It was hard to imagine. He was terse, quiet, and not at all like the rest of the group.
There was no question that he affected her differently than the other guys. They were all handsome, fit, and yet she felt nothing but some vague friendliness toward all of them. As if they were her brothers, or at least friends.
Bo, whom she hardly knew at all, had been taking center stage in her dreams lately—in a mostly naked way. The way he was looking at her now was almost as if he were angry, or as if he were undressing her. She wasn’t sure which, or which she wanted it to be.
“I think it’s time for me to go,” she said too brightly. She stood, pushing her plate to the side.
The guys barely noticed, and after a round of goodbyes, she decided to walk home. Her house was only a mile away and she needed the fresh air. And to get away from Bo Myers. But as she walked to the door, she made the mistake of looking back. His gaze met hers across the room, sending a shiver down her spine.
Then, as she reached for the door, he got up and headed directly toward her.
* * *
BO WASN’T SURE why he was following Erin as she left. She didn’t want his company. He should definitely keep his distance, as he had been doing. A clear, professional distance that ate away at him a bit each day.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept except due to sheer exhaustion. He’d come here tonight to remedy that with a few drinks. Maybe more than a few. He didn’t know she’d be here, and if he had, he would have avoided the bar completely. There were plenty more in Syracuse.
He thought he was seeing things when she’d gotten up on that bar—or rather when she’d been hoisted up by a guy with his hands on her ass. Her dancing had nearly killed him. It was so unlike her—except in private. She’d danced for him plenty of times—only for him.
The Erin he’d known would have died before dancing on a bar like that. Dana did it all the time. It was part of her personality, to be wild. Flirtatious. No one took it seriously—if they did, they’d have to deal with Scott.
But Erin, no way. It was all he could do not to drag her down off the bar, but what she did wasn’t his business anymore. Unfortunately, his body didn’t agree. When she’d started licking the barbecue sauce from her fingers, he’d stiffened and had to wait until he could stand up again.
He’d watched how she laughed and smiled with her crew, not noticing their covert glances at her curves and movements. She’d been one of them, one of the guys—but not now. They touched her more often than they did before. Casual, supportive touches, but still. Things were already changing.
Bo noticed, because he couldn’t touch her at all.
As he caught up with her, she stilled, looking right and left as if seeking an escape. That irritated him. He’d never done anything to hurt her. Quite the opposite.
“Riley,” he said, feeling like a teenager who was talking to the beautiful girl he wanted, but he had nothing prepared to say.
He blinked, his head buzzing. Maybe he should have skipped that last Scotch.
“How are you?” he managed to ask.
Erin always had a way of looking at him. Her clear green eyes would darken to a mossy-jade, and she would seem to completely absorb him with that gaze. For a second, he’d caught that look again when their eyes met across the room. Bo felt that connection, strong as ever. He wanted to think what they’d had was too strong for the explosion, or her amnesia, to wipe out.
But now she looked at him like a stranger. There was a gleam of panic in her expression, as well. Why?
“Hello, Marshal. I’m good. Thanks. Actually, um, I was just leaving.” Her tone was distant, polite. Eager to go.
She was the woman he knew—in her movements, her expressions—but in many ways she was oddly unfamiliar.
He knew what every inch of her smelled like, tasted like. He knew everything she liked in bed and out, and the memories of it had haunted him for months. The thought of touching her made his heart slam harder in his chest.
They’d broken up a month before her accident, and in that time, he’d missed her deeply.
What was there to say, really? He’d asked her to make a choice, and she had. It wasn’t him. Everything hadn’t been right between them, he knew that. They both had secrets, both held back. When he wanted more, she wasn’t willing to give it.
That was that.
The day of the explosion was one of the worst moments of his life.
But she was alive. Here in front of him, staring at him as though she very much wanted him to leave her alone.
To her, he was just another jerk in a bar. Or not even that. Anger boiled inside him, not at her, but at the situation. How many times, and in how many ways, could he lose this woman?
“’Night, Marshal.” She slipped out the door into the evening without another word.
Bo took a long breath and returned to his table and sat, throwing back the last of the Scotch he’d ordered, cursing under his breath as he tossed a few bills on the table. He told himself to let her walk away.
“Everything okay, Bo?”
It was Hank, one of the crew. Bo had worked with them for five years after leaving the New York State Police, with his eye on the job he had now as an investigator. It was his ultimate goal—the only thing he ever wanted, except for Erin. He had to forget about her, especially when he was investigating her case.
Not that it was getting anywhere. She was the only witness to what had happened, and she couldn’t remember a thing. It had been arson, though they had very little evidence to pursue. Whoever had set the fire had known what they were doing. Bo worried that they’d do it again if he couldn’t catch them, but he had four other cases waiting on his desk.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
He dismissed Hank, heading for the door. He didn’t feel like sitting around making small talk, and he could get drunk in his own living room.
It was a warm June night, and he walked out into the parking lot where the faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Picnic tables lined a patch of worn grass that ran down the side of the lot, where folks could hang out or smoke. Or find a few minutes alone, away from the crowded bar.
He looked for Erin, hoping she hadn’t driven after how much she’d been drinking. He heard a noise, and spotted her at the edge of the lot. She was sitting at one of the tables.
“Erin?”
She turned, startled. “Oh, hi. Again.”
“What are you doing?”
He saw her shrug in silhouette. “Just getting some air. Seeing how many constellations I can remember and wondering for the one millionth time why I can tell you exactly where the Big Dipper is but I can’t tell you anything really important.”
He nodded. “Well, you know the doctors said—”
“I
