“I wouldn’t have stopped.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not unless you wanted me to.” He rolled onto his side, facing her, and touched the tip of one breast with a finger. “But I would have gone about things a little more slowly.”
She turned toward him. “How slowly?”
“This slowly.”
He drew one hand down to the damp place between her legs, leaned over, and kissed her—slowly. Thoroughly. Deeply.
Her insides began to tighten again. The delicious tension rekindled quickly, and for a time there was nothing else of importance in the world except the feel of him, the stoking of inner fires and the rising tide of urgency.
Eventually, when she did not think she could wait another second, he eased into her, filling her until she was balanced on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain.
Another release swept through her. He groaned when she clenched and unclenched and clenched again.
“Alice.”
His climax roared through him in pounding waves that echoed through her aura. She held him with fierce passion until he collapsed on top of her, his skin slick with perspiration, his breathing deep and ragged.
“Alice,” he whispered.
That was all he said, but it was enough. For now.
She no longer cared if she had been guided by impulse or intuition. It didn’t matter because for a timeless moment she knew the soul-deep joy of true resonance with another person. Regardless of what happened in the future, she would always have this thrilling memory.
She stroked his muscled back. “I might be able to fix it.”
He tensed and then he raised his head to look down at her. “Fix what?”
But he knew what she meant. She could see the truth in his intense gaze.
“Your amnesia,” she said. “I think I can help you recover your memories of what happened when you killed Mr. Magic. But you would have to trust me.”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I trust you.”
She smiled. “This won’t take long. All you need is a small tune-up. Tell me your dreams, Owen March.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Owen emerged from the shower,grabbed a towel, and paused for a critical examination of his reflection in the mirror. Okay, he did notlooklike a new man, but he sure as green hell felt like one.
“The course of your life has been dramatically altered,” he announced to the man in the mirror. “From now on there will only be Before Alice Time and Alice Time. Got that?”
He refused to think about an After Alice Time. Until recently his future had been locked in fog. The view had begun to clear two weeks earlier when he had started the search for Alice. Now, because of her, the last of the murky vapor was evaporating. He could see the road ahead, and it held the promise of meaning and purpose and something he was pretty sure was joy.
Well, damn. So this was what love felt like.
Try not to faint, March. Not a good look for a consultant. You need to get dressed and go to work.
He had a case to close so that he could move forward in Alice Time.
Alice had showered first and was now dressed in black trousers and a black pullover. Her hair was caught up in a sleek twist. Her tuned amber gleamed in the pendant around her neck and the small earrings. She was sitting at the table, drinking tea that she had made with the in-room machine.
“I’ve ordered breakfast from room service,” she said.
“Good. I’m starving.”
