Owen's Touch

by Lee Magner

“I left the answering machine on,” Owen said, his voice gravelly with conflicting emotions. He didn’t like leaving her alone. But he had to get the hell out of here for a couple of hours. And it wasn’t just to take care of his legal problem with the house. “If Lefcourt calls, pick up the phone,” he told her, more brusquely than he felt.

  “I will.” She was surprised that her words sounded so normal. Her mouth felt like cotton. Her body was pulsing with the rush of heat. Owen’s gray green eyes and his rich, gravelly voice were creating havoc within her. She felt caressed and kissed and embraced. And he wasn’t touching her. May not particularly want to touch her, she told herself desperately. Mariana swallowed and managed a smile of sorts. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Right,” he muttered daddy.

  He didn’t look as if he was willing to take that advice, she thought. Her heart skipped a beat in pleasure. But he didn’t say anything more. Just grunted that noncommittal reply. And turned away and left.

  Mariana sagged against the counter, laying her hands palm down and letting her head bend forward as she closed her eyes.

  Could you fall in love with a stranger? she wondered, feeling completely stunned by her own question. Because that’s what it felt like.

  It was wrong to succumb to the tide of longing that Owen made her feel. She told herself it was very, very wrong. She barely knew him. And she didn’t know herself at all.

  “I must be clinging to my rescuer,” she murmured to herself. “It’s making me feel attached to him. That’s got to be part of the explanation for why I...” She was afraid to say the words out loud. As if it would make it more real than it already was. That’s got to be why I feel like I’m falling for him, she thought, unable to entirely wash away the forbidden thought.

  She couldn’t remember a single, significant event in her own life. Nor any substantive facts. Not her own last name. Not where she’d grown up. Not whether she had a happy life or a sad one. Not a hint of a memory of a parent or a boyfriend or a boss or job. Nothing. Nada.

  Tears welled up and pressed against her eyes. One spilled over and trickled down across her cheek. Frustrated, Mariana wiped it away with her fingers.

  “Owen...I wish I’d met you under different circumstances,” she murmured wistfully.

  Her heart swelled and ached when she thought of Owen Black hart. She could see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled, recall the granite set of his mouth when they disagreed. Even the rhythm of his tread was intimately connected with her nervous system, it seemed. She remembered listening for his footsteps in the hospital when her head was bandaged and she couldn’t see him. She’d felt a leap of happiness then. Thinking about it now brought the same, irrational response from her.

  She didn’t know him. But she trusted him.

  “That’s fine for me,” she lectured herself. “But he doesn’t need to get any more involved in my problem than he already is.”

  He was going out of his way to extricate her from a terrible situation. She owed it to him not to make his life any more complicated than it was. After all, he was bracing himself for a major legal battle with Portia’s would-be heir. And he probably had once enjoyed a social life. Before she began taking up so much of his free time, she told herself severely.

  The image of Owen kissing some unknown, faceless woman rose up in her vivid imagination. She saw his arms tighten around the woman, watched his mouth move passionately over the woman’s lips.

  “No!” she groaned, aghast at her own jealous pain and fury. “He isn’t mine. I have no right to object. Or to fantasize about him like this!”

  Mariana snapped to attention and grabbed for the paper and pastels. She took them with her into the bedroom she was using. First she’d soak in the bathtub in the adjoining bathroom. Then, after she’d relaxed, she’d try sketching.

  She could only pray there wasn’t a husband waiting for her somewhere. Or a fiancé. Or a serious, significant other. She could not imagine there was someone like that in her life, but if there was, she was going to face a difficult transition back to reality.

  A chill of fear rippled over her then. The face of the man in the sketch stared up at her from the pile of paper.

  “Who are you?” she demanded fiercely. “Why do you terrify me? And why can’t I remember who you are?”

  Hours later Owen returned.

  He sat in his car in front of his house and wrapped his hands around the steering wheel. He stared blindly ahead of him, trying to sort out his own feelings.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head as if that would clear away the conflict within him.

  It didn’t.

  He got out of the car, locked it and grimly walked into the house.

  The lights were still on. Everything was quiet.

  He went to the kitchen and noticed the blinking light on the answering machine.

  Owen went to it and depressed the Play button.

  “Owen?” the recording played. “This is Lefcourt. It looks like it was her purse. And we’ve got a possible identity for her. Driver’s license. Address. Even what looks like a house key tucked in her wallet. Everything’s pretty wet from being out in the open all this time, but the information’s all there. She looks like the photo on the license, so I’d say we’ve solved the mystery of her identity.”

  Owen stilled. She would be leaving then. Grimly, he listened to the rest of the policeman’s recorded message.

  “I, uh, hesitate to tell you the details over the phone. It seems unfair to leave it as a message. And, uh, a little unprofessional, to tell you the truth. The insurance investigator and I are going to drive down to see you tomorrow morning. I’d like to break the news to Mari—uh, Mariana, in person. And both the investigator and I have a few additional questions for her. How’s she doing? Okay, I hope. Madge asks about her. So do some of the hospital people. And Monison, ’course. Uh, by the way, the insurance investigator says he knows you. Anselm Brock’s his name.”

  Owen frowned. Hell. Anselm Brock.

  “So we’ll be a seein’ ya t’morrow morning.”

  The recording clicked off.

  Owen went around the house turning off the lights, checking the windows and doors and contemplating the great good news.

  Finally, he came to Mariana’s room. The door was half-open. Light was streaming into the darkened hall where he stood in stoic silence.

  No sounds came from within.

  Then he heard the rustle of bedcovers. Like a person rolling over and finding a more comfortable position while lying prone.

  “Mariana?” he called out, softly in case she was asleep.

  No reply came.

  He stepped into the room, stopping just inside the door.

  She was asleep. Lying on the bed amid the sketches she’d done. Her dark red hair spilled across the plain white pillow. She looked vulnerable. And very, very sexy.

  She’d put on the pajamas they’d picked up at the mall store near Tyson’s Corner the other day. He’d insisted she needed more than one set of clothes. He smiled a little, recalling her tabulating the total as she picked up a few of the basic necessities.

  The soft yellow pajamas had looked plain and simple in the package. On Mariana, they looked like shimmering satin. They clung to her body, making the contours only too clear.

  He walked closer, hypnotized by her unconscious form.

  In sleep, her face was his to study at his leisure, and he did. Her long dark lashes fanned across the pale skin of her face. The elegant shape of her cheekbones sloped softly to the inviting curve of her neck. There was a soft pulse beating tantalizingly in her throat. Owen resisted the unexpectedly strong impulse to bend down and press his lips to that throbbing point. And to slide his mouth down over her yielding feminine flesh.

  The bruises and scratches were faded. Only a few of the more serious scars showed their angry red welts. All those were hidden from his view, beneath the satiny yellow of the pajamas.

  He ached to take her in
his arms. Just once. Owen clenched his hand into a fist, resisting the foolish drift of his thoughts.

  Tomorrow she’d know who she was. This wasn’t the time to throw caution to the wind and succumb to his intense attraction to her.

  He dragged his eyes away from Mariana’s sleeping form and forced himself to look at the drawings. There were quite a few. Mariana apparently had exhausted herself sketching them. He lifted the chalk from her limp fingertips, removed the pad of paper from beneath her hand and placed them and the other supplies on the floor where they’d be out of the way. Then Owen gathered up the sketches, slowly examining each one. From the looks of them, Mariana was getting in touch with her memory, whether she realized it or not, he thought.

  What bad Mariana remembered?

  Chapter 9

  Manana rolled her head from side to side on the pillow. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her body strained against an unseen adversary. No...No...

  She gasped and cried out. “No!”

  Mariana opened her eyes and tried to bring the blurry, darkened room into focus. She pushed herself up with one hand until she was sitting in the bed. Blinking wasn’t helping, she finally realized.

  A figure appeared in her doorway. Owen. Disheveled, barefoot and wearing only a pair of drawstring-waist pajama bottoms.

  “Mariana? Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand and tried to clear away the fog from her mind. “I...don’t know....”

  Owen crossed the room. In a few soundless strides, he’d reached the edge of her bed. He paused for a moment, then somewhat reluctantly, he bent over and gently but firmly cupped her chin with one hand. He tilted her head back a little so that he could search her face. It only took a moment for him to see her half-sleepy confusion. She wasn’t fully awake.

  “Another nightmare?” he guessed softly. He let his hand slide a little away, intending to let her head fall forward, telling himself to ignore the intense desire he felt to keep touching her.

  Mariana covered his hand with hers before he could pull completely away. She gave up trying to get her eyes to focus and closed them with a sigh instead.

  That soft sound rippled along the nerve endings in Owen’s body like a tantalizing caress.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said huskily, gently pressing her soulder back with his unencumbered hand.

  Mariana reclined, but as her shoulders sank into the mattress, she covered his hand with hers, too.

  Owen was bending over her, one hand trapped against her jaw and the other captured against her shoulder. He pressed his lips together in a grim line. As he gently tried to disengage himself from her hold, he felt her shoulder tremble. He sensed the unsteady breath she took next. When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he felt as if an invisible net were drawing around him, pulling him inexorably closer to her.

  Owen tried to hold on to his badly fraying common sense. He was old enough to resist an impulse like this, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, his body was putting up an increasingly insistent argument to the contrary.

  He tried one last time to emancipate his hands.

  Mariana’s dark green eyes pleaded silently.

  His treacherous hands hesitated.

  “Owen...” she pleaded brokenly.

  His palms touched her shoulders. He slid one arm under her shoulders and lay down beside her, closing his eyes in silent defeat.

  Mariana curled into his body and wrapped her arm around him. His scent was comforting. As was the warmth emanating from his well-muscled physique.

  Memories drifted gently back into her mind.

  “I remember the house where I live,” she whispered.

  Her cheek was resting against his chest. Her breath felt soft against his skin. Owen sighed in resignation. Sweet torture.

  “What’s the house like?” he asked, sliding his hand slowly across her back.

  “It’s adobe. The one I described before. The one that looks over a city.”

  “I looked at the sketches,” he murmured, gently kneading the tension from her shoulders with his fingertips. “A lot of them were in the desert.”

  “Phoenix,” she mumbled sleepily. “I’m sure my home is near Phoenix.”

  Owen frowned thoughtfully. “Remember that guy from the AA group?” he asked softly.

  “Kelton.”

  “Yeah. Kelton. He said he overheard you remark about a bird of paradise or something like that when he passed you when you were talking on the phone.”

  Mariana hugged him a little closer and smiled. “Phoenix,” she murmured smugly.

  “Yeah. The bird that rises from its own ashes.” He rested his chin against her head. “Or...a city in Arizona,” he added dryly.

  “I drew faces of people. I think... I think one of them is a business partner. And my parents... I can see their faces....”

  Owen felt her grow still in his arms and turn her face against his bare chest. One tear and then another splashed onto his hot skin.

  He pulled her up to eye level, settling onto his side.

  “They’re dead,” she murmured, her eyes dark green pools glimmering with tears. “I remember the funeral.”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured huskily. He touched his lips to her eyes, gently kissing each in turn. Her tears were cool and salty on his lips.

  Mariana sighed.

  When she breathed, Owen could feel her breasts press against him through the satiny fabric of her pajamas. His pulse began a slow, heavy pounding, and his body grew heavy with the beginnings of desire. He tried to pull a little away, but the startled, vulnerable look in her tear-dampened eyes cut him to the core.

  “To hell with it,” he muttered half under his breath. With a ragged sigh, be slid them up toward her pillow and resigned himself to sweet, agonizing torture.

  “My memory is coming back,” she whispered.

  “You don’t sound too thrilled,” he murmured.

  “I’m glad,” she said, feeling more focused and less groggy. “But it’s strange to have things return in bits and pieces. Like my pet parakeet when I was twelve...or knowing I’m an artist...or remembering sketching desert landscapes for an architect...” She closed her eyes in frustration. “And that stupid image of the Desert Sands Resort! But...with all that, I’m still missing huge pieces of my life.”

  He slid his fingers through her hair and pulled her face closer.

  “Maybe that won’t be a problem much longer,” he said quietly.

  She searched his eyes, finding only somber thoughts.

  “Did you hear Lefcourt’s message on the answering machine?” he asked curiously.

  She looked at him in surprise and shook her head. “No.”

  “It seems he’s found your purse. There’s a driver’s license. The picture looks like you. Your address and what looks like a house key are in your wallet. He’ll be here tomorrow morning with them. He wanted to give them to you, tell you the information, in person.”

  She lowered her lashes and gazed past Owen into the darkened, still bedroom.

  “So, tomorrow, all my questions will be answered,” she said in a barely audible, thready whisper.

  “Yes.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

  She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

  “Mariana,” he whispered, a little hoarsely. “I’m not made of stone.”

  She lifted her head and gazed into his darkening eyes. The gray green was dark like the ocean in winter storms.

  “I don’t want to say goodbye,” she admitted. “And yet, tomorrow, we may have to.”

  She saw him tighten his jaw and smiled sadly at his stoic acceptance. She could feel his heart beat against her breast. She knew he was attracted to her. And she admired his effort to avoid acting on that attraction under the circumstances.

  Mariana had searched her heart and could not believe that there was a husband or fiancé waiting for her. Surely she’d have been wearing a ring and having some sort of dreams ab
out him, wouldn’t she?

  “This is Jane Doe’s last night,” she noted in a shaky whisper. She closed her eyes, ashamed of succumbing to her own weakness for him while Owen seemed to be doing such an excellent job of behaving honorably under highly tempting circumstances.

  Mariana wanted Owen to kiss her so badly that her lips ached with it. She had no right to invite that. Not until she knew whether there was someone else in her life, impossible as that was to imagine, considering how she was feeling about Owen Blackhart.

  So she warred with herself. Kiss him. Don’t kiss him. Invite him. Discourage him. Unconsciously, her arms tightened around him, holding on to his strength even as her own seemed to be slowly melting away.

  Owen groaned inwardly as he felt the last slender thread of his fraying control unravel and snap in two.

  “Come here, then, Green Eyes,” he whispered huskily.

  The muscle in his arms Sexed, and Owen pulled her fully into his embrace. His mouth found hers, and he was kissing her hungrily. as he’d been wanting to for a very long time.

  Mariana closed her eyes and let herself fall into the swirling sunlight that enveloped her. His touch was like the rising sun, bringing glorious beauty to everything it caressed. Warmth and fiery pride illuminated every piece of her that it reached.

  His hands swept over her in slow, sure motions, leaving behind skin tingling with warmth and alive with wanting.

  He lifted his lips from hers and looked into her eyes. The gray green of his eyes simmered with a golden sheen, like the reflection of the midday sun in the summer sea.

  He slid his hand up across her midriff, finding the hem of her pajama top. Then his palm was touching her bare skin, moving upward, ever upward, leaving tiny bumps of excitement across her soft flesh.

  He closed his hand over her breast and brushed his lips across hers at the same time.

  Mariana moaned and reached up to pull his head closer. She felt his smile as his mouth pressed down against hers. His muffled groan of pleasure at touching her made the sun warm her from the inside all of a sudden. Somehow, sunlight was everywhere, heating her, caressing her, warming her with its life-giving, eternal force.