Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Jackson, Lisa

  He stared at her, the wind moving his hair, his eyes hidden by the shaded lenses of his glasses, his mouth set in a thin, unbending line. In faded jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the tails flapping freely, he looked sexy and unpredictable and mysterious. Tanned and proud, he glared down at her, and Nikki didn’t know what to expect.

  “What if you would have hurt yourself?”

  “I didn’t. No thanks to you.”

  “No one knew where you were.”

  “You found me,” she sassed back.

  “I got lucky.”

  “Then there’s nothing to fight about!”

  “Like hell. If you haven’t noticed, lady, there’s a storm rolling in off the ocean.”

  “I’ve been through storms before.”

  “This isn’t Seattle.”

  “That much, I remember.” Angrily she wound the reins in her hands, the leather cutting into her palms. “You can come with me or you can go back to the hotel. I really don’t care,” she said as she placed her left foot in the stirrup and mounted. “I’m going up to the mission. I missed it last time around. Don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Hiya!” She kicked her mare and the horse sprang into a gallop, leaving Trent to eat her dust.

  “Serves him right,” she told the gray. “I’ve never seen such an overprotective, arrogant, self-important macho jerk! I can’t believe I married him!”

  But he wasn’t a man to be put off by a few strong words, or so it seemed as she heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Hazarding a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Trent, riding hell-bent for leather, the gelding’s longer strides easily closing the distance between the two horses. “How about that,” she muttered, nudging her mount faster. She felt a perverse satisfaction that he’d been compelled to follow her. For some reason he’d taken on the responsibility of her protector, or at least that was what he had hoped she would think.

  The mare was breathing hard by the time Nikki drew in on the reins near the mission. Dropping to the ground, she surveyed the ruins. The walls of the centuries-old church were still standing, though cracked and beginning to collapse from years of fighting a grueling and losing battle with the weather. The roof had succumbed long ago. Pieces of red tile were still visible, but there was a gaping hole exposing cross beams and rotting rafters.

  The bell tower was beginning to crumble, the stone fence surrounding the mission in ruin and the place was deserted, as if only ghosts resided therein. Nikki felt a chill of apprehension as she tied the mare to a low-hanging branch of a breadfruit tree and walked through a sagging arch to an area where tangled weeds were all that remained of once-tended gardens.

  “The monks who lived here left nearly a century ago,” Trent said, tethering his horse before he followed her through the ruins. She slid through the opening left by a door no longer in existence and ventured into the church vestibule. The stone floor was cracked and weeds grew between the worn-flat stones leading to the raised platform which had once supported an altar. Vines grew on the inside of the walls, testament to the uselessness of the remaining roof.

  “Why’d they leave?”

  He lifted a broad shoulder. “Lack of interest, I suppose. The mission was already beginning to need a lot of repairs, and the population of monks had dwindled. Salvaje wasn’t as populated as some of the other islands. Off the trade routes, it also didn’t develop as quickly.”

  “I’d think monks would like that kind of solitude.”

  “A few stayed, but eventually died. The last, Brother Francis, lived here until 1930, I think, but he was murdered in his sleep by a woman who swore he was the father of her child. Rumor has it that he still walks the ruins at night.”

  The ghost’s footsteps seemed to crawl along her flesh. “You’re kidding,” she said. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I’ve never seen him myself, but a lot of the natives are superstitious and they believe that his soul is still earthbound.”

  “That’s kind of creepy.” Nikki ran her fingers along one rough wall, and encountered the web of a large black spider. She quickly stuffed her hand into the pocket of her skirt. “Why were we coming to visit this place the other day?”

  “Sightseeing.”

  Her brow puckered, and she remembered the dream, running through the steamy jungle, her feet stumbling as she broke from the dense foliage to the grassy headland rising over the sea. She’d heard a voice—a harsh male voice issuing orders to her in Spanish.

  ¡Dama! ¡Por favor! ¡Pare! She’d only run faster, the voice of her assailant spurring her upward toward the mission though her lungs had burned like fire with each breath.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, leaning suddenly against the wall. Yes, she’d seen the path, taken it a few short steps, and then a heavy hand had pushed her over the edge and she was falling, falling…

  “Nikki.” She jumped at the sound of Trent’s voice and the feel of his hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

  The vision faded and she was staring up at him, shivering though the temperature was sweltering, the humidity high enough to draw beads of sweat on her forehead. “I keep thinking about the dream.”

  “It’s over,” he said.

  “I don’t think so.” She rubbed her arms and walked to a window which no longer held glass but offered a view of the changing horizon. Schooners, their masts devoid of sails, were harbored near the town, and the beach was nearly empty. Overhead, the bellies of heavy clouds had turned a deep purple hue and caused the ocean to swirl in dark, angry waves.

  “We’ll be home soon.”

  “And that will make everything right?”

  “I hope so.”

  He was placating her, she could feel it, and she was torn between trusting him with her very life and running from him because he was dangerous—if not physically, at least emotionally. He kept her off balance; one minute she found him incredibly attractive on a purely sensual level, the next she feared he was part of some murky master scheme to do her harm. But why? Who was behind the plan? Why would anyone want to hurt her? Why did she feel like a pawn in some game of political intrigue?

  The thought struck her like a lightning bolt. Political intrigue. Politics! She felt as if she’d inadvertently tripped over a major clue to her being on the island. But what? Her head was beginning to pound all over again. What was it Connie had said, that the women reporters at the Seattle Observer weren’t allowed on the big, newsworthy stories? That they were kept away from political scandal and corruption and anything that could potentially be award-winning material? The thought was there, just under the surface of her consciousness, niggling at her, something that would give her a clue to her past as well as her present. She concentrated, but try as she could, the thought slipped away, into the black oblivion that was her past. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why couldn’t she remember something this important?

  “I think we should get back.” Trent tugged lightly on her arm, but she yanked her hand back. She stared at the empty, ruined church and shook her head.

  “Why did I pick Salvaje as a place for the honeymoon?” she demanded as suddenly as the question popped into her mind.

  “I don’t know. It appealed to you, I guess.”

  “But why not Jamaica or Bermuda or Hawaii? Why an isolated island like this?” She walked through the crumbling archway and viewed this island from the highest point. Little more than the top of a great, submerged mountain, Salvaje was as wild as its name. To the east lay the sea, a deep angry blue that looked as threatening as the darkening sky. To the west, the jungle, hot and sweltering and untamed. Far below, the city of Santa María, a small speck of civilization. She walked to the far side of the ruins, where the horses were tethered. Trent’s arms surrounded her and he laced his fingers over her abdomen.

  “Salvaje appealed to you.”

  “Didn’t you think it was odd?” she asked, turning in his arms, wishing she could yank off his aviator glasses and stare into his eyes—search for th
e truth.

  “We wanted to be alone.” A stiff breeze ruffled his hair and he adjusted his sleeves, already pushed over his forearms.

  Her stomach did a strange little flip. “But there are tourists, other people….” He stared at her lips and she had to fight the urge to rim them nervously with her tongue. She saw him swallow and wondered what it would be like to touch his broad chest, to trace the small scar at his hairline, to feel his lips warm and wet against hers.

  As if reading her thoughts, he lifted one side of his mouth in a crooked smile that caused her pulse to leap. “We’d better get going. There’s one helluva storm brewing and we don’t want to be caught out here.”

  “Don’t we?” she said, thrusting out her chin as the wind billowed her skirt. “I thought you said we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we were so hot we had to get married, that we came here because it was so damned isolated. So why is it now, when we are alone, not a soul in sight, you want to run back to the hotel?”

  His back teeth ground together. “I’m only thinking of you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Your injuries—”

  “I don’t believe you, Trent. This whole thing doesn’t wash. I think I came here because…because of some story I was working on at the paper, or because I was running away from something or because I had to get away, but I don’t believe that I came here to be alone with you— Oh!”

  His mouth claimed hers. As the wind began to howl and the little mare whinnied and reared, Trent pulled her still closer and his lips molded firmly over hers. Gasping, she tried to struggle free, but he wouldn’t let go.

  His tongue gently prodded her lips apart to slip into the moist secrets beyond her teeth. Nikki knew she should stop him, that she was playing with fire by goading him, but she couldn’t help it, and as his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, her knees threatened to buckle. The palms that pushed hard against his shoulders moved as her fingers curled to grab his shirt and feel the warm flesh beneath the cotton fabric.

  Stop him, Nikki! Stop this madness! her mind screamed, but her reeling senses, already spinning out of control, demanded more. She couldn’t get enough of the male smell of him, the feel of his hands splaying against her back, the taste of his mouth on hers.

  Her heart was thundering wildly as, with his weight, he pulled them both to the ground. When he lifted his head from hers, he ripped off his sunglasses and searched the contours of her face. “You make me do things I shouldn’t.”

  “Like…like this?” she asked, her voice catching as his blue, blue eyes gazed into hers.

  “Like everything I’ve done since the first time I saw you.”

  Clouds moved through the sky as he traced the line of her jaw with one long, callused finger. “I told myself to stay away from you, that you were more trouble than I needed, to run like hell until I forgot your name.”

  “But you didn’t,” she prodded.

  “Couldn’t.”

  But still he didn’t love her. She swallowed hard as he wrapped his fingers in her hair and settled his mouth on hers again. She returned the passion of his kiss. Their tongues met and danced, stroking and mating, thrusting and parrying.

  Nikki’s blood ran hot. Her body began to ache with a willful need that tugged at her heart and burned deep within her. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her neck. She was breathing so raggedly her breasts rose and fell, aching to be touched. She barely felt the first drops of rain.

  Trent’s lips moved easily down the column of her throat and his hands found the hem of her T-shirt, moving upward to scale her ribs, her skin feeling branded where he touched.

  Don’t do this, Nikki! Don’t! one part of her mind screamed, while the other cast caution to the wind. So far she hadn’t caught him in a lie. He was, after all, her husband, and even if he wasn’t, he was the most damnably sexy man she’d ever met.

  His tongue traced the circle of bones at her throat, and a liquid heat started to build deep within her. She moaned softly and he responded, slowly lifting her T-shirt over her head. As the cool air touched her bare skin, she felt her nipples stiffen, and the delicious warmth swirling within her, stretching and reaching outward from the deepest, most feminine part of her, caused all rational thought to cease.

  He kissed the tops of her breasts, brushing his lips across the filmy lace of her bra. Had he kissed her this way before? She couldn’t remember, but didn’t stop his hands from lowering one strap to unleash her breast, its proud, dark nipple puckering in the wind.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning the wet tracks of his kisses on her skin. “So damned gorgeous.” She stared up at him. The darkening sky was a backdrop for his strong, chiseled features, a slightly crooked nose and a jaw that meant business. She reached upward, dragging his head downward so that his lips encircled her breast.

  Like an electric current, a shock ripped through her. His teeth and lips tugged and played, his tongue tickled and teased, and she arched upward, thrusting her hips closer to his. “God, Nikki, we’re playing with fire,” he admitted as he stripped away her bra and kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts, pressing them together and burying his face in the deep cleft between.

  “It’s all right. We’re married,” she said, her equilibrium long gone, desire overtaking common sense.

  Growling, he kissed her again, and one of his hands delved beneath the waistband of her skirt, sliding along her spine, touching deeper and deeper until she was writhing beneath him.

  “Nikki—” he whispered roughly, as he withdrew his hand.

  “Please.” She bucked upward and he groaned, his eyes glazing.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “You started it.”

  “We’ll both regret it.”

  “Why?” she asked, sensing that he was trying to tell her something, to break the wall of passion that surrounded her mind.

  “The doctor said—”

  “He’s not here.”

  “We’re getting wet.”

  “Not the first time. We’re from Seattle, remember?” She smiled up at him, teasing him, baiting him as rain began to pepper the ground.

  His gaze moved from her just-kissed lips to her breasts, and his eyes turned smoky with passion again. “God help us,” he said before his lips claimed hers again. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and ripped them free, so that she could touch the swirling black hair covering his chest, feel the muscles flex as her fingers grazed his nipples, watch his abdomen curve inward to allow her fingers access to the buttons of his fly.

  “You make me crazy,” he said.

  “The feeling’s mutual, I think.”

  With little effort, he stripped her of her skirt and kicked off his jeans. She saw him for the first time, naked and lean, strident muscles tense as he prodded her legs apart. “You’re sure of this?” he asked.

  “Trent, please.”

  Closing his eyes and muttering something under his breath, he thrust into her. Nikki gasped as she enveloped him, felt him start his magical rhythm. She moved her hips to his, and her fingers dug deep into the muscles of his shoulders as the tide of sweet pleasure washed over her in hot, anxious waves. He moved faster, and she kept up with his pace, her breathing wild, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, rain sliding down his smooth, sleek muscles.

  “Nikki!” he screamed, throwing back his head. “Nikki, Nikki, Nikki!”

  As if the universe exploded, she convulsed, her thoughts swirling, her mind soaring. She quivered in aftershocks and sighed in a voice she didn’t recognize as hers as he fell against her, murmuring her name, his body glazed with a salty sheen of sweat.

  “Oh, Nikki,” he whispered hoarsely, his hands gently brushing the wet strands of her hair from her face. Rain slid down his neck. His face was tortured and pained as he kissed her lips. “What have I done?”

  Chapter Seven

  “…AND STAY IN the room until I get back,” Trent ordered
through the open door of the cab. Rain ran down his neck and under his collar as Nikki sat in the backseat of a battered old Chevy that smelled of must, sweat and stale cigarette smoke. They’d returned the horses and now Trent was sending her back to the hotel. Alone.

  “Where will you be?”

  “Back at the airport, trying to find out how bad this storm is supposed to be and if our flight will take off tomorrow.”

  “I could come with you—”

  His lips thinned in silent reproach. “Go back to the hotel and dry off before you catch pneumonia.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He slammed the door closed and the cabbie stepped on the gas, leaving Trent standing in a puddle of rainwater and a cloud of blue exhaust.

  “Serves him right,” she muttered, still steaming. After they’d made love, he’d become as sullen and brooding as before, insisting they return the horses and she go back to the hotel.

  Wind whistled through the palms and banana trees that lined the street which was all but deserted as pedestrians waited for the storm to pass.

  At the hotel, Nikki paid the cabdriver and dashed through the rain to the hotel lobby. Her skirt was muddy, her hair lank and dripping as she took the elevator to the second floor and entered the room. As beautiful as Salvaje was during the mild weather, the island seemed dark and menacing in the storm.

  Shivering, she stripped off her clothes and took a quick, hot shower, lathering her body and shampooing her hair with a vengeance. Her skirt was probably ruined, stained as the result of making love to Trent in the wilderness. The passion between them had been earth-shattering, and yet afterwards Trent had treated her no differently than he had before. He was still a cynical, overbearing bastard.

  Dressed in a robe that covered her bra and panties, she sat before the bureau mirror and combed the tangles from her hair. The woman staring back at her looked better than she had a few days before. Most of the scabs on her face had fallen off, and though her skin was pink, with the right touch of base makeup, blush, lipstick and shadow, she would look almost the same as she had before she’d lost her memory.