Her Forgotten Betrayal (11 page)

Because she wanted this. She had to know. If they took the passion seething between them further, would she recapture even more of their past? Would she recapture him?

As Cole had said, there was only one way to find out.

She brushed his lips with hers. His breath rushed in. Her fingers dug into his biceps, determined to keep him with her if he decided to move away. His body tensed beneath her touch. His mouth inched away, and she prepared to beg. But then his lips crashed back to hers, this man who’d become a bridge between her dreams and her reality. And she was lost, swept along by the need pouring into her from his kiss.

The roaming possession of his hands molded down her back, one aching vertebrae at a time, past her hips. His hands clenched around her bottom, tilting her, settling her more snugly against him. She gasped, and he devoured her surrender. He angled his mouth over hers in a twist that opened her lips wider for the invasion of his tongue. He thrust into her mouth, sweeping her deeper into him and away from everything else.

Her arms slid around his neck. She sipped at him, sucked him in, and nearly cried out at the memories suddenly flashing through her, fueling her desire for him. Memories not of any one moment. There were no images or voices this time, nothing specific. They were only feelings, but they were everything she hadn’t known she’d been missing.

Powerful sensations swamped her, along with the confidence that this was her truth. His truth. Theirs. This was who she’d been, the Shaw she’d lost. And she knew that this, being in Cole’s arms and shaking with the strength and honesty of their need for each other, this was the most real she had ever felt. This was a life worth risking anything to get back.

His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, then the corner of her mouth. She rubbed her forehead against his and tried to breathe. She heard laughter and realized it was hers.

“You feel so real.” She kissed his cheek, his closed eyes, the sinful cleft in his chin. “Have you always felt this good, Cole? I swear I can remember it. Us. I can remember the fire we had.”

He gazed down at her. The backs of his fingers rubbed across her cheek.

“I should be taking better care of you,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“You should be kissing me again.” Her hand smoothed across the well-defined muscles of his chest. Her mouth watered at his masculine shudder. She was drunk with the magic they held over each other.

“Shaw, you—” His lips were as warm and welcoming the second time she took his kiss. “Damn.” He groaned. His thumb tipped up her chin. His eyes, a stormy blue now, gleamed with the very passion consuming her. “I’ve missed you. I never should have left, no matter what he said. How could I have left you?”

No matter what he said…

The memory attacked this time, powerful, without warning. There was no easy glide into a soft, safe yesterday. This time, the past had claws. It ripped at her as she plummeted backward…

“He’s responsible,” an angry voice said in this very room, long ago.

“He’s not, Father. You can’t believe that Cole—”

“Started the fire that killed your brother and almost took you away from me, too? What else am I to believe?”

“He was in as much danger as I was.” Shaw’s skin felt as if it were still on fire, where the flames had scorched her arms and legs. But she was alive—because Cole had gotten her out. “He carried me away from the barn when I was too terrified to run myself.”

“He’s a murderer. The police found his prints on the gasoline can used to start the blaze. Not ten feet from the loft where they found your brother’s body. The loft where you’ve been whoring yourself out to my overseer’s bastard all summer. Now he’s killed my boy!”

“Father, no. Cole wouldn’t—”

“He hated Sebastian. Your brother was trying to protect you from him. He told me what’s been going on. I know he threatened to throw Cole and his no-account father off our property. Cole was furious. He wanted to take you from me, and your brother was in his way.”

“That’s not what happened. We both barely made it out alive.”

“I identified your brother’s body in the burned-out shell of our barn!” Her father was in a rage. “It’s true. All of it. And Cole Marinos is going to pay…”

Shaw jerked violently as the past vanished in an instant.

She fought to stay with it, to see more. But all that remained were the flames, reaching for her, terrorizing her with what she’d felt that night, racing through the woods with Cole, away from the barn, while Sebastian had died inside it.

Sebastian
.

A brother she knew in name only.

Dead by Cole’s hand?

“It’s not true.” She was whipping her head back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t believe it. I won’t. It’s not true. It can’t be true…”

“Shaw?”

Strong arms held her, shook her.

“Shaw!” Cole’s unshaven face appeared before hers. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“The barn.” She didn’t want this memory, but there was no forgetting her father’s anger and hatred. “The fire you brought into my dreams.”

Cole’s expression was once more the remote mask she despised. “What are you remembering?”

“My father and me, arguing about why you left the mountain when we were teenagers.”

She couldn’t piece it all together. But it fit, the same as Cole’s touch and his kisses and the desire for him that stole her breath away.

“My brother. You were accused of killing Sebastian.”

Chapter Ten

Shaw had to get out of there.

“Wait,” she heard Cole say behind her, but she couldn’t wait.

She’d seduced him into kissing her. She’d wanted him to. And she’d even wanted what they were doing to jar more of the past from her mind. Well, she’d gotten her wish, with devastating results. And she couldn’t take another confusing minute of it. She had to be alone. She had to think. She had to make something make sense.

Her head pounding, she left Cole calling after her and rushed up the stairs to her bedroom, where all this craziness had begun last night. She slammed the door behind her and locked it. The calm serenity of the beautiful things her grandmother had once loved settled around her—setting her nerves even more on edge.

She’d gotten exactly what she deserved. She’d invited someone she couldn’t remember into her home. She’d lied to Dawson about him. She’d kissed Cole and loved every ill-advised moment of it. Of
course
he’d turn out to be someone who’d been accused of murder. Her
brother
’s murder. For all she knew Cole really was her stalker, as she’d first thought, playing mind games with her. He could easily be behind everything that had been happening to her, no matter how rationally he’d explained away or avoided each question she’d asked. If he meant to be a threat to her, Cole had her right where he wanted her.

Her mind flashed to his overnight bag. He’d carried it to the office with him. She hadn’t even thought to ask what was inside. Because it had felt right. He had felt right. And even with what she’d just remembered, damn it, he still did. She squeezed her fists against her temples. Why hadn’t she just stayed in her father’s office like a sensible adult and asked him more questions? Gotten to the bottom of why he’d misled her so completely. Why hadn’t she calmed down instead of embarrassing herself and running away again like a terrified child?

It was humiliating, unacceptable, the way trauma had ripped to shreds what must have been a perfectly sane, rational mind. Now the mere thought of having trusted someone others had once considered capable of such a heinous crime had been enough to shut her down. She stopped pacing back and forth across the faded carpet. She spared a glance toward her feline companion, but Esmeralda was still curled in a tight ball, sleeping at the foot of the bed. There was no one she could talk through her questions with, except herself.

She was missing something. She was sure of it. Something she’d sensed for weeks…but it felt closer now that Cole had insinuated himself back into her life.

Wait.

If he’d been that much a part of her High Lake past, wouldn’t there have been something in the Victorian to remind her of him? She thought of how she’d been tearing the place apart, looking for something she couldn’t quite place. Searching. She hurried over to the stack of photo albums that she’d collected from all over the mansion and began flipping through the one on top that she’d returned earlier. She found the pictures from her final summer on the mountain, the summer her brother had died. And almost immediately, she saw what her mind hadn’t allowed her to grasp before.

Every few pages, amidst the array of neatly assembled images, were missing photos. No more than one or two blank spots at a time, but it was enough disorder to seem odd to her now. Someone had ripped pictures out. Photos of her and Cole? That was why she hadn’t recognized him, not by sight. If she flipped through the other books, she expected she’d discover the same pattern. Someone had systematically removed every visual trace of the courageous young man her teenage self had been head-over-heels in love with.

All along, Cole had been the memory she’d been searching the pictures for.

She scanned the bedroom around her. She’d been instinctively drawn to this charming room that said so much about the grandmother she couldn’t remember. And she’d felt just as drawn, even more so, to Cole. She found herself more confident than ever that she was safe in his arms. When she touched him, she was powerful and demanding and independent. She was herself. That’s what was real. Him and her, and here and now. Not the mania that had temporarily shaken her confidence downstairs, because his kisses had helped her regain another piece of who she’d been.

She touched her lips. They were still throbbing.

Her and Cole’s explosive passion had called back her last awful memory about Sebastian, but that had to mean something beyond the obvious. Yes, her father had been understandably furious and grieving. After her brother’s death, he’d likely removed from the mansion all evidence that Cole had ever been in her life. But that didn’t make Cole responsible for what had happened to Sebastian.

So why hadn’t he told her the truth when she’d asked him why he’d left High Lake? She’d felt his protectiveness each time his body had sheltered hers. But had he been ashamed, too? Were the circumstances of her brother’s death what she’d sensed him hiding all along? And if so, what had really happened?

God, she was going to be sick if she didn’t stop thinking in circles. Her aching head was about to throb off her shoulders. She needed the questions to stop for just a little while. She slipped into the dated bathroom that instinct said she’d spent precious time in as a little girl.

She inhaled. The subtle scents of soap and powder and perfume seeped into her consciousness. The tiny black and white tiles on the floor never failed to make her smile. The decor belonged in a fifties-era sitcom, including the fluffy pink rugs scattered everywhere. The enormous claw-footed tub called to her the way it always did. A soaking bath wasn’t the most practical solution for washing away the adrenaline coursing through her. But it sounded light years better than heading back downstairs to confront Cole about how her brother had been burned alive and her teenage lover had ended up accused of setting the blaze.

Her arm shaking, she reached for the taps, opening both spigots as far as they would turn.

Cole wasn’t responsible for Sebastian, she scolded herself, any more than he was at fault for the crazy things that were happening in this house. If he were, why would he have held her, cherished her, the way he had? Why would he have let her go? He hadn’t charged after her or made excuses like Dawson. He was giving her the time and space to pull her panic back from its latest edge. And somehow she knew he’d stay until she pulled herself together. Because he’d promised not to leave.

She walked to the mirrored vanity, leaving the water to warm before setting the stopper. She stared at her reflection, searching for memories in her haunted eyes. Steam rose around her, obscuring things to a haze of white. Her image disappeared, an omen perhaps of how little of herself she’d managed to get back. It was like watching herself fade away for real.

She grabbed the nearest bottle of bath salts with a vengeance, prepared to do battle. Her fears would be waiting for her after her bath, but she refused to let them destroy this peaceful moment, too. She read the bottle’s label as she returned to the tub. She bent to place the rubber stopper over the drain. Her hand dipped into the inch or so of liquid in the bottom.

Her world exploded in agony.

“Ah!” she screamed, dropping the bottle. Glass shattered against porcelain. Pain streaked up her arm, through her body. “Damn it!”

Too late, she realized the reason so much steam had built up around her. The water coming from the tap was burning hot. She looked down at her stinging hand. The skin below her wrist was lobster-red, as if she’d dipped in it fire.

…

A handkerchief protecting his prints, Cole had carefully resecured the hidden door, then replaced the key in the center desk drawer. He’d been mentally kicking his own ass for kissing Shaw again and for not keeping his hands off of her when she’d been practically shaking from the shock of how quickly she was recalling things.

He’d been determined to give her the privacy she needed, as much of it as she needed, while he scoured the mansion for any signs of new threats to her safety. Then he’d heard Shaw curse. A crash had followed. He’d run to find her, bounding up the back staircase, rounding the top banister at a sprint.

“Shaw?” he called.

He raced to her bedroom. He heard a cry of pain from inside, too muffled to make out what she was saying.

“Honey?”

He tried the knob. It was locked. He pounded on the door with his fist. Had he pushed her mind too far?

“Darlin’, talk to me.”

“Cole?” she called out, the broken sound of his name overriding his decision to wait for her to come and find him when she was ready to talk.

He stepped back, drew his Glock, and kicked the heel of his boot into the door just above the knob. The frame splintered, giving way. The door swung inward to a bedroom filled with a haze that grew heavier as he scanned the room. A split second of fear shook him.

Fire!

Then he realized he was looking at steam instead of smoke. Weapon drawn, he entered the room, his weight balanced forward, prepared to react to whatever had upset her.

“Shaw?” If he didn’t find her in the next two seconds, he was going to—

“Cole?” came her whisper from the doorway to the bathroom while her cat raced from the room.

Shaw stood there, fully clothed, shock dulling her beautiful eyes, her complexion paper white. She was cradling her right hand, a dripping washcloth draped around it. Clouds of steam billowed from the half-full bathtub. Water rolled from the ancient dual spigots.

“What happened?” He approached, his gaze inspecting the ultrafeminine surroundings, searching for whatever had scared her.

Shaw didn’t respond. She had eyes only for his gun. The washcloth slipped from her fingers, revealing the flaming red skin beneath.

“God Almighty.” He returned his weapon to its holster, making sure the tail of his shirt covered both. “How the hell did you—”

“I don’t know. It’s too hot.” She swallowed and glanced at the tub. “I didn’t even look. I wasn’t paying attention, but I turned it on the same as I always do.”

Cole left her to turn off the water. The metal of the tap labeled
hot
lanced the nerves in his own hand.

“Shit!” He licked his forefinger to cool it.

He reached for Shaw’s hand and grimaced. She was trembling head to toe, but she bravely held her arm out to him without hesitation. Even after whatever she’d remembered about Sebastian, even after she’d run from Cole in horror, her subconscious trusted him.

Right then, right there, Cole became hers again.

Whatever happened next, whatever it cost him in the career that was his entire life, even if Shaw decided to have nothing more to do with him once she regained all her memories and hated him for his role on the task force—he’d remember this one moment forever.

He swept her off her feet and carried her out of the bedroom to the front staircase.

“Put me down,” she said, struggling as she had when she’d hurt herself in the kitchen and hadn’t wanted him to hold her.

“Let me.” He couldn’t let go. Not this time. He wasn’t certain who most needed the reassurance of physical contact—him or her. As he felt her relax into his embrace, the primal instinct to bind Shaw to him raged ever closer to the surface.

“Cole?” Her head settled exactly where it belonged against his neck, his name a whisper against his skin.

“I’ve got you, honey.” He’d be damned if he let anything or anyone else harm her. “I know we need to talk. But let’s put some ice on your hand and see how bad it is.”

How much of the truth did he give her next? How much danger was she really in, even from simply remembering too much, too quickly, and carelessly injuring herself in the aftermath? He had no idea. But he’d carved a career out of doing his best work without a concrete game plan. He’d nail this assignment, too, once they got her nerves back on an even keel.

A step halfway down the dimly lit staircase squeaked and sagged dangerously, threatening to crumble beneath their combined weight.

“Jesus!” He jostled her to mostly one arm and grabbed the railing with the other, his pulse lurching along with his body. “I think this house has a personal vendetta against you.”

“Sorry.” The arms she’d wrapped around his neck held on tighter. “I should have warned you. It’s been like that since I got here.”

“I’ll take a look at it later,” he promised. He sidestepped the weakened boards and cleared the rest of the stairs in three strides.

They’d left the lights on in the kitchen, which looked far cozier with sunlight dappling in through the windows. He settled Shaw into the chair nearest the fridge and hunkered down in front of her, gazing into her exhausted, pain-filled eyes. Dark smudges of sleeplessness marred the delicate skin beneath them.

“I’m going to get you some ice,” he said. “It’s going to sting at first, but it will cool your skin down and halt some of the damage from the burn. It’ll numb the pain after a few seconds. Okay?”

He could feel her wariness, the weight of everything crashing down on her and of the questions she needed to ask. She reached out her good hand to him, the one with the thumb he’d already bandaged, and brushed his face with her fingertips.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said with a depth of certainty that humbled him.

His goal from the start had been to earn her trust. He’d succeeded in spades, far quicker than Dawson had thought possible. But where did that leave them now? He made himself stand and grab a mixing bowl from the cabinet beside the range. Filling it halfway with cool water, he set it on the table beside Shaw and carefully lifted her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away as he lowered first her fingers, then immersed her entire hand in the healing liquid.