Blank Slate

by Snow, Tiffany

  “Go to sleep, O’Connell.”

  Something soft smacked him in the face.

  “What the — ” he spluttered, grabbing the offending pillow she’d thrown at him.

  “Be glad I didn’t have something heavier nearby,” she retorted.

  He was, actually.

  “Now give it back to me,” she said.

  “Forget it,” Erik said, tucking the second pillow underneath his head. That was slightly better. “You shouldn’t have thrown it. You should really learn to watch that temper of yours. Could get you into all sorts of trouble.”

  “Langston! Give me back my pillow!”

  “No.”

  She started cussing a blue streak at him. Langston smirked, waiting. When she stopped, he said, “Try to watch the mouth in front of my mother, will ya?”

  He heard her flop back onto the bed, and he was quite sure that if she’d had something else close at hand, it would have been launched at his head.

  * * *

  Something woke Erik. His eyes popped open and his senses were on immediate alert. He stayed still, listening. It was still dark, not yet morning.

  A whimper, mumbled words from the bed.

  Crying.

  Erik was on his feet and by O’Connell in seconds. The streetlight outside sent dim rays slanting across her face, and he could see she was again in the throes of a nightmare. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes tightly closed. She was curled into a tight ball, as though protecting herself.

  He was loath to wake her, despite it being a nightmare. The more she dreamed, the better chance she had of getting back her memory.

  “No…stop…don’t touch me…”

  The words were mumbled but coherent and sent a jolt of alarm through Erik. “Don’t touch me.” What the fuck was she dreaming about? Screw that shit about not waking her.

  “Clarissa, wake up.” He sat next to her, untangling the blankets that had gotten wrapped around her. “Clarissa,” he said again, taking hold of her arm. That got a reaction.

  She sat bolt upright, yanking her arm away, then started fighting like a hellcat.

  “Clarissa! Stop!”

  She was silent, still in the grip of the nightmare, and Erik tried not to hurt her as he grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides. He hauled her writhing onto his lap, her back against his chest. It took both his arms wrapped around her to hold her still.

  “It’s me, Clarissa,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s Erik. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The words finally seemed to penetrate, and she went still in his arms. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Her entire body was trembling.

  Erik loosened his grip on her, but didn’t release her. Her hair gently tickled his face and chin as he held her. After a moment, he said softly, “You want to talk about it?”

  He didn’t think she was going to answer, but finally she spoke.

  “I was…in an apartment. I dinna know where. I think my brother lived there with me. He was gone…out on a job. Told me to stay put, he could handle it alone. I was worried. Danny always overestimated himself.”

  Erik stayed quiet, listening. Her voice had regained the lilting Irish brogue, but was strained, as though the words were being pulled from her throat.

  “A man was there…a friend of Danny’s. His name was Sam. I…I must have had a crush on him, I think. I was nervous, excited that he’d come by when Danny wasn’t home. He told me I was a pretty li’l thing.”

  An awful feeling of foreboding swept over Erik. Please, God, don’t let this be going where I think it is.

  “He…kissed me. My first kiss. And he touched me. It was nice. Thrilling, even. I was stupid.”

  Erik’s eyes squeezed shut as her voice turned cold. He forced them back open. “What happened, Clarissa?”

  “He wanted me to take my clothes off. I dinna want to. I was scared. He grabbed me, tore my shirt. Hit me. I yelled at him, told him Danny would kill him. He said…he said…”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he knew where Danny was, what he was doing. That he’d call the cops on him if I dinna let him…” Her voice trailed away.

  Rage coursed through Erik like he had never felt before. It took everything he had to control it. O’Connell didn’t need his anger right now.

  “So I did.”

  O’Connell’s voice was toneless, her admission matter-of-fact, yet her body still shook in his arms. Erik wondered if she’d ever told anyone what she’d just told him.

  “What happened then?” he asked, hoping Danny had killed the man slowly.

  “You woke me.”

  Shit. So he’d let her go through all of that again in her nightmares and she still didn’t have her memory.

  Erik shifted her around sideways and tucked her head against his chest. She curled into him without protest, her trembling subsiding somewhat. She felt small and fragile in his arms, nothing at all like the same woman who had ruthlessly done what was necessary to free him last night. Erik had never known a woman with such strength and courage, who could still allow herself to be vulnerable with him.

  Erik’s conscience was silent for once. At the moment, he couldn’t give a shit about keeping an “emotional distance” or that she was his prisoner. O’Connell was alone and hurting, yet had trusted him enough to tell him the horror of what had happened to her. And now, even after how Erik had treated her, she was allowing him to comfort her.

  He was one lucky bastard.

  And after all this was over, he was going to track down Sam and rip him limb from limb. Starting with his dick.

  Erik shifted, pulling the covers back and settling her on the bed. Reaching down, he grabbed a pillow from the floor and tucked it behind her head.

  “Erik?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t leave yet.” Her voice was a whisper in the dark, and Erik knew it must have cost her something to make that request. The lingering effects of the nightmare were no doubt worse than she was letting on.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” he said. He grabbed the other pillow and arranged himself next to her before pulling the covers up over them. He didn’t ask permission and she didn’t protest when he snagged her around the waist and tucked her spoon-style against him.

  His arm settled in the curve of her waist, and Erik felt her body relax as she released a deep sigh. Her hand found his and she threaded their fingers together.

  Erik’s chest suddenly felt too tight and the air too thick in his lungs. Whatever he had been repeating inside his head all day about keeping his distance from O’Connell, he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. He wanted to keep her, protect her, make love to her. He wondered how far he’d go to do all three, and just how much it would cost him.

  * * *

  Clarissa woke feeling more rested than she had in days. It took a moment to remember where she was, but the feel of Langston’s body pressed against her back, his arm curved around her waist to settle between her breasts, quickly brought back memories of last night.

  A chill went through her as she recalled the too-real nightmare. She didn’t know what had happened to Sam, but if she got her memory back and she hadn’t already killed him, she would. She shivered, the fear and helplessness she’d felt in the dream still too present in her mind.

  “You all right?” Langston’s voice was a husky baritone in her ear. His arm tightened protectively around her.

  Clarissa smiled, amazed at how attuned to her he was, even while asleep. Hadn’t he just told her yesterday that he needed to keep a distance? And yet he’d thrown that all aside when she’d needed him last night.

  “I am now,” she said, squirming until she faced him.

  His hair was tousled from sleep, his jaw shadowed with whiskers. Clarissa abruptly decided Langston had the definition of “bedroom eyes.” He looked at her as though he had nothing but sex on his mind.

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she did nothing. After all
he’d said yesterday, she wasn’t about to put herself in the position of being rejected again.

  “Thanks,” she said, trying to break the sudden tension between them. “For last night. I really—”

  But his mouth was on hers, and she couldn’t finish her sentence, even if she’d remembered what she was going to say.

  Clarissa eagerly opened her lips, her blood heating in her veins as Langston deepened their kiss, his tongue sliding against hers. She had a brief thought that she wished she’d taken a moment to brush her teeth, then dismissed it. Who the hell cared when he was kissing her as though he couldn’t get enough?

  His body lay half on top of her, his leg insinuated between her thighs. The thin pants he wore did nothing to hide his arousal, and Clarissa couldn’t hold back a moan.

  Langston dragged the T-shirt she wore up and over her head, tossing it aside. His hands pressed against her spine, encouraging her to arch her back. She did so eagerly, her eyes slamming shut as his mouth settled over her breast.

  Clarissa gasped, her fingers digging into Langston’s shoulders, the muscles hard underneath her hands. Her blood thundered in her ears as his whiskers abraded her tender skin, his lips and tongue a searing heat against her flesh. Desire burned in her veins. God, she wanted him.

  Hooking her leg around his waist, she dragged at his pants, working them down. He helped, lifting his hips, and she triumphantly pushed the fabric down his legs. He was bare now, and she mewled in pleasure at the feel of the incredible ass she’d glimpsed last night. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen a better one, but somehow she doubted it.

  “Oh, Erik,” she breathed.

  Langston’s mouth left her breasts, burning a trail up her neck to kiss his name from her lips.

  “Say my name again,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to her cheek, her jaw, her brow.

  “Erik. ErikErikErik.” His name was a mantra she was only too happy to repeat, just so long as he didn’t stop what he was doing.

  He shifted, settling himself fully between her thighs. His sizeable erection pushed against her flesh, sending Clarissa’s arousal to a fever pitch. The feel of his naked body against hers was more intoxicating than she would have believed. The only barrier between them now was the scrap of silk she wore, and even as she thought that, his hand was pulling at the fragile fabric.

  There was a sharp rap on the door. “Erik, breakfast is ready if you and Clarissa want to come down.”

  Langston was up and off her so fast it would have been funny if it didn’t make her want to scream in frustration. But she was treated to the view of a fully aroused Erik Langston — before he hurriedly pulled his pants back on.

  “Um, yeah, we’ll be right down,” Langston called out. Somehow, his voice was steady.

  Clarissa heard footsteps moving down the hall. For trying to be a matchmaker, Vivian had shitty timing.

  “Shit, Clarissa, I’m sorry.” Langston shoved a hand through his hair.

  Clarissa frowned. “Why are you apologizing exactly?” Tossing away the covers, she turned on her side to face him. She bent her elbow and rested her head on her hand. The pose accentuated the dip of her waist and displayed her breasts to full advantage.

  Erik swallowed. Hard. He could not believe he’d nearly made love to O’Connell while in the same house as his mother. And after what she’d told him last night, too. What if she thought he was taking advantage of her? She’d been open and vulnerable to him last night; was this how he repaid her? By groping her the first chance he got?

  “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you,” he said, trying to keep his eyes above her neck.

  “Take advantage of me? Was I saying no?”

  “Clarissa, you’ve lost your memory, we’re running for our lives, you’re having harrowing nightmares about the life you led — it’s natural to feel lost and alone.”

  She sat up abruptly. “What are you saying? That you felt sorry for me? That’s all that was?”

  Erik couldn’t take it anymore and started searching the floor for the shirt he’d taken off her. He couldn’t think straight with a raging hard-on and O’Connell nearly naked.

  “No,” he said, finally finding the shirt and snatching it up. “It’s just…wrong of me to take advantage.”

  She’d stood now, and Erik handed her the shirt.

  “You know, Langston,” she began, “it always amazes me how men never stop to think that maybe they’re the ones being used for sex. And that’s all it is. Just sex. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  Erik winced inwardly at the ice in her voice but didn’t look away from her gaze. After a pregnant pause, she turned away and disappeared into the bathroom, the door slamming closed behind her.

  If anything, Erik was now even more grateful for his mother’s timely interruption. What O’Connell had told him last night, what she’d unknowingly revealed just now, was how little her feelings were involved with sex. Erik wondered if O’Connell had ever had a real lover, someone who wanted to give and not take, someone she could trust to open up to and bare her soul.

  Her first experience with sex had been to be raped, he harshly reminded himself. A sacrifice to save her brother, who was no more worthy of that kind of act than anyone else.

  Regardless of the heat between them, Erik didn’t want to be in the same category as any other man who’d been with O’Connell. How to go about that…well, it would just have to wait until this was all over. His first priority was to keep her safe, the second to find a way to trigger her memory.

  With that thought in mind, he dressed and went downstairs. A short while later, Clarissa came down to find him and Vivian sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Good morning!” Vivian said cheerily. “You must be starving. Sit down and eat.”

  Clarissa gave Vivian a wan smile as she sat down, making sure to put a seat between herself and Langston. She avoided his gaze. “Thank you.”

  Vivian chatted with Langston while Clarissa ate. She watched him drink his coffee while he talked with his mom. He’d put on a pair of jeans and a navy button-down shirt. It was obvious that he and Vivian got along really well, and Clarissa remembered how he’d told her what they’d gone through when his dad had left them.

  “So Clarissa,” Vivian said. “I noticed you have a slight accent. Where are you from?”

  “Ireland originally,” Clarissa answered, remembering what she’d read from Langston’s file on her.

  “And your family?”

  Clarissa really didn’t want to tell her that her dad and brother were in prison. She liked Vivian and doubted she’d want her son associating with someone whose family reunions had to be held under maximum security. “My mother died when I was young,” she said, evading the question slightly. “I don’t really remember her.” That was certainly true.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Vivian said sympathetically.

  Clarissa thought she would have said more, asked another question, but Langston cut in.

  “We have some work to do, Mom, so we’ll just be in the living room.”

  “Oh. Okay, well don’t let me keep you then.”

  Vivian started clearing the dishes, despite Clarissa’s protests that she’d help. Anything, really, to delay having to be alone with Langston.

  “Don’t be silly,” Vivian said, taking the plate from Clarissa. “You’re a guest.”

  Clarissa reluctantly followed Langston to the living room, sorry for the loss of Vivian as a buffer. Langston had already set up her laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “Internet’s not a problem here,” he explained. “Let’s see if you have any e-mail.”

  Clarissa didn’t say anything as she sat down. So it was all business now? Fine with her. It’s not like she wanted to discuss what had happened.

  She didn’t know what to make of Langston. It was obvious he was attracted to her, wanted her, but refused to give in to the impulse to have sex with her. She could only assume his sense of d
uty, him saying it would be wrong, precluded sex. At least, with her. Maybe if she really had been the good girl he’d met at church…

  But there was no point in following that line of thought. It was what it was. Langston was a white hat, an FBI agent who fought on the side of the law. Clarissa was a black hat, a criminal and thief who’d apparently done enough bad things to have dangerous people expending considerable resources to find her. The two of them together was a recipe for disaster.

  The silence between them was fraught with tension. Clarissa was hyperaware of Langston sitting next to her, watching as she entered her password and pulled up her e-mail.

  It didn’t take long before two messages came in. Both were from the same e-mail address, dated two days ago, and very short.

  Transfer complete.

  The second was just as cryptic.

  31°33'34.01"N 91°24'40.78"W

  “Those are coordinates,” Langston said.

  “To where?” Clarissa asked, but Langston was already typing the coordinates into his phone.

  “Natchez, Mississippi,” he said.

  Clarissa noticed a flashing icon in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. She clicked on it, realizing it was a message from someone named Killall.

  “Instant messaging,” Langston said, scooting closer. Clarissa could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave.

  Bout time u came online. Where u been?

  Clarissa stared at the prompt, her fingers poised over the keys.

  “Type something back,” Langston urged.

  She shot him a look. “I will. Give me a second.”

  Looking back at the screen, she typed.

  Ran into problems.

  “Your handle is Calamity?” Langston said with a snort. Clarissa ignored him.

  The response came back quickly.

  Everything’s uploaded and now offline. When r u coming for pickup?

  Clarissa glanced at Langston, who was sitting much too close so he could see the screen. “You think this is the one who e-mailed the coordinates?”

  Langston hesitated. “Maybe. Ask him if the coordinates are still good.”