Where moments before he'd seemed almost beyond control, he'd now reined himself in, although the tension in every line of his moonlit body told her how tenuous that control was. She wanted to cry out to him to let himself go and at the same time wanted this slow caress to go on forever. Her breathing was nothing more than choppy sighs when he slipped his hands down the sides of her breasts and molded the curves of her ribs, waist and hip as intimately as the clinging cotton.
He got to the midthigh hem and paused to trace the edge of the fabric, just as he'd done with the neckline. She tried not to moan or beg, when he got to the seam of her thighs, but eased them apart for him in a silent plea. Either he didn't notice, or chose to ignore her body's invitation; instead he raised his gaze until it locked with hers.
Then he grasped the hem of her nightshirt and slowly drew it up over her body. His gaze followed the same path and she thought no one had ever looked at her with such focused passion. "How could I forget?" he whispered in amazement.
She sighed, and raised her arms so he could pull the garment over her head until she lay before him, stretched out, naked.
"Don't move," he ordered, and, striding to the window, he pulled the curtains wide so her body was bathed in moonlight.
Was he trying to kill her?
She fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. He'd think she was nuts. He didn't know this was the first time they'd made love, that they were strangers and that she was shy with him, so she tried to pretend it was fine, even though nerves skittered in her stomach and her heart pounded.
She only hoped the moonlight was pale enough to disguise the head-to-toe blush that suffused her. Her whole body wanted to roll into itself and hide from this inquisitive predator, but once more she called on her self-control. She couldn't seem to control her toes, however. They curled tightly, preserving the modesty of all ten toe pads.
He was a dark silhouette as he moved with easy grace toward her, but that silhouette was tall, broad shouldered, and narrow hipped. And when he turned to face her, and the moonlight gilded him, she forgot about herself and sucked in a breath at the sheer beauty of his body.
She'd never thought a lot about the penis. It was an appendage with a job to do and frankly she thought men spent far too much time and energy obsessing over what was, proportionately, a pretty small piece of their anatomy. But Wes's penis, all silvery gold in the moonlight seemed both mysterious and imbued with energy. She couldn't resist the impulse to reach out and touch it.
It was warm and hard, heavy in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft and squeezed. Now it was his turn to suck in a breath as she explored him, tormented him a little, and then slid her hand beneath him to cup the heavy sac, already tight against his body.
Aching with the need to feel him inside her, she released him and reached for her bedside table, pulling out a couple of the condoms she just happened to have handy. He took one and sheathed himself before covering her body with his own.
Oh, the slide of warm flesh against warm flesh, the feel of his lips against hers and his hands on her body, exploring and exciting. While he kissed and licked her breasts he trailed a hand down her belly and between her thighs.
She swallowed her cry when he touched her.
"You're so wet," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you wet for me?"
She might be ready to weep with wanting, but such arrogance could not go unpunished. She wrapped her hand around his erection. "You're so hard," she taunted him right back. "Are you hard for me?"
"Oh, yeah," he said through his teeth.
She thought he'd take her then. Pound into her with all the suppressed tension she felt vibrating beneath his flesh. Again he surprised her. He parted her folds, baring her clitoris, and stroked it with a light touch that kept her on simmer without letting her boil over. As her excitement built she hardly realized her hand was tightening on his shaft until he gave a harsh groan and pulled her away.
"Oh, I'm so—" Then she cried out as he pushed her knees up to her belly and thrust inside in one long, smooth stroke.
Her cry ended on a gasp as he filled her, more than filled her, so she felt the delicious stretch and tug of her inner muscles accommodating his length and thickness. Hell, they weren't just accommodating him. They were hugging and kissing him in gratitude for the pleasure that was already zinging through her system.
She clutched at Wes's sweat-slick shoulders, fisted her hands in his thick silky hair, grasped his straining biceps as he thrust, deep and hard and steady, while she wrapped her legs around his waist and rose to meet each thrust.
"I can't—" She gasped, twisting against him. "I need…"
He lifted her hips and changed the angle slightly so he was hitting her hot spot and then there was no stopping the wave that built, crested, and crashed. Her body spasmed and her throat clutched, strangling her own cries as he dropped his head, biting softly into her shoulder as he groaned his own release.
He collapsed at her side, one arm thrown possessively over her, his breath warm against her hair while she tried to regain her own breath. Not to mention her wits.
She'd just had the best sex of her life with a guy whose last name she didn't even know. This from a girl with two university degrees and a professional designation behind her name.
She couldn't stop the grin from stealing over her face.
"You know what's great about having amnesia?" he asked several minutes later.
"What?" She felt smug and sleepy and ridiculously happy.
"That felt like the first time with you."
She turned to kiss him softly on the lips, noting the uneven stubble where he'd had to use her razor. She'd have to remember to get him one of his own in the morning, otherwise whisker burn was going to be a big part of her immediate future.
"Is our sex always this good?" he asked, stroking her breast idly.
She nipped his jaw gently. "Every single time," she assured him.
Chapter Four
Wes woke with a jerk from another nightmare. He reached automatically for Nell's warm body and encountered the edge of his own single bed. He couldn't believe he'd let her boot him out of her room after they'd made love.
She claimed he was getting the heave-ho out of consideration for Gertie, but he was getting the uncomfortable feeling he was pussy-whipped.
In fact, the more he learned about himself, the less he approved. He was most likely some kind of petty criminal. He shoved a stray hair off his face and wondered what had possessed him to grow his hair as long as a girl's so it was always in the way or tickling his neck. How could falling on his head have made him hate his hair and his lifestyle?
He'd searched his body carefully after bathing yesterday and been relieved to find that while he had some colorful bruises, he sported no tattoos. There was an indentation in one earlobe that suggested he'd pierced his ear at one point, but luckily there were no other puncture marks. No needle marks either and he didn't crave anything but coffee and sex so presumably he wasn't a drug addict.
He did discover a couple of old wounds. A jagged curve with bumpy scar tissue in his leg that he suspected was caused by a knife and another on his shoulder that looked like a bullet wound. So, he liked to fight, did he? When he recalled the burn of possessive anger he'd experienced when the other gang members checked Nell out, he wasn't surprised.
The only thing he liked about his pre-accident choices was Nell. Of everything in his life, she was the one thing that felt right. Except that she obviously henpecked him, not letting him stay in her bed all night because of that sour old biddy downstairs.
Wes stacked his hands under his head and stared up at the white ceiling as dawn poked its head in the window. He had to face facts.
He was a putz.
He was also having some disturbing dreams. Breathing slowly, he tried to capture the images that had awakened him, sensing that his unconscious was trying to tell him what his conscious mind had forgotten.
In his mind
he saw a back-country road that wound around a fenced field with a row of tall trees out front. Poplar? Birch? He heard the hum of his own motorcycle engine and was conscious of feelings of dread and excitement in his gut. There was a farmhouse ahead of him, but that was not where the wavy dream road took him. Behind the farmhouse, at least he thought it was behind, hard to tell with a dream, he noted a derelict barn. His heart rate increased and his hands clenched, though he had no idea why.
That was it. As hard as he tried, he couldn't raise any more images from his dream.
It looked like a perfectly normal, everyday farmhouse with a derelict barn. Not exactly an uncommon sight in this part of the world. So why did it wake him every night? What was his subconscious trying to tell him?
Then a slow grin lit his face. Maybe he woke with a pounding heart not because he associated that barn with something bad, but something good. Maybe he and Nell had found a place where they could be alone, away from the prying eyes of her aunt and his associates.
He shifted, realizing how helpless he felt without any memories. Did he have parents? A job? He'd gauged his age to be midthirties when he looked in the mirror, but the guy with the long hair and no tattoos was a stranger.
The only person he trusted was Nell. He was disappointed that making love with her last night hadn't brought his memory back. How could a man forget being with a woman like her?
He felt as though he'd stumbled into the wrong body. He was definitely a putz.
For some reason, when she saw him at breakfast, Nell blushed.
He was wrong, he realized. Knowing what she looked like naked hadn't eased his mind, it merely increased the urge to get her naked again.
He shot her a wolfish grin that made her blush even deeper.
He waved away the painkillers, feeling better than he'd ever felt. Of course, given that his memory only stretched back two days, that wasn't saying much. Still, he felt damn good. They'd loved far into the night and still he wanted her again with a fierceness that surprised him.
"If you're feeling so good," Gertie's voice intruded on his lascivious thoughts, "there's some fencing out back needs fixing."
"Gertie!" Nell protested. "I'm sure Wes isn't well enough to—"
"Sure I am," he interrupted. "Some fresh air and exercise will be good for me." The sex had taken it out of him some, but his aches and pains were a lot milder today. He must be a fast healer.
Nell stared at him over her coffee. "Do you know how to fix a fence?"
He thought about that for a second. "No idea. I guess we'll find out."
"It's not brain surgery," Gertie reminded them both. And, as it turned out, whether or not he'd ever done it before, he found there wasn't much science in nailing up broken fence boards and replacing the rotting ones. Painting them all would be a bitch, but from his short acquaintance with Gertie, he figured that was next on his handyman agenda.
Fine with him. It kept him occupied and the task left his mind free to wander. He was hoping it would find its way home, real soon. He couldn't rid himself of the notion that there was something important he had to do.
When Nell brought out a picnic basket to where he was working, he felt like kissing her.
So he did.
"I am so happy not to have to eat lunch with that old woman glaring at me."
"She can't help it. She really has it in for that motorcycle gang."
She led him to the shade of a big old cherry tree and then laid out the blanket she'd brought, sat down and unpacked the contents. A plate of sandwiches, a jug of lemonade, some kind of cake and a couple of apples.
"I didn't think you'd want to go to the house to wash up so I brought you a wet-wipe." She passed him the square packet he'd already spied and hoped was a condom.
He slit the packaging and removed a damp white square, shaking his head. He really doubted they stocked wet-wipes down at the gang's clubhouse. "How did you and I ever end up together?"
She laughed, but didn't elaborate.
He cleaned off, tossed the used wipe in an empty corner of the picnic basket and sprawled beside Nell and closed his eyes. "Tired?"
"No. I was hoping if I didn't look at you I wouldn't want to take you right here, right now."
"Is it working?" She asked in a voice that trembled slightly with sexual awareness.
He opened his eyes half way. "Nope."
* * *
Nell eyed him, so long and lean, relaxed as though he hadn't a care in the world, and warmth rushed through her as she remembered how he'd touched her last night. The things he'd made her feel.
He ate without hurry, but with precision as though it were a job to be done quickly and efficiently.
His gaze was directed to the new section of fence he'd repaired but when he turned to her, the heat in his eyes told her he hadn't been thinking about fencing.
Even before he spoke her heart started to pound.
"You know what I hate most?" he said.
"No, what?"
"I hate that I don't know how to please you."
Was the man blind and deaf that he hadn't noticed her response last night? "You do please me," she assured him. Knowing she owed him something for the deception she was pulling, she dragged up her courage and admitted, "More than anyone ever has."
He shook his head impatiently. "I don't mean last night. I mean all the stuff I've forgotten. The little things you learn about a person. I don't know your fantasies, or the private games we like to play."
She felt hot and stifled as though he'd literally backed her into a corner.
She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the edge of the red plaid blanket. How could she tell him that he was her fantasy? A stranger on a motorcycle with no past, no burning corporate ladder-climbing ambitions, a man with magic hands and a knowing mouth.
A man who put her pleasure ahead of his own.
"I—"
She felt his hand cup her cheek, slide through her hair. "I want to know. I want to remember," he said in a husky whisper.
She almost laughed. When he remembered, she was going to be up one very murky creek without a paddle. When his memory came back he'd know she'd been lying, using him for sex.
She ought to be appalled at herself, and yet her deception didn't seem wrong. No one was getting hurt and if Wes was anything like every other man she'd ever known, he'd be only too happy to say "thanks for the hot sex" and be on his way.
In the meantime, she was being offered her secret desires on a silver platter. She wasn't strong enough to turn them down. No man had ever wanted to know her fantasies or shown any desire to make them reality, and here was Wes, who didn't even know her, staring into her eyes as if he really wanted to know.
"We love to find new places," she whispered, mortified to hear herself saying the words aloud. She'd never done anything so bold, but always secretly wanted to. Wes was a born rule breaker. He wouldn't care about his reputation if he were caught making love under the stars, or up a tree, or any other foolish place the urge took him.
"New places, huh?" He grinned. "I'm thinking of one right now."
The hand that had been idly caressing her hair now moved, and he trailed a lazy finger down her neck to the collar of her white T-shirt.
"You are?"
"Uh-huh. I'm thinking of a place out under a big cherry tree, with a blanket spread out and—"
"And Gertie knocking herself out peering at us through the kitchen window," she finished.
He laughed. "You worry about her too much."
"I love her," she told him. "I can't hurt her."
Instead of rolling his eyes or calling her a prude, he nodded. "She loves you, too. That's why she doesn't like me. She doesn't think I'm good enough for you."
Her eyes bugged out of her head. "Gertie told you that?"
He shrugged. "She may have, before I lost my memory. But she tells me every time she catches sight of me."
Wes was more perceptive than she'd given him credit for. "Do you mind?"
<
br /> "No. She's right."
A bee buzzed lazily by and she felt drowsy in the warm summer afternoon. She hadn't had much sleep, after all.
As she'd suspected—as she'd hoped—Wes hadn't seemed a bit put off by her spoken desire. She decided to push the subject, since she had no idea how long he'd be without his memory—how long he'd be here at all.
"So, I was wondering. About making love in different places. Could we—"
Suddenly his eyes widened and he grabbed her arm. "Did we make love in an old barn behind a farmhouse?"
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried to formulate a response that was truthful but not. "I don't think so. Why?"
He shook his head impatiently, as though he could rattle his memory back into place. "I keep seeing this place in my dreams. It feels like it's important. I was just wondering if my sex memory was returning first."
She punched him playfully in his impressive bicep. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised. You seem to have a pretty strong sex drive."
"Oh, babe. You have no idea how much I want to drive it into you right now."
Heat shot through her at his crude words. "Me too."
He gazed at her, a steamy, taunting look. "What are you doing after lunch?"
She squirmed on the blanket, so hot for him she couldn't hold still. But unfortunately, fantasy fulfillment would have to wait. "I promised I'd take Gertie into town to get groceries. And you have a fence to mend."
He groaned good-naturedly, grabbed an apple and got to his feet. "Let's make a date for later. We can take my bike and—"
She shook her head and saw the moment it hit him his bike wasn't going anywhere for a while. "We'll have to take Gertie's truck."
"Right."
"And I'll drive."
As she'd suspected, he did a male-puffing-out-his-chest thing and spluttered that he knew how to drive a truck.
"You've had a head injury. Driving is off your list until you've seen Doc Greenfield again."
"Do I have an appointment?"
"Day after tomorrow."
She'd wondered if he'd be difficult about seeing the doctor, but he merely nodded. He must be as anxious to get his memory back as she was for him not to. At least for a little while.
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