Holly smiled. “You make me feel that way when you look at me.”
“You do some pretty remarkable things to me when I look at you.”
Holly let her gaze drift downward. “I noticed.”
“Wicked woman,” he said, dipping his head to kiss her again.
Everything after that was slightly blurred and thoroughly wonderful. Holly could not have asked for a more attentive lover. Tenderly, he lowered her to the bed and eased her gown over her head and arms. He caressed her, sliding his fingers over her skin as if reading her soul in some braillelike code by the way her flesh curved beneath his fingertips. Holly read his body the same way, exploring the curves and textures of his chest and arms, his shoulders and back.
Wonder turned to need, pleasure to urgency, warmth to a consuming inferno as their caresses grew bolder and more intimate. Holly trembled as he sprinkled kisses over her ribs; she quivered with delight as his palm glided up one thigh and down another. He kissed her again, long and hard, then, without warning, he breached the barrier of her panties to probe her depths. She responded with a mindless guttural moan that was both invitation and plea. She strained against his touch with sensual undulations that drew a feral growl of arousal from him.
It seemed an eternity before he removed her panties and eased his hard, sheathed flesh into hers, tempering raw sexual need with patience and consideration.
Embracing, clinging, they moved together, sharing pleasure and sweetness, excitement and splendor.
Holly cried out as the wave of completion swept through her, setting off spasms of release that drove him off the same high cliff. Together they tumbled into the afterglow of sensual bliss.
Minutes later, they lay together, legs entwined, Holly’s breasts comfortably crushed against Craig’s ribs, his chin tucked to her temple, his arm draped possessively across her waist.
After an absurdly long, divinely serene silence, he said, “Am I your first virgin?”
Recalling the expertise of his technique, she drew an imaginary circle on his chest with her forefinger and said, “You, sir, are no virgin.”
“You’re the only woman I remember being with.”
“Trust me. You’re no beginner.” She grinned mischievously. “I think we can safely assume that you’re heterosexual.”
“Trust me,” he replied. “That was never in question.” He placed nibbling kisses on her cheek. “I just hope I’m not a priest.”
The idea surprised her. “A priest?”
He snuggled down, tightening his arm around her waist and resting his cheek on hers. “I could never go back to celibacy after being with you.”
“Think what a test of faith that would be,” she said.
“I’ll just have to become a Protestant,” he said, hooking his leg over hers.
Holly closed her eyes and enjoyed the sheer joy of being with a man in such an intimate way. He seemed to surround her completely, and she felt safe for the first time since she’d gotten the phone call from Josh telling her to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.
She knew the safety was an illusion—how much safety could there be with a man with no name and no past?—but she allowed herself to believe because believing felt so good. “How can you joke about it?” she asked.
“The amnesia?”
She nodded. “It must be horrible for you not knowing anything about yourself.”
“I can’t do a damn thing about it,” he said. “Sometimes I get a headache from trying so hard to concentrate. I keep thinking that if I could concentrate hard enough, I’ll remember something. But there’s nothing but odd bits of information that pop up from time to time to give me a hint.”
“Like knowing about wine.”
“Like knowing about wine.” He exhaled heavily and reflexively tightened his arm around her. His voice was flat with intensity. “If I didn’t joke about it, I’d go crazy.”
“I wish I could help.”
He pushed a strand of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “You are helping.” She saw the haunting darkness in his gaze as he looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re my touchstone with reality. Everything else is just assumption or supposition.”
So he needed her as much as she needed him. It was not such a bad foundation for an affair, she decided. Maybe he’d been right about things balancing out between them in some cockeyed way. She lifted her hand to his face and touched it lovingly with her fingertips. “How would you like to make another memory?”
His mouth curved into a smile. Desire glinted in his eyes. “I’d like to fill my entire empty memory bank with images of you.”
“One memory at a time,” she said, guiding his mouth to hers.
They made love again, taking the time that urgency had denied them earlier, familiarizing themselves with each other, building toward physical release by placing kisses upon touches, sighs upon whispered entreaties and, ultimately, frenzied thrust upon frenzied thrust.
Spent, exhausted and utterly content, they collapsed into each other’s arms with mingled sighs. Minutes passed before Craig breached the silence by voicing her name in a question.
“Hmm?” she replied from a dreamlike haze of contentment.
“That’s going to be a very precious memory.”
“Mmm,” she agreed. “For me, too.” She could almost feel the process of letting go as the present insinuated itself on the past, not replacing the times she’d spent with the first Craig, but bullying old memories into perspective, labeling them as The Past and forcing them into a corner already occupied with high school dances and flirting with lifeguards on the beach.
“I know it’s late,” he said.
“I hope you’re not suggesting that I should get out of bed and drive you home.”
She felt the tension claim his body. “I don’t consider that Victorian cracker box home. It’s just where I live because I don’t have any other place to go. And if I were hell-bent on getting there at this hour, I’d pedal there on my own steam the way I got here.”
The bitter overtone in his voice disturbed her. And touched her. “What then?”
“This is going to sound strange.”
“Out with it,” she said.
“I’m suddenly starving. You don’t have any ice cream, do you?”
A quiver marched up her spine to prickle her scalp. “Ice cream?”
“I just suddenly had a yen for it.”
Craig had always wanted ice cream after sex. She’d kept a carton in the freezer for him.
“I’m sorry, I...don’t have any,” she said. Throwing out the half-empty carton which had been in her freezer since the last time she and Craig had been together had been a therapeutic step in her determined effort to move on with her life. She’d stood next to the garbage can with the ice-encrusted carton chilling her hands for a full ten minutes before forcing herself to let it drop into the plastic-lined can.
He shrugged. “It was a crazy idea, anyway.”
“There’s a convenience store on the corner,” she suggested helpfully.
He climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Holly admired the lithe lines of his long body and sleek shoulders as he parted the drapes half an inch to peer out. “It’s not raining anymore,” he said. “If I had some dry clothes, I’d go get some.”
Holly imagined his clothing wet and crumpled in the bathtub, then remembered the sealed plastic bags in the storage shed.
Give Craig’s clothes to the man who’d taken Craig’s place in her bed? Reflexively, she balked at the idea. It would be insanity. Sheer insanity.
But a small, pragmatic voice inside her asked, Why not? They were perfectly good clothes and they weren’t doing anyone any good where they were. She’d been planning on taking them to a shelter so someone would get some use out of them. Why shouldn’t it be Craig Ford? He didn’t have a lot of clothes, and he certainly wasn’t going to build much of a wardrobe on a shelving assistant’s salary.
Her nightgown lay at
the foot of the bed. Tucking the sheet under her arms, she crawled down to get it and slipped it over her head. Then she got out of bed, smoothing the gown over her hips as she stood up. “I think I have a solution to the problem.”
“Are you sure?” he asked when she presented him with the bags and a brief explanation.
She nodded. “Absolutely. Now go see if anything fits. I’m going to see if there’s any juice in the refrigerator.”
A little while later, he stood in the doorway to the kitchen in a T-shirt with a charity fun run logo on the chest and a pair of denim shorts. Spreading his arms awkwardly, he said, “Well?”
“Great!”
He gave her a long, hard look. “Are you really okay with this?”
She nodded, surprised that it didn’t really bother her. “The shirt was a freebie. Craig never wore it. He hated yellow. And the shorts are looser on you.”
Her fiancé had worn denim like a second skin over his well-developed thighs. This Craig was longer and leaner.
“The shoes are a perfect fit. They look brand-new.”
The image of Craig’s worn sneakers on the shelf in her closet passed through Holly’s mind. She steeled herself against the pain of remembering and said, “They are. His mother sent them to him for Christmas and they were too big. He never got around to exchanging them.” A bittersweet smile played at her mouth. “He kept saying he’d just wear two pairs of socks with them, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. The only time he wore socks off duty was at the gym, and he kept a special pair of shoes in his locker there.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Would you like a glass of orange juice?”
He shook his head. “No, thanks. It might ruin my palate for the ice cream.”
She was suddenly aware of his eyes on her in a frankly sensual way. She tried to smile as if she were used to parading around in front of men in her nightgown, but she felt the heat rising in her cheeks.
“Hey, don’t blush,” he said, crossing the narrow room to slide his arms around her waist. When she didn’t look at him, he raised his right hand to cup her chin and tilt her face toward his. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Holly. You’re beautiful. And sexy. I was just thinking what a lucky man I am to have been with you.” His voice softened. “And thinking how incredible it is that we haven’t been out of bed half an hour and I want you all over again.”
With his arm firmly around her waist, and her breasts covered by only a thin stretch of satin pressed against the hard warmth of his chest, she was beginning to feel the same way. “You’d better go get that ice cream,” she said.
“Send me off with a kiss.”
She laughed. “You’re going to the corner for ice cream, not into battle.”
“It’s a cold, cruel world out there,” he said, sprinkling tender, teasing kisses over her eyelids.
Capturing his face in her palms, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him briefly, then said with the sultry tone of an old screen siren, “Hurry back, big boy.”
When he left, Holly considered dressing for the day, then reconsidered and decided to remain in her gown. It was still early morning, and her troubled sleep, capped by Craig Ford’s unexpected visit and subsequent events had left her enervated. Pulling an afghan up to her shoulders, she cuddled into the corner of the sofa to await Craig’s return, feeling thoroughly lazy and self-indulgent.
When she answered his knock a few minutes later, she found him leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb with a cocky grin on his face. He carried a pint of gourmet rocky road in one hand and two plastic spoons in the other.
He followed her to the couch, where she curled into the corner again. He sat down next to her and guided her legs across the tops of his thighs. “You can put one of those spoons down,” Holly said. “I refuse to eat rocky road ice cream for breakfast.”
But her resolve lasted only until he’d made a production of swallowing several spoonfuls with exaggerated gestures and sounds of ecstasy, then teasingly passing a loaded spoon under her nose, dotting her lips with ice cream and leaning over to flick the stain away with his tongue. After that, they shared the ice cream, jousting for space in the carton with their spoons, feeding each other, kissing the remnants of the rich confection from each other’s lips.
By the time the ice-cream carton was empty, they were beyond caring. They barely made it back to the bedroom before making love again. Afterward, they collapsed into a tangle of arms and legs and slept until well past noon.
They were still there when the doorbell rang. “Expecting company?” Craig asked.
“No,” she said, scrambling out of bed and digging frantically through a drawer in search of clothing. “It’s probably one of my neighbors.”
She threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt and went to the door, finger-combing her hair along the way. She heard Craig stumble into the living room behind her as she looked through the peephole. Turning, she saw that he’d gotten dressed and was hopping, trying to tie his shoelace as he walked. “It’s Josh, Craig’s partner. The one who’s checking the missing persons reports. He might have news.”
She disengaged the chain lock, but hesitated before opening the door. “This could be a bit awkward,” she warned Craig.
It wasn’t going to take much for Josh to figure out that she and Craig Ford had slept together. They both looked rumpled and smug. Josh, with his eye for incriminating detail, would pick up on it immediately.
Then Josh’s voice, with a note of concern. “Holly?”
Holly opened the door. “Hi, Josh.”
“What gives?” he asked, bustling past her. “I was beginning to think someone was holding you hostage.”
Holly tried to sound nonchalant despite the boorish, you’d-better-explain yourself look Josh gave her. “Josh, this is Craig Ford, from the library. He’s the person I told you about. Craig—”
She was spared further responsibility for the introduction when Josh extended his hand to Craig and identified himself. Holly sensed testosterone-fed animosity crackling in the air as the two men pumped hands and stared at each other with thinly veiled suspicion.
“Can I get you something to drink, Josh?” she offered brightly, hoping to distract him.
“Not unless you have a beer handy.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Holly said. She’d bought a six-pack after Josh’s last visit, in case he dropped in again. “I’ll get one for you.”
But Josh didn’t appear to hear her. His eyes were riveted on Craig’s chest. “Where did you get that shirt?”
Craig looked down at the shirt he’d just put on, but before he could answer, Josh challenged, “The only way to get a shirt like that was to run in that event. Since you have the shirt, maybe—”
His gaze shifted to Holly. “Unless you gave it to him.”
Taken aback by his accusatory tone, Holly was slow forming a reply. Before she could offer an explanation, he said, “You did!”
“Holly was just being helpful,” Craig said.
“His clothes were wet,” Holly said.
“So you gave him Craig’s shirt?”
“It’s not a crime, Josh,” she said, glaring at him. “You can lose the tough-cop attitude. You’re among friends. Why don’t you sit down while I get that beer.”
“I’ll help you get it,” Josh said, giving Craig a quelling look when he moved to accompany them.
Craig’s gaze flew to Holly’s face. She shrugged and mouthed, “It’s okay.” Reluctantly, he walked to the couch and sat down. Holly steeled herself for a confrontation and proceeded into the kitchen.
Josh didn’t bother with tact. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Getting you a beer,” she said with forced calm.
“You know what I mean. What’s going on between you and Pretty Boy out there?”
She thrust a can in his hand. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll tell you what’s going on. Exactly what it looks like, tha
t’s what’s going on.”
“Are you nuts? The guy is as phony as a three-dollar bill.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did you find out something?”
“No! That’s why I’m convinced he’s not for real. There’s nothing.”
“I believe his story,” she said.
“If you believed it, you wouldn’t have been so ready to believe that I’d found out something just now.”
“I was hoping you’d found out something,” Holly said. “I care about him.”
“Enough to sleep with him?”
“My bedroom is none of your business.”
“You’re the one who brought me into this.”
“I asked for your help, not—”
“You aren’t listening to me.”
“You don’t know him the way I do.”
His laugh was almost a sneer. “Not quite.”
“You could trust my judgment, you know.”
“Your judgment? You’re dressing him in Craig’s clothes and playing house with him! You’re thinking below the waist, Holly.”
Holly stiffened her spine and glared at him. “If I didn’t think you were sincerely concerned about me, I’d slap your face for that.”
After a second or two of stunned silence, he shook his head, shrugged, popped the tab on the top of the beer can and took a generous swig. “I don’t trust any man who doesn’t drink beer.”
“He’s more the wine type.”
“I rest my case.”
“Oh, grow up!” Holly said, rolling her eyes and stalking past him into the living room.
Craig snapped to attention as Holly approached. She smiled reassuringly, as though she’d known how difficult it had been for him to let her go off alone with Josh, even if just into the next room.
He forced himself to return her smile, wishing he could talk to her alone. He’d distinguished only isolated words coming from the next room, but he had a good idea what had been discussed, and he didn’t like her having to explain herself or defend her relationship with him to anybody.
Look into My Eyes Page 8
