About her? About taking her out for a romantic evening on the town?
“I love Christmas,” she said, drawing his thoughts back to reality and the subject at hand.
But he still couldn’t help allowing his own musing to drift back to the romantic fantasy. “All we’re missing is a little mistletoe to hang over the doorway.” She flushed, and he was tempted to draw her to him anyway, to kiss her senseless. In fact, as she lifted her eyes to his, as their gazes locked, desire flared.
He had no business following through on it, though. He didn’t even know where he’d been, let alone where he was going. But if she didn’t stop looking at him like that...
Oh, what the hell.
“Then again, something tells me I’ve never needed any prompts.” He stepped forward, placed his hands on her cheeks. He waited a moment, taking the time to study her eyes, her expression, checking for any sign of protest.
Instead, her chin lifted and her lips parted.
That was all the invitation he needed.
* * *
As Joe lowered his mouth to hers, Chloe’s heart soared in anticipation. She really shouldn’t kiss him, although for the life of her, she could no longer come up with a good reason to object. Instead, she slipped her hands around his neck and stepped into his embrace.
His lips brushed hers tentatively at first, then a second time. The whisper of his breath, the promise of what was to come, sent her senses reeling, and she was soon caught up in a swirl of heat and desire.
Goodness. The man might not recall a lot of things, but he certainly knew how to kiss.
As their tongues met and mated, she lost herself in his musky, mountain fresh scent and in his sweet, chocolate-laced taste.
Did she dare put a stop to it? Or take him by the hand and lead him to one of the bedrooms?
In truth, with her knees about to give out on her, she doubted whether she could urge her feet to take a single step.
When they finally came up for air, she had to hold on to him so she wouldn’t collapse into a heap on the floor.
“I was curious,” he said, his breath warm against her face. “So thanks for indulging me.”
She’d been curious, too, but she was even more so now. Not about kissing, but about what other heart-spinning, soul-stirring talents Joe might have. Needless to say, he would make an incredible lover.
“Well,” she said, “now you know.”
“Yes, but it opened a whole other world of questions.”
She released her grip on his shoulders and took a step back. “Maybe so, but I don’t think we ought to ponder the answers right now.”
“You’re probably right.” He let his own hands slip down her back, his fingers leaving a trail of heat, until he released her altogether. “You’ll have to forgive me. I should have known better.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I could have resisted.”
Oh, yeah? a small voice asked. That’s not true.
Okay, so she’d been a willing participant—and an active one at that.
Joe turned away and strode to the stone fireplace, where Dave’s photo sat on the mantel. The young man in uniform seemed to be watching them.
Something told Chloe that Dave hadn’t intended for his buddy and the woman he’d thought of as “his girl” to...
What? Kiss? Become involved?
Fat chance of that happening. Chloe was in no position to strike up a romance with anyone. Not until she moved on and established herself as a nursing student at the junior college in nearby Wexler.
And Joe had to feel the same way, since his future was even sketchier than hers—at least, until he could remember his past.
His gaze drifted to the other photos on the mantel, as if they could somehow provide him with his missing identity. She suspected that he was having some of the same thoughts she was, the same concerns.
“Would you like some more cocoa?” she asked, pretending as if the kiss hadn’t happened, as if she wasn’t confused by all the feelings and desires it had sparked.
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
Why not indeed? They obviously needed a distraction or something to help them cool off. She offered him a smile. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“While you’re gone, I’ll see if there are any good movies on television.”
She supposed that watching TV was as good an idea as any. Yet as she left Joe to surf the channels, her thoughts made a complete one-eighty.
Too bad she wasn’t free to pursue the attraction that raged between them. But only a fool would pin her hopes and dreams on a man who knew nothing about his past, very little about his present and had no idea where the future would take him.
* * *
A noise—either real or imagined—jolted Chloe from a sound sleep, and she shot up in bed, her heart pounding as though it might jump out of her chest. She scanned the room, her eyes desperately trying to adjust to the darkness.
She didn’t hear anything but the tick-tock of the clock on the bureau, so she assumed all was well and that she’d only been dreaming. That, she supposed, was the result of being overly tired.
She and Joe had turned in just before eleven o’clock. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t find a comfortable spot on the mattress. At least, not while their blood-stirring kiss continued to haunt her thoughts.
As it was, she hadn’t drifted off to sleep until well past midnight.
“No!” Joe yelled from the guestroom down the hall, setting Chloe’s fight-or-flight response on high alert.
“Fall back!” he shouted.
He must be having a nightmare. She glanced at the clock on the bureau. It was 3:17.
“Don’t!” Joe called out again.
She threw off her blankets, rolled out of bed and hurried down the lighted hallway to the room where he slept. She stood before the closed door for a moment, her escalated pulse throbbing, her fist lifted and prepared to knock.
A moan sounded from within, and she rapped lightly.
Instead of answering, Joe yelled, “Down, dammit. Get down!”
Was he dreaming? Or was he reliving a memory?
She opened his door, allowing the light from the hall to spill inside, and watched as he thrashed around on the bed.
“Medic,” he groaned.
She crossed the hardwood floor in her bare feet, then touched his shoulder, felt the warmth of his skin, the bulk of his muscles.
“Joe?” she said softly, not wanting to startle him.
Still, he lurched up on the mattress, the blanket dropping to his waist. His chest was broad—and bare—his breathing ragged. He glanced around the room as if desperate to make sense of it all.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You were having a nightmare.”
Although his eyes were open and she suspected he was awake, he couldn’t seem to blink away the fear, the confusion.
Her hand lingered on his shoulder, then trailed down a bulging biceps—the one with the military insignia—until it rested on his forearm.
Finally, his gaze cleared and he zeroed in on her, snagging something deep inside and giving it a squeeze.
“Where am I?” he asked.
Her heart went out to him. “You’re at the Cummings ranch. And you were...dreaming.” She reached for the glass of water he must have placed on the bedside table before retiring this evening and handed it to him.
She watched him take a long swig, watched the muscles along his throat contract. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” He raked his hand through his hair.
“I can understand,” she said. “But maybe if you do, I can help you to make sense of it.”
He set the water glass on the nightstand, his fingers trembling a bit as he d
id. Then he reached for her hand and gripped it tightly in his. “Don’t leave yet.”
She wouldn’t consider abandoning him in a strange house and an unfamiliar bed, especially after everything he’d been through. So she took a seat on the mattress.
With his free hand, the one she wasn’t holding, he threw the covers off his left leg, which was the one farthest from her hip. Then he reached down and massaged his knee. Was he wearing briefs or boxers under the blanket that barely covered him now? She supposed it didn’t matter. Yet she couldn’t help wondering if he was naked.
She glanced down at the flimsy gown she wore, wishing she’d taken the time to throw on a robe. But she’d been so startled by his outburst, so concerned about him, that she’d rushed to his side without thinking. That shouldn’t be a problem, though. Joe was probably so caught up in that frightening nightmare that he hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he didn’t care either way.
“What were you dreaming about?” she asked.
He stretched out his left leg, extending his knee. “About the day I got this injury, I think. Although I can’t be sure.”
“From the words you said, I gathered that you were on a battlefield. You even called for a medic.”
“Yeah. I was in battle. And Dave was with me.”
“So you were in the same platoon?”
“I’m not sure about that. Maybe. But I was looking at that photo of him on the mantel earlier and trying hard to remember his face. So it’s possible that his image only infiltrated my dream. And that none of it had been real.” He blew out a ragged sigh. “But as much as I hate living with amnesia, I hope it wasn’t a memory. I’d rather not think that I actually lived through that.”
She could understand how he felt. But in a way, she hoped he had. And that the other memories would soon follow.
Joe lay back on his pillow, but he didn’t release her hand. “I suspect it was real, though. We were under attack. And I’m pretty sure it was Afghanistan. This may sound weird to you, but I remember several phrases in an Afghani dialect. How else would I know that?”
She had no idea, but she said, “It makes sense that you would.”
Once he started to talk, the tension in his body eased and his breathing slowed. Yet he still didn’t let go of her hand.
She felt a yawn coming on and tried to stifle it to no avail.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“About waking me up? Don’t be. I’m sure that dream was troubling. And if it helps having someone to talk to, I’m happy to be here.”
“It does help. But you’re tired. Go on back to bed.”
She couldn’t do that. Not when she knew he hadn’t wanted to be alone. She might be tired, but she’d feel pretty selfish if she left him. “Is it okay if I just lie down next to you for a while?”
He scooted to the side, making room for her. So she stretched out on the mattress, on top of the covers so that their bodies were separated by the bedding. He seemed to take comfort in having her near and in whatever emotional solace she was providing.
If truth be told, she found lying next to him to be a bit comforting, too. She liked holding his hand and breathing in his masculine scent.
She wished she could help him sort through the puzzle pieces, but she couldn’t.
As he continued to drift off, his breathing low and deep, the masculine timbre lulled her, sending her off to dreamland. Only her nocturnal visions weren’t the least bit frightening.
She dreamed of a handsome soldier who’d just returned from war, of joining him in bed, cuddling next to him.
And as his arm draped her waist, as he drew her close, she breathed in the scent of bath soap and musk and slept peacefully until dawn chased away the night.
* * *
A pounding on the front door jarred Joe from his sleep, although the petite blonde in his arms had already awakened everything below his waist.
If the damn knocking would stop, he could focus on sexy Chloe and the fact that she was all soft and warm and curled up beside him in bed. But he couldn’t take advantage of the sleeping woman who’d only climbed in next to him last night to comfort him after his nightmare.
Besides, whoever was at the door was obviously on a mission and wasn’t leaving any time soon.
He rolled to the side, slipped out of the bed and pulled on the jeans he’d worn yesterday. Then he grabbed a clean shirt from the stack of clothes Chloe had left for him. He didn’t realize it until he was about to open the door that the writing on the front of the snug T read: BVHS Marching Band—Drummers Bring the Boom.
Great. Now someone would think that he was a band geek, too.
He made his way to the living room. When he pulled open the front door, he found Sheriff Hollister standing on the stoop.
Joe greeted him, then stepped aside and allowed the lawman to enter. “You want some coffee?”
“Only if you have some already made.”
Chloe was still asleep, so there was no way she’d risen early to put on a pot. But Joe didn’t want to give off the appearance that he and the lady of the house had been up lolling around in bed together until—he peered at the grandfather clock in the living room—0900 hours.
Damn. He never slept that late. But then again, once Chloe had climbed into his bed, he’d crashed.
“I’m sorry,” Joe said. “I just woke up. But Chloe might have made some already. And if she didn’t, I’ll make a pot.”
He hoped he’d convinced the sheriff that he had no idea where his benefactor was. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin her reputation. Assuming, of course, that she had one to ruin.
Wow. Where had that crazy thought come from? Why wouldn’t she have a reputation to ruin?
As the two men filed into the kitchen, Joe got started on brewing a fresh pot while Hollister took a seat at the table.
“I take it you have more news,” Joe said.
“I’m afraid so.”
Joe expected the sheriff to expound on that, but he held back when Chloe came into the kitchen wearing her standard jeans and a pink long-sleeved T-shirt. She looked far more rested and a lot less tousled than Joe felt.
Hopefully, Hollister wasn’t so astute that he’d realize they’d woken up together.
“Good morning,” Chloe said. “Did you uncover any more information, Sheriff?”
Hollister leaned back in his seat. “According to my friend at NCIS, Joe and Dave served in the same squad. They were both injured in the line of duty and sent to a hospital in Germany to recover. Since Dave was in worse shape than Joe, they were medically discharged at different times.”
“So what’s the bad news I’m sensing?” Joe asked.
Hollister took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Dave Cummings is dead.”
The news hit Joe hard, but he turned to Chloe, who’d paled considerably. Her hand was on her chest, the fingers splayed over her heart. And her eyes glimmered with tears that threatened to spill out at any time. “What happened? Was it a result of his war injuries?”
“Not that I know of,” Hollister said. “I’m still investigating that.”
The coffee machine pinged, signaling it had finished brewing. Joe poured them each a cup. He laced one with cream and sugar, just the way Chloe drank hers yesterday morning, then handed it to her.
She thanked him before focusing her attention back on the sheriff.
What was she thinking? How was she really taking the news? Was she grieving for Dave, the man she’d claimed was a family friend?
“Joe, would you mind pouring the sheriff a cup of coffee?” Chloe asked.
Crap. He’d been so caught up in the news and in trying to jar his fragile memory that he’d forgotten to serve anyone other than Chloe.
“Don’t bother,” Hollister said. “Not unless yo
u have a to-go cup. I have a lot going on today and need to head back to town.”
“There are some disposable cups in the cupboard over the fridge,” Chloe said.
Joe reached for one, then filled it with coffee for the lawman. “Cream or sugar?”
“Neither, thanks. Just black.”
This time, as the sheriff headed for the door, Joe followed him out. “Thanks for coming by, even if the news was bad. I appreciate your efforts to help.”
“You’re welcome. It’s part of the job. I just hope things work out for you. And sooner, rather than later.”
“I’d been meaning to ask,” Joe said. “Whatever happened to my rental car?”
“Last I heard, it was parked at the county impound lot. You’d paid two weeks in advance. You can pick it up whenever you want to. The rental company would probably be willing to send someone to collect it, though, if you’re not up to driving yet.”
Joe nodded, still trying to take it all in. What had he planned to do in town for so long? Or did he have other places to go?
“I think a trip to Houston is in order,” Joe said. “I’d like to see what I can find out on my own. You think your buddy at NCIS would be willing to talk to me?”
“He said he’s always willing to help out a fellow devil dog. But he said that he’s only at liberty to divulge so much info.” Hollister reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of business cards. When he found the one he was looking for, he handed it to Joe. “Here’s his office address. I’ll call ahead and let him know you’re coming by.”
“Thanks.” Joe studied the card for a moment, then added, “I doubt he’ll be able to tell me anything more than he’s already told you, but I’d still like to find out more about Dave—and what happened to him.”
“So would I.”
Joe stiffened. “You don’t think his death had anything to do with me being hit by a car, do you?”
“I don’t like to leave stones unturned. However, I doubt that the two incidents are related. In the meantime, we’ve contacted all the local companies who do bodywork on vehicles. If the driver who hit you was one of the locals and had been drinking at the bar, he might have left the scene so he could avoid getting slapped with a DWI. We might be able to find him that way.”
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 29