Without a Past (18 page)

“You have anything better to do on a rainy evening?” she quipped.

Her playful tone was too enticing to resist. “At the moment, I can't think of anything I'd rather do, provided we can find…um, what we need.”

She gave him an impish look. “A raincoat of another kind, you mean?”

He nodded. “Lars kept a stash in the loft.”

“Lucky us. As long as they're still in working order.”

Harley laughed and kissed her again. Andi wiggled free. She looked at him and smiled, then took his hand and tugged him toward a large lumpy couch. “The bedroom's right over there,” he said softly, nodding toward the doorway a few feet away.

She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Harley understood. “I know what you mean, but I think Lars would be cheering us on. He wasn't one to pass up a sweet deal.” He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Her skin smelled liked rain. “In fact, Lars once told me, ‘Harley, if you're open and receptive, the good stuff will drop right in your lap.' At the time, I thought he was talking about dope.”

She laughed. “Well, if you're implying that fate set this up, then it would be a tragedy not to take advantage of the opportunity, right?”

“Sweet logic,” he said with a grin. “I love a convoluted mind.”

She pressed herself to him and dropped her hands to his
butt. “I've been lusting after your body for weeks. Maybe from the first day I met you.”

He'd longed for her, too. But, there were valid reasons why he shouldn't become involved with her. How did a car crash change that?

He stepped back. She had a surprised look on her face, but before she could respond, a shrill siren pierced the air. The teapot sent a plume of steam into the air, along with its whistle.

Andi snatched the vessel off the burner. “Whether we make love or not is up to you, Harley. There's something between us, and I'm tired of pretending it doesn't exist.”

She poured the hot water into a cup then set it aside. Before turning around, she lifted the faded gingham curtain. “The rain doesn't look like it will let up any time soon. We may be here overnight.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Are we going to settle this or not?”

A part of him—probably the Harley part—wanted to do the honorable thing, but his mind and body were weary. He felt as though he'd been running a marathon—and Andi was the finish line.

He nodded. “Why don't you pour me a cup of that? First, we need to talk.”

 

A
NDI TOOK
a deep breath. A funny shiver passed through her. She knew the sensation. She'd felt the same thing when she signed her name on her enlistment papers. She closed the distance between them and placed her hand flat against his breastbone. Below the layer of sweatshirt and muscle beat a steady thump.

“I'd rather kiss you,” she said.

Harley covered her hand with his own. “This probably sounds like I'm stalling, but shouldn't you call home first?”

“I know this doesn't make any sense. And it's probably
not something you want to hear. But, Harley, when I'm with you, I feel like I
am
home.”

He looked into her eyes with a vulnerability she'd never seen before. “I have so little to give you, Andi. I barely feel any connection to my life back in Missouri. And I'm slowly getting more and more cut off from this life. I'm in limbo,” he added grimly.

Feeling more confident than she had any right to feel, she kissed the side of his mouth. “That's not true. You're
here.
With me. In the cabin your mother's brother left you in his will. It doesn't matter if your name is Harley or Jonathan. I want to be with you.”

“I want you, too,” he said, returning her kiss with the same fire she'd felt in their earlier kisses.

Maybe a wise person would have waited until there was an understanding—a commitment—between them. Promise of a future. But at the moment, she wasn't feeling wise. “Is there a bed in the loft?”

He nodded. “It's where I slept once my shoulder and ribs had healed and I could climb the ladder.”

“Then that's where I want to go. To make love.”

There was a moment, right before she placed her foot on the bottom rung of the ladder that Andi had second thoughts—and third and fourth. A voice in her head argued the merits of waiting until the trial was settled and she knew whether or not Harley planned to stay in Gold Creek, before jumping into bed with him. But Andi wasn't listening to that voice. She needed this man with an urgency she didn't understand and refused to question any further.

“You're grinning.” His voice rumbled from below her.

Andi stuck out her butt and sucked in her gut so she could look down. Even though Harley's face was barely visible beyond the hem of Lars's oversize shirt, she guessed he had an unobstructed view of her breasts under the shirt. The
knowledge sent a quiver of heat channeling through her limbs. “How could you tell?” she asked. Her voice seemed unnaturally husky.

“Masculine insecurity.”

“Never heard of such a thing,” she teased, scrambling up the final few rungs. The sleeping platform was nothing more than a landing covered in hideous orange shag carpeting, straight out of the seventies. Dark, hewn rafters provided anchors for spiders to build galaxies of webs. A simple bed—double mattress and box spring—was situated right below a tiny window made opaque by the rain. There was a faded yellow sheet covering the mattress. A stack of neatly folded bedding and pillows sat to the left of the bed; an end table made of two cinder blocks and a piece of plywood was to the right.

Crouching in the dim light, she also spotted an oil lamp, a box of kitchen matches and a Zane Grey novel on the table. She quickly lit the lantern, adjusting the wick to produce a mellow glow. She turned to face him. Her nipples felt chafed by the shirt's soft material and she quickly unbuttoned it all the way. She left it on, but made sure the gap exposed the bare skin between her breasts. It was about as risqué as one could get with flannel.

Her reward came from the heart-stopping smile that lit Harley's face as his head cleared the platform. He hoisted himself into a sitting position with his legs hanging over the edge, his back to her.

“How could a person with a fear of heights stand it up here?” Andi asked. She knew the jittery feeling in her tummy wasn't from acrophobia.

“I never looked down. But maybe we'd better move to the bed—just to be safe.”

He wiggled his eyebrows à la Groucho Marx. Andi laughed. First times could be awkward, but she wasn't really
nervous. True, he might leave once the trial was over, but she'd deal with that when it happened. Maybe if we're good together, she thought, he'll be tempted to stay.

Harley scooted backward until he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. Leaning over, he reached for her hand, and with as much grace as a courtier, kissed her knuckles. “Come,” he said, giving a light tug. There wasn't room to stand, so Andi moved catlike to join him.

She had to look down to make sure she didn't impede her progress by kneeling on the hem of her shirt. Harley helped by reaching out and pushing the neckline over her shoulders. Then he slipped the right half over her shoulder and tugged the sleeve free. He did the same to the other side. Naked, except for her panties, Andi stayed in her feline position and watched his gaze roam over her body.

For the most part, Andi liked her body. Her hips were a little wide and her legs were layered with the sinewy muscles of a runner, but her breasts didn't sag; her belly was flat.

“I may not be able to remember everything about my past, but I'm certain I've never seen a more beautiful sight,” Harley said. The look in his eyes started a tremor of desire that turned her knees weak.

It had been a long time since anyone had told her she was beautiful. Desirable. Sexy. She moved closer, straddling him so that her knees framed his hips. She sat—the apex of her legs touching his quite noticeable erection. She moved closer, finding that perfect fit.

Harley made a small sound—air passing through clenched teeth. He jammed two pillows behind his head then reached out with both hands to grasp her waist. When his thumbs stroked her belly, a pool of heat fanned out in every direction, redirecting all thought.

Her nipples puckered, and his hands moved upward in
response. When his thumbs brushed the sensitive tips, Andi couldn't suppress a moan of desire.

“This isn't going to be slow and tender, Andi,” Harley warned, his fingers squeezing. “Not this time. I need you too damn much.”

She covered his hands with her own and arched her back. “It's the same for me.” The movement brought her hips forward. “Why did I put these damn panties back on? And what's with those sweatpants? Why aren't you naked?”

His chuckle preceded a slight bucking sensation that prompted her to move to one side. While she stripped off the scrap of white material, she watched Harley shed the bulky jersey sweats. He untied the drawstring waistband then pulled the elasticized band up and over his erection. His sweatshirt disappeared in one smooth yank.

The warm air rising from the little stove in the living quarters down below had turned the alcove into a cozy nook. Harley got to his knees to meet her face-to-face.

“You are amazing,” he said softly. “I've wanted this for so long.”

Andi knew she'd never felt this intense a desire. The depth of her need left her a little frightened. But she was no coward. “Me, too,” she said, reaching out to brush the back of her hand down his smooth chest.

His nipples puckered. Her hand dipped lower and the muscles of his lean belly tensed.

She closed her eyes as his arms went around her and pulled her close. She caressed his rock-hard buttocks, locking him against her. Naked skin—cool yet steamy—created a language of its own. And Andi's body had no trouble understanding every nuance. She ran her tongue across the hard shelf of his collarbone. He did the same to her.

“Broken,” he whispered, his tongue flicking back and forth in the shallow depression. “How?”

“Fell off the neighbor's mule. Kristin dared me. I was eleven. I didn't tell Ida Jane until it was too late for the doctor to do anything. It healed funny.”

He kissed the old wound so tenderly her breath caught in her chest. “It's so you,” he whispered. “Willful and independent. If we had a child…”

He went no further with the thought.

Andi didn't care. She was engrossed by her exploration. The taste and smell of his skin. His chest was tanned from the warm spell they'd had last month. His belly fascinated her—tight ridges with just the right amount of fat to give it contours.

“You have a beautiful body,” she said. As her tongue circled the depression of his belly button, his stomach muscles contracted.

He jerked slightly and her chin brushed against a velvety softness. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the musky scent of desire and male body. She was ready, and he hadn't even touched her.

As if reading her mind, he drew her upright so he could nuzzle her breasts. She gasped with relief when he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. A sweet pressure built inside her and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing him to her. When he switched to the other breast, his fingers toyed with the neglected nipple, pinching softly.

“Harley, please,” she whispered. “Touch me. Now.”

His gaze locked with hers as his hand found her. His finger entered her and she cried out, melting against him. She'd never felt more consumed with need. “Tell me you found the protection,” she growled.

His low chuckle reassured her. He pulled away and reached for the sweatpants. From the pocket he pulled a strip of foil-wrapped condoms. Andi looked toward the ceiling. “Lars, wherever you are, I send my heartfelt thanks,” she
said then dropped to a seated position, reclining on her elbows to watch him.

She grinned as Harley impatiently opened the first package with his teeth then sheathed himself. Next time, she'd help, but there was something powerfully sexy about the way he did it.

“I can't promise finesse, Andi,” Harley said, his tone apologetic.

She reached up to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. “Just make love to me,” Andi said, closing her eyes to better feel every amazing sensation. “I guarantee that will be enough for me.”

 

“H
ARLEY
,” a voice said.

Harley? Who's Harley?

Still half-asleep and drugged from the most incredible lovemaking of his life, Jonathan had trouble focusing.

Then it hit him. Where he was. Who was running her fingertips up his spine. Who he was.

He sat up too fast. His breath coming in quick, shallow gasps made him dizzy. His head filled with a raucous noise that made him squeeze his eyes shut.

“What's wrong? Headache?”

Her voice was soft, concerned. Harley…Jonathan—whatever his name was—knew something was expected of him. He'd made love with Andi and now he needed to say something. But his throat was dry and his brain was about to explode.

“Aspirin?” he croaked.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, massaging his shoulder sympathetically. “Is it a migraine? I'll be right back.”

He heard her leave the bed and quickly dress. Her feet made faint squeaky sounds on the ladder. He sank into the soft bedding. Once in a prone position, the pain lessened.
From below he could hear her drawing water, speaking to Sarge, adding wood to the fire. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. He'd made love with the woman of his dreams. The plain fact was he loved her—or did he? Maybe Harley loved her. Jonathan was incapable of love. Wasn't that what Miranda, his girlfriend of four years, told him when they broke up?

The memory rushed back. Crisp and clear.