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
