Returning Home by Karen Whiddon

the lake in a perfect arc. He felt a surge of pride that he’d been the one to teach that to her. It was another memory, proving that it wouldn’t be long now until he had his past again.
    He hoped he remembered it all before the high school reunion. He didn’t think he could take seeing any more looks of veiled pity in the eyes of people he’d known his entire life.
    “Did you remember more?” Hope warred with regret in her expressive voice.
    He nodded, keeping his face averted. Suddenly, he realized one more thing. When he had all of his memory back, Hope would leave—this time forever.
    Stomach clenched, Jeff cast his line over the spar kling water. For once he was glad he had time to think, to decide how he felt about her leaving. He needed to try and figure out what part, if any, she had played in his life these past ten years.
    By the time they caught two fish, large-mouth bass that would be mighty tasty on the supper table that night, the sky had changed. Roiling clouds blotted the northwestern horizon, promising a storm.
    “Well, the farmers will be glad for the rain,” Hope said, following his gaze. She was close, too close. He let his gaze sweep over her lush figure and the sweet perfection of her face, trying to feign friendly interest.
    He failed.
    Desire flared, thickening his blood, his body. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her mouth and feel her smooth skin under his hand.
    He wanted to see if he could make her remember how he used to make her feel. He wanted to see if she still melted under his touch.
    Jeff reached for her. She met him halfway. Greedily, he let his hands roam. The curve of her hips was so tantalizingly familiar. Her lips were moist and warm as she opened her mouth to his. He drank deeply of the taste of her, sweet and earthy—erotic. In that instant, he was lost.
    Past and present melded into one. He cupped her breast, pushing aside her T-shirt, the lacy edge of her bra. Her nipples hardened, ready, begging for his mouth.
    Intending to be gentle , he rolled her nipple between his lips. She gasped, arching her back, pas sion darkening her eyes to black.
    He couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t even think. In just another moment he would unbutton her shorts, slide them down her sweet hips, and touch the warm wetness between her legs.
    Tentatively, she reached out, stroking his arousal, rubbing the palm of her hand up and down the out side of his shorts. Helpless, he groaned, pressing into her hand, feeling his willpower dissolving.
    He tried to gain control of himself. His breathing was harsh, his heart pounded loud in his ears.
    In another moment he would lay her back against the ground and bury himself in her welcoming body.
    In another moment.... With a curse, he pushed himself off her, rolling away.
    Hurt flashed across her face, her swollen lips trembling. He couldn’t look at her without losing the last remnant of his control.
    “You don’t want me.” Her voice shook.
    He knew how much it had cost her to say that When he didn’t answer, keeping his back to her, he could imagine her gathering up the tattered shreds of her pride and wrapping them around her like a cloak.
    “Oh, I want you.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. Guttural and harsh, it was the voice of a man in great pain. “Too much. Too damn much.”
    She gave a short laugh that turned into a sob. “Yeah, I can tell.”
    Guilt mingled with his anger. He had hurt her, again. It was the last thing he’d intended. “You don’t understand.”
    “No.” Behind him, she scrambled to her feet. “I guess I don’t. I’m not sure it matters.”
    It did matter. It mattered more than she could imagine. Jeff struggled to find the words that would make her understand. “I don’t know who I am,” he told her, his back stiff and unyielding. “I can’t come to you like that, don’t you see? I’m only half a man, Hope. You deserve more.”
    He wouldn’t have blamed her if she walked away. To his surprise, she