Colton's Amnesia Target (The Coltons of Kansas)

by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)

  And even if he seemed lost and alone at first, that’d been temporary.

  Now, they were headed back to his world and Jordana hadn’t a clue what that world looked like, except she was willing to bet her eye teeth it looked nothing like her own.

  They touched down at O’Hare International and immediately a sleek black town car awaited them. Clint’s assistant, Jeana, had made all the arrangements and Clint fell right into step with every accommodation as if using muscle memory. Already he seemed different, more confident and assured of himself, but also colder.

  His gaze took on a sharp look and that smile she’d come to love was replaced with a tight, contained set of his jaw that spoke of control and authority.

  She suppressed a shiver. Seeing him like this was a different kind of sexy but the change made her wary.

  Would she like the person he truly was when he regained his memory? What if this entire relationship they’d built in record time was an illusion that wouldn’t stand up to the glare of reality? Had she put her life on pause for something that was doomed to fail?

  There were too many questions in her head to enjoy the flight. By the time they landed, she was rigid with tension, a fact Clint noticed.

  “I’m nervous, too,” he admitted, slipping his hand into hers. “We’ll face this together.”

  That helped a little bit. Some of her tension melted away. She risked a short smile as she nodded with a murmured, “Together.”

  The town car, drenched in understated wealth and privilege, looked like something a movie star would find appropriate. Jordana felt underdressed in her comfortable jeans and sweatshirt but she tried to keep her insecurity at bay. She didn’t like the idea of people staring at her, which would no doubt happen as curiosity provoked interest.

  Clint might not remember his life here but everybody else in his world did.

  Not only had the king returned but he’d brought a plus one.

  The town car pulled up to a stately building and a sharply dressed doorman promptly helped them exit the car.

  “Pleasure to see you home again, Mr. Broderick,” he said.

  “Thank you, good to be home,” Clint said, handing the man a crisp bill for his troubles. Clint waited for Jordana and then, holding her hand, they walked into the building, which his assistant, with whom he’d shared his secret, provided all the relevant information to gain entrance to his penthouse.

  The freaking penthouse.

  Yes, of course Clint lived at the very top of a very posh building. Where else did she expect him to live? A hovel? A small shack in a depressed neighborhood? Of course not. But again, the shock of reality was a sharp one. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of extreme wealth, a world she’d never get used to being around.

  “Not bad,” Clint joked as he opened his front door to reveal a spacious, tastefully decorated but definitely masculine decor. Tones of gray, black and white with steel accents dominated the space with cold, hard marble countertops that gleamed in the overhead light. “Too bad I don’t have any family to impress because this is worth showing off, am I right?”

  She forced a smile. “It’s pretty top-shelf. Where’s the bathroom?”

  “I haven’t a clue but let’s find out together.” He gestured and they traveled down a long hallway. Art created by artists she couldn’t identify hung on the walls but Clint barely noticed. They found the master bedroom and Jordana sucked in a wild breath at the vision of male dominance and sexual prowess that practically dripped from the room.

  “Jesus, Clint, who the hell were you? Christian Grey?” she muttered with a grimace. Definitely not to her tastes. She turned to Clint. “If you have a secret room of pain hiding behind a closet door, I’m catching the first plane out of here.”

  “It’s a little much, isn’t it?” Clint agreed, glancing around. “Very ‘executive privilege.’”

  “Yeah, not to be rude but it’s not very homey.”

  “I agree. I like your place better,” he said, shocking her. He smiled for the first time in a way that reminded her of the man she’d fallen head over heels for and reached for her. “I don’t know the guy who signed off on this pleasure palace but I do know that you being in it automatically makes it ten times better.”

  She grinned as he sealed his mouth to hers. His tongue darted to taste her and she opened willingly, needing something to ground her in this new environment. His touch, his scent, the way his mouth fit perfectly against hers, was exactly the touchstone she needed to breathe more easily. “I needed that,” Jordana said, smiling. “Thank you.”

  They ended the kiss, somewhat reluctantly, because both had to use the restroom after the long flight, but after a quick shared rinse in a massive shower that looked bigger than her entire bathroom back at home, Clint was ready to put that sumptuous bed to good use.

  “Let’s break it in,” he said, dropping his towel to reveal his ready erection. The lustful grin curving his lips was predatory and sexy as hell. He gestured to her own towel covering her. “Your turn.”

  She cast him a sly glance and then, turning, let the towel slide slowly to the floor. “Come and get it,” Jordana said with a demure glance over her shoulder.

  Clint growled. “Oh, baby, consider yourself gotten.”

  He was on her in seconds.

  Damn, the man was fast—and oh so good with his hands and mouth.

  * * *

  Clint stared up at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom, Jordana sleeping softly beside him. Moonlight caressed her half-revealed naked body as she lay twisted up in the silk sheets.

  They’d christened this bedroom with extreme prejudice. Bits of memory came to him unbidden at unexpected moments. He’d known about the stash of condoms in his bedside drawer. Remembered putting the fresh box in the drawer. He remembered that the hot water spigot was sensitive and would pour lava if he twisted it too hard.

  He remembered the doorman’s name—Fred—and that Fred had a wife and two grandchildren. He also remembered that he always gifted Fred a thousand dollars for a Christmas tip.

  So, he could be generous when it suited him, it appeared. Or maybe he was generous with those he deemed worth the extra effort.

  Tomorrow he was going to the office. Jeana had it arranged so that she could brief him on the business end. She’d already pushed his business meetings for another two weeks to give his memory time to bounce back with familiar immersion. He made a mental note to compensate Jeana generously for her discretion and her invaluable help.

  Clint also had a meeting with Alex at some point but he wanted more time before meeting with his partner. There would be no way he could hide his memory loss from Alex and he wasn’t comfortable revealing that handicap just yet.

  Maybe it was his ingrained sense of competition or maybe he wasn’t sure how secure he felt about Alex’s loyalty but he felt it was the right decision to hold back details.

  Or maybe he was just being paranoid and Alex would never do a thing to hurt him.

  It could go either way. The downside to amnesia was he couldn’t tell who was trustworthy and who was likely to stab him in the back when he wasn’t paying attention.

  The upside to amnesia? Well, it might sound crazy but when he was in Braxville he felt more relaxed than he ever thought a person could with the whole of their life wiped away.

  But now that he was back in the Windy City, he understood. He could feel the responsibility settling on his shoulders, the familiar weight of expectation weighing on him. Getting away from all that? Felt pretty good. Even if he had to get bashed in the head to achieve it.

  He was Clint Broderick—CEO and cofounder of Broadlocke Enterprises. By all accounts, he was a very wealthy and powerful man with questionable design tastes. He couldn’t imagine signing off on this look now. After staying with Jordana in her cozy little house, the penthouse felt cold and detached.
<
br />   Did he really live here? As in, did he come home from a long day at the office and find sanctuary here? Nothing about this place felt relaxing. Sure, it was a great place to host cocktail parties to schmooze with powerful people and it certainly made for a perfect place to hook up with women he didn’t plan to keep around but it wasn’t a place he’d happily bring someone he wanted to build a life with.

  Again, his gaze strayed to Jordana and a warm smile immediately followed. She made love like a voodoo priestess summoning an unearthly force but there was something sweet and tender about her that she tried to hide.

  She didn’t trust easily or quickly and yet, for some reason, she’d taken a chance on him.

  He didn’t want to do anything to lose that trust. He’d also do anything in his power to make her stay with him more comfortable. If she wanted, she could rip out everything in his place and start fresh with her own vision of comfort and security.

  Hell, he clearly had the money, and what good was money if you couldn’t spend it on the things that mattered most?

  Jordana mattered to him.

  All this—his stare perused his bedroom—meant nothing if Jordana wasn’t happy.

  Sighing, he pulled her sleeping body against his. She snuggled against him, those lovely, perfect breasts baring to his gaze. Immediately, he hardened but he’d already exhausted his pretty, long-legged detective and she needed some rest.

  He chuckled as she moaned softly, the sensual sound sending the blood pounding to his already hardened member, but he deliberately closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

  There’d be plenty of time tomorrow morning to remind her how happy he was to have her here.

  And he couldn’t imagine a better way to start the day than inside Jordana.

  After that, he could conquer the world—with or without his memory.

  Chapter 17

  Within minutes of waking, Clint’s head was between her thighs, lapping at her sensitive nub and sending sweet pleasure cascading through her body. She moaned, threading her fingers through his hair, barely able to breathe as he pushed her toward that cliff before she’d even had a chance to chase the wispy remnants of her dreams away.

  In such a short time, Clint had learned her body’s language and he spoke it fluently. He teased, sucked and nipped at her most sensitive spots until she had no choice but to succumb to the thigh-shaking pleasure that only Clint could provide.

  She came quickly with a tight gasp, her body spasming with release, a moan rattling in her throat. Holy Mother of God...she was nearly delirious.

  Clint rose from beneath the bedding, his mouth slick, a grin curving his lips. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he said before kissing her fully awake.

  He had this way about him that drew her like no other. If she were smart, she’d pack up and leave. She wasn’t stupid or naive. These kinds of love affairs burned bright and hot and left scars when it was all said and done.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere, not yet.

  “That’s better than pancakes,” Jordana said with a satiated grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re going to spoil me. That’s how I want to wake up every morning from now on.”

  “How can I say no?” he asked.

  “You can’t.”

  “Good, because I can’t imagine anything better than tasting you for breakfast every day.”

  She blushed, teasing, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “I don’t think I do,” he said with genuine honesty, “but even if I did, I only mean it with you because I don’t remember anyone else.”

  Jordana laughed. “That’s terrible.”

  “But truthful.”

  He kissed her again and her hand moved to remove his boxers but he stopped her. “That was just for you,” he said. “Besides, if we start that engine we’ll never get out of here. I have to get in the shower. Care to join me?”

  She glanced at the alarm clock and realized she’d better get up and moving, too. “Sure,” she said, stretching like a cat. His gaze heated and she caught his full erection barely contained behind his boxers. With a quick movement, she pulled him down until he tumbled to the bed. Jordana rolled on top of him, grinning with a counter: “But you need to get dirty first...”

  “Oh, I’m already plenty dirty—” Clint lightly tapped his head “—but I like a woman who goes after what she wants,” he said, his hands bracketing her hips as she rubbed against his hard length.

  Everything about Clint felt so good, so addictive. She’d never been one to place such a high priority on sex but that might change with him. In a blink, his boxers were off and a condom was on.

  “So much for not starting the engine,” he said with a groan as she slowly sank down on his length.

  “Stop talking,” Jordana demanded, her eyes fluttering shut on a moan as she seated herself fully on top. He drove up, his hips flexing as he anchored her with his big hands. “Oh, God, yes, just like that!”

  “Bossy woman,” he bit out with a sexy grunt. “I like it.”

  Yes, she realized with a groan, sex like this was addictive.

  And like most addicts, she was willing to do things she never thought possible just to be with him. It was heady, dangerous and thrilling.

  He rolled her over, skewering her, hitting the best spot deep inside until she panted with desperate need. He made her wild, insatiable. She clutched at his shoulders as he drove into her, his thrusts becoming more and more intense. She tensed as the pleasure built to an indescribable level until she crashed into her climax, shuddering and crying, almost babbling as wave after wave washed over her.

  Clint followed seconds later with a growl that she felt deep in his chest before collapsing; the weight of his body while he remained firmly lodged inside her was the best feeling in the world.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted with a rasp. “My God, woman, what have you done to me?”

  Jordana felt the same but she held the words back. Instead, she smothered the potential of more talk with a searing kiss. He tasted of her, he smelled of sweat and sex. Together, the spicy blend aroused her to new levels.

  Was this insanity? Had she tumbled into a crazy new world where chaos replaced order?

  Maybe.

  It was too late to turn back now.

  Slowly recovering, Clint rolled from the bed with a command, “You, me, shower,” and he padded naked across the bedroom, giving her a lovely view of his perfect ass as he went. The water started and he hollered, “Are you coming?”

  She grinned and bounced from the bed. “Hold your horses, now who’s being bossy,” she said, pausing to glance at herself in the bedroom mirror.

  For a full half second, Jordana didn’t recognize herself. She looked the picture of a well-screwed woman. Her hair, tousled and wild, almost to the point of rat’s nest territory, fell around her shoulders, and her cheeks were pink and rosy.

  Who was this person? She envied her.

  The woman in the mirror wasn’t afraid to run off and live a life of luxury with the man she adored. The woman in the mirror wasn’t plagued with fears and anxiety that her family might somehow be responsible for the death of two people. The woman in the mirror wasn’t trying to walk the line between keeping up professional pretenses while secretly screwing the man whose case she was investigating.

  The woman in the mirror didn’t have any worries or cares.

  But she wasn’t the woman in the mirror, was she?

  She was Jordana Colton—a woman with a complicated family life and a stalled personal life—and at some point, she’d have to leave the woman in the mirror behind.

  * * *

  Clint arrived at his office, Jordana in tow, apprehensive that someone would figure out something wasn’t right with him, but as it turned out, everyone was too busy with their own workload
to focus much on him.

  Jordana murmured as they took in the room, “You definitely had a preferred style.”

  “It would seem so,” he agreed with a slightly pursed frown. He must’ve used the same decorator for his office as he had for the penthouse because it had a similar executive tone, lots of grays and steel accents. Everything screamed masculine power, in an overt way. Almost as if trying too hard. There was no time to fret about his interior decorating choices but he made a mental note to make some changes when the dust had settled. “Now we’ll see where the rubber hits the road,” he said, preparing to learn what kind of boss he was.

  Maybe they’d been relieved by his absence. He didn’t have long to think about that possibility for Jeana appeared, the woman who was his right-hand man, so to speak, and she looked as efficient as she sounded on the phone.

  Medium height, brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun, glasses perched on her nose, wearing a sensible skirt and light jacket, a scarf tied artfully around her slender neck. Her blue eyes were kind but sharp. “Mr. Broderick, so happy to see you back after your business trip. Shall we discuss your itinerary?”

  Of course, that was code for going to his office so that Jeana could debrief him further on his life. He was so glad Jordana was there with him, as well. He’d need the extra set of ears and eyes to keep everything straight. He felt as if he were cramming for a test on every subject he’d ever taken in school but he had no idea which subject the questions would be about.

  Jeana led them to an expansive executive office with a glorious view of downtown Chicago, closing the doors quietly behind them.

  More grays, some navy blue and variations of gray met his eye as he perused his office. It was cold and impersonal but also imposing, which was probably the tone he’d wanted to convey in his previous life but now felt like an ill-fitting suit. One bump on the head and everything changes, he mused with sardonic wit.

  “You must be Jordana Colton,” Jeana said, extending a hand. “I hear we have you to thank for keeping such close watch on our intrepid leader.”