Her Forgotten Betrayal by Anna DeStefano Page B

this time, but—”
    “I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”
    Cole pulled her from the couch, into his hug—the best hug in the world.
    “Shh…” he said when she moaned at the perfect smell of him.
    Forest and fresh air and honesty and desperation—all of it, all of him, was there for her whenever she needed him. Cole wanted her. He was the only person in the world besides her grandmother who’d ever completely wanted her.
    “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, clinging tighter.
    “You’ll never have to find out. It’s going to be okay. I’ll wait here with you. I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to. But you don’t have to face him alone.”
    She didn’t realize she was crying until he wiped at her face.
    She’d been able to fight back the crazy, sick feeling she always got in the pit of her stomach each time she visited her father’s cold, sterile office. Until Cole’s touch had been there, and his warm voice, and his fiery determination to stand by her side no matter how badly her only remaining family treated her. She snuggled closer. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her lips brushed against his in shameless need.
    “Stay with me,” she pleaded, a second before his kiss healed every broken part of her.
    His hands roamed down her back, tracing her rib cage. They cupped her breasts through her dress and cardigan. His groan told her he’d realized she hadn’t worn a bra. He loved the secret ways she found to rebel against her father.
    “Shaw…” He said her name as if she were all there was, all there would ever be for him, as if this moment, every moment they could touch and feel and believe they would be together forever, was his whole world.
    His hands dropped to her skirt, inching it upward. She gasped, then wiggled closer on her tiptoes, giving herself over to him and the moment, never mind where they were. He lifted her, held her suspended, and cradled as he turned, then sat on the couch with her in his lap, still kissing her.
    “Cole,” she begged.
    “Don’t cry,” he growled, cupping her face between his work-calloused hands. “It’s going to be okay, Shaw. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. Shaw?”
    “Shaw? Are you okay?”
    She started, whisked back to the present. She found herself at the desk instead of the couch, but with Cole’s hands still holding her. They were on her shoulders instead of her cheeks. But his face was as close as in her memory.
    Her memory…
    “Where did you go, darlin’?” he asked, his voice sounding just as it had all those years ago.
    She gasped. Shock slammed into her, electrifying nerve endings from her toes up, ringing in her ears, propelling her out of his arms, his lap, the chair they were sitting in.
    She was remembering. Not her shooting, but her life long before she’d been hurt. She was wide awake this time. And the past, at least one confusing moment of it, was staying with her.
    She was coming back to herself—who she’d once been and whomever, whatever, Cole Marinos had once been to her.
    She stared at him.
    “You said that once before.” She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, feeling the sensation of his teenage lips on hers. She could still taste him. “Here, in this room.”
    “What?” he asked softly. “What did I say?”
    “ Darlin’ . You called me darlin’, like you did when we were teenagers, waiting in this room together.”
    She pressed her hand to her temple, letting herself hope. It was starting. Her memory was finally coming back.
    “What else did you see?” He stood, too, watching her with an intensity that demanded she answer him.
    “Us. I remembered us, when we were teenagers.” Oh. My. God. “I thought the feelings I’ve been having for you since you showed up last night were merely more proof that I’d officially gone ’round the bend. But we were more than friends, weren’t we?” She swallowed. “We were right there.” She pointed at the couch. “And I was upset