Now what? She stretched out beside him and rested her head on the crook of her arm. The steady rhythm of his heart beat into her palm. His breathing slowed. In a few minutes, he’d relax. She’d move to the sofa and keep an eye on him.
She’d envisioned spending the night looking through boxes. The loft would have to wait. Not a bad idea. All the excitement had left her drained. Waking up to a new day would energize her for the task. Before getting started, she’d sit on the porch with a cup of coffee. A childhood recollection from the cabin curled into the present. She used to sit on the kitchen counter and watch her father set up the coffeemaker. When it finished brewing, he’d pour straight coffee in a mug for him. The next had coffee with cream for her mother. The last he’d prepare for her, warm milk with a touch of coffee and sugar. She’d felt like a grown-up. Her mother would halfheartedly admonish him for giving it to her. A kiss would lighten her mother’s mood. Love, happiness, her parents’ smiles, the warmth of the mug in her hand. It was if she could feel it again.
Lauren drifted awake snuggled against heated skin. Her cheek and palm rested on his chest. Her leg covered both of his on top of the blanket. His hand curved to her hip, holding her in place. He snored softly. Reality slapped her fully alert. What was wrong with her? Why in the world would she practically crawl on top of a stranger? She moved her leg.
He exhaled sharply.
Lauren leaned back. Damn. Even with small traces of mud on his face, he still nailed the hot, ruffled, just-woke-up look.
His heavy-lidded gaze narrowed on her mouth.
Move! Kissing a half-naked guy she’d found on the steps. Insane. Irresponsible. His lips brushed hers. Irresistible. The burn of desire kindled. Following his lead, she lay on top of him. His erection pushed through the blanket. He cupped her ass and she molded against him. Slow hip movements accelerated to a sensual, tortuous grind. Thrusting. Circling. Mimicking all she could have if layers of cloth didn’t separate them.
Her moans blended with his groan. “Lauren, I need you.”
Cold logic burned through passion. She rolled away and stood. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
Disorientation and a hard-on challenged his brain function. “My name is Reid.” They were about to have sex. Hadn’t they done the name exchange already? He sat up and waited for the logic to fill in. Where were they? How had they met? A sense more than a memory trickled in. He needed her. But why? A vision emerged. Lauren’s arms looped around him. Her legs wrapped low on his waist while he pumped into her. Her passionate cries urging him on as her * clutched around him. An exhale sat hijacked in his chest. “Where did we meet?”
“Technically, we didn’t.” She frowned. “Don’t you remember?”
Voices whispered in his mind. He couldn’t make out the words. “No.”
“I found you unconscious on the steps outside.”
A vision whirled in, stumbling out of the trees. Rain cooling a fiery sensation on his arm. Relief in spotting the cabin. Willing his legs to move forward. The image disappeared. Whispers merged into white noise. His head started to pound. He closed his eyes. “The last thing I remember is coming out of the woods.”
She sank down on the sofa. “Could you have been attacked?”
Someone getting the drop on him? Not likely. But what else could explain feeling like some angry motherfucker had kicked him in the head? “No. I don’t think that happened.”
“Well, what did?”
What was going on? Had someone drugged him? “I told you. I don’t know.”
Her shoulders snapped straight. Some of the compassion leaked from her gaze. “You know my name. You asked for my help. I have every right to ask questions.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just as frustrated about not having answers.” When he’d awakened with her soft luscious curves pressed against him, it had felt like heaven. Then it had come crashing down to this. He didn’t want her anger. He wanted her under him with a drive he couldn’t comprehend. More frustration pushed air from his chest. Reid stood and wrapped the blanket around his waist. “Everything is fuzzy, and this damn headache isn’t helping.” Images hung on the fringes of his mind. More images of them having sex mocked him. He raked his fingers through his hair, scraping hard over his scalp.
“Any double vision or nausea?”
“No. Just a headache.” And a huge, gaping hole of nothing instead of memories. Correction. He remembered her just fine. Sleeping with Lauren didn’t read like some cock-inspired fantasy. Sex that fucking hot, how could she not remember? Unless she hadn’t enjoyed it. That didn’t jibe with the visions, recollections, or whatever pinging around in his head, though. He went to the French doors. The storm raged under a black sky.