Murphy stood there, shivering and huffing warm heat into the air. He didn’t wear a coat despite the deep winter chill. “It’s about damn time. You were supposed to meet me an hour ago. I got worried.”
Staring up at him like this felt...familiar. But only the shadow of recognition. Like watching something unfold behind a backlit curtain at the theater. “I uh...fell asleep.” It wasn’t a total lie.
His eyes narrowed, and he entered the room, forcing me to back up. Then he slammed the door and flipped the light switch. “That’s bullshit. One of your pupils is blown, and your bed hasn’t been touched.” He didn’t yell, but his tone broached no argument. It turned me on to see this side of him. Like I could finally merge the Murphy I remembered as a teenager to this Murphy, my Murphy.
I turned around so he couldn’t see my face or the stupid smile plastered there. “Fine, Sherlock. I fell off the dresser and blacked out. I’m okay.”
He grabbed my upper arms and spun me around to face him. Then he started inspecting my head softly, despite the way he ground his teeth together. “Everything feels fine,” he said after a minute and released me.
“Thanks for the update, Doc,” I grumbled.
I stared up into his eyes which dropped to my lips. He wet his, and for a second, I thought he might kiss me. A heartbeat passed, and then he stepped away, pushing me in the opposite direction at the same time.
“Why were you on the dresser anyway. Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?”
I snorted. “I was injured years ago. I’m as recovered as I’ll ever be. I’m a little beyond some ibuprofen and rest.”
“Oh, I didn’t think...”
“Something I’m noticing is a pattern with you.”
He blinked and took another step back. Something passed across his face and then cleared to indifference. A perfectly neutral look men wore like a uniform for uncomfortable situations. Situations like mom asking after your sex life. Situations like meeting your sister’s boyfriend. Situations like doctor’s telling you the odds of recovering your memory were none to none.
I hated that look. It lied without using words.
“You being hurt might be old news for you, but it’s not for me. Cut me some slack, please.” A little of the neutrality softened, and I spied the pain beneath.
Me returning had turned something over inside him. It hurt him. I hadn’t thought about it when I decided to come here. I’d spent hours thinking about how he could be married or have kids by now. Hell, he could have been dead.
I stepped toward him, and he ambled equal distance backward. I repeated the step, and he bumped into a side table between the door and an old, worn armchair.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s your problem?”
His turn not to meet my eyes. “Nothing.”
“That’s why you’re retreating—oh so smoothly—with every step forward I take?”
He sighed and ruffled his hair with his fingers. “I’m fucking nervous.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t seen you for years Mara, and...”
“And?” I prompted, my lungs suddenly squeezing out air at a faster clip.
“And I still...”
I waited this time for him to finish, all the while inching closer and closer.
“Want you,” he finished. “I don’t know what this means,” he added in a rush.
He stared down at me now, like he could see into me, searching for the answer.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said.
His forehead scrunched up, and he dropped his gaze from mine. I closed the distance between us and pressed him down into the chair near the table he almost toppled. Once he sat, I climbed up on his lap. Doubtful the chair would hold both our weight for long, but for now, it would do.
The bunch up of his forehead stayed, and lines appeared around his mouth. But every line softened when I captured his cheeks between my palms.
“None of this means anything. I’m not the same woman you knew, and I don’t even know who you are. But this could be a second chance. I don’t know anything about you,” I whispered, slowly lowering my mouth to his.
He swallowed loudly, and his Adam’s apple danced in his throat. I could feel the heavy pound of his heart so near my own.
I didn’t kiss him but stopped centimeters away. “However, my whole body knows you, Murphy Wilcox. My brain is at a loss, but I can almost feel the ghost of your fingers digging into my hips.”
At the word hips, he shifted, his erection already pressing up into me.
“And it seems your body remembers mine.”
He slid his palms up the outside of my denim-clad thighs until he clutched my ass. Then dragged me forward into him, and he took my lips hard and fast.
A lightning strike of a kiss. Then he tried to pull away. I held his face harder and pressed into his lips with more force. I needed him to know this wasn’t an experiment to me. Seeing him, touching him, feeling him wasn’t a game to me.
He stopped fighting me and began kneading my ass with his fingers as I slid my tongue between his lips. This kiss, even my bones ached from how turned on he made me. As our tongues slid across each other, he started pulling my hips forward into his in short jerks, his cock aligning right with my clit through my jeans.
I didn’t have a touchstone for this kind of heat. I’d read books, watched porn, seen people having sex, and none of it had ratcheted me to humping like a teenager in a crappy motel. As if my clothes hurt my skin, I wanted them off so badly.
I released him with a gasp and began pulling my tank top off. His eyes tracked over my flesh as I revealed it. They didn’t miss the bullet hole scar at my shoulder, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything.
I sat on his lap in my bra and suddenly felt foolish as he sat there and looked at me, holding my ass in his hands. He didn’t make a move to remove his own clothes. I’d already flung away my tank top, no rewinding that move, so I tilted his face up to look at me.
“I’m sorry. If you aren’t into this...”
He lifted his hips up, and I gasped aloud as sensation exploded inside me.
“Does that say anything like I’m not into this?”
I shook my head, willing the feeling to stay, but it slowly dissipated. “You’re not undressing. You’re just sitting there.”
The corner of his mouth twitched like he might smile. “Call me crazy, but I want to savor this. I’ve waited years to have you. I don’t want to go fast. We did that last time. I plan to take all night and then the morning too.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he whispered, leaning back now, staring down the curve of my breasts to my flat belly and then to the button of my jeans. He released the silver fastening and then slid his arms up my warmed skin exploring, touching, breathing me in. It was an erotic experience in itself to be studied by him.
“Take your shirt off,” I grumbled. “Or I will do it for you.”
He did smile this time, and damn, how had he stayed single so long? A part of my brain told me he waited for me. I shook the line of thought away while he twisted out of his shirt and tossed it on top of mine.
His skin had warmed, and I ran my fingers through the tuft of chest hair right in the middle of his pecs. His chest was strong and muscled, as were his shoulders and the line of abs down to his jeans. Holy hell. The pictures in the email had definitely been real.
“Am I the first man you’ve kissed since...?” His gaze flashed to the scar on my head and down to my eyes again.
“Maybe,” I hedged. He was, but I’d picked up enough about male ego not to tell him so.
“What if I wanted to be the last?”
Memory Lane
Murphy
The long pause weighed more than I knew either of us could hold. Which told me everything she didn’t want to put to words. My cell phone blared from my pocket and saved me the indignity of retracting that proclamation. The one with her non-answer still
branded into my chest.
She eased off my lap as I fished the phone from denim and cotton. “Jake, what’s up?”
The music and cacophony of my bar—my home— cut through the line. I could barely hear him even at a yell in his weak attempt to be heard over the noise.
Mara perched on the edge of the bed and ducked her chin, folding into herself, and I couldn’t help but study her as Jake’s words barely pinged off my head. Instead of trying to puzzle it out, I answered, half aware of the words, most of my attention pin-pointed on her. “I can’t hear you. I’ll be over in a minute.”
I hung up and watched her snag her shirt from the floor and jerk it back on. The movements had no anger in them, more like resignation.
“Look, I’m sorry if…” I began, but she cut me off with a shake of her head and wave of her hand. The lack of eye contact didn’t exactly sell it. “Mara,” I snapped.
Her shoulders jerked back, and she leveled me a glare so familiar that for the first time, I felt glad to see it. “Do you want to come over and talk while I work? I couldn’t make out what Jake was yelling at me, but I assume he got too busy to handle the place alone.”
She blinked a few times, and I caught another glimpse of this vulnerability I’d never witnessed before. Had it been present all along, and Mara hid it well, or did it grow after her injury? Something to puzzle for later. I picked up my own shirt and ducked into it, the smell of beer and peanuts already overtaking the soft soap scent from her skin.
“Do you want to grab a coat? It’s cold out there.”
She didn’t answer, but shrugged into a worn faded black leather jacket and a pair of boots before following me out into the parking lot.
The bar sat not even 200 yards away, but we both huddled against the biting wind cutting across the parking lot stirring up loose gravel and debris, the darkness only punctuated by a few lights of the hotel and a streetlight up the road. That and the neon beer sign on one of my darkened windows.
We more fell into the bar than entered, the cold cut off by warmth and noise as I secured the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the bar now in full swing.
I led her to a stool at the middle of the bar counter, the one she always sat at, when she made it back to town, before squeezing through the line of people to duck behind the counter. A quick hand wash and I cleared Jake’s backup in under five minutes. He didn’t need me; he needed to stop flirting with the gaggle of women out for a bachelorette party. The bride must have low standards if this place topped the list.
I finally made it to Mara and leaned down and smiled. “The last night I saw you, before you left, was right here, on that stool. She glanced down like she might be able to read the angry exchange across its beat-up vinyl surface. “Oh, and how did that go? I got bits and pieces, but”—she leaned up on her elbow and braced her cheek on her hand— “I want to hear you tell me about it.”
I chuckled and whipped the dishtowel off the rack. Then I snagged a wet glass from the tray of freshly washed dishes and began drying one with a flourish. “It was a quiet night, cold, snow still on the ground from the day before. I was standing here behind the bar, minding my own business, when you started to get a little rowdy.”
She laughed, and the smile curled all the way to her eyes. My heartbeat gave a stutter, but I continued. “You wanted another beer, and I refused to serve you since you were drunk.”
“How many did I have?” she demanded before glancing down at the green bottle in front of her.
I braced my arms on the bar and leaned in to whisper. “Only two. You’re a bit of a lightweight, if you hadn’t figured that one out already.”
She laughed again. Music to my ears. Almost as sweet as her yelling profanity at my back.
“Now, you were mad I wouldn’t give you beer. And you were mad I kept cock-blocking you from flirting with my bar back at the time. Some kid who was like twenty-one.”
She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “You’re lying. I’d never hit on a kid.”
“Five years ago, you were a kid. Let’s be real here.”
She tilted her bottle neck toward me and took a long swing. “Go on. What happened next?”
“Well, you reached your limit. You picked up an empty peanut bowl and threw it at me.”
I tossed the towel on the counter and scooted the full peanut bowl toward her with a wink. “You missed, of course.”
Another laugh and smile. Where had this woman been for the last fifteen years? I’d never seen Mara smile so much in one sitting, let alone directed at me. Not wanting to ruin it, I continued with the story.
“I hauled you off the stool by the arm and dragged you outside.”
“And then?”
Digging into the details of her reaction to the door slam and the resulting panic attack, didn’t seem like the best idea. I waved it away. “And after I got someone to finish my shift, I brought you your coat and somehow fell into your bed.”
This smile was softer, and when she licked her lips, I could almost feel the wet heat of her tongue on my own. “And it obviously went well enough to replace all our school memories.”
“We became friends,” I offered. Even all these years later, I didn’t know what we were to each other. Neither of us would admit to more than friends, but neither of us wanted anything less.
Someone yelled from the back, and she nodded her head, telling me to go. I locked eyes with her a beat longer than necessary, hoping it told her I didn’t want to leave her side for a second.
She took a swig of her beer to cut the eye contact, and I went to the back to help Jake load a keg. Even from my current angle, I kept her in my line of sight. Like if I looked away, she might disappear on me again. I didn’t think I could recover a second time.
I hoisted the keg, and Jake hooked it up. Movement caught my eye, and I almost dropped the keg as Kent Bridges sidled up to the bar and began to size up Mara.
Revulsion rolled through me at the sight. Why was he even in my bar? He preferred the city club life. This hick town had never been good enough for him. That suit could probably pay my rent. Once Jake finished, I hightailed it back out front and clapped Kent on the shoulder with more than too much force.
To his credit, he didn’t wince.
“Kent, what are you doing here?”
He adjusted his shoulders and glanced up. “Just meeting a few friends, and then I saw this beauty sitting all alone.”
Kent was the high school star, who, unfortunately, never got karmic justice for his misdeeds. His school boy antics led him to his father’s law firm as well as a string of DUIs that meant he better not have driven himself tonight. The scent of vodka drifted from his breath, even though he clutched a bottle tight in one hand. The other inched closer and closer to Mara on the bar top.
“You alright?” I asked her.
She did nothing more than meet my eyes and gave me the tiniest nod. So I stepped back and let her handle herself. She was about to start talking, when Kent stumbled forward, catching himself on her chair, but not without copping a feel.
Everything happened in a flash. Kent grazed her boob. I surged forward about to knock the shit out of him, while Mara jerked up and slammed the peanut bowl against his face.
An arc of nuts littered the floor, and Kent stood hunched, holding his cheek. The bowl was still clutched tight in Mara’s hand, her eyes wide, and she shivered from head to toe.
I came around the bar and gently peeled the bowl from her fingers and set it on the bar.
The music had cut off, and the crowd gathered as Kent huffed and curled a protective hand around his cheek. When he straightened again, he faced us both. “Oh look, if it isn’t Saint Murphy sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. As usual.”
“Don’t call him that,” Mara said, even and slow. The kind of slow many would recognize as a forewarning. Kent was never very smart.
“You dumb bitch, I was only trying to talk to you. I’m pressing charges.”
> He removed his hand to reveal a red circle just below his eye. Nice shot she got in there.
I called out loud to everyone. “Since you’re all done drinking, bar’s closed. Get out.”
They grumbled but grabbed coats and started toward the door. Except William, the old man who rented the corner booth two days a week. “Even you, Willy. Gotta go.”
He waved at me, and I gestured to Jake. He’d make sure Willy got home safely after he finished his beer.
Turning back to Jake and two friends who lingered by the door, I finally stepped forward, and she moved no more than an inch to put herself behind my right shoulder. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Kent. You and your friends are going to leave my bar and never come back.”
He drew himself up, trying to lord his two extra inches of height over me. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to call the police and report a sexual assault on my friend here. Being the sober one of us, and the only one of us without a criminal record, who do you think they will believe?”
He glared, and Mara interlaced her fingers over my curled up fist. I’d spoken to him levelly. I didn’t realize how pissed I felt until she gently uncurled my fingers and placed her own between them.
He spent a minute staring between us. “What the fuck ever. No one likes this shit hole anyway.”
Mara’s words came back to me. Now confirmed from two of my patrons. He left with his friends, and I laughed out loud.
“What about this is funny?”
I glanced up. She didn’t seem angry or confused, rather genuinely curious why I couldn’t stop laughing. When I got control of myself, I squeezed her fingers tighter. “You told me that same thing once. After I threw you out, you told me no one likes this shit hole bar anyway.”
Willy called from the corner. “I do.”
Mara’s face broke out in a wide grin, even a few teeth showing.
“Thanks, Willy.”
Make Me Forget: an Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 4
