same heat signature. His height looms over me and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “You want me.” The words are spoken with the utmost confidence. With a face and body like that, how could I not want him? Add his on again, off again charm to the mix and I’m a goner.
Hell if I’ll admit it and boost his already gargantuan ego.
But my pique dissipates when he reaches out tentatively to stroke the side of my face. “I don’t know what it is about you, Ms. Sinclair, but I’m drawn to you too.”
I realize I’m still touching him, can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I hate that you can’t remember.” Up until I say the words, I didn’t know if I believed him. But the shadows under his eyes calls to the caretaker in me. This man is capable of so much passion; he’s made me feel more desired in two days than I have in my whole life. I need to swallow my pride and reach out to him, I owe him that much.
“As do I.” His hand trails down the side of my neck, over the curve of my shoulder. “Touching you feels so familiar to me.”
“Because you have.” Tipping my head back, I survey him through lowered lashes, relishing the sensual strokes.
He shakes his head even as he laces his fingers through mine. “No, it’s more than a buried memory. I know what those feel like, ghosts floating in my peripheral vision that vanish the second I turn my head. What I feel with you, it’s deeper, sharper, bolder.”
“If this is a line, it’s definitely working.”
His other hand comes up to stroke my cheek as those intense blue eyes focus on my face. “Will you walk me through it?”
I blink, unsure of what he means. “Through what?”
“The missing time. Will you reenact it with me?”
God, even the idea of that frightens the hell out of me. Our trysts occurred at night and were completely unplanned. Could I really go through every second with him, knowing how vulnerable I’d be? “I…”
Leaning forward he kisses my forehead. “Please, consider it. I know it’s asking a lot, but it might help me remember.”
“Why don’t you remember?” I ask. I’m dying to know.
He studies me for a long time, so long that I think he isn’t going to answer. “What do you know about me?”
“Only what I’ve read in the tabloids while waiting in the checkout line. Mostly who you were seen with, rumored to be dating.” I’d also done an internet search this morning and found out some interesting snippets, like that his family had disowned him after his grandfather had named him sole beneficiary of the Edge fortune, but I didn’t want to bring that up as it seemed more personal somehow.
He nods, accepting what I say. “Gossip can be planted, especially when I own the rags that print the dirt.”
I frown. “But why would you do that? Why would you want them reporting bogus information?”
Behind us a car horn blares out. Connor releases me and looks over my shoulder. “I’d forgotten I left the car blocking the drive.” He looks back to me. “I’m hosting a small soiree tonight. Come. Nine o’clock.” It isn’t a request and he strides out of the woods, back to where he left his car running to chase after me.
“Wait! Connor!” I shout, but he doesn’t turn.
It’s only when he pulls away that I answer my earlier question. Why would he want them reporting bogus information?
“To keep them away from the truth.”
****
I spend the rest of the day overseeing the cleanup of the grounds so the place is spic and span for Connor’s soiree. I still haven’t decided if I should attend. After all, how will he introduce me? What will I wear? Did he intend for me to be his date, or just another guest in the throng? I’m sure my comfy jeans or yoga pants are unacceptable for any event hosted by the illustrious, Connor Edge.
Suddenly a drink with Greg at the Lady Liberty seems like a good idea. But when five o’clock rolls around and every hedge is
Hell if I’ll admit it and boost his already gargantuan ego.
But my pique dissipates when he reaches out tentatively to stroke the side of my face. “I don’t know what it is about you, Ms. Sinclair, but I’m drawn to you too.”
I realize I’m still touching him, can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I hate that you can’t remember.” Up until I say the words, I didn’t know if I believed him. But the shadows under his eyes calls to the caretaker in me. This man is capable of so much passion; he’s made me feel more desired in two days than I have in my whole life. I need to swallow my pride and reach out to him, I owe him that much.
“As do I.” His hand trails down the side of my neck, over the curve of my shoulder. “Touching you feels so familiar to me.”
“Because you have.” Tipping my head back, I survey him through lowered lashes, relishing the sensual strokes.
He shakes his head even as he laces his fingers through mine. “No, it’s more than a buried memory. I know what those feel like, ghosts floating in my peripheral vision that vanish the second I turn my head. What I feel with you, it’s deeper, sharper, bolder.”
“If this is a line, it’s definitely working.”
His other hand comes up to stroke my cheek as those intense blue eyes focus on my face. “Will you walk me through it?”
I blink, unsure of what he means. “Through what?”
“The missing time. Will you reenact it with me?”
God, even the idea of that frightens the hell out of me. Our trysts occurred at night and were completely unplanned. Could I really go through every second with him, knowing how vulnerable I’d be? “I…”
Leaning forward he kisses my forehead. “Please, consider it. I know it’s asking a lot, but it might help me remember.”
“Why don’t you remember?” I ask. I’m dying to know.
He studies me for a long time, so long that I think he isn’t going to answer. “What do you know about me?”
“Only what I’ve read in the tabloids while waiting in the checkout line. Mostly who you were seen with, rumored to be dating.” I’d also done an internet search this morning and found out some interesting snippets, like that his family had disowned him after his grandfather had named him sole beneficiary of the Edge fortune, but I didn’t want to bring that up as it seemed more personal somehow.
He nods, accepting what I say. “Gossip can be planted, especially when I own the rags that print the dirt.”
I frown. “But why would you do that? Why would you want them reporting bogus information?”
Behind us a car horn blares out. Connor releases me and looks over my shoulder. “I’d forgotten I left the car blocking the drive.” He looks back to me. “I’m hosting a small soiree tonight. Come. Nine o’clock.” It isn’t a request and he strides out of the woods, back to where he left his car running to chase after me.
“Wait! Connor!” I shout, but he doesn’t turn.
It’s only when he pulls away that I answer my earlier question. Why would he want them reporting bogus information?
“To keep them away from the truth.”
****
I spend the rest of the day overseeing the cleanup of the grounds so the place is spic and span for Connor’s soiree. I still haven’t decided if I should attend. After all, how will he introduce me? What will I wear? Did he intend for me to be his date, or just another guest in the throng? I’m sure my comfy jeans or yoga pants are unacceptable for any event hosted by the illustrious, Connor Edge.
Suddenly a drink with Greg at the Lady Liberty seems like a good idea. But when five o’clock rolls around and every hedge is
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