Ashley laughed. “He is…unique.”
“They said he’ll be watching over you for the duration.”
Will you? Or will the call of duty overwhelm you and make you do what you should have done the moment that wanted bulletin came out?
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
He blinked. “What?”
“Helping me has put you in an awful position.”
He let out an audible breath, and his lips compressed for a moment, telling her how accurate her observation had been.
“It’s a first, anyway,” he muttered.
She couldn’t help herself, she reached out to brush her fingers over his unshaven jaw. His hand came up, caught her wrist. But instead of pulling her hand away as she’d expected, he held it there. He closed his eyes, and she felt a muscle jump under her touch. Her breath caught, held.
There was a sudden movement as Cutter jumped up on the couch. It threw her off balance once more, pushed her toward Brady. His eyes snapped open. They were mere inches apart.
“It was the dog,” she explained. Or tried to. Her voice broke in the middle as his closeness seemed to swamp her. Things she’d never felt before were swirling through her. Heat, urgency and a kind of need she couldn’t even name.
He was just looking at her, staring, his blue eyes overwhelming, fierce somehow, as if he were feeling the same kind of turmoil she was.
“Ash,” he murmured, as if the second syllable was too much. She liked the sound of it. Face it, she liked everything about this man, from his looks to his ethics. If he’d had no second thoughts about what he was doing, she doubted she would be so attracted. She was nothing if not a contradiction.
“Yes,” she whispered back, and as soon as the word escaped, she realized it was the answer to just about anything he might ask of her.
And then he was kissing her, his lips warm and as fierce as that look in his eyes had been. She realized everything she had been feeling had been merely prelude. His mouth on hers was the spark, and her body responded with an explosion of sensations that was nearly overwhelming. Deep, powerful, irresistible. This, this was what all the fuss was about. It made sense of so much even as it threw her into chaos.
He deepened the kiss, and at the first touch of his tongue against hers, she felt another surge of heat, and the only thing she could think was that if this was what a kiss did, sex with this man would shatter her completely. And right now she wasn’t sure what, if anything, would be left of her afterward.
She wasn’t sure she cared.
With a low, rough groan, he pulled back. He swore under his breath, as if helpless to stop it. For a moment he stared at her, and she saw all the same fire and tumult she’d been feeling in his eyes. He swallowed visibly, as if his throat were as tight as hers.
“That,” he said, his voice none too steady, “should not have happened.”
She understood. Why would someone like him want to get involved with a basket case like her? No matter how much better she was feeling, she had to remember that it was only temporary. That her life—her miswired brain was too much for her to handle, so she could hardly ask someone else to deal with it.
None of which changed the wonder of what she’d just experienced.
“You’re right,” she said, a little amazed at how steady her voice was. “But forgive me if I’m not sorry it did.”
His eyes widened for an instant before he said, rather grimly, “I think I likely will be.”
CHAPTER 21
He took his sweet time refilling his mug of coffee. And he needed every second of it.
Getting up and walking into the kitchen had been an interesting proposition. It had been a long time since he’d been that aroused, and he didn’t think he’d ever been that hot over just a kiss. He lectured himself that it was only a kiss and it wasn’t helping. Neither was remembering what she’d said about Andler making her get a birth control shot, just in case. Although it should, since it was a reminder that she was not in control.
You can really pick them, can’t you, Crenshaw?
He kept stirring the coffee, although the teaspoon of sugar had dissolved at least a minute ago. He was stalling. He knew that. And it irked him. He wasn’t usually a coward about facing situations. But this was different, and on some deep, buried level, it scared him.
You couldn’t just fall for Ginny at the coffee shop. No, you have to get tangled up with a woman whose life is an utter mess.
Steeling himself, he walked back into the great room. Ashley was still where she’d been on the couch, petting Cutter, who had sprawled out and plopped his head in her lap.
An enviable position, dog.
He nearly groaned out loud at his own thought.
But unlike him, Ash seemed to have regained her equilibrium by the time he came back. No, Ashley, he told himself firmly. Another barrier between them, not using that too-familiar nickname he’d let slip out.
As he set down his refilled mug, she gestured at the laptop on the table. “What were you looking for?”
He glanced at the screen as he sat down, hesitated, then shrugged. “I was looking up the medication Dr. Andler had you on. For side effects.”
“Dr. Andler gave Mom a flyer, the kind that comes with a prescription. She showed it to me.” She sighed. “It might account for some of my…symptoms, but far from all of them.”
“I know. I read the list.” He picked up the laptop, resumed his former position with his feet up again and denied to himself that he was using both computer and position as a barrier. “I know those drugs help people, but…”
“I hated taking it. It made me so foggy all the time. Not like the pain meds did, but constant. Like there was a layer of gauze between me and the world. Even the colors weren’t right. The sky wasn’t as blue, the trees as green or—” she gestured toward the patio “—the snow as white. Not like they are now.”
“And that’s when you started having memory problems,” he said, remembering the chronology she’d written out at Quinn’s request. “After you started taking it.”
“Yes. But Dr. Andler said I’d be having those anyway, as things…progressed. Just like my father did.”
“Just like he expected you to have,” he corrected, thinking of what Quinn had said about Dr. Sebastian and not going into this with any preconceived ideas.
Ashley got it. “Do you really think she’s right?”
The hope welled up in her voice and her expression as she looked at him. He hated to quash it, but he felt required to point out the obvious. “I’m not qualified to judge that.”
“But you have instincts. Good ones. Those gut feelings, right?”
“Yes, but they’re unhelpfully nonspecific. All they’re telling me is that there’s something off about all of this.”
Cutter’s head came up, and he let out a short, sharp yip that sounded weirdly like agreement. Ashley obviously thought so, too, because she smiled and said, “He agrees, I think.”
“I’m getting to the point where I don’t put anything past that dog,” Brady said. Then, after a few moments while she stroked the dog and leaned over to nuzzle him, and he fought down the wish that she’d do the same to him, he asked, “It’s been how long off the meds now?”
“Today is day twelve.” She gave him a rather wan smile. “I guess I was lucky about the pain pills. If I had any withdrawal symptoms from the other meds, they were hidden.”
“Traded one fog for another, huh?”
“Exactly,” she said, relieved he understood.
“And you haven’t felt…worse? Shakier? I mean, you don’t seem at all confused, or uncertain, but I’m not in your head.”
For an instant her eyes widened and her breath caught. As if she’d stopped herself from saying something. After a moment, steady now, she answered. “No. I feel…wonderful, all things
considered. Mentally I feel sharp, clearheaded, and my memory’s been fine.”
He nodded. “That’s how it seems.”
She grimaced, and from her tone when she spoke, he guessed she was feeling compelled to be honest, just as he had been. “But Dr. Andler told me if I stopped taking the medication, it would seem that way…until my next break. Which would likely be worse than ever before.”
“Are you feeling like you need to go back on them?”
“No!” She grimaced, as if the very thought made her shiver.
He looked at her for a long, quiet moment. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.” She gasped, and her eyes widened even more this time. “I didn’t mean… I…”
He waved off her protests. But inwardly he was acknowledging that he was slipping downhill like a skier on the downhill course over at Snowridge. Because he was wishing she’d meant that “anything.”
“Not going there,” he muttered.
“I’m still not sorry,” she insisted.
“I never should have…kissed you. I had no right, not when you’re mired in such chaos. I was taking advantage of your situation.”
“You were not. I didn’t stop you,” she pointed out. “And I know that much about you, Brady Crenshaw. If I’d asked you to stop, you would have.”
He frowned. “Of course.”
“And that,” she said with emphasis, “is why I didn’t.”
He blinked. Cutter made a low sound, something he’d have sworn in a human would be a chuckle. “That made sense to you, dog?” he asked wryly.
“Obviously,” Ashley said, and she was smiling now, a small, sweet smile that nearly undid him all over again.
“Then he’s better at understanding the female mind than I am.”
“I think he’s better at understanding people than most people.”
“That, at least, I understand,” Brady said.
Her smile widened. And after a moment she asked, her voice fairly level now, “Promise you what?”
He drew in a deep breath. Met her gaze and held it. “If you have the slightest thought about hurting yourself, about ending it, if it even flits into your mind, even if it seems like the most logical, most obvious solution…tell me?”
She looked startled. “I haven’t,” she said. “Not since that night.” She paused, then added almost shyly, “Not since I’ve had you all on my side.”
“But if it comes back,” he began.
“I promise,” she said.
She lowered her eyes, as if she couldn’t hold his gaze. He understood. That damned kiss had rattled everything, and her balance was already so precarious, she could lose it at any moment.
She looked around, seeming almost desperate, then latched on to the laptop screen as a likely distraction. “What did you say were you looking up?” she asked as she studied the photo on the screen.
“Just your meds,” he said.
She frowned and leaned in closer. He saw her read the caption under the small picture on the right side of the column of text. She stared at it for an oddly long time.
“Ashley? What is it?”
“Can you enlarge that?”
He tapped at the touchpad. The image of the two small pills snapped out to fill the screen. One side of the small round pill showed a number he knew was an identifier, and the other showed a score at the midpoint, making it easier to break the pill in half for a smaller dose.
She looked at him then, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.” She gestured at the image. “I know what it says, but…that is not the pill I’ve been taking.”
“What?”
“It’s not the same size or shape, and it’s not scored like that.” She gave a shake of her head. “I must have been taking a generic version. Although I’d think Dr. Andler would have mentioned that.”
Brady noted that she spoke in the past tense, as if she had no intention of starting the medication again. But that didn’t matter now, not yet. His voice was tense when he asked. “You’re certain?”
One corner of her mouth quirked. “Every day for five months? Yes, I’m sure. My pills are bigger—uncomfortably so—oval and unscored. So it must be a generic.”
Brady quickly rescanned the entry, down to where he’d read what he was looking for. Confirmed what it said. Then he shifted to look at her straight on. “Ashley, there is no generic. It’s still protected. Whatever you’re taking, it’s not what he told you it was.”
CHAPTER 22
“There it is.”
Ashley’s voice was tiny, and even she hated the sound of it. Cutter suddenly abandoned his relaxed pose and sat up on the couch cushion. He nudged her to pet him, but at the moment she didn’t have the energy for even that.
“There what is?” Brady didn’t look at her as he spoke, he kept studying the computer screen, as if looking for something, anything, that would make this not true.
“What I’ve been waiting for. Afraid of. Proof that… I’m not okay.”
His head snapped around, and he did look at her now. “What do you mean?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just like with the knife, I’ve replaced reality with my own version. Taken something I’ve done every day for months and the glitch in my brain changed something as basic, as simple as what the pill looks like.”
Brady drew back slightly. She didn’t blame him. “That’s what you think?” he asked.
“What I think,” she said wearily, “is that the last two weeks, two weeks of clarity and functional memory, were a dream. A hope I manifested just like I did with what those pills look like. I even imagined they were big enough to hurt going down.”
Cutter nudged her again. She didn’t oblige; there was nothing the dog could do to make her feel better right now.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why would what the pills look like matter enough for you to…mentally change what they look like?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “If only it made that kind of sense. But it doesn’t, Brady. That’s why they call it crazy.”
He stood up abruptly. Set the laptop back on the table. Stepped out into the open room and began to pace. She still didn’t blame him for wanting some distance between them. He was probably regretting kissing her even more now.
On top of the flood of weariness, the feeling of inevitability that had returned, she felt an aching sadness at never having known what could really happen between a man and woman before. Never having known what it could feel like, what the songs and symphonies and poetry were about. He’d given her a taste of it with that kiss. But only a taste. She still didn’t know what slaking that urgent, imperative need would be like.
Now she never would.
This time when Cutter nudged her, she gave in, but only because she thought he could be an anchor that would keep her from flying apart right here, as her world—and the hopes she never should have allowed herself—were flying apart. And stroking his soft fur was soothing, beyond soothing, but as much as she’d come to like the dog, she would trade all his comfort for being in Brady’s arms again.
His words came back to her. You don’t seem at all confused, or uncertain, but I’m not in your head.
And what she’d nearly said aloud rang in her ears now as if she had. The heck you’re not.
She watched him pace, some part of her reeling mind vividly aware of how much she liked the way he moved, the long-limbed, well-muscled grace of him. She couldn’t help picturing the body beneath the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, wondering if he could truly be as beautiful as she imagined. Wondered what it would have been like, if they’d gone beyond that kiss.
Now she would never know. Now—
He spun around abruptly, cutting off her unruly thoughts. “Why do you assume that?”
“I…don’t
understand. Assume what?”
“That you’re wrong about the pills.”
Her brow furrowed. She gestured toward the laptop. “Because that’s from the manufacturer, right? They obviously know what the pills they make look like. I’m the one who has the…the malfunction.”
He crossed the room in two long strides, and sat on the coffee table right in front of her. “You’re doing exactly what we talked about, what you said Dr. Andler did.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You said he assumed you had the same disorder your father did.”
“Because there’s research showing it can be hereditary.”
He waved that off. “But now you have the opinion of an even more qualified doctor who didn’t make that assumption.”
She knew she was slipping again, because she couldn’t seem to grasp what he was getting at. “Brady, whatever you’re trying to say, please just say it.”
“The picture of the pills doesn’t match your memory. So you assume your memory’s wrong.”
She sighed. “Because it so often is. I’d hoped, when things were so clear the past couple of weeks—”
She stopped when he reached out and put a hand over hers. The heat of him seemed to radiate through her, even from that small connection. She stared at their hands, wondering how that was possible.
“What if,” he said quietly, “you didn’t make that assumption? What if you instead assumed your memory was right?”
She lifted her gaze to his face. The intensity of those blue eyes was nearly as heat-inducing as his touch. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but his closeness, his touch, was making it difficult. She was further gone than she’d thought.
“If my memory was right,” she said slowly, to make what seemed obvious to her clear to him, “then I was taking something else. But that can’t be. I even have the printout he gave me.”
“Is there a picture on it?”
“No.”
“Was it from the drug company?”
Her brow furrowed as she tried to bring the image of the sheet of paper to mind. “I don’t think so. There was no logo or anything on it. And he printed it right there in the office. Of course, he could have downloaded it from the company.”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 62
