Chapter One
The
low rattling hum, like a hornet refusing to retreat, had Gertie's head jerking
up from the middle row of the vegetable garden, where she'd been staking peas.
Those dratted motorcycles were as bad as hornets, too, she thought as she wiped
perspiration from under her straw hat. There was never just one. They came in
swarms, causing nothing but trouble.
Pests.
And like pests, the motorcycle gang should be fumigated, swatted, and otherwise encouraged to leave.
Gertie'd lived in Harleyville all her life. The town was named for Dr. Ernest Harley, one of the town's founding fathers, and not Harley Gee Dee Davidson. Gertie's swift movements belied the bent crow angles of her aged body as she scuttled to the two-lane road that bordered her property.
Well, if those motorcycles couldn't respect speed limits, or the peace of the Lord's day, she'd remind them with her own homemade speed bump.
With jerky movements she dragged out the felled poplar branch she'd placed at the roadside for just such an occasion and swiveled it across the road, huffing a little with the effort and the heat.
The buzzing grew louder and she did an arthritic sprint back to the pea patch before the sight she'd begun to loathe came around the bend in the road faster than the wrath of God Almighty.
She caught a glimpse of leather vest, too-long tangled brown hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses—the kind that looked like twin mirrors so you couldn't see the eyes behind them—and the nasty, low motorcycle.
Then everything happened at once.
She heard a curse that made her clutch her arms around herself in horror and duck her head. Then the sound of the motor changed. Good. The crazy devil must have seen the speed bump and was slowing down.
But the driver slowed too late. The front wheel hit the branch, and the next thing she knew the motorcycle lifted right off the ground.
Gertie's jaw dropped until her upper teeth threatened to slip off her gums. She shut her mouth with a clicking snap.
Up they went into the air, motorcycle and rider. They seemed to hang airborne for a long timeless moment; then the bike dropped while its occupant kept flying—head first into the string beans.
Gertie took one trembling step toward the silent lump of leather and denim in the middle of her vegetable garden, then another. Before she could take a third, her great-niece, Nell, came tearing out the front door and raced to the man's side.
Gertie'd never been so glad to see anyone.
She watched Nell drop to her knees in the dirt, bend over the motorcycle man, and press her ear to his massive chest. After a long moment Nell raised her head and their gazes met.
"Damn it, Gertie! You've killed him."
* * *
Nell pushed her fingers harder into the man's neck. She was pretty sure that was his carotid artery she was pressing on. He had a muscular neck, so it was difficult to be certain, but there was still no pulse. She bit her lower lip trying to dredge up everything she'd learned in that CPR course she'd taken a couple of years ago.
Heat prickled the back of her neck and pure blind fear prickled every other part of her body. He couldn't be dead. That would make Gertie, whom she loved more than anyone in the world, a murderer.
He sure looked dead, though.
He was utterly still, wild strands of dark toffee-colored hair trailing in the
dirt behind him. He wore the colors of the Hog Squad, the motorcycle gang that
had turned quiet
It appeared strong and sensuous. Dark lashes lay in innocent silky crescents under his eyes. His nose was a bit on the big side, but straight. His lips were full and firm, but parted as though in sleep.
She wished she could shake him awake and send him on his way. He was warm, which gave her hope, until she recalled the sun could be heating his body.
She heard Gertie grunting and muttering and turned her head in time to see the older woman drag the branch out of the road. She didn't have time to help her. How many minutes was it before brain damage set in? She couldn't remember.
Gingerly she placed her hand beneath the man's neck.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly tilted his head back. Not hearing any gross crunching bone noises gave her the courage to pinch his nostrils shut and put her lips over his.
His lips were warm, too. She forced her own breath into him, trying not to think about how different it was blowing into a man's mouth than practicing on a plastic dummy.
She pulled back, breaking the warm connection, and watched his chest begin to deflate. That was good.
She placed her palm in the middle of his chest, fisted the other hand on top of it and started pushing, counting to five.
Back to his mouth. She breathed out, forcing her breath into his body.
Back to his chest.
"Come on!" she wailed as he continued to lie there.
His mouth, his chest, again, and again. How much time had lapsed? Would he be brain damaged? Was she even doing this right?
She shoved harder against his ribs, trying to get through all that muscle and bone to massage his stubborn heart.
"Beat, you bastard!" She yelled, scuffling on her knees in the dirt as she bent forward to force more air into his lungs.
A fly hovered over his face and she brushed it away. Her hands were trembling from her efforts and from fear. He was probably brain dead anyway from all the drugs and booze. "If you'd worn a helmet maybe this wouldn't have happened," she told him sternly, then clapped her lips against his once more.
She pushed her breath out and it caught on an obstacle. A big, wet obstacle. With a strangled shriek, she tried to pull back.
The corpse had stuck his tongue in her mouth.
But, as she moved back, she felt his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her in closer while his tongue made a slow but very deliberate tour of her mouth.
She should be glad he was alive, but mostly she wanted him dead again.
She squirmed, trying to get away, but he misread her intentions and yanked her flush on top of him where she discovered another part of his body was also alive and well and functioning just fine. Trust a man to come back from the grave horny.
At last the pressure eased on the back of her neck and she was able to yank her head out of tongue range and stare down into hazel eyes that gleamed with carnal intentions, the corners crinkled against the sun.
She felt the surprising pull of answering arousal deep in her belly before common sense returned. Her breath was coming hard and fast. After first breathing for two people, then having the breath kissed out of her, she felt lightheaded.
"Hey baby," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "You were great. Fuckin' A!" He rocked his pelvis against hers and winked.
"Thanks," she replied. "You should see me splint a fracture."
He glanced around, puzzled. "Why'd we do it in the bushes?" Then his eyes roved slowly over her face and dropped to her heaving chest. "What the hell. Let's do it again."
Oh, oh. It looked like she was too late to prevent brain damage. She tried to figure out what to say to him, wondering how his eyes could look so intelligent when his brain was obviously nonfunctional. Then his lids closed and he was gone.
"Whew," she let out her breath on a shudder.
"Thought you said he was dead," said Gertie.
She glanced up to see the old woman tugging a bean plant from under the man's booted foot. She always had bits of twine in her pocket, and she tied the plant up against a still-standing stake with fingers gnarled by age and hard work.
"He was dead. I brought him back to life," she said not without pride
"Hmm. What are you going to do with him?"
Harleyville didn't have an emergency room. Not even a hospital. Its three thousand souls were still serviced by one country doctor. The closest hospital was fifty miles away.
"There must be some kind of ambulance."
"He got medical insurance?"
"I don't know." She had to tug and pull at his hip to get to his back pocket, where she assumed his wallet would be, but the way he groaned when she moved him had her dropping him back in place. "I'm not sure how badly he's hurt."
"I'll call Dr. Greenfield," said Gertie, rising and dusting off her hands. "He'll know what to do."
Nell stayed where she was, moving her body so the sun didn't beat in the injured man's face, and watched his large chest rise and fall. She'd retrieved his sunglasses, amazingly unbroken, but didn't slip them back on. If he opened his eyes again, she wanted to know about it.
* * *
Shit. What had he been doing? Everything hurt. His head ached, his leg burned. He tried to move his hand to rub the leg and a sharp pain shot through his wrist.
He opened his eyes and frowned. Three faces loomed over him. An old crone who looked like Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies grimaced at him, making him feel like a kid who'd peed on her rosebushes. An old guy in a suit was taking something off his arm, and, finally, he saw a face he recognized.
His vision was blurry and her image shimmered for a minute. He squinted harder, trying to bring her face into focus. She was a stunner with gold-blond hair, big sexy green eyes and a mouth that looked as if it could do things that would make a grown man cry.
She had a jaw with attitude, he noted hazily. Looked the kind of woman who'd enjoy making a man beg. A challenge. His favorite kind of woman. He winked at her.
"Well, he's awake."
Her voice was flat
"See what I mean? I think he was deprived of oxygen too long," the hottie said to the suit, who nodded gravely.
Her voice was as intriguing as the rest of her. Like thick luscious honey over something hard. Which brought on an image so intense that he instantly had something hard for her to pour honey on.
He quickly shifted his gaze to the old crone, which solved his temporary problem. But not the bigger problem of where he was and why they were staring down at him. "What's going on?"
"You were in an accident," the old guy said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Can you tell me what day it is?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's…" He frowned. Turned his gaze back to the babe, as though her familiarity might remind him what infernal day it was. "It's…" He was a big believer in bluffing his way out of sticky situations. "It's Tuesday," he said firmly.
Those beautiful green eyes fluttered in distress. Damn. "I mean, Wednesday." Another flutter. Hell, he couldn't play Russian roulette with the calendar. "I can't remember," he finally admitted with a scowl.
The old guy nodded.
He was tired of staring up at these people. He'd managed to figure out he was in a bed. A single brass bed with a crisp cotton bedspread covered in faded roses that couldn't possibly be his.
"What's your name?"
He beat back panic as he tried to focus. What the hell was his name? "What's yours?"
"I'm Dr. Greenfield."
There was a pause while he breathed slowly, noting this room smelled musty, like nobody'd been in it for a while.
"And this is Gertrude Hopkins and her great-niece, Nell Tennant."
"Hey, babe," he said to Nell. Did he call her Nell? He doubted it. He probably had a pet name for her, but his aching head couldn't dredge it up.
By gritting his teeth hard he made it to one elbow. He panted with the effort and felt sweat break out on his forehead.
"What's your name?" His sexy angel asked him, dropping to her haunches so her eyes were level with his.
"Hell if I know," he admitted.
This time, distress didn't flicker in her eyes, it darkened them and a worried frown puckered the creamy skin of her forehead. "Can you remember anything?"
He smiled at her. "I remember how you taste," he said softly, hoping only she could hear. "And the way you feel against me." He let his gaze roam her body. He might not know his own name or what day of the week it was, but at least he had great taste in women.
Her cheeks pinkened at his low words, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the worry disappear as her gaze heated beneath his.
"Are you my wife?" he asked her, a momentary shaft of alarm poking him at the thought. He didn't feel married.
Her eyes widened and in them he read an answering panic. "No. I'm not your wife."
He was feeling better by the minute. All that sexy sweetness and no shackles. He nodded sleepily. "Girlfriend."
Much better. Her lips opened and he wondered if she was thinking about kissing his hurts better, hoped she was, and then darkness claimed him.
Chapter Two
"I am not your girlfriend!" Nell snapped in a voice much too loud for a
sick room, but it was clear she could bellow into his ear and she wouldn't get a
response. The injured gang member had passed out again.
"What are we going to do with him?" she asked the doctor whose somber expression didn't bode well.
"I could send for an ambulance to transport him to the hospital, but he's got no identification on him. You'd be responsible."
The sick feeling in her stomach came from knowing they were completely responsible for him lying here in the first place. They couldn't afford costly medical treatments, but on the other hand, she couldn't let him remain here if he was seriously hurt.
"He doesn't look like he's carrying Blue Cross, but we'd better make certain." Between the three of them, they managed to get the man's jeans unzipped and carefully removed them.
He had muscular legs, tawny skin and dark hair that thickened as it approached his groin. The fact that he was wearing underpants was an unexpected bonus. They were plain white briefs and even though she tried not to peek, she noticed that he filled them nicely.
She hated to touch the filthy jeans, but forced herself to search the pockets while Gertie and the doctor watched.
"No wallet," she said as she pulled out a money clip, in the shape of a dollar sign, untidily stuffed with bills. She counted quickly. "Around three hundred dollars."
"Not even enough for one night in the hospital," Doc Greenfield said as she dug through the rest of his pockets.
The final pocket yielded a crumpled piece of paper. She opened it, glancing at the unconscious man. Wes, the note said, Market day, Thursday. In place of a signature was a single scrawled initial. It looked like a D or maybe a P. Not much to go on.
Gertie and the doctor were staring at her curiously. She shook her head. "His name's probably Wes, but he doesn't have a single piece of identification on him."
"I can tell you where he belongs. Down at that noisy clubhouse with all the other hooligans, destroying our peace, leaving their beer cans all over. Causing trouble," Gertie glared at the comatose man.
"He won't be causing anyone trouble for a while yet," soothed the doctor. "Come on downstairs and we'll work out what to do with him."
With no better ideas, and happy to escape the disturbing presence in the spare bedroom, Nell followed the other two into the hallway and downstairs.
As she was leaving she heard the man mutter, "girlfriend." She turned back in surprise and, even though his eyes remained closed, she could have sworn his lips twitched.
* * *
"In my opinion, he's better off here than in a hospital," Dr. Greenfield said over coffee in the big old kitchen.
Gertie harrumphed but didn't argue. Maybe they weren't begging for Dr. Greenfield's services at the Mayo Clinic, but here in Harleyville he was well respected. He'd attended more births than deaths, since most of his patients recovered from the various ailments and accidents he treated them for. Nell supposed that counted for something. And besides, Gertie thought the doctor was infallible. Nell, however, had to seriously question his latest plan.
"Stay here?" she all but shrieked.
The old doctor shrugged and sipped his coffee. "He's got no broken bones, just some bumps and bruises. His … forgetfulness will likely pass in a day or two."
She tapped her fingernails against the pale green Formica table top. "Have you ever had an amnesia patient?"
"Oh, sure," the doctor replied with a casualness that had her widening her eyes. "I had a few after the war. Then there was old George Hayden," he chuckled. "Remember him, Gertie?"
She nodded her head and chuckled right along with the doc.
"He fell head first out of a tractor and woke up thinking he was a bronco rider. But he got his memory back after a few weeks. Most of them do."
"But not all?"
"Don't fuss, honey." Dr. Greenfield patted her hand. "Time is the best healer. Time, bed rest, good food, and fresh air. He can't do better than stay right here."
"But he's part of that motorcycle gang. Shouldn't they be looking after him?"
"Are you going to waltz on down there and return him? Explain how he fell on the straight road outside your property and now he doesn't know who he is?" The doctor's faded blue eyes shifted from her to Gertie and back again. He hadn't asked for the particulars of the accident, but it was obvious he had some suspicions.
Nell chewed her lip, knowing she couldn't send the injured man to a bunch of bikers for TLC. Not when she knew how he'd been hurt. She shook her head.
"My guess is, he'll be up and around in a few days and anxious to be on his way."
There was one item that rankled. "But he thinks I'm his girlfriend."
The old man nodded, a twinkle lurking. "Best to let him go on thinking it. Like we did with old George and the rodeo. For some reason, you're familiar to him. It's something for his mind to hang on to while it's healing."
"But … but…" She was familiar to the biker because he'd woken with the assumption they were getting their rocks off out among the string beans when all she'd been doing was saving his miserable life.
"You don't have to worry about somebody else getting jealous do you?"
"That's not the point." But it was. In fact, that was why she was here in the
first place. After breaking up with Peter, she'd pulled the plug on her old
lifestyle, quitting her job and getting right out of
She sighed and sipped coffee. But what, really, were her options? She and Gertie couldn't afford hospital treatment and the doctor was right. They couldn't simply dump the guy back in the arms of his gang members without an explanation.
A dull headache throbbed behind her eyeballs. "All right," she said. "But if he starts pawing me he'll be dead again, real quick."
* * *
He woke with a groan, certain the jackhammer in his head had hauled him from sleep. Instinctively, he tried to put a hand to his head and then winced again at the pain in his arm. What the hell?
Slowly it came back to him. Not that there was a lot of it to come back. He recalled this room, the green-eyed hottie, and that he'd been tormented by nightmares, none of which made a damn bit of sense. The part that he hadn't dreamt was the fact that he didn't know who, what, or where he was, which frustrated him as much as his pounding head and aching body.
Then his sexy angel entered the room carrying a tray of things that smelled good and his day perked up. At least she was real, a connection to the identity and past that eluded him.
"Good morning," she said with a searching look.
He answered the unspoken question at once. "I can't even remember my own name."
She smiled lightly, but the furrow didn't disappear from between her eyes. "It's Wes."
"Wes." He digested that, rolled it around and decided it felt right. "And you're…?"
For some reason she looked as though she didn't want to tell him. Since his only memories were of the feel of her body pressed intimately against his and the taste of her on his tongue, he found her hesitation amusing. "Did we have a fight or something?"
"No. We didn't fight. My name's Nell. I was hoping you'd have your memory back this morning."
"You and me both." He couldn't rid himself of the notion that there was something important he needed to do. Something urgent, but what it was, he hadn't a clue.
He hauled himself up to sitting, trying not to cry like a baby as aches and pains stabbed him, and she settled the fragrant tray over his lap. Steaming coffee, a pitcher of cream, a sugar pot, a glass of orange juice so pulpy it had to be fresh squeezed, and a bowl of oatmeal.
Oatmeal? Beside that was a small plate with a couple of white pills. He took a life-restoring slug of coffee and picked up the pills, raising his brows as he did so. "Painkillers. Doc left them for you."
With a silent thanks to the doc he popped them in his mouth and washed them down with hot coffee. Then he glanced at the rest of the tray and back at her. "What are you trying to pull?"
"Me?" She started and looked guilty as hell.
"I may not know my name, but I know for damn sure that I hate oatmeal."
"Eat it. It's good for you," she said and started backing out of the room.
"I'll eat it on one condition."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"
"Stay and talk to me."
She didn't move for a second, then eyed the tray. "You have to drink the orange juice, too."
"Every drop," he promised. She headed for the wicker chair in the corner but he wasn't having that. "Uh-uh. Sit on the bed."
It seemed she struggled with herself, then came and perched down by the foot rail. They must have had a humdinger of a fight, he decided. "Did I drive off mad at you? Is that how I got in the accident?"
She blushed and wouldn't meet his eye. "Not exactly. You were driving too fast, that's all."
"I looked out the window. That road's straighter than the path to hell. Doesn't look like it's rained or snowed recently either," he said, thinking that was the only possible way he could have lost control unless he'd been driving stupid because he'd had a fight with his girl.
Still, she didn't say a word, simply plucked at the bedspread with delicate, manicured fingers.
Time ticked by and he felt as though he'd gone back in time watching her, so prim in the old-fashioned surroundings. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly.
Her head shot up at that. "What for?"
"For whatever we fought about." He stared at her lush pink lips until she blushed deeper and ran her tongue over them. "I'm sorry for something else, too."
"What?" Her lips were wet and luscious where she'd licked them.
"You're so mad at me, I didn't even get a good morning kiss."
"Oh, well … you're not really well enough…" She ran a hand through her hair making a mess of it. He bet she looked exactly like that when they made love. Damn, he was a lucky man.
He spooned into the oatmeal, so she'd stay, trying not to gag. He gulped orange juice to help it down. "Talk to me," he said. "Take my mind off this stuff."
"Talk to you…"
"What do I do? What do you do? How did we meet? Basic stuff. I'm trying to figure out who I am."
"Oh. I keep forgetting I know more about you than you know about yourself. Well, let's see. You're a member of the Hog Squad."
The spoon hit the oatmeal with a wet slap. "The what?"
"It's a motorcycle, um, club."
He was getting a bad feeling in his gut. "You mean a gang?"
She nodded.
"I'm a gang member?"
"Yes."
It didn't sit well, but he'd think about that later. "What do you do?"
"I'm unemployed. I'm spending the summer with my great-aunt until I decide what I want to do. I was working as a publicist in LA but I … got tired of it."
There was a story there, but he'd pursue that later as well. Right now he wanted to know what a woman like her was doing with a loser like him, though he was pretty certain it was the animal attraction thrumming between them that was responsible. He didn't care who or what she was. He wanted her. No wonder images of their love life were the single thing his mind had brought with him from the accident.
Having scraped his bowl clean and swallowed the last of the juice, he pushed the tray away and grinned at her. "Doesn't sound like we have a thing in common."
She rose and came toward him, presumably for the tray. "Not really."
"The sex must sure be hot, then."
She looked at him and her mouth opened and closed once, then twice. "You'd be better off using your energy getting your health back." She reached for the tray, then paused, head lifted, and turned to the window. He heard it too. The ominous sound of a herd of small engines getting louder by the second.
Motorcycles.
A gang of them.
He kept his ears cocked. Nell had her face pressed to the window. As he'd feared and dreaded, the engines changed timbre and one by one fell quiet outside. Nell glanced at him, a worried frown in her eyes. "I don't want your … associates here bothering Gertie."
He nodded, thinking he didn't want them here either. "They know about us?"
"No."
In spite of the knot in his stomach, he forced himself to remain calm. A fist banged on the front door and Nell flinched then moved toward the bedroom door.
"Let Gertie answer it," he ordered. "You stay here."
She seemed about to argue, but he knew his instincts were right. "Trust me," he said.
After a strained moment, she nodded and moved back to the bedside. He had an odd feeling she was standing between him and the door in a bid to protect him, which made him smile and reach out to pull her close.
They heard Gertie's voice, and it was none too polite, then the thud of boots coming up the stairs. Nell shuddered and, without thinking why, he pulled her off balance so she sprawled on the bed beside him.
"What are you—" Her furious words were cut off by a louder voice.
"Wes, buddy. What's happening, dude?"
A massive bald man in a leather vest, chaps, and boots clomped into the room. With him were three others. They shuffled in and said, "Hey, man," then left the talking to baldy, who was clearly the leader.
"Hey," said Wes, his arm tightening around Nell as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
"You didn't call home," Baldy said with a grin that did nothing to hide the cold anger in his pale blue eyes.
"He's got amnesia. He doesn't know who he is," Nell explained in a firm tone at odds with the trembling he felt running through her.
"Looks like he knows who you are fine," the massive man ran his eyes up and down Nell's body as though they were his filthy hands.
Anger simmered in the pit of Wes's belly. "Nell's my lady," he said, putting a slight emphasis on "my" just to make his position clear.
"Thought you had amnesia."
"Some things you don't forget."
After a tense moment, Baldy laughed. "Gals down at the roadhouse are going to be disappointed to hear you got a regular squeeze. Kept her real quiet, didn't you?"
"That's right. I don't like sharing." To make his proprietary claim clear, he slipped a hand under her shirt, holding her so his thumb rubbed the underside of her breast. Warm and firm, her flesh delighted him. He caressed her both to reassure Nell and to place a KEEP OFF sign on her body, just so his buddies didn't get any ideas.
She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, snuggling up against him. He stared into her green eyes and felt the warmth build. "I was just reminding Nell she forgot to give me a good morning kiss," he said, then dipped his head and took her mouth.
His hair fell forward to provide a scanty privacy screen while his lips played over hers. Desire punched through his system as he tasted her, his arms tightening to bring her in closer. He wanted to delve in and continue the love play, but he never forgot his audience. He intended to stake his claim, not get them so turned on they gave these losers a peep show, so he dragged his mouth away from hers, winking down into her desire-clouded gaze then turning back to his visitors.
"Haven't forgotten old Louie, have you?" the bald man asked.
"Who's Louie?"
There was a short burst of laughter, quickly stifled, from the henchmen. "I'm Louie. I need to talk to you. Alone."
He didn't like the way Nell was being eyed by the other bikers so he shook his head. "She stays."
Louie came forward. "You have something that's mine. You better get your memory back, fast. I'll be watching you."
He strode for the door and Wes stopped him. "How did you know I was here?"
Louie snorted. "It's a small town. News travels fast. I'll be back in a week. You better have my stuff."
Chapter Three
Nell
scooted out of his arms and off the bed the second the front door slammed. She
went to the window and he watched her watch their unwelcome visitors leave in a
roar of engines.
"Do you have any idea what stuff Louie was talking about?" he asked her.
She shook her head.
So far the knowledge he had about himself wasn't immensely reassuring. He was a biker in a gang and he didn't think the "stuff" Louie referred to was cotton candy.
Damn. How did a guy like him ever get an uptown girl like Nell to look at him twice? "How did we meet?" he asked her.
She smiled faintly. "You dropped by one day while I was in the garden and … one thing led to another."
He let his gaze roam her body, wishing his memory would give him a picture of her naked. What color were her nipples? Did they crinkle when she was aroused? The milky skin of her throat and collarbone had intrigued him while he was kissing her. Was her skin as pale all over?
He wanted to remember with a fierceness that made him flinch.
"What's the matter?"
"I'm trying to remember how you look naked."
She rolled her eyes but her pebbling nipples gave her away. "You must be feeling better."
"Well enough to get out of bed," he insisted even as she protested. He couldn't laze around while big guys in leather were threatening him and eyeing his girl.
He made it to his feet and swayed. She rushed forward and, even though his head had cleared, he let throw her arms around him and prop him up. He was naked but for cotton briefs so he felt the rub of her silky shirt against his naked torso. Her hands were small but strong as she clutched at his back. Her breath stirred the hair on his chest and where her legs were bare below her shorts, they rubbed against his own.
He rested his chin on her head, wondering if an artistic tumble back into the bed, taking Nell with him, wouldn't be a better start to the day. Except he had a feeling he was going to have to find out what he had that belonged to Louie and where the hell it was.
Still, he indulged in another moment snuggled up to Nell enjoying the contact and the almond smell of her shampoo. It reminded him that he didn't smell nearly as good. "I need a shower."
"You could hurt yourself."
"Not if you come in with me."
She glared up at him and he grinned down into her gorgeous face. "Just to hold me up."
"Gertie doesn't have a shower. You can take a bath. I went out this morning and got you a few things."
"Thanks. I still probably need you in there with me."
She tried to look stern but he saw her lips twitch. "To hold you upright?"
"No. To wash my back." He did his best to look innocent but he had a sneaking feeling it had been a lot of years since he'd pulled that off. "Very hard to reach back there because of my injuries."
* * *
"You're just in time for lunch," Gertie remarked as Wes came through the door, hair still damp from the bath. Now that his hair was clean it hung thick and dark, forming loose waves as it dried.
Nell couldn't say anything at all. She felt as though her darkest fantasy had come to life before her eyes.
Without the stubble and grime, his face was lean and hard, all angles and planes except where his chin was softened by a dimple. His eyes were the hazel of a forest at sunset, full of secrets and mystery. His body was solid, long limbed, and muscular beneath the soft gray T-shirt she'd bought this morning and his own freshly washed jeans.
His gaze caught hers and she recalled how he felt when she grabbed him that morning, strong and hard, every inch of him potent, sexual male. She felt as though he saw right through to her secret self, the part of her no one knew existed. The part that was lured helplessly. For the first time she understood the term "animal magnetism." In his presence she became the zoological equivalent to an iron filing.
"You shaved," she finally managed to blurt.
His hand rubbed his strong jaw line. "Yeah. I found a pink plastic razor on the side of the tub."
"I'm sorry, I forgot to buy you a razor." Her pulse was leaping about shamelessly, which annoyed Nell, but how could she have known a member of the Hog Squad would clean up so well or gaze at her in that devastatingly intimate way? As though he planned to devote himself to discovering all her secrets.
The way he gazed at her, so still and serious, had her heart hammering in her chest and her mind flooding with memories of how she'd felt tucked against his body, his thumb teasing her breast, his lips taunting her, while his buddies had stared at them.
She should have been outraged, but she hadn't been. She'd liked being kissed by Wes. She'd liked it the way she liked a drink before dinner to whet her appetite for a gourmet meal. Except she had a strong feeling she ought to be resisting this particular meal. Still, she could look couldn't she?
He surprised her by showing perfectly good table manners while they ate lunch, and then she was ashamed of herself for assuming that a motorcycle gang member must be an uncouth thug. Thug he most certainly was, though, and she had to remember that. She'd found a knife tucked into his boot.
His gaze strayed to hers while they ate, and each time she recalled his words about seeing her naked.
The man was a stranger with no memory who appeared to be a criminal. And she'd never, ever been so hot for any man in her entire life.
Maybe that was why she'd driven an extra ten minutes to a drugstore she never frequented to buy condoms. Even knowing they were tucked into her bedside table underneath the novel she was reading, she grew warm every time she thought of what she was contemplating.
But why shouldn't she, for once in her life, throw caution to the wind? She'd lived with caution too long and it had turned out to be a lousy roommate. With her long-term relationship over and a break from her workaholic ways, she felt as alive as a young tree in springtime. Damn it, her sap was rising.
In fact, her sap wasn't just rising, it was heating, simmering, settling in her breasts and her womb, hot and heavy. She felt bold and alive and more womanly than ever before.
For some reason, this rough, scary stranger made her feel things she'd never felt in five years with Peter, who scheduled sex into his Palm Pilot along with all the other obligations of his busy life.
"Nell, go get mystery boy here his pills," Gertie said, breaking into her reverie. "Then he ought to take a nap."
"His name's Wes," she replied, knowing her aunt hadn't yet recovered from having four gang members tramp through her house without a single one of them removing his boots.
She fetched the pills and without much protest they did get him up for a nap.
* * *
Nell glanced at her bedside clock as she leaned over to turn out the light. It was after eleven.
She was physically tired, but mentally jittery. Her book hadn't been able to hold her attention, and as she settled under the covers she found herself practically vibrating with tension.
Downstairs, in her own room, Gertie, whose farmer's genes had her rising with the crows and bedding down by nine, slept like the dead, but Nell hadn't yet reverted from an LA night owl to a Kansas early bird.
As she turned grumpily in bed, she accepted it wasn't simply the early hours she was keeping that were affecting her like this. It was the thinly veiled threat of the gang member, Louie.
She thumped her pillow, knowing she was still lying to herself. She felt as
though her body were crying out for fulfillment. Out here, in the middle of
She throbbed with unfulfilled needs, right to the end of her fingertips.
She flipped to her side facing the window, trying to find a comfortable spot. Moonlight filtered between a gap in the curtains upping her irritation a notch. Moonlight meant romance and romance made her starved body think of sex and sex made her think of…
The man in bed across the hall. Oh, how she wished she'd bought him a pair of pajamas. He hadn't struck her as the pajama type, but at least she could have imagined him in them. As it was, she pictured him naked.
Naked and fully aroused.
She tossed and turned some more, cursing her vivid imagination, wondering if she should go downstairs for a glass of milk. Or an ice pack for certain overheated body parts.
A board creaked in the hallway and she held her breath, listening. She'd left her bedroom door ajar, refusing to think about why, and she heard the quiet shush as it opened into the room.
She didn't turn her head, or make a sound, simply waited, her body all but wriggling with anticipation while her conscious mind was appalled at what she was contemplating.
Even though she'd expected it, her body quivered with shock when he touched her. It was only a hand on her shoulder, but she felt it, warm and tingling, all the way to her toes.
The leathery pads of his fingertips traced the scoop neck of the stretchy cotton designer nightshirt that clung to her curves. She hadn't let herself ponder why she'd slipped it on earlier, or the number of times she'd run the brush through her hair, or the tiny dab of perfume she'd touched behind her ears and between her breasts.
A woman was allowed to look nice and smell nice simply for her own company wasn't she? She was certain she'd read that in a magazine article. Making herself pretty and scented for bed wasn't about a man. It was about self-love.
Except it wasn't self-love she craved tonight.
It wasn't even love she wanted, it was pure, uncomplicated down and dirty sex, and she had her sights on a prime specimen. He might be a thug, but he was sexy and earthy and everything her previous men were not. Besides, whatever her mind thought, her body was in charge tonight. Perhaps if they didn't speak she could pass it off as a dream.
Dreamlike was exactly how it felt when his fingers reached the vee between her breasts. She trembled at their slight roughness against the sensitive spot, and the way he took brazen ownership of her body.
There was no conversation, no "do you feel like it tonight," no hurrying because of an early morning meeting. There were just the two of them, two bodies as highly tuned to each other as the people inhabiting them were worlds apart.
He turned her so she was flat on her back and she gazed up at him, so very foreign and yet somehow so familiar. He wore nothing but the new white briefs she'd bought him, and in the near dark he seemed both sinister and exciting. His hair hung free to just past his shoulders, shadowing his face so all she could see was the predatory gleam of his eyes.
She looked into them and began to tremble.
With one knee on the bed, he knelt over her and, when his mouth was only a breath away, whispered, "I forgot to kiss you good night."
A tiny sound broke from her throat, part acceptance, part plea as her lips opened in anticipation. The second their mouths met she felt his passion and hunger. This was no gentle caress but a fierce and hungry possession of her mouth. She tasted frustration and felt his desire keen and barely restrained as his tongue delved into her mouth as though ready to drag forth a response. He'd been thinking about this all day, she realized with a dash of smug vanity, holding himself in check until nighttime.
Then all thoughts, smug and otherwise, flew out of her head as he shucked his briefs and climbed into bed.
He went back to her mouth, but with the impatience of a man who wants everything at once, broke off to trail kisses down her throat. He traced the edge of her nightshirt with his tongue, then breathed warm, moist air through the cotton onto her nipples. She gasped at the sensation, feeling the tingle as her nipples tightened beneath the now damp cotton. His palms followed his mouth to brush over the sensitive peaks until she was squirming.
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?"
"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.
* * *
Wes worked late into the afternoon, slaking his thirst with the pitcher of lemonade Nell had left him, wishing he felt as peaceful as the quiet afternoon warranted.
His bumps and bruises weren't more than an irritation, but there was a nagging sense of disquiet.
Again and again he revisited the image of that barn. If it hadn't been a place he and Nell had gone to play their adult games, then it must be important for some other reason.
But what?
He was feeling hot, frustrated, and tired when he felt an odd prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him.
He maneuvered his body around while he pounded in a nail, but he couldn't see a soul. Pretending he had to scratch his leg, he reached for the knife in his boot.
It wasn't there.
He kept a knife in his boot? He didn't like the implications of that. He didn't like even more that he no longer had it. His only weapon was the hammer he held in a vise grip.
He went back to pounding nails, but the sensation of being watched persisted.
His first instinct was to get back to the house and protect the women. But Nell had said she was taking Gertie shopping, so with luck he was alone here and just as inclined to meet whatever danger lurked at the back fence.
Even though he was expecting something, it was still a shock to see a short, weedy, furtive-looking man appear.
Wes tightened his grip on the hammer and narrowed his eyes.
The man approached stealthily, his gaze scanning the area as he came up to Wes. "Jeez you scared me. I thought you'd bought the farm."
Wes stared at him.
The nervous fellow fished out a dented pack of
"Get what?"
Wes had no idea who this man was, but he sure didn't look like he belonged to a bike gang. He looked like a down and out car salesman with too many kids. His watery blue eyes narrowed against the smoke from his cigarette. "This amnesia thing is bullshit, right?"
Wes thought about lying, but what was the point? "I wish it were."
The man shook his head as though bad news was never a surprise. "Tell me you remember where you put the stuff."
"I don't even know what stuff you're talking about. I also don't know who the hell you are or why you were spying on me before sneaking up."
The man tipped his head back and stared at the sky. His lips moved as though he were praying, which Wes doubted was his actual occupation.
"You're Wes Doman." The man cast a glance all around before leaning in and murmuring, "DEA."
"Drug enforcement? You mean I'm not in some two-bit bike gang?" No wonder he hadn't felt as though he were in the right body. It was a profound relief to discover he was one of the good guys.
"You're undercover. The gang sent you to organize a coke buy, which we were going to bust. We arrest this bunch and close down this cell; then we go back home to our lives." He waved his cigarette hopefully in the air. "Any of this sounding familiar?"
Wes shook his head.
"Great. Just great."
Wes slumped against the fence and tried to think. If he was undercover, a lot of things made sense. His hair for instance. He must be wearing this mop to blend in with the bikers. It was a relief to discover he didn't belong with guys like Louie.
And Nell. She must not know or she would have said something.
Of course, he might be an amnesiac, but he wasn't stupid. "Do you have some ID?"
With another furtive glance, and a smoky huff of irritation, his companion pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. Sure enough, there was a DEA badge. Wes waited for a flicker of recognition, but nothing came. The guy's name was Harvey Brown. Didn't mean a thing to him.
In all this mess, the only person who'd seemed even vaguely familiar was Nell.
He blew out a breath. "I take it Nell doesn't know who I really am?"
The nervous man stared at him. "Nell?"
"My girlfriend. Nell Tennant."
Chapter Five
Wes
quelled the urge to punch the lying sonofabitch in the face, but he couldn't
stop his fist tightening on the hammer. "What are you saying?"
"You'd never stopped here in your life before the accident. I had a hell of a time tracking you down. Had to hang around bars and listen to farmers' gossip. Ever since you arrived here you've been hanging around with the bikers. Why would you start seeing a girl who'd make them suspicious? Doesn't make sense."
He was right. It didn't make sense. Any more than it made sense for Nell to pretend to be his girlfriend if she wasn't. It was a puzzle that needed solving. And fast.
"This coke. How much of it was there?"
"Maybe around ten kilos. They wouldn't have trusted you with more."
"And you have no idea where it is?"
"Market day was supposed to be Thursday. My guess is you stashed the dope somewhere and then planned to set up the sting. Only you had the accident before you had a chance."
"So it could be hidden anywhere."
"Yep."
"There's a guy named Louie who's pointing a gun at my back."
"Yep."
He immediately thought about his dream. That must be what it was telling him—the hiding place of the drugs. Now all he had to do was find one particular derelict barn in an area full of them.
He also had to figure out why Nell had lied to him.
* * *
Nell stacked cans of tuna fish in Gertie's pantry, trying to keep her mind on unloading the groceries and not on the delectable possibilities she'd unleashed by telling Wes of her secret fantasy.
Making love outside wasn't all that wild, but it was her fantasy and she wanted to try it out just once. Sex in the moonlight; out in the middle of a field; heck, even in the back of a parked car at a drive-in—if there were one in Harleyville, which there wasn't. She wouldn't care. All she cared about was giving in to the urge to be wild and free with Wes, her own personal rebel without a cause, easy rider, and lone wolf all rolled into one sexually explosive package.
Since he had amnesia, he couldn't be expected to think up any good places for them to try out her whim. That would be her responsibility, and she was pretty sure she was up to the task. She'd had all her adult life to dream up exciting places to seduce a sexy stranger.
Tonight's moon would be even brighter than last night's. She couldn't think of a better time to start showing Wes exactly what she had in mind.
"What are you grinning about?" Gertie asked.
"I had an idea. If I drive Wes round some of the local scenery, it might help his memory return. Don't you think?"
Gertie slapped the lid shut on a jar she'd refilled with raisins. "You be careful around him. You know what those motorcycle fellows are like. All rough and rude with their loud music and nasty loud engines and their smoking all over town and spitting on the sidewalks. He's not your kind, Missy."
And that was exactly the attraction. Nell stuck her chin out. "Maybe I'm sick of my kind. The bloodless corporate sharks who care about profit and loss and bottom lines more than they care about people."
"He's probably a criminal."
"I don't think so," Nell said thoughtfully. "He worked all afternoon, even though we left him alone for several hours. Would a criminal be so diligent?"
"Maybe, if he was locked out of the house," Gertie said with a touch of defiance.
Nell swung round, her mouth dropping. "You locked him out of the house?"
"Course I did. It was a mistake ever letting him stay here. We should have dropped him off down at that biker clubhouse they have in town. Let the rest of the motorcycle boys look after him."
Nell swallowed her argument. Gertie knew perfectly well that it was her own sidewalk vigilanteism that had deposited Wes so colorfully in their lives. When his memory did return, he could very well press charges.
He seemed a little pale when she went to fetch him for supper and for the first time he wouldn't meet her eyes when she spoke to him. Her heart sank, realizing he'd probably overdone it and wouldn't be up to their "date." She was shocked at how disappointed she felt.
"Do you want to go straight to bed and have your supper on a tray?" she asked, lifting a hand and laying it across his forehead to check for fever.
He gripped her wrist and pulled it away, his hazel eyes burning into hers as though if he tried hard enough he could see right through to her inner thoughts.
"What is it?" she asked, feeling as though she were looking at a different person.
For the space of a couple of heartbeats he stared at her; then he grinned, that cocky grin she'd come to love in such a short time. "I hope you're not planning to chicken out on our plans for later, because I have a hankering to take you up against a barn, in a hayloft, maybe even on a boat, floating out under the stars."
A quiet hum escaped her throat as her body quivered to life at the images his words evoked. "I can't wait."
"I don't want to get boring and repeat history, though," he said, running his fingertips up her arms in a way that made her long to be already out under the stars with him. "Did we already do those things?"
"What things?" she whispered, hardly able to think for the sensations running riot in her body.
"Have I ever taken you up against a barn?" He stepped even closer, so his body was barely brushing the front of hers.
Only by squeezing her jaws together did she stop herself from whimpering with longing. "No. No barns."
"How about the hayloft?" He ran his lips up her throat and she wondered if he could feel the whimpers she was trying to suppress.
"No," she panted.
His lips traveled slowly up until he took her earlobe between his teeth and bit lightly. "How about on the water floating under the stars?" His breath against her ear sent flurries of excitement racing through her.
She shook her head.
He raised his head and his eyes were dancing with devil lights. "Well, where the hell have we been doing it?"
Maybe she should just tell him now. She'd made it up. She could explain about Doc's advice, apologize for leading him to believe things that weren't true. But then she'd never experience sex up against a barn, in a hayloft, or out on a floating boat, at least not with this man. And she wanted to do all those things and more with him.
She resolved to get Doc alone for a few minutes tomorrow and get his advice. After all, this going along with being Wes's girlfriend was his prescription. It wouldn't be right to end the charade without professional medical advice. Or at least, that was the excuse she gave herself.
She sucked it up and opened her eyes for her first actual lie to Wes. As she gazed into his strong, sexy face and caught his wickedly taunting gaze, she could have sworn he was teasing her.
She pulled out one of her fantasies. "Once, we were out in the middle of a wheat field. No one could see us; the wheat was so high that when we lay down we were invisible. But we could see the sky, so blue, and feel the sun shining down on our bodies." She had to stop for a breath, warmth suffused her chest as she pictured the two of them out there, hidden but exposed, imagined the sound of the wind shushing through the nearly ripe grain, the smell of the earth and the crops in the air, the feel of the crushed stalks like a coarse mat beneath them.
"Screwing in a wheat field, huh?"
She nodded, forcing herself not to blush.
"Just the two of us?"
"Yes!" What did he think they'd done before he lost his memory? Had orgies? Swapped partners? Sex outside was as wild as she got, and she was about to explain that in no uncertain terms when she saw the glint in his eyes. "You're teasing."
"Uh-uh. I'm making sure I get it right. I wouldn't want to screw up our secret games. We've obviously done a lot of this in the past. I don't want you to be disappointed."
"Oh, I won't be." After last night, she was certain he'd never disappoint her as a lover. She only hoped she could fake being confident and outrageous enough not to disappoint him.
Dinner was a simple, high-cholesterol affair. Gertie didn't believe in low-cal diets, she believed in hard work to keep her arteries clear. So far, it seemed to be working in spite of meals like tonight's: fried chicken, oven-fried potatoes, cornbread, and fresh peas from the garden.
It wasn't fears about her cholesterol level that had Nell picking at her food, but the nervous anticipation churning in her stomach.
It was one thing to imagine making love in the great outdoors. In the privacy of her head she could be as wild as she wanted—but in reality, there were all sorts of logistical details to fuss over. The first of these being the possibility that one of the good people of Harleyville might stumble onto the two of them cavorting around in the buff. Then there were bugs, dirt, poison ivy, animals to worry about. And the biggest detail of all—where the heck were they going to do it?
She should simply call it off. But every time she glanced up, there was Wes looking at her with barely banked fires in his eyes and that would spark her blood so she couldn't contemplate the possibility of not making love to him out in the wild—which, with his savage appearance and rugged body, seemed like his natural milieu.
"I'll do the dishes, Gertie." She jumped up the minute dinner was over.
"I'll help," Wes said and joined her at the sink.
"You don't have to do that."
"It goes quicker with two," he said, nudging her as he said it so it was clear he wanted to get on with the after-dinner entertainment in the great outdoors.
She shivered and squeezed dish soap under the running water.
The man used washing dishes as shameless foreplay. He stood too close, rubbed against her every chance he got, leaned across her instead of stepping around and generally teased her until she was so rattled she could barely stop herself from breaking all the china.
She tried to frown him down and encountered such smoldering heat in his gaze that she gulped and turned back to the sink.
"Hurry up and wash those dishes. I'm dying to get my hands on you," he said softly, rubbing his torso across her back as he reached to put a dried plate away.
"Gertie," she called to the woman who was in the next room with the television blaring, "I'm going to take Wes for a ride tonight. All right if I borrow the truck?"
"Drive careful. And don't wake me if you come in after nine."
"Okay."
She turned to find Wes leaning against the kitchen counter looking big and rugged and wonderfully male. "I'll just brush my teeth and freshen up," she said.
"I'll meet you out front."
She'd been racking her brain to think of a place where they'd be unlikely to be disturbed, but she was coming up blank.
With a shrug she decided to take a back road and see where it led. This was her fantasy and she was finally having a chance to fulfill it. She couldn't waste time being a wimp.
So she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and tried to get in touch with her inner wild woman. She grabbed her purse and then as she thought ahead to possible scenarios, turned back to her bedroom and changed her jeans for a white denim skirt. She gnawed her lip for a second and then, with a spurt of bravery, slipped off her underwear.
Chapter Six
Nell
felt like the bold and daring woman of her fantasies as her own naked thighs
slid against each other. A breeze rode up her skirt and wafted over the heat in
the center of her body as she hoisted herself in the driver's side of Gertie's
truck.
The dusty red pickup rattled down the lane she'd chosen at random, leaving a plume of dust in its wake. Cornfields marched on either side of the road and she hoped this back lane led somewhere or she'd not only feel foolish—she'd lose her nerve.
Wes traced circles around her bare knee which didn't help either her nerves or her driving ability. She bounced over a pothole she'd planned to avoid and a stone hit the truck sounding like a bullet.
"I like this skirt," Wes said, as he slipped his hand beneath it.
"Thanks," she replied, hearing her own voice low and husky in reply. His hand inched higher and she tightened her hands on the wheel. Higher still, drawing idle patterns on her inner thighs that had her holding back a moan.
And finally, he worked his way up to where she was wet and hot and already open for him.
"You forgot your panties," he said in a low growl, his fingers parting her folds.
"Silly me," she gasped, sliding her legs wider apart and hitching her hips forward to give him easier access.
He eased a finger inside her, slow and deep, and she nearly ran them off the road. As they hit the gravel shoulder the truck bumped up and down, up and down, causing her body to bounce on his embedded finger. Up and down, up and down, until she thought she'd fly apart right then and there.
"I have to tell you, you are one bad driver," he said with a quiver of humor.
"If you don't take your hand away, we'll both be picking unripe corn out of our teeth."
"I knew I should have driven."
"I'm an excellent driver," she told him, groaning slightly as he pushed into her a little deeper. "Most of the time."
"What's the matter, honey? Am I making you nervous?" He pressed his palm against her pubis so she wanted to grind herself against him.
"I'm going to kill you," she whispered. "If you don't kill me first."
He chuckled softly, and she could tell he was enjoying her torment. She wanted to reach over and give him a taste of his own medicine, but she knew that if she took even one hand off the wheel she'd be in serious trouble. He seemed to sense how close she was to the edge, because, while he didn't withdraw his hand, he didn't move either so she felt like a pot about to boil over.
Would this road never end? She felt hot and quivery and she was having trouble concentrating since lust seemed to have flooded her brain, drowning out any ability to think, plan, or reason. She'd got the pair of them into this; it was her stupid fantasy; now it seemed to be turning into a nightmare before her very eyes. The road went on and on and on with nothing but dusty cornfields to the right and left.
The good news was they seemed to have the road to themselves. And she had a blanket. And a pickup truck. Well, she'd wanted to be spontaneous. She guessed it was time to accept that spontaneous didn't always work out quite the way you planned it.
At the next intersection, she turned right into a narrow rutted lane, pulled to the side and cut the engine.
He glanced around and she did the same. Through the dusty windshield she saw nothing but the big red ball of the setting sun, rows of dark green cornstalks as far as she could see, and not a hint of a building or vehicle or animal or man. Not bad, she decided smugly. Not bad at all.
He turned to her. "This is it?"
She had the advantage of being able to tell him anything she liked about their supposed relationship before his accident, and she called on the privilege shamelessly. "You never complained before. This is what we like to do. Find a quiet spot, crawl into the bed of the truck and … make love under the stars."
His middle finger was still deep inside her body, a fact she hadn't forgotten for a second and which he reminded her of by moving, cupping her mound and driving his finger deeper. "Or we could do it right here in the front seat," he said, leaning over to kiss her, deep and wet.
But this was her fantasy damn it and she wanted it her way. "No. Under the open sky. Trust me. It's what we love to do."
"All right." He eased his hand away from her and they both got out of the truck and went to the back. As he reached to pull down the tailgate she stopped him. "Doesn't work. Gertie backed into a tree years ago and it's jammed shut."
"Bad driving must run in your family," he said as he clambered over the back. Once inside he turned to give her his hand, but what she could have managed in jeans, wasn't going to be easy in a short skirt and no underwear.
She propped her sandaled foot on the back bumper, making the tight skirt ride high. He grinned down at her, enjoying her predicament so much she decided to wipe the grin right off his face. She yanked the skirt to her waist, took his hand and scrambled up giving him a great view which he took full advantage of.
"I'm going to kiss Gertie when we get home," he said.
Oh, she was a wild woman all right, she decided as she pulled the picnic blanket out of the backpack she'd brought along and laid it out. Then she dug back in for a couple of beers and a handful of condoms.
His eyes twinkled down at her. "You got a steak dinner and some candlelight in there?"
"Yes," she grinned, pleased with herself. "Candles, anyway. To keep the bugs away. Why don't you come on down here beside me?"
"Why don't I."
He eased down by her side and kissed her slowly. The bed of the truck was harder than she'd imagined it would be, but the sky was as open-armed, making her feel free enough for anything.
"It's so beautiful," she said softly, listening to the breeze rustling through the corn and the chirping of crickets.
"It's beautiful all right," he said huskily as he swiftly unbuttoned her sleeveless blue shirt and bared her breasts.
They tingled in the still-warm air, her nipples already hard with anticipation, her blood pounding from the teasing he'd subjected her to during their drive here. He cupped her breasts in his big hands and brought his mouth down to suckle.
Her back arched beneath him and her own cry joined the night chorus.
Needing to feel his skin against hers, she tugged at his shirt and he hunched his shoulders to help her pull it off.
She'd wanted to go slowly, to savor the experience of making love in the great outdoors, but Wes had driven her too close to fulfillment and now she ached with a need that was almost unbearable. Her hips shifted and twisted beneath him and the burning between her legs intensified, even though he was only kissing her nipples, curling his tongue around each sensitive tip and then sucking them into his mouth.
Grabbing his belt, she undid it with trembling fingers, then unbuttoned his jeans and eased the zipper over the bulging hardness.
Like her, he'd ditched his underwear and that pleased her inordinately as she encountered his hot, hard flesh.
As though on fast forward, their movements speeded, becoming almost frenzied as the need escalated. He yanked his jeans down. They caught on his boots and so he left them around his ankles.
As he turned back to her, he got tangled in the bunched denim and flopped half on his back. Taking that as a sign, she straddled him, knowing it was time to take matters into her own hands. If she left it to him and he teased her any more she wouldn't be responsible for her actions. Murder was a distinct possibility.
Leaning over his lean and hungry face, she nipped at his lip before kissing him, slipping her tongue in his mouth. Reaching between their bodies, she grasped him where he was so hot and so hard, slipped on a condom, and placed him at the entrance to her body already pulsing in anticipation. Unable to hold back any longer, she slowly sank onto him feeling him fill her, stretching her wide.
With hands splayed on his chest she rocked back and forth, adjusting, but the need for friction was too strong to be denied and she began to pump her hips, finding her rhythm, taking him deep, deeper, and then all the way until her muscles tightened around him and they both groaned.
As she rode him, she stared out at the open road. The air tingled against her damp nipples and she felt as free and connected to nature as the hawk circling high overhead.
Cars could drive by, planes could buzz overhead and she wouldn't care, in fact the possibility of discovery only added to her excitement. She dropped her gaze to Wes's and felt a jolt of connection so strong she gasped. She was connected to him physically, as close as a man and woman can be, but something outside of the physical zapped between them.
She wanted their lovemaking to last forever; she wanted satisfaction now.
She felt his tension like a reflection of her own, saw the sweat break out on his brow and knew she could no longer hold back. Tipping her face to the heavens, eyes open to the sky, she increased the tempo, hearing the wet slap of her flesh against his, the pressure building in their bodies until explosion was inevitable.
He grabbed her hips and bucked up into her even as her body clenched around him. "Oh, yes!" she shouted out across the whispering cornfields. As the spasms of pleasure took her, she kept her eyes open, feeling as much a part of the universe as the red ball of sun dissolving in a crimson sunset that suffused the sky.
Beneath her, she felt the final twitch as he emptied himself into her.
"Mmm," she sighed, collapsing against his chest. "It was like the three of us came together. You, me, and the sunset."
He kissed her, then swatted a mosquito that had found them. "We'll be covered in bites tomorrow."
"Do you mind?"
He smiled at her, snugging her tight against his chest. "Nope."
Reluctantly, they donned their clothes to protect them from the bugs that had arrived in force, drawn rather than repelled, it seemed, by the citronella candles she'd lit. They sat there, anyway, hands linked, and watched the night sky while they sipped beer.
"Are there a lot of derelict barns around here?" he asked after a while.
"We have our share, I guess. Why?"
He shrugged. "I was thinking about tomorrow night."
She chuckled. "I like the way you think. I don't know this area as well as Gertie. I'll ask her." She tweaked his arm. "Is a hayloft a requirement?"
He gazed over and her face appeared indistinct in the twilight, her eyes dark and mysterious. "You are the only requirement," he said, and was surprised at how much he meant that.
He saw her quick grin acknowledging the compliment, her teeth white in the dim light, her eyes glowing like the early stars.
Why didn't she tell him they hadn't known each other before? They were sleeping together. She was taking him into her body, why wouldn't she take him into her confidence?
Did she have somebody else? Was he a diversion? A summer fling?
He sighed up into the dark sky. He didn't know squat about himself or his past but he knew there was something more than just sex going on between him and this woman. "Not only is my own life a blank, but everyone else's is, too. Tell me about you."
"Tell you about myself?" Nell repeated. What could she possibly tell him? About her breakup? About the way she was searching for herself, for a career that meant something? For a life that made sense to her?
She settled with her back against his chest and his arms came round her, warm and secure. "I was a publicist in LA, which sounds glamorous but basically means I was a combination secretary, servant, and therapist for a bunch of spoiled entertainment types."
"Overworked?"
She chuckled softly. "Yes. And mauled, cried on, puked on, OD'd on until I couldn't stand it anymore."
Wes dropped a kiss on her hair and his hands tightened. So she found herself telling him the rest.
"I was … seeing a director. Peter. Very glamorous life, successful, handsome, rich—"
"Sounds too good to be true." The trace of jealousy in Wes's tone made her tip her head back and smile up at him.
"You didn't let me finish. Also cold, calculating, and utterly self-absorbed. By the time I figured out I'd become his unpaid publicist, shrink, and call girl all in one…" She stopped as anger punched her in the chest. "I—I realized he was not the man I wanted, my job was not the career I wanted and … I guess I just wanted some time off to try a simple life for a while. Gertie's not getting any younger and I decided to come for a visit."
He dropped a kiss on her hair. "Then you met me. Going out with a gang member isn't exactly simple and serene."
She sighed. "You ever think about going straight?"
"I don't remember going crooked."
Chapter Seven
She
chuckled. "You seem like too nice a man to be in a gang."
"We were talking about you. You came here for a simple life. Have you found it?"
She let out a quiet sigh. "Okay, I ran. Back to Gertie, back here where there's a connection between planting seeds and growing crops, where life makes sense."
"Are you planning to go back?"
His words were so simple, but she heard the edge to them. "I—I don't know."
"Is Gertie just a place to run to? Somewhere to hide out?"
"No. I love her."
"And what about me?" His hands tightened on her arms. "Am I a handy roll in the hayloft? A quick stress release until you get back to your regular life?"
"No. I…" But what had she been about to say? She loved him too? She must be more seriously deranged than she'd realized. Bad enough to fall in love with an amnesiac, but an amnesiac criminal? No wonder he seemed so innocent, he couldn't remember all the vile crimes he'd committed, didn't even know how briefly they'd known each other, and yet she found she trusted him more than any other man she'd ever been with.
Which only showed what bad shape she was in.
"It's getting late," she said. "We should get back."
He helped her pack everything away, then got to his feet and helped her to hers. They were quiet as they scrambled out of the back of the truck, quiet as they drove back to Gertie's.
She turned off the ignition and the old truck rattled itself to sleep. The silence was thick, full of unspoken words, mistaken impressions, and longings.
"Well, I guess—" She never finished the sentence. His mouth captured hers in a kiss full of frustration, passion, and driving lust.
"I can't get enough of you," he whispered. "Can I come to you tonight?"
She licked her lips, tasting him, tasting her own deceit. She should tell him no, but she had no willpower. They had such a short time together, she didn't want to waste a minute. Sometime he'd retrieve his memory and when that happened, this wonderful, magical affair would end. She was realistic enough to know the chances were good he wouldn't be thrilled that she'd pretended to be his lover. If she was going to lose him, she should at least build some memories.
"Yes," she whispered back. "Oh, yes."
* * *
He snuck in like the moonlight slipping between the gap in the curtains and found her waiting for him, already naked, already wet.
He wanted to take it slowly, but it was tough when need and desire snapped at him with sharp teeth driving him forward.
It had only been a matter of hours since they'd gone at it in the truck, and already their lovemaking was taking on the quality of myth. Had her breasts really been as soft to the touch? He had to find out, first rubbing his hands over them, then his cheek, making her gasp as stubble grazed the sensitive flesh, then finally his tongue, lapping, soothing, tasting.
Yes, he discovered, she was every bit as smooth there as imagination and memory had suggested.
But surely her belly hadn't quivered when he'd trailed his fingertips down its length. Yes. He discovered, it had and did.
Could she possibly be as open and giving?
He stroked his fingers down her thighs. "I want you to open yourself for me," he said quietly, keeping his gaze on hers.
Her entire body seemed to quiver, her eyes grew dark and exotic, her lips slipped apart in a quiet moan and then her thighs parted beneath his gaze as she opened herself to him.
It was his turn to moan as he contemplated her mysteries. The dewy femininity, petals opening at dawn inviting him toward the dark, hot heart of her hidden beneath.
He touched her, with just one fingertip and was amazed to find himself trembling. Just as she trembled everywhere he touched. He traced each glistening petal, deep with color, opening to his touch as a flower opens to the sun, exposing the stiff nub at its center. He took a quick trip around it, making her gasp and quake, but he refused to rush. He wanted to keep her gasping and quaking all night. He had precious few memories. He wanted to build a few that were spectacular.
Her hips arched off the bed, thighs straining open in urgent invitation and he held back his roaring libido, letting the tip of his finger trace the opening to her body, so slick and hot it beckoned him forward the way a fire draws a cold traveler on a winter night.
He couldn't resist the lure, but hunkered down and replaced his finger with his tongue. Mmm. She tasted juicy and all woman. Only a taste wasn't enough. He pushed his tongue all the way inside her.
Even from down here he could hear her gasping cries and from the wild tossing of her hips, he didn't think she was far from climax. He withdrew his tongue slowly, loving the way her internal muscles clutched and tried to draw him back, then licked his way up to the tightly furled bud that was about to burst into bloom. Ruby red and pulsing, he had only to give it a slow, lazy lick to have her tossing her head and crying out.
Another hit-and-run tongue stroke and she was sobbing with frustrated need.
Did he want to punish her for not telling him the truth? he wondered idly as he barely touched with the tip of his tongue, hearing desperation in her tone. Or did he simply love having her completely, mindlessly in his control?
"Please," she gasped. She was so close he felt the muscles in her thighs tighten, her clit shudder as it prepared to explode. As though not noticing her state, he moved to plant kisses on the soft white skin of her upper thigh.
"Please!" She grabbed his hair in both hands and hauled him back to where she wanted him.
He couldn't keep the smile off his lips as he placed them where she was hottest and neediest and sucked her clit until it burst on his tongue like the ripest berry.
He sucked her sweetness, enjoying the cries of fulfillment she tried to muffle, until she was limp with release, and then, kissing his way slowly up her body, entered her.
He bent his head to kiss her lips and noticed tears on the end of her lashes. He would have asked if he'd hurt her in some way, but then he saw her smile. It was the kind of smile that sniffling women share at weddings or christenings, a teary smile of female happiness and love. For just a second he paused, staring down into her dewy eyes; then he felt his lips curve, returning her smile, before he kissed her deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his cock as he drove her up again to bliss.
* * *
"Get me a list of derelict
barns in the area," he said to
"Who's going to list crap like that?"
"A map then. Aerial photographs. Find me something. Time's running out."
His partner shook his head. "It's no use. You've been here a week and your memory's still MIA. You've got a brain injury; we'll have to bail."
Frustration, mixed with fury, swept through Wes. "I can't bail. You think they'll let me go so long as a shipment of their coke is missing along with me?"
"I realize your brain is not functioning real well right now, but we are getting you out. They won't be able to track you."
Wes grabbed
He pulled his hands off the other man's lapels as though they'd been soiled and stepped back wondering how he'd ever managed to work with such a weasel. "Not Nell. You already checked her out. Right?"
"You don't know—"
"I know Nell. And I'm not putting her safety at risk. I have to see this through with you or without you."
"Stop thinking with your dick. You—"
"I can see the barn in my dreams. I'm sure the drugs are there. I just have to find it. Look, we're partners. You must trust me."
Somehow, Wes believed him. "Come on. I need your help. I made up a bogus story for Louie, wrangled another week out of him, but that's all we have. Get me anything you can on barns in the area." He pulled out the rough drawing he'd made based on his dream.
"This is insane. We're putting government resources into finding an old barn in
the middle of
"My memory's coming back," Wes said.
"How do you know?"
"I know that every time we get together we argue but we get the job done." In
fact, he knew no such thing but it was a safe bet that he and
A reluctant grin dawned on his partner's face. "Yeah. And I always end up shot at."
"Well, I haven't gotten you killed yet, have I?"
* * *
Wes chopped wood with a vengeance, venting his frustration on Gertie's wood pile. Since Doc had pronounced him physically healthy, and remained placidly convinced that his memory would return in its own good time, life continued day by day while Wes earned his bed and board by doing manual labor for Gertie, and tried to solve two puzzles.
Where was that rickety old farmhouse?
And why was Nell pretending to be his girlfriend?
Wes loved women. Of that he was certain. But he didn't think he could ever have experienced anything quite like what he discovered every night in Nell's arms.
They shared the kind of intimacy that made him want to reveal all his deepest secrets—if he could only remember what those were.
She, on the other hand, seemed not at all interested in sharing the fact that they'd never known each other before he so spectacularly face-planted into the vegetable garden. And, although he'd bet one or two favorite body parts that she wasn't promiscuous, she had slept with him the day after she met him. If you could even call it meeting, when she'd been the one to introduce him to himself.
Puzzles. Did he like puzzles? he wondered. This one merely frustrated him.
What he hadn't bothered telling Harvey or Nell or even old Doc Greenfield, however, was that his memory was returning. He was having … not visions exactly, more like daydreams where people and things appeared in his mind. He had a feeling it was memory surfacing in snatches. As hard as he tried, he couldn't ever drag the whole works up. He had that frustrating feeling of a forgotten word at the tip of his tongue. Except in his case, it was his whole life, hovering there, teasing him, but so far eluding his grasp.
Truth to tell, he wouldn't much care and would be only too happy to follow the Doc's prescription of rest, healthy food, fresh air and his own prescription: sex with Nell in large doses, taken several times daily, and allow his memory to return when it was ready.
Except he had an urgent deadline. If he couldn't find the drugs by next week, the gang would kill him.
As deadlines went, this wasn't one he wanted to screw around with. If it got close to the day he'd promised to deliver the goods and he hadn't yet found the cache or recovered his memory, he'd bail, taking Nell and Gertie with him. But he wanted those drug-dealing assholes busted and jailed. That was his job and he intended to do it.
"Are you planning to keep Gertie in kindling all winter?" Nell's amused voice broke into his thoughts.
Puzzled, he stared at the wood he'd just chopped and saw what she meant. He was turning a healthy wood pile into toothpicks. "Sorry, I guess I got carried away." He stopped to stretch out his back, then propped a foot on the stump he'd used as a chopping block and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
"What's up?"
She ran her gaze down his sweaty body and her expression made the question redundant. In spite of the frequency and intensity of their lovemaking, she only had to look at him and he was rock hard and ready to go.
He'd taken off his shirt a while back, so he wore only shorts, socks, boots and an elastic band holding his ridiculous hair off his face.
"I've got something special in mind for tonight," she said.
"So have I."
Her eyes twinkled as they stared into his. "Another abandoned barn?" Since
In spite of her groan at his mention of yet another barn, he could see her nipples pebbling beneath her shirt.
He understood the feeling. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at a barn again without getting a hard-on.
"I can't help it," he said to her, putting down his ax and stepping closer until their bodies almost touched. "There's something about you, naked on a hay bale that does it for me every time."
"This barn better not have bats," she said primly, but she moved in closer as she said it. With a saucy grin, she leaned into his chest and surprised the hell out of him when she took his nipple between her teeth and bit down gently, but firmly.
"Ow," he complained, but it was just for show. He wanted her teeth, her tongue, her whole mouth all over him. "I can't wait until after dinner. Can't we go now?"
"That's my surprise. I packed us a picnic. You remember when you asked me if there were any lakes or a place to swim nearby?"
He nodded. One of the old barns on
"Gertie reminded me of a water hole I'd forgotten all about. I thought we might take a swim first…"
"Nell, you are my kind of woman," he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her toward the pickup. If swimming was first, he had a very good idea what was second.
Chapter Eight
The
truck bounced over the inevitable rutted road as Nell and Wes tried to follow
Gertie's scribbled directions. The wide-open windows let in the hot air and
blowing dust, but when they were closed the heat was even worse.
Nell allowed herself a moment to miss the endless
She was beginning to squirm against the seat, and that wasn't because of the temperature outside. In almost two weeks of being with Wes, she hadn't nearly overcome her burning attraction to him. If anything, it grew each day.
"Potholes are starting to make me horny," Wes said.
"You must have read my mind." And she laughed, speeding up a little.
"I think it's down this road," he said, staring at the map in his lap. "What do you think?"
She slowed and squinted at Gertie's artwork. "Worth a try." She turned and they bounced down yet another lane. For several minutes they rode in silence. There was no sign of water ahead, just an old farm with a few big trees guarding its perimeter.
"Do you think this is right?" she asked doubtfully, already searching for a place to turn around.
"I think this is exactly right," he said in an odd voice.
She stared at him, feeling the back of her neck prickle. "You're not even looking at the map."
"The trees … the blue door…" He stared ahead as though in a trance.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"When you get to that T intersection turn left," he said in a voice of command, one she'd never heard from him before. She was so surprised she followed his instructions before realizing he couldn't be correct. "Left? Surely that will lead us away from the water."
He appeared not to have even heard her. All his attention was on the farm. "That's it. That's got to be it," he muttered. "There'll be a lane, overgrown with grass leading round the side of the farm to an old barn. Take it."
Even though they'd made love in countless barns over the last week, she could tell from his tone that he wasn't thinking about sex. He was like a different man, full of purpose and command.
The lane came into view. He said, "Yes!" under his breath and, curious to see what he was up to, she kept her mouth shut and swung the old truck into the lane. Long grass scraped the undercarriage as they jounced toward yet another derelict barn.
"I was looking forward to that swim," she complained. "And I'm not sharing my picnic with rats. Or bats."
She might as well have kept her mouth shut for all the notice he took of her. He was rubbing the back of his head and blinking his eyes as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Must be getting another one of his headaches.
"Pull around behind so the truck's out of sight of the road."
"Oh, like anybody's going to steal this old heap."
"Do it."
If he was trying to seduce her he was going about it all wrong, but her curiosity was fully engaged so she did as she was told.
He was out of the truck before it stopped. She cut the engine and scrambled after him. He strode through the open doorway and she watched him. As though he were in some obstacle race, he skirted rusting equipment and a half-rotted wooden wheelbarrow. In a dark corner he dropped to his knees. She thought about scanning the rafters for bats, but she didn't want to know.
What was Wes doing? Hoping whatever creatures called this old barn home were tucked up in bed, she crept forward and watched him lift a floorboard and then blow out a breath. "Found it."
"Found what?"
But he was already pulling out a cell phone. Cell phone? Where the hell had that come from? He hadn't had one on him when they found him.
While he punched in a number she stepped forward to peek into the dark space under the loosened floorboard. A group of square, plastic-wrapped packages, each about the size of a small bag of sugar, were down there. Only she didn't think that was sugar. She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. She'd almost convinced herself he was nothing like the other bikers in town. Now, here he was with a cache of drugs.
Nausea curdled her stomach. God help her. She'd gone and fallen in love with a drug pusher. She rose, knowing that whether she loved him or not, she was going to have to turn him over to the police.
"
"Yeah. Better make it tonight. Right. Meet me at the usual place. Half an hour."
Wes stomped the board back into place and rose. He stepped forward and noticed Nell cringing away from him looking like the next victim in a gruesome horror flick. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was working. "Who are you?" she asked in a rusty voice.
And, for the first time in more than two weeks, he knew the full and complete answer to her question. It was as though the switch had turned back on in his brain, reconnecting all the circuits. Along with the relief, came the knowledge that he had to handle Nell carefully. Except he didn't have time.
"Wes
Her mouth widened and he watched first relief, then anger flash in her eyes. "You're a cop?"
"In a manner of speaking. Come on. I've got a job to finish. I have to help Gertie get rid of the bikers." He grabbed her arm but she shook him off.
"When…" She licked her lips. "When did you get your memory back."
"When I saw the road, it all started to fall into place. It was the same road I've been seeing in my dream. Same old farm, same trees outside, same barn. And now my memory's back." He dipped into his past and it was like opening a photo album or viewing random moments of film about a stranger's life.
He could tell her he was definitely single, had parents still living, a sister
and a couple of hellions for nephews. He had a criminology degree, friends, an
apartment in
She dropped her gaze to the ground and even in the dim light of the barn he could see the color deep in her cheeks; hell he could almost feel the burn from her fiery blush. Not that he had a lot of sympathy for her. He'd given her plenty of opportunities to own up to the truth and she hadn't availed herself of a single one. "Then you know we're not … you know we didn't…"
He could ease this moment for her but he didn't feel like it.
"I've known that for more than a week. I was working with a partner. He told me."
She made a gurgling sound in the back of her throat, almost as though she were choking on something. The unpalatable truth, likely. "I don't know what you must think—"
"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? You're recently single, cut off from sex out here in the boonies and I was handy to scratch your itch." He was suddenly angry. It boiled up out of nowhere and he felt like he'd explode if he didn't spill some of it out.
At his deliberately casual words, her head shot up and she stared at him, eyes widening. "If that's what you thought then why did you…" She flapped her hand helplessly.
"Easy," he said, letting the scalding anger out. "I had an itch, too."
Chapter Nine
She
would not cry. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Was that really all
she'd been to him? All he thought he was to her? An itch to scratch?
She recalled the sweet loving man who'd taken her to places she hadn't known existed, who'd helped her discover a new aspect of her own sexuality that she really, really liked.
A glance at Wes's profile as they bumped back toward Gertie's place showed her not the man who'd made love with her the past couple of weeks, but a hard, impersonal stranger. She'd been so shaken by his words in the barn that when he'd headed for the driver's door of the truck she hadn't made a peep. Truth was, this new guy scared her a lot more than the old one.
Swallowing a sob, she realized she wanted her Wes back. The one who didn't know his last name or what state he'd been born in. Or, oh, God. They'd both assumed he wasn't married, but the possibility had flickered from time to time like an incipient migraine. When he'd had no memory, it hadn't mattered. Now, unaccountably it did.
"Are you married?" she asked, the words scratching her throat like the dust flying in the window.
"No."
Well. There was married and there was married. "Girlfriend?"
"My girlfriend moved out six months ago."
That was a relief. Although the irony wasn't lost on her that she was asking him these questions at the end of their affair rather than the beginning.
Oh, God. The end of their affair. She blinked rapidly and turned her face to the window so the dry wind could dry her tears before they fell. Why hadn't she told him?
She had all night to think about it.
Once they were back at Gertie's, he didn't even stop the truck, merely said, "You and Gertie stay inside and lock the doors. You see or hear anything you don't like, call the cops."
"What are you going to do?"
"My job."
She had the door open and was half out when she turned back. "Be careful."
With a curt nod, he said, "I'll return the truck later." And with that she had to be satisfied. She stood beside the road and watched the dusty red truck disappear while cold fear settled in her stomach.
* * *
After spending the evening torn between worry about what Wes was doing and how much danger he was in, and feeling pangs of guilt at the way Nell had deceived him, she was exhausted when she went to bed.
Of course, she didn't sleep. She lay there, recalling the times he'd crept into her room, and wondering if she'd ever see him again. As the minutes dragged slowly and painfully by, she accepted the truth. Somewhere in the last two weeks, she'd fallen in love with Wes.
A man with no past, no memory, whom she'd assumed was a motorcycle gang member. It hadn't mattered. All he hadn't been able to tell her himself, his body had communicated.
Now that it was too late, she wished she'd told him they were strangers as soon as they became intimate. It wouldn't have mattered then. What a fool she'd been.
She heard the truck engine and stole to the window. He was alone, and there wasn't a second vehicle to whisk him away so he must plan to sleep at Gertie's.
Excitement filled her. In spite of his cold words, she didn't believe he hadn't felt what she had. She refused to believe it when every touch, every glance they'd shared had dragged them deeper into intimacy.
Heart pounding, she heard him creep past her door to the bathroom and then she heard the bath. A while later, she heard him go to his room.
Then nothing.
She waited for the familiar pad of his feet approaching her door, for the stealthy way he'd learned to avoid the squeaking board outside her room, but it didn't come. Sadness turned to frustration. She flipped over in bed and forced her eyes shut. Fine. He didn't want to talk to her? Fine.
She flipped again, almost tossing herself out of bed onto the floor as anger built. Didn't she at least deserve to hear what had happened? She may have allowed him to continue in a misconception, but it was for his own mental health. And she had saved his miserable life, hadn't she?
Flouncing out of bed, she decided she'd better have it out with him. And there was no time like the present.
She happened to be wearing a short silk nightgown with crisscrossing straps that played peekaboo with her cleavage, but she couldn't help that. She certainly didn't have time to change before giving DEA Agent Wes Doman a piece of her mind.
Barefoot, she slipped out of her room, stepped over the squeaky board and crept soundlessly to his room.
Well, not soundlessly enough, apparently, for when she got there, he was raised on one elbow, staring at the doorway. And a black, deadly revolver was pointed right at her.
She squeaked in alarm. "Where did you get that gun?"
"It's for protection." Was it her imagination or was there a thread of humor in his tone.
"Well, I don't need protecting, so you can put it away," she said with all her bravery pushed forward to shield the fact that he'd be scaring the pants off her if she were currently wearing any.
"I think I might need protecting," he said, his eyes glowing in the moonlight that streamed in the open window. The heat of his gaze had her nipples tightening until they poked through the strappy gown like blueberries through a lattice piecrust.
"I…" She cleared her throat and began again. "I wanted to know how it went tonight."
His lips parted in a quick, satisfied grin. "
He shifted to shove the gun under his pillow and she saw him wince. "You're hurt," she said, rushing forward, everything else she'd planned to say forgotten.
"It's nothing"—he waved her away irritably, then running his gaze down her body said—"nothing that a kiss wouldn't help."
"Where does it hurt?"
He glanced at his lap. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you—"
"It looked like your arm to me," she replied, trying to stifle her grin. Maybe it was simply the aftermath of a successful bust, but it seemed as though the Wes she knew and loved was back. Settling herself beside him on the bed, she reached for his arm, but with his good one he held her off. "Strained my shoulder is all."
Seeing no blood or obvious bruising, she said, "Then you should lie still and rest it."
"Maybe you could take my mind off the pain," he said, his good hand palming a nipple.
Warmth streaked through her at his touch. She'd begun to believe she'd never feel it again. But if she thought he was going to ignore her deception, she was wrong.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, even as his hand moved to the other breast.
"I didn't mean to deceive you. You woke up while I was reviving you … I did bring you back from the dead you know," she said indignantly, just so he'd know she wasn't planning on a big grovel-fest at his feet. "Then, when you woke again, you seemed to think I was your girlfriend. The Doc said I should let you go on believing it since it seemed to soothe you."
He snorted, changing his movements so he was plucking at her nipples as though they were ripe berries. "Nothing about you soothes me."
"Well, that was the doctor's advice. And then, when you … when we … I didn't know how to get out of it." He raised a brow and she shook her head. "No. I didn't want to. I…I…" He was doing that incredible twisting, pulling motion that sent sparks shooting straight to her core. "Oh, God. I liked it too much," she admitted.
She was squirming against the sheets, and he knew it. If he was planning to punish her for her deception he couldn't go about it any better. She was restless, burning, needy and all he'd do was toy with her breasts in that maddening fashion.
Enough already. She was only human. "I did what I did and I'm sorry if you didn't like it," she gasped, "but damn it I'm going to do it again." She flipped back the sheet to find him fully aroused and gorgeous.
She straddled him, already aching to have him inside her. She lowered herself slowly onto him, taking him so deep into her body that she purred, head thrown back. Perhaps she'd concealed too much before. Now it was time to rectify that by revealing everything. She rose slowly over him, stared deep into his eyes and took the biggest risk of her life. "I love you."
The words seemed to glavanize both of them; they bucked and rocked, drove and thrust until starbursts danced before her eyes. "I love you!" she shouted as she exploded.
* * *
When she awoke, with a sleepy, satisfied smile curving her lips, he was gone. In seconds she realized that not only was the bed empty but for her, but that his things were missing.
She dashed back to her own room and threw on jeans and a T-shirt, then ran downstairs, but the kitchen was as empty as the bed they'd shared last night. She tracked Gertie down out back where she was hanging washing on the line.
"Did you see Wes?"
"He left early. Said to tell you good-bye."
That was it? A second-hand good-bye?
If he'd wanted to punish her for pretending to a past they didn't share, he couldn't have struck truer. She'd bared her most intimate feelings, said the words she'd never said to another man, and he'd left her without so much as saying goodbye to her face.
* * *
As the blistering heat of summer faded to fall, the corn ripened and the pumpkins turned color. Gertie's chrysanthemums and dahlias burst into orange and purple and yellow bloom.
"What are you going to do now?" Gertie asked as they dug potatoes out of the garden. Without any will of its own, her gaze wandered to the spot where Wes had landed head first, changing her forever.
"I'm not going back to LA. I might look for work in a PR firm or an advertising
agency." She didn't mention
Her great-aunt was no fool, and her gaze shifted to where the beans had stood proud and bountiful before Wes head-planted into them. "I thought that man had ruined my whole crop of beans," she said with a sidelong glance at Nell, "but I propped them back up again, fussed with them a little and they came back better than ever."
Nell's smile quivered at the corners as she wrapped her arms around Gertie. "Sometimes it happens that way. He did the same thing to me."
"The beans are stuck here. You're not."
A laugh was surprised out of Nell. "Are you suggesting I go chasing after him?"
Gertie grunted as she attacked another potato hill with her shovel. "I'm saying if a man like Wes landed head first in my lap, I wouldn't hang around moping after he left."
"I was not…" Gertie's raised brows had her petering off. "Well, maybe a little." She shoved her own shovel into the rich dark earth as she voiced her greatest fear. "What if he doesn't want me?"
"Boy's been busy. You read in the paper like I did about the trials. They're all in jail now and this town can get back to normal. I'm thinking Wes won't be so busy now."
Nell sniffed. "Who's too busy to make a phone call? Or send a postcard?"
Gertie straightened, her lips already pursing ready to answer; then she cocked her head, looking so much like a robin listening for worms that Nell smiled fondly at her. It took her another minute to realize it wasn't worms Gertie was listening to, but the low, unmistakable roar of a motorcycle.
"Now that's a sound I haven't heard in a while." Gertie shot a sneaky glance at Nell. "Wonder what I did with that speed bump."
"Gertie, don't even think about it." The motorcycle came into view.
Her heart sank when she saw the helmet on the lone rider and noted there was no hair flapping out the back. Of course it wasn't Wes. Unable to watch, Nell turned away. "This bucket's full. I'll go get another."
Gertie grabbed her arm. "Not just yet. I think we have company."
Sure enough the rider slowed and pulled up in front of them. Even before he'd pulled the helmet off his head she recognized the lean planes and arrogant angles of his face. His hair was short but even short it had an unruly curl that she bet drove him crazy.
"Wes," she said, since it was the only thing she could think of.
"Hop on," he said, giving her a grin that spoke of wrinkled sheets and long nights making love under the stars.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. "Why?"
His grin ought to come with an age-restricted warning label. "You know why."
"'Bout time you showed up," Gertie said behind her. "Your intentions honorable?"
"Gertie!" Nell all but shouted, the blush already rising.
"I plan to marry her," he said over her head.
"Well, of all the high-handed… You might ask me!"
"Nell?" he said.
"Yes?" she replied with haughty dignity.
"Get on the back of the bike."
Her jaw dropped. "Gertie, can you believe—"
"You heard the man. Go on. Git."
She narrowed her eyes and stalked up to him. "Where are we going?"
He grabbed her and kissed her until stars danced before her eyes. Then he stared at her and she saw every one of her fantasies staring right back at her.
"Honey," he said, "I'm going to take you on the ride of your life."