Owen's Touch

by Lee Magner

  He slanted his mouth against hers, opening to her as she did to him, and sweeping the tender flesh inside with his tongue. Her soft, tender reply shot desire through the center of his body like a summer lightning bolt on a hot, sultry afternoon.

  “Mariana,” he murmured, kissing her lips, her jaw and that pulsing spot that so tantalized him on her throat. He groaned in pleasure as he felt her hands on his bare skin, sliding down across his back and beneath the waistband of his pajamas.

  “What?” she gasped as he hastily unbuttoned her top and lowered his head to her breasts, kissing the heated flesh, running his tongue over the pouting, dark pink nipple. She arched in pleasure as he moved his attention to the other breast, repeating the caresses, circling the taut flesh again and again.

  She moaned with pleasure and frustration as the sensation lasered through her, pooling somewhere deep within her abdomen.

  He pushed the pajama top off her shoulders, trailing kisses up her throat until he’d found her mouth with his once again.

  The taste of him, the warm pressure of his lips, the sound of his increasingly harsh breathing, all made Mariana lose herself more to him. He kneed apart her legs and settled between her thighs, his forearms resting on either side of her head, his hands sunk in the silky wealth of her hair.

  “I want you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against hers. “God, how I want you, Mariana!”

  She could feel the coiled tension everywhere in him. Hardened muscles of his chest and abdomen pressed against her breasts and stomach; his taut thighs felt like unyielding sinew against the inner softness of hers. And the evidence of his desire pulsed hard and ready, snugged against the most hidden part of her. Only the frail barrier of their clothing kept them apart.

  “And I want you,” she whispered unsteadily. With all my heart.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, warring with himself.

  Mariana captured his face between her hands, her own deep longing for him playing across her face like a symphony.

  He kissed her lips, gently. But the taste of her mouth, the trembling in her lips, broke him. He deepened the kiss, pouring into it all the tortured wanting that he felt for her. All the frustration and desire that he dared not completely unleash.

  She slid her heels around his ankles, as if to hold him close, and he flexed his hips, pushing against her in slow, determined atrokes.

  He pulled one of her legs up around his thigh, then nuzzled her head to one side to find the tender flesh of her ear.

  The warm, wet stroke of his tongue against her ear and the coiling tension within her abdomen suddenly connected. She gasped and caught his back with her hands as he pulled her hips toward him and thrust against her hard.

  The sunlight burst into fireworks of brilliant colors.

  Waves of beauty pulsed through Mariana, but when she felt Owen shudder against her, felt his gasp of pleasure as he buried his face against her throat, she knew she was where she’d always wanted to be. Home was here. In this man’s arms.

  They lay together, breathing in the experience. not wanting to let go.

  Finally, Owen rolled over, palling Mariana on top of him. His eyes were dark with emotion. He pulled her head down onto his shoulder and slowly caressed her head. His hand eventually drifted down to rest possessively on her hip. He had resisted stripping off all their clothes, although he wasn’t sure where he’d found the strength. He’d managed...just barely...not to actually enter her. Yet he couldn’t imagine feeling more completely one with her than he did at this moment. The ecstasy they shared had been as profound and as soul-searing as full consummation.

  “I hope you don’t regret this tomorrow,” he reluctantly whispered at long last.

  Mariana managed a half smile. “Funny,” she replied huskily. “That’s exactly what I was going to say to you.”

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and tightened his arm around her.

  “I won’t regret it,” he promised her softly.

  She tangled her legs in his, embracing him with her whole body, fiercely wanting this moment to belong to them alone.

  He laughed softly. The sound was rich and dark against her ear pressed against his chest.

  “No more nightmares,” he murmured reassuringly. “Not tonight.”

  Mariana closed her eyes, falling asleep to the memory of the sound of his dear, trusted voice rumbling beneath her cheek.

  The smell of bacon cooking finally woke her up the following morning.

  Mariana stretched, feeling the sheets against her bare breasts. That made her eyes open in a hurry. Memories of the night before came tumbling back in vivid detail. She could hear Owen in the kitchen. She had to admit she was grateful she had a chance to get dressed before facing him. She was sure she didn’t have any practice at this kind of thing.

  She was halfway out of bed when she realized she knew that was true. And what her last name was!

  “Owen!” she cried out, grabbing her pajama top and putting it on as she heard him coming toward the bedroom.

  He appeared in the doorway. Dressed in black jeans and a light gray sweatshirt. He seemed a little disheveled. He looked straight at her, though. There was no uncertainty or wavering in his straightforward male regard. His gaze went over her from head to toe. And then back to her face.

  “Good morning,” he said. He lifted an eyebrow quizzically. “What?”

  She hastily buttoned the pajamas, looking up at him between holes.

  “I remember!” she exclaimed excitedly.

  “You remember what?” he asked, smiling at her enthusiasm.

  “My name! It’s Sands!” she exclaimed. “Mariana Sands!” She’d gotten to the top pajama button, but there wasn’t any buttonhole to go with it. She stared down at the front in consternation.

  Owen walked across the room. His bare feet made little sound. He stood in front of her for a moment, looking thoughtfully into her eyes.

  Mariana lifted her face, awash in the pleasure of being close to him again. Her eyes softened and her mouth parted, but she was unaware of it. She was basking in the sunlight of his presence.

  Owen looked down at the pajama top. Carefully, he unbuttoned it. For a moment, the yellow satin hung there, parted down the center of her body. All the soft warmth he’d held in his arms last night lay beneath it.

  He leaned down and found her mouth with his. The lingering kiss was tender and sweet. Reluctantly, he lifted his head and sighed. He pushed the buttons through the holes without comment. Only the gleam in his eyes when he was finished and looked at her conveyed what he’d have preferred to have been doing.

  “Mariana Sands,” he said experimentally, as if deciding whether her name suited him. He nodded his approval and repeated it. “Mariana Sands. Well, that explains all those desert sands you were drawing yesterday,” he said whimsically.

  She laughed. “Maybe you’re right. My artistic subconscious was screaming my name at me, but my stubborn intellectual memory cells just couldn’t make the connection.”

  Mariana looked at his mouth and felt the sunlight streaming through her again. She lifted her eyes to his.

  “Maybe aromas aren’t the only thing that stimulate memory,” Owen suggested teasingly.

  Mariana blushed and laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  But Owen had his self-control back in excellent working order, and he wasn’t about to trash it first thing this morning. Mariana needed to reconnect with her life. Then they could see what could be done about their relationship, he promised himself.

  “Lefcourt should be here soon,” he reminded her. “How about some breakfast before they arrive?” He allowed himself one, fondly reminiscing look at her wearing her rumpled bedclothes. “I certainly enjoy seeing you in those pajamas, or out of them, for that matter,” he added teasingly. “But if you prefer to change into something else before our friend the sergeant and his insurance colleague ring the doorbell, I won’t object.”

 
; Mariana smothered a laugh.

  “That’s very sensible advice,” Mariana said dryly.

  “I’m not always filled with sensible thoughts, Green Eyes,” he conceded, his eyes turning smoky with kindling memories.

  Owen’s jaw tightened and he glanced at his watch.

  “It’s nine thirty,” he told her succinctly.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “It’s getting colder. Wear a sweater or something,” he advised evenly.

  Mariana had the impression the sweater wasn’t just intended to keep her warm but to cover her up. She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a giddy desire to laugh.

  “Oh, what a glorious day!” she said, smiling happily as she hurried to gather some clothes and take them into the bathroom to shower and dress.

  Owen heard the muffled sound of the shower turning on as he stood barefoot in the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee in his hand. He stared out the window, looking at the broad expanse of countryside. A randy young buck courted a doe on the other side of the pond, near the edge of the adjoining forest.

  Owen could imagine just how the buck felt. He swallowed the black, unsweetened brew, but his body was still focused on the muffled sounds of the cascading shower. He could imagine the warm water sluicing over Mariana’s naked body, her hands lathering her satiny skin with foaming soap.

  He clenched one fist and rested it on the countertop, frustrated as his body grew hot and hard just thinking about her.

  “Maybe I should have made iced tea for me,” he muttered with a fatalistic sigh. “Not that it would do any good,” he had to admit. He watched the antlered stag move closer to the doe, watched the white tail flick The doe became very still; the buck lifted his front legs off the ground to mount her.

  Owen stared at them, a wry expression on his face. Maybe it was just the fall mating season that was getting to him and Mariana, he thought.

  He looked back in the direction of her bedroom. The shower had stopped. He could imagine her toweling off, stepping into her underwear. Pulling on some clothes. Brushing her dark red hair until it shone like a sunset.

  It could just be something in the ancient rhythms of fall that was driving them into each other’s arms, like that buck and doe in the throes of reproductive ecstasy. But Owen felt there was something else between them.

  He dumped out his remaining coffee and decided not to think about that indefinable thing for the time being. He was reasonably confident that he’d figure out what it was eventually.

  He looked up as Mariana walked through the kitchen doorway. She was wearing an oversize knit sweater the color of chocolate over a long-sleeved white shirt. The shirt’s crisp white collar was open and framing her throat over the boat neck of the sweater. The shirt cuffs peeked out below the sweater sleeves. The sweater blended well with the corduroy slacks, which were predominantly black but softened by the thinnest possible occasional stripes the color of wet sand.

  She was wearing women’s black cross-training athletic shoes and thick black athletic socks.

  And she’d put on makeup. Just enough to bring out the healthy glow in her skin. The luscious curve of her lips. And the sparkle in those fathomless green eyes.

  Owen reached for the instant iced tea he’d unpacked a few minutes earlier and pushed the ice dispenser on the refrigerator with his glass.

  “I don’t think I ever met anyone who drank iced tea for breakfast,” Mariana said in surprise as she sat down at the table.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a first for me, too.”

  Mariana saw the wry amusement in his eyes and looked at him expectantly.

  “Hurry up and eat,” he said, not inclined to explain. That might lead them into territory they didn’t have time to explore before their company arrived.

  Mariana looked at him curiously, but she was too hungry to pursue it for now.

  Between bites of eggs and toast and bacon, Mariana did manage to keep up a conversation.

  “So, I’m sure the doctors are right. I think most of my memories will return.”

  Owen watched her silently, sitting across the table from her with his hands wrapped around his tall glass of iced tea.

  “I just don’t understand why I lost my identity,” she said, frowning and tilting her head thoughtfully to one side. “That’s really unusual. And I can’t seem to recall anything more recent than a few months ago. I don’t even know how I got here or what I was doing in this part of the country.”

  Mariana laid down her fork and lifted her mug of coffee. After taking a swallow of the sweet, hot drink, she looked at him, perplexed.

  “I know I lived in the Southwest. I was selling art by consignment through my agent, who was like a business partner to me. I remember a few friends. And my parents, who I told you...” She felt the pain again.

  “Your parents who you told me are dead,” Owen supplied softly.

  She nodded and got up.

  She began clearing the table, feeling it was only fair for her to clean up since he’d done all the cooking.

  Owen watched her, enjoying the shift of her back and hips as she bent and walked and lifted and dipped.

  “I just wish I knew what I was doing here.” She rinsed the dishes and put them in the automatic dishwasher. When she was through, she turned to face Owen. Anxiety shadowed her face. “I have this awful feeling...” she began huskily.

  “You have an awful feeling about what?” Owen probed, rising to his feet and coming to stand beside her. He had that urge to soothe away her hurts and fears again. The profoundly intense desire to protect her from pain. He laid his hand along her cheek in a comforting gesture intended to reassure her that he would be there for her while she faced the truth.

  “That man in the picture...” she said, searching for her courage. “I’m sure he’s the reason I’m here. And...I’m afraid of him. But I still can’t figure out why. And that makes no sense. I should remember something like that, shouldn’t I?”

  “Maybe you will remember, when your mind is ready to let you remember,” he suggested softly. He slid his hand up into her soft, thick hair and let it spill over his fingers. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Or,” he said, “perhaps you knew him very close to the time of the accident, and you simply don’t remember things that happened that close to the time of your concussion. That’s normal when people have had a severe head injury, I’m told.”

  She looked into his eyes and nodded slowly. “The doctors said as much to me,” she admitted. She smiled ruefully. “I hope they’re wrong, in my case,” she added. “I hate having my curiosity going unsatisfied.”

  “Yeah. Lack of satisfaction is brutal,” he agreed. He lowered his mouth to hers and gave her a tender, lingering kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she was breathing a little erratically and his pulse was noticeably faster.

  “Remind me we’re expecting company,” he ordered her sternly.

  Mariana laughed and hugged him, but she stepped back and looked into his eyes as something else occurred to her.

  “By the way,” she said, “you never told me how you made out with your lawyer last night.”

  Owen sighed and let his arms fall away from her. He’d better warn her before she got broadsided by the media, he thought.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, there are a few things you should probably hear from me first,” he admitted with obvious reluctance.

  Mariana braced herself but wondered what in the world it could be. Owen looked positively stone-faced all of a sudden.

  “I told you that Portia was famous—”

  “Yes.”

  “—that, even in death, things related to Portia were likely to arouse the interest of the media.”

  Mariana nodded.

  “Last night Averson Hemphill told me he’s been besieged by calls from several news organizations about the challenge to Portia’s will by her previously unknown nephew.”

  “Oh.” Mariana could see there was more. And whate
ver it was, he was debating exactly how to tell her. She felt a small quiver of uncertainty about Owen for the first time since she’d met him. What was bothering him about this? she wondered.

  “There’s a New York reporter arriving here sometime this afternoon. She’s asked to speak to Hemphill.”

  “Are you going to let him do that?”

  “Yes. Lawyers are reasonably adept at damage control. But the reporter has made clear that she intends to interview people in town about me and about Portia.”

  “I’m sorry, Owen,” she said sympathetically. “When someone has a story to write, they can really trample your private life.”

  Owen snorted. “Unfortunately, that’s only too true. And...” He hated to think about the mess this could become if the tabloids got hold of it. Again. “She’s probably going to try to track me down and talk to me, too.”

  Mariana stood still. She wasn’t sure where that left her.

  “Look, Owen, I’ll stay out of this, if that’s what you want,” she hastened to say. She waved a hand as if for emphasis. “But if you’d like to avoid the press, I’d be happy to have you stay at my home.” She laughed a little embarrassedly. “Assuming we figure out where that is in time for you to make use of my offer.”

  “You need to know a few things before you make an offer like that,” he said, frowning. “You see, several years ago—”

  And at that point, the front doorbell rang.

  Owen closed his eyes briefly in frustration and grimly pressed his lips together.

  Mariana looked from the living room to Owen.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Owen walked toward the living room and saw the police car in front of the house. It was too late to tell her,

  Mariana had followed him. She wondered what had put that grim expression on his face. She touched his shoulder reassuringly.

  “Maybe this will jog your memory,” he said evenly, trying to find something positive in the situation.

  “We’ll know in a very short time,” she declared, smiling bravely.

  They opened the door and let the policeman and the insurance investigator in. Sergeant Lefcourt greeted Mariana and Owen, then turned to introduce the insurance investigator.