She melted into the enormous hot tub like butter zapped in the microwave.
Russ, stripped down to his running shorts, joined her.
She’d seen him naked before, of course, but that had been in the haze of their lovemaking. Her memory hadn’t exaggerated the scope of his injuries, however, or the impressive heft of his muscular body. The bulge in his shorts was also impressive. And her memory of that part of her body—and the things it did to her--brought fire to her cheeks. Fortunately, she decided, the steam from the hot tub could explain the flush.
Besides, she instantly had more to be self-conscious about. Her skimpy running outfit soaked up the hot water and turned completely transparent.
It was hopeless, but Cynthia covered her breasts with one arm and her tummy, full from the too-large breakfast at Sam’s, with the other. “You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you.”
He didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Let’s just say I hoped. But, since you’re practically naked, why not finish up?”
She looked at him closely. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Russ shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m supposed to be this big hero, but I’m afraid, Cynthia. Afraid that the person I am now is going to vanish, be washed away by the memories and thought patterns of someone else—someone who I'm not even sure I like. I’m afraid I’m going to lose you and not even realize what I’ve lost.”
She was afraid of those things, too. And afraid that she would have given up on all of her dreams in return for a few hours with a shadowy reflection of her high school crush.
But she’d made her bet, put her soul on the line and she had no choice now but to hang on for the ride, however long it lasted. Her bigger regret was that she’d wasted too much of whatever time they had together. Her fears of being cut off by the Shermann social circles, concerns about her career and future, had blinded her to the positives.
Well, she wasn’t going to be blinded any more—she intended to grab onto what she could with both hands, and keep holding on as long as she could.
“I read somewhere that heroes aren’t the ones who don’t know fear,” she said. “People who don’t know fear are idiots. Heroes are the people who know fear and go on with their lives. Which makes you a hero in my book.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced.
The hot water was supposed to be relaxing. It bubbled up her thighs, between her legs, and tickled the sensitive nubs of her nipples. And she was sharing the hot tub with the sexiest man she’d ever known. Relaxation was the furthest thing from her mind.
“So, you got me in the hot tub. Did you have any plans for what comes next?”
Russ gestured toward a row of massage tables. “I thought I might give you a massage.”
Oh, yeah. Lying still while Russ ran his hands over her body and rubbed away her muscular tension sounded like pure pleasure. But she wasn’t ready to leave the hot tub yet and the hard ridge in Russ’s running shorts gave her a truly wicked idea on how to prolong this moment.
She dropped her arm from its protective posture over her breasts and suppressed a giggle at the way Russ’s gaze snapped into place. That kind of reaction could definitely send a girl off on an ego trip.
Slowly, pretending a nonchalance that was the farthest thing from reality, she stripped off her top, wrung it out, then placed it on the tiles on the side of the tub.
“Not that I’m complaining," Russ said, his voice shaky, "but what—“
She slid closer to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him, cutting off his question in mid-sentence.
The groan from deep in his throat was all the assurance she needed that she was doing the right thing. Sure there would be consequences to pay, but she was prepared to pay them.
She stole a hand between his legs and stroked the rigid mass of his erection.
“You’re killing me.”
She stood, then quickly slipped off her shorts, leaving her naked in front of him.
He groaned again. “Promise me you won’t leave. Just give me a minute.”
Watching Russ turn and run from her wasn’t the reaction Cynthia had planned on when she’d stripped for him. Still, the hard evidence of his arousal couldn’t be argued with. He wanted her.
Russ returned a few moments later, a packet of condoms in his hand. “I told the manager that a condom machine in the locker room was tacky and sent the wrong message. I’m glad I lost that argument.”
She was surprised that hadn't been his idea in the first place--but then, maybe it was Russell's idea.
"That's an encouraging sign," she said.
He grinned. "If you like that, there are more where it came from. But I see we've got a problem. We're wearing too many clothes.”
Half afraid she had misread something, that he'd turn on her and reject her, she forced herself to be brave. “Why don't you let me handle that?”
"Why not, indeed?" Russ climbed back into the tub. “What do you have in mind?”
Oh, boy. She couldn't say what she had in mind, but she could act it out--at least until he told her she was going too far. Knowing that Russ was getting his memories back, that their relationship was a short-term grab for all the joy she could get gave her the confidence to push down her fears, to take chances she would never have taken if she were in the same position with Russell.
She took a deep breath, then relaxed, sinking into the water, and approached him from below.
His shorts slid down his thighs as she yanked on them with teeth and hands. As he stepped out of them, she took him deep into her mouth, stroking his length and the sexy sack of his scrotum with her hands.
* * *
Russ was in heaven.
Cynthia swallowed his length until the tip of his erection struck the back of her throat, then she took him deeper still.
He stood it as long as he could, savoring each moment of the caress, then he grasped her shoulders and pulled her up against him.
The water was deep enough to support their weight and her body slid against his skin like a perfectly formed carpenter’s joint. Without friction, without space between them, he and Cynthia fit perfectly.
Making love in the hot tub would be like making love in space. He and Cynthia could concentrate on the pleasure without worrying who was on top, who was getting crushed, who was taking the lead and who following.
“That was fun,” she breathed. “And I wasn’t done.”
He kissed her hard, then brushed a hand against the soft folds of her femininity, and slid a finger into her. She was wet, ready.
She arched her back, pressing her core more closely to him, made it almost impossible for him to think. But he managed, barely.
He slipped the condom over his engorged shaft.
“Take me, Russ. Hurry.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He lifted her, then gently lowered her onto his swollen member.
Cynthia moaned as he entered her, then tightened her thighs around his waist, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
The tightness of that entry was almost too much. Cynthia’s slender body squeezed hard on him and the whirlpool’s warm bubbles stimulated every inch of his exposed skin.
He closed his eyes for a moment to regain control.
Cynthia didn’t seem interested in control. She bucked against him, riding him like a rodeo cowboy on an untamed mustang.
He recognized, shared, that desperate need. Both of them were living in the now, taking each moment of pleasure as a special gift because they feared that it might be their last.
* * *
Pressure built up inside of Cynthia like steam in a boiler, with no escape possible beyond explosion.
The water around them and Russ’s hard-muscled arms supported her, made her weightless as she pressed down on him and her body adapted itself to his size inside of her.
The curve where his shoulder joined his neck seemed suddenly incredib
ly inviting and she bent toward it, caught it with her teeth, and bit down gently.
Russ gasped, then pushed even more deeply into her.
His strong hands gripped at her bottom and moved her against him like a sword into a sheath custom-built to take it.
He’d found a rhythm, but he accelerated it when she bit down on him and suddenly the explosion, which had seemed pleasantly distant, became an instant inevitability.
She pulled herself even closer to Russ, relying on the thin layer of water for lubrication so that it felt as if their entire bodies were intertwined, joined, unified.
She plunged her tongue into his mouth, gripped him more tightly, and pulled back.
She surrendered to the force of her orgasm, to the power of the water around them, to Russ’s strength.
Russ’s completion followed hers by seconds, its force so strong he lost his balance and the two of them slipped under the surface of the water.
She brushed a hand along the hard muscles and rough scars of his chest when he shoved for the surface.
He was merely seeking air, she thought.
“I love you,” she breathed.
But she didn’t recognize those deep blue eyes staring at her when they regained the surface.
“I’m sorry. Who are you?”
Chapter 12
Russell was confused.
He’d awakened in the arms—and more—of a cute hellcat who had just about clawed out his eyes when he’d demanded to know who she was.
He’d finally figured out that she was Cynthia Meadows, a friend from high school, but he had no idea what he’d been doing with her. Rather, since he was still inside of her, he knew exactly what he had been doing, but didn’t know why.
Given the off-again/on-again nature of his relationship with Heather, he hadn’t exactly been a one-woman man, but last he remembered, he and Heather were certainly on.
“Get out of me, now.” Cynthia had stopped clawing at him, but she was still struggling. Struggles that felt very nice indeed.
“Definitely.” This was a nightmare. He’d always scoffed at those books where someone wakes up and finds a dead body in the bed next to them, but he was actually living through almost that same thing. Could he have raped her? That might explain her anger.
He removed himself from her, then stripped off the condom and tossed it into a trash bucket near the hot tub. He couldn’t understand the strange feeling of loss that swept over him. Cynthia had always been a nice girl, and she was definitely more attractive than the chubby high-school kid he thought of when he considered her name, but why should he feel like he was missing something important?
A pair of shorts floated by on the top of the whirlpool and he snagged them, wrung them out, then put them on over his still rock-hard erection.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, not sure why he was bothering to apologize. “I just don’t remember how I got here, or how you and I got to the point where we would be sexing it up in a hot tub.”
“Sexing it up? Is that what you think was going on.”
He shrugged. “We were both naked, I was wearing a condom and I was inside of you. I hope it was a mutual decision. What else would you call it?”
“We weren’t naked. The people who were naked were me and someone you wouldn’t even recognize.”
“Well, I seem to have slipped in at just the right moment.” He tried to suppress a chuckle at his bon-mot. Unsuccessfully.
"God, you really are a jerk. I can't believe I ever had a crush on you."
Cynthia stepped out of the hot tub and yanked on some clothes—clothes that clung to her body and did nothing to make her more decent.
Given the circumstances he found himself in as he awakened, it wasn’t a surprise that he’d find Cynthia sexy. But he found it difficult to reconcile with everything he knew. Cynthia Meadows was always just, well, there. She was nice, smart, and had an occasionally wicked sense of humor. But she’d never been sexy.
“Look, the last thing I remember was driving through Baghdad with some of the guys from the National Guard unit. Maybe you can cut me a little slack.”
She whirled around.
He’d seen plenty of women cry, had thought his heart had toughened to it, but something about Cynthia’s tears got past his resistance. He seemed to have some newer memories of Cynthia—but he couldn’t put his finger on them, couldn’t quite access them.
“You had amnesia, Russ. It changed you into a different person. But I guess he’s gone now and you're back. Welcome home. I’m sorry you missed your parade, you would have liked it.”
“You guys had a parade for me? Cool. And the name is Russell, I never liked being called Russ. Surely you remember that.”
He grabbed a t-shirt and discovered the scars that cut across his body like plough furrows across the rich Missouri lowlands. “Damn, I must have really got hurt.”
“At least you survived.”
“I guess.”
Cynthia was heading for the door and he didn’t know exactly what to tell her. In the days when he’d juggled multiple women, he’d generally left them with candies or flowers or something. But how do you treat a woman your body just had sex with when you can’t remember anything about it?
“Look, Cynthia. I don’t know what went on between us and I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” He paused. That wasn’t working. What was he forgetting? Oh, yeah, the ever-popular promise. “I’ll call you some time and we can talk about it.”
“Don’t worry about it, Russ, uh, Russell. I knew what I was getting into, and I knew it wasn’t for the long haul. I just had a good time while I could.”
If anyone understood the concept of grabbing a good time where he could, it was Russell. Still, something seemed incomplete. Cynthia wasn’t lying, exactly. But he could tell she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
And what had she been saying when his head cleared the water and he woke up? Something about loving him? That didn’t sound to him like a good-time-while-it-lasts sentiment.
She turned and ran from the spa leaving him alone, wondering where he was, how he’d gotten there, and how he was going to get home.
* * *
Cold air hit Cynthia’s body like a piledriver.
During the run and afterwards, the sun had been shining. Now, though, a gray northern front covered the sun and sent a drizzle of sleet hammering into the ground.
Shermann, normally a colorful place, took on a gloomy cast in weather like this—its German-American architecture looking more like a Transylvanian vampire-village than a middle-American town.
She hunched her shoulders against the cold and jogged to her car ignoring the outraged screams from her overtaxed body.
She wasn’t in a hurry to get back to her empty apartment so she cranked up the Mini’s heater and drove around her town, trying to visualize what kept her here, remember why she hadn’t left once she’d graduated from college.
Her eyes teared up again when she passed the ice cream shop where Russ had insisted on buying her a treat only days before. She’d only had a few days with him, but that short amount of time had changed her perception of the town, of Russ, and especially of herself. That new vision had overlaid the images of Shermann she’d created while growing up with something new and fresh.
But those new visions, the recent memories would only hurt her now, because they were no longer shared with Russ. The Russell who had come to life in front of her, inside of her, had no recollection in his eyes.
She’d been driving aimlessly for almost an hour before she realized that she’d been lying to herself all along. Despite everything she’d said, despite what she’d convinced herself of, she had held onto an irrational hope that Russ would win, that he’d integrate his old memories as they returned without becoming the old person.
One look in Russell’s cold blue eyes had crushed that hope before she’d even properly acknowledged it.
Cynthia stopped to let an errant baseball fly past�
��pursued by a little girl with pony tails who was so intent on her ball that she didn’t bother checking traffic. She made a mental note to write an article on safety for the Advertiser-Gazette, to remind Shermann parents about keeping those beautiful children alive--children that would never be hers.
She yanked a tissue from the box in her car and blew. She recognized what was happening to her. She had allowed herself to fall into a major pity-fest.
Which was a complete waste.
It was time for her to do her job, be a friend, get on with her life. After all, she hadn’t had a terrible life before Russ had walked into it, transformed it, then vanished into a sea of memories. She would do what she’d promised Russ she’d do—savor the moments they had shared without regrets, without bitterness, and without any dreams of a future.
With her resolution in place, she pulled a quick u-turn and headed back toward her apartment.
Her phone rang when she was pulling into the parking lot. A quick look at the calling line I.D. proved it was the person she least wanted, but most needed, to talk to.
“Hi, Heather.”
“Cynthia—are you all right?”
“Fine. Really.”
“You must be going through hell. Russell is back to his normal self and he told me that when he woke up, he’d been making love to you.”
Emotions warred for control. Hot anger that he’d shared that intimate moment. Warm pleasure that he hadn’t denied it, that she wouldn’t have to lie to her friend. Cold bitter guilt nagging at her because she had betrayed her friend--never mind that Heather and Russ had been broken up at the time.
“He was a different person then, Heather. They share a body, but their minds are so unlike.”
“Oh, I know that, Cyn. Besides, we’re not married yet and he'd broken up with me anyway.”
Cynthia didn’t think she would ever have that blasé an attitude. “Well I’m happy for you that he’s back.”
Getting those words out were about as easy as passing a kidney stone. Still, they needed to be said. Even if she eventually had to leave Shermann to escape her memories, she wasn’t going to be a bad sport. And Heather deserved her happiness as much as anyone.
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