Remembering You: Pushing the Boundaries, Prequel (2 page)

Chapter Two

Three years later

“Fuck, fuck, damn it, fuck, shit, hell…and fuck!”

From inside his car, Ben cursed through his teeth as he put on his hazard lights and pulled off the road into the Denny’s parking lot where the other driver had headed.

The other car, a huge Range Rover, had parked on the far side of the lot. He pulled up along the passenger’s side of the black SUV he had just rear-ended and took a few deep, calming breaths.

It wasn’t like him to be so agitated. After he’d taken those bullets three years ago, he’d become known on the force for being so cool and unemotional in every operation since then, his fellow officers often joked that he was the most well-oiled machine on the force. Everything mechanical, precise and unfailing. He didn’t want to be caught by surprise again.

But he’d been distracted this morning, already late because he had been on the phone with some ass from a big television network who wanted Ben to come on a morning show to talk about his role in the recent drug-ring bust in one of Greenbriar’s neighboring towns.

Maybe he should have been flattered, but all he could manage to feel was annoyed. He was sick of the calls, the fake hero worship. The same shit had happened three years ago, after the foiled bank robbery. Brewer and the hostage who had been shot had both made a full recovery, and Ben had been swarmed by reporters, newscasters—everyone wanted to know the story so they could make money off of the sensational incident.

Fucking media. Bloodsuckers.

Not to mention reporters were always hanging about a crime scene, their mere presence distracting. Keeping them safe took extra work he resented having to do. Fools who put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of a story.

He disliked journalists only slightly less than he disliked perpetrators. They were the reason he’d lost the most amazing woman he’d ever known. And yet, he’d never been able to find out who that voice belonged to—the one from the hospital room, three years ago.

He’d spent the rest of the night talking to her, and she’d gotten everything about him. He’d shared things with he’d never told another soul—like he got lonely a lot more often than he felt good about, he sometimes wished he’d gone to school and done something more with his life…so many things, and she’d listened without judgment.

They’d talked for hours through the curtain, until he’d finally drifted off to sleep as the sun was starting to come up. He’d woken up a few hours later to find he’d been wheeled into a different room, alone except for one of his fellow officers stationed outside the door, barring entry to the swarm of reporters trying to get a piece of him. Rhonda the nurse had told him they would have kept him in the shared room, since he’d been sleeping so peacefully, but the press had started to get too invasive. To protect him and the patient whose room he’d been sharing, they’d had to move him.

But in doing so—by protecting him and her from the fucking media hounds—they’d taken her away from him completely.

He hadn’t asked her who she was while they’d been talking for all those hours. Somehow, the small details of name, job or even the neighborhoods they lived in hadn’t come up. And by the time he’d been up and about, she was long gone from the hospital.

He had debated, back then, whether to ask one of the nurses to find out her name, or at least tell him why she was in the hospital. But not only was that a breach of her privacy—and it would make him feel like a jerk for asking when he knew it wasn’t right—he also didn’t want to risk anyone’s job should one of the nurses actually tell him. He didn’t want
his
job winning him favors he didn’t deserve.

But not a day had gone by in which he hadn’t thought about her. He’d wondered about her constantly. Who she was, why she was alone and how she got to be so understanding, funny and strong at the same time. Things he’d known simply from listening to her stories, hearing her speak. Sometime he wondered if he might be able to pick her out of a lineup by voice alone.

Too bad he’d never get the chance.

Fucking journalists.

Ben was jerked out of his daydream by the sound of a car door opening. Right. He had an accident to take care of—one he’d caused. He sighed, then leaned over and grabbed his license and insurance information and opened his own door, sliding all six-foot-one of himself out of his car and onto the asphalt of the parking lot.

The air was chilly this early, with the bite of early October characteristic of the climate of the Northeast. Even in the city, the wind was starting to pick up.

He glanced at the hood of his car, which was fully intact. Thank God.

Then he stepped slowly around the Range Rover, assessing the damage he’d done to the other car. The bumper had a deep dent in the middle, and there were some paint scratches, but it didn’t look like he’d messed up the rear door, at least.

He poked his head around the driver’s side.

And paused.

Legs a mile long, capped off by a round, tight ass were sticking out of the car, a woman’s upper body leaning into the cab. Ben couldn’t tell what she was doing in there, but he sure as hell appreciated the resulting view. She wore gray leggings and black knee-high boots, with some kind of off-white colored top thin enough to be a little bit see-through.

It looked damned sexy. And expensive.

With an outfit like that, driving a nice car, she was probably a wealthy brat who would lay into him and make him—well, the insurance company, anyway—pay for every last nick.

He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.

The rest of the woman’s body emerged slowly from the cab, like a photo being revealed in pieces. Light silky top floating around her, caressing the curves of her breasts. A curling end of shining, dark brown hair skimming her collarbone. She wore sunglasses, and he couldn’t see her eyes, but he guessed she was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, with a somewhat sharp chin softened by full pink lips turned up in a—smile?

Why was she smiling at him when he’d just hit her car?

Shit. Maybe she had hit her head against the steering wheel and was suffering brain trauma. “Are you okay?” he barked, and when her smile dropped, he softened his tone. “I mean, are you injured?”

The woman laughed, and the hairs on the back of Ben’s neck rose. Her voice sounded familiar. Almost like the woman from that night…the one he’d let slip away…

No. Couldn’t be. Given how attractive she was, he probably wished she were the unseen woman who had been his confidante for a few hours, years ago. He was a fool. The real woman was probably married with a kid by now. Maybe she already had been even back then.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Her face dipped slightly, and he could feel her gaze even through the darkened lenses of her glasses, running over his body. Blood rushed to his groin, surprising him with his reaction. He shifted his stance and rolled his shoulders. The right one was still a little stiff, especially in the mornings, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Her slow perusal of his body, on the other hand…well, better get those hidden eyes back on his face before she spotted the growing bulge in his pants.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m glad to hear you’re okay. And I’m really sorry about causing this accident. I was…distracted,” he finished lamely.
Yeah, right.
If he were an officer who had arrived to assess the scene right now, “distracted” certainly wouldn’t cut it as an explanation for why he had rear-ended her car.

But she shrugged, not bothering to press him for details. “It happens. How are the cars?”

So he’d been wrong about her being a brat. She was actually being more than reasonable about the fender bender. He jerked his head in the direction of the back of the SUV. “Dented. Why don’t we have a look?”

He hoped she wouldn’t start flipping out once she saw the damage. But at this point, he didn’t think she would. Once he got a chance to talk to someone, his assessment was usually spot-on.

Except when it comes to romantic relationships.

After Tania, he had dated only a couple of women, both of whom were completely wrong for him. One of them flirted with every other officer on the force, every chance she got, and Ben finally discovered her in a bar one night, kissing a cop from another town. The fellow police officer hadn’t known she was taken, and had apologized profusely when Ben showed up and broke up with her on the spot. Ben hadn’t needed to hear the apology from the other guy. Some women had a thing for cops. He had been just another uniform to her.

The other one he had dated had been way too young. Eight years younger than him. He was thirty-two now, for chrissakes. He was ready to find the right woman, settle down and have the kind of loving, lasting relationship his parents did. He wasn’t built for going out clubbing and cliff diving like she’d been.

But no one else had tempted him for the past few months, and he’d never been able to completely forget the nameless woman he’d shared a night with in a hospital three years ago. At this rate, he’d probably go to his grave dreaming a disembodied voice was his soul mate.

He turned and moved back behind the car. The woman followed him closely, and Ben caught a whiff of a scent unlike anything he’d ever smelled. It was spicy, conjuring up images of hot, foreign lands and desert caravans.

He wondered what she would smell like if he put his nose to the bare skin of her breasts.

Shit. He shouldn’t have thought that. A rush of arousal attacked him, making him shift a bit to accommodate the sudden discomfort in his pants. He had stopped behind the bumper now and was looking down at the damage, trying to avoid staring at the woman.

She followed his gaze, then whistled. “Quite a dent.” But then she laughed. “Do we have a matching set?”

He couldn’t resist an answering smile. She really was easygoing about everything. So different from the women he usually had in his life.

He liked it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her voice, either. The more she spoke, the more familiar it became. It was so soothing, but teasing at the same time, like the woman in the hospital had sounded. Once again, he wondered…

He shook his head.
No. Not possible.

“Surprisingly, my car is fine,” he answered, giving her a wry look.

“Figures.”

Okay. Good. So now we’ve looked at the damage. Now let’s exchange information and be on our way so I won’t have to keep fighting an erection.

But then she pushed her sunglasses up on her head, and he actually sucked in a breath at the sight of her eyes. Beautiful. Heavily lashed, perfectly shaped.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Get it together, man. Just last week, you led a drug bust with no officer casualties. They call you a machine, for fuck’s sake, and you’re losing it over a woman’s eyes.

First a voice, then some eyes. Eventually, he would manage to fall in love with an entire woman.

He cleared his throat and looked away from her again. “So do you want me to call the police?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and tried not to groan. The guys were never going to let him live this down, but it was the right thing to do.

To his surprise, the woman waved away his question. “No need for police. Neither of us is injured, and it’s only minor damage.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You sure?”

She laughed and pulled her sunglasses back down over those lovely eyes. He felt a pang of disappointment they were covered up again.

“I’m sure. Let’s exchange insurance information and it’ll be enough.”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to push it, but finally nodded. “I’ve got my license and the policy information right here.” He held up his hand, the paper flapping. “I don’t suppose you have a pen and paper?”

She grinned at him and handed him a page torn out of a notebook. “You can use the bottom half of this.”

He took the paper from her and read it.
Josephine Lang
, it said, followed by her phone number and insurance company information. She’d already written everything down. That was probably what she’d been doing when he came upon her bending over the front seat.

He respected efficiency. And in a woman like this, it was downright arousing. But she wasn’t a stranger anymore. She was Josephine Lang. Josephine. Hmm. It didn’t quite suit her. Almost…but not quite.

Ben frowned. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lang—” he began, but she cut him off.

“It’s Miss. And please call me Nina.”

Nina. Yeah.
The nickname definitely fit her. He shifted the paper to his left hand and held out his right. “I’m Ben Crewes.”

She put her hand in his…and fuck if it wasn’t exactly like in the movies, because for a moment—the barest whisper of a breath—the world stopped turning. He froze, the feel of her warm fingers in his the only thing he could focus on for an infinitesimal marking of time before she squeezed his hand lightly and pulled hers away.

His arm dropped heavily to his side, as though it had simply died when she removed her touch.

Freaky. Ben felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. He’d never had such a reaction to a woman.

She turned back toward the driver’s side of her car. “I’ll go grab the pen for you.”

Thank God she was walking away for a minute.

First the voice, and then her touch had affected him deeply. And she was gorgeous, on top of it. Tall too. Maybe five-foot-nine? He had been able to talk to her without bending his head down.

He needed a moment to get the wild, beating arousal to cool down a little.

Chill out, man. Just write down your info, get back in your car and get to work.

He had a shitload of reports to follow up on today. At least it would mean some downtime away from the frantic pace of fieldwork.

She returned, holding out the pen to him, but paused. “You sure you’re okay?”

Her concerned tone made him frown. “Really, I’m fine. Why?”

“You looked a little pained. Just want to be certain.”