Can't Take the Heat Read online

  He looks down at me, and my desire ticks up a notch at the need I read in them. His eyes are his most remarkable single feature, their color varying from gold-green to light brown depending on his mood. When he’s aroused, the gold color gathers into a bright ring around his irises. The ring of fire, I call it. And right now, that ring is thicker and brighter than I’ve ever seen it.

  One of his hands rests for a second just above my knee before sliding up under the hem of the cotton sundress I wore home from the hospital. It’s an unspoken request, and I obey it, lifting my butt and then my back and head so he can slip the dress up and off. Beneath, I’m wearing a pair of bikini panties and a plain white bra. They’re both gone as quickly as the two of us can manage to remove them.

  Wanting him as naked as I am, I start to unbutton his jeans, but he shakes his head. “Not yet. If I take these off, I won’t be able to resist the urge to get inside you.” His breath shudders out of him. “God, you’re beautiful. I want to be inside every part of you.”

  Damn, but the man really does know exactly what to say.

  Longing coils tight in my belly and tingles in my taut nipples and especially in my swollen, aching sex. With a skill born of years of practice, he pulls one sensitive nipple into his mouth and swirls it with his tongue while his fingers glide between my thighs. He knows exactly how much pressure to exert, which angle to employ, both to make me come and to keep me from coming. I let my legs fall open, every nerve ending so alight I pray he’ll finish me before I go up in a puff of smoke.

  He’s not so kind. Just as I’m on the brink, he releases my breast and scoots down my body, a wicked smile on his lips. I close my eyes and dig my nails into the bedspread, because I know what I’m in for. How good it’s going to feel.

  His mouth finds that exact right spot, and I’m gone. I’m nothing but sensation, centered right there where he’s touching me, and radiating out to my toes, my fingertips, my scalp. He slides two fingers inside me, thrusts them in and out while he does mad, mischievous things with his tongue.

  It’s not as good as I thought it would be. It’s so much better.

  As I tumble over into the sweet agony of release, three words pop into my mind. Three words I don’t understand, but that keep repeating themselves.

  I’ve missed you.

  Damn, he’d missed her.

  Naked and spent, she lay in the center of his bed—no, their bed—right where she belonged. Her eyes fluttered open, her long, thick lashes dusting the top of her cheeks like butterfly wings.

  “Glad to see we’re not at the oral sex stage yet,” she teased, a little breathlessly.

  This was a reference to a joke they’d both heard years ago. The punch line was that, after twenty years of marriage, all that was left was oral sex, as in the husband and wife yelling “Fuck you!” at each other.

  “Not even close. Although,” he added, crawling up her body and leaning down to brush a kiss across her sweat-dampened brow, “I do want to fuck you.”

  A mischievous smile curved her lips. She reached down to the waistband of his jeans. “Then you’d better get these off.” Tugging at the button until it popped free, she started on the zipper. “Dare I hope you went commando?”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. I heard somewhere I always should wear clean underwear when I went to the hospital. Or something like that.”

  The zipper reached bottom, and she shoved her hands beneath both layers—jeans and boxer shorts—at his hips and pushed them down toward his ankles. His cock sprang free, a blessed event after its long confinement. Ironic that all he wanted to do was confine it again.

  The sooner, the better.

  She wrapped her hand around his hot, poker-hard flesh while he kicked his pants to the floor. She pumped his length, base to tip, exactly the way she knew he liked, and he gritted his teeth in an effort to maintain some semblance of control.

  It wasn’t as if he’d been celibate since their breakup, but he hadn’t exactly been active, either. And in the past few months, after another unsuccessful attempt at an actual relationship, he’d definitely resorted to being the master of his own domain, which meant she was driving him crazy with her far too skillful, entirely too-long-absent touch.

  He grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “I said I wanted to fuck you, not your hand.”

  “You and your one-track mind,” she said, grinning as she dragged one finger up his abdomen to the center of his chest. “Good thing we’re both headed to the same station.”

  Their mouths met in short, hungry kisses as he pressed her down to the mattress and positioned himself between her legs. She bent her knees and angled her hips until the head of his cock rested against her entrance. Everything about her—the tangy taste of her lips and tongue, the spicy musk of her arousal, the silky smooth brush of her skin—was so achingly familiar, he could almost join her in forgetting the past three years, almost sink into her as though they occupied some alternate universe in which events had taken a completely different course.

  Almost. But in the end, even in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t ignore the facts.

  He raised his head, interrupting their kisses, and drew back ever so slightly.

  Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What’s the matter?”

  “We need protection.”

  “Huh? I’ve been on the Pill for years.”

  “But not, I’m guessing, for the past five days,” he pointed out.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re right. I didn’t even think of that.”

  He hadn’t, either, until two seconds ago. But at least it was an elegant rationale for needing a condom that didn’t require explaining that they needed to practice safe sex for other, more mundane reasons.

  Which brought him back to the most important question, and that was what the hell did he think he was he doing? She might not know that they were no longer a couple, but he couldn’t say the same. No matter how much she wanted him now, he doubted she would feel the same way if she knew how and why she’d broken up with him. It was easy to tell himself she’d agreed to this crazy treatment plan and therefore knew he was keeping secrets from her, but that didn’t make him any less culpable for his actions. If he went through with this, he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive himself for having taken advantage of her. On the other hand, if he never made love to her again, he knew he’d never forgive himself for squandering this opportunity.

  Doing the wrong thing had never felt more right.

  His mind made up, he turned over and reached for the nightstand. “Fortunately, I have a backup plan,” he said, opening the drawer and removing a foil packet from the nearly full box.

  Later, she’d probably wonder why he had a box of condoms on hand if they were still together. After all, they’d passed the condom stage of their relationship by the middle of her junior year in college. For now, however, she seemed oblivious to the implications and instead helped him to roll the thin latex barrier into place.

  “I’d forgotten how much fun putting these on could be,” she said, giving his cock a few long, tantalizing strokes.

  He ground his teeth. “And I remember why we gave them up. You like teasing me way too much.”

  “Sorry, Crush.” Her sultry, unapologetic smile said she wasn’t. Not one bit.

  “Mmm, I very much doubt that,” he growled next to her ear, everything forgotten but the urgent need scorching his veins.

  She gasped as, in one swift motion, he had her beneath him. In the next, he drove into her wet heat, seating himself to the hilt without preamble. Not that any was needed. Her flesh fitted him the way a lock fits its key…and only its key. It didn’t matter that they’d been apart for three years. It didn’t matter that he’d slept with other women in that time or that she had surely been with other men. All that mattered was that this was where both of them belonged, and they were here.

  Bracing himself on his elbows on either side of her head so that their bodies touched from hips to chest
, he began to move. Slowly, a gentle rocking motion that belied the ferocity of his desire to keep her there, trapped between the mattress and his weight, forever. For the first time since she’d regained consciousness, the two of them were truly living in the same moment, with nothing between them but shared pleasure.

  But it couldn’t last, of course. Not forever, and not even for as long as he would have liked. Once inside her, he lost the ability to react consciously. Everything was reduced to instinct, to call and response. When she shifted her hips impatiently beneath him, he increased his pace in answer. At the small hiccup in her breath that signaled her impending release, he slid his hands under her ass and thrust even harder, even faster. And in those few seconds when she went utterly still and stiff right before she came, he could only kiss her and follow her over into the abyss. Into bliss.

  And back, inescapably, to reality.

  Wes wasn’t asleep, but he was drowsy enough that it took several seconds for him to realize someone was knocking on the door. As soon as he did, however, he knew both who was knocking and that he had less than a minute to get there.

  He rolled over and eased off the bed as quickly as he could without waking Delaney. She was asleep, despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon. He wasn’t surprised she’d fallen into a postcoital slumber, however, given what she’d been through the past few days.

  Retrieving his jeans and boxers from the floor, he shoved his legs into them and pulled them up just as a second, more insistent knock sounded. He cast a regretful glance over his shoulder. Delaney still slept in the same position he remembered, her tall body curled up on one side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other dangling off the edge of the bed. The center of his chest ached at the sight. This might be the last time he ever saw her this way. He wanted to bottle the moment and keep it on a shelf somewhere, to pull out and open whenever he wanted to relive it.

  In an odd way, he envied her. He would give just about anything to spend these stolen moments with her in blissful ignorance of the truth. As it was, he felt the proverbial sword of Damocles poised over his head, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

  And speaking of impending doom…

  He was halfway to the door when the lock clicked and it swung inward. “Remind me to get the front desk to change the key code as soon as possible,” he said caustically as Chelsea strolled into his apartment.

  His sister shrugged. “I’ll just get them to give me a card with the new code. I have the new clerk wrapped around my finger, you know.”

  He did know. In fact, Chelsea had pretty much every male employee of the entire Barrows empire wrapped around her finger, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. He might be her brother, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see that his baby sister had grown into an exceptionally attractive woman. Even if he hadn’t been able to see it, he would have known, thanks to the number of times he’d had to play the overprotective older brother to discourage some guy from pressing his unwanted attentions on her. Dark-haired, tall, and leggy, she could have given many topflight models a run for their money if she’d been so inclined. Instead, she’d chosen the family business, holding the position of general manager at the smaller Barrows South casino located near the airport.

  “Maybe I should invest in an actual lockset, then,” he remarked dryly. Glancing toward the hall that led to the bedroom, he added, “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down. Delaney’s sleeping.”

  Chelsea eyed him sharply, seeming to notice for the first time that he was shirtless. “Shit,” she murmured. “You already slept with her, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He stalked toward the kitchen.

  “It’s my business because you’re my brother and Delaney’s my friend.” Chelsea threaded her fingers through the hair at her temples, shaking her head. “I knew this was a bad idea from the beginning, but damn, I thought you’d be able to control yourself for more than ten minutes.”

  Wes yanked the refrigerator door open and pulled out a beer. He was going to need it. “She started it.”

  “But you finished it.” She leveled a scowl of rebuke at him.

  Grabbing the magnetized bottle opener from its place on the side of the fridge, he cracked the cap on his brew and took a deep pull on the bottle before responding. “Believe me, I know perfectly well what I’ve done and why I shouldn’t have. But damn it, Chelsea, I also know this is between Delaney and me. You need to keep your oar out.”

  She puffed up her cheeks before heaving out a gusty sigh. “I just wish you’d refused to go along with this.” She lowered her voice to something approaching a whisper. “For God’s sake, Wes, she thinks you’re married. What’s going to happen when she remembers what really happened?”

  Good question. He wished he knew. On second thought, maybe he didn’t.

  “This was her decision and you know it. She wanted to follow the doctor’s recommendation. I think I’d be a pretty shitty person to deny her that option.” He fixed his sister with a hard stare. “And so would you, on the off chance you’re considering it.”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again, as though realizing she’d stepped in quicksand but unsure how to get out of it. “It’s hard, Wes. I can’t help wondering how I’d feel if I were in her shoes. I’d want to know.”

  “And then you’d never be sure the memories you got back were really your own. We could tell her everything, but we’d be telling her what we remember, not what she does. Not what she feels. I don’t want to take that away from her. Do you?”

  Chelsea couldn’t meet his gaze. She turned to look out the window. At this altitude, on the penultimate floor of the high-rise casino, the city of Las Vegas spread out below like a patchwork quilt all the way to mountains. The afternoon sun pounded the rooftops and pavements, the latent heat transforming into a visible haze that hovered in the air. Brutal and beautiful. Those words described Sin City to a T.

  “You’re right,” she said at last. “This is Delaney’s decision to make, and I’ll respect that. But you might consider that it’s not her I’m worried about.”

  Wes and I aren’t together anymore.

  I’ve suspected this since I woke up the second time, but I kept dismissing the evidence because I didn’t want to accept it. And at first, that was pretty easy because I could explain away the signs.

  True, I wasn’t wearing my engagement or wedding rings when I woke up in the hospital, but I wouldn’t have expected to be. I don’t wear rings when I’m working because they can rip through surgical gloves. But that has become harder to ignore since it’s been three days since I woke up in the hospital and no one has produced those rings.

  Then, there’s the lack of wedding pictures in the apartment. I told myself Wes must have taken them down because he didn’t want to influence my memory with pictures of events I’ve forgotten, but it’s not just the wedding pictures that are missing. It’s any pictures of Wes and me together.

  This afternoon, we got to the condoms. I didn’t give much thought to it at the time—I was otherwise occupied—but why would Wes have a nightstand full of condoms if we’ve been married for almost three years? Okay, I suppose we could have been considering having a baby. That would have meant me going off the Pill for a month or so before we started trying, so I guess we’d need them then, but I’m having a hard time swallowing that idea. I can’t believe I would have changed my mind about getting a place of our own first.

  But there’s absolutely no way for me to rationalize or explain away what I’m looking at right now. Wrapped in a hotel-issue bath towel, I’m standing in the middle of spacious walk-in closet attached to the master bathroom. As always, Wes’s clothes hang on the right side and mine on the left.

  We all have our tics, right? One of mine is that I’m meticulous about the organization of my clothes in the closet. I hang everything together by category. My work uniforms come first, followed by my stree
t clothes by type—capris and shorts, short-sleeved tops, skirts, long pants and jeans, long-sleeved tops and sweatshirts, and finally dresses. That way, I can find the outfit I want in a few seconds.

  I know, at a glance, that I did not hang my clothes in this closet. There’s no semblance of order at all. Dresses are mixed in with skirts, which are mixed in with sweatshirts that are jumbled up with jeans. Yes, I have a near-three-year gap in my memory, but there’s no way in hell I’ve changed that much.

  My knees wobble under me, and I sit down hard on the floor with a thud, the white towel falling around me like a fluffy snowbank.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Tears sting my eyelids and singe the back of my throat. What am I going to do?

  Not panic, that’s what.

  My stomach clenches in violent opposition to this directive. Panicking seems like a perfectly logical thing to do under these circumstances.

  But in spite of the awful realization that I don’t know anything about my current life—and that I pretty much forced myself on Wes when, for all I know, he’s seeing someone else—my EMT training kicks in. First responders can’t afford to freak out, even in the face of the most horrifying events and injuries imaginable.

  I focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Only when my mind is completely clear and blank do I allow myself to think about anything else.

  And then, I make a list of the things I do know, instead of the things I don’t.

  1. Wes still loves me.

  Evidence: He came to the hospital when I was hurt, and from what the nurses told me, stayed with me every night when I was unconscious. He also didn’t blink an eye at the thought of bringing me back into his home until I get my memory back. And no man makes love to a woman he hates like Wes just made love to me. Whatever happened between us, he isn’t over me.