Celia had been kissed before. From spin-the-bottle to passion-driven moments, she’d run the gamut. But never like this. Even with the current shoddy state of her memory, she was beyond certain that she’d never once had a moment that felt like this one did.
Not a stranger, said a voice in her head.
And it made her realize something odd. Something that should’ve been disconcerting, but just plain wasn’t. Kissing Remo really didn’t feel like kissing a stranger. It was more like...coming home. If coming home were an explosion of metaphorical fireworks and a need to crawl into someone’s lap, that is.
His hands were on her back now, his fingers splayed and his palms searing through the fabric of her T-shirt. The small space that had been between them before was practically nonexistent now. Chest-to-chest. And one of her knees was bent overtop of one of his. Another move, and she would be in his lap.
But then he slowed things down. And instead of being disappointing, it was good. Like the perfect fade-out of a song.
First, he gave her mouth a final swipe with his tongue. Next, he withdrew his tongue completely, and he pressed several slow kisses to her mouth. Finally, he gave her lower lip a little suck, then pulled back.
When he spoke, his voice was a raw-edged plea. “Let me help you.”
Celia stared into his oh-so-blue eyes, her face still warm with want. “Remo...”
“Please. Don’t make me be the kind of man who’d leave you and your son alone against God knows what.”
And there was pretty much no way she could say no to that.
* * *
As Celia nodded, a relieved breath escaped Remo’s lungs. He hadn’t had any intention of letting the Pollers simply walk away no matter what she’d said, but it was going to be a hell of a lot easier to keep them safe with Celia in agreement.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Do I say you’re welcome to that?” she asked breathlessly.
“You say whatever you like, so long as it’s something that lets me keep on helping you and Xavier.”
He knew full well that the words were more emotionally charged than they should’ve been. But he didn’t care. The kiss they’d just shared was more than enough to tell him that his mission to keep her from harm was growing more personal by the second. He had to keep them safe, even if just for the sake of finding out where the kiss would lead.
But we need to move cautiously, he reminded himself.
He slid his hands from her back to her forearms, then to her wrists, which he held lightly in his grip. “How about you hear me out before writing me off, hmm?”
She made a face. “I was going to listen, but you had other ideas.”
“Did you object to the other ideas?” he asked, lifting a finger to trace the line of her cheek.
She swallowed. “No.”
“Good.” He smiled. “And speaking of me and my other ideas... I feel obligated to ask...”
“What?”
“I’m obviously aware that you and Xavier’s father aren’t a couple. But does that foggy memory of yours hint at a significant other?”
She shook her head. “Very definitely a single mom.”
“Good,” he said again, then leaned forward and dusted his lips over hers before getting down to business. “So the first thing we need is a good cover story for why you’ve gone AWOL from your very comfortable hospital bed. I actually think we’re lucky they haven’t put out the hospital version of an APB.”
“Do they do that?”
“Well, yeah. How else do they track down delirious patients?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But in all seriousness, if you’re not there when they come, there’ll be a code yellow called, and a search. Likely a call to the police, too. So the last thing we want is to prematurely draw attention to the fact that you’ve discharged yourself.”
“Can I just do that?” Her tone was only half-hopeful—like she already knew the answer.
He shook his head and explained, anyway. “Technically, you can release yourself against the hospital’s recommendation, but it’d draw attention, too. Everyone on your floor would hear about it, and an administrator would bring you a letter to sign, and likely try to talk you out of it. Which is where I come in. The admin on-call tonight is a family friend, so with your permission, I’d like to give her a heads-up.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “My permission?”
“She’s a friend, but I’m still going to need to give her a damned good reason for releasing you like this.” It was true; Tanya had known him for a decade and a half, but that didn’t mean she would just forget she also had a job to do.
Celia’s brow didn’t uncrinkle. “I still don’t understand why you need my—oh. You want to tell her what’s going on.”
“I think a hint at the truth will probably do.”
He thought she might balk at having even a small part of her story shared with anyone, but she just met his eyes.
“You trust this family friend?” she asked.
He made sure his own gaze was as steady as his response. “Absolutely.”
“Then I do, too.”
“Perfect. Once I’ve settled things with her, we’ll get you and Xavier to a safe place.”
“I take it you’ve got one in mind.”
“I do,” he admitted. “I’m going to have to call in another favor, but I think it’ll work out.”
She stared at him, a mix of emotions playing across her face. She looked a little impressed, a little awed, and a little amused, too.
“Are a lot of people in your debt, or what?” she finally asked, a hint of all three feelings in her tone.
He chuckled. “Actually, the person I’m going to ask for this particular favor will probably tell you that I owe her a favor. A thousand of them. But there’s a lot of ‘what goes around comes around’ when you’ve known people for as long as I’ve known some of the staff here. I practically grew up in this hospital.”
The statement clearly piqued Celia’s curiosity. “You practically grew up here?”
For a brief moment, he weighed the idea of explaining. He actually wanted Celia to know. But he didn’t want to give her a syncopated version of events, so he decided to wait until time was less of an essence. He pushed to his feet and held out his hand.
“It’s a long story,” he said. “And I promise I’ll tell it to you, but we should probably get moving before Jane or one of the other nurses does notice you’re gone.”
She studied him for a second, then nodded and let him help her to her feet.
He kept her hand in his and said, “I’m just going to slip into an office a couple doors up to make the calls, all right? Easier to use the hospital lines than to hope everyone’s got their cell phones handy.”
Celia nodded again. “All right. I’ll wait with Xavier.”
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze, then released them and turned to go. He got only a few steps, though, before he heard her feet tapping noisily on the linoleum. Concerned, he spun back, and bumped straight into her.
“Whoops!” He put his hands out to steady her. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
Celia quickly shook her head. “No. I just...”
He frowned at the little spots of pink under her lightly freckled skin. “What is it?”
She cleared her throat and shifted from foot to foot. “I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. For helping us. For helping me.”
“No thanks necessary,” he assured her, his concern easing.
“Seriously.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there after the accident. I don’t know what would be happening now, if you weren’t still here.”
“Hey. Trust me. I’m glad, too.”
“Yes, bu
t...” Celia trailed off, her face evidencing some kind of deliberation.
Her gaze hung on his eyes for a moment, then dropped to his lips. And with no more warning than that, she pushed to her toes and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. Remo automatically brought his hands to her waist and pulled her closer. Her body was flush with his, her curves pushed against him in a way that made him groan. Her mouth moved in rhythm with his, alive and inviting and perfect.
Third kiss, he thought. But it feels like a habit already.
When she pulled away and murmured his name in a vibration against his lips, it took most of his willpower not to pick her right up off the floor and carry her away, caveman-style. He forced himself to ease back.
“Any time you want to thank me like that, you go right ahead,” he teased, his voice rough with desire.
She dropped to her heels and stared up at him. “That wasn’t a part of the thank-you.”
“No?”
“No. That was motivation.”
His mouth twitched. “Motivation for what?”
“To hurry back,” she replied.
Remo couldn’t help but chuckle. He also cupped her cheek. “I promise that I will.”
Then he made himself turn without looking back, sure that if he stole another glance, he’d have an even harder time trying to convince himself to leave.
Chapter 8
Celia watched Remo go, her heart flipping unevenly for a reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Was she nervous about being left alone for a minute or two? She didn’t think so. She was well accustomed to being the sole provider and protector for her son. Was she scared overall? Absolutely. But she was also sure her day-to-day life carried an underlying fear, and she faced it willingly because it was worth it. So whatever it was that caused the dance in her chest, it was directly related to Remo’s receding back. Directly related to Remo himself.
As he took a final step, then turned and disappeared through a nearby door, Celia had to swallow against the sudden lump in her throat, and shove down an urge to chase after him again. It was then that she clued in. She wasn’t scared for herself and Xavier. Not any more than usual, anyway. At the moment, she worried about Remo. And not just because she felt personally responsible for dragging him into the current mess, but because—even though she’d just met him—she didn’t want anything to happen to him.
It was undeniably strange for Celia to feel her bubble of protectiveness grow so rapidly. She knew she always felt that way about her son. Like she wanted to shield him from even the slightest harm. She’d never experienced it for anyone else. But it was definitely there for Remo. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Xavier waiting in the family room, she might not have been able to stop her feet from moving in Remo’s direction. It was more difficult than it should’ve been to spin and walk back toward her son. But thankfully, once she was standing in front of Xavier—who’d moved out of the wheelchair and into a cozy corner of the couch—the worry over Remo’s well-being faded to the back of her mind.
“How’s the book?” she asked.
“Good.” He closed the item in question and peered past her shoulder. “Where’s Remo?”
Celia stepped into the room and sank down beside him. “You like him, huh?”
“I asked him to be my best grown-up friend, and he said yes. Is that okay?” He frowned, then added, “Don’t you like him?”
“Of course I do. Kinda hard not to like someone who rescued us from a car crash, right?”
“Yep. But I think I’d like him anyway.”
“Yeah, me, too, kiddo,” Celia admitted.
Xavier snuggled a little closer. “Mommy?”
She looked down at the top of her son’s head, surprised. The moment he’d started kindergarten, he’d dropped into calling her “Mom” unless he was sick.
“What’s wrong, baby?” she asked.
He twirled his thumb into her pants, making the cotton pucker as he answered in a small voice, “My dad was there.”
Celia’s heart dropped. “What?”
“At the accident,” he said.
“You’ve never met your dad, bud.” As soon as she said it, she was unequivocally sure it was true. “How do you know he was there?”
“I heard you.”
She worked to keep calm. “You did? What did I say?”
“You told me to pull down the back seat and hide in the trunk. And I did. There were some bumpity-bumps, and you were saying something about my dad. Then the car went BOOM and everything was spinny and I was stuck until Remo got me.”
With the mini flood of words, a fuzzy memory trickled in and Celia closed her eyes and rested her chin on her son’s head while trying to grasp it. She could recall spying the flash of headlights. The fact that she knew the encroaching car and its driver. The fear as the vehicle bumped hers. And then came the patch of slick road. Oil mixed with water, maybe? She wasn’t sure. But as her tires had hit it, she’d realized she was going to lose control of her car.
You can’t have him. It doesn’t matter if you’re his dad or not, you don’t deserve him.
She distinctly remembered thinking those exact words immediately before losing control of the car. Had she said them aloud? Yelled them with as much desperation and gusto as she’d felt them? Maybe she had, even if she hadn’t meant to.
She dragged her eyes open and looked down at her son’s head. He was engrossed in his book again, distracted in that easy way that kids tended to be. But Celia knew he deserved an explanation of some kind. What could she offer him at that moment, though? She’d clearly created some kind of mental block where his father was concerned. She had no recollection of his face or his name. All she had were the feelings associated with him. Dread and fear. An absolute need to stay away from him.
It was so incredibly maddening, to reach into her memory and find nothing but a black hole. Trying to do it almost hurt. It made her eyes burn, and she had to draw in a steadying breath to keep in the tears.
So what do I tell Xavier about his father in our everyday life?
Celia considered it. She wasn’t a liar. But her son was only five. There had to be a balance, for when he asked questions. She couldn’t see herself simply brushing off his concerns or trying to change the subject, but she could imagine skirting around the issue a little. Telling him that his dad wasn’t in the picture because the world was full of gray areas, and in this case, the gray area was about positive role models. Was it a cop-out? Maybe a little. But she could practically hear herself saying it, and could practically see Xavier’s solemn nod in response.
Swallowing, she opened her mouth to offer a similar excuse now. But whatever she’d been about to say stayed stuck in her mouth. Because—quite suddenly—they weren’t alone. In the doorway stood a statuesque, sixtyish woman. Her dark eyes were both shrewd and kind, and she had them directed at Celia, who was momentarily too surprised by her presence to react properly.
And why does she look so familiar?
Puzzled, Celia stared at her for a second. The woman’s hair was long and gray, and hung in two braids that nearly hit her waist. She wore a uniform emblazoned with the hospital logo and a lanyard hung from her neck. There was a card fastened to it, and when it swung sideways the name Wendy flashed into view.
Do I even know a Wendy?
Before she could mentally posit an answer, the woman—Wendy—stepped into the room, speaking as she moved.
“Well...” She greeted her with a smile. “As my grandma used to say...look what the cat drug in.”
Belatedly, Celia realized that in spite of the apparent friendliness, the woman’s familiarity might stem from another blocked memory. And if that were true, then there was a strong possibility that her presence was a bad thing.
She started to stand, planning to make herself a human shield if she had to. But she didn’t make it all the way to her
feet before her son looked up, noticed the woman, too, then let out a decidedly un-Xavier-like noise—something pretty close to a squeal of excitement.
“Nana Wendy!” he said excitedly, then tugged on Celia’s arm. “Mom, Mom! That’s the lady who got me the extra pudding from the secret room!”
“Nana Wendy? Xavier, what...” Celia trailed off as Remo appeared behind the woman.
His expression was as puzzling as everything else. He looked...sheepish. Almost embarrassed. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding Celia’s gaze. Even after Xavier tossed back his hospital blanket and sprung out to throw himself at Remo’s legs, and the big man scooped him up for a bear hug, he addressed the older woman without a word of introduction. And the resulting conversation made Celia even more curious than she’d been in the moments leading up to it.
“I told you I’d meet you here,” Remo stated, his voice tinged with the same feelings that were reflected on his face. “I didn’t tell you to ambush my new friend and his mom. In fact, I think I might’ve specifically said, ‘Don’t ambush them.’ Maybe I even added in a please.”
“Oh, Remo. You know I always do the opposite of what you want.”
“Yeah, and that’s precisely why I added the please.”
Wendy dismissed the comment with a wave. “That only made me nosier. And now I see that my nosiness was warranted. Your new friend’s mom is extraordinarily pretty. Interesting that you didn’t mention that.”
“Didn’t seem relevant.” As he said it, Remo brought one of his hands up to the back of his neck, his cheeks ruddy.
First Responder on Call Page 8
