Lovers In Hiding

“I’m okay now,” she assured him, taking a sip of ice water and almost erupting into another spasm of laughter when she thought how ridiculous it was for her to be reassuring him. But she fought back the impulse.

“So your boss sent you to protect me?” she asked.

“That’s part of my job.”

“And the rest?”

“Will have to wait until your memory returns.” He paid their bill, left a healthy tip and walked her to the rear exit of the coffee shop where he’d parked his bike.

She didn’t like his refusing to say more. What was he keeping from her? And why? Deciding to trust him had been difficult enough, and now he had her second-guessing herself. Did he need time to think up more plausible excuses, or did he feel it futile to confide in her until her memory returned?

The worst of the thunderstorm had passed, although dark clouds still blocked the sun, and the air was laden with a muggy humidity that made her clothes stick to her. In the parking lot, stray raindrops rippled oil in black puddles that reminded her of the giant gaps in her memory, gaps that made her so vulnerable. The gusting wind hadn’t died down much, and she appreciated the luxury of dry, new clothes in the chilly air. Still, she was glad she’d left her damp underwear on beneath the clinging red blouse, especially since Clay’s sharp eyes never seemed to miss anything. So she buttoned the denim jacket as Clay looked at her in speculation.

She raised her chin. “What?”

“I should get you to a doctor.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming on?”

“Because I don’t want to take you to a hospital. Too many questions,” he explained before she could ask. “The more people who see us together, the easier it will be for your pursuers to find you.”

His businesslike tone and his casual mention of danger sent a shiver icing down her spine that had nothing to do with her damp underwear, the chilly wind or the storm clouds still overhead. “We could separate to avoid being seen together.”

Exasperation roughened his tone. “Is that what you want? You want me to abandon you to those guys who ran your car into the Atlantic?”

She looked into his stormy eyes and wondered if he was lying again. She suspected no matter what she said, no matter how much she protested, Clay had no intention of leaving her to face the danger alone. He would follow his own conscience and do what he thought best. He had too much honest determination in the set of his chin, too much stubbornness in his clever eyes, too much character in the slant of his cheekbones to abandon a woman in trouble.

She wondered if a man had ever before made her feel vulnerable, scared and yet oddly on-the-edge-of-her-seat wild at the same time. Maybe it was the direct look in his eyes or the way his eyebrows knitted together in concern, but she found herself believing his story. He wasn’t faking his concern. “This is for real, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Someone’s really trying to kill me?”

“My boss seems to think so.” From a compartment in his bike, he removed a chamois and dried water off the seat with clever hands that had long, strong fingers. He swiped the chrome with a few extra strokes, caressing each curve of the metal, stroking the hard edges and corners with a familiarity that told her he’d repeated this task many times. Finally, he wrung out the chamois and placed it back inside the compartment.

“You still want to hide me?”

“Yes.” He swung his leg over the cycle and handed her a helmet while he put on his own. “But first we need to take you to a doctor.”

She accepted the helmet, had trouble with the chin snap and let him tip up her chin so he could fasten it for her. Their gazes locked and she suddenly felt as if she was falling. “I thought you said—”

“No hospitals. A local doctor’s office would be best.”

“Without an appointment?” He had to be kidding. He obviously didn’t live around here, where a typical wait for a consultation took one to two hours—and that was just to get inside the examination room.

Leaving the details to him and wondering why she could remember trivia like the waiting time in a doctor’s office and not the important facts about her life, she swung onto the back of the bike. As at ease with her decision to go with Clay as she was with her position behind him on the black leather seat, she placed her feet on the footrests. Melinda might not have her memory, but she still had her instincts—instincts that told her this man with his hard edges and tempestuous eyes would make a good protector.

Melinda twisted her fingers through Clay’s belt and prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

CLAY NEEDED TO DITCH his Harley. The men back on the beach would have called for backup and would be searching the area by now. On his bike, he and Melinda were simply too conspicuous. He hoped that after he’d parked behind the coffee shop no one had found his bike, disabled the alarm and hidden a bug that would transmit a signal for a tail to follow them. Without a thorough inspection, he couldn’t be sure they’d gotten away from any interested observers, but he refused to take additional time to search, not when Melinda had fought such a difficult battle deciding whether to trust him. He’d seen her eyes mirroring her indecision, and he felt relief that she’d decided to cooperate.