Best of Temptation Bundle Page 24

  Kissing. Stroking. Making love.

  Grant turned over to find her lying on her side, as if she’d been staring intently at the back of his head. “I’m right here.”

  “I know. It’s just…I still feel as if I’m by myself.”

  He remained quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to say. “I’d offer to hold you, but…”

  He should have stayed silent longer. Her body tensed so completely he practically felt an Arctic wind blow from her side of the bed. She pulled so far from him, he imagined she might fall off the side of the bed.

  “Do you really find me so appalling?”

  Grant’s insides curdled. Nothing could be farther from the truth. “Not at all. Just the opposite. I’m not accustomed to having such a beautiful woman in my bed.”

  His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and by the dim blue light of the alarm clock, he could see the forlorn look in her sleepy eyes. Though she rewarded his compliment with a tiny smile, she tucked one hand beneath her pillow, and twined the other in the sheet. Judging from the tautness of the bed linen, she clutched the covers like a shield.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry for imposing on you. I guess you didn’t really plan to have a houseguest like me, did you?”

  “Sometimes the most interesting moments in life are the unplanned ones.”

  Her eyes widened. “Who said that? Not Grant ‘banker-boy’ Riordan. I haven’t known you that long, but that doesn’t sound like you.”

  He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling fan as it silently stirred the cool air. “Then you already know me pretty damn well.”

  The comment hung between them for a moment, and Harley’s sorrow for him distracted her from her own condition. The fear, confusion, and loneliness that had brought her to his bedroom sifted away. She released her death grip on the sheet and slid her fingers onto his arm.

  He didn’t flinch as she expected. His skin, pliant and muscled, softened beneath her touch.

  “Don’t.” Deep and thick with unchained possibilities, his voice shook her.

  She nearly removed her hand, but couldn’t bear to break even this tentative connection. “There’s no harm in a simple touch.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “You don’t know me, either. Come to think of it…” She smoothed her hand over his shoulder, filling herself with his heat. “I don’t know me. You don’t know how strange that feels, and Grant…I’m scared.”

  After the briefest hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and pulled her close. At first, she nearly pulled away. The feel of him, so warm and powerful, overwhelmed her like a high tide’s crashing waves. But she quickly grew accustomed to the sensation of his strength surrounding her. She couldn’t fight the urge to snuggle against him—this stranger who took her into his home and into his bed, however reluctantly, and now sought to drive her fears away. His bare chest, sprinkled with tawny hair and smelling of sandalwood soap, anchored her while her emotions churned and swelled.

  She’d admitted more than she wanted to, more than she’d planned, more than she’d acknowledged even to herself. Without memories, she had nothing but the here and now. Yet the present overflowed with uncertainty, guilt, and loneliness. If he threw her out, where would she go? What would she do?

  “It’s normal to be frightened, Harley. But Gus thinks you’ll be better soon.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  She could hear his heart pound, feel his spine stiffen.

  “I’ll see you have the help you need.”

  She believed him. Grant Riordan, handsome financial impresario, would arrange everything. She’d known him for less than a day, yet she recognized a power-wielder when she saw one. He probably controlled millions of other people’s dollars, and they trusted him to handle their futures. Why shouldn’t she then trust him to handle hers, if only for a few days? A few hours? A few moments?

  “Go to sleep, Harley. You need rest.”

  She closed her eyes, but knew she wouldn’t sleep. Though he held her protectively, she still felt alone. She had no thoughts, no memories, no one she belonged to or who belonged to her to dream about as she drifted into slumber. She needed something—someone—to fill the expanding emptiness welling inside her.

  More than ever, desire for Grant surged through her. His warmth enveloped her. His heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She’d never wanted anyone more—had she? It didn’t matter that she could regain her memory in the morning, or that she might have a life and a lover somewhere else.

  She just wanted a kiss. Nothing more.

  “Grant?” She snuggled closer.

  “Don’t, Harley.” Desperation clung to his voice like a drowning swimmer to driftwood. “I won’t take advantage of your amnesia. You don’t know who you are, or what you’re suggesting.”

  How wrong he was! Lonely and frightened, she needed more than just the warmth of his arms and the feel of his chest against her face.

  “Do you always do the right thing?”

  “Always.”

  Finite and simple, his answer defined him with poignant accuracy. She might not know much about herself, but she’d already learned that Grant Riordan did what was proper and responsible—even when he didn’t want to.

  “Do you enjoy being so perfect?”

  “Go to sleep, Harley. You already know too much about me.”

  “Do I? Well, at least I know something about someone. I don’t know a damn thing about me.” A sob caught in her throat, and she gulped air to regain her voice. “Can you imagine what that feels like?”

  He could. As unlikely as it sounded, Grant knew that same hollowness. Unwittingly, Harley had jarred open a door in his heart long ago nailed shut—long ago abandoned when he decided the void simply couldn’t be filled.

  He kissed her then, because he wanted to, because he knew she wanted him to.

  Because kissing her was the wrong thing to do.

  4

  HARLEY RETURNED GRANT’S KISS, holding his cheeks with her hands. The salted moisture of her tears seeped into his mouth and reluctantly, he pulled away.

  “I’m sorry, Harley. I’m out of line.”

  She swiped the wetness from her face. “Don’t be sorry. Please. I can’t stand this empty feeling.” Balling her fists, she crushed them between her breasts. “It’s like there’s nothing in here.”

  Grant brushed away a tear with his thumb pad, then kissed the stain from her cheek. He took her hand in his and massaged the tight knuckles until her fingers flattened and relaxed. “You may seem empty now, but you may not in the morning. What seems right now might not appeal to you so much in the light of day.”

  She swallowed deeply. “I can’t worry about right or wrong while I feel so lost. I can only think about what I know.”

  Lightly touching his cheek again with tentative fingers, Harley traced a sensuous, swirling design from the top of his temple to the tip of his chin. Auburn stubble shaded his rugged jaw. The roughness bit at her, making him real, making her gasp. This man was a stranger, yet she wanted him to soothe away an ache so deep, her soul echoed like a voice calling down a bottomless well.

  “Taking me in was a big risk for you. I don’t remember any specifics, but I know I’ve never had any man be so generous to me before. Not without wanting something in return.”

  He smoothed his hand down her side, heating the soft material of her T-shirt, flushing the sensitive skin beneath. “Who says I don’t want something from you? It’s just I don’t have the right to ask.”

  With visible restraint, he rested his hand on her hip, stopping his descent. A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if he clenched his teeth to keep from devouring her. His thighs flexed against hers. His sex grew rigid beneath the flimsy boxers. He hadn’t denied wanting her, only denied acting on his desire in deference to her condition. With just a bit more coaxing, he’d make love to her, filling her with erotic memories she could cling to when her past eluded her.

  She closed her eyes,
briefly, not wanting to face the night’s darkness alone. Not with him so close—this man she didn’t know but already cherished. “What if I offered? I trust you, Grant.”

  He pushed her bangs away from her eyes, curling a long strand behind her ear. Her heartbeat stammered from his simple caress. “Should you?” He placed a feathery kiss on her temple. “Don’t misunderstand. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.” His voice, already deep and throaty, grew raspier as he spoke. “But you don’t owe me this.”

  She twisted sideways so her body pressed against his full length. “I know. It’s not that. After tomorrow, I may never see you again.”

  “That bothers you?”

  He sounded surprised. She wished she could explain, but without her memory, she could only rely on an indistinct impression that no man—ever—had treated her with such consideration and respect.

  “Yes. Does it bother you?”

  A long moment passed before he spoke. “You’ll see me again.”

  By the sapphire glow from his clock, she searched his eyes for any sign of deception, knowing full well that seeing him once her amnesia healed would be as wise as seeking comfort for her loneliness in his bed. Still, she read nothing but honesty in his gaze—and determination—as if not keeping his promise would betray him as much as her.

  “You don’t have much choice, do you?” she asked. “I’ll be here in the morning whether you like it or not.”

  His grin, followed by a yawn, dried her tears completely. “I’ll like it. Now, let’s get some sleep, okay? I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this gallant and responsible act.”

  An act. Aptly described, she decided as his eyes drifted closed and his heartbeat, still near enough for her to hear, slowed to a normal pace. Grant Riordan worked to be responsible and upright. Despite what she guessed to be many years of practice, an untamed, hungry wolf lurked beneath his sheepish exterior. In her desperation to fill the vacancies caused by her memory loss, she’d nearly sheared his carefully woven veneer.

  And she didn’t regret it one bit.

  She waited for him to release her and claim more space for himself on the king-sized mattress, but he didn’t. She was feeling better and didn’t necessarily need to cling to him all night long. Her mind didn’t seem so empty, her memories so remote. For the first time since she’d awakened on his living room floor, she felt neither fearful nor alone.

  She did have someone who cared about her—at least for tonight—right here in her arms.

  A THICK MIST MATERIALIZED the moment Harley realized she was dreaming. The faces, sounds, memories, all disappeared beneath an impenetrable white haze. The harder she struggled to break through, the denser the fog became until she woke with a start.

  Harley rubbed her eyes free of sleep, blinking against the morning light pouring through the window. Once her pupils adjusted, she checked the clock. Eight-thirty. She slipped her hand beneath her hair, relieved that the swelling at the back of her head had lessened and the pain was now just a dull ache.

  From the bedside, she snatched up a note addressed to her. It read:

  Harley,

  Found some of Camille’s old clothes. Something should fit. There are bagels in the fridge for breakfast, and I left the coffeemaker on in case you drink the stuff. Take the keys to my truck and go shopping. If anyone asks, you’re my cousin from Ohio. I’ll be home early.

  Grant

  Paired with a hand-drawn map from his house to the nearest shopping center, car keys and four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, the note contained nothing in the least reminiscent of the tender night they’d shared. Still, Harley’s heart did a little flip-flop. He wasn’t turning her out at morning’s light. He wanted her to stay—at least for today. And he trusted her—enough to give her free rein in his house, the keys to his truck, and a heck of a lot more money than she’d need to buy a decent pair of jeans, T-shirt and tennis shoes.

  Flipping off the covers, Harley vaguely remembered Grant waking her at dawn. He’d asked her if she remembered anything, and didn’t seem disappointed when she answered “no.” In fact, when he busied himself showering and dressing, all the while whistling a vaguely familiar tune, she’d tried as hard as her sleepy mind would let her to recall one thing—one fact—that might clue her into her real identity.

  Until sleep had mercifully reclaimed her, she could remember nothing else but Grant holding her all night long. The remnant sensations lingered on her skin, filling her with a deceptively contented warmth. She couldn’t ignore the reality that she and Grant Riordan were strangers—two people with little in common except the predicament caused by her amnesia.

  Today she’d destroy even that small connection by finding out who she was. As tempting as imposing on Grant Riordan for a long, luxurious time was, she felt sure someone somewhere was looking for her. She needed to help the process along.

  Harley grabbed a cup of coffee before rummaging in the dusty box marked “charitable donations.” Harley decided Grant’s former wife’s castaways were more appropriate to wear shopping than her leather pants and bikini top. With a less conspicuous wardrobe, she’d cruise down to “the strip” the doc had mentioned the night before. Perhaps someone there knew her or could tell her how to find Moana, who must be a friend. Once she attained that knowledge, she’d piece together the life she’d so freakishly lost.

  Not surprisingly, the clothes were in exquisite condition. She found a sarong-style sundress made for a taller woman, though Harley devised a way to tie it so the shape still flattered her petite body. She also found a pair of slip-on sandals only a half size bigger than her own lace-up boots. Like the dress, the sandals appeared new, as if worn only once, and maybe not even outside the house.

  Once dressed, Harley grabbed the car keys and headed to the garage. Grant’s “truck” was actually a luxury sport utility vehicle, painted a shade of red just dark enough to be respectable. After a moment studying the controls, she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t forgotten how to drive. She eased the vehicle down Grant’s long driveway, stopping once to marvel at the magnificent structure where she’d spent the night.

  Harley couldn’t remember anything concrete about her upbringing, but she felt entirely certain her childhood never included three-story mansions, top-of-the-line vehicles and four-hundred-dollar shopping sprees. The broad columns on the house and the butter-soft leather seats in the truck magnified the differences between her and Grant. His world was a foreign planet and she was the alien.

  And probably an illegal one at that.

  The sooner she found her way home, the better for them both.

  At the gate, she shifted the truck into park and looked unsuccessfully for a mechanism to open the eight-foot wrought iron structure. After activating the windshield wipers, the cruise control and the CD player, she stopped messing with the factory-installed gadgetry and tried the second button on the garage door opener. With a whoop to celebrate her success, she eased the car onto the road and pulled to the curb until the gate closed behind her.

  That was when she noticed someone watching her.

  The curtain fluttered closed almost the instant Harley caught the movement from the house across the street. Bending forward, she pretended to fiddle with the radio when the drapery pulled back again. She couldn’t see much except a distinctly feminine hand and a head of white hair.

  Harley shook her head. She’d hardly been out of Grant’s house for two minutes before the woman had spotted her. From the length of time the hand and head remained at the window, Harley figured Grant’s neighborhood must have a foolproof crime watch program. She doubted anyone or anything could cruise this exclusive lane without being noticed and duly noted by the lady across the street.

  Especially not something as conspicuous as a taxi.

  Harley’s heartbeat accelerated and her hands shook until she grabbed the steering wheel tighter. Biting her bottom lip, she mustered the courage to put the truck in reverse and back up a few feet to th
e neighbor’s ungated drive. If she had any luck at all, Grant’s curious neighbor might just hold the first clue Harley needed to find out who she was.

  GRANT STARED AT his computer screen, nearly hypnotized by NASDAQ’s scrolling blue numbers. On his desk, several stacks of carefully organized customer files waited for his attention. The tiny red light on the corner of his phone blinked rapidly, as if impatient for him to return the twenty or so voice-mail messages he’d received while at lunch. The market was hot today, ripe for his financial wizardry. Clients stood to make a lot of money once he got into his groove.

  All he could think about was Harley.

  He had to be nuts.

  With his brain still reeling from Mr. Phipps’s noontime interrogation, a poorly disguised version of small talk sandwiched between bites of grilled salmon, Grant was in no shape to judge his mental soundness. He’d finally convinced his boss nothing “irregular” had happened the night before. Not that Grant hadn’t yearned for someone as “irregular” as Harley to enter his life. A devilish mix of sexiness and innocence, she’d robbed him of sleep while he imagined just how a woman like her should be touched. Stroked. Kissed.

  In his insanity, he relived the vision of her eyes, droopy with exhaustion, liquid with loneliness. In them, he’d witnessed a rare and honest desire—the kind that could steal a man’s reason in a matter of moments. With just one glance into her sapphire irises, he’d actually believed he could renounce his entire life-style long enough to find some freedom in Harley’s welcoming arms.

  Definitely cuckoo as his grandmother’s favorite clock.

  After instructing his secretary to bar everyone from his office, Grant took a deep breath and dialed his phone number. As he punched in the numbers, his own voice echoed in his brain. You’ll see me again. Throughout the night and all morning long, the promise haunted him like the steady beat of ticker tape. With Harley’s lusciously warm body and sparkling eyes to influence him, he ached to keep his promise. He couldn’t fathom letting this dream woman slip away without knowing her better. Much better.