Only then did Jacob finally move. But not away from her.
Instead he lowered himself completely, covering her with his body, wrapping himself around her so she was contained, leaving her to sob in his arms, completely and utterly safe.
Just as he promised she’d be.
* * *
It took Jacob all the control he’d learned in his long years of military service not to push Faith onto her back, strip those far too big sweatpants from her body, spread her thighs, and drive himself deep inside her.
He managed it, but barely.
Six months of slow-building chemistry plus a few weeks of no sex had already set him on edge, and her running her hands all over him while rubbing her delicious tits all over his chest and her hot little pussy against his cock had nearly pushed him over it.
But he had a goal and fucking her wasn’t it, no matter how badly he wanted to.
She had her face turned into his neck, her breath hot on his throat, and he could feel the hard press of her nipples against his chest.
His cock ached like a motherfucker, the wet heat of her sex soaking through the fabric of his pants, and he had to grit his teeth, fighting the urge to take his own pleasure in turn.
Christ, he had no idea why he’d incited her to use him to get herself off, which was a worry since he always—always—had a reason for the choices he made.
He’d been trying to get her to follow her instincts, thinking that maybe her own brain was stopping her from remembering what she needed to. At least, that’s what he’d initially intended.
Until he’d become fascinated by the flush that had stained her cheeks and the way she’d kept shifting beneath him. Watching as her resistance to him became ragged, her control fraying, his cool Ms. Beasley transforming into a hot, sensual, hungry woman.
It was mesmerizing.
Plus it was also deeply satisfying to know that he could do this to her. That he could make her lose her mind without doing a thing. She’d been strong too, resisting him valiantly, only to lose out to her own hunger in the end.
He’d never had that happen with a woman before. He chose his lovers for their strength, because if there was no vulnerability, there was no way for them to be hurt. But it also meant they were never desperate for him, never helpless with desire.
And he hadn’t realized how intoxicating that was until now. You’re forgetting one little thing. She might be your brother’s lover.
Ah, Christ. He had forgotten. In which case, should he be feeling guilty about what had just happened between them? Possibly. Then again, guilt was something he’d long since ceased to feel about anything, and besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to take this any further with Faith. She was a means to an end, nothing more.
What about her own guilt? When she remembers who she is . . .
Something pricked at him that he’d thought long dead: his conscience. Because what if she was indeed Joshua’s lover? And what if she was in love with him? What would she think when her memory returned, knowing she’d done this with him?
What if she’s only attracted to you because of your resemblance to Joshua?
That thought caught at him like a briar. He and Joshua were twins after all, and even if she didn’t remember his brother, perhaps there was enough of an echo there to make her believe she was attracted to him too.
He didn’t like that. Really didn’t like it.
Another tremble shook her lithe body and he found himself holding her tighter, protectiveness stealing through him. He was a man who kept what was his and kept it safe, and even though Faith wasn’t his and never would be, she was his protect right now.
Except there was no threat here, so why he felt the need to keep her safe was anyone’s guess.
“You need to keep your promise,” Faith murmured unexpectedly, soft and husky sounding.
For a second he didn’t understand what she was talking about.
“What promise?”
“You said you’d answer some questions if I fought you.”
Shit. That’s right, he had. “You have to win, Ms. Beasley.”
“I did win.”
Jacob lifted his head, looking down at where she lay tucked beneath him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes a deep sapphire blue. Strands of ink-black hair were stuck to her forehead, the rest of it spread wildly across the mat they were both lying on.
She’d been lovely all buttoned up in her neat little suits, but now, with the effects of the orgasm he’d given her lighting her up from the inside . . .
It hit him hard that she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
“Yes,” he said, conscious of the huskiness in his own voice. “So you did. For a couple of seconds at least.”
Her long black silky lashes lowered, blue gleaming from beneath them, and he felt her hand slide between them, her fingers stroking over the front of his pants where he was hard and aching. “Well, unless there was . . . something else you wanted to do.”
Electricity crackled over his skin, the ache in his cock becoming deeper, more insistent. Her touch was gentle and he couldn’t figure out quite why that felt so good when rough was his preferred choice.
Perhaps it was because he hadn’t had gentle in a long time. So long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
There’s a reason for that.
Yeah, there was. Gentle had no place in his life, not now, not ever.
“I think not,” he said on a growl, and ignoring the disappointed pull of his body, he pushed himself off her and got to his feet.
Surprise and then a flash of hurt flickered across her lovely face. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.”
Slowly she sat up. “So you don’t want me to do anything for you?”
Jesus, he’d like nothing better. But he wasn’t going to be touching her, not again.
“You might have been my brother’s lover,” he said, seeing no need to sugarcoat the truth. “And when your memory returns, that will matter to you.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then she looked away. “Thanks for the reminder.” She didn’t sound particularly thankful. “I suppose I need to forget about this then.”
“Yes, you should.” Something that felt an awful lot like disappointment tightened in his chest. He ignored it. “It won’t happen again.”
She lifted a hand, brushing her hair back behind her ear, keeping her gaze averted. “Why did you do it?”
He didn’t need to ask her what she was talking about. “You needed to learn to follow your instincts.” It wasn’t the whole truth but it was part of it. “A little less control in your life is good for you, Ms. Beasley.”
“Right.” She got to her feet. “And the questions you were going to answer? What about those?”
Ah, Christ, back to that. Not that he had anything to hide. He simply liked to keep his secrets close, his motivations unknown. Because once people knew what they were, that gave them power over you. And he would never be in anyone’s power, not ever again.
Still, Ms. Faith Beasley was a woman without a memory and for six months she’d been supremely uninterested in knowing anything about him anyway. So he was pretty sure it wasn’t power over him that she wanted. Besides, there wasn’t much she could do with the information. Not when everything she had was what he’d chosen to give her.
She was in his power, not the other way around.
“I’ll answer them, but perhaps not right now.” He turned toward the door. “I have a few things to do first.” Distance, that’s what he needed, not to mention some private time to work out the ache in his goddamn dick.
He was already partway to the door when she said quietly, “You can answer one now.”
He came to a stop, but didn’t turn. “Fine. One.”
“What happened to your brother?”
Of course she would ask about Joshua. It was natural considering she was supposed to be sleeping with him, at least if Phillip Blake was correct.
&nbs
p; But he hadn’t talked about Joshua with another soul before and it took him a moment to find the words now. Yet he didn’t consider not telling her. He’d made her a promise and he kept his promises.
“I lost him,” he said, because it was his fault and always had been. “When we were children. We were separated into different foster families. I haven’t seen him since I was ten years old.”
There was a short, shocked silence.
Then she said, “How could they separate you? I thought they tried to keep siblings together.”
“Social services were told we were trouble together. That we should be fostered separately.” And all because of that prick Greg, Rebecca’s new husband. He was the one who’d told social services that they should be separated, because Jacob had used a knife against him trying to protect Joshua.
One of the greatest disappointments in Jacob’s life had been tracking Greg down years later only to find out that he’d died of cancer a couple of months earlier.
Though maybe that had been a good thing. Being tried for murder would have made things difficult.
But she didn’t need to know that, just like she didn’t need to know the details of why Jacob had taken a knife to his foster mother’s new husband. That wasn’t his story to tell.
Apart from any of that, it wasn’t something he wanted to think about, just like he didn’t want to think about anything from that part of his life. Where slowly but surely he’d lost everything he’d ever loved and everyone who’d ever loved him.
The last thing he’d lost being his brother.
These days, he kept himself to himself, giving nothing, taking nothing. It was easier. Simpler.
“Oh.” Her voice was soft. “That must have been difficult.”
“Yes.” He turned to face her, not letting the sympathy in her eyes touch him. “Was there anything else?”
“No. I—” She broke off, glancing down at his body, frowning. “Wait. Is that blood?”
He looked down too. There was a dark stain on his thigh, where the gunshot wound was. Shit, that’s where she’d kicked him. The stitches were still fresh so no wonder it was bleeding.
“Oh my God.” Faith took a step toward him. “I’m sorry, that was my fault. Let me—”
“No need,” he interrupted, irritated and mostly at himself, because it wasn’t her fault, it was his. “I’ll deal with it.”
He was the one who’d suggested the fight in the first place and that was what had led to her kicking him and him pinning her on the ground. Where he’d watched her come apart beneath him . . .
You knew that would happen. Why else did you suggest a fight? When you know how much it excites you?
“Jacob, please.” The cool, controlled Faith was back. “Don’t get all tiresomely alpha on me now.”
Jacob shoved the insidious whisper of his brain away. “If I wanted a nurse, Ms. Beasley, I would have hired one.” He turned toward the door. “Go and find yourself something else to manage. Currently I’m off-limits.”
Then he walked out before she could reply.
CHAPTER 7
Faith slept better that night than she had in months.
Jacob had told her she could have the room with the en suite bathroom and she hadn’t argued, curling up in the big bed and falling asleep right away. And miracle of miracles she didn’t have any nightmares.
Maybe it was the effects of the orgasm or maybe it was simply that she’d been exhausted by the time she’d gotten into bed, whatever, the next morning she woke up feeling good.
At least until the memories of the previous day filtered into her consciousness.
People trying to kill her. Taken in a jet to an isolated run-down castle. Finding out her real name. Fighting Jacob.
Rubbing herself all over Jacob . . .
She turned her head into her pillow, searching for a cool spot as a wave of heat flooded through her.
What the hell had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. She’d been pinned beneath that hard, hot body of his and had simply gotten overcome by desire.
Not good. Not good at all. Especially when afterward she’d touched him, wanting to give him a little of what he’d given her and yet he’d refused her.
And with good reason if she had in fact been his brother’s lover.
Slowly Faith turned over and stared at the ceiling.
Jacob had told her what had happened between them would matter once her memory was recovered and she supposed he was right. If she was someone else’s lover, then technically she’d just been unfaithful.
Except it hadn’t felt wrong yesterday. Yes, there had been faint echoes, like a trip wire being tripped, prompting vague shadows of memory, but nothing concrete.
Mainly it had just felt so good and it had hurt when he’d denied her, when he’d told her it wouldn’t happen again. It made sense, but . . . She had no memory of making love to anyone, no memory of anyone touching her. No memory of feeling anything for anyone but Jacob. And those faint echoes of familiarity had simply made it all feel even better somehow, safer. More right.
But it’s not. In which case it’s just another reason you need to remember.
Icy fear wound through her.
Remembering would change things. Change her feelings. Change herself. It would turn her into someone else, turn all the pleasure she’d taken with Jacob into something guilty and wrong.
She didn’t want that. For six months she’d had nothing but fear and uncertainty, and yesterday, for a little while, she hadn’t felt either. She’d only felt good and quite frankly she wanted more of that, not less.
Pity Jacob didn’t feel the same.
The thought of him was a hot current, melting the fear, making her skin feel sensitive and setting up an ache between her thighs. But there wasn’t any point in wishing for more. He’d made his position clear and she couldn’t blame him. He had all his memories and a clear loyalty to the brother he hadn’t seen in years.
She’d probably make the same decision if she’d been in his shoes.
Restless, she pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed, searching for the clothes she’d been wearing yesterday only to find them gone, a black leather bag sitting on top of the dresser instead.
She recognized that bag. It was hers. From the home she shared with Jacob in San Diego. Well, he’d promised her that Callie would get her some of her own things and she was ridiculously pleased that they were here.
She would have texted Callie to thank her but sadly Jacob had gotten rid of her phone to prevent anyone tracking them, so she couldn’t.
Moving over to the dresser, she pulled open the bag, digging through a pile of clothing to find her favorite lavender bath gel right at the bottom, plus a few other toiletries and feminine necessities.
The clothing consisted of underwear and a couple of pairs of yoga pants, plus T-shirts and a sweater or two. None of her skirts, jackets, or blouses had made it into the bag and she supposed that was intentional.
It wasn’t like she’d be going to any meetings out here.
Then again, not having her usual clothes made her feel uneasy. Yes, they had become a bit of a shield for her, but they also grounded her. Made her surer of her own identity.
They’re not Joanna’s clothes.
The breath went out of her. She had no idea how she knew that Joanna wouldn’t be seen dead in the clothes that Faith wore, she just did. She knew it with certainty.
Her heartbeat thudded and she went still, the fear returning. Was this it? Was this how it would start? Would little bits and pieces of Joanna come back to her like a jigsaw puzzle slowly assembling itself? Or would it all happen at once, like being struck by lightning? Would Faith simply cease to exist one minute and she’d be Joanna the next?
Slowly she made herself move, reaching into the bag and pulling out the clothes. Finding the bath gel and carrying it into the bathroom.
Perhaps if she didn’t think so much, everything would be ok
ay. There were no memories battering at the door of her consciousness now so maybe she needed to go with it, be in the moment like her psychologist had suggested.
She had a shower, the feel of the water on her skin grounding her, the familiar scent of lavender calming. Then once she was done, she dressed in a pair of plain black yoga pants and a dark blue T-shirt, before making her way out into the living area.
It was empty.
She didn’t know what the time was, but judging from the morning sun coming through the windows, it wasn’t much before nine.
Moving through into the kitchen, she found a covered plate on the counter with fried bacon and toast on it, both still warm, a mug of coffee steaming gently to one side.
She smiled.
Last night Jacob had made dinner too, surprising her with a simple meal of steak and salad that had tasted absolutely delicious. She hadn’t realized he could cook, but then since he could fly a jet and stitch up his own wounds, that really shouldn’t have been so surprising.
They hadn’t talked about anything of note and she’d been happy with that. She had questions—so many questions—but she’d been exhausted and not in the mood to push him about them.
He’d been distant, eating with her, then disappearing off God only knew where, leaving her to spend her evening by herself. She’d been happy with that too, deciding that going to bed was the best idea.
Now, she picked up a piece of bacon and crunched on it, wondering whether to go find him, see if there was any update on the people after her.
Or maybe just to see him.
She swallowed the bacon, then picked up the mug of coffee, letting it warm her fingers. Okay, yes, she had to admit that to herself. She wanted to see him.
Taking a piece of toast with her, along with her coffee mug, she left the kitchen and moved along the short corridor to the room with all the computers in it to see if he was in there.
Sure enough, he was sitting at the desk, his gaze intent on the computer screen in front of him, fingers moving lightly over the keyboard.
“Good morning, Ms. Beasley,” he said without looking up. “You slept well?”
Hard Night Page 9
