Rebecca tucked the ends of the blanket around the perimeter of the cushions, working quickly, competently, her mind on what he was saying. And not saying. “And I do?”
“Just enough to make you appealing.” He tossed a pillow on one end of the sofa. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”
Without thinking, she picked the pillow up and fluffed it before returning it to its place. “I didn’t take it in a bad way.”
“Good.”
The conversation was halting. Because he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. He was only thinking of her. Of what it might be like if he did follow Al’s advice.
Of what it might be like to taste those lips that lifted so beguilingly in a half smile.
Before he could stop himself, Angus gave in to impulse. Ever so lightly, he feathered his fingers over her hair, his hand coming to rest against her cheek.
She could feel her pulse quickening as she turned her face up to his. “Does vulnerability turn you on?”
“No,” he answered truthfully. “Not usually.”
She cocked her head just a little, her eyes searching his face. She hadn’t a clue what she was looking for. Acceptance? Affection? Something else? Something more?
“Then?” The single word came out in a soft, breathy whisper.
It would have been so very easy to give in, to bend his head just slightly and satisfy this unreasonable craving that had been dancing through him all day. Very easy. And very unprofessional. He struggled and won. And lost a little as well.
“But you do. Turn me on,” he added needlessly. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back from her. But not from the desire that insisted on tempting him. “I thought you should know.”
Was he being gallant again? For a moment—a wonderful moment—she had thought he was going to kiss her. She knew she was supposed to feel guilty about that, but she couldn’t. All she felt was disappointment that he hadn’t. If there was someone she was guilty of betraying because of these feelings, she felt no sense of shame. She didn’t know of anyone else. She knew only Angus.
She was rationalizing, she thought ruefully. And he was being a gentleman, telling her his feelings instead of acting on them.
“You’re telling me so I can prop a chair under the doorknob in my room?”
He liked her sense of humor. “I’m not going to pull a Stanley Kowalski on you.” He realized that she had no way of knowing what he was talking about. “That’s from—”
“A Streetcar Named Desire.” Her surprise mirrored his, as the title of the play popped out. “Right?”
“Right.” He knew he should be retreating, putting space between them. But since she had his room, there was nowhere for him to go. “Like I said, a box of surprises.” He smiled at her.
She made no effort to leave. God help him, he didn’t want her to. And that was a mistake.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked her. “I mean, for tonight?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “Could you hold me? Just for a minute?” She didn’t want him to misunderstand. This wasn’t a come-on, just one human being needing another. “I mean, I know how that must sound, but right now, I suddenly feel very afraid.”
She was, he realized. Had he inadvertently said something? “Of what?”
There was no one else to share her feelings with, and she needed to share. Needed to talk and pretend that her words mattered to someone.
“That I won’t get it back. That this is as far as my memory will go. Just enough to have me functioning, not enough to let me remember.”
He knew she could be right. There were cases where people didn’t regain their memory, even when they were surrounded with everything that was familiar to them. And Rebecca didn’t even have that.
So he did as she asked. He took her into his arms and held her. And was only remotely aware that by doing so, he had taken the first step in a direction he’d vowed never to go in again.
Chapter 8
It wasn’t that Angus didn’t want to kiss her. He did. Very much. At that one moment in time, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to kiss Rebecca.
What he didn’t want was for that kiss to be the start of something.
Angus had a sinking feeling that it might already be too late for that. Something had already begun—begun before he ever touched his lips to hers. How far it went depended on him.
Or so he wanted to believe, because that still left a semblance of control in his possession.
More than anything, he would have hated to think that he had no say in the matter.
Even if he really didn’t.
So he held her and pretended that every fiber of his body wasn’t wanting her at this moment. He didn’t convince himself. He’d never been very good when it came to pretending.
When he felt her cheek move along his chest, felt her breath as it softly skimmed his shirt until it seeped through the cloth and penetrated his skin, saw the look in her eyes as she turned her face up to his, Angus knew that the pretense he had hoped to nurture had died before it was ever born.
There was no course open to him but the one he followed.
It seemed as natural to him as breathing.
Looking into her eyes, he was filled with her, with the scent and the desire of her. He couldn’t resist any more than he could stop his heart from pounding.
Nor did he want to resist.
But if his heart was hammering, hers had stopped. As if she were watching something happen outside of herself, Rebecca held her breath, waiting, hoping.
Wanting.
Gently skimming her throat with his fingertips, Angus framed her face with his hands, then lowered his mouth to hers. And kissed her.
Kissed her to kiss away her fears, her gut-wrenching loneliness. She had no way of knowing that in that same moment, he also kissed away his own peace of mind.
All she knew was that he’d kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, a soft kiss. She clung to it, responded as it unearthed so much more within her than she’d thought was there. The breath she’d held had been snatched away from her, leaving her entirely without air. She didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted him to go on kissing her forever.
He tasted her need as it mingled with his, forming a unit that overwhelmed him. Her lips parted in an unspoken invitation.
It didn’t go unanswered.
His hands dropped from her face and he enfolded her in his arms. His hands lightly grazed her back, as if to assure himself that he wasn’t, after all, merely imagining this.
His imagination had never been that good. Not about things like this. He was always the last to understand his own feelings, the last to even acknowledge their existence. He had no choice this time. They slammed through him, demanding his attention. Demanding release.
But that wasn’t possible.
What he had left of his control, he used, tightening the rein on his desire.
Tightening his arms around her.
Rebecca felt the moan of raw pleasure as it rumbled along her throat. His kiss had gone beneath the layers of the civilized, lost woman she thought herself to be, to something far deeper, far more basic that existed underneath. It reached down and touched her at her very core.
Rebecca felt the outline of his hard body against hers. Whether it was because he held her so tightly, or because she’d pressed herself to him, she didn’t know. Point of origin didn’t matter. What mattered was the excitement it. generated. Excitement that exploded within her, going off like a battery of photographers’ Sashbulbs at a state wedding the moment the bride and groom exited the church.
She had no idea she was harboring feelings like this. There’d been no hint that her emotions went this far, this deep. Or were this strong. Stunned, she could only hold on and go along for the ride.
He felt her heart pounding against him. Or was that his heart trying to break free of the confines he’d been so certain he’d imposed on it? He realized he’d forgotten what it was like to real
ly want a woman. To burn in frustrated unfulfillment because he couldn’t have her.
Just the way he couldn’t have Rebecca.
No matter how he looked at it, how much he wanted it, making love with her wasn’t right.
Very slowly, Angus drew his head back. He wanted to hold her just a little longer, but he knew if he did, he might not have the strength to let her go again. He dropped his arms to his sides. “I’d make that two chairs if I were you.”
Feeling even more dazed than when she’d first come to, and stumbled away from the Dumpster yesterday, Rebecca could only stare at him. Her mind wasn’t processing his words.
“What?”
“Against your doorknob.” He repeated his previous warning. There was a great deal more conviction behind it now. “I’d make it two chairs instead of one tonight, just in case my common sense decides to evaporate.”
“Oh.” The fog that had enshrouded her brain began to lift. “Right.”
Shaken, struggling for some sort of composure, Rebecca dragged a hand through her hair. He was right, of course. She couldn’t say she was very happy about it at the moment, but she was grateful to him for not pressing his advantage. She had no idea what had come over her. She didn’t behave this way—did she?
She blew out a breath. That was just it—she had no idea how she behaved. She didn’t know if this was normal for her, or a wanton departure brought on by need, by the chemistry between them and by a desire so strong she was powerless to resist it on her own.
Instinct told her it was the latter. Instinct also told her that sleeping with Angus would only further complicate a situation that was already far too complicated.
The thought that she was behaving sensibly failed to cheer her.
Rebecca took a step back, testing the integrity of her bone structure. Contrary to what she’d thought, her legs hadn’t been transformed into Silly Putty. She could still walk away. At least physically.
She tried to tell herself that what she felt, what she thought she felt for Angus, was a result of her being so alone in this world. His was one of the first faces she’d seen, certainly the first she’d focused on. He was Adam to her Eve. Once she got past that, she might feel different about him.
Maybe. Maybe not.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she murmured. He looked relieved that she was retreating, she thought. It stung a little.
He only nodded in response, not sure just how long he could remain this noble. It had been a long time since he’d felt a pull as powerful as the one holding him in its grip right now.
He needed a cold shower, he thought as he watched her disappear into his room, closing the door behind her. He tried not to think about her putting on that same jersey—his jersey—and then getting into bed. His bed.
She was in his bed in his jersey.
Without him.
But the only shower in the apartment was accessible only through his bedroom. He knew if he entered the room right now, he might never make it to the stall.
Might? There was no question about it.
Resigned to spending a restless night alone, Angus lay down on the sofa. There was comfort in knowing that ultimately, he was doing the right thing. But not much.
“Would you mind if I came along today?”
Angus stopped riffling through the papers scattered on the coffee table and looked up at Rebecca. Somewhere amid this mess made up of the Sunday paper and miscellaneous other things was an address he needed.
Her question had caught him completely off guard. Sunday had been spent cautiously regaining ground that had been sacrificed in the aftermath of the few unguarded moments they’d shared before they’d each retreated to their separate corners—their separate worlds—the night before. By the time Sunday was over, they were back to where they’d been, somewhere between P.I. and client and two people on the cusp of what could be a budding friendship.
With the advent of Monday, things promised to return to the regular routine—with one notable exception. Vikki was going to school and he was going to work. He’d figured that Rebecca, the new, temporary ingredient in this mixture, would just remain here.
“Where?” he asked cautiously.
Her shoulders rose, then fell. She had no specific answer. “Wherever you’re going.”
She probably thought he was going to continue looking for clues to her identity. Much as, for her sake, he would have liked to devote himself to that exclusively, there were other things that demanded his attention.
“I’ve got other cases pending, Becky. I need to devote some time to them.” He didn’t want her thinking he was abandoning her. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to find out who you are, but—”
She placed her fingertips on his lips. The contact, their first since Saturday night, momentarily shifted her focus. Realizing the effect it was having—on her if not him—Rebecca dropped her hand again.
“You don’t have to apologize,” she said quickly. “Especially since I can’t pay you yet. You’ve got a living to make, I understand that. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done so far.” She searched for the right words, her brain still a little addled. Touching him had just underscored the unanswered desire that hummed within her. “I just thought that maybe I could help in some way, you know, in lieu of paying you right now.”
Not being beholden to him seemed to be important to her. Was she independent to a fault, too, the way Jane had been? “And what way would that be?”
Again, specifics eluded her. “I don’t know.” She thought for a second. “Maybe you need your office straightened out.” From what she remembered seeing of it, even in her disoriented condition, the place had been in semichaos.
“It’s an organized mess,” he qualified. And he liked it that way. “Besides, I’m not going to the office until later this afternoon. After I check in with Al, I’ll be tied up doing surveillance work.”
The thought intrigued her. “What kind of surveillance?”
Still rummaging, Angus finally found what he was looking for—the address he was going to, after stopping at the station. Folding the paper, he put it into his pocket.
“Mrs. Angela Clarence Madison wants to get the goods on her gigolo of a husband so she doesn’t get stuck with paying him a hefty alimony. She was born to the money, he married it,” he explained.
As he saw it, the woman who came from third-generation money had purchased herself a handsome man and then done everything in her power to make him regret selling himself to her. In Angus’s estimation, they deserved each other. But his job was not to make a moral judgment, just to take photographs and provide his client with the proof she needed to make her point in court.
He looked at Rebecca. She’d be much better off spending the day here, though he had to admit that the thought of her company was tempting.
He had to watch that word tempting, he thought. If he slipped and gave in to it, it could foul him up royally in the long run.
“That means I get to spend a lot of time in my car, parked in some unobtrusive place with great visibility, biding my time until I can take the photographs that make Angela Madison’s case for her.”
He made it sound so tedious. “Sounds like an exercise in boredom.”
That summed it up neatly, he thought. He shrugged. “Part of the job.”
And he took pride in doing his job well, in giving his clients their money’s worth, she guessed. “Would you like company?”
He would, but there was an inherent problem with that. “You’ll distract me.”
The last thing she wanted was to get in his way. But the idea of staying here alone wasn’t appealing. There were no thoughts to sustain her, and she had already cleaned up his apartment yesterday. Even now, she was making neat piles out of the scattered newspaper. That was the last of it. There was nothing to do. The restlessness weaving through her would drive her crazy if she remained by herself.
“I’ll be quiet,” she promised.
; He smiled. Whether she was quiet or not made no difference. “You’ll still distract me.”
She thought of the other night and knew that he was thinking of it, too. A warm sensation curled through her, like hot coffee on a cold morning. She really wanted to go with him. When she was with Angus, she didn’t feel so lost. He made her feel safe; without saying a word or making promises he couldn’t keep, he made her feel as if everything would turn out all right.
“Two sets of eyes are better than one?” She looked at him hopefully.
There was that, he supposed. But more important, maybe if she was with him, if they went on talking as they sat, watching the rest of the world go about its business, something would occur to her.
He was rationalizing, but it was still worth a try.
“Okay,” he agreed, “you can come with me. But just remember, this isn’t going to be anything like Magnum.”
“Magnum?” she repeated blankly.
The name obviously meant nothing to her. Vikki and Jenny were glued to the set every day at seven, watching reruns of the show on a cable channel. “It was a TV show about a private investigator.”
“Never saw it,” she told him. At least, as far as she knew she never had.
“Then we start out even.” He had never caught it, either, when it was on originally. And now, he heard rather than saw it whenever he came home at that time.
“Vikki,” he called to her, “you’ve got ten minutes before school starts.”
Several beats passed before Vikki came out of her room, dragging her feet. She looked like a portrait of the petulant child. “Can’t it start without me?”
“It can, but it won’t.” He took out his wallet, looking for two dollar bills to give her. But the smallest he had was a five. Angus handed it to her. “Here, lunch money. I expect change.”
Eyes that were just a shade too innocent looked up at him. “How much change?”
“Do the math,” he told her. Grabbing her backpack—a hot purple knapsack that had spent all weekend on the stool near the front door where she had dropped it—he ushered Vikki out the door.
“Are you going to school with me?” she asked Rebecca as she climbed into the back seat.
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