“That’s better,” Morgan whispered, burying his face in her silky hair. “Much better….” And it was. A blazing tenderness moved through him as he held her. He still didn’t remember his love for her—at least, in one sense. But in another, he did. Her trembling abated, and he felt her breathing even out, slowing to match his. He felt the rounded softness of her small breasts pressing against his chest, felt the flutter of her smaller heartbeat against his own. She felt so good in his arms. So damn good. He had to remind himself why he was holding her, instead of selfishly absorbing the feel of her to feed his own hungry needs.
“Tell me what happened to you,” he ordered thickly. “You’ve never said anything about your kidnapping. When I’ve asked Jake or Dr. Parsons, they’ve gone silent on me. They said I had to get the story from you, Laura.” His arms tightened protectively around her slender form. “Well, I’m here, and I’m asking. I want you to tell me what happened.”
Shuddering, Laura buried her face deeply in the soft flannel. “Morgan,” she whispered unsteadily, “it’s nothing compared to what you went through. I—”
He slid his fingers through her hair and held her captive against him. “No, you don’t,” he muttered. “I’m realizing just how much you avoid, Laura.”
She felt his fingers stroking her hair. “I—I suppose I do,” she admitted.
He smiled grimly down at her as he eased her away from him just enough to see her suffering features. “No more running,” he rasped, “for either of us. Okay? Last night something happened, Laura. I was so scared when I heard you cry out. Something snapped inside me.” His gaze probed her tear-filled blue eyes. “I touched your hair, and then something told me to lean down and kiss you.”
Her eyes widened.
Morgan’s mouth flattened with the admission. “It was selfish of me. I needed you, Laura. Even without memories, I have feelings for you. I did kiss you until you woke up a little. I told you to go back to sleep, and you did.” He raised a hand to touch her flaming cheek. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m convinced that kiss was the reason I had those dreams and memories. Hell, maybe it was just my worry for you triggering something in my brain. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter right now. You do.” He gave her a small shake. “I want to know what happened to you.”
Anguish squeezed Laura’s heart. She absorbed the feel of his fingers on her cheek, her skin tingling pleasantly in their wake. The care radiating from him filled her with renewed strength, enough to speak. “I’m so afraid to tell you,” she quavered. “I’ve been dreading this moment for so long, Morgan….”
Her painful words tore at him as nothing he could remember had. Whispering her name, he crushed her hard against him, his hand against the side of her head. “It’s all right,” he rasped unsteadily. “Whatever it is, Laura, we’ll take it together. You hear me? Together.”
The words fell across her, and Laura felt as if she’d crossed the line between sanity and insanity. How many times had she dreamed that Morgan would say those very words to her with just such fervency? With his fierce tenderness aimed at her alone? No, she wasn’t going insane—at least, not yet. This was real. She could feel the strength of Morgan’s embrace. The powerful beat of his heart gave her courage where she’d had none. Slowly, she eased her hands downward and slid her arms around his waist. She heard Morgan groan—a deep, almost animal-like sound of absolute pleasure.
“I remember waking,” she said brokenly, “in this strange house. It was a bedroom. I was sick and dizzy. A guard came into the room when he heard me moving around. I had worn a silk suit because it was our seventh wedding anniversary, and I wasn’t in it. Instead, someone had dressed me in a pink silk nightgown. The guard looked at me and left.
“I was very sick, and I sat on the bed looking at my hands. I had rope burns around my wrists, and I kept trying to think how I’d gotten them.” Her voice lowered to a broken whisper. “And then…Garcia came in.” She shivered violently and felt Morgan’s arms tighten around her in response. Shutting her eyes tightly, Laura said, her voice muffled, “He—he raped me….”
The words escaped, brimming with terror and anguish. Morgan felt tears flood into his eyes. He brushed a kiss against Laura’s hair as she began to tremble all over again. A deep longing and tenderness overwhelmed him as he began to rock her gently in his arms. “Let it go,” he rasped. “Cry, Laura. Cry….”
A repressed sob jammed Laura’s throat. But Morgan’s voice was low and husky, and miraculously, the lump dissolved. A cry escaped, tearing violently from her. For an instant, Laura wasn’t sure whose sob she’d heard, the sound was so foreign—more animal than human. She felt Morgan’s mouth against her temple. He was kissing her, caring for her. Her fingers dug convulsively into his shirtfront, and she struggled to contain the next sob.
“No!” he rasped against her ear. “Let it go! Dammit, Laura, stop trying to run and hide. I’m here. I’ll hold you. Just let it go!”
The rawness of his words overran the last remnant of her crumbling defenses. All the months of having to hold herself together—first for Jason, then for herself and finally for the Perseus employees as they frantically tried to locate Morgan—faded away. The last vestiges of her reserve crumbled with a second, tearing sob. Laura buried her face against Morgan’s chest and felt his hand in her hair, pressing her face to him. His other arm tightened almost painfully around her waist as he held her as close as possible, as if to absorb her pain into himself.
“Cry for yourself,” he growled harshly. “Cry…”
And she did. Laura felt her knees give way, felt him take her entire weight as she collapsed against his stalwart frame and gave in to the horror of her experience. One sob after another tore from her contorted mouth. Hot tears, so long held at bay, spilled from her eyes. Her heart felt as if it was exploding with the grief she’d suppressed. Her body convulsed, as the awful, hurting sounds continued rising out of her. Time stood still, losing all meaning as she clutched frantically at Morgan, her hands opening and closing against his shirt as the choking cries rolled up and out of her.
Laura surrendered to her grief—to the hurt she’d sustained from the ordeal—in every way. For this moment out of time, the real Morgan was back. Even if he never regained another memory, she felt him present with her as never before. The invisible connection was strongly anchored between them, more tangible than she’d ever experienced—and it was a lifeline to her in this moment of grief and searing anger.
A deep terror continued to override the rest of her suffering. Even now, as she cried in Morgan’s arms, she was afraid to tell him the details of her capture—afraid that if he knew the truth, he’d reject her and want her out of his life—forever. Her body ached from the convulsing sobs, and eventually the storm left her. All she could feel in that moment was Morgan’s pounding heart, his hand moving gently across her hair, offering solace. Repeatedly, he placed small kisses along her hairline as he held her close and rocked her gently in his arms.
Where did death end and life begin? Was it possible to feel dead inside, yet still be living? Laura wondered bleakly. Opening her eyes, the remnants of tears clinging to her thick lashes, she stared unseeingly, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest. Her arms ached from holding him so tightly and she let them relax a little. She felt Morgan draw in a deep, ragged breath, felt his warm breath near her ear.
“All right?” he asked huskily.
She nodded jerkily, unwilling to let him go just yet. Morgan must have sensed her fear that he would leave her, because he tightened his embrace momentarily, squeezing her reassuringly.
“That was a long time in coming,” he said quietly, easing back just enough to look down at her. Laura’s blue eyes were wounded holes of grief. Her lips were still contorted with pain, her velvety cheek damp with tears. He raised a hand to gently dry them. Fresh tears started, and he smiled tenderly, slipping his arm back around her.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, “so sorry, Laura. I sti
ll don’t remember Perseus or what started all this. I can only believe what Jake, Wolf and Killian have told me. But it sounds as if I left you and my family open to attack—”
“No!” Laura pushed away enough to meet his ravaged gaze. “No,” she whispered less stridently, “don’t blame yourself for what happened, Morgan. It was no one’s fault. Do you hear me?”
He shook his head. “I should have taken steps to ensure your safety, Laura.”
“That’s ridiculous!” She pushed back farther, her hands gripping his arms. “Don’t you think I knew the risks? I’m part and parcel of the military. I knew when you set up Perseus that someone might seek revenge someday. We talked about the possibility many times, Morgan.”
“We did?” He searched her pale features.
“Yes, and we agreed enough precautions had been taken.” Laura gestured wearily. “I wasn’t willing to live behind iron gates followed by guards. When you suggested it, I said no. If there’s any fault here, it’s mine.”
Gently, he framed her face, gazing deeply into her injured eyes. “I don’t remember those conversations, Laura, but it doesn’t matter.”
“I thought,” she whispered, clinging to his tender gaze, “the worst time in my life was when I was hit by that car and lost my sight. No one knew if I’d recover from the blindness.” She lowered her lashes. “But this is worse. I—I can’t believe what happened to me, sometimes. I have horrible nightmares. I—I was hoping with you near me again, they’d stop.” Helplessly, she forced herself to look back up into his eyes. “But they haven’t.”
“And they shouldn’t,” Morgan said thickly, using his thumbs to wipe the fresh tears from her cheeks. “I just remembered something from the past that I used to tell you.” He gave her an apologetic look. “I remember telling you how safe you were when you were with me.” Looking up, suffering deeply, Morgan rasped, “And I didn’t keep you safe, Laura. Nor did I keep my family safe….”
Sharp, serrating pain pierced Laura’s heart. Laura gripped Morgan’s arms tightly. “All we can do,” she whispered, “is go on. We can’t blame ourselves, Morgan. Dr. Parsons said to live one hour at a time—one day at a time. We have to pick up the pieces of ourselves that way. Otherwise—” she released a ragged sigh “—we’ll drive ourselves insane with guilt and pointing fingers. We can’t afford to do that. We just can’t!”
Hearing the stridency in her voice, he returned his gaze to her. Releasing her, he allowed his hands to settle on her shoulders. “No,” he answered heavily, “no finger pointing.” Still, Morgan knew without a doubt that this was his fault. Memory or no memory, he’d caused Laura’s pain. It was impossible for him to understand yet what the fact of her rape had done to her, but he promised himself he would find out. Though she had cried long and hard, he could see that she looked a little better now; but he could also feel a deeper, more terrifying wound she was still hiding from him. Somehow, he’d regain her trust. And maybe—if he was the luckiest man in the world—he could help her heal the wound he’d caused.
Guilt bubbled within him as he held Laura lightly in his embrace, but a lot of new feelings rose with it. Somehow, that one innocent kiss last night had cracked open the door on his memory—if not specific recollections, then solid feelings he knew were related to his past.
Forcing a partial smile for Laura’s benefit, he stroked her hair. “One hour at a time,” he promised thickly. “One day at a time.”
She managed a grimace. “I’m more worried about the nights. The darkness scares me—” her voice broke “—because that’s when Garcia would stalk me….”
“Then we’ll handle the nights together, Laura.”
Chapter 8
The sun felt warm and soothing on Laura’s back. She had brought one of the folding chairs from the porch of the cabin, along with her needlepoint, to sit along the bank of Oak Creek. In the past seven days the Arizona weather had offered an amazing alternative to the East Coast February she was accustomed to. The temperature was in the high sixties, the sky a blinding blue streaked with long, thin cirrus clouds that reminded her of the soft, downy feathers on a goose’s breast.
It was nearly noon, and she languished in the soothing rays while working on an iris design with her needle. One day, it would become a cover for a couch pillow. The work caught and focused her fragmented concentration, and for that she was grateful.
A little farther down the creek’s bank stood Morgan, who had borrowed some fly tackle from the Donovan Ranch and was casting endlessly into the cold, flowing water. He’d had no luck yet, but Laura didn’t think that mattered much to him. Just getting outdoors, breathing in the clean southwestern air and absorbing the sun’s strength was enough.
Morgan. Her heart repeated his name, and her hands stilled over her project. She lifted her chin and watched him. He was at least two hundred feet downstream, dressed in jeans, a blue-and-white flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled carelessly up to his elbows, and hiking boots. The breeze, always present along the creek, lifted errant strands of his black hair.
The tension he’d carried to the cabin seven days ago was gone. His craggy profile had softened. Had it been the miracle that had occurred in the kitchen that first morning after they’d arrived? Laura wondered. Or that kiss she could barely recall, like a hazy strand of fog just out of reach? She wasn’t sure. She poked her needle through another hole in the fabric. The week had fled by. Ever since he’d held her in the kitchen and she’d cried out her heart and soul in his arms, those terrible nightmares had ceased stalking her.
In fact, Laura thought as she chose a strand of deep purple thread from the tote bag leaning against the leg of her chair, her sleep had become deep, healing and uninterrupted since then. Six nights of eight hours of sleep had worked miracles on her, too.
As she threaded the purple strand through the needle’s eye, she sighed with contentment. Every day, as she watched, small memories came trickling back to Morgan. But so far they were all from his childhood. How she ached for him to remember their time, their love. Though they slept only six feet apart, Laura missed Morgan.
Chiding herself for her impatience, she carefully inserted the needle again into the fabric across her lap.
Her heart revolved to Jason and Katy. How she looked forward to calling her children each night. Jason loved the phone and loved to chat. Katy couldn’t, of course, but Laura eagerly absorbed Susannah’s litany of the children’s activities each day. Part of her ached to hold them, to dress them in the morning, tousle Jason’s hair and watch the devilish sparkle come to his eyes as she played with him. How like his father he was. And how much Katy was like her….
Morgan had yet to talk to Jason on the phone, and that disturbed Laura. He had no memory of his children and was afraid of raising Jason’s hopes. Laura couldn’t help but notice how Morgan moved uncomfortably around the cabin as she talked to their family, hidden away in the hills of Kentucky.
What if Morgan’s memory was permanently wiped out regarding her and their children? The question was simply too brutal to contemplate. Laura knew she was emotionally unstable and knew it would take months, perhaps a year or more, to get over the shocks she’d suffered. Ann Parsons had dropped by midweek and talked with them individually in her role as therapist. Laura looked forward to talking to Ann, woman-to-woman. There were certain things she simply couldn’t share with Morgan yet. Perhaps she never would be able to, if his memory didn’t return. Ann provided a cushion, a friendly ear to listen to her worst fears, without judgment or recrimination.
To give Morgan credit, he was trying desperately to jog memories, Laura knew. He often pored over the photo albums she’d brought. They would sit for hours at a time as she slowly and thoroughly went over each color photo with him. Still, he remembered little beyond fragments of his childhood years. Laura knew his parents were grateful he remembered them; Morgan had phoned them as soon as the memories returned and had reestablished contact….
She heard him give a victoriou
s shout and she looked up. He had caught a trout! A smiled played across her lips as she watched him expertly retrieve the fish and place it in the creel at his feet. His face glowed with triumph, and she couldn’t resist him any longer. Putting her needlepoint aside, she walked down the bank to join him.
He grinned widely, crouching over his creel as she sauntered up.
“Dinner tonight,” he said proudly, gesturing to the shining rainbow trout in the bottom of the basket.
Laura sighed and crouched down opposite him. “He’s so big and beautiful, Morgan. It’s a shame to see him die.” She looked up. “Rachel brought T-bone steaks over yesterday. We could grill them for dinner tonight….”
Crestfallen, Morgan watched the trout flop around in the creel, gasping. “He’s big, Laura. A good pound and a half. Do you know how hard it is to catch a trout on a fly rod, much less a big one like this?”
Laughing gently, Laura stood. “Hey, it’s your decision. You’re the one who spent two hours out here casting for him.”
Morgan studied her closely. An ache seized him, and he slowly unwound from his crouched position to stand up. Laura was less than a foot away, wearing a denim skirt that fell to her ankles, a feminine, long-sleeved white blouse and a bright red velvet vest, its crimson color accenting the blush in her cheeks. Hungrily, he absorbed the sparkle in her deep blue eyes as she playfully held his gaze. Her lips were softly parted, and he found himself aching even more to kiss her—again. Each night became more and more of a special hell for him. Laura might fall asleep immediately, as soon as her head hit the pillow, but he sure didn’t. No, he lay there fantasizing about touching her, loving her and kissing her senseless.
He didn’t question Laura’s love for him; it was obvious in so many small ways. Not that she had reached out since that morning in the kitchen to hug him or kiss his cheek—or anything obvious. No, she’d circumspectly kept her distance from him. And he knew it was because he still couldn’t recall his love for her. Oh, he had emerging feelings for her, some vague recollections, and he’d shared those with her, but he knew that until he could recall the love they had shared, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch her.
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