by Leanne Banks
But not her heart, Alisa told herself despite the odd little fluttering sensation in her chest. “And what if all the marbles don’t go back to the way they were?”
“The important ones will,” he said with such an easy assurance that it somehow gave her confidence.
He had no idea what a gift his belief in her was. Alisa was having a tough time knowing what to believe. Her task to put her marbles back in place was so huge she sometimes couldn’t see beyond it, but when she did, she always saw Dylan, and she was starting to want to know him as much as she wanted to know herself.
After several laps, a bone-deep weariness hit her like a ton of bricks, and she dragged herself from the pool to take several deep breaths. A shadow crossed over her and she glanced up at Dylan.
“Did you consider swimming just one or two laps to start instead of training for a two-hundred-meter sprint?”
She glanced down at his bare feet just inches from her hand. “Not once. Please leave and let me collapse in peace.”
“Not on my property,” he said. “You want me to give you a lift to that lounge chair in the shade?”
She shook her head, eyeing the lounge, embarrassed by her lack of stamina. “No. I’ll go in a min—” She broke off when he tucked one of his arms beneath her legs and the other behind her back. “You really don’t need to—” She didn’t finish before he carried her the short distance across the concrete and set her down on the lounge.
Frustrated, she covered her eyes and felt them burn with the threat of tears. She heard Dylan give a muffled oath.
“You want me to put you back on the side of the pool?” he asked.
She shook her head, but kept her eyes covered. A wayward tear streamed down her cheek.
“Alisa, send a smoke signal or a pigeon. How can I help?”
She took a shallow breath and tried to rid herself of the heavy feeling in her chest. “Don’t you know children cry when they get overtired?”
“I hadn’t thought of it until you mentioned it,” he said.
“I just want to be able to get through the day without needing a nap,” she said, swiping her cheek and looking up at him.
“That will happen in time,” he said. “But since you’ve been laying in a hospital bed on your nice, young rear end for four weeks, you’re going to need a few days before you can enter the Olympics.” He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt. “The reason I brought you here was so you could recover. Your body has been through a lot. Take it slow and don’t torture yourself.”
“But I want to be stronger,” she said, frustration flashing through her again.
“Being hardheaded isn’t going to make you strong,” he told her.
“Are you lecturing me?”
“Yeah, and it’s my prerogative since I’m your—” he narrowed his eyes “—friend. Take it slow.”
“And if I don’t want to go slow?”
“Then you can keep feeling just like you do right now or you can end up back in the hospital.” He muttered another oath. “The shrink warned me you might be difficult to handle, but I didn’t expect this.”
Alisa gaped at him. “Difficult? How?”
“Argumentative, emotional, frustrated, full of questions.”
Temper gave her the energy to stand. “I’m not difficult,” she told him. “I may not know much about myself, but I know I’m not difficult or argumentative or emotional.” She met his gaze and her defense sat between them like a flat tire. She had been difficult, argumentative and emotional, she realized when her mind cleared and the moment stretched between them.
“I’m not difficult,” she said in an even tone that required all her self-control, “except when I’ve been in a hospital for a month and I’m recovering from amnesia. That’s the only time,” she told him in no uncertain terms, “I’m difficult. And even then I’m not very difficult at all.”
She watched him bite his lip and hoped against hope he wouldn’t grin or chuckle because her hand was itching and she would give new meaning to the word difficult. “The reason I came down was to tell you the cook is preparing blackened fish for dinner. She wanted to know if you like spicy food.”
Alisa closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on spicy food. Instinctively she knew she liked spicy food. The doctor had said she would likely recall most of her preferences, but might have a more difficult time remembering what she’d eaten for breakfast or where she had left her keys. A short-term memory deficit was one more thing that shredded her already slim patience supply. She was combating some of her memory problems by working crossword puzzles and making lists. She looked at Dylan, knowing she would need to be as sharp as a laser to keep up with him. She was determined to make that happen.
“Yes,” she finally said, meeting his expectant gaze. “Don’t ask me how I know. I just do,” she said and walked toward her room. Maybe a nap would help after all.
“You’re quiet,” Dylan said as they sat on the terrace after dinner. “Are you tired…or pouting?”
“Neither. I don’t think I’m much of a pouter. I’m just thinking. I remembered something about work just before dinner.”
Sipping an after-dinner whisky, he glanced at her. “What did you remember?”
“One of the Frenchmen whose work I interpret hits on me every time he visits the States.”
“How do you handle it?”
“I joke with him and tell him he would break my heart. I think he enjoys the chase. I think most men may be a little like that,” she mused.
“A little like what?”
“Enjoy the chase more than they enjoy a real relationship with a woman.” She glanced at him. “Do you?”
Dylan took a swallow of whisky and rolled his shoulder as if he were uncomfortable with the question. “I haven’t done much chasing.”
Her curiosity piqued by his incomplete answer, she studied him for a long moment until the light dawned. “You are the chasee instead of the chaser. That shouldn’t surprise me. You’re good-looking, wealthy and not a total jerk.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “High praise,” he muttered. “Being the chasee has its downside.”
She laughed. “Poor Dylan. Surrounded by women. It must be terrible.”
“Do I look like I’m surrounded by women?” he asked. “It looks to me as if I’m being tormented by just one.”
She laughed again. “Have you always been chased? What do you think it is? Were you always good-looking and charming?”
He lifted his lips in a sexy smile that made her heart flutter. “Good-looking and charming. High praise again. Have I always been chased by women? Let’s just say it’s always been easy to find a date. Why? Beats the hell out of me. But I’ve learned an important lesson. Quality is more important than quantity. I’d rather be chased by the one right woman than several not-right women. And when I am chased by the right woman, she will catch me.”
“But what if you need to be the chaser to get the right woman?”
His eyes grew serious. “I can do that,” he said with quiet masculine assurance that did strange things to her nerve endings.
More questions about him filled her mind, but for some reason she wasn’t sure she wanted all the answers yet. Alisa knew she wouldn’t be able to learn everything she wanted to know about this man in one evening or one month. She reached for his glass of whisky. “Mind if I try it?”
Surprise crossed his face. “Go ahead.”
She took a sip and felt the liquid burn down her throat.
“Like it?”
Making a face, she shook her head and pushed the glass back toward him. “How can you drink that?”
“It’s an acquired taste. Twenty-five-year-old whisky.”
“Geez, then fire a cannon and bury it,” she said, and felt a ripple of pleasure that she made him laugh.
He could turn a woman’s head, she thought. For a moment she feared he would turn hers, then quickly dismissed the possibility. He’d said they were
friends, but Alisa wondered how a woman could be friends with Dylan without wanting more. There must be a reason. She would learn that reason soon.
Her shriek woke him from a sound sleep. Dylan sat straight up in bed. Another shriek broke the silence of the night, and he immediately rose from his bed and walked down the hallway to the room where Alisa was staying. The doctor had warned him about her nightmares.
Not bothering to knock, he entered the room and, with the aid of moonlight from the window, saw her sitting up with her head in her hands. Her shaky breaths made his gut twist and turn.
“Alisa,” he said in a low voice so he wouldn’t frighten her. He sat down on the bed beside her.
“Sorry,” she said, shuddering. “Bad dream. I don’t remember much about the accident when I’m awake, but I’ve had a few nightmares. I keep seeing a little boy’s puppy running into the street. The little boy is on crutches and for some reason I know that dog means everything to him. I run after the dog and an SUV whips around the corner. I try, but I can’t run fast enough….”
“The little boy was Timmy,” Dylan said, pulling her into his arms. He knew Alisa was strong, but she felt incredibly fragile to him right now. “Timmy is a neighbor kid with cerebral palsy, and you’ve taken care of him several times to give his single mom a break. You ran after the dog so he wouldn’t.”
“He sent me pictures he’d painted while I was in the hospital.” She took a deep breath and gave a little smile. “The puppy made it just fine, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Dylan muttered. He slid his fingers through her hair and felt the edge of one of her scars. His chest tightened with the memory of that terrible time just after Alisa’s accident. He could have lost her for good. The world could have lost her, and that would have been one helluva loss. Even though he’d blown his chances with her, just knowing Alisa existed made him believe in the future.
“Every time I have that dream it scares me. I hate being afraid,” she said.
No surprise, he thought, recalling what she’d been like as a child. Alisa had always fought her fear. “How about a bedtime story?”
She looked up at him, seeming reluctant to pull back from him. Dylan drank in the moment. It had been eons since she’d allowed him to hold her, since she’d wanted him to hold her.
“No puppies or SUVs?”
He shook his head. “No puppies or SUVs. Once upon a time a little girl was surrounded by orphan boys. Day after day, she watched them play baseball. She wanted to play, too, but the boys wouldn’t let her.”
“Why not?”
“She couldn’t catch worth a damn.”
“Oh,” she said with a grimace. “That’s a problem.”
“Yep, and she could see it was a problem. She talked one of the boys into teaching her to catch the ball.”
“How did she do that?”
Dylan remembered how Alisa had begged and pleaded and finally offered a trade. “That’s another bedtime story.”
She smiled and relaxed in his arms. “Okay. So what happened?”
“The little girl was afraid of the ball, and the boy told her that until she stopped being afraid of the ball, the other boys wouldn’t let her play. The little boy and girl practiced every day, and she started to improve. She got so much better the boys allowed her to play in one of their games.”
“Good,” she said.
“That’s not the end.”
“Oh, then finish the story.”
“In that very first game, a fastball came flying at the little girl. She didn’t duck and she didn’t bring her glove up fast enough.”
Alisa winced the same way Dylan knew he had winced that day many years ago. “Oh, no.”
“The ball hit her in the eye, but she somehow still managed to catch the ball. The boys cheered for her. She tried not to cry, but it was very hard. Her eye swelled up right away, and the little boy who taught her to catch felt like crap. He thought she would never play again, and he kinda hoped she wouldn’t so she wouldn’t get hurt again.”
Dylan remembered how miserable he’d felt when he’d seen Alisa get hurt. Looking at her eye had made his chest feel heavy with guilt.
“If he hadn’t taught her to catch, then she wouldn’t have gotten hurt,” he said, remembering the regret like it was yesterday.
“But she wouldn’t have known the thrill of winning and the lesson of going all-out for something she wanted.” She met his gaze, and he saw a glimmer of fearless Alisa in her green eyes. “Winning is addictive. She played again, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, she did. She hated being afraid. You never liked being afraid, Alisa. You always fought it.”
Hope softened the remnants of her nightmare from her face. “So maybe some things stay the same.”
“Yeah,” he said, knowing her attitude toward him would be one of those things. She closed her eyes, and he sensed the moment she drifted off to sleep. He watched her while she slept, her hair spilling across his arm and her lips gently parted. His heart swelled in his chest. He’d never known how precious her trust was to him until he’d lost it. For this moment she trusted him. But Alisa was recalling new memories every day. It was his job to encourage recollection and healing. It was an ironic twist of fate that he must encourage her toward the very thing that would ultimately turn her against him.
Two
“I want to visit my apartment today,” Alisa told Dylan as soon as she joined him on the terrace for breakfast.
His gaze played over her from head to toe, acutely reminding her of her femininity. She wondered if he had that effect on every woman and suspected he did. His eyes somehow managed to assess and seduce at the same time. His open-collared shirt revealed a glimpse of his muscular, tanned chest and the sleeves were pushed back to reveal strong forearms. Those same arms had held her last night when she had been afraid, she thought, and felt a ripple of vulnerability. She swallowed over the odd feeling crowding her throat. How did he evoke so many emotions in her?
“No problem,” he said. “I can take you to your apartment. You want to eat first?”
Turning her attention from him to the beautifully set table, she smiled. “Yes, I’d like to eat first. My impatience is showing, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Better your impatience than your party panties.”
She blinked at him. An image raced through her mind. “Party panties are panties with ruffles on the back. I had a pink pair.”
“You did. You also had a white pair with red ruffles.”
She shot him a glance of disapproval. “How would you know?”
“Because I saw them,” he said with just a tinge of arrogance.
Curious, she sat beside him at the table and took a croissant from the bread basket. “Were they on a clothesline or on me?”
“You were definitely wearing them.”
The idea that Dylan had seen her in party panties gave her the strangest urge to squirm. “I feel certain I didn’t show my party pants on purpose. I’m sure there were extenuating circumstances.”
“You could say that,” he said with a mocking glint in his eyes.
She poured orange juice from a carafe into each of their glasses. “Okay, I’ll bite. What were the extenuating circumstances?”
“You always had to keep up with whatever the boys were doing,” he said, pouring milk into a bowl of granola cereal and grabbing a muffin.
“And what were the boys doing this time?”
“It was winter and it had snowed. There was a shortage of sleds, so we made use of trays from the cafeteria. Your mom was so upset I thought she’d give me gruel for a month.” He shook his head. “You wanted to use a tray, too, but you had just returned from church so you were wearing your Sunday dress and knee socks. We told you that you couldn’t tray sled because you were a girl and you were wearing a dress.”
“I have a feeling I know where this is going,” she said. “I decided to prove you wrong, so I got on a tray and raced down the hill.”
Dylan
nodded. “The problem was that your guiding system was a little off. The tray spun around, you slammed into a snowbank face first with your ruffles there for all to see.”
She chewed another bite of croissant and swallowed. “I don’t remember this, but I still feel humiliated. I’ll bet you teased me relentlessly about that incident.”
Dylan nodded again as he finished a bowl of granola.
“Are you sure I didn’t secretly hate you?”
He shook his head and met her gaze dead-on. “You adored me,” he said with a combination of conviction and seduction that gave her a knee-weakening thrill.
Alisa was very glad she was sitting down. “I can’t imagine why,” she lied and bit into her croissant.
He lifted a dark eyebrow in disbelief. “Why not?”
“If you were one-tenth as cocky as you are now, you had to be insufferable.”
“You followed me around like a puppy.”
“I absolutely don’t remember that,” she said.
“You got into trouble with your mother for playing in the rain with me.”
She opened her mouth, but a hazy image swam through her mind. She closed her eyes and saw a boy and girl stomping through mud puddles. “You wore tennis shoes,” she said. “I ruined my black patent-leather shoes. Your hair was too long. You seemed tall to me,” she said, concentrating to milk every detail from the memory.
“It usually was. They gave us haircuts once every three months, but mine grew like a weed.”
“You loaned me your camouflage green rain slicker.”
“But that didn’t do a damn thing for your shoes.”
She kept her eyes closed for a long moment and fell back in time. She could hear her mother scolding her, but as a little girl, she was smiling inside. Another adventure with Dylan. Alisa opened her eyes. “Were you always leading me down the road to perdition?”
He rocked his hips slightly in his chair and leaned backward, inadvertently drawing her attention to his thighs. “I was just teaching you how to have a little fun.”