Her hand clamped on his wrist.
Reluctantly he raised his head. "What?" he asked, hoping it was something he could deal with fast and get on with the good stuff.
Laura's mouth set. Her breathing was rapid. "Nobody's watching now."
He didn't get it. "That's good, right?"
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "You don't have to pretend. Nobody's watching."
He wanted to laugh. Or groan. Instead he pressed against her, letting her feel him through his heavy slacks and her light dress. Her eyes widened.
"Does this feel like I'm pretending to you?"
She swallowed again. "Uh, no. Guess not."
"I want you," he told her, and watched her eyelids flutter. "Not to solve the case. Not to save my ass. I want you."
She drew a shuddering breath. "I need to solve this case. And you need someone to protect your ass."
"So move in with me. You can provide me with round-the-clock protection."
Her chin came up. "I won't be pressured into having sex with you."
"I'm not pressuring you." She looked at him in obvious disbelief. He laughed, amused and caught out. "All right, maybe I am."
"I gave into pressure once before," she said. "And let me tell you, it was the biggest mistake of my life."
"Only once?"
She didn't smile. "Once was enough." Simon's throat tightened. She couldn't actually mean there hadn't been anyone since… "Your husband?"
"'I want you so much' sounds good when you're seventeen and want somebody to want you," Laura said. "But it's not enough anymore."
Hell.
"What do you want? Promises?"
It was a little early for that. They'd known each other barely a week. Right now Laura was as necessary to him as breathing. But when he regained his full memory, when he was himself again, would she want him?
A sharper fear sliced him. Would he want her?
She shook her head. Her hair brushed her bare shoulders. "I've had promises."
And from the tone of her voice, it was obvious she didn't put her faith in them anymore.
"What, then?"
"This isn't about what I want from you. It's about what I expect of myself."
"Okay," Simon said cautiously.
"There have been other men."
That was a relief. He frowned. Wasn't it?
"Not many," she added, perhaps misunderstanding the reason for his frown. "I make my own choices and I accept the consequences. If I have sex with you, I'll take full responsibility."
He'd like to think he'd have something to do with the decision, too. But he said, "That sounds reasonable."
Analytical. Logical. Too bad he wasn't in the mood for logic. I'll have sex with you.
The lightbulb went off, electrifying his body. "Does that mean we're going to have sex?"
Her cheeks flushed. He wanted to test their temperature with the backs of his fingers.
"Gee, that's really romantic," she said. "How could I possibly say 'no' after that?"
He was amused. Moved. And more uncertain than he'd been since he'd woken up on the floor of his lab. "Do you want romance, Laura?"
"No. I don't know. I told you, I'm responsible for my own choices. I don't need a bunch of flowers and pretty words to make up my mind."
He should have been relieved. It was interesting to discover he felt insulted instead.
"So, no romance," he said. "What am I supposed to offer you, then? Chemistry?"
She looked him in the eye. "I think we've proven chemistry is a factor."
"Any other requirements? Respect, for example?"
"Is this the part where you tell me 'you'll respect me in the morning'? Because I can do without that."
"No, this is the part where I tell you I have feelings for you," he said with an edge to his voice. "It's not all about getting you into bed, although maybe you'd like to reduce it to that. I respect you. I respect what you do. I admire what you've accomplished by yourself and for yourself without making a big deal out of it. I'm grateful you don't need to have everything explained to you. Although in this case, Detective, you're being a little slow on the uptake."
It was possible, Laura discovered, to be moved almost to tears and really pissed off at the same time.
"Well, thank you," she said, her voice shaking. She hated that. "Thank you so much."
Simon reached for her. "Laura…"
She raised both hands. In surrender? Or to hold him off? Even she couldn't say. "I'm not finished."
His hand dropped. "I'm listening."
She drew a painful breath. "The thing is, I have feelings for you, too. Respect and … feelings, okay? And they make me vulnerable. I'm not sure I like that."
Simon looked stunned, as if she'd just hit him over the head with one of his own deck chairs. "Well." He gave a short laugh. "That's honest."
She hunched her shoulders, feeling more naked and awkward than ever. If she'd had pockets, she would have put her hands in them. "Too honest."
"No." He regarded her thoughtfully, his eyes dark and unreadable. "We've now established we have chemistry, respect and honesty between us. I can't think of anything better to base a relationship on, can you?"
What about love? a small, rebellious voice inside her cried.
But of course she didn't say anything. There was honest, and then there was just plain stupid.
Besides, she'd stopped believing in love about the time she gave up her faith in fairy tales.
She managed a smile. "As long as we understand each other."
"Do we?" Simon murmured. "I wonder."
Laura shivered and hugged her arms. "We should go in."
"In a minute," Simon said.
Rubbing his warm hands up and down her bare shoulders, he cupped her elbows and tugged her gently closer.
Her breathing hitched. "I don't want to spoil the mood, smart guy, but there are lots of people we still need to talk to."
"Just a minute," he said, and kissed her.
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly and with exquisite care. She'd never been kissed quite like this, with the full focus of a man's attention, as if kissing her was something important, significant, that had to be done just right. Her head spun. Her knees wobbled.
And her heart, her poor heart, melted.
Simon raised his head and smiled into her dazed eyes. "Now we can go in."
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
He still hated parties.
Simon propped a shoulder against the fireplace. Maybe he had overdone the my-home-is-my-castle thing in his former life. But at the moment the fifty or so remaining guests felt like unwelcome invaders. He'd tolerated their presence for the chance to set his trap and jog his memory. But now he wanted them to go away so he could be alone.
No, he admitted. He wanted them gone so he could be with Laura.
He watched her move among his guests, listening, smiling, asking questions, and his chest tightened with possessive pride. All night long, she'd had his back like a modern-day shield maiden, protecting him from hidden enemies and social disaster. Even if he had his full memory back, he wouldn't be able to connect with people the way she did.
Despite his frustration—with himself, with the situation, with his failure so far to talk her into bed—they'd made progress tonight.
He remembered the glow of her face in the moonlight, her slumberous dark eyes when he'd kissed her, and anticipation buzzed in his blood. Definite progress.
And then disaster struck.
A sleek young blonde excused herself from a cluster of departing guests and flung herself at him, crying, "Simon! I've been looking for you everywhere."
He barely had time to register details—silver eye shadow and a shiny belly button ring that glittered through the gauze panel of her black dress—before she was in his arms.
Grimacing, he looked over her head for Laura.
She saw, of course, and came smoothly to his rescue.
S
tanding a yard away, her arms crossed over the bodice of her narrow purple dress, she put her head to one side and drawled, "If she's another stepmother, your father should be in jail."
The little blonde raised her head, laughter lighting her blue eyes. Some memory stirred in Simon, not in his mind, but in his heart.
"Oh, that's a good one," the blonde said approvingly. "You must be Laura."
"That's me," Laura said, and stuck out her hand.
The blonde ignored it, throwing her arms around Laura instead. "This is so cool. I couldn't believe it when Quinn called. Simon never invited me to meet any of his… Well." She laughed. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Laura cleared her throat. "Julie?"
Julie?
Shocked, Simon studied the young woman embracing Laura. He'd expected his half sister to be a schoolgirl. This sparkly, confident blonde was twenty at least. But the shape of her eyes under her plucked and arched brows, the dimple flashing in her cheek, tugged at him. Did he recognize her from the high school photograph upstairs? Or was a deeper familiarity speaking?
"Julie," he said, testing her name in his mouth.
"Yeah?" She turned to face him. "Oh, don't scold. You should have figured I'd come."
"Come from where?" Laura asked.
"Didn't Simon tell you?" For a second, hurt flickered across the blonde's pretty face. And then she giggled. "Of course, you two probably have better things to do than talk about me. I'm at Moore College of Art and Design in Philadelphia. And I'm allowed three absences, Simon, which you know because I sent you the prospectus along with the tuition bill, and I haven't missed a class all semester, so you can stop looking disapproving."
He wasn't disapproving. He was stunned.
His sister liked him. His opinion mattered to her. One person in his life, it seemed, cared about him. There was one person he had cared for in return.
The relief was staggering.
"Did you do the painting over the fireplace?" Laura asked.
Julie rolled her eyes. "You mean, my early Kandinsky period? I don't know why Simon keeps that thing."
But Simon knew. Suddenly he remembered.
"I keep it because you gave it to me for my birthday, brat. And as astonishing as it may seem to your sophisticated tastes now, I like it."
She beamed. "Isn't he sweet?" she asked Laura.
Laura looked at him, warmth and something else in her eyes, something wary and shy that made his heart beat faster. "Tell me about it."
Her tone was dry, but Julie took her invitation at face value. "Well, he rescued me from Sharyn. Sharyn's my mother. Did he tell you about her?"
"He mentioned her," Laura said.
Simon frowned. What the hell had he said? He didn't have many memories of Julie's mother. He'd already been away at school when his father had married again.
"Did he tell you he threatened to cut off her allowance if she kept me at that crappy boarding school? And then he came and moved me to the new school himself, and he let me spend part of the next two summers with him." Julie grinned. "Of course, he only agreed to that after I ran away about three times, but it was still sweet of him."
"I am not sweet," Simon said. "I was desperate."
His sister laughed.
Laura watched him, still with that wary, wondering look in her eyes. Simon wondered if she was remembering there had been no one to rescue her when she was Julie's age.
"You know he sucks at personal relationships," Laura said.
Simon winced.
Julie looked startled. "Who told you that?"
"He did."
"Well, he would," his younger sister said frankly. "Simon's not what you'd call touchy-feely. And he never did suffer fools gladly. But you can count on him to rescue you when things are really dire."
"Good to know," Laura said.
"Mr. Ford."
Quinn stood a yard away, stretching the seams of his navy blue suit, his round face creased with trouble and shining with sweat. A guard in a black E.C.I.P. uniform loomed behind him.
"It's all right, Quinn, I found him," Julie assured him cheerfully.
Quinn's gaze flickered to her and away. "Yeah, I can see that. Mr. Ford, we have a—"
"Problem?" Laura asked quietly.
"Situation," Quinn said. "Down at the dock."
A prickle of foreboding ran across Simon's shoulders. He'd meant to set a trap tonight. But it was too soon, much too soon, to catch anything. "Did someone fall in?"
Quinn rubbed his square hand over his face. "You could say so."
Julie's dimple deepened. "What do you mean, 'you could say so'? Was there a splash?"
"How long ago?" Laura asked.
Quinn looked at Simon. "If I could talk to you for a minute privately, sir."
"Julie, who did you come with tonight?" Simon asked.
"Dylan. But—"
"Why don't you go find him?"
She huffed. "That is so lame. Like sending me to my room."
But she blew him a kiss, said a warm goodbye to Laura and sashayed across the room.
"Go ahead," Simon said grimly.
Quinn rolled his eyes toward Laura. "What about—"
"If there's a situation, I'm better qualified to handle it than anybody here," Laura said crisply. "What happened?"
He admired the no-fuss way she stepped up and stepped into her role as a law enforcement officer.
"There's been an accident," Quinn said. "One of the boats taking guests back to the marina."
"Anyone hurt?" Simon asked.
"Not … recently."
"But there was an injury?" Laura asked. "Did you call 911?"
"Not yet."
"Who was hurt? How bad is it?"
"It's bad." Quinn's balding head shone under the lights. "The boat's propeller blade is fouled. On—on a body."
Simon was shocked into silence.
"Dead?" Laura demanded.
"Dead." A bead of sweat ran down Quinn's sideburns. "Really dead."
"Show me." She started across the room, her long stride hampered by her narrow skirt.
Simon kept pace beside her. Dealing with the body was her job. But this was his party, his property, his responsibility.'
"Do you know who it is?" Laura asked Quinn as they made their way through the thinning crowd.
Quinn shook his head. "Once I realized… Once I saw what was caught in the motor, I got the guests off the boat and away from the dock. The pilot and I pulled him… We freed the prop blade. But his skin… The face…" He shuddered.
Really dead. Obviously decayed.
"Okay," Laura said gently. "I'll call dispatch to arrange transport for the body. And we'll need a coroner." She was already rummaging in her tiny bag for a cell phone. "You did a good job, Quinn. I've got it from here."
"Some party," Dylan said to Simon an hour later.
They stood on the path looking down on the dock. The wind had picked up. The temperature was dropping. Floodlights obliterated the twinkling strands in the trees, converting the festive setting to stark planes and sharp shadows. White-faced figures in dark windbreakers or khaki coveralls with orange stripes jumped and crawled over the scene.
A police boat and two private craft bumped for space alongside Simon's sleek cabin cruiser. The boat hired to transport guests to and from the marina was tethered to the other side, its propeller hidden from sight. Simon was queasily grateful.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Dylan. "Guests are restricted to the house."
"That's what I came to talk to you about. You still have almost fifty people here. Unless you figure out what to do with them, you're going to have either a riot or one hell of a pajama party on your hands."
Fifty people. Dear God.
"Tell Quinn to keep the bar open. See if the musicians will play another set. As soon as the police clear the way, we can start ferrying guests back in the cabin cruiser."
Dylan nodded. "Where's the dead guy?"
"On the police
boat. They loaded the body ten minutes ago."
"And Laura?"
Simon jerked his chin toward the dock. "Down there."
She was talking to the woman in the orange slicker—the coroner, Simon thought. Laura's lavender dress was crumpled and soiled, her face white and set under the unforgiving lights, her shoulders covered by his tuxedo jacket.
Earlier, Simon had tried to go to her, only to be escorted firmly away by a uniformed patrolman. In the end, Simon had had to settle for the officer's promise to take her his jacket. Just because she had to work didn't mean she had to freeze.
Laura had slipped her arms into his jacket sleeves. For one moment, her gaze sought Simon's where he stood beneath the trees. For one moment, their eyes had met and clung. Connection flashed between them, bright and charged as a laser beam. And then she'd nodded once, in thanks or acknowledgment, and returned to her grim work.
She hadn't looked his way in quite a while. Beneath his oversize jacket, her shoulders stood up sharply. Simon watched as she finished her conversation with Orange Slicker and tensed in anticipation. She'd look up now. She'd come to him now.
She didn't.
Instead a lean, disciplined figure detached from the knot of men clustered near the police boat and climbed the hill with long, purposeful strides.
"Mr. Ford." The newcomer's voice was polite, his eyes sharp and cool as the wind off the lake.
"Simon." Simon stepped forward to shake hands. Had they met before? Where the hell was Laura? "My brother Dylan."
"Jarek Denko," the man offered, extending his hand to Dylan.
The police chief. Laura's boss. The man who had yanked her from his case for "conflict of interest."
"Are you almost done down there?" Simon asked. "I need to speak to Laura."
He could see her clambering on board the police boat, her movements as stiff as a much older woman's. Where did she think she was going?
"Detective Baker is accompanying the body to McCormick Mercy Hospital."
"Is that necessary?"
"Yes," Denko said simply. He looked at Dylan. "Could you give us a minute, sir?"
Dylan cocked an eyebrow. "You want me to go?" he asked his brother.
Simon was surprised and grateful Dylan would ask. "I need you at the house. Julie needs you," he added, when it seemed Dylan might still object. "I'll be along as soon as I can."
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