In Love and Rescue: When love is the perfect rescue... Page 9

  What she’d really wanted to tell him was that he seemed like the type that could make a woman scream his name while she gripped tufts of bed sheets between her fingers. The way that he’d talked to her on the boat, and how he’d described her as if he’d spent time poring over her face, had left her wanting him even more than that day in the suite. Considerably more.

  “Fine,” she gave in. “You cook and I’ll help.”

  He searched her eyes to see if there was any semblance of her remembering the time she’d said the exact same thing after burning two Cornish game hens for their one year wedding anniversary. After that incident, she’d decided to play the role of his sous chef instead, writing notes and measuring seasonings because she wanted to be able to prepare an actual meal for him one day. Ironically, although she could tell when a chicken was ready to lay, she had no idea what to do with the egg once she had it. Towards the end of their second year however, she’d actually managed to make a pretty solid beef stew.

  “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty?” He asked.

  “Twenty,” she answered.

  He released her from his grasp and she walked backwards to the bathroom, holding his gaze until she was out of sight.

  They enjoyed their dinner of perfectly seasoned pan-seared red snapper on the open patio, shared a bottle of white wine, and for a moment, it was as if everything had gone back to the way it had always been. As if they were simply on a vacation to celebrate another successful year in their marriage.

  “You like it out here?” Desmond asked, pouring more wine into his glass.

  “The house or the island?”

  “Both.”

  “I do.” She looked at him. “Wish I was here under different circumstances.”

  He nodded and they spent a few moments in silence.

  “Why did you come for me?” She suddenly asked. “You said that you were sent to retrieve me from the island. Who contacted you?”

  He drew a sip from the glass. “Your office.”

  She fell silent once more.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “Have you ever walked into a room for a specific reason, but when you get there, you forget what that reason was?”

  “And then you try to walk backwards to see if you can remember?” He added.

  “Exactly. I feel like that. Like there’s something I’m supposed to remember, but I can’t pull on it. It’s like, I know I booked the flight and came down here. I mean, I was in the suite and there was my luggage, but I don’t actually remember doing it.”

  Desmond’s heart thudded in his chest. “Do you think that maybe you’d been stressed out about something? That Jarvis case was pretty high profile.”

  “Yeah, it was.” She brought the glass to her lips. “My team and I put a lot of man-hours into that case. I was dog tired by the end of it and although I’m usually not the spontaneous type, that kind of stress can change you.”

  “And did it change you?” He prodded.

  “I’m not sure. Because Jarvis was so popular with the public, after the trial, people started doing crazy things. Writing me hate mail. Following me on the metro. I’ve never had that much contempt directed towards me ever in my life. I come from this incredibly cookie-cutter family. We’re practically the Huxtables. The most drama that happened in my family history was when my grandparents on my mother’s side, with their well-to-do background, were abhorred at the fact that my mother had fallen for my Dad. He’s this wonderful, cheesy, bird-lover with a mother that they used to call Louisiana Red because of her creole lineage. After her divorce, she moved to New York with my Dad when he was nine to pursue a career in theatre. It didn’t turn out so well, so he ended up spending most of his life in poverty. Scholarships and hard work got him into NYU so that he could stay close to my mother, who actually hid her relationship with him until they were about a third of the way through college.”

  She held out her glass and Desmond poured more wine into the bowl.

  “But, like my Mom told me, she wanted to marry my Dad and married people weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. If you’re not comfortable enough to bare it all to that person, then either you’re not really in love, or you’re so in love that you’re afraid telling that person might drive them away. She chose the former, told my grandparents about my Dad, and although they huffed and protested, my parents have been married for forty years with no sign of stopping.”

  A reminiscent smile flitted across her face. Desmond watched her and searched for any sign at all that she might make the connection, but there was still none. If talking about her parents’ marriage hadn’t reminded her of theirs, the odds of her remembering him were slim to none.

  “Tell me about the long story,” she urged.

  “What long story?”

  “That you mentioned at Ivor and Eva’s. About your love life. Who is she?”

  He drew a longer sip from his glass. “Who was she.”

  “Oh. Did she die too?”

  He nearly wanted to laugh at the irony of the entire conversation. “No, we’re just not together anymore.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  “You can. I guess you could say that I messed it up. I didn’t trust her enough where I felt comfortable telling her the truth about myself.”

  Larke swirled the rim of her glass with her index finger. “How did the two of you meet?”

  “I saved her life,” he started. “Well, kind of. She was crossing over K Street when some guy in a white Honda completely ignored the crosswalk and blazed through the intersection. I saw him coming and realized that she was so engrossed in her Blackberry that there was no doubt that he would hit her. So, I ran over, picked her up, and moved her out of the way. She fussed at first, at least until she realized what was happening. Then, when she looked up at me, there was something about her eyes. She had these beautiful, sparkling eyes that actually made me forget how to talk for a minute. Of course, my first glimpse of them had been in their angry state, but they flashed to apologetic in about three seconds. After that, she treated me to lunch.”

  He looked up as the same, beautiful sparkling eyes that he’d been referring to stared back at him.

  “So, how didn’t you trust her?” Larke asked. “Did she do something?”

  Desmond shook his head. “No, that was all me. The things I told you about with my mother, father, Curtis, Doug…I never told her any of that. That very first time we had lunch, the minute she opened her mouth, I could tell that she was kind, educated, and came from a good family. Honestly, I think I fell in love with her on that first date, as cliché as that might sound, because even after two hours, I didn’t want her to leave. But since she came from such a good family, I thought that if I’d told her about how I was raised, she’d never be interested in me. So, I made up an entire story about losing my parents at a young age and having to put myself through school by way of the military, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I did put myself through school, but I didn’t want this amazing woman to know about my struggle. My twisted past.”

  “But you never know if you don’t try,” she countered. “If that had been me, telling me that would have only made me more attracted to you. My own father had to pull himself up by the bootstraps to get where he is, so there’s nothing more attractive to me than a man who knows what he wants and works to get it. Maybe she would have felt the same way.”

  Desmond’s gaze lingered on her for a few seconds before he moved it to the dark body of water in the distance. “I’m beginning to understand that now. That everyone won’t turn you away because of your past. Funny thing is though, in a way, she does remind me of you.”

  Larke raised a curious brow. “You know, I was thinking the same thing. Because you kept mentioning beautiful and intelligent.”

  “Is that right?” He asked with a laugh. “But, you’re not wrong. You are that. Come to think of it, your eyes remind me of this group of minerals called ax
inite. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of them, but I came across them once when I was in South Africa. When axinite is processed, it turns into this brilliant, rich, honey-brown stone. Almost like an earth jewel. Whenever I look at you, into your eyes, I think of that.”

  Her blush made him want to reach over and pull her onto his lap.

  “I’m not sure,” she began, “but I think you’re flirting with me, Des. First, what you said on Doug’s boat and now this.”

  He shrugged. “I might be. I can’t help it. Either that, or I’ve become something of a lightweight and these few sips of wine have already gone straight to my head.”

  When she giggled, he realized that she was already there. As usual, as much as she loved her wine, Larke couldn’t hold her liquor even if it was made of metal and she was wearing a magnetic glove.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked.

  “Not at all,” she immediately came back. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve even had the chance to be around a man that I kinda like it.”

  He prepared himself for the answer to his next question. “So give me your story. When was the last time that you dated?”

  She touched a finger to her chin. “Several years ago, now.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Lucas Grant.”

  Even preparation couldn’t have softened that blow. Lucas Grant was the name of the man that she’d dated two years before they met.

  “Were you in love?” He asked for reasons unbeknownst to him.

  “I don’t know,” she replied with a small shrug. “I don’t think so. But, and here’s another one of those strange things, I feel like I’ve been in love.”

  At his confused expression, she added, “I think all this stress is starting to mess with my memory because I’m feeling without remembering. A euphoric type of feeling. Virginia Beach. There’s this guy. We’re holding hands and walking on the beach and I feel like he means the world to me. Literally, at that moment, he occupies every single thought I have in my head. Then, a strange thing happens. When I finally get to his face, oddly enough, he looks a lot like you.”

  Then, realizing what she’d just revealed, she frantically shook her head. “But, I’m not implying that I’m in love with you or anything.”

  Desmond felt like he wanted to explode. He’d heard of instances where people with head trauma lost specific memories—places, people, events—but Larke was the first time he’d actually seen it occur naturally. The more she spoke, the more he realized that the only memory she seemed to have lost was the one where she’d met him. It also didn’t help that he’d made it easy for her to forget him since over the course of two years, he’d never introduced her to Doug or brought her down to the agency out of fear that someone would tell her the truth about him. Yet, she could still remember Virginia Beach. The event was still there, but without her having any recollection of him being someone important in her life, she’d never be able to make the connection.

  “I’m sorry,” she continued, when she realized that he’d been silent for a while. “I probably just made things unnecessarily awkward.”

  “You didn’t,” he reassured. “I was the one who started it anyhow, talking about your eyes and your face and your freckles. And your long, long lashes. Your smile. Your perfect mouth.”

  He beckoned her with his finger.

  “Come over here.”

  She drained her glass, set it on the tabletop, and then walked around the table to brazenly straddle his lap. His hands instinctively wrapped around her waist, never forgetting how to hold her even though it had been over a year since they last had a chance. Four hundred and one days to be exact.

  “Are you relaxed yet?” He asked, stroking her waist with his thumbs. Out of all the clothes he’d stocked that he already knew could fit her, she’d decided to slip into one of his shirts.

  “I’m getting there,” she answered. Leaning forward, she surprised him by pressing her lips against his.

  Although he wasn’t quite sure what to expect, the last thing he’d seen coming was for Memory-loss Larke to be anything like Wife Larke. Wife Larke had been bold. Extremely bold. So bold that it hadn’t been unusual for him to get home and find her waiting for him in bed, completely naked. It was actually more commonplace for him to be at full erection before six o’clock in the evening because of what he’d come home to and seen at five fifty-nine.

  She leaned back and brought his hands to her thighs. Although his head was trying to tell him that making love to a woman that still was legally his wife but couldn’t remember him was a bad idea, his groin was slowly taking control.

  “Do you think that you might be on top of me right now because of that?” He pointed to the now empty wine bottle.

  She pulled the shirt over her head to reveal delicious nakedness underneath. “Does it matter?”

  It sure as hell didn’t.

  He started to his feet, but she shook her head and asked, “When’s the next chance we’ll have to make love on the patio of a beautiful villa on this gorgeous island?”

  He wanted to tell her anytime she pleased since they could always come back, but the lurch in his groin told his brain to stand down.

  Reclaiming his seat, he ran his hands over her smooth, buttery flesh and took a moment to fill his eyes with what his leaving had caused him to miss out on. Then, he pulled her back towards him, crushed their lips together, and traced the sweet lines of her mouth with his tongue, reveling in the taste that he’d thought about nearly every day for the past year.

  Dipping his head, he trailed kisses along her neck and chest, stopping right above the pert, delicious mounds that eagerly awaited his caress.

  He teasingly flicked his tongue over a pearly bud and she arched, just like he knew she would. He then used the tip of his tongue to swirl the tawny brown spheres that adorned her nipples before flicking again, his erection throbbing each time she released a throaty moan into the air. Finally, he took the lobe into his mouth while his fingers teased the other hardened bud, and she cried out as he licked, tasted, and suckled.

  Moving his touch to the burgeoning warmth between her legs, he found the wet nub that held the means for her release and gently stroked the smooth surface until her cries grew frenzied.

  She rocked against him.

  He increased his pace.

  Her hips swayed to match the rhythm, and her nipples peaked against his tongue indicating that she was nearing orgasm. He continued to play, taking her as close as he could to the summit of ecstasy. Then, he stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked, gasping with eyes so glazed with desire that he nearly came undone right there.

  “We can’t.”

  He wasn’t sure if he’d actually said the words until her desire was replaced with confusion.

  “It wouldn’t be right,” he added. “Remember what you said at the wooden house? About me taking advantage of you?”

  She silently looked at him for a few seconds before releasing the grip that she’d locked onto his biceps. Then, she slipped her hands between their bodies and over the front of his pants. She found his thickness, squeezed him erotically, and his erection pulsed in response. Knowingly pulsed, never having forgotten Larke’s touch.

  Still silent, she maneuvered her hand until he felt the heat of her palm against his bare, sensitive and aroused skin. She ran her thumb over the thick head of his length and Desmond realized that he was fighting a losing battle. He wanted her. Needed her. Regardless of what she felt for him at that very moment, he still loved her. Was in love with her. No matter how much distance he would try to put between them, how much he hoped that she would move on, there would never be anyone else for him. She’d possessed him.

  His eyes closed and she continued to stroke him mischievously, expertly. She leaned forward to capture his lips a second time and their mouths moved wildly together. Hot tongues thrashed, throaty moans echoed into the night, and he drank her essence as though sta
rved while she matched his fervor, kissing him with raw passion both unknown and familiar.

  Securing her legs around his waist, he stood and ignored her protests to make love outside on the porch. Next time. He’d make sure that there would be a next time.

  Tongues still entangled, he carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed. The wind was nearly knocked out of him when she locked her eyes with his and motioned for him to climb in with her, something that she always did whenever they made love. He shook his head, gently pushed her legs apart, and brought his lips down to her feminine core. Already close to climax, the minute his tongue brushed over her wet nub, she erupted into a white-hot fit of ecstasy.

  His name echoed off the walls and her hips bucked in response. When she finished her descent, he kissed her folds and took a step back to revel in the masterpiece that was her orgasm: flushed skin, quivering thighs, and slits for eyelids.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, her eyes darting between his face and his hardened member.

  “I’m thinking,” he partially lied. It was hard to think when one head had so much more control over the other at that moment.

  “Then stop,” she ordered. “I want you.”

  A pulse traveled down his length.

  “Inside me, Desmond. I want you.”

  She’d taken him to the point of no return.

  Tugging open the drawer at the bedside, he pulled out a condom. That was another irony. Using a condom with his wife.

  While he tore open the packaging, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue against the throbbing tip of his erection, almost pulling him to climax.

  Sheathing his erection, he poised over her body, captured her lips as though he couldn’t spend more than a few seconds without them, and then slowly entered her warm, wet, familiar haven.

  She gasped, wrapped her legs around him, and the barrier of latex didn’t matter as ribbons of pleasure traveled down his length. At that moment, Jarvis, Gano, and the entire situation no longer existed. It was just him and Larke, their groans and cries of pleasure against the quiet night, and the love that he still felt for her. The love that he knew he’d always feel for her. The one that leaving would never change.