by Amy Gamet
“You don’t think I drugged you anymore?”
“No, but I do want to see my car.”
He imagined it at the bottom of a ravine, its charred steel frame like a skeleton in the snow. “It’s too far away.”
“It can’t be that far if we walked here.”
“You didn’t walk. I carried you.” She met his eyes and he shrugged one shoulder. “You were unconscious.”
She frowned. “But how far…”
“About a mile.”
“You carried me for a mile?”
“Maybe more.”
She blew out air. “I find that hard to believe. No offense.”
“None taken.”
She frowned. “I really want to see my car.”
“You can’t. At least two feet of snow has fallen since then, and with that kind of hike, you’d be putting yourself in danger. Your concussion makes it dangerous for you to push yourself too far.”
“Trevor, I just want to see that you’re telling the truth, that I got here because of a car accident.”
“You got here because of a car accident. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
“And if I don’t like that answer?”
“I guess that’s just too bad, Olivia.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I need to go out and find some gasoline.”
“What? Where?”
“There’s a snowmobile in the garage, but no gas. I’m going to go look for some.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You think there’s a gas station on the corner?”
“I’ll find another vehicle. A lawn mower. Anything.”
“The snow will be up to your waist.”
“Not quite.” He gestured to the wall above the fireplace. “But those are real snowshoes, so it doesn’t matter.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’ll make sure you have plenty of wood for the fire before I go. There’s enough food here for several weeks, if not longer.”
“Whoa, wait. You’re just going to leave me here?”
“I have to. I have things I need to do, and you seem like you’re feeling better.”
“But apparently, you’ve lost your freaking mind. We’re stranded in the middle of a blizzard on an all-but-deserted mountaintop, and you’re going to use the snowshoes from the living room wall — which were probably made in China and sold in some home decor store, by the way — to go hiking by yourself in search of gasoline?”
He narrowed his eyes. “‘All-but-deserted mountaintop? How do you know where we are?” He walked toward her.
“I don’t. That’s the point. You can’t leave me here all by myself.” She touched his arm. “Please.”
He took in her sweet, smooth complexion and her damp, curling hair. Not as young as he thought, just unusually beautiful. His gaze slipped lower, trailing along the neckline of the T-shirt, and watched the quickening rise and fall of her chest. His hands ached to touch her skin, to see if she was as soft as she looked. And that smell. The smell of her was so strong here, rising up from her neck with the warmth of her body.
Olivia’s eyes were wide, and he stared into them, mesmerized as they dilated. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching for her, his chest and his hips and his face all sensitized for her touch, waiting. A rosy flush settled across her chest and neck, spreading to her cheeks, an answering excitement brewing in his belly.
Her stare dropped to his mouth, almost begging him to kiss her.
She licked her lips. “Please, Trevor.”
She wasn’t talking about him leaving.
Just one kiss.
It was a bad idea. The worst idea he’d ever had, and even as he acted on it, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. This woman was engaged to someone else and didn’t remember. He pulled back just before their lips connected, sanity stepping in at the last moment, but she reached up and pulled him back down.
Her lips were full and soft and open beneath his, an invitation for more that he couldn’t resist. His tongue moved into her mouth and she pressed herself against his length, her breathy sound of pleasure mixing with his own.
Her fingers were in his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp, and the sensation was amazing. Trevor rested his forehead on hers, his breath coming quickly.
“Don’t leave me alone,” she whispered.
He wanted to stay with her. That was the problem. Was he so easily sidetracked from the mission he’d dedicated himself to? He dropped his hands. “Olivia…”
“I’m scared.” She crossed her arms again. “I won’t apologize for that.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll have food, clothing, and shelter for as long as you need it.”
She met his eyes and he could see she was about to cry. “You’re the only person I know in the whole world. If you leave…”
I won’t have anyone.
Guilt reached up and pulled him down.
“Forget it,” she said, waving her hands as she moved away. “You’re right. I don’t need you. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”
The war between his two responsibilities wrestled in his stomach like a rotten meal. It wasn’t just her physical well-being he needed to account for, it was her mental health, as well. He had to admit, the idea of being so completely alone as she would be without him here was a frightening prospect indeed.
Damn it all to hell.
“Fine. Just give me a few hours. Let me find fuel.”
She looked worried, and he could feel his plans slipping out of reach. He needed more than a few hours. He needed to be gone for as long as it took. “Maybe more.”
She was trying to pretend she was okay with that, he could see it in her eyes and the way she shrugged one shoulder. “Fine.”
His conscience nagged at him. He moved to the fire, stoking the embers and turning the logs. It was his fault she’d been hurt and was stranded in the woods without her car or cell phone, but damned if he would give up the first chance he’d had to get Steele since Ralph’s death.
Trevor clenched his jaw, his eyes shooting to the window and the raging storm beyond. He’d planned months for this mission, practiced how to accomplish his goal alone. Now he was being sidetracked, and much as he knew he was being an asshole, he resented the diversion.
If he was going to get Steele, he had to do it before the weather cleared and the evidence drove right out from under his nose.
Eleven goddamn miles away, and it might as well be the other side of the world.
He flexed his shoulder and cracked his neck, enough adrenaline coursing through his system to run to Steele’s house and back in record time.
Run? On this knee? Who the fuck are you kidding?
From the location of the pain, he felt certain he’d either broken his patella or pulled a tendon, neither one of which was any good for running anywhere. Just walking on snowshoes in search of gasoline was going to hurt like hell and take ten times the energy it normally would have, but the end result was too important for him to forsake it. Trevor needed that snowmobile to get to Steele’s compound.
But Olivia’s well-being outweighed all that.
Damn it all to hell.
“Maybe I won’t look for gas today. Maybe I’ll just run up the road to the accident scene and see if I can find my jacket.”
Or a gun.
Or any kind of weapon.
She met his eyes. “Thanks, Trevor.”
The melodious sound of his name on her lips made his hand twitch, and he reminded himself she was spoken for.
Tell her. Tell her now.
She had a right to know everything he knew about her, at the very least. He opened his mouth, the bride shirt and engagement ring hanging on the tip of his tongue.
But she was fragile. Unsteady. She needed time to get back on her feet before he told her about those things.
You’re just afraid it will bring her whole memory back.
She cocked her head.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
11
Olivia stared out the frosted window pane to the swirling scene beyond. Somewhere out there was her life, the people who knew her and the things she cared about. Had anyone even realized she was missing? Did she have family and friends concerned about her whereabouts, or was she as lonely in her forgotten life as she was in this limbo?
At least there was Trevor, though she sensed he was lying to her about his real reason for being here. She’d seen the way he was limping and knew he must be in considerable pain, so why venture out on foot?
Maybe his friend was a woman. A lover. The thought made her uncomfortable. But why shouldn’t he have a lover? He was nothing to her, not even a friend. She pulled the sweater she’d found tighter around herself, the cut and style just slightly too small. It was cold in the cabin despite the fire, and she wondered if he would suggest they sleep together for warmth as they had done the night before.
Surely it must have been for warmth.
She felt her cheeks flush. She might not remember the woman in the mirror, but she certainly remembered the pull between a woman and man, and there was one hell of a pull between them.
When they kissed, desire had spread through her like fire through dry kindling. She got so aroused, so quickly, she was shocked by her own reaction. Just thinking about it made her body come alive.
But she couldn’t have affected him the same way. It was clear he wanted to get out of the cabin at the earliest opportunity, and it was his guilt over the accident that required him to stay. In her current state, she didn’t care what kept him here, as long as something did.
Olivia sighed heavily and opened a cupboard, staring at cans of soup but seeing only Hawk’s face inches from her own. She forced her eyes open wide. “Soup. Pick a can of soup, Livy.”
She opened drawers and dusty cupboards, finding a can opener and pot and setting the soup on high. No one had been in this house in a long time, that was certain. She washed her hands, wondering when Trevor — Hawk — would be back.
It was an appropriate nickname for the man. He paid attention. He’d caught her reference to the “all-but deserted mountaintop” before she caught it herself.
How the hell did I know that?
The hair on the back of her neck went up. Had she been in this area before? Did she live somewhere nearby? This remote location must be familiar to her in some way if she was making comments like that, yet nothing in this place seemed familiar at all.
She dried her hands on a dusty and yellowed towel, throwing it in the direction of the counter with a grimace. This cabin would be so nice if someone just gave it a once-over.
There were hardwood floors and high ceilings and strips of leaded glass in the windows, but any character it might have had was overshadowed by neglect.
Even the slightest bit of housekeeping would go a long way, and it would give her something to do besides look in the mirror and feel like she was losing her mind.
She began looking for cleaning supplies. Finding none, she wandered around until she discovered a broom closet near where she and Trevor kissed. She rested her head against the doorjamb, remembering the way his mouth had overpowered hers, lust coming quickly through her bloodstream like a drug.
It was a good thing he’d pulled away, because she’d been so caught up in her own fierce reaction to his kisses she’d wanted to ride that wave all the way onto the seashore. That was truly frightening. It was like an override switch on good judgment had been thrown the moment his lips melded with hers.
And they were stuck here — alone together — for the foreseeable future.
I made sure of that, didn’t I?
The distinct smell of smoke made her head turn sharply, the nearly forgotten headache slamming into her skull with the motion. She ran back to the kitchen.
There, on the stovetop, was the yellowed kitchen towel, on fire. Without thinking, Olivia threw open a slender cupboard next to the range hood, knocked sugar and salt and spices out of the way, and withdrew a small fire extinguisher. She pulled the safety pin and sprayed the flames until nothing remained but the charred towel, covered in foam.
Her heart pounded.
She looked at the extinguisher in her hand as if it was a bloodied knife.
Her earlier words came back to her. …all-but-deserted mountaintop…
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she chanted, her eyes jumping from the table to the refrigerator to the cupboard where she’d found the fire extinguisher.
Her mind was playing tricks on her, keeping secrets while she desperately needed the truth. “If you know this place, you’d better tell me now,” she said to herself. “No more of this amnesia bullshit, Olivia.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her memories back into place, but none came. She opened her eyes. If she knew what was in one cabinet, maybe she knew what was in another. Her gaze went to the cupboard over the refrigerator, and she exhaled a shaky breath. “Pitchers, a big blue platter, baskets,” she whispered, reaching for the handle as if it might be hot and burn her.
A ceramic blue platter.
Several baskets.
She moved them out of the way with shaking fingers. Two drink pitchers stood in the back of the cabinet.
Son of a bitch.
Trevor called from the great room. “Olivia?”
She slammed the cupboard door as he walked into the kitchen. “What?”
“Is something burning?”
“Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you left.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The snowshoes don’t fit right. I need some string or something.” He moved to the stove. “What happened?”
“Just a little fire. It’s okay.” She waved her hand. “I accidentally put a kitchen towel on a hot burner.”
“Is that foam from a fire extinguisher?”
She nodded. “Yep. Lucky thing I found it.”
He leaned against the counter, and she wanted to lean into him, to take from his strength and release her own weakness. He could take that from her, hold her up when everything she knew was falling backwards. She took a step back, noting the disappointment in his eyes and suspecting it matched her own.
“You okay?” he asked.
She longed to tell him the truth, confide in him that she’d clearly been here before and knew this place on some level. But hadn’t he only agreed to stay with her because of her memory loss? She was helpless, and he was clearly a helper. If her memory returned, he’d be gone faster than she could say run.
No, she would keep this new discovery to herself, at least until there was something more important to share than baskets and a fire extinguisher. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked out by the fire.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s all right now.” He gestured toward the hallway. “I’m going to go look in the garage. I think I saw some twine in there.”
“Good luck.” She watched as he turned and walked away, confident she’d made the right decision.
12
Marco Acero crossed one Italian leather loafer over the other and tugged on his French cuff. “Frankly, Señor Alvarez, it doesn’t matter what you want.”
The gray-haired man across the table tapped his gold pen on his palm, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. “My people are prepared to make you a fair settlement.”
“The goods have been bought and paid for, and there will be no bickering at this point in the negotiations.”
“These are not negotiations. This is thievery.”
Acero smirked. “Semantics.”
“You are nothing but a common thief!”
The intercom in the middle of the conference table beeped. “Bella Grayson’s on the phone, sir.”
His lips tightened into a firm line.
“You can put it through, Helen. Mr. Alvarez and I are finished.” He waited while the older man left the room, then stare
d at the phone, wondering what Bella could want. If there were a way to find out without speaking to the bitch, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Once he and Brooke were married, he planned to push Bella out of his wife’s life completely. His eyes went to a high shelf, three gold statuettes glittering back at him. For now, he would put on a show worthy of Brooke’s Emmy Awards. He pressed the button on the phone.
“Hello, Bella! Did you see your sister’s fine performance on Saturday Night Live this weekend?”
“I caught part of it.”
“The ratings are through the roof. Everyone tuned in to find out who Brooke Barrons will be marrying.”
“Let me guess. She didn’t tell them.”
“You keep the public’s interest by withholding the information they want.”
“Riiighht. Listen, Olivia was supposed to pick me up at the airport in Denver yesterday, but she didn’t come. I keep calling her, but I just get her voice mail.”
Denver? He narrowed his eyes. “So call Gallant.”
“I did. He said she sent him home Saturday night after the show. Told him his services weren’t required.”
He swore colorfully in Spanish. “She said she wouldn’t do that again.”
And Gallant should fucking know better, but that’s another conversation.
“But my sister doesn’t belong to you, and she doesn’t always want your goons following her around.”
“My employees keep her safe.”
“Your employees smother her independence.”
He looked at the golden clock on his desk. “Why did you wait so long to contact me?”
“Because I don’t like you, and if she took some time off to reconsider becoming your wife, then that seemed like a good thing. But now I’m worried.”
“So it’s me you turn to, because you know I will find her. You say I don’t care for her, but I am the only one taking care of her.”
“Bullshit…”
Marco hung up the phone and brought his finger to his mouth, biting down hard on the nail. He’d given Brooke everything she ever wanted and then some. He’d facilitated her fame and hired the staff who created the incomparable Brooke Barrons out of a tomboy named Olivia Grayson, who wore dirty sneakers and cut-off jeans.