by Lora Leigh
So what had made Amara forget a year of her life, including the identity of the men who kidnapped her, and nearly killed not just her, but him as well?
Turning, he dragged the thick throw blanket free of the couch and covered Amara carefully. The fire was warm, but the delicate shiver he’d seen wash over her couldn’t be allowed to continue.
She was often cold from what he saw, and Ivan had made certain there were thick throws and small, warm blankets in the sitting areas she was known to rest in. Fires were kept burning in the fireplaces and every attempt was made to make certain she didn’t chill.
Why?
Ivan was like a bear with a sore paw, even more so than normal, where Amara was concerned. Before, he’d been bad enough, but now there was an edge of grief about him when he looked at his daughter.
“What happened to you, pretty girl?” Riordan sighed heavily, staring at her features, amazed that the bastards who had struck her hadn’t broken the fragile bones of her face.
But they’d broken other bones. Two ribs, her leg, and her wrist, and they’d kicked her hard enough to put a hairline fracture in her pelvis.
There was no way she could have pulled herself out that hole, despite the ladder they’d left in place to tempt her. They were going to let her die as she stared at her only means of escape, unable to use it.
And still, they didn’t know why.
All they knew was that her nightmares were growing worse. And as they did, the attempts to breach the security of the estate were increasing in number. Someone was testing them, searching for a weak spot. Someone who was damn good at it.
And as much as her father hated it, even he had to acknowledge that someone on the inside had to be helping whoever was so determined to get to her.
The original abduction had all the earmarks of an inside job as well, though the bodyguards on duty at the time had passed even Noah’s stringent vetting. They’d had the code into the penthouse, they’d breached the apartment, and within minutes they were exiting with Amara. Tracking them had taken all of Noah’s resources, which were far superior to Ivan’s.
Easing beside her once again and pulling her against him, he tucked her head against his chest and shared his warmth as she shivered again.
The nightmares, according to Ivan, were frantic, her screams terrified as she cried out for him. Not for her father, or for her bodyguards, but for Riordan.
Don’t leave me … Riordan, please don’t leave me …
The cries he’d heard on the recordings Ivan made from the audio device in her bedroom before he arrived had sent chills down his spine. The ones where she begged him to save her had ripped his soul from his body.
It had taken half a bottle of the whiskey his cousin had sent before he’d been able to function again.
Lochlan, surprisingly enough, was a redheaded Irishman of Viking descent. At six-four, he was a powerhouse, and his brothers were no weaker. They were now in place, two in the house, the others only God knew where.
Noah and Micah needed to return to their homes, out of the line of danger. Having them there was wearing on his conscience. They’d risked themselves enough in the past, and Loch’s men were eager for the challenge.
Their training wasn’t as fine-tuned as Noah’s and Micah’s, but sometimes, fine-tuning wasn’t needed. He needed men who were unknown and able to infiltrate. Loch and his twin, Lorcan, were as Irish as they came. If anyone could learn who within Ivan’s estate was a threat to Amara, it was those two.
Until the enemy showed their hand though—he tightened his hold on Amara, his eyes closing for a brief, tortured second—until he knew who the enemy was, he couldn’t afford to allow Amara to come to her memories in her own time, when she’d be able to handle them. Whatever it was that had forced her to hide from a year of her life, Riordan had no choice but to drag it from her, whatever it took.
It could be the only way to save her life.
“Riordan”—she burrowed closer before sighing at the feel of his arms tightening around her—“missed you.”
It was no more than a breath of sound, a sigh of longing dragged from whatever dream drifted around her sleeping mind. But it held him, just as she did—heart, body, and soul of a man who hadn’t believed he’d find a love this deep.
“Go síoraí,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I’ll love you forever.”
* * *
Amara stood still and silent in front of the bank of windows in her father’s penthouse. A blizzard raged beyond, obliterating the view but for the heavy fall of snow. The white fluff whipped and fell through the air, battering at the window as though seeking the warmth inside.
It surrounded the view, insulating the apartment and isolating her inside. Leaving her alone with only one other person there.
It was the first time they’d been truly alone.
The other bodyguards were stuck at the main office several blocks away. Only Riordan and the two outside the penthouse doors remained. But only Riordan mattered as far as she was concerned.
She stared at the glass and watched him enter the room.
Tall, black hair falling around his rough-hewn features, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that emphasized all the hard muscles and power. And cowboy boots. God, he looked good. It should seriously be illegal for a man to look that damn good in boots.
“Amara, would you come away from the window?” he asked, not for the first time in the months he’d been assigned to her security detail. His tone reflected the repetitive nature of the request.
Turning slowly, she shot him a look from beneath her lashes.
“And what do I get for denying myself the view?” she asked, staring back at him with flirtatious innocence. “It’s not as though there’s much else to do right now. Is there?”
His arms went across that broad chest, and despite the frown on his face, she saw his gaze grow darker, his expression harden just that little bit as a grin teased at the corners of his lips.
“What do you want?” He sounded so business-like.
That was okay, she knew how to negotiate. At least, she knew how to negotiate with him. He’d taught her how.
Biting her lip as though considering her wants, she then let an innocent smile shape her lips.
She was gonna go to hell for this one for sure.
“A lollipop,” she answered, then let her tongue peak out to touch her lips for the briefest second.
Was he holding his breath?
“A lollipop?” he asked carefully, but she saw the way his gaze touched her lips and his hands tightened where he had his arms crossed. “What kind of lollipop?”
She pursed her lips. “A really big one. One that lasts a while.”
Did she really say that as though she were serious? It sounded serious. And for a moment, he simply stared at her.
“Like your lollipops, do you?” His brow arched, his gaze grew darker, and his lashes lowered just enough for him to pretend to hide his interest.
“I do.” She sounded far too breathless now, but he was walking toward her. That cocky stride of his just made her hot.
“So how many licks does it take you?” he murmured, reaching her, his arms lowering.
“Hmm, I don’t know. I like to savor my treats, you know? So it takes a lot of licks.”
He inhaled slowly, lust filling his expression, male hunger reflecting in his gaze.
“Sounds good.” Still, he just stood there, watching her.
“Do you like lollipops too?” Her eyes widened and she swore she was going to start laughing over that one.
The smile that curled his lips was pure, lazy sex.
“Oh no, but come away from that window and I’ll watch you enjoy your lollipop.… Hell, I’ll love every lick…”
chapter seventeen
Amara opened her eyes, the dream dissolving; but unlike in the past, the memory of it was not. And it was a memory. They’d been lovers, just as they were again. And she’d loved him. She still lo
ved him. But she was no more certain of his feelings than she had been during that first snowstorm in New York.
All those feelings, those emotions, were rushing through her again, swamping her, overwhelming her.
The feel of him behind her now, heated and warm against her back, her head on his shoulder, his arms encasing her, wasn’t unfamiliar, even if she didn’t remember more than that one snippet of time and the emotions that went with it.
Staring into the barely lit expanse of her bedroom, the gas flames of the fireplace casting playful shadows about the room, she felt a flush heating her cheeks. She’d definitely enjoyed him that night.
Just as she’d enjoyed what he’d done to her earlier.
So why had she forgotten both him and the abduction? The psychiatrist’s suggestion that she’d forgotten because the abduction was too traumatizing to remember, didn’t explain why she’d forgotten everything from the moment she’d seen Riordan walk into her favorite restaurant …
She remembered that meeting, she realized in shock.
The way her heart had picked up and raced when their eyes met and the awareness that even though he was trying to hide it—determined to hide it—he hadn’t been unaffected. Powerful and hardened, the man who moved toward the table she and her father sat at, was not unaffected when their eyes met.
Over the years she moved within her father’s world, she learned certain tricks to help determine the character of those she met. She was able to size some men up immediately, though that was rare. But never had she reacted to one as she had to Riordan at that first glance.
She’d found it nearly impossible to pull her gaze from his. Those sapphire depths had mesmerized her, and with each heartbeat he’d held her gaze, she swore he’d seen further into her soul.
And she imagined she’d felt him in hers. Strong. Complicated. A man who had learned that his arrogance and strength were his greatest defenses. One shadowed and alone in ways that merely having others around him would never ease.
Whether that inner man was a good one, a bad one, or one with qualities of both—as she often thought of her father—she didn’t know. But she knew in those seconds before he reached the table and sat down with her and her father that it would never really matter. She knew she’d never be completely free of him.
“Why did I forget you?” she asked softly, sensing he was awake, waiting. “Why did I forget us?”
How could she have forgotten someone she had given her heart to?
His hand gently stroked down her arm before lying against her hip, a warm weight against her skin.
“I don’t know.” Drawing her closer, he kissed her shoulder before settling against her again. “You were aware, and knew everyone on the team when we arrived. You were in pain, but there were no head wounds and you sustained no further injuries in the rescue. You lost consciousness though as you were being loaded in the evac chopper. When you came to in the hospital, the memories were gone.”
She stared into the darkened room, frowning.
What was it about that description that bothered her, that caused her heart to ache?
“Do you remember anything else?” His lips brushed against her ear, fracturing her thoughts.
“I remember the day we met at the restaurant. I remember when we were snowed in at the penthouse. Bits and pieces of things, but not about the abduction itself.”
She also remembered that she had loved him. That brief moment in time as her eyes met his in the window’s reflection. She had loved him. But had he loved her?
“How much do you remember of the time we were snowed in?” Behind her, the heated length of his cock pressed thick and hard against the seam of her rear.
“Just a minute or two,” she admitted, fighting back a grin. “I believe you were giving me a treat for coming away from the window during the storm.”
Her heart began racing, pounding with excitement as he lifted behind her, rolled her onto her back, and stared down at her. Brooding and intense, his expression was also heavy with dark sexuality.
“And how much do you remember of that?” The rough rasp of his voice stroked over her senses, filling her with heat. The suggestive sexual tone was both playful and filled with pure sexual intent.
“It’s a little fuzzy,” she whispered breathlessly. “Maybe you could do something to help me with that.”
* * *
He wasn’t the least bit fuzzy about that particular memory. It was a memory that got him through months of recuperation, of painful healing. Of her nightmares, fears, and needs that came to him in the dreams she shared with him.
“Oh, I can definitely do something to help you with that.” He had to tighten every muscle in his body to keep from coming right there. His erection was spike hard, throbbing and damp with pre-cum as the visions of that memory drove him crazy.
As he moved between her thighs, his lips lowered to hers, her soft, silky hand slid down his abdomen, heating his flesh, striking at his balls with bands of pleasure as a finger slid over the head of his cock.
Then damn her—and God help him—she lifted that finger, slowly, with sensual promise, to her lips and curled that hot little tongue right around it. Her lashes fluttered, then lifted, drowsy sensuality burning him straight to his fucking heels.
Gripping her wrists, he pushed them to the bed, his head lowering, his lips taking hers, tasting them. She was killing him, but then, hadn’t she been doing that since he first met her? Since the second his gaze touched hers?
And as she was doing now. With her hungry lips beneath his, she was making him wilder, hotter by the second as her little mewling cries reached his ears. She wasn’t a loud lover. The deeper her pleasure, the more breathless she became, her cries more gasps than screams.
Moving his hands to the swollen curves of her breasts, he groaned as he felt her breath hitch. Gripping one hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he tugged at the tight tip and felt her shudder.
Her hands were at his shoulders, nails digging in, claiming him. She always left her mark on him, in one way or another, just as he made certain he left his. He’d never been able to make himself delve into the implications of that one.
He pulled his head back from the kiss, because God knew, if he kept losing himself in her, he’d never get beyond the driving need to sink inside the sweet heat between her thighs. Dragging his lips down her neck to her breasts, he paused to pay homage to their tight, hard tips before jerking to his knees.
He wasn’t going to make it much longer. Damn her, he’d never had enough willpower where she was concerned. Self-control became nonexistent once he touched her. And that self-control nearly exploded as she sat up and reached for him, her slender fingers curling around his erection like living silk. Her lips parted as she stared up at him, her gaze slumberous, filled with sensual hunger.
His teeth clenched as she licked over the head, a slow, sliding caress as he pushed the fingers of one hand through the shortened curls of her hair. He gripped her jaw with his other hand exerting just enough pressure to force her mouth open. Excitement flared in her gaze, her face flushing with it as one of those mewling little moans vibrated in her throat.
He clenched his teeth in his fight to hold back, to give her just the head of his dick, no more. Not to sink into the wet heat of her mouth.
Her tongue curled over the violently sensitive flesh, as her mouth closed around its thickness. Her heated suction, the lash of each playful lick and stroke, had his shaft clenching, blood pounding through it as his release threatened to slip the hold he had on it.
Innocent, hungry, her mouth did things on the head of his dick that made him want to growl like an animal. Damn her. Innocent, sultry seductress.
“Like that, do you?” he demanded, watching as he gave her more, sliding deeper, his thighs bunching with the effort to hold back. “I know I sure as hell do.”
She sucked him like she loved his cock, and he damn sure knew he loved her mouth. There was nothing practiced
or experienced in her touch, and it was all the more sensual in the enjoyment she displayed.
With each draw of her mouth, each stroke of her tongue, she kept him on the razor’s edge of release, fighting to hang on, just one more minute. Just a little longer, because it felt so fucking good. Because the sight of her, lips stretched around his erection, eyes drowsy, dazed with her pleasure, was more intoxicating than the finest Irish whiskey.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, grating even to his own ears as she worked her mouth over the head of his cock, drew on the engorged head, and rubbed that wicked little tongue along the underside.
Hot, rich pleasure seared his senses. His balls tightened warningly, causing him to tense with the raging need to spill his release into the suckling depths of her mouth.
“Enough.” He was nearly panting with the effort to hold back. He could feel the sweat easing along the side of his face, the heat traveling up his spine, threatening to explode at the base of his skull.
Tightening his fingers in her hair, he forced her head back, ignoring her protesting little moan as he dragged his tortured flesh from her mouth. Amara’s breath caught as Riordan pushed her to the bed, spread her thighs further with his knees, moving until the broad head of his cock met the swollen, wet folds of her sex. There were no further preliminaries, and she didn’t need any. She didn’t want any. She wanted him inside her, wanted the feel of him, the pleasure of him, overwhelming her senses again.
“Sweet baby,” he groaned as the broad crest of his erection parted the slick, intimate folds between her thighs.
Sensation shuddered through her as he began pushing inside the heated, slick depths of her pussy. Stretching her, sending rapid-fire pulses of exquisite ecstasy. This went beyond pleasure, beyond any description of pleasure she could come up with. It was pleasure amplified.