I’ve never minded staying cuddled in his apartment eating noodle soup and cheese sandwiches while my friends are out dining at Chez Julienne and taking trips up and down whatever foreign coast is socially accepted at the time. And while my parents vacationed in Rome, Sam and I went horseback riding with his buddies along a dusty trail and slept in tents in the woods for three days.
His dad owns a bar in the business district. It’s packed every single night. I thought it would be a moneymaker and was happy when he gifted it to Sam for a wedding present.
All my thoughts come to a crashing halt when he strolls into our honeymoon hotel room on Route 9—five miles from his tiny apartment—with a bottle of screw cap wine, a package of crackers and a can of cheese. Those things are fine when we’re lounging around watching cable movies and having sex, but on our wedding night?
“Really, Sam?” I ignore the hurt on his face and roll my eyes. “I caved on the big wedding because I thought we could save the money for a trip after.” I don’t mean to pout, but this room smells like smoke and sex and possibly something dead. This is not the night I envisioned for my bridal bed.
He sets the crackers on the table, brushes his hands against one another, and cocks his head to the side, considering me from the corners of his eyes. “I can’t go anywhere right now, Kenz. You know that. We have to start working in the bar. My dad can’t do it anymore.”
So, it wasn’t as much a wedding gift as a way to get rid of it. I blow out a snort and lower my voice to the disappointed whine I use to get my way. “I just thought it would be different.”
He takes two steps until his overpowering presence is close enough I can smell his department-store cologne. “It will be. Let me get the bar back on its feet and we can go anywhere you want.” He runs his hands from my shoulders to my fingers and brings them to his lips where he kisses each fingertip, drawing them into his mouth one by one to nibble while his eyes make promises his body will keep. By the time he reaches my pinky and sucks it into his mouth, I’m ready to burst.
Instead of finishing the fight, I lead him back to the bed and pull him down on top of me. One thing about Sam, whenever I say yes—which is as often as humanly possible without getting arrested for public indecency—he’s ready and never disappointing.
The dream wakes me on a cry, and Sam sits up as if to protect me from an intruder. He is magnificent in the dawn filtering through the curtain. I take a moment to enjoy the eyeful of smooth skin along his shoulders and back.
I smile as he turns around, and I shrug away his confusion. “It was a good dream.”
He relaxes against the pillow and kisses the top of my head. More than anything, I want to run my hands over his skin, but all I can manage is gliding my fingertips over his chest. His breath slows and holds as I lean over and kiss the hollow of his throat.
“Kenzie?”
“You can stop me whenever you want.”
“We’ll be here forever.”
“God, I hope so.”
I have yet to find the flaw in this man. He looks good, smells good, and the taste of him is better than any food I can imagine. His kindness toward me, in light of everything I’ve discovered about myself, is more attractive than any of those other things. As a total package, I can’t assimilate my past behavior with the way I feel right now.
There’s only so much a girl can do with a brace on her foot and a useless hand, but I make the most of what I have by rubbing my body against his, kissing him, holding him to me as if I’ll never let go. I can’t get close enough, can’t get enough of him. When he pulls back, the desire I feel is written in his eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” His breath is shallow and his heart pounds against my skin, but he’s giving me the choice.
“Are you sure you want to wait?” If that’s the only card I have to play, I’ll use it at every opportunity.
Instead of answering, he rolls onto his back but keeps his gaze on me. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
I cluck my tongue against my teeth. “Sam, I am not afflicted with such a deep-seated conscience, and I fully intend to take advantage of you.” I’m grinning like a fool. “It would be easier with your participation. But it turns out, I’m not so picky.” I roll until I’m almost on top of him. “Be still. I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“You said you didn’t love me anymore.” His words hang between us and my lips still against his neck.
I pull back and think about it for a minute. That can’t be right. “I don’t have an explanation for that, and I pray I never get one. I hope that part of my memory stays locked away somewhere, but here’s what I think.” I collect my thoughts as he stares at me. “I think it can’t be true. I might have said the words, might have thought it or believed it for a space in time, but how could I get a bump on the head and a change of heart all in the space of one car accident?” He opens his mouth, and I lay my finger over it to silence his argument. “When I woke up and saw you there, I felt safe and glad. I don’t know you beyond the last few days, but if there’s a person in this world I can see myself loving until I’m old and gray, it’s you. Call it an instinct or whatever, but I feel it.” But the moment and the intense passion has ebbed. “I know you’re not sure of me yet, but I’m sure of us.” He closes his eyes for a second, and I know he’s lost that loving feeling. “But we can wait.” I see the uncertainty written in his gaze. “Sam, we might have had some hard times in our marriage, but I remember loving you enough to want to marry you, to be desperate enough to ask you myself. And I have faith that I wouldn’t have made the decision lightly.” I don’t tell him that I also remember my mother’s disapproval. For now, until I figure out the story behind it, that part of our history is best left as my own secret.
“You remember asking me to marry you?”
I nod. “I remember bits and pieces.”
I can’t tell if he thinks this is a good thing or a bad thing because he’s closed himself off. A veil has covered the openness from earlier, and I decide to keep the rest of my memories—should they come back—to myself until I have a full set and a decent understanding. That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy myself and help him do the same while we’re waiting.
I fall into a dreamless sleep and wake with Sam staring down at me. He doesn’t say a word but dusts his fingers along my forehead before tracing my ear and jaw. I’m captivated by his eyes. They’re shiny, as though he’s been up for hours and has adjusted to the light. Mine have not had such time, and I close them, as much to block the sun as to luxuriate in his touch.
His finger dips down the length of my neck to my collarbone, and I sigh with the pleasure his touch ignites in me. “Sam.” I bask in his attention as he glides lower. “Sam, if…if you’re…not prepared to, um, finish the job, don’t…tinker with the tools.”
He lowers his head, and his warm breath tickles my ear, raising goosebumps on my skin. “I’m more than prepared to finish the job as long as you’re sure.”
“As far as I know, I’ve never been so sure of anything.” His chuckle rumbles in my ear, and I turn to face him, to rub my body against his. The friction is heavenly and the sounds it inspires float from my mouth. The overnight growth of his beard tickles my skin where he kisses and nuzzles before melding us together as his tongue strokes mine. My body is liquid, and I can’t contain my need. I want to touch him, wrap my hand around him, guide him inside me.
I shove my good hand down his pajama pants. The perfection of his body extends from his hair to his feet, and every square inch between. I marvel that I could have ever resisted the wonders of him.
CHAPTER 11
SAM
She’s heaven, or this is heaven. I can’t be sure which, but there’s something otherworldly about this experience, and it’s because of her. I decided while I watched her sleep that if she’s going to regain the regrettable memories of us, I would need to counteract them with some better ones. At the moment I made the decision, I had
no idea I would be the one trapped in her gaze, held captive by her charms. But I couldn’t be more enchanted. I’m her willing slave.
Makenzie is touching me so reverently, kissing me as though she can’t physically break the contact. Fire roars through my veins as she takes me in hand and squeezes while she strokes. For a moment, I can’t concentrate on anything other than the rhythm of her hand, even though she’s still kissing me with passion as intense as my own.
I want to go slow this first time, but she’s having none of it. She shoves her shorts away and climbs on top of me.
I’ll never get enough of her. No matter how long I live. My heart crashes against my ribs as she pushes against my chest for leverage. She moans and cries out, and I don’t have much time left. I can’t hold back from her, not when her touch has lit such a fire inside me.
Time slows, or maybe it stops. I can’t see anything but her. I hear her moans mingled with my own. When she shudders above me, it’s enough to pull me along with her. I hold on until the last waves of passion have receded and my vision is cleared enough for the room to come back into focus.
With a half roll, she is beside me, running her fingers across my chest, down my stomach, over my thigh and back on the same path. Her touch is light, but the kiss she delivers is full of promise, passion, and intensity. The vixen wants more. After everything she’s been through, who am I to deny her?
The sun is shining through the loft windows before we leave our bed. We only make it as far as the bathtub. The bubbles are over the top as she leans back against my chest, careful to keep her arm on the edge and out of the water. After we have sloshed large puddles onto the floor, she climbs out and hops to the closet. “I have all this. I might as well wear some of it.”
But half an hour later, she hasn’t reappeared, so I go in after her. She’s sitting on the floor holding a pair of shoes that tinkle as she taps a fingernail against one. “I own glass slippers.” There is a quizzical tone to her voice that has me cocking my head to one side. “Who the hell needs glass slippers? They aren’t practical. I can’t get my foot inside, and can you imagine the blisters?”
Her towel slips, and I couldn’t care less about her shoes—not the red ones, the black ones or the ones in her hand. I can’t focus on anything other than the smooth skin peeking out of the cool blue towel half around her.
As though waiting for my answer, she glances up and pulls the fabric to hide her chest. “You’re staring at me.”
“For as long as I can.”
She puts the shoes back in their spot and hefts herself up. “Well then, by all means…” With a wink and a smile, she loosens the knot, and the towel drops to the floor. My mouth goes dry, and every drop of blood I own flows straight south. It’s as if I’ve never seen a naked woman before, as though I didn’t just spend the morning in bed with her and enjoy a long steamy bath after.
Sensuality and desire lace her gaze, and she’s breathing heavy. Her skin is tinged with pink and her hand trembles as she reaches out to me. With so much blood below my waist, I have trouble putting together coherent thoughts. I just want to stare at her, see the dimple just below her collarbone where she had a mole removed, her long slender fingers, the creamy white skin of her thighs up to where I’m sure heaven originates. I’ll never stop wanting her.
She hasn’t put the boot back on her leg, and she’s standing on one foot, but she inches closer, and I draw her against my chest until it seems as if we share one breath, one heartbeat. Her lashes flutter against her cheek as she guides my head down to deliver a kiss full of longing and need.
No. I’ll never get enough of her.
CHAPTER 12
MAKENZIE
We’re on the floor of the closet, his arms cradling me against him and his lips in my hair. If nothing else, before the accident, I was a fool. I don’t know—can’t imagine—why I would have insisted he leave me alone, but whatever the reason, it’s gone, and I’m happy.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
While I’m convinced we could work out whatever problems we have, I’m not in the mood for such deep confessions. “I was thinking you should feed me before I collapse from starvation and exhaustion.”
“If not for you, we’d likely be dressed and stuffing ourselves full of fast food right now.” He grins. “Not that I’m complaining. I’ll gladly starve to death in favor of doing this any day of the week.”
I’m charmed but bite my cheek to hide a smile that ascended from my toes. “I’m sorry. You lost me at fast food.”
Sam lifts me off him and stands. “Shall I pick you out something to wear?” He pulls a silver sequined dress from its place in line.
“Is that what they wear at the local burger joints these days? I mean, I wouldn’t want to steal the Hamburglar’s thunder.”
“I suppose it’s a bit dressy.”
I take a glance around while he considers the myriad of garments hanging across the wall. “Sam, where are your clothes?” There’s nothing here but shoes and dresses, pants, and shirts not nearly masculine enough to do him justice.
“In the closet by the front door.”
“Did you just let me do whatever I wanted all the time?” The words are choked out of an annoyed body. “Did you fight for anything?”
“For what matters.” He doesn’t lower his gaze. “I didn’t see the point in starting a fuss over a closet.”
“Spoken like a true man.” Though I’m lighthearted with the comeback, I seethe on the inside. I’m a bitch. It isn’t just the closet. It’s the way he tiptoes around me, says things only after he considers each syllable, waits for my reactions before he shows any emotion.
I reach to the back wall for the cabinet where I know I will find sweatpants mingling with T-shirts and undergarments. “Get dressed and feed your wife before she withers away.”
As I get ready, I go over and over our situation. He is stunning in both body and heart, and I’m a walking advertisement for a train wreck. And though he’s cautious around me, my pulse skips and flutters whenever he’s near enough to touch. Why would I have ever pushed him away?
When Sam comes back, I’m sitting on the bed, fully dressed and waiting.
“I thought you were hungry.”
I nod. “I am.”
“Do you want me to go and bring the food back here so you can rest?”
“No.” I have to focus on this minute. If my memory returns and ruins whatever this is between us right now, it’s going to have to do it without prodding from me. From this moment on, I plan to be a compliant acceptor of fate. No more questions.
And that plan lasts about the six seconds it takes him to carry me down the steps to help me with my jacket.
“I suppose we should get you a new car.”
I don’t want to ask about money since it seems to be his hot spot for frustration, so I shrug. “For what? So I can drive around and get lost?” I clench my fist at the bitterness in my words. “I don’t need a car, Sam.”
“The insurance company already settled for that part of the accident.”
“Oh.” Trees blow past as he drives us away from the cottage to the heart of town and he is standing at the passenger door before I answer him. “I still don’t need a car.” There’s nowhere I want to go.
“We can wait. Eventually, you’re going to want your freedom back.” Again, what he doesn’t say is more poignant than what he does. The odd choice of wording isn’t lost on me. Freedom. It must be a discussion—or more likely an argument—we’ve already had.
I brush a hand down his sleeve, and his lips tilt at the touch. “What do I like here?”
He quirks an eyebrow and considers me from beneath lowered lashes. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen you eat anything processed before.”
“I don’t eat fast food. Interesting.” I can almost feel the grease on the air and taste the salt, but my stomach is rumbling in anticipation. When I order a chicken sandwich, a fish sandwich, and a burger, he laughs out loud. �
�What? I have to choose a favorite, and I plan to do it with an informed palate.”
“By all means. Don’t forget the fries and chocolate shake.”
I nod at the teenager behind the counter. “What he said.”
Sam leads me to a table, and I dig in. Oh, my. I marvel at what I’ve been missing by prejudicing myself against this species of food. I savor each bite, allowing the different tastes to mingle on my tongue.
When I have the last wrapper crumpled and on the tray for disposal, he takes my hand in his across the table. “Well?”
I shake my head. “How am I supposed to choose after only one visit? I could no more pick a favorite now than I could—” To be honest, I have no idea what I can and cannot do whether based on ability or preference.
“Then I suppose we should come back often?”
“Yes.” I grin. “And this will be our table.”
“Okay.” But his drawn face says he is clearly confused.
I sigh. “It’s like when people have a song, you know? When they hear it, it makes them smile. We need those things.” What I’m hoping for is the creation of a connection beyond what we share in our bedroom. This table is as good a place to start as any other.
“I can’t argue your logic.”
“Waste of time to try.” I slide to the end of my seat. “Shall we go pick a song now?”
“Oh, we already have one of those.”
As soon as I hear the first notes, I’m transported to another time. I close my eyes to block the memory, thinking the past should likely stay buried under the happiness of my present, but it only sharpens the picture.
So, this is Sam at work—a smile for everyone, a free drink here and there, and genuine good humor all around. Sam, in his element, is hot. Longing flares in my stomach. Even though he’s busy, he sends me a few winks, plenty of sultry smiles, and enough drinks that by closing, I’m loose and warmly happy.
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