by Linda Turner
But he hadn’t forgotten Dr. Sawyer’s warning. Reluctantly, he dragged his mouth from hers, but only to trail slow kisses over the curve of her cheek. “We’ve got to stop this, sweetheart,” he breathed into her ear. “It’s getting late and you need to go to bed. The doctor said you were supposed to rest, remember? That means eight hours of uninterrupted sleep a night.”
She moaned softly and clung to him. “Only if you come with me.” Turning her head to capture his mouth with hers, she kissed him sweetly, hotly. “I don’t like sleeping without you. I keep reaching for you.”
He groaned at that admission and tried to remember all the reasons he’d stubbornly slept in the guest room ever since he’d brought her home from the hospital. But she was so soft in his arms, so damn seductive, that he could hardly think straight. He was already hard for her, his body crying out for the feel of her under him, surrounding him. And the doctor hadn’t specifically said no sex.
He never remembered making a decision, but suddenly he was pushing up from the couch with her in his arms and heading for their bedroom. The lights were still on, the stereo softly playing, the dishwasher grumbling as it went through its cycles. He didn’t care. The rest of the world could have been racing past their front door like a herd of elephants, and he never would have noticed. Not with Annie in his arms.
He walked straight to their bedroom and laid her in a patch of moonlight on their bed, then came down beside her without ever taking his mouth from hers. Somewhere down on the Riverwalk, music drifted faintly on the cool night air, but he never heard anything but Annie. The whisper of her clothes, then his, as he undressed them both, the music of her sighs, the thunder of her heart. Her skin was like marble in the moonlight, her hair a dark tempting cloud across the pillow. Impossibly moved, he murmured to her, kissing his way down her body and back up again. Under his mouth, he felt her breathing change, her heart quicken. Smiling against her belly, he pressed his ear to her rounding belly and wondered if he imagined the slight murmur that could have been his child’s heart. Sweetness rippling through him, he traveled up to her breasts and knew that he wasn’t imagining the increased fullness there. Or her sensitivity. He kissed a tightly puckered nipple, and she moaned, arching into his mouth as her hands blindly flew to his head to cradle him close.
Tenderness. She’d never known such tenderness. Tears rose to her eyes, horrifying her because she was afraid he would misunderstand, but before she could blink them away, he was rising above her to kiss them away. His voice rough in the darkness, he told her how she delighted him, the pleasure that she brought him with just the light in her eyes. With every word, every touch, he slowly, inexorably drove her from one sensual peak to another. And all the while, tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
She knew he must have loved her a thousand times before, but she couldn’t believe that any of those times had been like this. So sweet. So overwhelming. So incredibly beautiful. He knew just where to touch her to make her shudder, just how to kiss her to make her melt. He made her throb; and God help her, with maddening patience, he made her want until she burned.
And that was when she turned into a woman she didn’t know. Sobbing, aching for release, she clutched at him, scratched at him, demanding everything. And he laughed. The monster laughed!
“Yes,” he growled, kissing her fiercely as his fingers twined with hers and trapped them against the mattress. “I want you wild, sweetheart. Hungry for me. Show me what you want.”
Loving her, urging her on, he destroyed her inhibitions and taught her that she was a sensuous woman who knew how to get what she wanted. She teased, she seduced, she rubbed and flirted and drove him crazy with fingers that were quick as lightning at one moment and slow as a winter dawn the next. And he never stood a chance. She had the satisfaction of making him groan and thought she had him right where she wanted him. He was hers and she meant to claim him. She was still contemplating ways she could drive him out of his mind with pleasure when he parted her thighs and surged into her. Before she could even gasp, she shattered, his name a startled cry upon her lips.
Long after she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms, Joe held her close, his body sated and exhausted, bittersweet emotions churning in his gut, keeping him awake. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her that he would love the baby no matter what, but looking back with a clearer head than he’d had in months, he knew now that if the baby turned out not to be his, he had no one to blame but himself. He’d wanted security for them in a world where there really was none and had ended up sacrificing the most important person in the world to him to get it. God, what a fool he’d been!
He’d been so focused on what he wanted that he hadn’t been able to see what she needed. All she’d wanted was more of his time and attention, a baby, the type of home life that she’d always dreamed of. Hardly unreasonable requests of a wife from her husband. But at the end of an eighteen-hour day that had held nothing but one headache after another, he hadn’t been happy about coming home to what had sounded like demands, just because he was tired. They’d fought and argued and grown further and further apart. Instead of giving their marriage first priority, he’d given all his attention to the restaurant, and they had come apart at the seams. Over and over again, she’d tried to tell him how unhappy she was, but the words just hadn’t registered. And now that he was listening, it might be too late. She slept contentedly enough in his arms tonight, but how long would that last once she remembered that for the last six months of their marriage, he’d seldom been there for her when she needed him?
He could lose her again, he thought, shaken. At any moment of the day or night, time could run out and the shadows clouding her memory could lift. He’d hurt her once; she might not want to chance that kind of heartache again, especially now that there was a baby to protect. She could walk out the door, and it would all be over. Forever. Because if she left him a second time, she wouldn’t be back.
No, dammit! he thought fiercely. He wouldn’t lose her. Not again. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around her, only to have her murmur in protest. Easing his hold, he quietly soothed her with his hands and voice until she drifted back to sleep, but deep in his gut, worry gnawed at him. It was a long time before he slept.
The man standing in the shadow of the building across the street watched the last of the lights in Apartment 2B of the old Victorian mansion go out, his expression as cold and bitter as the night. The bitch was starting to remember. She’d already led the police to the body—it was only a matter of time before she remembered the rest and had the cops hunting him down like some kind of rabid dog.
Damn her, he should have gotten rid of her when he had the chance! he thought furiously. But the conniving little witch had tricked him. She’d acted like she was half out of her mind with fear and had all but crawled to do his bidding. Then, when he’d dropped his guard, she’d brained him with the shovel. By the time he’d come to his senses, she’d been halfway back to town. If he could have gotten his hands on her then, he would have taught her just what real fear was.
But her time was coming, he promised himself. Oh, yes! And then he was going to make her suffer for all the hell she’d put him through. He just had to get to her before she remembered and eliminate her. Ten minutes, that’s all he needed. Ten minutes alone with her and Annie Taylor would never bother him or anyone else again.
He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d been tailing her ever since she’d come out of hiding to lead the police to Freeman’s body, laying back out of sight, watching her, studying her. But that damn husband of hers hadn’t let her out of his sight for a second, let alone ten minutes. He’d watched her like a hawk protecting its own, and the few times he hadn’t been hovering close, the pig in street clothes hovering outside their apartment was always there, always watching. It was damn frustrating.
A lesser man might have given up and run for Mexico while he still could. But trouble was what he was good at. And he wanted Mrs. Taylor. He want
ed her bad. And he was going to get her. He already had it all worked out.
Far back in his subconscious, Joe heard the sirens echoing through the canyons of downtown, but it was the shrill ringing of the phone that woke him just before dawn. Mumbling a sleepy curse, he kept one arm snug around Annie and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand with the other. “’Lo?”
“Mr. Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“This is the 911 operator, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we just got a call that your restaurant at 3257 Navarro is on fire.”
“What!” Coming abruptly awake, he bolted straight up in the bed. “Has anyone called the fire department? What started it? How bad’s the damage?”
Already reaching for his pants, he barked the questions into the phone, but the operator was as cool as a cucumber. Her voice professional and steady, she replied, “We have no way of knowing that at this time, but two fire trucks have been sent to the scene. They should be arriving shortly.”
Only then did the sirens that seemed to be screaming to a halt right outside their bedroom window register. “I hear them now. Thanks for calling. I’ll be right there.”
He slammed down the phone and quickly strode over to the closet for a shirt. When he turned back to the bed, it was to find Annie pulling on a forest green sweater and jeans, her face pale in the predawn light. “It’s the restaurant,” he told her grimly. “There’s a fire. I’ve got to get over there.”
Annie didn’t bother asking questions that would be answered soon enough. She simply sat on the side of the bed and quickly tugged on thick socks and her shoes. “I’m going with you.”
“The hell you are,” he growled. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I’ll stay out of the way.” she promised, “but I’m not letting you go down there alone.” The matter settled as far as she was concerned, she tied her shoes and pushed to her feet. “Let’s go.”
“Dammit, Annie, will you listen to me?” Hurrying after her, he caught up with her just as she pulled her jacket from the closet by the front door. Grabbing her arm, he whirled her to face him. “You are not going with me! You got that?”
It was the wrong tone to use with her. Her chin came up, her blue eyes flashing fire as she stood nose to nose with him. “I don’t remember asking your permission.”
He swore, but he couldn’t get angry with her when she was ready to fight him and anyone else for what she believed in. His Annie was coming back to him slowly but surely, and even though there was a chance that all their newfound closeness would vanish with the return of her memory, he couldn’t regret it.
Sighing, he released her, but only for a moment. Before she could even begin to sputter a protest, he leaned down to give her a quick, hard kiss. “You’re right,” he said, surprising her. “I can’t stop you from going. But it’s probably already a madhouse down there, and a fire’s no place for a pregnant woman. I don’t want you to get hurt, honey,” he said bluntly. “I know you don’t want me to face this alone, but I’d much rather do that than take a chance on something happening to you or the baby. If you stay here, at least I’ll know you’re safe.”
He had a point, the dog, one that she didn’t have a single argument for. But everything inside her rebelled at the thought of letting him walk out the door alone. For all they knew, the restaurant could even now be burning to the ground. She wanted to be with him, to be at his side and offer what comfort she could. But he was right. She had to think of what was best for the baby.
“Promise you’ll call me as soon as you see how bad it is,” she insisted. “If I don’t hear from you within fifteen minutes after you walk out the door, I’m coming down there. I mean it, Joe—”
“I’ll call,” he promised, giving her another quick kiss, “just as soon as I see what’s going on.”
He was gone before she could tell him to be careful, leaving behind a silence that was thick and heavy and cloying. The sirens had finally stopped wailing outside, but she could hear the broken, staticky transmission of the fire trucks’ radios on the morning air, the sound of shouting a hundred yards downstream where Joe’s Place sat nestled in the bend of the river, the wicked crackle of flames burning white-hot.
Chilled, sick to her stomach, she slipped on her jacket and hurried out onto the balcony off the kitchen. The restaurant was blocked from her view by a thick stand of magnolia trees, but nothing could block the smoke that rose from the fire. Thick and black, it lifted into the morning sky like a thunderhead until it dwarfed the surrounding skyscrapers of downtown.
“Oh, God.” Hugging herself, she stared at it and felt her heart sink. She’d hoped that the fire was nothing more than a simple kitchen fire, smoldering grease that put out a lot of smoke and not much else. But that kind of smoke didn’t come from anything minor.
She should have gone with him, she thought, stricken. Even if he didn’t want her to. Joe’s Place was more than just a business to him—he’d put his heart and soul into every inch of that restaurant—and losing it would devastate him. She could just see him, standing back out of the way of the firemen, watching it burn and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Restless, her heart breaking for him, she went back inside so she wouldn’t miss his call and anxiously paced the confines of the living room. She knew he had to be there by now—it only took a matter of minutes, and he’d been running when he went out the door. But five minutes passed, then ten, and she grew more and more agitated. Why didn’t he call? He knew she was worried—
She jumped at the sudden, sharp jangling of the phone and snatched it up before the first ring was completed. “Joe? What took so long—”
“Mrs. Taylor?”
The male voice at the other end of the line wasn’t Joe’s but it sounded vaguely familiar. Wondering if it was someone from the restaurant, she clenched the phone tighter. “Yes? Who is this? Please, I can’t tie up the line. I’m waiting for a call from my husband—”
“I know,” the caller cut in grimly. “I’m sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but Mr. Taylor was injured in the fire.”
“What! How? Is he all right? Where is he? I’m coming down there—”
“No! He’s not at the fire. He’s already being transported to the hospital.”
“What hospital? I’ll meet him there.”
“The Methodist.”
Tears welling in her eyes, she choked, “Thank you so much for calling me! I’m leaving right now.”
Before she even slammed the phone down, she was running for the door, her feet barely touching the floor. He was hurt. Fear squeezed her heart. What could have happened? she wondered wildly. Was he burned? She whimpered, tears gathering in her eyes at the thought. No! He couldn’t be! The firemen wouldn’t have let him get anywhere near the flames.
She was halfway down the stairs when she remembered that she hadn’t driven since the morning she woke up in his bed with no memory of who she was. Joe had had her car moved to the parking garage down the street from the apartment, but she hadn’t a clue where her keys were and there wasn’t time to look for them. The morning shift had to be arriving at the restaurant by now—they couldn’t have heard of the fire yet. If she couldn’t grab a cab, she’d get one of the waitresses to drive her to the hospital.
Her thoughts already jumping ahead to what she would find when she got there, she never saw the man waiting for her on the mansion’s wraparound porch until she came running out the front door and almost ran over him. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t see—”
She glanced up, intending to offer an explanation for nearly flattening him, but the words died on a strangled gasp. Recognition slapped her in the face, and between one frantic heartbeat and the next, she remembered. Everything. “Oh, God!”
“Well, well, well,” he sneered, watching in satisfaction as horror flared in her eyes. “I see you remember me. That’ll make things easier, won’t it?”
“No!” she lied. “I don’t remember
anything. I swear!”
“Then maybe I should remind you,” he taunted, his smile ugly. “The last time we saw each other, you brained me with a shovel right before I was about to—”
She clamped her hands over her ears, horror rippling through her as one terrible memory after another slapped at her. The murder in the garage she’d stumbled across just by dumb luck. The dead man’s blood soaking her clothes as she was forced to help lift the corpse into the murderer’s van. And the grave. The smell of dirt and death and fear. And then that awful moment when this monster had her down in the dirt, his breath hot and foul on her face as he fumbled with his zipper.
He’d tried to rape her.
“No!” she screamed, and turned to run.
One step. That’s all she was able to take before he grabbed her with the speed of a striking rattler and sank his fingers into the tender skin of her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going anywhere but with me. We’ve got a little unfinished business, lady.”
Frantic, she looked around for the policeman that she only just then noticed was nowhere in sight. Smug, her tormentor only laughed. “Don’t bother searching for your watchdog. He’s taking a nice long nap thanks to a little konk on the head. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t. My husband’s hurt—”
He laughed, the sinister sound sliding over her nerve endings like ground glass on an open wound. “Stupid bitch! I’m sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but Mr. Taylor was injured in the fire,” he mocked.
Horrified, she gasped. “You made that call?!”
Grinning evilly, he nodded. “I thought about setting that fire while he was cooking in that fancy restaurant of his, but this is better. He’s off putting out fires, and I’ve got you. He won’t know anything’s wrong until it’s too late.”
“I’ll scream!” she cried, tugging wildly against his hold. “Let me go or I swear I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me all the way down at the restaurant!”
“Over the sound of those damn sirens?” he taunted as another fire truck, sirens screaming, rushed right past them on the street. “I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ve got this.”