Secret Agent Dad

“Actually, I’m starved,” he told her and realized he was. “Biscuits sound great.”

“Really? That’s wonderful,” she said and proceeded to transfer biscuits to a plate.

Ah, she was eager to please, he decided and continued to study her, contemplating her hands as she fiddled with butter and napkins. Her nails were short, unpolished, but there was a gracefulness in her movements. Gentle hands, soft hands, with long soothing fingers, he thought, and another image winked at the edges of his memory. An image of those fingers stroking his face tenderly while she spoke to him in that lyrical voice. He lifted his gaze, noting the long column of pale skin at her throat, the fullness of her unpainted mouth. He tried to recall her taste, but it eluded him, just as her name did. Disturbed that he couldn’t remember kissing her, he drew in another deep breath, and this time caught her scent—roses and rain. Desire stirred inside him as he continued to watch her, tried to remember what it had been like to make love to her. And once again he drew a blank. As though sensing his scrutiny, she looked up, and her gaze tangled with his. Suddenly the air snapped with the sexual vibrations bouncing between them.

Just as quickly she looked away. “According to what I read in the book I checked last night, having an appetite after an experience like this is considered a good sign.”

“Excuse me?” She’d actually read books about what to expect from sex?

“I have to admit, you really had me worried last night,” she said, as she handed him a napkin.

“I did?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Um, why?” he asked, hoping for some clue.

“Well, mostly because you were so restless. You seemed to be having some disturbing dreams—which is understandable, of course.”

“Not for me, it isn’t. I don’t usually dream much.”

“Yes. But under these circumstances, I suspect it’s only normal.”

Under these circumstances? What in the hell had happened last night?

While he desperately wanted to ask the question, he didn’t. After all, how was he supposed to tell a woman whose bed he’d obviously shared that not only could he not remember making love with her, but he couldn’t even remember her name? The answer was simple. He didn’t tell her.

“So how do you take your coffee?”

The question gave him pause. Evidently they hadn’t been lovers very long if she didn’t know how he drank his coffee. “Black, one sugar,” he told her. Deciding he needed some answers to the questions buzzing in his head, he said, “But the coffee can wait. There’s something else I need first.”

Her fingers hovered over the sugar bowl. She tipped a glance at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have thought to ask if you wanted more aspirin for your head right off. That was a nasty cut you got. I’ll just be a minute—”

“Angel,” he said, something stirring inside him at her eagerness to please him. He reached out, captured her hand. “I would like that aspirin—in a minute. But right now what I want is you.”

He tugged, and she squealed as she fell to the bed against him. Surprise streaked across her features when he closed his arms around her and flipped her body beneath his. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She appeared so genuinely shocked and her tone so schoolmarm proper, he almost released her, sure he’d made a mistake. Then he caught that flicker of heat in her eyes, that shy yearning he’d glimpsed earlier when she’d looked at him, and he decided he hadn’t been wrong after all. “I’m remembering,” he whispered and lowered his mouth to hers.

She tasted sweet. Incredibly sweet and... innocent. And familiar. Yet not familiar at all. He nipped her bottom lip, and when she opened, he slid his tongue inside for a deeper taste. A shudder went through her, reverberated in him. When she pressed her hands against his shoulders, he lifted his head a fraction, again thinking he’d made a mistake. But one look into those soft, dreamy eyes and he knew that the only mistake about this kiss was that he didn’t remember the previous ones they’d shared. So he dipped down to kiss her again and make a new set of memories for them both.

For the space of a heartbeat, she relaxed beneath him, her body molding to fit his like a glove. Her fingers curled, dug into the bare skin at his shoulders. She returned his kiss with an eagerness that surprised him, aroused him, touched some part of him that he was sure had never been touched before. Damn, how could he have forgotten her? How could he not remember this fire that they created together? One thing he was sure of, he decided, angling his head and taking the kiss deeper, he wouldn’t forget making love to her this time.

So caught up in the wonder and anticipation of what was to come, several moments ticked by before he realized her fingers were no longer clinging to him, but were shoving at his chest. He lifted his head. “What’s wr—”

She drew her knee up like a weapon, and he sucked in his breath at the threat. “Get off of me, you...you jerk!”

He pulled back, confused as much by her demand as by the mixture of outrage in her voice and the panic in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, color shooting up her pale cheeks as she scrambled off the bed. “You have the nerve to ask me that after...after mauling me?”

The accusation hit him like a sucker punch, sparking anger and sending a rush of blood through his system that made the pain in his head intensify. “Mauling?”

Another streak of color shot up her cheeks, and she looked away. “At least have the decency to cover yourself.”

He looked down, noted his still-aroused state wasn’t exactly hidden by the briefs. He yanked the sheet over his lower body. “All right. Now you want to tell me what’s going on here? Why the mauling accusation?”

“Maybe mauling was a bit strong,” she conceded. “But you caught me off guard. I certainly didn’t expect you to kiss me.”

Puzzled, he asked, “Why wouldn’t I kiss you?”

Defiance gleaming in her eyes, she tipped up her chin. “Because we’re strangers,” she shot back.

“What in the devil are you talking about? I spent the night in your bed, didn’t I?”

She gave him a wary look. “Well, yes. But I wasn’t in it with you.”

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not. I told you, we’re strangers. I never laid eyes on you before last night.” She frowned. “I know everyone says not to trust strangers, but I’ve always gone with my instincts, and you were hardly in any shape to be a threat to me. Anyway, you needed help, and I just couldn’t leave y‘all out there in the storm.”

Trying to make sense out of what she was saying made his head ache even more. He closed his eyes a second, massaged his temples and tried to remember. “Back up a minute, angel. You couldn’t leave me out where?”

“You know where—on the side of the road where you wrecked your car.”

“I was in a wreck?”

She eyed him as though he’d gone crazy. “You know you were. I don’t know exactly what happened, but you wrecked your car.”

Panic started to sneak its way into his blood as he tried to remember driving through a storm, having an accident. He drew another blank. So he tried something simple—what day it was, where he was. When he came up empty again, he told himself to remain calm. He touched the bandage on his forehead. “I hit my head in the accident.”

“Yes. At least I think that’s what happened. There was a lot of blood, and you’ve got a really nasty cut. You should have gone to the hospital. But the storm was awful, and I was afraid I wouldn’t make it back to town, so I brought you here instead.”

Which explained the headache and his fuzzy memories. “And exactly where is here?”

“My farm.”

“Thank you for stopping to help me.”

She nodded. “You still need to see a doctor, and I’m pretty sure that cut needs to be stitched. But the rain’s still coming down. The road’s under water now, and the phone lines have been out since last night, so I haven’t been able to notify the sheriff about the accident.”

“It’s no big deal, and I’m sure my head will be fine,” he told her, instinctively shying away from the thought of her calling hospitals or the law.

“The worst part is that without the phone, there’s no way for you to even notify your wife that y‘all are okay.”

“My what?” he said, jerking his attention back to her and sending pain slicing through his skull at the quick movement.

“Your wife,” she repeated.

“Angel, I don’t have a wife,” he informed her, then realized he couldn’t remember if he had a wife or not. At least he didn’t think he had one. For some reason the thought of being married had acid churning in his stomach. He darted a glance at her hands and was relieved to see no jewelry at all.

“I see,” she said, censure in her voice.

“I’m certainly glad one of us does,” he muttered, puzzled by her disapproval.

“Pardon?”

He sighed. “I, um, I’m having a bit of trouble remembering certain things.”

“Like what?”

“Like last night. Did you and I—Did we—?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks pinkening. “I slept on the couch.”

“Sorry.” And he was. Judging by the sparks they generated, he suspected the two of them would be good together in bed. He couldn’t help noting the way she kept crumpling and then smoothing out the napkin that she’d picked up from the floor. Nerves, he decided, and for some reason found her flustered state endearing. Maybe they would be lovers yet, he mused. That is, as soon as he started remembering things. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. But there’s one other thing I’d like to ask you to do for me, if you would.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Josie,” she told him. “Josie Walters.”

“Josie,” he repeated the name, trying out the sound of it on his lips and deciding he liked it. “Am I correct in assuming there’s no Mr. Walters?”

“I’m a widow. My husband died about a year ago.”

“Sorry for your loss, and for the misunderstanding.”

“No problem,” she said, giving him a shy smile. “But you never did tell me what your name is.”

Extending his hand, he said, “I’m... I’m...” Panic began to churn in his blood again, making his head throb. Sweat broke out across his brow. He tried not to give in to that panic as he groped for some memory, any memory, of what his name was, who he was, where he was from. But try as he might, his memory was an empty page that began and ended with Josie’s face, the sound of her voice.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have any idea who I am.”

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.