“I did, thanks.” Faith leaned against the doorframe and took a bite of her toast.
“No nightmares, I take it?”
She chewed, then swallowed her mouthful. “Oddly enough, no. Thanks for breakfast.”
“My pleasure.”
“And for the clothes. When did they arrive?”
“Late last night. Mr. Blake dropped them off.”
She blinked in surprise. “How?”
“He flies helicopters. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Oh, right. Of course. So he flew all the way up here purely to drop off some clothes for me?”
“Yes.” Jacob’s attention remained on the screen. “Because I told him to and he follows orders.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know where we were?”
He sat back in his seat and flicked her a glance, his gaze unreadable. And even though she’d braced herself for it, she still felt the impact of his stare lance through her.
He was wearing pretty much what he’d worn yesterday, nothing special, black T-shirt and black pants. Though presumably these were fresh since there was no bloodstain on his thigh the way there had been the day before. But he looked just as damn hot. Just as damn compelling. All darkness, rough heat, and hard-packed muscle.
She remembered how his chest had felt beneath her fingertips, and how hot his body had been. How delicious the pressure of his cock between her thighs . . .
“I don’t,” he was saying. “But Mr. Blake is a trusted member of my team. And besides, you needed your things.”
Her skin felt scorched and she had to look away from him, not wanting him to know that what she’d felt yesterday was still there. And that she was so hungry for more she could barely pay attention to what he was saying.
“Thank you.” She tried to sound normal, hoping she’d succeeded. “I appreciate it.”
“Are you worried about Mr. Blake?”
She attempted to get her brain back on track, forcing herself to meet his dense black stare. “No, of course not.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be. He’s loyal.”
A memory hit her all of a sudden, of the tattoo on his chest, the eagle and trident.
“You were a SEAL.” It wasn’t a question. “Like Kellan.”
If the comment surprised him, he didn’t show it. “Yes. Once.”
“But . . . ?”
“Is that another question for me, Ms. Beasley?”
There was a challenging glint in the look he gave her, though she didn’t understand why.
“Yes,” she said, and this time she didn’t look away. “You owe me, don’t you think? Or am I going to have to fight you again?”
A flame lit briefly in his eyes, as if he liked the sound of that very much indeed.
You do too.
Maybe she did, though she wouldn’t. She couldn’t risk it. Not getting too close to him and certainly not doing anything that might prompt Joanna to take over again.
Jacob swiveled the chair to face her, stretching his long legs out. “Don’t you want to know any updates on your situation?”
“It depends. Are there any updates?” She made an effort to lift her coffee mug to her mouth and take a measured sip, struggling against the urge to tell him she didn’t want to know.
“Sabrina got a lead on a suspicious-looking car from the security cameras that were in the area. A local rental from the looks of things, but she hacked into their database and found the name of the person who rented it.”
Faith stilled. “Oh?”
“It’s a name I don’t know, but I’m running it by some contacts right now.” His look turned measuring. “Michael Campbell. Ring any bells?”
Much to her relief, there were no echoes inside her, none at all.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“It’s unlikely to be his real name anyway.” He glanced back at the bank of computer screens. “Mr. Blake also handled Mr. Thomas’s untimely death to put the police off the scent.”
“Mr. Thomas?” She frowned, then remembered. “Oh, your driver.”
“Yes.”
A thread of guilt wound through her. She hadn’t known the man—Jacob had only employed him a few weeks before—but he’d still died.
Because of you.
The guilt wound tighter, bringing with it the cold edge of fear. A reminder that this wasn’t simply a game of car chases and fake identities. Lives were at stake. Her life and those of the people around her.
“I’m sorry.” It was trite and ridiculously ineffectual, but it was all she could think of to say.
“I’m sorry too. I’ve instructed Mr. Blake to make arrangements for his family. They’ll be well taken care of.”
She took another sip of coffee to ease the tangle of feelings inside her, the hot liquid burning as she swallowed it down. “So what do we do now? Wait?”
He looked at her, something hard and uncompromising in his face. “No. Now we try to get your memory back.”
Faith ignored the shiver that went through her. “These things don’t happen just because you want them to.”
“I realize that. But there are steps we can take to encourage things.”
The chill settling over her deepened. Turning, she placed her coffee mug down on the shelf closest to the door, along with her piece of toast, the movements calming her.
Then she turned back to him. “Such as?”
He tilted his head, watching her. “Did you know that my brother and I are twins?”
Something flickered in the back of her head, a kind of shock.
Jacob had always felt familiar to her and what if that familiarity was because he reminded her of someone? His twin brother, for instance.
She stared at his strong jaw and high forehead, the blade of his nose, his deep-set eyes. It was strange to think that this charismatic face had a twin somewhere, because it didn’t seem possible. Jacob Night was one of a kind. Yet, searching it now . . .
“That’s not a surprise to you,” he said very quietly. And it wasn’t a question.
“I . . .” She stopped, unable to deny it because no, it didn’t feel like a surprise to her at all.
Quite suddenly, Jacob pushed himself out of his chair, unfolding to his full height, which had to be well over six-two, then came toward her, closing the distance between them in seconds.
She froze, her heartbeat thudding, every muscle in her body drawing tight in what felt horribly like anticipation.
He came to a stop in front of her, the intentness in his gaze making her breath catch. “You knew, didn’t you? How did you know, Ms. Beasley?”
“I didn’t,” she said thickly. “It’s just . . .”
“It’s just what?” He put his hands on the doorframe above her head and leaned down so his eyes were inches from hers, his powerful, muscular body leaning over her. “Tell me what you remember.”
* * *
Faith had gone very still.
She knew something, he was certain. The moment he’d mentioned that he and Joshua were twins, he’d seen recognition flicker in her gaze and he’d gotten up from the chair and gone over to her before he’d even realized what he was doing.
Dimly, he knew getting close to her was probably a mistake, but this was too important to let go. If something had been triggered in her memory, then he had to know.
“I don’t remember anything.” Her lashes fell, veiling her gaze. “It’s more that you were familiar to me. I wasn’t surprised when you said you were my cousin because . . . I felt that I knew you somehow.”
He reached out, gripped her chin, and turned her face up to him, wanting to see her eyes, wanting to see the truth. “What kind of familiar are we talking about here?”
She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I can’t put my finger on it exactly. It was like . . . I had met you before. Even though I had no memory of it.”
Her skin was soft beneath his fingers and she was very warm. He could smell lavender, t
oo, which must have meant that Callie had put the shower gel she liked into that bag of belongings.
Christ, he should not be thinking about how she felt or how she smelled. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to touch her.
And yet you’ve got her chin in your hand. What the fuck are you doing?
He felt a muscle leap in his jaw. Perhaps getting this close was a bad idea, but still, he wasn’t a fucking teenage boy. He could get close to a woman without ripping her clothes off. Hell, he’d managed to do it for six months so far, including how he kept his hands to himself while she rubbed herself all over him yesterday.
It might even be a good thing. Maybe proximity would prompt a memory for her.
Yes, of your brother. You okay with that?
Why wouldn’t he be okay with it? As he’d told himself yesterday, she wasn’t his. He had no claim on her. Finding Joshua had consumed him for years and now he was so close . . .
Fuck, he’d try anything.
She was the only link he had and for six months he’d taken the softly, softly approach, hoping that given time and space her memory would return. But it hadn’t. And now that time was running out.
Excellent justification you’ve got there.
Jacob ignored the thought and firmed his grip on Faith’s delicate chin. “You’d met my brother,” he said flatly. “That’s why. You were his lover so no wonder I felt familiar to you.”
The color of her eyes had darkened into a deep midnight and stiffness had bled out of her. She was looking at him now as if she was searching for something—perhaps to try to see Joshua in him?
He found he didn’t like that thought, which was strange since didn’t he want her to? That was how she’d potentially remember after all.
“I suppose that’s true.” A crack ran through her voice. “And when I look at you, what I’m seeing is him. That’s why you felt safe to me even though I had no idea who you were.”
Safe? She’d felt safe with him?
He didn’t know why that hit him the way it did, hard in the chest. Or why the thought of her looking at him and seeing Joshua made something inside him twist.
He ignored both sensations. The focus had to remain on her memory, not whatever the hell bullshit feelings he was having about it.
“What else,” he demanded. “What other things did you feel around me?”
She flushed. “I’m sure you know one of them already.”
Ah, yes, their physical attraction.
“You want me,” he said, naming it.
Her flush deepened. “Yes.”
“Because of Joshua.”
She blinked. “That’s his name?”
He studied her, watching the shadows in her eyes shift, watching for anything that looked like recognition. But there was none. “It is. At least, that’s what he was called when we were kids. Like I told you, I suspect the name he uses now is Smith.”
“Joshua doesn’t . . . sound familiar.” She was searching his face now as if she was looking for someone. Someone who wasn’t him.
He didn’t like it.
Jacob dropped his hand from her chin and before he quite understood what he was doing, it had settled around her throat.
Faith’s eyes widened and her breath caught. She stiffened.
He could feel the beat of her pulse against his palm, her skin like silk.
It was fine to touch her. A test. A prompt to jog her memory, that’s all. Joshua would have touched her like this and maybe if he did, too, with his resemblance to his brother, she might remember something.
You fucking idiot. That’s not why you’re touching her.
Anger shifted inside him, formless, a constant flame that never went out. Rage for everything he’d lost, furious at the world for taking what it had from him and leaving him with nothing.
Even this chemistry with Faith was nothing. It was based completely on her memories of another man—his own fucking brother, for God’s sake.
She didn’t want him.
Why should that matter to you?
No, it shouldn’t matter to him. At all.
Yet he didn’t remove his hand.
She said nothing and he could feel her pulse getting faster and faster. Her delicate face was pink and her pupils had dilated, making her eyes look almost black.
“It’s for him, isn’t it?” His voice had lowered into a growl and he couldn’t seem to stop it. “What you’re feeling right now. It’s all for him.”
“I . . . don’t know.” She swallowed and he felt the movement of her throat against his palm, making him want to tighten his grip a little, impress the warmth of her into his skin. “I can’t remember him.”
“It is.” He didn’t know why he was so insistent. “You can’t remember how to fight, but you did.”
She leaned her head back against the doorframe, looking up at him, the expression in her eyes searching. “Does it matter?”
His fingers flexed against her throat, reminding her of who he was. “Of course it fucking matters. Especially if I’m going to help you remember.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” There was an edge in her voice this time. “No, wait, I think I understand. You think your getting close to me will remind me of him? Prompt a memory?”
Smart woman.
He stepped even closer to prove his point, stroking his thumb up and down the soft skin on the side of her neck. “Naturally. Why else would I be doing this?”
Her gaze hid nothing. “I don’t remember anything, Jacob. And I didn’t yesterday, either, and you were very close then. So why would today make any difference?”
The delicate scent of lavender filled the space between them, goose bumps rising on her skin where he touched her. Was that him? Or was that Joshua?
His anger twisted and coiled like a cut snake, made even worse by the fact that he didn’t understand what exactly was making him so annoyed.
You want her but she wants your brother, that’s why you’re annoyed. You want it to be you.
Why the fuck should that matter? When the only important thing was getting her memory back?
He tried to ignore the anger, baring his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Perhaps we didn’t try hard enough.”
“We?” There was a glint in her eyes, a hint of challenge. “You’re assuming I’m okay with this.”
Christ, he liked the fight in her, the way she questioned him. He thought it was probably her true identity bleeding through, glimpses of Joanna Lynn, the badass woman who’d fought him yesterday.
It turned him on, got him hard. Which meant that pursuing this was a bad idea. Then again, if it helped her remember, then he’d be stupid not to keep going. Fighting didn’t only mean beating someone up or trying to kill them. A struggle for dominance could include pleasure as well.
“You were okay with it yesterday.” He stroked the side of her neck again, enjoying her shiver of response much more than he should have. “Besides, you want me. You told me so yourself.”
“Do I?” The challenge in her gaze was much more than a hint now, the hard note of it in her voice. “How would you know? Because I certainly don’t. Maybe it’s your brother I want after all.”
Emotion glowed blue and hot in her eyes. Anger.
She’d been angry with him yesterday, too, as he’d gotten her on the ground and held her down. Why? Was it the warrior in her not liking to be bested? Yet they weren’t fighting now and she could easily get away from him. So what was the issue?
“You’re pissed with me,” he said. “Is it not wanting to remember? Because if it is, we’ve had that discussion.”
“It’s not that,” she snapped. “My objection is your using my desire for you to essentially reboot my brain.”
He frowned, not understanding. “Why should that make any difference?”
Another expression flickered across her face, gone too quickly for him to work out what it was. “Because it does.” Her voice had gotten cool, but the look in her eye
s hadn’t. “I have no memory of being with anyone, Jacob. I have no memory of making love at all. I mean, I know I must have at some stage and if it’s true about your brother, then yes, I must have been to bed with him. But right now . . . well . . .” She flushed. “I might as well be a virgin again. And that . . . matters. It just does.”
He hadn’t thought of it like that. He’d assumed it wouldn’t be that much of a big deal.
Really? After yesterday? When she tried so hard to hide what being close to you was doing to her?
He gritted his teeth. Okay, so he got it. But this was more important than her feelings. This was about recovering her memory and possibly finding out which bastards were sent to kill her, not to mention locating Joshua. And he couldn’t afford to let something as irrelevant as emotions get in the way of saving her life or finding his brother. Also, there was no forgetting the fact that his driver had got caught in the crossfire, and he didn’t want that to happen to anyone else.
“We need your memories, Ms. Beasley,” he said. “You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that.” The challenge in her eyes had returned but there was something beneath it. Something vulnerable. “You want my memories, but do you want me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you, Jacob. There’s no memory of anyone else, not even an echo. Right now, in my mind, there’s only you.” Unexpectedly, she lifted a hand and touched his cheek, her delicate fingertips resting on his skin, burning like embers. “And I want you to want me back.”
Her honesty was a punch to the gut, hooking into something inside him. The hungry, possessive part of him that he tried to lock down as much as he could.
He’d never wanted anyone in his life, because he knew himself too well. After the kind of childhood he’d had, anything that became his stayed his, and that included people. Especially people.
And people generally didn’t like to be kept.
He couldn’t afford for Ms. Faith Beasley to become his and certainly not if she was his brother’s.
Yet . . . the way she was looking at him, so direct, so honest. Hiding nothing. He’d spent six months looking after her, taking care of her, and the thought of denying her something as simple as an admission of a desire he already felt seemed . . . churlish.
Hard Night (11th Hour #3) Page 10
