LITMIR.BIZ

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Lord, she felt as though she’d never had thoughts like this.

      “Aren’t you going to take it, Angel?”

      With an unsteady hand, she reached out. Her fingers wrapped around his, eased the bar from his hand.

      Soft and wet met dry and rough.

      Her breath came out in a rush. Her fingers lingered.

      So did his.

      “Angel?”

      She snatched her hand back. The soap slipped, dropped into the tub with a thud. She stared at it, unable to go near it. “I’m almost done in here,” she called out. “I just have to rinse off. You can go. Really. I can dress myself.”

      He was silent for a moment, then, “You sure?”

      “Quite sure.” Her tone excessively firm, she added, “Now, please go. I’m fine. I’ll be dressed and out in a few moments.”

      “All right. But careful getting out. It’s slippery.”

      When he left, she snatched up the notorious bar of soap and leaned against the shower wall, tried to regain her composure. Around her, the steam moved, breathed, like a living being.

      Suddenly, a memory tugged at her mind. She’d been here, or in some place like this, surrounded by some kind of white haze, before. And more than once.

      She tried to claim more of the impression, but the vision evaporated and she was left with only current memories, ones that made her skin tighten with a frightening sense of excitement she didn’t recognize but was tempted to explore.

      She stood directly under the shower’s spray, hoping to rid herself of such thoughts and feelings. But as soon as she touched the fragrant bar of soap to her skin, she was lost.

      For, just moments ago, it had been in his hand.

      Nothing fancy. But it’ll do.

      Dan scooped up some of the warmed, canned spaghetti into two bowls, placed a few slices of buttered bread on a plate and brought it all to the table. He was no cook. Too much career, too little time for anything else.

      “May I help?”

      Dan turned at the silky-sounding offer, watched the woman walk out of the bathroom, rosy-cheeked, hair down and damp. “Nope. It’s all set.”

      She was wearing his clothes. Big and baggy clothes. But that didn’t stop his imagination from running wild. Just as it had during her shower.

      He’d stood there, back to the curtain, trying to stop himself from thinking, from breaking the zipper on his jeans, and from sliding open the curtain and joining her. And now, here she stood, dressed in his gray sweats. Her skin, her thighs, the backs of her knees, her breasts, all brushing against the fabric.

      Dan forced himself to get back under control, back to the hard-nosed lawman he was. Maybe the boys down at the office were playing a trick on him. Maybe his superiors had sent this sexy creature up here to make him nuts, make him cave, make him so desperate for the world of the living that he’d admit he was wrong for messing up the perp responsible for killing his fiancée.

      “Everything looks wonderful,” she remarked, glancing around the table.

      It sure as hell did… “Clothes fit all right?”

      She lifted the sweatshirt just enough for him to see the waistband and one blessed inch of flat stomach. “These pants are a tad large. I have to hold them up with one hand, but I don’t mind.”

      Heat pounded him in the groin. This was too much. He stalked into the kitchen, fumbling around in a drawer, grabbed a piece of rope and came back.

      “Lift the sweatshirt again.”

      “Why?”

      “Just do it.”

      Tentatively, she did as he instructed. He had the rope around her waist in one second, tied in another. “There.”

      She stared up at him, an uncertain smile playing around her mouth. “Much better. Thank you.”

      He should’ve taken a step back, run out the friggin’ front door, but he didn’t. He stood there, looked down into her eyes and wanted to haul her against him, cover her mouth with his, feel her tongue…

      He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

      It had been a long time since he’d stood this close to a woman and felt a pull so strong it fairly knocked him off his feet.

      Getting involved with someone in the past four years, even sexually, had seemed too easy and totally undeserved. No matter how masochistic it sounded, he felt the need to punish himself, deny himself, always and forever. After a while, he’d just forgotten to want.

      Then, this violet-eyed temptress had stepped into his path, got herself hurt, got herself dropped between his sheets. Thank God she was only going to be around here for one night.

      He held out a chair for her. “Have a seat.”

      She sat with her back to the fire, her wet hair glowing tricolor fire. “If I didn’t say this before, I really appreciate all that you’ve done. I’m sure I’ve inconvenienced you terribly, and as soon as you deem me well enough to travel, I’ll be out of your way.”

      “It’s not a problem.” What a bold-faced lie.

      “But it is a bother. Were you on holiday? Is this your vacation spot?”

      “No.”

      “Oh. Do you live up here year-round then?”

      “No.”

      “Then what are you doing up here?”

      His gaze lifted. He watched as she twirled her spaghetti against a spoon. “You know, you ask a lot of questions for someone with no memory.”

      Spaghetti stopped twirling, forehead creased. “Are you in some type of law enforcement, Dan?”

      His eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?”

      “You’re very suspicious of me. I doubt very much that I am a criminal.”

      He doubted it, too, but after five years as a cop and ten as a marshal, you wondered about everyone. Especially someone you were attracted to. Could make for big problems.

      “Perhaps I’m asking questions,” she began, returning to her dinner, “because I’m frustrated. I have no memory, no identification, no personal effects. Perhaps I’m asking questions because I think learning about someone else’s past might trigger memories of my own.”

      “Is that really what you think?”

      “Yes.”

      The pasta suddenly felt like worms in Dan’s mouth. He dropped his fork onto his plate, sat back in his chair. “I have no past.”

      She raised her gaze, studied him. “What does that mean?”

      “That means, Angel, that I don’t want to talk about it.” He ground out the words, frustration building inside him.

      “Sounds rather daunting. Maybe you would feel better if you did.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Let’s try and—”

      “You know what I feel?” he interrupted.

      “What?”

      “Tired.” He pushed away from the table, took his bowl into the kitchen, dropped it in the sink, enjoying the crashing sound it made.

      Sure, he owed this woman his care, his protection. But his personal life was none of her business. It was no one’s business. “You can take my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

      “The couch is very small. I’d hate to have you be so uncomfortable.”

      A

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