Secret Agent Dad. Metsy Hingle
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happened last night. But for the life of him, his memory of their evening between the sheets and exactly what had led to his monster-size headache remained blank.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry or not, but I brought some biscuits to go with the coffee just in case.”
“Actually, I’m starved,” he told her and realized he was. “Biscuits sound great.”
“Really? That’s wonderful,” she said and proceeded to transfer biscuits to a plate.
Ah, she was eager to please, he decided and continued to study her, contemplating her hands as she fiddled with butter and napkins. Her nails were short, unpolished, but there was a gracefulness in her movements. Gentle hands, soft hands, with long soothing fingers, he thought, and another image winked at the edges of his memory. An image of those fingers stroking his face tenderly while she spoke to him in that lyrical voice. He lifted his gaze, noting the long column of pale skin at her throat, the fullness of her unpainted mouth. He tried to recall her taste, but it eluded him, just as her name did. Disturbed that he couldn’t remember kissing her, he drew in another deep breath, and this time caught her scent—roses and rain. Desire stirred inside him as he continued to watch her, tried to remember what it had been like to make love to her. And once again he drew a blank. As though sensing his scrutiny, she looked up, and her gaze tangled with his. Suddenly the air snapped with the sexual vibrations bouncing between them.
Just as quickly she looked away. “According to what I read in the book I checked last night, having an appetite after an experience like this is considered a good sign.”
“Excuse me?” She’d actually read books about what to expect from sex?
“I have to admit, you really had me worried last night,” she said, as she handed him a napkin.
“I did?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Um, why?” he asked, hoping for some clue.
“Well, mostly because you were so restless. You seemed to be having some disturbing dreams—which is understandable, of course.”
“Not for me, it isn’t. I don’t usually dream much.”
“Yes. But under these circumstances, I suspect it’s only normal.”
Under these circumstances? What in the hell had happened last night?
While he desperately wanted to ask the question, he didn’t. After all, how was he supposed to tell a woman whose bed he’d obviously shared that not only could he not remember making love with her, but he couldn’t even remember her name? The answer was simple. He didn’t tell her.
“So how do you take your coffee?”
The question gave him pause. Evidently they hadn’t been lovers very long if she didn’t know how he drank his coffee. “Black, one sugar,” he told her. Deciding he needed some answers to the questions buzzing in his head, he said, “But the coffee can wait. There’s something else I need first.”
Her fingers hovered over the sugar bowl. She tipped a glance at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have thought to ask if you wanted more aspirin for your head right off. That was a nasty cut you got. I’ll just be a minute—”
“Angel,” he said, something stirring inside him at her eagerness to please him. He reached out, captured her hand. “I would like that aspirin—in a minute. But right now what I want is you.”
He tugged, and she squealed as she fell to the bed against him. Surprise streaked across her features when he closed his arms around her and flipped her body beneath his. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She appeared so genuinely shocked and her tone so schoolmarm proper, he almost released her, sure he’d made a mistake. Then he caught that flicker of heat in her eyes, that shy yearning he’d glimpsed earlier when she’d looked at him, and he decided he hadn’t been wrong after all. “I’m remembering,” he whispered and lowered his mouth to hers.
She tasted sweet. Incredibly sweet and... innocent. And familiar. Yet not familiar at all. He nipped her bottom lip, and when she opened, he slid his tongue inside for a deeper taste. A shudder went through her, reverberated in him. When she pressed her hands against his shoulders, he lifted his head a fraction, again thinking he’d made a mistake. But one look into those soft, dreamy eyes and he knew that the only mistake about this kiss was that he didn’t remember the previous ones they’d shared. So he dipped down to kiss her again and make a new set of memories for them both.
For the space of a heartbeat, she relaxed beneath him, her body molding to fit his like a glove. Her fingers curled, dug into the bare skin at his shoulders. She returned his kiss with an eagerness that surprised him, aroused him, touched some part of him that he was sure had never been touched before. Damn, how could he have forgotten her? How could he not remember this fire that they created together? One thing he was sure of, he decided, angling his head and taking the kiss deeper, he wouldn’t forget making love to her this time.
So caught up in the wonder and anticipation of what was to come, several moments ticked by before he realized her fingers were no longer clinging to him, but were shoving at his chest. He lifted his head. “What’s wr—”
She drew her knee up like a weapon, and he sucked in his breath at the threat. “Get off of me, you...you jerk!”
He pulled back, confused as much by her demand as by the mixture of outrage in her voice and the panic in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she repeated, color shooting up her pale cheeks as she scrambled off the bed. “You have the nerve to ask me that after...after mauling me?”
The accusation hit him like a sucker punch, sparking anger and sending a rush of blood through his system that made the pain in his head intensify. “Mauling?”
Another streak of color shot up her cheeks, and she looked away. “At least have the decency to cover yourself.”
He looked down, noted his still-aroused state wasn’t exactly hidden by the briefs. He yanked the sheet over his lower body. “All right. Now you want to tell me what’s going on here? Why the mauling accusation?”
“Maybe mauling was a bit strong,” she conceded. “But you caught me off guard. I certainly didn’t expect you to kiss me.”
Puzzled, he asked, “Why wouldn’t I kiss you?”
Defiance gleaming in her eyes, she tipped up her chin. “Because we’re strangers,” she shot back.
“What in the devil are you talking about? I spent the night in your bed, didn’t I?”
She gave him a wary look. “Well, yes. But I wasn’t in it with you.”
“You weren’t?”
“Of course not. I told you, we’re strangers. I never laid eyes on you before last night.” She frowned. “I know everyone says not to trust strangers, but I’ve always gone with my instincts, and you were hardly in any shape to be a threat to me. Anyway, you needed help, and I just couldn’t leave y‘all out there in the storm.”
Trying to make sense out of what she was saying made his head ache even more. He closed his eyes a second, massaged his temples and tried to remember. “Back up a minute, angel. You couldn’t leave me out where?”
“You know where—on the side of the road where you wrecked your car.”
“I was in a wreck?”
She eyed him as though he’d gone crazy. “You know you were. I don’t know exactly what happened, but you wrecked your car.”
Panic started to sneak its way into his blood as he tried to remember driving through a storm, having an accident. He drew another blank. So he tried something simple—what day it was, where he was. When he came up empty again, he told himself to remain calm. He touched the bandage on his forehead. “I hit