He opened the motel room door and stepped outside, the cool night air caressing his fevered skin. Not only did he have to worry about Collier’s men finding them before the trial, he also had to worry about himself and maintaining control over the crazy, powerful desire Colette stirred in him.
He knew Colette didn’t understand his rules, the ones that had kept him sane for the past five years of his life. She wasn’t the type of woman to enjoy their enforced intimacy, indulge in passion without commitment, sex without love. And he wouldn’t have a relationship any other way.
Pulling his keys from his pocket, he walked to his car. He opened up the trunk and withdrew a duffel bag that held clean clothes and toiletry items. He took a few deep breaths of the cool night air, then went back into their room.
* * *
COLETTE RINSEDher hair beneath the spray for a second time, wishing she had a bottle of shampoo instead of the tiny bar of soap the motel had provided.
As she worked to get the last bit of suds out, her mind whirled with suppositions and what-if’s. The initial panic she’d felt, the horror of realizing Hank wasn’t taking her home, had passed, leaving in its wake a dull resignation.
She intended to keep her promise to Hank. She wouldn’t attempt to run from him between here and California. She didn’t want to put her family at risk by going back to the ranch, and had no money, no place else to go.
In California perhaps she could connect with Marcia. It had been obvious when she’d spoken to the young woman on the phone that she and Colette had been friends. Surely Marcia could loan her some money, help her disappear from those who wanted to harm her. Perhaps she could even talk to Collier again, explain to him about her amnesia, let him know he had nothing to fear from her. Yeah, right. She frowned, knowing it was those kinds of naive thoughts that would end up getting her killed.
She shut the water off and grabbed one of the thin, motel-issue towels. As she dried herself off, she thought again of the man who held her captive.
Initially he’d told her they’d had a one-night stand, then he’d told her that wasn’t true, that he’d lied. And yet she still had a feeling they’d been more than uneasy strangers trapped together by circumstances.
His kiss had stirred a whisper of memory, a remembered response of passion. Why? Had they been lovers? Then why would he lie? How could she completely trust him when she still saw secrets in his eyes, still sensed lies in his heart?
Still confused, she yanked on the pair of black sweatpants and the oversize light blue T-shirt. At least she was grateful he’d realized she wouldn’t want to spend the next couple of days in the same clothing.
Standing in front of the mirror, she did her best to finger-comb her wet hair, wishing for a brush. Shestared at her reflection. “Why can’t you remember?” she asked her image.
What was it that kept her memory firmly hidden behind locked doors in her mind? What event had cast her into the darkness of amnesia? And why…why did she have a feeling Hank was at the heart of it all?
She didn’t fear him physically. She knew if he’d wanted to harm her, he’d had a dozen chances when they’d been at the ranch. Still, he did inspire something akin to fear, she just couldn’t seem to put her finger on what exactly it was.
Oh, how she wished she knew who Brook’s father was, where he could be. Was he searching for them? This was one more reason for her to get to California. He had to be there, waiting for her, missing her.
Surely she’d loved him, had given herself to a man who loved her, a man who’d give his life to protect her and their child.
Maybe he’d find her, help her out of this entire mess. She closed her eyes, imagining his strong arms enfolding her, his lips whispering a promise of forever in her ear. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed against the sting of tears. Someplace out there was a man, Brook’s father, Colette’s prince and sooner or later they would find each other and live happily ever after. She had to believe that, she had to.
She turned away from her reflection and grabbed the jeans and blouse she’d had on before her shower. She left the bathroom, surprised to see Hank reentering the room with a duffel bag in his hand.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, she tried to ignore how completely he seemed to fill the room. Everymovement he made seethed with suppressed energy and overwhelming masculinity.
She watched as he pulled clean clothes from the duffel bag. “I don’t suppose you’d have a hairbrush in there, would you?”
He frowned, as if irritated at the thought of sharing his personal items. “No brush, but I’ve got a comb.” He pulled it from his back pocket and tossed it to her. He straightened and eyed her in speculation. “I’m going to take a shower.”
She nodded, uneasy beneath the heat of his gaze. As he continued to look at her, her uneasiness increased and a flush of heat worked its way up her neck to burn her cheeks. The air seemed to thicken, vibrate with a new tension as his gaze lingered.
Her mouth grew dry and she broke the gaze, focusing instead on pulling the comb through her hair. “Hank, I told you I wouldn’t try to run,” she said, wondering if that’s what was on his mind.
“So you said.”
“You can trust me.”
“Can I?” One of his dark eyebrows rose upward in a gesture of disbelief.
“Was I in the habit of breaking promises to you before I got amnesia?” she asked.
He seemed to consider her question thoughtfully. “No, I don’t remember you breaking any promises.”
She worked the comb through her hair, wincing as she encountered a tangle. “For heaven’s sake, Hank. Go take your shower. I’m not going anywhere.” She just wished he’d go, and take the uncomfortable tension with him.
“I’d feel better if I had a little insurance,” he returned.
“You aren’t taking Brook into the shower,” Colette snapped. “She’s a baby, not a bargaining chip.”
“You’re right. In any case, that wasn’t the kind of insurance I had in mind.”
“So, what?” she asked impatiently.
“Take off your pants.”
