He found her hand under the covers, wrapped his fingers around it and waited for her to pull away. But she didn’t. He heard her sigh. Happier than he’d ever been in that life or the one he couldn’t recall, he shut his eyes again and let sleep have him.
Someone was snoring.
He smiled to himself. So. She snored. Funny, but he found that charming. He found everything about her charming.
Carefully, he opened one eye. He was lying on his back and there was gray daylight shining in the narrow gap between the curtains. Tessa lay beside him, asleep. So soft and beautiful. And not snoring, after all.
But somebody was.
Slowly, he turned his head the other way. And came face-to-face with the bulldog. Sound asleep. Snoring. Also drooling a little. How the hell the stumpy-legged animal had gotten up on the bed was a mystery to him.
Then he heard purring. He lifted his head off the pillow: the cat. She was curled up by his feet, awake, giving herself a bath. She paused in mid-lick, met his gaze, green eyes going low, the purr getting louder.
He let his head fall to the pillow again, realizing he didn’t really care much if he had to sleep with a cat and a snoring, drooling bulldog. As long as he was sleeping with Tessa, too.
The clock by the bed was still dark, meaning the power remained out. Who knew what time it might be?
Not that it mattered a whole hell of a lot. He doubted they would get out of the house that day.
He frowned. Something was different…
It came to him: the headache that had been with him constantly, running the gamut between low-grade throb and drilling agony—was gone. He brought up a hand and touched the wound on his temple and tried to remember…who he really was, where he had come from.
Nothing. He still had mental access to exactly zip before the ride down the mountain in that semitruck. But there was good news: still no headache, not even when he tried to recall who he was.
He had no past.
But he also had no pain. At least not in his head. When he shifted a little, he winced at the aches all over his body from whatever rough punishment he had taken. Those aches would pass.
The headache had been the worst. And that was over, it seemed.
Happy in a deep and surprising way, given that he’d been born yesterday and had no clue how to find his way back to the man he’d once been, he turned onto his side, toward the window. And Tessa.
He watched her sleeping face until he drifted off again himself.
The next time he woke, there was whining.
And Tessa was sitting up beside him. She gave him the brightest, most amazing smile. “‘Morning.”
The whining came from the dog, which was off the bed and sitting on the floor, looking beyond pitiful.
He said, “I think your dog needs to go out.”
“Yep.” Tessa pushed back the covers and slid her feet into her slippers.
She stood. “Brr. I’ll turn the heat up while I’m at it.” She headed for the door. The dog, with a final, grateful moan, followed her out.
He got up, too, and used the bathroom, then opened the curtains at the bedroom window. The snow was still coming down. It was halfway up the windowpane. He heard the door to the basement shut and a minute later, Tessa appeared. Her cheeks were pink.
“Where’s the dog?” he asked.
“I left her outside the basement door. My dad built me a breezeway down there, so she’s more or less shielded from the snow. She can at least walk around a little and take care of business. I give her five minutes and she’ll be yowling to get back in.”
As if on cue, he heard barking down below.
Tessa grinned. “Be right back.” She disappeared again.
He wandered out into the great room, where coals still glowed faintly in the woodstove. There was kindling in a small basket, logs in a sling. He realized he knew what to do to get the fire going.
Strange, having no past. He seemed to remember how to do things, how to walk and talk, how to feed and dress himself. How to read. How to build a fire. It was the man who had learned it all who was lost to him.
He was feeding the kindling in when Tessa and the bulldog reappeared. She went up to the sleeping loft first and came down with a travel clock. “Would you believe it’s two-fifteen in the afternoon?” She showed him the dim face of the clock.
Still kneeling by the open stove door, he shrugged. “Feels like breakfast time to me.”
“I’ll get the coffee going.” She went on into the kitchen.
He joined her once he had the logs in place on the kindling and the damper properly adjusted for greater air flow. She’d just set up what he recognized as a French press.
“Those make great coffee,” he said, stepping up behind her to look over her shoulder, marveling again at the things he knew without knowing how he knew them.
She sent him a smile as she lit a burner. “Plus, they’re perfect for when the power goes out.” She set the glass pot on the fire. She still wore her snowman pajamas and her hair was tangled from sleep.
He breathed in the scent of her and accepted the fact that she was too tempting to resist—not that he wanted to resist her. He slid his arms around her.
When she didn’t object to his embrace, he brushed her hair out of the way and kissed the pale skin of her neck. The fine, short, blond curls at her nape were downy soft, sweet-smelling as the rest of her.
With a sigh, she bent her head down for him. He guided her flannel collar aside so he could kiss the bumps at the top of her spine. It seemed so natural, so right, to ease his hands under her loose pajama top, to touch the skin of her waist, to feel the fine, sturdy shape of her ribcage.
And higher…
He cupped her full, firm breasts. So round and ripe. They fit his hands perfectly, but then, he’d known that they would. He brushed her already puckered nipples with his thumbs, felt them harden even more into tight, sweet buds and he smiled in pleasure at her body’s response to his touch. She swayed against him with another long sigh. He buried his face in her soft gold hair.
But then, a tiny gasp escaped her. She shifted her weight away from him, caught his hands and gently guided them out from under the flannel shirt, slipping around to face him at the same time. She drew in an unsteady breath. Her cheeks were sweetly flushed. “I’ll just…put some clothes on.”
She escaped into the hallway before he could tell her he wished she wouldn’t.
They had scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and the coffee, which was the best coffee he’d ever tasted. In this life or the one before. It all tasted so good. Really, everything—each breath he took, each glance across the table at the woman sitting there, each snowflake falling outside the windows—all of it was incredible, magical, completely amazing.
He told Tessa, “I can’t get over all this.”
“All what?” She sipped her coffee.
He spread his hands wide. “This. All of it. This snowy day in this house. With you.”
She laughed. “I’m so pleased you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. Oh, yeah. More than words can say.”
She set down her mug. “It does seem that you’re feeling better.”
“I do feel better. I feel great. Still a few aches and pains, but, well, I had this headache all day yesterday. Not anymore. It’s gone.”
“Terrific. Any…memories yet?”
“Not a damn one.” He said it cheerfully.
She sipped more coffee. “Well, you’ve certainly got the right attitude about it.”
He slumped back in his chair, his buoyant mood suddenly less so. “What? You think I should be more freaked out, right?”
That time she set the mug down a little harder. “Absolutely not. I’m glad you feel better. I’m just…” She shut her eyes, breathed in through her nose. When she looked at him again, her eyes were troubled, but she put on a smile. “Listen. You’re right. It doesn’t hurt to look on the bright side. It’s good. Truly. So much wiser than wor
rying.”
He understood then. “Tessa.”
She bit her lip, glanced toward the window where the snow kept piling up. The gray light from outside couldn’t dim the warm color of her smooth, tempting skin. She had lips made for kissing, upturned at the corners, full and inviting.
When she’d left him to change, she’d put on jeans and a green sweater. Her hair, brushed smooth, fell loose on her shoulders, gold against the green.
He thought about touching her, about taking off the sweater and those snug faded jeans, about kissing those breasts of hers that felt so good in his hands, about making love to her, naked, in the gray light of the storm.
Softly, she confessed, “I only, well, I worry that if something goes wrong—”
“It won’t.” He spoke in a voice that held no room for doubt. What, after all, was the point of doubting? They weren’t going anywhere until the snow let up, so why worry about something they couldn’t control? “I’m going to be okay. You’ve got the perfect house to be stuck in during a blizzard. We’re comfortable, even without electricity. And then there’s you…”
Her brows had drawn together. “Me.”
“You.” He rose. “You’re the best thing about this whole situation.”
She watched him come to her, eyes so wide, green as new grass. He stood above her and touched her soft cheek, lifted her chin with a finger.
“I…I like you, too,” she said, her voice heavy with equal parts desire and regret. “Maybe too much.”
“Uh-uh,” he told her. “Between you and me, there is no such thing as too much.” He touched her shoulder. “Come up here to me where I can kiss you. Come on.”
“Oh see, this is the thing. I don’t think we should be, you know, getting too crazy or anything…”
“This is not crazy. This is completely sane. The sanest thing either of us has ever done.”
“It’s the strangest thing.”
“What is?”
“When you talk like that, I believe you.”
“Good.”
“Am I a fool, Bill?”
“No way. You’re the least foolish person I’ve ever known, in this life or the one I can’t remember. Come on.”
Slowly, she stood. When she reached her full height, he took her waist between his hands. Touching her was everything. And holding her with both hands had the added benefit of keeping her from edging away.
With charming reluctance, she admitted, “I…feel so close to you. It’s beyond strange. Like I’ve known you forever. As if every other man I’ve gone out with was just a…shadow. A placeholder. While I was waiting for you.”
“That’s it exactly,” he whispered.
“But I’ve never been all that smart about men, you know?”
“Everything’s different now. Now, you’re with me.”
“Oh, I do want to believe that.”
“So do it. Believe it.”
“I have to keep reminding myself that we only just met.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah. I do. If I don’t, well, anything might happen.”
“And isn’t that great?”
“Bill, I…” Her voice trailed off. She whispered, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…look at me like that. Don’t touch me like that.”
He frowned. What she said seemed impossible. “You’re serious? You want me to stop?”
“We should stop. You’re in no condition to—”
He silenced her with a gentle finger against her mouth. “Uh-uh. Listen.”
She swallowed, flustered in the sweetest way. “I…what?”
“If you don’t want to make love with me, fine. I get that. I may not like it, but it makes sense. No matter that you say you feel like you’ve known me forever, you haven’t. The reality is what you said a minute ago. You met me yesterday. And I was not at my best. So if you need time to be sure, take it. If you decide in the end you’re just not going there, I’ll hate it. But I can live with it. It’s your right. I’m good with that.” He dared a slow smile. “Not that I’ll stop trying to convince you otherwise.”
“I—”
“Shh.” He pressed his finger to her lips again. “Not finished.”
A breathless sound. “Sorry…”
“My point is, if you want to say no, say it for yourself. Let me decide for myself what I’m ready for.”
“But yesterday you were unconscious for hours. You’ve been seriously injured. You still don’t even know who you are.”
“I know what I want. I know what I feel. And right now, this moment? This is what counts, Tessa. This is what matters.”
Her thick, gold lashes swept down and then slowly up again. She met his gaze. “All right. I see your point. Of course you’re the one who knows how much better you feel, what you’re…well enough to be doing.”
He rubbed her strong, slightly pointed chin with his thumb. “Well, okay then. So the question remains. Do you want me to stop?”
“I…” Her eyes shone with eagerness, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, in spite of the fact that she hadn’t said it yet. And then she confirmed what he already knew. She straightened those broad shoulders and tipped her chin high. “No. Never. Never stop.”
Chapter Seven
Relief flowed through him, followed by a hot rush of desire. His knees felt weak.
They didn’t have to stop. She didn’t want him to stop.
He had to kiss her. And he did. But with care, with…gentleness. He brushed her lips with his, holding himself back, though his body urged him on. He knew he’d been pushing her too fast, so he made a serious effort to show her he could take things slow.
But then, with a small, soft cry, she opened for him, offering him the deepest kind of kiss. And he was lost. He yanked her close with a groan. Reveling in the warm, soft feel of her body against him, he slid his tongue beyond her parted lips and found it wet and sweet in there, flavored with coffee. And so hot.
She let out a low cry and surged up to wrap her arms around his neck.
That did it. So much for taking it slow. Already, he was fully aroused, aching, hurting with need for her.
He kissed her and went on kissing her, deeply and thoroughly, holding her tight in his hungry embrace, sweeping a hand down to cup her round bottom. She gasped when he did that.
But she didn’t push him away. His senses on fire, his body needing hers as urgently as he needed to draw his next breath, he pressed her even more firmly into him, pushing his hips against her at the same time, so she could feel how much he wanted her.
Her breathing changed, grew shallow and quick, as he went on kissing her, running his hands up and down the sleek, strong shape of her back, caressing the twin inward curves at her waist that flared outward so temptingly to her hips. She was lifting up and into him now, pushing her sex against him, wordlessly offering him exactly what he needed, what he was starving for.
Had he really lived without the taste of her all his life until yesterday? Had he lived without the strength and softness of her filling his arms, the scent of her that was so right, so perfectly suited to him?
It must have been one damn miserable life, the one he’d led up until now. A life without her in it. Who wanted that?
He didn’t.
He caught her face between his hands and kissed her even more deeply, penetrating and retreating, mimicking the pulse of lovemaking. She moaned into his mouth. He shut his eyes and drank from her.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted her, all of her. He put his hands to her waist again, began waltzing her backward, toward the sofa in the great room.
She went where he guided her, those strong, long-fingered hands of hers all over him, caressing his shoulders, his chest, sliding lower to encircle his waist.
And then even lower…
She touched him, cupping him fully over the sweatpants she’d given him to wear. He groaned into her mouth as she brus
hed her warm palm along the hard, hungry length of him. She made him crazy. She made him burn.
He’d forgotten his goal of getting her prone on the couch. He couldn’t think when she touched him that way. He stopped dancing her backward and they stood, mouths locked in an endless kiss, in the middle of the floor in front of the stove he’d so carefully stoked a while before. He groaned again as she slid her hand up, under the waist of the sweatshirt. She pressed her palm to his belly, as if steadying him for what was to come.
If she didn’t wrap her fingers around him soon, he would go crazy. He caught her wrist, flattened his hand over hers, moaned his need deep in his throat.
She knew. She understood. She went on kissing him, driving him wild with that soft mouth of hers, while she eased her fingers under the elastic at his waist.
It was almost enough, the warm pads of her fingers against his lower belly, stroking, rubbing where he knew that dark bruise was. He felt the tenderness of the flesh there. But only in passing. Mostly, he felt hunger. He was on fire for her.
A second later, her fingers slid into the thick nest of hair at the apex of his thighs…and lower still.
And then it happened. She found him, took him, curling her hand firmly around the length of him.
He thought for sure he would die then. Die of pure pleasure, moaning her name.
The pleasure she gave him intensified. She stroked him, learning the shape and the feel of him, her fingers working the shaft and then sliding up and over the head. He felt her thumb trace the slit there, drawing up thick, creamy moisture that she spread over him, using her palm, then wrapping her fingers tight on the length again, but now with the wetness to make each caress a hot glide.
It was heaven. A pleasure so pure and fine. Too bad if he let her keep on, he would lose it, then and there. And that wouldn’t be right.
Not for their first time. Uh-uh. Their first time had to be special. It couldn’t be rushed.
With sharp regret, he reached down and stilled her hand. “Too…fast. Not yet.” He breathed the words against her parted lips.
With a sigh, she released him.
He took her face in his hands. “I should ask…”
The Stranger and Tessa Jones Page 7
