by Rebecca York
“I do not think so. I think you are trained in…survival skills…combat…and interrogation.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Where did you get the scar on your chin?” she pressed.
He laughed. “That’s hardly spymaster material. I was six years old, and my mom had bought a watermelon. She said it was for a picnic, but I wanted some right then. So I pushed a chair across the kitchen, got a knife out of the drawer and tried to cut into the rind. But the knife wouldn’t go in. It bounced up and got me in the chin. I guess I’m lucky I didn’t do more damage.”
“Oh.” Captivated by the story, she tried to picture the determined little boy. She knew it was not polite to ask about a person’s history, but she found herself saying, “Tell me some more about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Chicago.”
A city in the middle of the United States. She was afraid he would stop there, but he went on.
“My dad was a chemist with a drug company. My mom worked part-time in a library. We had a real Leave It to Beaver household.”
He might have been speaking a foreign language, but she hung on the words, then fought to keep him talking when he stopped abruptly.
“They are still in Chicago?”
“They were both killed in a car wreck.”
“I am so sorry,” she said even as a picture formed in her mind of a little girl being wrenched out of a woman’s arms. She had to clamp her lip between her teeth to hold back the sound that tried to rise in her throat.
“It was a few years ago,” he said, pulling her attention back to him.
“Tell me some more things,” she said quickly.
His eyes had taken on a faraway look. “I was a Boy Scout. I loved camping trips best. When my troop went to the Grand Canyon, I wanted to take a raft ride down the Colorado, but I never did it. Of course, after I moved East, I tried some of the rapids back here.”
She was not sure what to ask next, but she wanted to know more. School. He would have gone to school. “What was your favorite subject in school?” she asked.
He laughed again. “Football.”
She had thought that was a game. “Oh. Where did you learn to cook?”
“My mom thought my brother and I should be able to take care of ourselves. I can sew on buttons, too.”
She leaned forward. “How did you end up here?”
“After college I took a government job. It was exciting for a while. Then I kind of burned out.”
“You were burned?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Let’s get back to you. You’re no ordinary woman in trouble.”
She swallowed her disappointment that he wanted to stop talking about himself. She craved more, much more. But he had switched his attention to her.
“You’re a trained fighter,” he said.
“Am I?”
“Don’t be modest.”
“You think that is good?”
“Depending on who trained you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The good guys or the bad guys.”
“Give me a score card,” she demanded, pulling a phrase from somewhere in her brain.
“I was hoping you could do that.”
She was considering the statement when he raised his head and turned slowly toward the window. “Damn,” he muttered.
“What is wrong?”
“There’s someone watching us.”
“Watching us? How?”
“With Knockers?”
“An interesting name for them.”
“With binoculars. It’s that bastard Hap Henderson.”
When she turned her head and started to twist around, Max stopped her.
“Don’t let him know I’ve spotted him.”
She faced forward again, trying to keep her shoulders from going rigid. “Who is he?”
“He lives in the marina. He’s been keeping an eye on me.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s his job to check out strangers.”
“Strangers?”
“I’ve only been in town a month. The point is, when he came snooping around here a little earlier, I told him I had a heavy date with you. I think we’d better make sure he believes I was telling the truth.”
“How?” she asked, hearing the breathy quality of her voice.
“I think you’ll catch on.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, then rounded the table, reached down and gently pulled her to her feet.
“All you have to do is convince Henderson that you’re enjoying yourself in my company.” As he spoke, he eased her into his arms. “Which means, you should start by not pushing me away,” he said as she automatically raised her hands and flattened them against his chest.
“Relax,” he growled, his mouth hovering only inches from hers.
Impossible. When his lips touched hers, she struggled to control the panic that bloomed inside her.
But panic was swamped almost at once by a host of other sensations. The feel of his mouth on hers. The rich male scent of his body. The strong bands of his arms, enfolding her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be frightened of him. At the very least, she should protect her honor. But those thoughts were driven deeper into the background as he moved his lips against hers.
It was a tender exploration, almost questing, and she had the feeling that if she protested, he would stop.
But she knew if she did, she would be the loser. Just as it was impossible to admit her weakness on a conscious level, it was also impossible to deny that she liked the place where he’d put her. In his arms.
This had not been her choice. Perhaps that was what made it all right to enjoy the way his mouth coaxed a response from hers and the way her body absorbed the heat from his and gave the warmth back to him.
She had closed her eyes in order to block out everything except Max Dakota. Leaning into him, she felt a small sound rise in her throat. A needy sound that surprised her perhaps as much as it seemed to surprise him.
“That’s right,” he murmured, as his lips continued to move against hers.
One of his large hands played with her hair, combing through the strands. The other flattened itself against her back, stroking her and stoking the unaccustomed sensations she felt building inside her.
He made a growling noise deep in his chest as he slipped his hand under the hem of the shirt and slid it upward, splaying it against the bare skin of her back.
Had she ever felt anything as exquisite as his fingers against her bare skin?
His touch was light, but it seemed to blaze a trail of fire along her nerve endings.
She had forgotten why he had taken her in his arms. Forgotten everything but his taste, his touch. And her own out-of-kilter response.
Her breasts ached, especially the nipples. They had contracted painfully, and the only way she could ease the tight sensation was to press them against his chest.
That was no help. It only made her crave more and more—of something, she could not say what it was.
But suddenly she needed to get as close to him as possible. If she had ever felt this desperation, she could not remember when. Surely if she remembered anything from before he had pulled her from the water, it should be this. This man-woman flare of heat.
All she could do was lean into him, caught by the steamy pleasure of the contact.
“Annie,” he said against her mouth, nibbling with his lips and then his teeth.
She liked the way he said the name with an edge of desperation. He had given her that name, which made it all the better.
Still, part of her was standing back, watching the two of them together in dumb fascination.
He was sweeping her along with him to some dark, dangerous place she had never been. At least, she could not imagine that she had ever felt this way before. This reckless. This out of control. This good.
Between them she felt a hard rid
ge pressing against her middle. She wanted to move against it, and when she did, he made low sounds of approval.
His hand swept over her ribs, and she remembered something she had totally forgotten.
The tattoo.
She did not know what it was, but she knew it was vital that Max not find it.
“Stop.” As she issued the command, she pushed on his shoulder.
His eyes blinked open, and he stared down at her, his face as full of confusion as she knew hers must be.
She had pushed him away because she knew it was what she must do. Not because it was what she wanted.
To him, to herself, she uttered an apology. “I am sorry.”
His hands dropped to his sides, and she saw his fists clench and unclench. “No problem,” he muttered. “I was only thinking we’d convince Hap you were my girlfriend. But that went totally over the edge.”
“Edge of what?” she asked, hearing the breathless quality of her voice.
He laughed, the sound rough and deep. “You have a strange way with words.”
“Do I?”
“Oh, yeah.” Turning away from her, he ran his hand through his hair.
He stood with his back to her, his shoulders and arms shouting out his tension.
She pressed her own palms to her thighs. She ached to go to him so he could fold her back into his arms. But she stayed where she was, because caution had been drummed into her.
By whom?
She did not remember. All she knew was that she had violated some important rule. And she did not even know what it was.
Chapter Five
The emotions warring in Annie made her want to run. But she couldn’t think where to go, so she stayed where she was, her feet rooted to the floor.
Max snatched up his plate and carried it back to the galley.
She watched what he did, then did the same with her own plate and then with the salad bowl.
She had just set down the bowl on the galley counter when the sound of a buzzer made her jump. Carp! She was reacting again to a loud noise. Why? She had no answer. No answer! And that was only a small part of the nightmare she was facing. The black void in her brain.
The look on her face must have prompted his response. “That’s the phone. It’s got a strange ringer,” he said, crossing to the kitchen and reaching for an instrument hanging on the wall. She watched him press a button, then carry the receiver to his ear. She knew about phones, but hadn’t expected one to sound like that.
“Hello?”
He listened for several moments, a number of different emotions registering on his face. Annoyance. Guilt. She wasn’t sure what else.
“My plans have changed,” he said.
She had no business listening to the conversation or watching him so closely. In fact, she shouldn’t even be interested. But step by step, she moved closer.
As Max watched her walk toward him, his posture stiffened. She went still, but she was close enough to hear the sound of a woman’s loud voice through the speaker.
“I was expecting you this evening,” the woman said with a note of accusation.
“I’m sorry,” Max answered. “Something came up.”
“Hap said you have company.”
“What is he—my keeper?”
“He just mentioned that he thought you wouldn’t be coming to the club this evening.”
He glanced at Annie, then away. “Right. My girlfriend from up north is here.”
“If you have a girlfriend, why were you hanging around with me?” the voice from the receiver demanded.
Max glanced at Annie again, then hunched his shoulders and turned partially away. “Nicki, I’m sorry. She and I…” He stopped and started again. “The way we left things, I wasn’t sure we were getting back together.”
The words and the casual way he spoke them made Annie’s stomach knot. She knew he wasn’t telling the truth. She knew she wasn’t his girlfriend from up north or anywhere else.
She stopped herself. Well, she supposed that by some wild convergence of events, it could be true. Anything could be true, since she couldn’t remember anyone from her past.
But what he was saying felt wrong. Which meant he was lying, both in what he said and the way he said it. He was lying to protect her, she told herself. Somehow that didn’t help.
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Max was saying, and she realized she’d missed Nicki’s response.
In the next second, there was a loud click on the other end of the line. Max replaced the phone and turned back to her.
“Who was that?” she asked, again aware that the answer was none of her business.
He watched her closely as he said, “Nicki Armstrong. She owns a nightclub in town, Nicki’s Paradise.”
Annie ignored the explanation and went right to the personal relationship. “And you are…having sexual relations with her when you are not fixing me dinner?” she heard herself say, then felt her cheeks flush because the topic was so wildly inappropriate.
He tipped his head to one side. “Sexual relations. That’s kind of a stuffy way to put it, don’t you think?”
She shrugged, then said, “I should not have asked about your liaison with her. It was none of my business.”
Max spoke slowly and decisively. “I don’t mind answering the question. I was friendly with her. I know she wanted it to go further than that. But I didn’t think I should.”
“Why not?”
She saw him shift his weight from one foot to the other. “Because I didn’t have the right feelings for her. And I’m not into casual sex.”
“Oh.” She wanted to ask him what he felt for her. When he had kissed her a few moments ago, it had not felt anything like casual. He was probably planning to do a lot more, until she’d stopped him. But he’d turned her loose the moment she’d protested.
“So, is Nicki a friend of yours?” he suddenly asked.
The question threw her completely off balance.
“No,” she answered automatically.
“You don’t know her?”
“If I do, I don’t remember,” she answered, remembering to use the contraction.
“You’re sticking with the amnesia alibi I helped you concoct?”
“It isn’t an alibi. It’s the truth! Why is it impossible for you to believe me?”
“Because your loss of memory is so convenient.”
“If you say so.”
His face softened. “Maybe whatever happened to you was so traumatic that you can’t deal with it.”
“Or maybe I have no choice,” she answered immediately. His explanation implied she was weak. No matter her identity, she knew that wasn’t true.
Though she wanted to drop the subject, she thought back over some of the things he had said previously. Almost against her will, she found herself asking, “If I did know her, what illegal activity would we be engaged in together—in your considered opinion?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
She raised her arm in an exasperated gesture, then let it fall to her side. “I can’t.”
“Or won’t.”
“Can’t,” she corrected, suddenly feeling as if she was trying to breathe around a giant obstruction in her windpipe. She had to get away from him. She had to start thinking straight. “I’m too tired to keep going back and forth with you. Maybe we should leave it until tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he answered. “Maybe you’ll have a new outlook in the morning.”
“You mean, maybe I will stop lying to you?” she asked, unable to keep her fragile emotions out of her voice.
“You said it, not me.”
She clenched her teeth, then deliberately relaxed her jaw. “You have somewhere for me to sleep—besides your bed?”
“Yes.” He turned on his heel and started for the stairs.
She followed him below.
“You can have this cabin,” he said, opening another door across from the head. It led to a sleeping chamber tha
t was much smaller than the one where he’d taken her earlier. Instead of one large bed, there were two bunks against the wall.
“It’s small, but it’s comfortable,” he said, flipping a wall switch that turned on several recessed ceiling lights. “I’ll leave an extra toothbrush and T-shirt for you in the head. You can sleep in the shirt if you want.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, fighting the impulse to give in and trust him. She wanted his help, but at the same time, she couldn’t succumb to that weakness. And she didn’t even know if he was lying about a spy in the marina. Maybe he’d just used that as a way to trick her into his arms.
Trying not to let anything in her mind show on her face, she closed the door. Alone, she leaned back against the solid barrier for several moments, letting her heart rate slow. When she was feeling more in control, she opened her eyes again and scanned the room.
MAX WENT BACK upstairs to the lounge and began to wash the dishes. Neither he nor his guest had eaten much of the food, which wasn’t surprising. Hap hadn’t given them much time for dinner.
Yeah, right. Hap.
He was the reason Nicki had called. Max had heard the edge of anger in her voice the moment he’d answered the phone. But he couldn’t blame Nicki and Hap for what had happened between the meal and the phone call.
He’d announced that someone had been spying on them. So that meant they had to put on a good show?
“Give me a break, Dakota,” he muttered. He could have simply slung his arm around her and nuzzled her neck. There had been no earthly reason he had sought her lips with his—except that he’d been thinking about it since he’d first set her on his bed. He’d wanted to do it. So he’d seized the excuse. And if she hadn’t been the one to call things to a halt, they would have been naked when Nicki called.
He bit out a curse, thinking that the higher levels of his brain had stopped functioning a while ago and he’d better get them back into full service—before he blew this assignment.
His hands mechanically washed the dishes as he considered his behavior. And how he was going to alter it.
Too bad Annie reminded him of Steph. Not that she looked like her, of course. Her hair color and features were different, although her body type was similar. But it wasn’t physical details that made him think of his dead wife. It was the way she behaved. She was stuck in deep muck, and she was doing her best to wade out of it by herself. Her memory was shot to hell, or she was pretending it was. Either way, she was determined not to cave in or go to pieces.
