White Lies (19 page)

           
 
"Just like a woman. Tease her a little
bit and she turns nasty. Some people just can't take a joke."

           
 
Jay turned the hose on the section of Jeep
he'd just washed, but he didn't have time to step back, and the water hit the
Jeep full blast, spraying back into his face and onto his clothes. He leaped
back, swearing. "Damn it, watch what you're doing!"

           
 
"Some people just can't take a
joke," Jay said sweetly, and turned the hose on him.

           
 
He yelled from the shock of the cold water
hitting him and started toward her, holding his hands up to deflect the stream
from his face. Jay chortled and darted around the Jeep, then got him again when
he looked around at her. He pushed his wet hair back and his light brown eyes
took on that unholy yellow gleam. "You're going to get it now," he said,
beginning to grin, and with one bound leaped onto the hood of the Jeep. Jay
shrieked and ran to the rear, but the hose caught on the tires as she dragged
it after her. She tugged frantically as Steve jumped lightly to the ground. He
laughed in a way that made her scream again, and she threw the hose down as she
ran for safety.

           
 
He grabbed the hose and reversed direction,
running back around the front of the Jeep, to free it. He met Jay almost
head-on.

           
 
"Wait," she said, laughing and
begging at the same time as she held up her hand. "It's lunchtime. I came
out to tell you. The soup's ready—" A blast of water hit her in the face.

           
 
The water was almost unbearably cold. She
screamed and tried to run for safety, but he was there every time she turned,
and the water soaked her from head to foot. Finally her only means of defense
was attack, so she ran straight at him. He was laughing like a maniac, a sound
that ceased abruptly when she twisted the nozzle up so the water hit him right
in the mouth. They wrestled for control of the nozzle, both of them laughing
and yelling as the icy water sprayed all over them.

           
 
"Truce, truce!" she yelled, backing
away. There was no way she could have gotten any wetter, but then, neither
could he. She felt a sense of satisfaction that it had turned out so evenly.

           
 
"Are you giving up?" he demanded.

           
 
She hooted. "What's to give up? We're
both half drowned." He thought about that and nodded. Then he walked over
to the spigot to turn it off and began coiling the hose. "You fight dirty.
I like that in a woman."

           
 
"That's right, butter me up. You just
want to make certain I don't stop cooking."

           
 
"The situation being what it is, I'll
take anything from you I can get." Abruptly the humor was gone from the
moment. He dropped the hose and straightened, his face hard as he looked at
her.

           
 
Jay felt her breath catch. He had never been
more beautiful to her than he was at that moment, soaking wet, his hair
plastered to his skull, badly in need of a shave, and his eyes glittering with
masculine intent. Slowly he let his gaze move over her face, then down her
body, taking his time as he traced the outline of her form.

           
 
Then she realized that he could see more than
the outline. The white cotton dress was almost transparent, plastered to her
body the way it was. She couldn't stop herself from looking down. Her nipples
were hard and erect, plainly visible under the wet cotton, and the fabric was
molded to her hips and thighs. With the sun shining through the material, she
might as well have been naked for all the protection the dress gave her.

           
 
She looked back up at him and froze in place
at the look on his face. He was staring at her with such savage male hunger
that her heart leaped, making the blood surge through her veins. Her legs
trembled as she felt herself begin to grow warm and moist in response, and she
inhaled sharply.

           
 
His head jerked up. For another moment he was
motionless. Her lips were parted slightly, trembling. Her eyes looked heavy.
Her nipples were hard little circles plainly visible through the wet dress, her
arms limp at her sides as she let him look. He shuddered, and his control
snapped.

           
 
She couldn't move. He walked toward her
without taking his gaze from her, without seeing or hearing anything else, a
primal male animal intent on mating. He was breathing hard and deep, his
nostrils flaring. Water dripped off him as he moved. She waited, shaking with
need and fear, because he was out of control and she knew it. It was an
exhilarating terror, freezing her but at the same time filling her with an
anticipation so acute she was almost in pain.

           
 
Then his hands were on her, and she moaned
aloud from the sudden release of tension.

           
 
She didn't have time to respond. She had
expected to be swept up in his arms and carried to bed, but he had gone far
beyond paying attention to niceties. Nothing mattered to him but to have her,
right then. He bore her down to the cold, wet earth, which, despite the
chi-nook, still held the long freeze of winter. Jay cried out at the iciness
against her back, involuntarily arching upward to escape it. Steve's hard hands
pressed her back, and he covered her, his weight pinning her down. He jerked at
her dress, pulling the skirt to her waist. "Spread your legs," he
said gutturally, though he was already kneeing her thighs apart. Excitement
speared through her. "Yes," she whispered, her hands digging into his
shoulders. She wanted him so much that she didn't care where they were or how
urgent he was. There would be time for seduction later, as well as worry. Right
now there was only this quick, primitive mating.

           
 
There was no foreplay, no leisurely petting or
stroking. For months there had been too much between them while the final
intimacy had been denied, and suddenly the walls were down. He disposed of her
panties by the simple means of tearing them apart, then unfastened his pants
and shoved them down only as far as was necessary. He pushed her legs wider
apart and lowered himself onto her. She made a little sound of pain as he tried
to enter her and couldn't. He swiftly adjusted his position and pushed again,
this time sliding deep into her. Shock reverberated through her body as she
tried to adjust to his girth, and this time she groaned.

           
 
He braced himself on his elbows, and Jay
looked up at him dazedly. His yellowish eyes were fierce, his face hard and
intent, his neck corded as he drove into her. She arched up to accept him, her
heart almost exploding with love. This was what she had wanted, to see his
face, to see his eagle-fierce eyes, to imprint his image on her mind and heart
even as he imprinted his touch on her body. With the icy earth beneath her and
the pure blue sky above, with the bright sun on his face, they were as pure and
primitive as their surroundings. No matter what his name or what he did, he was
her love, her man.

           
 
This was for him. She lifted her hips to meet
his thrusts, her flesh quivering under his pounding force. He groaned
unintelligibly and slid his arms beneath her to lift her up even more, as if he
could grind their bodies so tightly together that they would mesh, then
convulsed in release.

           
 
She held him tightly, her legs around his
hips, her arms about his shoulders as he heaved into her, groaning and shivering.
"I love you," she said over and over again, though her lips moved
soundlessly and only the warm winds heard her. She closed her eyes, feeling
that warm wind on her cheek and his heavy weight both on her and in her, and
knew that no matter what happened when he regained his memory, this hard, fast
possession had made her his in a way that could never be shattered.

           
 
They lay together, motionless, the only
movement that of the wind stirring their hair, the only sound that of the trees
rustling together, sighing. Jay felt dazed by what had just happened, her
senses buffeted as if she had just weathered a storm. She was totally incapable
of action.

           
 
Then he braced his hands and lifted his weight
off her, staring down at her with an expression so fierce that she almost
cringed from it, without knowing why. He swore, his voice low and gravelly, as
he disengaged their bodies and shifted to a kneeling position. Uncertainty
paralyzed her as her sluggish mind began trying to grasp the reason for his
anger.

           
 
He pulled his pants up but didn't bother
fastening them; instead he tugged her up and into his arms, lifting her from
the ground and rising to his feet with a lithe grace that belied the strength
necessary to do it. He climbed the steps and strode into the house without
saying a word, then carried her into the bathroom. After carefully standing her
on the rug, he bent to turn on the water, then straightened and turned back to
her. Her dress was unfastened and gently pulled over her head, leaving her
naked and shivering from both chill and reaction. She stood docilely, her arms
limp at her sides, her eyes wide and dazed and a little frightened as she
watched him. What was
wrong
?

           
 
He hurriedly stripped, then lifted her into
the tub and stepped in beside her, pulling the shower door closed. Jay moved
back, a little bemused by how much room he took up, and watched the rippling
muscles in his back as he adjusted the water, then turned on the shower. Warm
water blasted out of the shower head, immediately filling the small area with
steam. Steve pulled her under the water and held her there even when she gasped
a protest, because the water was stinging her cold skin.

           
 
"No, you need to get warm," he said
roughly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms and shoulders. "Turn
around and let me wash your hair." Numbly she did so, realizing that they
must have gotten mud all over them. His hands were gentle as he lathered and
rinsed her hair, then washed her all over. She began to feel very warm from the
combination of water and the stroking of his soapy hands, first over her
breasts and abdomen, then her legs and buttocks, and finally between her legs.
Her breathing began to hasten as heat built in her. His touch slowed, and a
spasm twitched his tight facial muscles. Her breathing halted altogether as he
probed tantalizingly at the entrance to her body, his fingertips barely
stroking, one finger barely entering. She caught at his shoulders, her nails
digging into his sleek, wet skin. Her breasts were tight and aching as she hung
there in an agony of anticipation, waiting for that small invasion, wanting so
much more. She felt him hardening against her hip, and a great shudder of
pleasure shook her.

           
 
He muttered something, but the sound was so
rough she couldn't understand it; then she was in his arms, and his mouth was
bruising hers. She yielded to his urgency, sliding her hands to the back of his
neck. Their water-slick bodies rubbed together, his abrasive chest hair rasping
at her nipples, his muscled stomach rippling against the softness of hers, his
hardness pushing at her. "Yes," she whimpered.

           
 
"I'm sorry, baby," he said, the
words rough and frantic and urgent. He slid his mouth down her throat, biting
at the sensitive arch, licking the small hollow at the base, where her pulse
throbbed visibly. "I didn't mean to be that rough." So that was why
he was angry, not at her, but at himself. But even that wasn't enough to keep
him from having her again. She could feel the hunger in his big, powerful body,
and again his loss of control thrilled her in a deeply primitive way. She had
been married, but Steve had always kept his cool, kept part of himself securely
locked away from her, and the passionate part of her had been hurt, because
she'd needed more. The man in her arms now was savage in his hunger, driven out
of control by his need for her, and his wildness matched the fierce passion of
her own nature. All her life she had needed this answering intensity to balance
her; without it, she had withdrawn behind a shell of rigid control, and only
now was she being freed.

           
 
She clung to him like a vine, her wet body
undulating against him. "I love you," she groaned, because that was
the only thing she could say, the one outstanding truth in the maze of lies and
subterfuges.

           
 
He lifted his mouth from her throat, his face
so close to hers that his burning gaze was all she could see. "I hurt
you," he growled.

           
 
She couldn't deny it. "Yes," she
said, and fitted her mouth to his, her tongue delicately probing. His arms
tightened so convulsively that she couldn't breathe, but breathing didn't
matter. Kissing him mattered. Loving him mattered. But finally he did find some
remnant of control, enough to allow him to turn off the water and haul her out
of the tub. She never released her hold on his neck as he swept her up and
carried her, both of them dripping wet, to his bed. She didn't care about the
sheets. All she cared about was his hot mouth on her breasts, the rasp of his
slightly roughened fingertips on her silky skin, and finally his powerful
invasion of her body. It was still such a shock to her senses that she cried
out, instinctively trying to close her thighs. But her legs tightened on his
muscled thighs and the movement only drew him deeper.

           
 
He ground his teeth together, trying to force
himself to stillness when every instinct told him to move. The need was so
urgent that it smothered everything else in the world except the woman he held
in his arms, the woman whose slim body clasped him so tightly and pushed him to
the edge of insanity. But for her sake he managed to hold still until she was
more comfortable with him. Lying propped on his elbows so his weight wouldn't
crush her, he looked down at her and shuddered with pleasure at the intense,
absorbed look on her face as she lifted her hips slightly, tentatively, to
accept all of him. A deep groan tore from his chest. He knew he'd been too
rough and urgent to allow her time to enjoy it before, but this time she was
with him.

           
 
Her lips parted slightly in a smile so female
it took his breath away, and her deep blue eyes beckoned him, dared him. Once
again her hips lifted. "What are you waiting for?" she breathed.

           
 
"For you," he answered, and even as
he lost himself in the mindless ecstasy of making love to her, the truth of
that remained. He'd waited for her forever. He was a light sleeper, so much so
that even in the heavy-limbed aftermath he was disturbed by the damp sheets, a
discomfort they hadn't noticed before. Jay lay in his arms, exhausted and
deeply asleep; he didn't want to disturb her, but neither did he want her to
become chilled from the wetness. He eased from the bed and lifted her light
weight in his arms, then carried her into the other bedroom to place her on the
dry bed. She made a disgruntled noise as he jostled her, then relaxed again,
and her breathing evened out as he stroked her back. He joined her on the bed,
and she snuggled closer, into his hard, possessive embrace. The way he felt
about her was so intense it edged into pain. Even without his memory, he knew
no other woman had ever shattered his control as she did. He'd never desired
another woman so intensely, never would have waited as long as he'd waited for
her. She overshadowed every other concern. Because of her, he hadn't dwelled on
his loss of memory, beyond a peculiar irritation and a certain detached
interest in the curiosities of what he had retained. His past life didn't
matter, because Jay was here in the present. They were linked in a way that
went beyond memory.

           
 
A slight frown creased his brow as he held
her, his rough hand sliding from the curve of her hip to the warmly resilient
mound of her breast. Of all the knowledge he'd kept, why wasn't any of it of
Jay? Those were the memories he resented losing. He wanted to remember every
minute he'd spent with her, and he wanted to remember why he'd let her slip
away from him. He wanted to remember their wedding, the first time he'd made
love to her, and the total lack of those memories ate at him. She was the core
of his life; why hadn't
something
been familiar? Why hadn't he felt some deep-seated recognition of the silkiness
of her skin, the rounded curves of her high breasts or the rose-brown of her
small nipples? Why hadn't there been some sense of familiarity in the tight
sheath of her body as he entered her?

           
 
But everything had been new.

           
 
She moved slightly against him, and he stilled
his stroking hand, content to simply hold her. They would be married as soon as
he could talk her into it, and now he had a very powerful weapon at his
disposal:

           
 
The scene exploded in his mind. There was a
laughing bride and a groom looking excited, proud, wary and impatient all at
once. The groom shook his head, beaming, and the bride hugged him tightly.
"You made it!" she said exultantly. "I knew you would!"

           
 
An older woman and man hugged him just as
tightly. "I'm glad you're back, son," the man said, and the woman
cried a little even as she smiled at him, the smile full of love. Then there
was a rush of other people to shake his hand and hug him and clap him on the
back, and the scene dissolved in a confusion of voices.

           
 
He lay rigidly, his jaw clenched with the
effort required not to jackknife out of bed. Where in hell had
that
memory come from? The man had
called him

           
 
"son," but that could as easily have
been a title of affection as one denoting a relationship. He didn't have a
family, so they must have been close friends, but Jay had said he'd always been
a loner. Who were they? Did they worry about him? Did Jay know anything about
them?

           
 
Hell, was it even something that had really
happened, or a scene from a movie he'd watched?

           
 
Movie. Just thinking the word triggered
another flashback, but this one was complete with rolling credits. It was a
television special on
Afghanistan
. Then it became another movie, starring a
widely acclaimed actor. It was a good movie. Then, in slow motion, the scene
shifted. He was standing on a rooftop with the same actor when the man pulled a
.45 automatic and pointed it at him. Serious business, a .45. It could have a
major impact on a man's future. But the guy was too close, and too rattled.
Steve saw himself lash out with his foot, sending the gun flying. The actor
staggered back and tripped, fell over the low wall and screamed as he dropped
the full seven stories to the ground.

           
 
Steve stared at the bedroom ceiling, feeling
sweat run down his ribs. Was that another movie? Of all the things he could
remember, why a series of films?

           
 
And why were they so realistic, as if he had
stepped into the action? He'd have to ask the doctor about that, but at least
it was a sign his memory was returning, just as they'd told him it probably
would. He needed to make the trip anyway, to have his eyes checked; it was a
real strain to read, and the strain hadn't lessened. He definitely needed
glasses. Glasses...

           
 
An elderly man smiled benignly at him and
removed his glasses, placing them on the desk. "Congratulations, Mr.
Stone," he said. He stifled a curse as the scene faded. This was weird;
why would that old guy call him "Mr. Stone" unless he'd been using an
assumed name? Yeah, that made sense, unless it was just another scene out of
another movie. It could just be something he'd watched rather than something
that had actually happened. Jay stirred in his arms and abruptly woke, lifting
her head to stare at him in alarm. "What's wrong?"

           
 
She had sensed his tension, just as she had
from the beginning. He managed a smile and touched her cheek with the backs of
his fingers, a different kind of tension taking over his muscles.
"Nothing," he assured her. She looked sleepy and sensual, her eyes
heavy-lidded, her luscious mouth swollen from contact with his firmer lips.

           
 
She looked around. "We're in my
room," she said in bewilderment.

           
 
"Mmm. The sheets on my bed were wet, so I
brought you in here." Warm color tinted her cheeks as she thought of how
the sheets had gotten so wet, but her smile was both secret and content. She
lifted her hand and touched his face, much as he had touched hers; her dark
blue eyes drifted over his features with aching tenderness, examining each line
and plane, feeding the need in her heart. She was unaware of her expression,
but he saw it, and his chest constricted. He wanted to say, "Don't love me
like that," but he didn't, because it was essential to him that she love
him exactly like that.