White lies (Page 38)

He cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb rubbing lightly over the shadows fatigue had smudged under her eyes, making their blueness seem even deeper. She was pale and jittery, her body trembling. She had taken care of him for months, spending all day, every day, at his bedside, willing him to live and pulling him out of the darkness. She had filled his whole life to the point that even the shock of having amnesia paled in comparison. She had gotten him through hell. Now the strain was telling on her, and he was the stronger one. He could feel the tension in her, vibrating like a string at the point of breaking. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her forward until her body rested against his. His other hand moved from her cheek into her heavy brown hair, exerting just enough pressure to bring her head against his shoulder.

"I don’t think this is a good idea," she whispered, the sound muffled in his shut.

"It feels like a damned good idea," he muttered. Every muscle in his body was tightening, his loins growing heavy with desire. God, he wanted her. His hands moved over her slender body. "Jay," he whispered roughly, and bent his head to hers.

The hot, needful pressure of his mouth made her dizzy. The stroking of his tongue against hers made her tighten inside with pleasure so piercing it was almost unbearable. Her hands lifted to the back of his neck, clinging as all strength washed out of her legs. She barely noticed as he turned with her still in his arms and forced her backward until the bed nudged against the backs of her knees. She lost her sense of balance, but his arms supported her as she fell back, and then his hard weight came down on top of her.

She had forgotten how the pressure of a man’s body felt, and she inhaled sharply as quick response flooded her veins. The wide expanse of his chest flattened her breasts, and the swollen ridge of his manhood pushed against her feminine mound, his thighs controlling the restless movement of her legs. He kissed her again and again, barely letting her catch her breath before his mouth returned to take it away once more. Feverishly they strained together, wanting more. He pulled at the belt of her robe until the knot gave and the fabric parted, exposing the thinner fabric of her nightgown. He made a rough sound of frustration at this additional barrier, but for the moment he was too impatient to deal with it. His hand closed over her breast, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb making circles on her nipple until it tightened into a nub.

She whimpered softly into his mouth. "We can’t," she cried, desperation and desire tearing her apart.

"The hell we can’t," he rasped, taking her hand and moving it down his body to where his flesh strained at the fabric of his pants. Her fingers jerked at the con- tact; then a spasm of pain crossed her pale face, and her hand lingered involuntarily, exploring the dimensions of his arousal. He caught his breath. "Jay, baby, don’t stop me now!"

She was stunned at how quickly passion had exploded between them; one kiss and they were falling on the bed. Her lips trembled as she stared up at him. She didn’t even know his name! Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away.

He groaned at the liquid sheen welling in her eyes and kissed her again with rough passion. "Don’t cry. I know this is fast, but everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get married as soon as we can, and this time we’ll make a go of it."

Shocked, she swallowed convulsively and barely managed to speak. "Married? Are you serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack, baby," he said, and grinned roguishly.

The tears burned again, and again she forced them back. Misery filled her. She wanted nothing more than to marry him, but she couldn’t. She would be marrying him under false pretenses, pretending he was someone he wasn’t. Such a marriage probably wouldn’t even be legal. "We can’t," she whispered, and a tear rolled out the corner of her eye before she could catch it.

He rubbed the wetness from her temple with his thumb. "Why can’t we?" he asked with rough tenderness. "We did it before. We should be able to do better this time around, with our prior experience."

"What if you’ve remarried?" She gulped back a sob as she frantically thought up excuses. "Even if you haven’t, what if there’s someone else? Until you get your memory back, we won’t know!"

He froze above her; then, with a sigh, he rolled off her to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. He swore with a precise, Anglo-Saxon explicitness that was all the more jarring for the control in his voice. "All right," he finally said. "We’ll get Frank to check it out. Hell, Jay, he’s already checked it out! Isn’t that why they had to get you to identify me?"

Too late she saw the trap, and saw also that he wasn’t going to give up; with his usual steamroller determination, he was flattening the obstacles in his path. "You could still have some… someone who loves you, someone waiting for you."

"I can’t promise you I don’t," he said, turning his head to watch her with his predatory golden eyes. "But that’s not a legal deterrent. I won’t let you get away from me because some unknown woman somewhere may be in love with me."

"Until you get your memory back, you can’t know that you aren’t in love with someone else!"

"I know," he snapped, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over her. "You keep coming up with excuses, but the real reason is that you’re afraid of me, aren’t you? Why? Damn it, I know you love me, so what’s the problem?"

He was so arrogantly sure of her devotion that her own temper flared, but only for a moment. It was true. She had revealed it in a thousand different ways. She admitted shakily, "I do love you." There was nothing to be gained from denying it, and actually saying it aloud held its own painful sweetness.