She was the core of his life; why hadn’t something been familiar? Why hadn’t he felt some deep-seated recognition of the silkiness of her skin, the rounded curves of her high breasts or the rose-brown of her small nipples? Why hadn’t there been some sense of familiarity in the tight sheath of her body as he entered her?

  But everything had been new.

  She moved slightly against him, and he stilled his stroking hand, content to simply hold her. They would be married as soon as he could talk her into it, and now he had a very powerful weapon at his disposal.

  The scene exploded in his mind. There was a laughing bride and a groom looking excited, proud, wary and impatient all at once. The groom shook his head, beaming, and the bride hugged him tightly. “You made it!” she said exultantly. “I knew you would!”

  An older woman and man hugged him just as tightly. “I’m glad you’re back, son,” the man said, and the woman cried a little even as she smiled at him, the smile full of love. Then there was a rush of other people to shake his hand and hug him and clap him on the back, and the scene dissolved in a confusion of voices.

  He lay rigidly, his jaw clenched with the effort required not to jackknife out of bed. Where in hell had that memory come from? The man had called him “son,” but that could as easily have been a title of affection as one denoting a relationship. He didn’t have a family, so they must have been close friends, but Jay had said he’d always been a loner. Who were they? Did they worry about him? Did Jay know anything about them?

  Hell, was it even something that had really happened, or a scene from a movie he’d watched?

  Movie. Just thinking the word triggered another flashback, but this one was complete with rolling credits. It was a television special on Afghanistan. Then it became another movie, starring a widely acclaimed actor. It was a good movie. Then, in slow motion, the scene shifted. He was standing on a rooftop with the same actor when the man pulled a .45 automatic and pointed it at him. Serious business, a .45. It could have a major impact on a man’s future. But the guy was too close, and too rattled. Steve saw himself lash out with his foot, sending the gun flying. The actor staggered back and tripped, fell over the low wall and screamed as he dropped the full seven stories to the ground.

  Steve stared at the bedroom ceiling, feeling sweat run down his ribs. Was that another movie? Of all the things he could remember, why a series of films? And why were they so realistic, as if he had stepped into the action? He’d have to ask the doctor about that, but at least it was a sign his memory was returning, just as they’d told him it probably would. He needed to make the trip anyway, to have his eyes checked; it was a real strain to read, and the strain hadn’t lessened. He definitely needed glasses. Glasses…

  An elderly man smiled benignly at him and removed his glasses, placing them on the desk. “Congratulations, Mr. Stone,” he said.

  He stifled a curse as the scene faded. This was weird; why would that old guy call him “Mr. Stone” unless he’d been using an assumed name? Yeah, that made sense, unless it was just another scene out of another movie. It could just be something he’d watched rather than something that had actually happened.

  Jay stirred in his arms and abruptly woke, lifting her head to stare at him in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

  She had sensed his tension, just as she had from the beginning. He managed a smile and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, a different kind of tension taking over his muscles. “Nothing,” he assured her. She looked sleepy and sensual, her eyes heavy-lidded, her luscious mouth swollen from contact with his firmer lips.

  She looked around. “We’re in my room,” she said in bewilderment.

  “Mmm. The sheets on my bed were wet, so I brought you in here.”

  Warm color tinted her cheeks as she thought of how the sheets had gotten so wet, but her smile was both secret and content. She lifted her hand and touched his face, much as he had touched hers; her dark blue eyes drifted over his features with aching tenderness, examining each line and plane, feeding the need in her heart. She was unaware of her expression, but he saw it, and his chest constricted. He wanted to say, “Don’t love me like that,” but he didn’t, because it was essential to him that she love him exactly like that.

  He cleared his throat. “We have a choice.”

  “We do? Of course we do. Of what?”

  “We can get up and eat the lunch you were cooking—” he broke off to lift his head and look at the clock “—three hours ago, or we can try to wreck this bed, too.”

  She considered it. “I think we’d better have lunch, or I won’t have the energy to help you wreck the bed.”

  “Good thinking.” He hugged her, reluctant to get up despite his own hunger, and found his hands stroking down her sides in sensual enjoyment. Then he paused and moved his hand around to her stomach. “Unless you want to get married this weekend, we’d better do something about birth control.”

  Jay’s heart felt as if it had abruptly swollen so large that it filled her entire chest. For a few glorious hours she’d forgotten how hemmed in she was by this tortuous maze of deception. She wanted nothing more than to simply say “Yes, let’s get married,” but she didn’t dare. Not until he knew who he was—and she knew who he was—and he still said he wanted to marry her. So she ignored the first part of his statement and merely answered the second. “We don’t have to worry about birth control. I’m on the Pill. My doctor put me on it seven months ago, because my periods had gotten so erratic.”

  His eyes narrowed a little and his hand lay heavier on her stomach. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. It was just stress from my job. I could probably do without them now.” Then she smiled and turned her face into his shoulder. “Except for a sudden development.”

  He grunted. “Sudden, hell. I’ve been hard for two months. But we could still get married this weekend.”

  She eased out of his embrace and got up, her face troubled as she put on fresh underwear and got a sweater from the closet, pulling it over her head.

  He watc
hed her from the bed. His voice was very soft and raspy when he spoke. “I want an answer.”

  Harried, she pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. “Steve—” She stopped, almost cringing at the necessity of calling him by that name. Now more than ever, she wanted, needed, to know her lover’s name. “I can’t marry you until you’ve gotten your memory back.”

  He threw the sheet back and stood, magnificently naked. Jay’s pulse rate skittered as she looked at him. All the miles he’d run and the wood he’d chopped had corded his body with muscles. He didn’t look as if he’d ever been injured, except for his scars. Her heart settled into a slow, heavy beat. She had cradled his weight, taken his pounding invasion, returned his fire with her own. As tender as she felt now in different parts of her body, she could still feel herself grow warm and liquid as she looked at him.

  “What difference does my memory make?” he snapped, and she jerked her gaze upward, realizing that he was angry. “No other woman has a claim on me, and you know it, so don’t bring up that crap again. Why should we wait?”

  “I want you to be certain,” she said, her voice troubled.

  “Damn it, I am certain!”

  “How can you be, when you don’t know what’s happened? I just don’t want you to regret marrying me when everything comes back to you.” She tried a smile, and it only wobbled a little. “We’re together, and we have time. That will have to be enough for now.”

  Steve forced himself to be content with that, and in many ways it was enough. They lived together in the truest sense of the word, as partners, friends and lovers. It was a week before the snows came again, and in that week they explored every inch of their high meadow. He showed her the laser-beam sensor he’d installed across the trail and demonstrated how to operate both the radio and the computer. It was a relief not to have to hide from her how deeply he’d been involved in espionage, though she got a little huffy with him because all the equipment had been hidden from her in the shed and only now had he gotten around to telling her about it.