by Lisa Jackson
“Is that your usual relationship with a woman? A ‘hot affair.”’
One side of his mouth lifted. “I don’t have ‘usual’ relationships. In fact, I don’t have any relationships at all.”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?” she asked, not trusting him for a minute. She tried to step backward, to put some space between his body and hers, but the arms around her tightened like iron bands, holding her close, refusing to let her go.
“I’m just answering the questions.”
“So you’re into one-night stands?” she asked, her voice breathless, her gaze searching his face.
“I’m not ‘into’ anything.”
“They’re not safe, you know. Not in today’s day and age.”
“Don’t lecture me, Nikki, ’cause it doesn’t matter. Until I met you, when I saw a woman I was attracted to, I ran like hell. The last thing I wanted in my life was any emotional entanglements.”
That much she accepted. But her heart was thundering and she couldn’t ignore the feel of his body pressed anxiously against hers. Through the soft barrier of their clothing, her flesh was warmed by his. “But you want me to believe we’re married.”
“We are.”
“I don’t believe—”
“Believe,” he commanded before kissing her again, his tongue rimming her lips, prying her mouth open so that he could taste all of her. Deep in a dark corner of her mind, she knew she should stop him, but she couldn’t, not when her skin was on fire, her blood flowing wantonly.
He crushed her to him and her breasts began to ache. His hands moved slowly and sensually up and down her spine, touching the sensitive area at the small of her back.
“This…this can’t happen.”
“It is happening.”
“No, please—”
“Listen, damn it!” he said, jerking his head back long enough to stare deep into her eyes. “I can’t tell you anything else. I can’t explain how it happened. It just did. It’s not as if this was planned, you know. I took one look at you and told myself to make tracks and quick, but for some reason, and I can’t explain why, I ran to you instead of away from you. Maybe it was because you weren’t interested at first.”
“I thought you said I was….how did you so romantically put it? So damned hot, wasn’t that it?”
“That was later.” He grinned, running a hand down her back.
“But not much later.”
“I kept pursuing you. You gave me the cold shoulder at first because of Neumann. You were still licking your wounds over him.”
Dave. Her throat caught. She’d thought she loved him, planned to marry him, but he’d never intended to walk down the aisle with her. She couldn’t remember their breakup, but suddenly felt the emotional abandonment, the pain and humiliation. Her memory teased her, rose to the surface of her consciousness only to submerge and leave her feeling raw and bereft.
“Are you saying I married you on the rebound?” she asked, her emotions electric and jumbled.
“I’m saying you didn’t want to get seriously involved, but I wouldn’t give up, and when things started getting hot and heavy, you insisted on marriage.”
Would she have jumped so suddenly? Her father had said there had been six months since she and Dave had broken up. Would she have been so paranoid, so downright archaic to demand that this man marry her and prove that his intentions were honorable? “And you just happily went along with my idea,” she scoffed, knowing instinctively that Trent McKenzie wasn’t a man to be manipulated.
“I wanted you. Period.” His voice was husky and raw, ringing with a conviction that tore at her soul. “I would have done anything to have you. Anything.”
“Even marry me.”
“Even that.”
Her breath got lost in her lungs, and when his eyes touched hers, they burned with an inner fire that caused the denials to melt on her tongue. There was no doubt of his sexuality or the passion that simmered in his blood.
He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her softly at first, but with more hunger as each heartbeat passed. As her arms wrapped around his waist, she told herself to remember that this was the man who could not profess to love her, who often seemed cold and distant. So why now would he open his heart to her?
His lips moved over hers and his tongue rimmed her mouth, touching, enticing, prodding her lips apart to slip into the dark, wet recess. She closed her eyes and moaned as the tip of his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, dancing and parrying, teasing her own reluctant tongue to life.
Nikki’s knees buckled, and his arms surrounded her, holding her close, pressing her against him, forcing her breasts against his chest. He prodded her legs apart with a knee that deftly cleaved her skirt and shoved her against the palm tree. Her blood was on fire, her breaths short and rapid, and the denials singing through her brain earlier all but silenced.
She knew that becoming intimate with him was taboo, that danger lurked in his dusky kisses, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. Her body screamed for him, her breasts ached for his touch, and deep inside she felt a molten fire, like the boiling lava of a volcano about to erupt.
When he lifted his head, she sagged against him.
“This is how it’s always been with us,” he said, his breathing ragged, his gaze tortured. He smoothed a stray strand of hair from her face. “And that, lady, is why I married you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Now what? Come on, Nikki. You’re a smart woman. Or at least you were once upon a time. So now what’re you going to do?
Trust him. For God’s sake, Nikki, follow your heart and trust him!
She stood on the veranda, her fingers curled around the iron rail, the breeze teasing her hair and brushing softly against her cheeks. From the open door of the hotel room, she heard water running, the sound of Trent in the shower. Trying to come up with a plan, she stared at the winking lights of Santa María. Strung jewel-like along the inlet, the city lights reflected on the water and kept the dark night at bay.
She didn’t have much time. Soon she’d have to sleep with a man who, by casting her a single glance, could set her blood on fire. A mystery man who claimed to be her husband. A man she instinctively felt was dangerous. If only she could trust him. But trust, she knew from some vague experience in her past, was earned, not given casually. She rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled and thought about the night ahead, sleeping in the same bed with him, feeling him close. Her stomach tightened and she knew she couldn’t make love to him. Husband or no, she didn’t trust him. She decided the best way to avoid making love to him was feigning sleep. Surely he’d understand that, after days of lying in the hospital, the move was hard on her and she was worn-out.
Truth to tell, she knew she’d barely sleep a wink with his body only inches from hers. What a mess, she thought, blowing her bangs from her eyes and glancing down at the garden patio where several people were still gathered, laughing and talking and sipping from island drinks. Older couples laughed over glasses of wine, and a couple in their mid-twenties held hands as they walked by the pool. Lovers, she thought, with just a twinge of envy.
Shaking off her worrisome thoughts, she hurried inside, and as she listened to the water still running in the bathroom, she quickly shed her skirt and blouse and yanked on a pair of satin pajamas. The fabric molded to her breasts and hips, and the deep V of the neckline offered a view of more of her skin than she would have preferred, but the pink pajamas were the most sedate bedroom apparel she’d brought to the island. It made sense, she supposed. A flannel nightgown and robe that would keep her warm through the wet and cold Seattle winters would have no business on a tropical island. Especially on your honeymoon.
The shower spray stopped, and her heart began an erratic tattoo. Oh God, she thought, her throat so tight she could barely swallow.
Quietly, she slipped between the covers, rolled on her side and offered her back to the other side of the bed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she heard him runnin
g the water again, probably at the sink, taking his damned sweet time, while she prayed for sleep. She realized she was acting like a child, a neurotic virgin, but as she was still laid-up and vulnerable, she felt the best course of action was deception. Just until she had her full faculties back. Once her memory returned, she would be able to deal with him more openly.
However, the pretense bothered her more than she expected, and she realized that Nikki Carrothers, in her other lifetime, had never sunk low enough to deal in lies. These are extenuating circumstances, she told herself as she plumped her pillow and tried to relax.
The water at the sink stopped suddenly. Nikki tensed. Through her slitted eyelids she noticed the lightening of the bedroom as he opened the door. Act groggy, she told herself, though she felt a fool.
He didn’t say a word. She heard his keys jangle on the nightstand near his side of the bed, felt the movement of the blankets as he threw back the covers, smelled the scents of soap and shaving cream and musk as he slid between the sheets and the mattress creaked. Her heart was thundering as he turned out the light on his night table and scooted closer.
She stiffened as his arms surrounded her waist with easy familiarity. He pressed his body against hers intimately, his breath warm against her neck, the stiff hairs of his chest brushing against the slick satin covering her back. “You’re not fooling anyone,” he said, his hand splayed possessively across her abdomen. “I know you’re awake.”
She didn’t reply. Fake it, fake it, fake it! Just breathe in and out as naturally as if you don’t feel his warm body cuddling yours!
“But don’t worry. I won’t force you.”
Her muscles relaxed a little, and he took advantage of the moment, drawing her closer still. His legs, bare from what she could feel through her pajamas, tucked against hers and he seemed to fit perfectly, his knees and hips bending at the same angles as hers. She tried to remember this feeling of closeness and intimacy, of sharing a bed with him, but no pleasant, warm memory surfaced. He kissed the back of her neck, and her pulse jumped crazily. “There’s no need to rush, darlin’,” he said in a sexy drawl that caused her stomach to turn over in anticipation. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”
Oh, God, why couldn’t she remember?
* * *
Trent knew he should keep his hands off her. Touching her like this was dangerous, and yet he couldn’t resist. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her that she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met. From the moment he’d first seen her in Seattle, he’d wanted to make love to her.
And yet he had to hold back. She was still in pain, still confused, still distrustful. There was so much he wanted to tell her and so much he still couldn’t divulge. But as soon as they were back in the United States and he was assured of her safety, things would be better. He smelled the lilac scent of her shampoo on the hairs that spilled across her pillow and the desire already flowing through his blood created an ache in his loins. It would be so easy to start kissing her, to brush his fingers across her breasts, to rub up against her and nudge her legs apart….
“Hell,” he ground out, forcing himself to roll over and cling to the side of the bed. He’d never been a hero, and there had been a time in his life when he hadn’t really cared what a woman thought of him before or after he’d taken her to bed. But now, with Nikki, things were different. Complicated. Dangerous.
He grimaced and stared at the ceiling, knowing she wasn’t sleeping. Any way he thought about it, the night was going to last forever!
* * *
Nikki climbed out of bed as soon as the morning sunlight streamed through the window. Hazarding a glimpse of Trent, she felt her throat catch as she saw his face, cleanly shaven, in complete repose. His jaw was strong and square. Dark lashes brushed his cheek and his mouth was without its usual cynical twist. His black hair fell over his forehead and his bare shoulders, even relaxed, were sculpted with sinewy muscles. Bristly hair swirled over his chest and disappeared beneath the sheet. A handsome man, she thought, but who the devil was he? Husband? Lover? Enemy?
“Are you gonna stand there all day and drool over me, or are you gonna come back to bed and do something about it?” He patted the spot where she’d been lying without cracking open an eye.
“You—”
With a slow, deliberately sensual smile, he levered up on one elbow and the sheet fell away, revealing a washboard of lean abdominal muscles. “I what?”
“You were awake,” she said, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to insult him just yet.
“Mmm.” He stretched his arms far over his head and settled back against the pillows. Yawning, his slumberous eyes dark with an unnamed passion, he said, “You’re lucky I didn’t try to take advantage of you.”
She couldn’t help rising to the bait. “Maybe you’re the lucky one,” she teased, hurrying into the bathroom and locking the door firmly behind her before she decided she was being childish. He was her husband—right? He could see her naked. Or could he? Taking in a deep breath she unlocked the door. He could make the next move if he wanted to.
Telling herself that things were as normal as they could be given the circumstances, she carefully applied a little makeup and was grateful that her face was beginning to heal. A few of the scabs had become loose and some had actually peeled away to reveal pink skin that contrasted vividly with her tan. All in all her body was healing, she decided as she applied antibiotic cream and vitamin E skin oil to her abrasions. If only her mind would mend as well.
After brushing her hair and changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she returned to the bedroom where Trent, dressed only in faded Levi’s, was pouring coffee into two cups. “Cream, no sugar, right?” he asked.
“Yes.” For years she’d tried to wean herself off cream, she remembered, but hadn’t been able to drink coffee black. Somehow Trent had been around her long enough to know her habits. It was frustrating, this being in the dark.
Handing her a cup, he huddled over a newspaper at the table and she tentatively took a seat across from him. She tried not to stare at the sharp angles of his face as she blew across her coffee, but she watched him, hoping that a glance, a gesture, a word would trigger memories of their whirlwind courtship and marriage.
“Tell me about your family,” she suggested as he scanned the front page.
“Not much to tell.”
“Your parents?”
“Still married and living in Toledo. Dad’s retired from working in the steel mills. Mom’s a nurse. She’ll retire in a couple of years.”
“Brothers?”
“Just one snip of a sister. Kate. Stubborn, single and a pain in the backside.” He glanced up and smiled. “Anything else?”
“How did you end up in Seattle?”
Frowning, he folded his paper neatly on the table. “What is this—twenty questions?”
“Yes. Or thirty. Or fifty. Or a hundred. Whatever it takes.”
“I didn’t want to end up like my old man, with a bad back and a bum hip, so I managed to get a scholarship. That, along with working nights, put me through school. I graduated in law enforcement, decided I couldn’t stand working for a boss and gravitated toward being a private detective. I moved around a lot. Things were slow and I heard about a job with the insurance company where I could make my own hours, and so I took it. I was living in Denver at the time and ready to move on.”
“And that’s it?”
“My life history.”
She sipped from her cup and burned her tongue as she considered his story—encapsulated as it was. He didn’t say anything she could dispute, but it seemed so cold and sterile—no hint of warmth when he talked about his folks, no smile when he mentioned his home town, no mention of a family pet, or a friend, or anything that might show a hint of his emotions. As if his past has been manufactured and printed off a computer screen.
You’re letting your imagination get the better of you, she told herself. Why would he lie?
He snapped his pap
er open again and scowled at the articles written in Spanish. “Makes you wish for a copy of the Observer, doesn’t it?”
Crash!
Glass shattered on the veranda.
Nikki jumped, sloshing hot coffee onto her hands and the table.
Trent kicked back his chair. “Stay back,” he ordered, his expression grim. On the balls of his feet, his muscles tense, his jaw tight, he said, “Stay back!” He threw open the French doors. A stiff morning breeze skated into the room, billowing the drapes and rustling the newspaper.
Despite his warning, Nikki inched forward and saw thousands of glass shards, the remains of a hurricane lantern, scattered over the decking.
Trent, seemingly oblivious to the glass and his bare feet, had run to the edge of the veranda, where he stood, surveying the grounds and nearby breadfruit trees, as if he expected a prowler to leap out at him.
He started to move, and she yelled, “Watch out or you’ll cut yourself.”
“I thought I told you to stay inside!”
“I don’t like being ordered around.”
“It’s for your own good.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?” With a sharp glance over his shoulder, he raked his gaze up her body to land on the scrapes on her face.
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I may not know a lot about my past, but I’m sure that I was more than self-sufficient!”
The look he shot her spoke volumes.
“I don’t know why you’re so rattled, anyway,” she said, motioning toward the sparkling shards of glass. “It was just the wind.”
“Maybe.” Apparently satisfied that no one was lurking nearby, he bent over and began picking up the larger pieces of broken glass.
“You were expecting someone?” Nikki, too, gathered the chunks of sharp glass and dropped the jagged pieces into a trash can.
“No.” He shook his head, as if convincing himself.
“Then what is it you’re afraid of?” she asked.
“Afraid of?”
“You act like you expect someone to jump out at us.”