He shook his head. “No, you came from Seattle.” He went on to explain what she had studied in college, but after they had broken up he had lost touch with her. She had transferred back to a college in the Northwest and he hadn’t heard from her since.
He shared the details of his amateur attempt at investigation. About her current boss. The broken engagement. She had so many more questions but was hesitant to delve too deeply. He had learned a few things about her past, but nothing that jolted awareness. That person he was talking about was a stranger.
The same applied to him. While her body seemed to recognize him, and from somewhere deep down inside he ignited a spark in her, she couldn’t connect her body and her brain. Her brain insisted he was a total stranger. Besides, he had told her that she had broken it off because she wanted more than he was willing to give. She wasn’t into one-night stands. She wasn’t into the slam-bam thank you ma’am casual sex games that some of her friends played—wait a minute. How did she know that? She tried to remember, tried to concentrate, but nothing was there, just fleeting glimpse that turned into nothing when she tried to grab onto them.
“You remember something?”
Sloane frowned and shook her head. “Not really. I was just thinking . . .” She looked over at him. At least at this point, honesty was the best policy. “Mason, this may sound strange, but I think . . . God, this is embarrassing. It sounds weird to say it this way, but on some level, I think I remember some kind of a relationship between us. At least the physical part. But I . . . my brain, it’s not making any connection. There’s no recognition.”
He said nothing. What was going through his mind? Had she said too much? What if he still wanted a relationship? But there was no relationship. Whatever had been between them was long gone.
“What is it that’s niggling at your memory?”
She sighed. “I was thinking that I’m not the kind of girl who wants a one-night stand,” she said, staring at the photo album on the coffee table. “I don’t know where that came from. But all of a sudden a thought popped into my head; a thought that some of my friends didn’t mind that so much. I don’t remember why I would think such a thing, or who those friends might be, where they live, how close I am to them . . .”
She leaned her head back against the couch cushion and sighed with frustration. “I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t know where to go from here. Why did I come back to Georgia?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He was silent for a bit and then turned to look at her. “Sloane, if you’re up to it, I can take you down to Savannah. We can visit places where we used to go. Maybe something down there will jog your memory.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, thank you, that would be great. I also need to find a way to establish my ID so that I can access my bank account, if I have one, and arrange for someplace to stay, at least until the detectives allow me to go back home.”
Home. Where exactly was home? Was it that leased apartment in Savannah or back in Seattle?
7
Sloane
The next couple of days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Sloane and Mason drove down to Savannah in his Jeep. Mason was a perfect gentleman, keeping his distance yet providing support, encouragement, and when called for, memories. Some humorous, some illuminating, and a few that had her blushing. He had laughed the first time her face turned red as a beet, or so he said, after he mentioned what they had done under a tree in a local park on the outskirts of the old city.
She told him to tell her everything and anything that came to mind, but his recollections of bracing her against a tree, kissing the living daylights out of her . . . his words made her body flame with heat. She had laughed as well, as he told her story after story of passionate and public displays of affection, but just the thought of his lips on hers elicited a thrum of sensations through her body. Her pulse quickened. What would it be like to kiss the handsome firefighter who was bending over backward to help her remember who she was?
It was obvious to her that her body remembered him. Had she thought of him often over the past ten years? He had brought his laptop along on their trip, and he was not hesitant at all to show her what he had found. The broken engagement. A newspaper article with her former fiancé’s photograph elicited an immediate instinctual reaction, deep in her gut. Distaste. Apparently, that relationship had been cut off due to his infidelity and her refusal to sign some kind of prenuptial agreement. That seemed odd. She had never cared about money, or at least she didn’t think she had.
Before heading out of Monroe, Mason had driven her to the local department store and bought some basics for her. She kept it simple: a pair of jeans, two T-shirts, tennis shoes. A zippered hoodie in case it grew chilly. She was learning a little more about herself with every passing day. Not memories—those remained distant and unreachable—but about the kind of person she was.
She liked comfort food. She liked no-nonsense, down-to-earth clothing. According to Mason, they had spent much of their time together outdoors, hiking, at the park, roaming the zoo, things like that. She tried to reconcile such an outdoorsy persona with her career in antiquities. She must have an interest, a deep interest obviously, in history and historical artifacts. Several times, she had read the article about her turning an ancient artifact over to the Smithsonian. It had ultimately cost her job with the German auction dealer, but she’d still done it. That had to tell her she was an honest person, right? She’d done the right thing over potentially earning a large commission.
So why had she been in that abandoned auto shop?
She had asked Mason that question several times over the past couple of days. He had no answer and neither did she. It ate at her constantly: the worry, the questions, and the doubt. What had she done? What had she got herself into?
Sloane tried to relax. The harder she tried, the more any wisp of memory just slipped away. Mason and she spent the first night at a moderately priced motel; a room with two double beds. He had apologized, told her the he couldn’t afford separate rooms for them. She didn’t really mind. His presence was comforting and she liked being with him. There was something about him . . . he didn’t flirt with her, but it wasn’t like he was treating her like she was his sister, either. It felt comfortable, easy.
He made no bones about the fact that their relationship had, at the time, been a deeply satisfying sexual one as well. He answered all questions she asked, even if they were on the embarrassing side. When she didn’t think he was watching, she gazed surreptitiously at him, admiring his firm jaw line, the way he laughed, the dimple that appeared on the left side of his cheek when he thought of something funny.
There was nothing ostentatious about him. McDonald’s drive-through for breakfast, a diner or sandwich shop for lunch, and the restaurant attached to the hotel for dinner. Like her, he chose simple foods. What was there not to like about the guy, over and above the fact that he had pulled her from a burning building and saved her life?
With every hour that passed her attraction to him grew. And yet, Sloane was fearful of falling for him. Again. Did she want to? She felt comfortable and strange at the same time. It felt like something old and familiar, and yet she had no memory of why.
“You in there?”
She blinked. She was still in the passenger seat of his Jeep, staring out the windshield, her hands latched onto the seat belt clasp, frozen in time. They were parked in front of the apartment complex where police told her she had leased an apartment. She didn’t recognize any of it.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I was . . . I guess I was daydreaming,” she offered a small laugh.
“About?”
Again she felt the heat of a blush, glanced at him, and instinctively licked her lips. She didn’t know where the sensation came from, but her nipples tightened, her body slammed with heat and delicious sensations. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. He watched her. Could he read her mind?
&nb
sp; “Sloane . . .” He made a low sound in his throat, sat back on his seat, and placed a hand on her thigh. Warm. Strong. Inviting. She stared at his hand, at the shape of his fingers, the thick veins that trailed their way along the back of his hand and meandered up his forearm and then those biceps until they disappeared under his T-shirt sleeve. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his. He breathed out heavily, and his pupils dilated. Her gaze passed over his impressive chest and darted down to his groin. She hadn’t meant to look, well hadn’t meant to stare, but under her gaze an already sizeable bulge grew larger, harder. She jerked her gaze upward, hoping he hadn’t seen where she’d been looking. The grin on his face said it all.
“God . . .” He leaned toward her, slowly enough to give her a chance to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. She wanted to kiss him. More than anything in the world in that moment. What would his lips feel like on hers? Would she remember? Kissing Mason would be as hot as hell, but would it also evoke a flood of memories?
“Mason . . . ?” She gnawed briefly at her lower lip, forcing herself to squelch the question.
Another sound grumbled from deep in his chest and the next moment his lips were on hers. At first she felt only startled surprise. Her pulse pounded, strongly enough that he had to feel it, if not see it. All conscious thought then fled as his mouth covered hers, feather soft at first. So warm, so gentle. Flames erupted deep within her, enveloped her. Before she could even absorb the sensations, his tongue stroked her lips, causing every cell in her body to awaken with desire. Without even realizing she was doing so, Sloane opened her mouth and touched his tongue with hers. A soft moan erupted from her throat and she sighed into his mouth. Her hand settled on the back of his neck, relishing the heat of his skin. She leaned closer, her tongue tangling with his.
No awkwardness, no bumping of teeth. No, this was a kiss born of practice. They might have each gone their separate ways over the past decade, but her lips, her tongue, and her instinct hadn’t forgotten how to kiss Mason Rawlings. Nor, apparently, had he forgotten how to kiss her, either. In a matter of seconds her breasts were thrust toward him, inviting him to touch. He obliged. While her fingers threaded through the silky luxuriousness of his hair, his palm cupped her breast and squeezed gently. His thumb brushed over her nipple. Even through her T-shirt and her bra she felt the heat, the teasing circling. She felt her nipple tighten, changing into a hard nub.
Mason shifted and the kiss grew more passionate as she groped at his hair at the same pace that his hand groped her breast. Heat flamed in her core. Sloane moved with him, her hand seeking balance against his thigh. The hard length of his erection pressed against the inseam of his jeans and her hand brushed against it.
Like a splash of cold water, that hardness jolted her back to awareness. If she continued even one second longer, she would be tempted to grab his hand and shove it under the fabric of her T-shirt, encourage him to push her bra upward and feel that decadent and yearned for skin-to-skin contact.
But she couldn’t.
She knew him, but she didn’t. While her body had certainly responded to his touch, his caress, and seemed familiar with both, she wasn’t. At least not her brain.
She pulled back, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. They stared at each other, both breathing hard. Was his body thrumming with the same sensations as hers? One glance down at his crotch proved that he definitely was. She forced her eyes back up into his face. The pulse in his temple throbbing as hard as the one in her neck.
“Well,” he said, pulling away, albeit with obvious regret.
Well, indeed.
8
Mason
“I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“Me neither,” Sloane replied.
Her gaze passed over his features then darted downward. No use trying to hide his arousal, and at this point he didn’t much care. It was blatantly obvious that their sexual chemistry was alive and kicking, even after the passage of years. She didn’t seem upset, just startled. The way she looked at him, with a combination of wonder and curiosity . . . he wanted to lean toward her again, to wrap her in his arms, but the moment had passed.
He adjusted his position and leaned against his door. “Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
He grinned. That was a relief. He wasn’t ready to talk about the confusion, the surge of emotion, or his own obvious desire for her. No one had to hit him over the head to tell him what this meant. Over the years, he’d thought he was over her, and had been for quite some time. Obviously, that wasn’t true. And that thought brought with it another rush of questions. He hadn’t been ready for a long-term relationship or commitment in college, but what about now? She needed him. But did she really?
Did she really need a protector, a friend, a lover? The former and the latter, probably not. But based on her situation and her memory loss, she could certainly use a friend. He could do that much for her, couldn’t he? Tamp down his own reawakening emotions and feelings for Sloane and help her, somehow, regain her memory. Which brought them back to why they were down here in Savannah in the first place. He glanced out the windshield.
They were parked in the lot for the apartment complex where Sloane had leased an apartment. Without a passcode, they couldn’t get inside, but just by looking at her, sitting in the car so quiet and still beside him, her gaze searching the surroundings, he could tell that she didn’t remember anything new.
The front of the property included a small grassy sitting area. Mason climbed out of the car and suggested they stop there for a moment. Get out of the car and enjoy the cool morning air. While Sloane leaned against a tree under the shade, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “If you’ll excuse me for just a minute, I have to check in at work. Be right back.” Except that wasn’t the truth. He hated himself even as he words were leaving his mouth, but he wanted to help her any way he could. While he did want to make a phone call, it wasn’t to the firehouse. Instead, he pulled up the telephone number for the apartment complex. A woman answered.
“Autumn’s Ridge apartment homes, can I help you?”
There was no way he could just ask for private lease information, and so he lied again. “This is Lieutenant Bascom from the Monroe Police Department,” he said. “I’m looking for information on one of your renters.”
Only a slight hesitation. “Name?”
“Sloane Maxwell. A brief inquiry determined that she has a six-month lease at your complex. I need to know when that lease was signed.”
“Just a moment please.” He heard a noise in the background, maybe a file cabinet. Another few moments passed. “I’m sorry, Detective, but we have no one by that name leasing any apartments now.”
“Are you sure? Under the name Sloane—”
“Wait a minute, that name seems familiar. Would you hold a moment while I check something?”
Before he could answer, he was put on hold. He glanced over his shoulder at Sloane. She wasn’t even looking his way, but staring back at the building instead. He paced impatiently as he waited for the receptionist to get back on the phone. Did she suspect something? Should he expect a security guard to appear at the gate any moment? Just as he was about to disconnect the call and suggest to Sloane they leave in a hurry, the receptionist came back on the line.
“Detective? Thank you for waiting. I knew the name sounded familiar. An apartment was leased a while ago, last year actually, but it wasn’t for six months. It was only for four months. And while the renter’s name was listed as Sloane Maxwell, the company that actually signed the lease and paid the rent every month was . . . wait, I can’t pronounce this . . . Stavros, um . . .” she spelled it. “S-a-k-k-a-s.”
What the hell? “Last year, you said?”
“Yes, from January through early April, last year.”
“Thank you.” He quickly disconnected.
Mason took a moment to pull himself together, his mind racing with questions. Her boss had leased the apartment
? He looked at Sloane, who was still resting up against the tree, her eyes now closed. Maybe she didn’t recognize the place because she had never lived here. But why would the antiquities company lease an apartment for one of its employees if she hadn’t been in town since last year?
He slid the phone back into his pocket and walked over to her. “Nothing?”
She looked at him, made a face, and shook her head. “Nope, sorry.”
“Don’t be. Come on, let’s head back to the other side of town. Grab a bite to eat before we go back to the motel. We can head back to Monroe first thing in the morning.”
They drove away from the complex and took city streets, avoiding any freeways. He could do without the traffic jams and crowded cars, and he was pretty sure Sloane could, too. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he pulled into a small cluster of low-slung buildings off the road in a rural area. Very rural.
“Recognize this place?” While the shops had changed, the mini mall had not. It looked sad, run down, weeds growing up through some cracks in the pavement. She pulled her gaze from his, swallowed, brushed her fingers through her hair, and then she looked out the windshield, then her window, and then out of his. “Should I?”
He shifted position and gestured over his shoulder out his window to a small Italian restaurant at the end of the row of small buildings. “We used to go there all the time. I haven’t forgotten your fondness for Italian. You hungry?”
A blush darkened her cheeks and he grinned again. Oh, she was hungry all right, but maybe it wasn’t pasta she hungered for.
No, don’t even go there.
No, he wasn’t going to force a relationship on her while she had so much happening. Besides, he didn’t want a long-term relationship. At least, he didn’t think he did. He was perfectly content living by himself. He was set in his ways, and besides, he was busy, gone most of the time. But would the right woman make a difference in his life? Did he really like to be alone or was he just fooling himself? Had he just convinced himself that he was better off living the bachelor’s life, no one to answer to, no obligations, and no responsibilities to anyone but himself? All the questions made Mason’s head spin.
From the Ashes (Southern Heat Book 1) Page 6
