Читать книгу Secret Agent Dad - Metsy Hingle - Страница 13

Three

“What do you mean, you don’t know who you are?”

“Just what I said.” Stripping off the covers, he sat up on the side of the bed, shoved his hands through his hair. “I can’t remember who I am.”

The despair in his voice touched something deep inside Josie. So did the sight of his near-naked body. Despite her marriage, she’d had little experience when it came to men. Certainly not with gorgeous men who seemed inclined to kiss her. Averting her gaze from all that bronzed skin and muscle, she insisted, “But you must remember something.”

He pinned her with eyes that had gone flat and hard. “I don’t remember a damn thing—except for you.”

“Me?” The word came out as little more than a squeak. She swallowed, tried again. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you remember me? We don’t even know each other.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. And it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t remember my name. I certainly don’t remember any accident or hitting my head.” He rubbed at his temple as though in pain, but when he lifted those chocolate eyes to hers, they were filled with irritation...and with need.

Josie’s stomach tightened like a fist.

“The only thing that I do remember is you. Your face. The sound of your voice. Even the way you smell. When you came walking through that door a few minutes ago, I could have sworn that you and I were—”

“Um, yes. I, um, get the picture,” Josie told him. And she did. She knew exactly what he’d thought, given the way he’d tumbled her to the bed and kissed her. Even now just thinking about that kiss made her knees sag. And considering the way she’d responded, was it any wonder the man had thought they were lovers?

How could she have behaved that way? Allowed him such liberties? Taken such liberties herself? Her behavior had been outrageous. She’d obviously taken temporary leave of her senses. What else could account for that heady sensation she’d experienced? Or the fact that she’d actually enjoyed being wrapped in his arms, of feeling his hard body pressed against hers, of discovering the taste and texture of his mouth? And that mouth! She hadn’t known a mouth could be so skilled, so hungry, so eager. Not for her.

Her lips tingled at the memory, and she pressed her fingertips against them. No one had ever kissed her that way before. Not even in the early days of her marriage had she experienced that kind of passion—so powerful, so huge, so consuming. During those few moments desire had exploded inside her, obliterating her ability to think. Even now, just remembering sent shivers of longing curling through her—confusing her, shaming her and exciting her all at the same time. For a woman who had always considered herself less than hot natured when it came to sex, and had even accepted that she was at least partly responsible for Ben’s straying, her response to this stranger’s kiss made absolutely no sense. Yet there was no denying that she’d wanted more. What did that say about her character? Not much, she decided. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could only be grateful that he hadn’t realized just how close to the edge she had been. That one kiss from him had had her swimming in those fairy-tale dreams again.

“Damn it! Why can’t I remember anything?”

Josie’s eyes snapped open at the sharpness in his tone, saw him wince and grab his head. “You’ve got to calm down,” she told him. “Getting upset isn’t going to help matters. That blow to your head must have caused some sort of temporary amnesia.”

He fingered the bandage on his forehead, traced the square of white gauze and tape. “Amnesia,” he repeated with a frown, then lifted his eyes to hers. “How long does that usually last?”

“I...um...I’m not sure,” Josie admitted.

“Well, how long do you think? A day? Two days? A week?”

“It isn’t the flu,” she informed him, irritated by his impatience. “From the few things I remember reading about amnesia, each case varies. Some people get their memory back in a few days. Some take weeks or months, even years. And others, well, others take...longer.”

Something in her tone must have alarmed him because he narrowed his eyes. “How much longer?”

“Some people never get their memory back.”

“I’ll get mine back,” he assured her with a steel in his voice that matched the determination in his eyes.

“I’m sure you will.” At least she hoped he would. “But in the meantime, you need to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to find out who I am,” he said, frustration emanating from him in waves. The fingers rubbing at his temples stopped abruptly, and he whipped his attention to her. “What about ID? I must have had some sort of identification on me. A driver’s license? Credit cards?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. All I found was a money clip with the initial B and a wad of bills. If you had a wallet, I guess it’s possible it’s still in the car. I didn’t take the time to look too closely. Or it could have fallen on the road when you got out of your car.” And if that were the case, they would never find it, thanks to the rising water and wind, she added silently. “When the storm lets up, I’ll drive out to where you had the wreck and see what I can find.”

“No. I’ll go. It’s my problem, and I’ve already put you to enough trouble.”

She shrugged, seeing no point in arguing that he really wasn’t well and shouldn’t be behind the wheel of any vehicle. “Well, neither one of us will be going anywhere until this storm lets up.” She paused, wondering whether she should tell him what else she had found.

He turned laser-sharp eyes on her. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

It unnerved her that he could read her so clearly, and made her pray he hadn’t been able to read how attracted she was to him. “Besides the money clip and cash, you had a gun. It was hidden in one of your boots.”

The frown creasing his brow deepened, but he said nothing, simply continued to watch her.

“I put it over there, in the top drawer.” She pointed to the armoire in the corner. “The money clip and cash are with it.”

Still silent, he pushed to his feet. And when he swayed, she reached out instinctively to steady him, and another sizzle of heat rippled through her. Awareness, lightning quick, flashed into his eyes. He sank back down to the bed, and Josie snatched her hand away. “Guess my head’s not as hard as I thought The damned. .darned thing feels like somebody took a hammer to it,” he muttered.

“I’ll go, and let you get some rest.”

“No,” he responded quickly. “I’ve had enough rest. I’d like to get dressed and then take a look at that money clip and gun. Maybe seeing them will trigger my memory.” He stood again, this time steady.

Unable to stop herself, Josie stared at him. He had a magnificent body. Tall, strong, solid. He reminded her of a mythical god, a warrior prince cast in bronze and gold, she thought. She ran her gaze over him and paused at a jagged scar on one shoulder, wondering how he’d gotten it. She skimmed past the flat stomach, and shifted lower to where his sex strained against the black briefs. Liquid heat spilled through her as she recalled the feel of him pressed hot and heavy against her thighs. Recognizing the dangerous direction of her thoughts, Josie forced her gaze up to his face. But looking into his eyes proved no safer. They were dark, mysterious and burned with a sensual fire that had the air backing up in her lungs.

“Angel, unless you’ve changed your mind about joining me in this bed, I think you’d better stop looking at me like that and let me get dressed.”

Mortified to have been caught gawking at him like a lovestruck schoolgirl, she took a step back to allow him to pass.

But he made no attempt to leave. Instead he stood there looking impossibly sexy and tempting. The bandage on his forehead added an edge of danger to his appeal, but was at odds with the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, irritated and hurt that he found the mousy little widow’s fascination with him funny.

“No. I just realized that you must have been the one to undress me last night.”

Her pride pricked that she’d made herself such a vulnerable target by gaping at him. She hiked up her chin. “It was either that or let you catch pneumonia. You were soaked to the skin.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining. At least not about you undressing me. I just think it’s a shame that I don’t remember.” The grin he flashed her was quick, reckless and did strange things to her pulse.

“Nothing to remember except being wet and cold,” she informed him primly. Feigning a nonchalance she was far from feeling, Josie said, “You might want to put on some clothes.”

“Be happy to. But first you’ll need to tell me where I can find them.”

Color stained her cheeks, and she once again wanted to cringe over letting the man rattle her so badly. “Your things are in the bathroom. I hung them there to dry last night. I’ll get them,” she offered, eager to put some distance between them.

“That’s all right,” he told her, catching her by the arm as she started to turn away. Another stab of heat shot through Josie at his touch, making her heart slap against her ribs to the beat of a Texas two-step. From the expression on his face, she wasn’t the only one having trouble breathing. “I’ll get them,” he said, his voice rough, gravelly. “I need to use the facilities, anyway.”

Sure she’d swallow her tongue if she tried to respond, Josie simply nodded. And not until the bathroom door closed behind him was she able to breathe again. Get a grip, Josie. Now is not the time to be hit with your very first lust attack! You’ve got to think, girl. Think!

But thinking around him wasn’t an easy task, she admitted, as she walked over to the window and sank down to the floral cushion that covered the bench seat. She stared out into the storm that continued to rage outside. A perfect reflection of her own feelings, she mused. None of it made any sense—not her reaction to his man or the predicament she found herself in.

And she was in a predicament. A real fix, Sister Mary Claire would have called it. She was all alone, isolated on a remote farm nearly two hours from the nearest town with a sexy stranger who claimed to have no memory, but who rattled her common sense and awakened hormones in her that she hadn’t even known she’d possessed. To make matters worse, the normally dry creek bed that ran alongside the road leading to her farm had already overflowed when she’d checked earlier this morning—which meant driving him into Royal or Midland or asking the sheriff from either town to come out here to get him was not an option. Of course, added to the list was the problem of the babies.

The babies! For Pete’s sake! She smacked her forehead. She hadn’t even told him about the babies. Surely seeing his children would help him remember who he was.

And remind him that he had a wife?

The question sneaked itself right into her thoughts. Despite his claim that he wasn’t married and the fact that he lacked a wedding band, she knew darn well the man hadn’t come by those two little darlings by himself. Having been on the receiving end of a cheating husband herself, she certainly didn’t want to be the cause of some other woman’s pain. Because whoever the woman was—wife or girlfriend—she had helped him create two adorable children.

A tender ache blossomed inside Josie as she thought about the twins. What would it be like to be their mother? To hold their little mouths to her breast as she nursed them, to cradle them in her arms and love them? She had been so sure she would have a houseful of babies of her own by now.

But no babies had grown inside her. Not a single one. She pressed her hand to her flat belly. Ben had claimed he wasn’t ready to be a father, had wanted to wait. Even if he hadn’t died, she wasn’t sure there would have ever been any babies—given the troubles in their marriage. But, oh, how she’d wanted a child of her own, someone to give all the love she had stored up in her heart. Josie brought the heel of her hand to her chest, rubbed at the spot where her heart beat.

She heard the door to the bathroom open, and Josie shoved her sad thoughts aside as he came walking into the bedroom again—this time wearing jeans and with a towel draped around his neck. Lord, but the man was beautiful.

“I found an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and used it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” She slid off the bench seat and started toward him, intent on telling him about the babies. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. How I could have forgotten to tell you—”

One of the babies started to cry, flooding the quiet house with an unhappy wail.

“What the—” He jerked his gaze toward the doorway, . then back to her. “What was that?”

“A baby. That’s what I started to tell you. You—”

“You have a kid?”

“Me? That’s not my—”

The second baby got in on the act and started to cry with its twin, creating a set of sobs that would break any mother’s heart or make her tone-deaf if she wasn’t careful.

He groaned, held a hand to his head and looked back at her. “Jeez. How many kids do you have, anyway?”

“I don’t have any.” She winced as the cries reached an all-time high note that Josie thought would shatter glass. She made a dash for the door. “But you have two...twins.”

Her reply hit him like a prizefighter’s punch, paralyzing him for long seconds. Speechless, he watched Josie’s cute little tush clear the room, her long legs moving at a fast clip. Unable to move, after the bomb she’d dropped on him, he stood there with his mouth open, his bare feet planted on the floor, his head spinning. The room swam before him. Damn near sure he was going to pass out, he braced his hands against the wall and sucked in air. The dizziness subsided, leaving him feeling as weak as a kitten and wishing he could just start the entire day over. And he’d start it by remembering who he was and erasing that little bombshell Josie had just dropped on him.

But wishing wasn’t worth spit. Wishing couldn’t solve his problems. Only he could. And he intended to do just that— starting with Josie. Shoving away from the wall, he moved toward the door on legs not quite as steady as he’d like them to be. What he wouldn’t give to just sit down—preferably with a shot of good Irish whisky, he mused. And he would. Just as soon as he set a certain raven-haired woman straight about a major misconception on her part. All right. Maybe he had lost his memory, and he didn’t remember his name. But he was damn sure about one thing—he was not anyone’s daddy.

Daddy!

Just the idea made him shudder. Him? A father? No way! The very notion was absurd. Just the thought of being responsible for one baby, let alone two, sent fear crawling down his spine. Surely this was not the reaction of a man who had kids. Besides, loss of memory or not, what he knew about kids wouldn’t fill a nutshell. If he were a father—which he didn’t believe for a minute that he was—he sure as hell would have remembered the fact.

Wouldn’t he? A man just didn’t forget that sort of thing, he reasoned. Nope. He wasn’t any squalling, pint-size person’s daddy. To even think he was had been a mistake. And Miss Josie Walters with the angel eyes and sulky mouth had been the one to make it Intent on telling her just that, he started down the hall to find her.