Freefall by Jill Sorenson Page A

You saw a lot of people die?”
    “Maybe.”
    “You don’t remember?”
    “No. I have no memory of the earthquake, or several months prior.”
    “Several months? ”
    Sam nodded, avoiding her gaze. He hadn’t lost any ordinary stretch of weeks, either. He’d wiped out an entire period of mourning. His last moments with Melissa had been obliterated.
    How could he move on? In his fractured mind, she was still alive.
    Hope glanced down at the band on his wrist, but she didn’t ask about his tattoo. Maybe she didn’t want to trigger another humiliating breakdown, or remind him of the awkward mistake he’d made this morning.
    The two women didn’t look alike, not really. Not even from the back. Hope’s hair was softer, curlier, more lustrous. She had a curvier figure. Melissa had been tall and slim-hipped, her hair pencil-straight.
    He had a hard time remembering how good it had been with Melissa, but he could recall the silky clasp of Hope’s body with ease.
    Damn her.
    “You have amnesia,” she said.
    “I prefer the term ‘brain damage.’”
    “Will you get your memory back?”
    He shrugged. His doctors didn’t even know if the problem was neurological or psychological. They couldn’t predict his recovery.
    “And you feel nothing when you’re solo-climbing?”
    “I feel...a little less dead inside.”
    Her eyes darkened with understanding. And that was when he knew why he’d taken her home from the bar. It wasn’t because of her pretty face, although he’d noticed that first. He hadn’t been unable to resist her sexy figure or sweet-looking mouth. If their attraction was based on physical appearance only, he could have walked away.
    It wasn’t.
    He saw something in her, a quiet pain that mirrored his own. He’d gotten drunk enough to quash the feeling that night, but it was still there. It was the reason he’d pursued her, and one of the reasons he’d enjoyed her so much. She responded like a woman who hadn’t indulged herself in a long, long time.
    This morning, she’d melted in his arms once more.
    Sam clenched his hands into fists, awash with memories of her pleasure. He didn’t want to want her. He didn’t want to know what had happened to her, or why she’d isolated herself in the Sierras. Using her for sex was out of the question, and he sure as hell couldn’t have a relationship with her. He was mentally unstable. Emotionally challenged. Given half a chance, he’d hurt her again.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “So am I.”
    She shivered, examining the damp interior of the cave. Although her jacket was waterproof, she was soaked to the skin underneath it. When the storm let up, he might be able to get a fire going to warm her.
    In the meantime, they’d have to use body heat. He unzipped his jacket, inviting her inside, and she stepped closer, sliding her arms around him. His muscles tightened in awareness of her breasts against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. He tugged the jacket around them and listened to the rain.
    It was too late to head back to Kaweah. They were going to be in for a cold, wet night. Maybe he could stay awake and avoid another scene like this morning.
    She shifted in his arms, pressing her cold nose to his throat. Although the sensation was far from erotic, it affected him on a gut level.
    He grasped her shoulders with the intention of pushing her away. Then she glanced up at him and he got distracted. Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes wet. A fine sheen of moisture coated her skin. Her lips were dewy, petal-soft.
    She looked...delicious.
    If she’d let him touch her after the way he’d behaved, maybe she had a few screws loose. But he was dying for another taste of her. Being with Hope made him feel alive; kissing her was the only thing that made him feel good.
    So instead of putting distance between them, he brought her closer. She tilted her head back in blatant invitation. As he lowered his mouth to hers, he heard the unmistakable sound of