White lies

He lay rigidly, his jaw clenched with the effort required not to jackknife out of bed. Where in hell had that memory come from? The man had called him "son," but that could as easily have been a title of affection as one denoting a relationship. He didn’t have a family, so they must have been close friends, but Jay had said he’d always been a loner. Who were they? Did they worry about him? Did Jay know anything about them?

Hell, was it even something that had really happened, or a scene from a movie he’d watched?

Movie. Just thinking the word triggered another flashback, but this one was complete with rolling credits. It was a television special on Afghanistan. Then it became another movie, starring a widely acclaimed actor. It was a good movie. Then, in slow motion, the scene shifted. He was standing on a rooftop with the same actor when the man pulled a .45 automatic and pointed it at him. Serious business, a .45. It could have a major impact on a man’s future. But the guy was too close, and too rattled. Steve saw himself lash out with his foot, sending the gun flying. The actor staggered back and tripped, fell over the low wall and screamed as he dropped the full seven stories to the ground.

Steve stared at the bedroom ceiling, feeling sweat run down his ribs. Was that another movie? Of all the things he could remember, why a series of films? And why were they so realistic, as if he had stepped into the action? He’d have to ask the doctor about that, but at least it was a sign his memory was returning, just as they’d told him it probably would. He needed to make the trip anyway, to have his eyes checked; it was a real strain to read, and the strain hadn’t lessened. He definitely needed glasses. Glasses…

An elderly man smiled benignly at him and removed his glasses, placing them on the desk. "Congratulations, Mr. Stone," he said.

He stifled a curse as the scene faded. This was weird; why would that old guy call him "Mr. Stone" unless he’d been using an assumed name? Yeah, that made sense, unless it was just another scene out of another movie. It could just be something he’d watched rather than something that had actually happened.

Jay stirred in his arms and abruptly woke, lifting her head to stare at him in alarm. "What’s wrong?"

She had sensed his tension, just as she had from the beginning. He managed a smile and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, a different kind of tension taking over his muscles. "Nothing," he assured her. She looked sleepy and sensual, her eyes heavy-lidded, her luscious mouth swollen from contact with his firmer lips.

She looked around. "We’re in my room," she said in bewilderment.

"Mmm. The sheets on my bed were wet, so I brought you in here."

Warm color tinted her cheeks as she thought of how the sheets had gotten so wet, but her smile was both secret and content. She lifted her hand and touched his face, much as he had touched hers; her dark blue eyes drifted over his features with aching tenderness, examining each line and plane, feeding the need in her heart. She was unaware of her expression, but he saw it, and his chest constricted. He wanted to say, "Don’t love me like that," but he didn’t, because it was essential to him that she love him exactly like that.

He cleared his throat. "We have a choice."

"We do? Of course we do. Of what?"

"We can get up and eat the lunch you were cooking–" he broke off to lift his head and look at the clock "–three hours ago, or we can try to wreck this bed, too."

She considered it. "I think we’d better have lunch, or I won’t have the energy to help you wreck the bed."

"Good thinking." He hugged her, reluctant to get up despite his own hunger, and found his hands stroking down her sides in sensual enjoyment. Then he paused and moved his hand around to her stomach. ”Unless you want to get married this weekend, we’d better do something about birth control."

Jay’s heart felt as if it had abruptly swollen so large that it filled her entire chest. For a few glorious hours she’d forgotten how hemmed in she was by this tortuous maze of deception. She wanted nothing more than to simply say "Yes, let’s get married," but she didn’t dare. Not until he knew who he was–and she knew who he was–and he still said he wanted to marry her. So she ignored the first part of his statement and merely answered the second. "We don’t have to worry about birth control. I’m on the Pill. My doctor put me on it seven months ago, because my periods had gotten so erratic."

His eyes narrowed a little and his hand lay heavier on her stomach. "Is something wrong?"

"No. It was just stress from my job. I could probably do without them now." Then she smiled and turned her face into his shoulder. "Except for a sudden development."

He grunted. "Sudden, hell. I’ve been hard for two months. But we could still get married this weekend."

She cased out of his embrace and got up, her face troubled as she put on fresh underwear and got a sweater from the closet, pulling it over her head.

He watched her from the bed. His voice was very soft and raspy when he spoke. "I want an answer."

Harried, she pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. "Steve–" She stopped, almost cringing at the necessity of calling him by that name. Now more than ever, she wanted, needed, to know her lover’s name. "I can’t marry you until you’ve gotten your memory back."

He threw the sheet back and stood, magnificently naked. Jay’s pulse rate skittered as she looked at him. All the miles he’d run and the wood he’d chopped had corded his body with muscles. He didn’t look as if he’d ever been injured, except for his scars. Her heart settled into a slow, heavy beat. She had cradled his weight, taken his pounding invasion, returned his fire with her own. As tender as she felt now in different parts of her body, she could still feel herself grow warm and liquid as she looked at him.