Slow Burn

by Jamie Denton

  “There’s something you should know about Maggie,” he said. His aunt listened while he explained about the fragmented dreams, visions or memories Maggie continued to recall little by little. He told her about the break-and-enter trick she’d pulled, the incident on the beach, and finally the likelihood that she had a criminal history.

  When he finished, Debbie remained quiet and thoughtful. He searched her gaze and nearly groaned aloud with dread. She had that look, the one that said she knew the answer but it was up to him to figure it out for himself. He’d seen it enough times growing up, especially when it came to his English homework. He took a long drink of his coffee and braced himself.

  “Ask her about it,” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “I can’t. No pressure, remember?”

  She reached across the breakfast bar and took his hands with hers, her touch as warm and gentle as ever. “What is your heart telling you?”

  “What do you mean?” A stall tactic if he’d ever heard one.

  She saw right through him. Again. “Tell me your impressions of the woman who’s staying with you.”

  He chuckled, then leaned against the back of the bar stool and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sweet. Intelligent. Caring,” he answered with ease. “The animals love her. Since she’s been there, Pearl’s practically deserted me.”

  “You know what they say about animals being good judges of character,” Debbie said, as if he needed reminding.

  “She’s funny. Frustratingly independent. And confusing as hell.” He failed to mention sexy as sin, a thought he had the wisdom to keep to himself.

  “Your brothers certainly like her, and Tilly and I had a wonderful time with her last night.” Debbie gave her head a slight shake, her graying hair swaying with the movement. “No, Cale. I’m sorry, but what you’re saying about her alleged past does not coincide with that adorable young woman. You saw her. She was ecstatic over measly part-time employment. Does that sound at all like a woman who’s led a nefarious lifestyle?”

  “No. It doesn’t,” he admitted with a sigh. He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to feel better or not. He certainly was no less confused. “Any suggestions?”

  “Time.” Debbie slid off the bar stool and came to his side, circling her arms affectionately around his shoulders. “And, honey?”

  He didn’t need to look up to know her expression would be filled with love and affection. “Yeah?”

  “Trust your heart. The heart never lies.”

  DISCOURAGED, although not completely disheartened by her lack of progress, Maggie gave up and shut down the laptop for the time being. She’d spent a little over three uninterrupted hours in front of the computer and hadn’t been granted so much as a glimmer of insight into her past for her trouble.

  Her Internet search for S.E.C.S. had turned up nothing. Of all the search engines she’d attempted, each had directed her to the Securities and Exchange Commission, which she promptly eliminated as a possibility when she drew an absolute blank as far as a connection in her sorry excuse for a memory.

  The online white pages had been equally futile. No listings for M. LaRue, Maggie LaRue or Margaret LaRue came up in any of the major metropolitan areas she’d searched. The one possible lead she’d encountered in the Atlanta white pages fell apart upon further research when she’d discovered an M.E. LaRue was a twenty-two year old male.

  Not that she’d expected to actually find a listing for herself. She couldn’t even state with absolute certainty that Maggie LaRue even existed, let alone be fortunate enough to locate an obituary under that name. Maybe she hadn’t gotten the name off a headstone after all.

  She slipped a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Until she remembered her actual, legal identity, she wasn’t about to hold her breath. She had a better chance of turning purple before she managed to unearth the truth at this point.

  At least the online medical Web sites she’d visited for information regarding her condition had offered a tad more by way of useful data. According to the articles she’d read on level III amnesia, the accident itself might forever be erased from her mind, but her chances were better than mediocre for the return of most, if not all, of her long-term memory. A downside did exist, however, in that it could take literally years for a full recovery.

  She sighed and rolled her shoulders to ease the stiffness. The pages of notes she’d typed the day before lay next to the computer. She slid them from the oak rolltop desk and read through them again. She’d given another go at free-association when she’d first turned on the computer, but all she’d gotten for her trouble had been a blinking cursor atop a blank page.

  A slow smile tugged her lips. Well, she had managed some serious daydreaming…with Cale cast in the starring role.

  With a brisk shake of her head, she temporarily squelched the fantasies before they could resurface. She forced herself to concentrate on her notes, but they might as well have been a work of fiction for as much as they nudged her faulty gray matter.

  Realizing her limit, she pushed away from the desk and stood, stretching to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the computer for so long. The novels Debbie had given her to read to help pass the time still sat on the coffee table where Maggie had left them this morning. She briefly considered taking one with her out to the patio, but her mood called for more of a physical activity.

  “Come on, Pearl,” she called to the dog who’d been snoring softly from her big stuffed pillow in the corner of the living room. “Maybe some fresh air will help.”

  Pearl barely opened her dark, almond-shaped eyes long enough to lift her head from her paws, before she flopped over onto her side and closed them again.

  Maggie laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll do my own fresh air.”

  She had serious doubts something as innocuous as a breath or two of warm, sea-scented air would offer much assistance in breaking down the barriers surrounding her memories. What she really needed was a distraction, physical activity that required little thought. Maybe she’d raid the garage for gardening tools and unearth the weeds choking the planters in the front of the house.

  Now she was getting desperate, she thought, if the idea of digging in the dirt appealed to her. Worse still, she compounded the desperate thought by trying to figure out how to wrap up her cast to protect it from the dirt.

  Desperation did strange things to a person, she thought as she went searching for Cale. There was no sign of him in the kitchen or the breakfast area, so she tried his bedroom. The door stood wide open, so she peeked inside only to find it perfectly neat and deserted.

  Her gaze zeroed in on the bed. “No,” she said firmly. “Do not go there.”

  She practically scurried down the hallway to the staircase, then hurried downstairs in record time. “Cale?”

  No answer.

  She crossed to the sliding glass doors and opened the screen. “Cale?” she called again, but the backyard was deserted, as well.

  Shielding her eyes, she walked outside to the edge of the patio and looked upward to the midafternoon sun riding high and warm in the cloudless sky. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean, and pulled a few wisps of hair free from the haphazard knot she’d loosely secured on top of her head with a pencil.

  “Any luck?”

  Maggie turned at the sound of Cale’s deep voice. He stood in the open doorway, his hands braced over his head. He used the tips of his fingers for support on the top ledge of the track, leaning slightly forward.

  Now, there existed a sight more than worthy of the term distraction.

  “I was looking for you.” She hadn’t meant her voice to go all low and sultry, but from the quick flash of desire lighting his eyes, she wasn’t about to start complaining.

  An easy, sinful smile curved his mouth. “You found me.”

  Regardless of her lack of memory, she didn’t think for a minute she’d ever been subjected to such blatant male sensuality. That sexy little grin. The hint of
mischief, combined with heated desire in his eyes. A body worthy of a Bernini sculpture. Cale Perry was, hands-down, the ultimate fantasy in the flesh.

  She took her sweet time, treasuring every second of her leisurely perusal of all that male perfection. The plain white T-shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans clung to his body, outlining the width of his chest. Rather than allowing her imagination free rein, she craved to feel the smooth, sleek skin beneath the cotton fabric clinging to him for herself. To take her time and fully explore each hill and valley of the exotic landscape of his body.

  The snug sleeves emphasized his thick, muscled biceps, effectively drawing her gaze to the corded strength beneath the tanned flesh of his forearms. The urge to intimately acquaint herself with all that power and sinew shook her. Hard. So hard, breathing suddenly took a concentrated effort.

  “Maggie?”

  Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze back to his face. “Yes?”

  That killer grin deepened. “Did you need something?”

  “Need?” she parroted. She had plenty, and wondered what his reaction would be if she told him exactly what type of need occupied her mind. The kind that practically guaranteed sweeping them away, carrying them where mutual pleasure awaited, catapulting them into a place just shy of heaven. Into paradise.

  He balanced himself as his arms fell to his sides. Slowly, he walked barefoot through the open doorway. His hypnotic gaze remained locked with hers, drawing her deeper under his erotic spell. “You said you were looking for me.”

  Her vocal chords refused to function, so she nodded lamely. Yes, why had she been looking for him? she wondered, hardly surprised when no coherent reply immediately sprang to mind. Surely, he didn’t expect her to think straight when her hormones were zinging off the charts.

  Two more perfectly measured steps and he stopped. Mere inches separated them. He crowded her, invaded her space and shook the last of her dormant feminine senses from their dazed slumber. Her instincts screamed at her to retreat, but not a single argument existed in her mind as to why she should pay attention to such a ludicrous demand, especially not with her body already humming in acute awareness.

  Her past, her identity, even her future remained a mystery. The present, however, was suddenly as clear as the blue, cloudless sky overhead. One touch. One whispered word. One sensually demanding kiss and at least one of the mysteries haunting her would be solved—she’d no longer have to wonder what it would be like to make love to Cale.

  She was no frail and delicate female ready to wilt when faced by the pure, unadulterated sensuality of a sexually appealing male. Nor was she willing to wait around for him to take the decision out of her hands. She wanted Cale, which was probably the most truthful statement about herself right now. That and a willingness to live for the moment, to stop stressing over what had come before in her life or the unknowns that remained ahead. Once her memory surfaced, she imagined her life would lead her elsewhere. Why shouldn’t she live for the moment, when the present was all that truly belonged to her?

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said with more force. “I do need something.”

  Hesitation flared briefly in his gaze. Would he deny her?

  “What is it, Maggie?” he asked, his voice as rich and smooth as the finest Kentucky bourbon. “What do you need?”

  She lifted her good hand and gently placed it on his chest, near the vicinity of his heart. The strong, sure rhythm beat in rapid cadence against her palm, reassuring her he shared the same need, the same desire, the same deep wanting that was consuming her.

  The remaining distance evaporated as she inched closer, then reached up to brush her lips lightly over his. “You,” she whispered softly. “I need you, Cale.”

  11

  CALE WANTED nothing more than to fulfill Maggie’s sensual request. His body all but demanded he comply and he’d willingly give his left arm if it meant spending the rest of the day tangled in the sheets with her. Already his Levi’s felt as if they’d shrunk two sizes.

  He struggled hard to resist the need clamoring inside him. From the sultry heat simmering in Maggie’s eyes to the featherlight brush of her mouth against his, his chance of winning the battle was nada. Hypocrite was the last label anyone could ever slap him with…until now.

  How could he possibly make love to her? Her existence remained in a constant state of chaotic turmoil. Snippets of memories that barely made sense on their own were a thousand times more bewildering if he added them all together. One and one might equal two, but where Maggie was concerned, the equation might as well add up to eight-thousand, nine-hundred and twenty-seven for as much sense as her disjointed recollections meant. Did he really want the responsibility of compounding her problems with the issues making love to her might raise?

  Sure he could, he thought, if sex was his only interest. If he didn’t give a rip what happened to Maggie, he wouldn’t give a second thought about lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the closest bed. Except, he did care. He always cared.

  Her palm pressed against his heart, her touch heating his skin though the thin material of the cotton T-shirt. He was his own worst enemy, he realized. Not a single one of his noble intentions stood a chance of survival against the bewitching woman asking him to make love to her.

  With more reluctance than he dreamed possible, he slipped his hand over hers and carefully removed her palm from his chest. “Maggie…”

  “Uh-uh,” she said, a frown marring her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion. The pencil loosely securing her hair clattered to the ground as she shook her head, freeing all those lush strands so they fell down her back in soft, gentle waves. “Please don’t tell me I’ve just misread the signs.”

  The warm breeze tossed wisps of red hair across her face. His hands itched to rub it between his fingers and feel the satiny texture against his skin. He imagined her hair draped across his stomach, feeling the silken glide of her body against his as she kissed her way from his chest to…

  Arousal settled low and deep and burned hot in his belly. He held back a groan of pure pleasure the image evoked.

  He laced his fingers with hers, then brought them to his mouth, lightly skimming his lips over the back of her hand. He should lie, he thought. He should tell her she was imagining his labored breathing, that the hard ridge of his desire pressing insistently against the button fly of his jeans was nothing more than an erotic figment of her imagination.

  He should save his hide while he still had the chance to escape unscathed.

  Your hide? Or your heart?

  “What signs are those?” he asked, effectively ignoring his conscience and downing his good intentions in one fell swoop. Nothing like throwing accelerant on already glowing embers.

  The blue and green of her eyes blended together into a brilliant shade of turquoise. The gold rims surrounding her irises flared to life, adding a whole lot of heat to her smoldering expression.

  A playful smile filled with wicked intent curved her luscious mouth and she pulled her hand free of his grasp. The tips of her fingers feathered against his chest, then traveled with agonizing slowness down his torso, stopping when she reached the top button of his jeans.

  He made the monumental error of looking down, of following the path of her fingers. Teasingly, she flicked her fingernail against the metal button. Air whooshed out of his lungs in a rush. For the life of him, he couldn’t draw his next breath.

  Her sexy brand of torture continued as she drew a lazy circle around the top button, then daringly dipped the tip of her middle finger behind the denim placket. She moistened her bottom lip with the edge of her tongue, then tapped her nail against the second metal button.

  Breathing took a back seat to the deafening pounding of his own heartbeat. He fought to remain standing because he was damned close to dropping to his knees, begging her to make love to him, and to hell with the consequences.

  So much for all his good intentions.

  “Oh,” he m
anaged, surprised he still had the capacity for speech. “That sign.”

  That wicked smile of hers widened as she slid her finger down to the third metal button, adding the barest hint of pressure. “I’m so glad we understand each other.”

  His body flexed so hard in response, his thinning control nearly unraveled this time. “Are you sure about this?”

  Please, God, don’t let her change her mind now.

  She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

  “That’s not saying much,” he said with a soft chuckle.

  One of her cinnamon eyebrows arched slightly. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He sobered. “What if—?”

  The fingers peeking out from her cast pressed against his lips, halting his argument.

  “Shh,” she hushed him. “No more ‘what if’ or ‘what about.’ I’ve done nothing but play the game and I’m sick to death of it. What if I never remember anything substantial about my life? What if I don’t like the person I discover is the real me? What about tomorrow? What about yesterday?”

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All I have are bits and pieces of a past I cannot even honestly claim is mine. My future is as much an unknown as the past. But I can have the present. I need that, Cale. I need this moment. I need it with you.”

  In the face of her convincing argument, words failed him. She was absolutely right. Either they could dwell on unknowns or enjoy what time they had left together. No matter which way he looked at the situation, he knew without a doubt that once Maggie regained her memory, she’d no longer need him and would have to return to her life. Did he really want to squander what precious moments they had left agonizing over matters he couldn’t possibly control?

  Gently, he reached for her, cupping her face between his palms before tenderly tasting her lips. “You’re right,” he admitted, kissing her again. “We do have the present, so let’s not waste another minute of it.”