Make Me Forget (4 page)

“Wait.” He grasped both of her shoulders, stilling her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She was caught in his stare. “Is this what you wanted to forget, in coming to Tahoe Shores?” She could smell him, as close as he was standing: sandalwood and spice and clean skin. The ache in her throat expanded to her chest.

“Maybe. Yes,” she said, almost defiantly. She was irritated at him for pressing the topic. Although in truth, she could have just further sidestepped the issue. That’s what she usually did when people probed her about her loss. She hadn’t been able to lightly gloss over the issue with Latimer, though. “Not to forget them. Just to forget . . . you know? The pain.”

“
Them
?”

“My mother, too. It was an accident. You heard of that train derailment in Spain last year?”

He nodded.

“They were on it. It’d been my mom’s fantasy to do a European rail vacation. She was so excited.” She shook her head irritably. “So pointless. All of it.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Why
would
you?”

“I try to keep apprised of the news. I told you, I read some of your mom’s stuff. She’s a well-known author. I never heard their names connected with that train derailment, though.”

She just nodded, her throat too tight to speak for a few seconds. Finally, she inhaled with a hitching breath, and forced a smile.

“It probably sounds stupid, that I’m still grieving them so much, a thirty-two-year-old woman. It’s just . . . I was an only child. And we were close, even though we lived on opposite coasts.” She swallowed thickly. Why was she telling him all this? It was inappropriate. Her thoughts couldn’t stop her from continuing. “I could have been with them, at the end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a ticket,” she said hoarsely. “That was part of Mom’s dream, for it to be a family vacation. But another reporter had to go in for surgery, and I had to take over his beat. I was forced to cancel the trip.”

“Thank God.”

“You don’t understand. I mean . . . I wouldn’t have
chosen
to die with them. It’s not that. I just regret . . .”

“That you couldn’t have spent those last days and hours with them. No one can put a price on that.”

Her gaze jumped to his.
He had
understood. He stood so close. She found herself sinking into his eyes.

“Even though I lived so far away from them, I never realized until after they were gone—”

“What?” he asked when she broke off.

“That I’d never felt alone before, even though I’d lived on my own since I finished college. They were always there, somehow, with me in some intangible way that I’d never bothered to consider before.”

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her temple. “Until they weren’t anymore,” she finished shakily, her head tilting back.

Suddenly, he was kissing her.

A shock of pleasure went through her at the contact. His mouth was as firm as it looked, but surprisingly warm and gentle. He plucked at her lower lip seductively, sandwiching her flesh to his, until a shaky moan vibrated her throat. The kiss was a little cautious at first, as though he was testing the waters . . .

No, more like he was coaxing her to be with him, asking her to connect with him.

But as the spark ignited in her—in both of them, apparently—his kiss turned dark and demanding. He gripped her upper arms tighter, bringing her closer to him, and penetrated her mouth with his tongue.

It was as if he drugged her. A haze of lust overcame her brain. His scent and taste pervaded her. He felt big and hard, so solid next to her. So fantastically male. His tongue pierced and stroked her mouth, discovering her with patient yet total possession. She could feel the contours of his body, the sensation of his hardening cock deepening her trance of harsh, unexpected need.

His hands swept over the bare skin of her back. Her nerves leapt at his touch. She pressed her breasts tighter against his torso, instinctively using his hardness to ease the ache at the crests. She felt his cock swell higher against her. His fingers raked into her hair. He gently fisted a bunch of it and tugged. Her neck stretched back, and suddenly his mouth was on her pulse, hot and greedy. He inhaled and gave a low growl, the feral sound thrilling her. She whimpered as he kissed her neck and shivers of pleasure rippled through her. He found her mouth again unerringly.

She felt herself go wet . . . ready for him so quickly. So completely.

He lifted his mouth from hers. Her eyes drifted closed at the heady sensation of his warm, firm lips caressing the corner of her mouth. The realization that he avidly kissed the small scar there jolted through her. She flinched. Her eyes sprang open. She’d caught herself, just as she was about to spin out of control. It was akin to not realizing how strong an alcoholic drink was until you tried to stand, and couldn’t.

She stepped back, breaking his hold. She clamped her teeth hard at the abrupt deprivation, but forced herself to put three feet between them. He didn’t move. He appeared strained, as if he’d been chained into place. His eyes seemed to burn in an otherwise frozen face. Was that anger that tightened his features? Was he pissed off that she’d stopped him?

“I’m going,” she said simply.

She thought he remained in place. She couldn’t know for certain, though, because she didn’t look back as she rushed out the door.

* * *

The valet was just returning with a couple’s car when she reached the front entrance. Harper waited impatiently as he alighted, glancing back toward the path through the woods. But Latimer hadn’t followed her. Perhaps he’d taken another path back toward the main house. He probably wouldn’t think twice about her, once she’d refused him.

Don’t be such a bitch
, she scolded herself.
For the most part, he was nothing but kind toward you all night.

Although,
why
he was so attentive remains a mystery.

I acted like a sixteen-year-old, running away just because he kissed me.

At the same time, something told her that her hasty decision to avoid Latimer came from the wisdom of a full-grown woman, one with enough experience to know when she was swimming in choppy waters way over her head.

She’d dated quite a bit in San Francisco. She’d put plenty of hard stops on sexual overtures before, and she’d let a few of them unfold naturally when she was interested. It wasn’t because Jacob Latimer had dared to kiss her that she felt the need to run. It was
how
that kiss had affected her, how it had left her spinning.

That, and the fact that his kiss was so hot and drugging it felt like she’d just participated in something excitingly illicit. When it came to Latimer, she had a feeling that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She mumbled a cursory thanks to the valet when he arrived with her car. It wasn’t until after she’d left the locked-down Lattice compound and was driving down Lakeview Boulevard toward her townhome that she realized she hadn’t tipped the valet.

A jolt of unease went through her and she glanced over at the passenger seat. She
couldn’t
have tipped him, even if she’d wanted to. She’d left her purse on Latimer’s terrace.

A few hours later, he stood alone on the pier, watching the moonlight shimmer in the black water.

Harper McFadden was in Tahoe Shores. She’d just been in his home. Her lips had just been beneath his own, her body molded against him.

Harper.

Here.

Or she
had
been, anyway. Until he’d given in to an urge that had first germinated and swelled in him as a scrawny, malnourished thirteen-year-old boy. Who knew that an eighty-three-pound kid could have felt so much lust? So much longing? So much need?

Just so much. Period.

He hadn’t known much of anything when it came to feelings twenty years ago. He’d known hunger and fear. And perhaps worry: a chronic, painful anxiety for the other helpless creatures that were forced to depend on a very undependable, violent man. If it weren’t for a few of the dogs and Grandma Rose, he would have run away from his Uncle Emmitt in an instant. They were the only things that kept him tethered to that grimy, threadbare existence. In the case of Grandma Rose, Emmitt would surely have let his mother die from neglect if it weren’t for Jake’s reminders and cautious, subtle urging for visits, food, and money for medical care.

But he had left them all behind that summer of his thirteenth year. He’d abandoned the animals, a few of which had been his only friends. He’d forsaken Grandma Rose. He’d offered his life.

All of it, he’d risked for her.

It’d all come to nothing. She hadn’t kept one of her promises. She hadn’t written, even when he’d written dozens of letters and left various forwarding addresses. Of course, her solemn pledge to convince her parents to allow him to visit her in DC, her insistence that she’d find a way for them to be together again, had never played out. He hadn’t been surprised about the visits. He’d been a hell of a lot more familiar with the cruel realities of life as a kid than Harper had ever been. The suspiciousness and fear he’d witnessed in her parents’ eyes when they’d looked at him as Harper and he clung together on that cot in the tiny Barterton police station had driven that harsh truth home.

Those stupid, humiliating letters. A good majority of them he’d gotten back marked return to sender. Why hadn’t he burned the damn things a long time ago?

So she didn’t even remember him. Well, thank God for that.

But what if she did? What if her lack of recognition had been a performance?

Not a chance, he discounted abruptly. He doubted anyone could fake that blank expression in her eyes when she’d first looked up at him on the beach.

Of course
that handful of days and nights hadn’t meant to her what it had to him. She had been a cherished, prized child, adored and protected by her parents. Their time in the West Virginia wilderness together, their desperate flight for their lives, had faded into a dim, distant nightmare once she’d been returned to the haven of her parents’ arms.

He’d
faded from her life. Why did that fact hurt, when he wanted so much for it to be true? When he was so relieved that it
was
true.

He’d last seen her in the courthouse on the day of Emmitt’s sentencing. She’d walked away within the anxious circle of her parents’ arms, Harper looking over her shoulder while her parents urged her forward. Away from the nightmare . . .

She’d walked away tonight, too, despite the dazed fascination in her eyes, the yielding he’d felt in her body, the heat in her kiss. It was for the best.

It
definitely
was for the best. Why did he have to keep repeating that fact to himself?

He knew why.

Because
damn,
she’d grown up beautiful. Stunning. It didn’t surprise him. She’d been beautiful, even at twelve years old. Her fresh luminosity had undoubtedly been what had first snagged Emmitt Tharp’s dangerous attention. Even though she’d been a year younger than Jacob when they’d first met, she’d begun to develop. She’d looked older than him. To skinny little Jake Tharp, she’d been the ideal of perfection. Of cleanliness. Of a beauty so rare, it must by its very nature elude his grimy grasp.

He’d been ridiculously naïve. It was laughable in retrospect.

Still . . . Jacob didn’t even smile as he stared out at the shimmering water. Somehow, seeing Harper McFadden was one of the most sobering things that had happened to him in a long, long time.

Her hair was a shade darker now, but the copper color was just as singular as it had been back then. He recalled how he’d stared at it with slack-jawed wonder when he first saw it as a boy. On the beach yesterday, when he’d had his first jolting encounter with her after two decades, she’d worn it in a high ponytail. Tonight, her hair had fallen in loose, sexy waves down her bare back. As he’d passed a window in his office, he’d caught a glimpse of it out on the terrace. The vision of her from the back had stopped him in his tracks. For a few seconds, everything had gone still and silent as he stared out the window, and his past and present had collided.

She wore a stunning aquamarine silk cocktail dress, the color echoing the alpine lake. He didn’t need to see her up close to know it also matched her eyes. She was fair, like most redheads. The palette of her copper hair, flawless skin, and the sumptuous fabric of her dress created a feast for the eyes. Even from that distance, he’d had a graphic, potent fantasy of burying his nose in her hair, sliding his lips against her flawless, soft skin . . . gently biting the flesh of her fragrant shoulder.

When he’d noticed the thin, inch-long scar at the corner of her pretty mouth the other day on the beach, something had sunk like lead inside him. The small imperfection only highlighted the overall harmony and beauty of her face. Someone who carried that scar shouldn’t have such an open, expressive countenance. They should be guarded and wary. It was a wonder to him that Harper wasn’t.

He’d seen more beautiful women. He’d had them. Many of them. But he’d never seen a woman more desirable than Harper McFadden.

Still.

He’d thought himself completely severed from Jake Tharp. He resented Harper, for making it so clear that boy was still alive inside him, still making him do things he’d regret . . . like suggesting to Cyril that he make a movie based on her story and offering to finance it. Like invite her here tonight, because he’d proved too weak to resist.

Like submit to the temptation of her pink, sexy mouth, fragrant hair, and soft skin.

His body hardened of its own accord at the piercing memory, making him frown. He’d wanted her so badly when he was a kid. He’d been so naïve, he hadn’t even understood
how
he’d wanted her. How was it possible, that the unfulfilled desire of a thirteen-year-old boy could have such an effect on him now? It was as if Harper had reanimated that hungry child inside him. It was unbearable. Unacceptable. And yet . . . that hunger continued, gnawing at him like a dull ache.

“Jacob?”

The surprised call tore him out of his brooding. Elizabeth walked down the stone path that led to the dock.

“I assumed you were up in your suite,” she said, sounding startled. He turned back to face the lake, distractedly listening to her footsteps approach. “I was just making sure that everything was cleared. All of the guests are gone. That is if . . . Did Harper McFadden go?”

“She’s gone.”

He sensed her hesitation, and realized belatedly he’d been sharp. He knew Elizabeth had seen him leave the terrace with Harper. She’d assumed Harper had accompanied him upstairs. Another spike of irritation went through him. Despite his self-lecture about how Harper’s departure was for the best, he was still annoyed that she’d rejected him.

How contrary could he be?

“Well, I thought the night went well, anyway,” Elizabeth said briskly, determined to ignore his brusqueness: just one of her many good qualities. “It was nice that you were able to attend for a bit. Stewart Overton called earlier. He wanted to confirm your meeting. He’s taking a chopper in from Travis,” she said, referring to Travis Air Force Base.

“Any news from Alex on ResourceSoft?”

“Everything is going smoothly with that, apparently. Fingers crossed, anyway. Regina Morrow just called, as well.”

His head swung around. “Did she sound all right?”

“I think so. I mean . . . better than she has on other occasions, anyway.”

Jacob nodded slowly, aware of Elizabeth’s delicacy on the subject of Regina Morrow. Elizabeth and Regina had formed a friendship of sorts over the years. He told Elizabeth almost everything. As his primary assistant, Elizabeth saw to many details in regard to Regina’s upkeep and care. But there were a few cards he held close to his chest, like the one relating to the nature of his and Regina’s complicated relationship.

“It’s late. I’ll call her in the morning,” Jacob said.

“I put a few faxes on your desk that came from Jenny, if you’d like to take a look at them before bed,” she said. Jenny Caravallo was his secretary in San Francisco. Elizabeth knew he often took work to bed.

“It’ll wait until morning. I’m taking a swim,” he said, turning abruptly.

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, and Jacob understood why. He didn’t make a habit of taking midnight swims. “Do you need anything?”

“Nothing that some cold water and exercise won’t cure. Make sure you don’t activate the terrace security system. I’ll do it when I go inside. Tell Tim to go. I’ll call at the guard station when I go in for the night,” he said, referring to Tim Stanton, a security employee who usually took nighttime watch at the rear of the property. He paused next to Elizabeth and met her stare. “I want complete privacy.”

She blinked at his quiet adamancy.

“Of course. Whatever you need, Jacob.”

“I’m sorry for being so brusque earlier. I have a lot on my mind. Thanks for staying late tonight. Why don’t you take tomorrow off?”

“I have too much to do, you know that,” she said with a smile.

“Then don’t come in until noon. Relax a little.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“I insist. You work way too hard. Good night, Elizabeth,” he said before he walked off the dock.

* * *

Harper was feeling restless.

Or maybe
reckless
was the right term.

After tossing and turning for an hour plus, obsessively reliving Latimer’s kiss, and growing hotter and pricklier by the minute, she finally got out of bed. She hurried into yoga pants, tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved shirt. She twisted her hair into a sloppy bun. Not allowing herself to think of any motive past a soothing midnight walk to calm her nerves, she headed toward the lake.

In addition to a three-quarter full moon, the ground lights of several restaurants and private homes lit the beach. After several minutes of brisk walking, a distressing thought occurred to her. Her press pass was in the purse she’d left behind at Latimer’s, along with her driver’s license and credit cards. She needed the press pass, at the very least, for the mayor’s press conference in South Lake Tahoe in the morning.

Maybe she could contact Elizabeth in the early morning, in order to retrieve it? But no, Elizabeth had never actually supplied her with any contact information.

She recognized the modern mansion to the right of her. It was Cyril Atwater’s home. That meant the next property down the beach was . . .

Latimer’s.

A moment later, she slowed as she neared the perimeter of the Latimer compound. The huge, multileveled terrace of the mansion was sparsely lit and largely occluded from the shore by several tall pines.

Her purse would likely still be up there. She’d left it tucked in the corner of the couch, and it wasn’t large. There was a good chance no one had noticed it during the post-party cleanup, especially since Latimer and her had been the only ones utilizing the upper level of the terrace. It was only yards away from her reach.

Couldn’t she just pop up the stairs and get it?

That was her logic for tentatively approaching the first set of stone steps that led from the beach and dock to the pool level. Her rationalization was the sole thing on which she’d let herself focus. Her return had nothing to do with her regret for walking away from Latimer . . . with her irrational lust for a man she’d just met.

No. It was all about her press pass.

Her heart began to thump in her ears as she rose up the steps. She suspected an alarm might go off at any moment. A dozen guards might rush her. As much emphasis as Latimer put on security, surely there were motion detectors out here at the very least, if not video surveillance. She wasn’t scared, though. Not precisely. She was tingling with something that felt like anticipation.

A splashing, trickling sound entered her awareness. She paused on the stone terrace, her breath stuck in her lungs.

The pale blue pool glimmered to the left of her, dimly illuminated by several perimeter lights. There was enough light for her to see that the trickling sound wasn’t coming from the pool, however. The surface of the water was as smooth as blue glass.

A low, harsh groan cut through the hushed night. Harper jumped, air hissing out of her lungs. The sound had come from behind a cedar enclosure just to the left of her. The wall of the enclosure didn’t reach all the way to the stone terrace. Beneath it, she could make out a gray mist and water splashing around a pair of muscular calves. As she watched, the solitary man parted his legs several inches, planting his feet. Another tense groan vibrated the still air.

She didn’t tell herself to move. She was drawn irrevocably. Irrationally. Her heart now drumming furiously in her ears, she rounded the wall. It was a shower enclosure, a place to remove the sand after being on the beach.

Latimer was turned in profile to her, completely unaware of her presence. Steam from the running shower curled around long, muscular legs. Moonlight gleamed on the stretch of his wet, naked back and round buttocks. Water streamed down his shoulders and ridged abdomen. His muscles were pulled so tight, she had the random impression he was about to break from the strain. He stood with one hand bracing himself on the cedar wall, his head bowed forward, eyes clamped tight, his body coiled as tight as a spring.