by Leanne Banks
Swift, hot awareness sped through her. A searing thought that he could teach her about grown-up fun dipped into her mind. She snuffed it out as quickly as it appeared. He was a distracting man, and she didn’t need to be distracted from her quest. She needed to concentrate on getting her memory back instead of what kind of lover Dylan would be. Temptation shimmered stubbornly inside her. Alisa took a long swallow of cool orange juice and told herself to focus on healing. Focus on anything but sex with Dylan.
“Breakfast was lovely. Why don’t I ever see your cook? I’m beginning to think she’s invisible.”
“She likes to set the table, then leave.”
“I’d like to thank her sometime when she comes out of hiding.”
“I’ll introduce you.”
“Good.” She took a deep breath. “I’m ready to go to my apartment anytime.”
His mouth straightened, and she watched his eyes darken with some emotion she couldn’t name. “Then we’ll go,” he said, and she wondered why his words held a hint of ominous foreboding.
“No pictures on the wall,” Alisa said in disapproval as she walked through her apartment. She’d hoped for obvious marks of her personality. “I was hoping for more.”
“You were hoping for billboards with your life history,” he said dryly.
She slid a quick glance at him. How did the man read her mind? “It would have been nice.”
“You hadn’t lived here that long,” he reminded her.
She saw a datebook left open on the kitchen counter and dived for it as if it were the Holy Grail. “This may be the closest thing I’ll get to a diary.” She flipped through the pages. “Busy girl. Cook-out with the Hawkinses on Tuesday night, running date with Paul.” She stopped. “Who’s Paul?”
He shrugged his shoulders and peered over her shoulder. “No idea. Volunteer work at Granger’s,” he said, pointing to a notation.
“Business trip to France,” she said, and a sound of despair squeaked out of her throat. “A week after my accident. Now that is tragic.” She fanned through the previous month’s pages and frowned.
“There’s nothing in here about my mother. I thought—” She stopped in mid thought, her head whirling. “I saw her at Christmas,” she said, a fragment of a memory teasing her. “She was upset with me.” Her chest tightened. Alisa still didn’t like the idea of displeasing her mother, but she was determined to get to the root of the recollection. “She was not happy that I broke off my engagement.”
“Ah, the senator,” he said. “I’m not surprised your mother wasn’t pleased about the breakup.”
“Why?”
Dylan remembered how appalled Alisa’s mother had been when she’d caught him and Alisa kissing. He could tell the truth or he could be kind. Looking into Alisa’s expectant gaze, he swallowed his resentment, or a portion of it, and opted for kind. “She always thought you deserved the very best. She was impressed by prestige and influence and she wanted that for you.”
“Hmm,” Alisa said, and snapped the datebook closed. “I didn’t want him enough.”
Dylan gave her a double take. “You wanna play that one again?”
She wiggled her shoulders. “I don’t remember everything about the engagement, but I do remember that I broke up with him because I didn’t love him enough to marry him.” She sighed. “A shame,” she said. “I have this sense that he was a nice guy.” She pointed toward the hallway. “I want to see my bedroom.”
Dylan tugged at his collar as he watched her whirl around the corner and wondered what was next. Her memories seemed to be returning at lightning speed. Anything could be next. His gut clenched. He could be next. Bracing himself, he slowly walked down the hall and glanced inside her bedroom.
Her closet door was flung open and she had two bureau drawers ajar as she rifled through them. His gaze, however, was snared by the decor. All the effort Alisa had not made to decorate the rest of the apartment had clearly gone into the bedroom. A four-poster brass bed dominated the room with a swirl of filmy white material looped around the top. The bedspread combined white and cream in the most luxurious silk he’d ever seen. A half dozen books were stacked on the nightstand next to a crystal lamp. He was curious about the titles.
His gaze kept turning back to the bed where several plump pillows were tossed casually atop the coverlet. He wondered what man may have shared that fantasy bed with Alisa and made some of her fantasies come true.
Something inside him growled at the thought. He took a deep breath and looked at Alisa. In one hand, she held a black silk teddy. In the other a pink satin chemise. He swallowed an oath. The contrast of the image of Alisa in the bad girl and lady lingerie was enough to make him sweat.
“Well, I’d say I like pretty things,” she said more to herself than to him. “These are almost as good as billboards.” She glanced up at Dylan, and her expression gradually turned self-conscious. She stuffed the lingerie back in the drawer and pushed it closed. “Well, that’s probably enough for now,” she said, standing. She smiled and clasped her hands together. “I think I must’ve just gotten started with the decorating. Who would have guessed?” she said, and walked from the room.
Dylan’s gaze turned helplessly to the bed. It was all too easy to visualize Alisa spread on that bed wearing the black teddy or the pink chemise, or for that matter, nothing at all.
Dylan had known Alisa intimately when she was much younger. The image he’d stored of her all these years had been one of innocent passion. She had clearly grown up.
“Can we leave now?” she called back to him.
Dylan shook off the steamy images simmering in his mind. “Sure,” he said, taking one last look at her bed and leaving the room.
Alisa’s head was spinning with all the new information she’d gleaned about herself from her apartment. It was too much to assimilate at once, so she turned her attention to the breeze on her face as Dylan drove his Jaguar convertible back to his estate just outside St. Albans.
“Did visiting your apartment answer some of your questions?” he asked.
“Yes and no. Most of the time I felt as if I were visiting someone else’s home.”
“And your bedroom,” he ventured.
She felt another wave of self-consciousness. Even though she couldn’t remember decorating the room, Alisa felt protective of it. It was obviously a place where she indulged in sensual luxury. Her one extravagance in a life filled with practicality. “The bedroom raises questions, but that’s for another day. After looking at my datebook, I’ve figured out why I’ve been a little difficult at times lately.”
Dylan looked over at her at a stop sign, then gave a half grin as he accelerated. “Oh, really. I could’ve sworn you said you are not difficult.”
Alisa fought a niggle of irritation. “I’m not. I mean, I’m sure I’m not difficult as a rule. I just might be a little difficult lately,” she said, but didn’t want to dwell on the fact. “The reason is I get tired of thinking and talking about me. It’s so self-absorbing and well, depressing. I need to spend some time focusing on someone else.” She smiled. “Today, that would be you.”
He glanced at her with a combination of wary sexiness that made her wonder if he was still thinking about her bedroom. “How were you planning to focus on me?”
“Just a few questions,” she said quickly. “You told me the story about how you didn’t find out who your father was until he died and left you an inheritance, but I don’t remember if you have any half brothers or half sisters.”
“Two half brothers and one half sister, which in reality adds up to none,” he said cynically.
“Why none?”
“Because nothing would make them happier than if I didn’t exist. They do their best to disassociate themselves from me.”
She shook her head. “I can see why it might be awkward, but it’s not as if you’re an ax murderer. You’re not a dud. You’re intelligent and talented. After they got over their initial discomfort, I would think they�
�d see you as ‘the bonus brother.”’
“They’re not over their initial discomfort,” Dylan told her.
“How long have they known?”
“Six years,” he said grimly.
Alisa looked at him and turned the unusual situation around in her head. “You’ve said what they want. What do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want with your half brothers and half sister?”
“Nothing,” he said with an apathy that rubbed at a tender place inside her. She sensed he’d learned that apathy from being disappointed.
“I would love to have brothers and sisters.”
He shrugged. “In my case, blood isn’t thicker than water. I’m not much for family ties. There’s my mother, but that’s always been an on-again, off-again thing.”
“On-again, off-again?” she asked as he pulled into the long drive to his home.
“She’s been married several times. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a nice lady, but her romantic relationships got in the way of having a normal life and being a single parent. I can’t give her a normal life, but I bought a house for her where she can stay regardless of whatever man blows in or out of her life. Since I technically own it, it’s safe from divorce proceedings.”
Alisa absorbed his words and closed her eyes for a moment, searching her memory for a glimmer. None came. “I don’t remember any of this about your mother.”
“Yeah, well it’s pretty forgettable. I never spent much time thinking about it.”
Or talking about it, she suspected. “About your father,” she began.
“I don’t think about him at all,” he said, his voice cold. “When I was a kid, I would’ve traded the world to know who my father was. When I finally found out who he was, he was dead. He might have been rich, but he was a coward. I’ll take the money. My half siblings can have his name and everything that goes with it.” He pulled the car to a hard stop next to the house and narrowed his eyes at her. “That covers everything about my so-called family,” he said as he got out of the car and opened her door for her. “No fairy-tale endings.”
The cold cynicism of his words chilled her. It was almost as if he were warning her. She saw a stubborn hopelessness in his eyes and something inside her rebelled at it. He emanated anger, justified anger, and she felt the oddest desire to defuse it at the same time that she knew she couldn’t. Besides, he might as well have slammed the door in her face on the subject.
“I have an appointment in town,” he said. “Do both of us a favor and take it easy this afternoon.”
His directive took her by surprise. She felt her back stiffen. She didn’t like being ordered, even if it was for her own good. “Thank you for your concern, and for taking me to my apartment,” she said, and walked toward the house.
“Alisa, don’t overdo it,” he warned, his tone serious.
“Don’t give me orders,” she tossed back. “That may have worked when I was a little girl when I had a hard case of hero worship, but it doesn’t work n—”
He was by her side and taking her arm before she could finish. It occurred to her that there were times she liked his height and times she didn’t. This time she didn’t. “This isn’t about hero worship,” he told her, his eyes glinting with anger. “I’m responsible for you.”
“I don’t need a baby-sitter or a nurse anymore.”
“Then act like it,” he said, and turned back toward the car.
Alisa fumed as she watched him get back in his car and pull out of the driveway. What a chauvinistic, heavy-handed jerk! She fought the undignified urge to stick her tongue out at him and yell, bite me. What made it worse was that he was right.
Pushing Dylan from her mind, Alisa went inside, fixed herself some lemonade and enjoyed a brief conversation with Dylan’s housekeeper/cook, Mrs. Abernathy, a shy, but kind woman in her sixties. After lying down for a nap that wouldn’t come, she rose and decided to explore the estate. From Mrs. Abernathy she’d learned a stable with horses was on the far west corner of the pasture.
The walk through his rolling fields stretched her a little more than she’d expected, but the sight of a pony, a chestnut mare and a gelding rewarded her.
“Hello, beauties,” she said as she walked in front of the stalls.
“Good-natured, too,” a sturdy gray-haired woman said as she left the pony’s stall. “I’m Meg Winters. Dylan lets me keep the horses here for classes for handicapped children.”
“Really?” Alisa said, amazed. “He didn’t tell me about this.”
“I’m not surprised,” Meg said. “It doesn’t go with his image.”
Alisa nodded slowly. “Wealthy, indifferent, materialistic, doesn’t need anything from anybody,” she said, stopping when she heard her voice rising with emotion.
“How long have you known him?” Meg asked curiously.
“About twenty years.” Alisa introduced herself. “I’m a guest. I’m recovering from a too-long stay in the hospital. But I come bearing gifts,” she said, pulling apples from her small backpack.
Meg nodded in approval. “Go ahead. Do you ride?”
Alisa visualized herself on the back of a horse. “Yes,” she said. “But it’s been a while.”
“In that case, Sir Galahad would be a good choice. He’s well broken, well behaved and pretty much does all the work for you. If you want to take him for a ride, he’s your man.” She cocked her head toward the door. “I’m headed home. Nice to meet you”
“And you,” Alisa said and turned to offer an apple to the pony. She petted him and fussed over him, then meandered to the next stall which housed Sir Galahad. He took the apple from her palm with only his lips. “What a gentleman,” she said, breathing in the scent of the clean barn and the horses. A lovely peace settled inside her as she stroked the horse. Her edginess and frustration seemed to drift away. It was a sweet temporary relief that her amnesia didn’t matter to Sir Galahad, she thought with a sigh. Maybe a ride would do her good.
Dylan got a creepy feeling down the back of his spine when he searched the house for Alisa and didn’t find her. The rain poured, thunder rolled, and dinner beckoned. He asked Ms. Abernathy if she knew where Alisa was.
“I’m sorry. The last time I saw her she was walking beyond the pool.” The woman frowned. “She did seem interested in the horses when I told her about them earlier today.”
His gut clenched. He glanced outside at the pouring rain. Surely she wouldn’t go horseback riding after he expressly told her to take it easy? Dylan felt the beginning of a headache. He’d clearly had no idea what he was getting into when he’d offered to allow Alisa to recover at his home. At this rate, watching over her would be the death of him.
Swearing under his breath, he grabbed a rain poncho from the hall closet and stomped out of the house. With the rain coming down in sheets, he ran toward the horse pasture. Seeing no sign of her, he felt his tension crank another notch tighter. He swung open the barn door and heard her gasp.
“Dylan!” She lifted her hand to her throat. “What are you doing out in this rain?”
He took a deep breath and waited for his rush of relief to reach his heart. “Making sure you’re okay,” he finally said.
She shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m dry, I’ve got Sir Galahad for company and my water bottle. What else do I need?” She watched the water dripping from his poncho, then her gaze met his. “Were you worried?”
“I told you that I’m responsible for you,” he said crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t know if you’d decided to do something stupid like go horseback riding during a thunderstorm.”
She lifted her chin. “Horseback riding during a thunderstorm,” she echoed. “You must be confused. I’m not crazy, Dylan. I have amnesia.”
“You also overdid it yesterday, had a nightmare last night and argued with me about taking it easy today.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Anyone who wasn’t a wuss would have argued wi
th you today. You were incredibly difficult and you didn’t even have the excuse of amnesia.”
Plagued by thoughts of her smart mouth and fantasy bed all afternoon, Dylan again thought of how he’d like to put her mouth to work on him in a much more satisfying way than talking.
“I love this horse. Sir Galahad. Such a gentleman,” she said, rubbing the animal’s neck, then turning back to glance at Dylan. “Unlike his owner.”
“He’s also a gelding,” Dylan informed her. “Unlike his owner.”
She ignored his warning and walked toward him. “I must confess I’m confused. Meg told me you allow her to hold riding classes for handicapped kids. So tell me the truth Dylan, are you an arrogant, heartless, materialistic millionaire? Or do you just like to keep the fact that you have a heart a secret?” she asked pointing a finger at his chest. “And maybe you give a damn after all?”
The combination of the last month of waiting for Alisa to get better, his struggle not to care that her interest in him would soon turn to disdain, the steamy memory of her bedroom, and her smart sexy mouth pushed him over the edge.
His gaze holding hers, he backed her against a beam. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I do give a damn.”
Three
Alisa’s heart hammered in her chest. Oh, wow, she thought, looking into a gaze that promised to eat her alive. Dylan was riding the razor’s edge of control, and heaven help her, she liked that she had put him there. Forbidden excitement shot through her like adrenaline. Her mouth went dry and she tried to swallow.
He deliberately lowered his head inch by excruciating inch. The anticipation was delicious torture. She felt his gaze on her lips, then his mouth took hers. With a confidence that shook hers, he consumed her. His lips caressed and conquered in a kiss that felt like sex.
Her knees grew weak. His tongue slid inside her mouth, and Alisa felt a sensual weakness suffuse her. She inhaled a quick shallow breath and the scent of rain and his aftershave filled her senses. His chest brushed her breasts, and he slid his hand to the back of her waist to draw her lower body against his. He was hard with arousal.