Little Girl Lost

by Adrianne Lee

  “That is the real reason. I like women too well to settle for just one.” His gaze fell to her mouth. “Even one as tempting as you. So rein in that ‘Kiss me’ pout unless you’re willing to finish what you start.”

  The air between them shimmered with raw sensuality. Barbara swallowed over the need in her throat. “I never start something I can’t finish.”

  “Good,” his voice rasped. He reached a hand to caress her cheek, then leaned in to kiss it. “Because I really want you, too.”

  She nuzzled against the warmth of his mouth as he rained kisses down her neck. The thought that all he was interested in was mindless sex thrilled her. Terrified her. If she’d ever considered sex a contact sport, she was blissfully unaware of it. Was that what she wanted now? No. And yet, she’d invited it.

  How would she discourage it now? She shoved a hand against his chest. He pressed her tighter to the wall and took possession of her mouth as though it belonged to him and only him. Her senses betrayed her intentions. She parted her lips, inviting the sensuous exploration of his tongue; dived into passion’s pool with him and swam to the edge of abandon, every cell in her body alive with want, damp with need.

  Slowly, he lifted away from her, smiling a lopsided irresistible smile. She gathered a shuddery breath and knew she wanted more—more kisses, more caresses, more Chad.

  But there would be no stopping at that and she was no longer prepared to finish what she’d started. She shoved him back. Deciding further pursuit of his childhood was a safer course than this, she asked, “Did your parents divorce when you were young? Or stay together and make your home a war zone while you grew up?”

  Chad froze, frowned; his tawny brows twitched. The light of desire flickered and died from his eyes like the flame of a guttering candle. He shook his head. “My parents—”

  He broke off, muttered something unintelligible and strode to the window.

  She stepped toward him. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  He pivoted, released a noisy breath. A moment later, he settled on her daughter’s bed and pressed his lips together.

  She crossed to stand by him. He gazed up at her, a fullgrown man with the expression of a wounded little boy. Her heart embraced the child within him. She wished she could help heal his ancient pain, but she could barely deal with her own. She sat next to him.

  He scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time. “When I was seven I had a room something like this one. I’d forgotten it until.tonight.when I saw you packing. Then, the memories flooded back.”

  With his crooked pinkie finger, he smoothed the inch of bedspread separating them. “One night my mother came into my room and packed all my belongings into my overnight bag, the one I used whenever I stayed at my grandparents’ house. At first, I thought that was where I was headed. But her actions were strange. Covert. That night, we sneaked out. Left my dad. For good.”

  Barbara frowned. “Why?”

  “At the time I wasn’t told, and believe me, I asked. Later, I overheard my mother telling my grandmotherher mother—that Dad had abused her. Slapped her around. I was too young to protest, but old enough to know it was a lie. Dad was a quiet, gentle soul.”

  “Then, why?”

  “Her lover. My first in a long string of stepdads.” The only part of his smile that reached his eyes was the bitterness. “I never saw or spoke to or heard from Dad again until I was twenty-three. When I was sixteen, she told me he’d died. God, how I grieved.” He broke off, his face darkening. His voice was hoarse when he resumed speaking. “I discovered that was yet another lie when I turned nineteen. It took me four years to find him.”

  “And?”

  Chad’s eyes warmed. “He lives in Kirkland. We’ve been making up for lost time the past six years, but there is so much we can never recapture.”

  Like me, Barbara thought. Time lost, stayed lost. She put her hand over his. Her gaze told him that she felt his grief, shared his loss.

  “Dad remarried a couple of years ago. Nice woman with a disposition that complements his.”

  Barbara squeezed his hand. She envied Chad that his parents were alive, even if his family had its share of problems. “And your mother?”

  “She’s still in Florida.”

  It was obvious he hadn’t forgiven her. Perhaps he never would. But she hoped one day he would realize that he ought to, if only for his own peace of mind.

  He reached up and traced her jaw with his knuckles. “I don’t want Missy to hate you one day.”

  The warmth of his touch offered solace while his statement disquieted. Why should he care how Missy felt about her in the future? “My circumstances are hardly the same as yours and your mother’s.”

  “I realize that, but you’re forgetting the rejection factor.”

  “What?”

  He dropped his hand, his pinkie smoothing the spread again. “A child needs to know both of her parents. No matter how many people around her love her, if one of her parents’ affection and attention is withheld from her, she’ll feel as if it’s her fault somehow. It will shape her whole outlook on the world.”

  “Hmm.” Barbara nodded, staring at his finger. She knew he was talking about himself more than Missy. “You think it will make her distrust all relationships—the way you do?”

  He jerked his gaze to hers and suppressed a grin. Damn, she had a way of nailing him right between the eyes. And damned if that didn’t appeal to him. He ached to pull her into his arms again, to kiss that saucy mouth of hers. Instead, he finger-combed his hair off his forehead. His libido was too eager to rule his heart.

  He’d let another appealing female get to him once. Never again. Barbara could declare his fears of love irrational until doomsday, it wouldn’t change them. Or alleviate them. Or his biggest fear—of having a child and never getting to know her, of missing all the years of her life—as his father had missed his childhood.

  Barbara arched back, leaning on her arms. Her breasts jutted against her soft golden lambswool sweater, the locket nestled between them.

  His mouth watered.

  She tipped her head to one side. “I think you should understand something about me. Missy hasn’t had a string of stepdads or ‘uncles’ to confuse her. In fact, I haven’t dated these whole five years.”

  His eyes widened. “Not once?”

  She shook her head. “I was tempted—a couple of times. But how could I encourage a relationship or get involved with someone when I didn’t know who I was? Besides, Missy needed stability and I didn’t want a man in either of our lives who could also be hurt if and when my memory returned.”

  She hadn’t been with a man for at least five years? The idea of being the first in that long stretch leaped from his brain right to his groin with a sharp jab of desire. He cleared his throat, forcing his mind away from her long legs in those skintight jeans and back to the subject. “The return of your memory is going to rock that stable foundation you’ve built for Missy.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She leaned toward him again. “That I’ve dreaded the possibility for five years now?”

  As if it had a mind of its own, his finger found the knee of her jeans and traced tiny invisible circles. “What are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth.” Barbara’s gaze lifted from his hand all the way up his arm like a caress. “And hope her five-year-old brain can take it in.”

  “Children bounce back easier than grown-ups.”

  “Do they?” Her voice was breathy, an octave lower. She grinned at him. “A moment ago, you were telling me just the opposite.”

  “Well, I—”

  The longing in her eyes scattered his reasoning, and all he could think of was wanting her. He reached for her, pulled her unresisting body against his. Hesitantly, reminding himself how new this would be to her, he brushed his mouth across hers, again, and again until he felt her confidence growing, her lips parting.

  Then he slowed the kiss, deepened it, lengthened it.


  Barbara closed her eyes, fascinated by the new and joyous sensations that flowed through her body in sweet, tingling waves elicited by his hands in her hair, stroking her back, his lips on her face, her neck. At first it was enough just to ride the wave of those sensations, but soon she wanted to participate. She buried her hands in his hair, finding it thick and slightly coarse, with a silken quality not easily detected. Like the man himself.

  His neck, corded and strong and warm, pulsed with life. She nuzzled him there, inhaled his scent—a mixture of soap and aftershave and clean male skin—the aroma tantalizing, alluring, like some irresistible potion. Through his sweater she traced the long, hard muscles of his back.

  Chad shifted position and lowered her to the mattress, moving his hand inside her sweater, under her bra, his touch like a fire wand on her sensitive flesh. Her nipples hardened against his palm, and her breath rushed from her in tiny moans of pleasure.

  Her shyness abating, she gripped his sweater at the hem and sneaked her hands beneath the soft wool to touch his flat belly, his flat breasts, with nipples as hard as her own, and the splattering of coarse hair between them. A torturously honeyed ache twinged the very core of her. She reveled in the feel of him—the firm muscles, the warm male flesh beneath her fingertips—relishing this sensation as though he were the first man she’d ever touched in this way. But deep inside, she knew he wasn’t.

  Chad moaned and caught her hand, guided it to the fly of his jeans, where his arousal bulged against the fabric. He asked in a ragged breath, “Do you have protection?”

  “I—no.” Why would she have protection? She hadn’t planned on having sex with anyone until she knew if she was still married. She jerked. What was she doing? She shoved herself to a sitting position. “I can’t do this.”

  “What?” Chad looked dumbfounded. “Honey, you’re doing it just fine.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. I can’t make love to you.”

  “Oh, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t thinking. Of course, you wouldn’t have condoms.” He stroked her face. “But I have some in my glove box.” He kissed her again. “The thought of going out in the cold to get them isn’t exactly appealing, but I won’t object to starting this over again.”

  “We can’t.”

  He sat straight up. “Why?”

  “Because we’re only a few hours away from confirming one way or another whether or not I’m still married. I’ve waited five years—it seems wrong not to wait a few more hours.”

  Chad blew out his breath and crammed his hand through his hair. “You’ve been considered dead for five years. Even if we discover you are still married, it’s pretty damned likely your ‘husband’ has moved on with his life. And that includes sexually.”

  “I know it sounds dumb.” Breathless, she sat up, readjusted her mussed clothing and angled her legs over the edge of the bed. “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t expect him to remain faithful to me, but I know I’m alive. If I exchanged vows with someone, I have no excuse for not honoring them.”

  Sexual frustration furrowed his brow, the cooling embers still glowing in his eyes, but he nodded, a look of understanding on his face as he pulled his sweater over his stomach. “I guess I should leave.”

  “You can’t drive back to Cle Elum now. You’re too tired. You’d never make it. And it’s too cold to sleep in your car. Take Missy’s bed.or the sofa.”

  Chad stood and distanced himself from her, from the bed. He crossed to the window and threw the sash wide. Frigid air rushed over him, as effective as a cold shower on his remaining passion. But as his blood cooled and control returned, the memory of soft but solid female flesh, hot and yielding to his touch, of equally hungry hands on his own skin, lingered.

  “Chad?”

  He closed the window, then looked at her. “I’ll take the sofa.”

  “Thank you.”

  She brought him a pillow and another blanket. He settied down on her sofa, but sleep didn’t come immediately. His mind was too busy puzzling over Kayleen’s sister. He’d never met a woman with such moral conviction. When her memory fully returned, would he find the true Barbara Jo as virtuous? Or was duplicity a Dawson family trait?

  A trickle of self-reproach diluted his anticipation of finding out.

  THE ALARM WOKE BARBARA. She opened gritty eyes to the new day and peered sleepily at the offending clock. It was after eight. Missy would be late. For half a second, she considered letting her stay home, then remembered that Chad and she were expected at the police station in a few hours.

  Deciding it was best to keep Missy on her schedule today, she leaned over and kissed the little girl awake. “Morning, sweet pea. You’ve got school. We’d better get dressed quick or you’ll miss the bell.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they discovered Chad still asleep on the sofa. His dark brown lashes lay heavy against his cheeks and his jaw needed shaving. She remembered his heated kisses, his hotter caresses, and desire swelled her throat, dampened her palms. She scooted Missy toward the kitchen, casting one last glance at him. In sleep, the vulnerability he hid so well spread across his face like an open book.

  She drew a deep breath, catching his scent mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and liked the new fragrance they created. Liked it way too much. She hastened to the kitchen, thanking the gods of invention for adding timers to the new drip-coffee machines. She couldn’t remember needing a shot of caffeine as she needed one now.

  “Why is Chad sleeping on our couch?” Missy whispered, once they were in the kitchen.

  “It was too icy for him to drive back to Cle Elum last night, so I made him sleep here.” Barbara made microwave oatmeal, and toast and juice for Missy. “You eat and brush your teeth, then come to my room and get me. I want to call Aunt Edie.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Remember, quiet.”

  Missy nodded, eating with her usual relish.

  Barbara retreated to the privacy of her bedroom. She reached for the phone and hesitated. Edie had asked her to call if she remembered anything else. She had remembered. And she wanted to tell her about the aborted breakin before she heard the news on the radio.

  But she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Edie everything that had occurred last night. She and Chad. The thought warmed her face. She supposed she could omit that from the conversation. For now. But not forever. She shared everything with Edie. If she started holding back now, policing herself, the relationship would erode.

  She swallowed a drink of coffee. But what would be gained by telling Edie she’d nearly run away again last night—without keeping her promise to talk to her first?

  She lifted the receiver and dialed. The phone rang once. Twice. Barbara frowned. Hadn’t Edie said she would be home all day?

  “‘Allo.” Edie, always an early riser, answered on the third ring, sounding groggy, as if she hadn’t slept all night.

  Perhaps, Barbara mused, she’d continued hitting the tequila after she’d arrived home and was simply hungover. Maybe she and Dirk weren’t getting along as splendidly as she’d said. “Hi, it’s me.”

  “Jane?” Anxious caution replaced the grogginess in Edie’s voice. “Has something happened? Have you remembered more?”

  “Yes.” She drew a bracing breath. “And the name isn’t Jane.”

  She could have sworn she heard Edie’s indrawn breath. “What is it?”

  “Barbara Jo Dawson. Formerly of Seattle.”

  “I see.” Edie sighed loudly, sniffed.

  Barbara realized with a start that it wasn’t grogginess she’d heard in her friend’s voice, but distress. “Edie, are you crying?”

  “I guess I am.” Edie sniffed again.

  “Why?” The only time her friend had given in to tears was when she’d miscarried her third baby. She’d feared then that Edie might never stop sobbing, because normally, the doctor wasn’t given to weeping. Dread swirled the coffee in Barbara’s stomach. Something had to be terribly wrong. “What’s the mat
ter?”

  Edie paused for a moment, then said, “Self-indulgence. It isn’t every day my best friend remembers she’s not my best friend.”

  “What? That’s nonsense.” Barbara relaxed her tensed shoulder muscles and took another sip of coffee. “You’ll always be my best friend. No matter what.”

  “Oh, I know you mean that now. But let’s be honest. Once you’ve fully recovered your memory, changes are inevitable. Your past is bound to come between us.”

  “No…I…” But what could she guarantee? She had an awful sinking feeling in her stomach. Why had she thought remembering would be the best thing? It was reaching destructive fingers into too many others’ lives—Missy’s, Edie’s. Who else would she destroy once she overcame the amnesia?

  Chapter Nine

  Chad opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings. He rolled onto his side and a fragrance as delicate as a spring morning—her fragrance clinging to the blanket covering him—cleared his confusion.

  What time was it, anyway? he wondered, kicking off the covers and sitting up. The room was shadowy, but morning peeked from beneath the closed blinds. He groped the floor beside him until he found his watch, then peered at the dial. Nine.

  Was Barbara still sleeping? He listened. Silence hung over the apartment. He decided to investigate, wandering barefoot as he yanked his sweater on over his jeans. Missy’s door stood open and he checked there first.

  Glancing at the mussed bedspread, he thought of the night before, of what hadn’t happened between himself and Barbara. And of what had. He couldn’t say sex or seduction weren’t on his mind when he’d followed her home. But his main objective was helping her unlock her lost memory, finding the key that would solve an old mystery, and bringing a ruthless man to justice.

  But from the moment he’d encountered her in that darned cellar, she’d captivated him in ways both tangible and impalpable.