by Larissa Ione
“Okay,” she said slowly, not wanting to agitate him again. “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
“I think… I think it’s Reseph.”
“You think?”
The pressure on her throat lessened to almost nothing, but each breath still burned. “Reseph is the only name that comes to me.”
He wasn’t sure about his own name? And what an odd name it was. His deep, resonant voice did have the slightest accent, though. Not that she could identify it. “Do you know where you’re from?”
“No idea. I can’t remember… anything.” He pushed up, his shoulders and biceps flexing with power, and looked down at his naked body. “Did we fuck?”
She nearly choked. “No.”
“Why not?” He eased back down on top of her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. This time she felt the distinct presence of an erection settling against her pelvis. The buzz in the very air around him shifted suddenly from menacing to blatantly erotic, but no less dangerous.
Oh, God. “Because we’re complete strangers.”
He lifted his head. “So?”
So? This was not going well. “Look, maybe you should, ah, get off me, and we’ll discuss everything over dinner.”
“Dinner?” He grinned, and good Lord, he was stunning when he wasn’t scaring her half to death. “Totally on board with that. I’m starving. Maybe we could fuck first?”
This time she did choke. “Sex is not on the table. But chili is.”
“You can have sex on tables,” he said, and great, she was now picturing doing things in the kitchen that had nothing to do with eating. At least, not eating food.
“Chili,” she croaked. “No sex.”
He appeared to consider that, and she nearly passed out from relief when he rolled off her. “Okay, so where’s the food?”
“Kitchen.” She leaped off the bed, ignoring his amused grin and trying not to look at his erection… his very nice erection… which he wasn’t making any effort to cover up.
Nope, he lay on his back, legs spread, one arm behind his head as if he was in his house, in his bed, and she was merely the date he’d invited home last night.
Again, she wondered just who she’d brought into her house, because this guy was not flying with a full crew. Definitely not right in the head.
Averting her gaze, she backed toward the door. “I’m going to see if I can find you something to wear. Feel free to use the shower—”
He was already halfway to the tiny master bathroom. Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from his body as he strode across the wood floor. Every muscle was a fluid work of art as they powered his strides, bunching and rippling. And that ass… sweet Jesus, he had the nicest set of glutes she’d ever seen.
He disappeared into the bathroom, and she swore the last flex of his butt muscles was just for her. Oh, this guy had to go.
While he showered, she headed to the kitchen to stir the Crock-Pot of chili before taking the stairs down to the cellar. Half of the underground space was dedicated to food storage, but the other half was piled high with the remnants of her life in Florida, and with huge Rubbermaid containers of Christmas ornaments and things that had belonged to her parents.
She hadn’t been through any of this stuff since she moved here, and she cursed her misty eyes as she pawed through one of the plastic tubs of her parents’ clothing. Every shirt brought back a memory, every pair of shoes a story.
Just grab something and get it over with.
Jillian wasn’t sure “grabbing something” would be adequate. Although her father had been a tall man, there was nothing of his that would fit Reseph well. She supposed he’d have to make do with the forest green flannel pajama bottoms and the oversized black sweatshirt.
Glad to be done digging through memories, she trudged back up the stairs and nearly swallowed her tongue when she stepped into the kitchen at the same time that Reseph sauntered in.
Completely naked.
“Um… you couldn’t find a towel?”
He looked down at himself. “I found a towel. I’m dry.”
The man apparently had absolutely no inhibitions. “Right. Silly me.” She shoved the clothes at him. “Do you think you hit your head?”
“Might be why my memory is gone,” he said, and okay, sure, that might explain the amnesia, but that wasn’t what she’d been getting at.
While he dressed… reluctantly, it seemed… she spooned chili into bowls. As she reached into a drawer for spoons, she sensed a presence behind her. Reseph’s warmth engulfed her as he peered over her shoulder.
“Looks good.”
So Reseph had no inhibitions and no concept of personal space. At least he’d put the clothes on.
“It is good,” she said, scooting out from under his shadow. “It’s my mom’s recipe.” She placed the bowls on the table—opposite ends.
“I wonder if I have a mom.” There was a thread of… sadness?… fear?… worry?… in his voice. Maybe it was a mix of all three.
She could only guess at how she’d feel if she woke up in a strange place with no memory of how she got there or who she was. The idea that there was a family out there who might be looking for him—including, maybe, a wife—had to be unsettling.
Especially since he’d wanted sex from a complete stranger. Jillian hoped to hell he wasn’t married.
“Let’s get some food in you, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” She opened the fridge. “I have milk, water, orange juice, Sprite—”
“Beer?”
“Sorry. Out of beer.” She liked a cold one now and then, but it just wasn’t a winter drink.
“Chili without beer is a crime in some places,” Reseph said. “Well, it should be. Sprite, please.”
She grabbed two cans and two glasses, and when she turned around, Reseph was seated. But he’d moved his bowl to a seat closer to hers. She sighed. Her mom would have said he needed to be house-trained.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“It’s just chili.”
He shook his head, his wet hair brushing the sweatshirt collar. “For that, and for taking care of me.”
As if he were embarrassed, he looked down at the bowl and dug in.
* * *
Reseph had never seen a woman as beautiful as Jillian or tasted anything as awesome as her chili. Well, he was pretty sure of the never part. With her chin-length dark hair that was clipped shorter at the nape and brilliant green eyes, Jillian drew his gaze as often as his bowl drew his spoon. He was ravenous for both company and food, which made him wonder how long he’d been without either.
He finished off the bowl before Jillian had eaten a quarter of hers.
“I’ll get you more.” She started to stand, but he gripped her forearm and held her down.
“You’ve done enough. I can get it.” Though he supposed if he let her serve him, he’d be able to watch her fine ass sway in those worn jeans that hugged her perfect curves. Not even the worn black and blue flannel shirt she wore could hide what he suspected was a fantastic body.
No, he’d felt enough of that body when she’d been beneath him on the mattress to more than suspect.
She looked a little flustered… from his touch, maybe? He got that, because her warm skin felt so good under his hand, good enough that he wanted to leave it there. And he did, for a few seconds longer than was appropriate.
Because somehow he knew what appropriate was. He just didn’t care.
Had he always been like that? He was kind of a dick, wasn’t he?
With a mental shrug, he fetched a heaping bowl of chili and returned to the table. “So. Where are we?” When she gave him a startled look, as if he wasn’t sure he was in a kitchen, he laughed. “In the world. Where are we in the world?”
“Oh.” She smiled in obvious relief. A beautiful smile on a generous mouth and lips the color of a ripe apple. Made him wonder if they’d taste as sweet. “Colorado. We’re in th
e Rockies, near the Wyoming border.”
“Why?”
Her sable brows shot up. “Why?”
The spoon clacked as he dug into his bowl. “Why do you live here?” Why was he here?
“Um… because it’s where I grew up. I inherited the cabin from my parents when they passed away.”
He dug deep into his brain, trying to find a memory that involved his own parents, but there was nothing. “What do people do around here?”
“For a living, you mean?” When he nodded, she sipped her drink, as if needing time to come up with an answer. “Well, I guess they mostly work in the ranching, logging, or hunting industries. The nearest town is barely a speck on the map.”
“So why would I be here?”
She shook her head, making her hair sweep against her jaw in soft waves. “I have no idea.”
“Maybe I was hunting?”
“You were naked. And you didn’t have a gun or bow.”
Bow. For some reason, having a bow… it sounded familiar. Naked? That sounded familiar, too. But maybe not naked in the snow.
He considered the winter-nudist scenario. “Were there tracks near me? Maybe I was attacked.”
“If so, you don’t have a mark on you.” A soft blush spread across her cheeks, and he grinned.
“Got a good look at me, huh?”
“I was checking for injuries.” She cleared her throat. “In any case, you weren’t injured, and there weren’t any tracks near you, but the blizzard would have covered up any.”
He thought about that for a second. “What were you doing out in a blizzard?”
Her spoon clinked against her bowl as she fished for a kidney bean. “I was collecting the last of the firewood I cut yesterday.”
“Firewood…” He recalled the trees he’d seen while he was lying in the snowbank. “What’s the date?”
“December tenth.”
Cool. He might not like snow, but December was his favorite month. “It’s Christmas time. Maybe I was out here to get a Christmas tree.”
“Naked, with no ax or vehicle? And if you were, you were trespassing on private property.”
Reseph finished off his soda and asked, “You found me on your property?”
“Yep.”
He watched her stir her chili, her hands delicate but work-roughened. “You live here by yourself?”
“Yep again.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, making the embroidered black wolf emblem on the pocket of her shirt dance. “I like being by myself.”
Reseph definitely did not like being alone. “Do you have a mate?”
One dark eyebrow climbed up. “Like, a friend?”
“Like a lover. You know, a mate.”
“I’d sure like to know where you’re from,” she muttered. “But no. No… mate.”
For some reason, he liked that answer. “Why not? You’re pretty. You should have lots of them.”
She coughed a little. “Maybe we should concentrate on your situation.”
She was probably right, but he wasn’t sure where to even start. “Do you have a computer?”
“I do, but the Internet is dial-up, and it’s twitchy. Like the electricity.”
“What about TV?”
“I have a satellite dish, but it doesn’t always work.”
Twitchy Internet and electricity, spotty television, and snow. Christ, Jillian lived in hell. “What do you do out here? How do you keep busy?”
“I read a lot. Hike in the woods and hunt mushrooms. It isn’t hard to stay busy. The farm takes up a lot of my time.”
Hunt mushrooms? Who did that when you could buy them at the store? “Sounds like you’re massively tied down.”
Annoyance flickered across her face. “I’m not tied down. I love it here.”
“But you’re alone.” He eyed her, thinking she was too beautiful to ever be alone. “And a farm is a lot of responsibility.”
“Neither of those things are bad,” she said, but Reseph wasn’t so sure. Being alone sucked, and responsibility was just another way to say tied down. “And how did we get back onto me as the topic of conversation?”
“I have a history of a snowbank,” he said simply. “And I don’t even like snow.”
“I’m sorry, Reseph.” She dropped the spoon into her half-eaten chili, as if her appetite had gone. “When the storm dies down, we’ll take the snowmobile into town if the road isn’t clear. I’ll take you to the sheriff’s office and they’ll help you.”
Alarm rang through him, stealing his appetite as well. “You can’t take me there.” His voice was a humiliatingly low rasp.
“I have to,” she said, reaching for a napkin. “They’ll be able to help more than I can.”
His pulse kicked into high gear, and a load of hot adrenaline seared his veins. He wanted to find out who he was, but right now, the only thing he knew was Jillian and her cabin. He couldn’t deal with more unknown. He couldn’t be abandoned again. Assuming he’d been abandoned in the first place, anyway.
Hastily shoving back from the table, he stood, startling Jillian to her feet.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Son of a bitch, that wasn’t true. He shook his head, which was starting to pound, almost as if there was someone on the inside, tapping on his skull. “Everything. Fuck, I don’t know.”
She started to move toward him, but he wasn’t ready to be touched or to be talked down or to answer questions. Some sort of sensory overload was making his brain tweak out. Or maybe he had hit his head. Whatever was freaking him out, he didn’t like it.
Before she could get closer, he grabbed his empty bowl and glass and darted to the sink. Then he stood there like a dolt, his palms sweating and his heart pounding.
“Reseph?” Her voice was tentative. Soft. “Are you okay?”
Not even close. “You have a dishwasher.”
“It’s old, but it works.”
He swallowed. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Every model is different—”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever used one.” It was such a stupid thing, but it made him feel so… lost.
“You have amnesia, Reseph.”
“It’s not that. I mean, I might not remember anything, but some things are familiar. I knew I liked chili. I know I like sex. I know how to use a computer. But I don’t know what to do with a dishwasher.”
Her hand came down on his as he held onto his bowl in the sink, and he changed his mind about not wanting to be touched, because her hand soothed him as quickly as a shot of fine tequila. Which was another thing he knew he liked.
“I’ll do this,” she said gently. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
“I’ve gotten enough rest.”
“Then go watch some TV. I have DVDs if the satellite isn’t working.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but he wasn’t even sure why. Still, he sensed that she needed some space, and why wouldn’t she? He was a stranger in her house, where she was clearly used to living alone. Really, it was a miracle that she’d taken him in. A lot of people would have left him to die.
Wait… how did he know that? If he was right about people leaving him to die, he must have known some real scumbags in his life.
Which didn’t speak highly for him. In fact, in the deepest recesses of his brain where the strange tapping was going on, there lurked a nasty suspicion. The suspicion that Reseph himself might be a scumbag.
Or worse.
Three
“How are you doing there, you hot, naked hunk of angel?”
Reaver opened his eyes just long enough to glare at Harvester, a fallen angel who seemed to delight in annoying the shit out of him.
Closing his lids, Reaver settled back against the wall of bone behind him. “I’m an angel trapped in hell, and I’m being slowly digested in the belly of some giant demon. How do you think I am?”
Harvester snapped her fingers in fron
t of his face, startling him into opening his eyes again. She crouched at his feet, her ebony hair cascading all the way to her hips over her black leather and lace minidress, a backpack next to her on the ground. “You do regenerate. Quit being dramatic.”
He sighed. “It’s interesting how your latest torture method is to annoy me to death.”
“Annoy?” In a surprising move, she sat down beside him, back to the wall. “I call it conversation. Would you rather be alone in here?”
“Ah. So you’re revealing your softer, gentler side. Sacrificing yourself to keep me company.”
“You’re so cynical.”
“Maybe that’s because a year ago, you tricked me, held me captive, cut off my wings, and tried to get me addicted to marrow wine.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Clearly, my cynicism is unwarranted.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t want to do those things. Maybe I was under orders.”
The Horsemen Watcher Council in Sheoul operated much the same as the Council in Heaven, meaning they offered suggestions and passed along information from Those In Power. But ultimately, it was up to the assigned Watcher himself to take responsibility for any action he or she took. Harvester, as the Four Horsemen’s evil Watcher, would know that.
“Holding a Watcher captive is a violation of Watcher rules. It doesn’t matter if your orders came from the Council or Satan himself. You’ll be punished.” Probably by both Sheoulic and Heavenly forces. Each side was responsible for punishing their own Watcher, but sometimes both sides demanded the right to mete out punishment.
“Eventually.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Right now everyone is too busy putting the human realm back together. Besides, I’ll get a slap on the wrist. Maybe have Watcher duty taken away. I’ll live.”
“That would be a shame.”
Though he was being sarcastic, there was a part of him that would prefer she remained alive and kept her job. As the Horsemen’s Heavenly Watcher, Reaver had to deal with whoever would replace her, and as fallen angels went, there were a lot worse than Harvester.
He shifted, wincing at the agony of his skin scraping on acid-coated taste buds. “How long have I been here, anyway?”
Time worked differently in some regions of Heaven and in Sheoul-gra, and you never knew if one hour spent in one of those places meant three months in the human realm, or if it meant three seconds. Time shifted as often and as quickly as the wind, with no discernible pattern.
