“Miriam said you’d had a concussion before.”
“From the shipwreck.” He struggled to pul himself together.
“At least, that’s what the freighter captain thought.”
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“So maybe the second injury shook things up.” Her voice soothed, talking him down. Her hand touched his knee, giving comfort. “Maybe that’s the reason you’re starting to remember.”
“Could be.” He blew out his breath and faced the truth.
Every spark of memory, every jolt of power, had fol owed some contact with her. The touch in the bar. The kiss on the cel ar stairs. The embrace on the riverbank. Maybe she had been sent to find him. Maybe she was meant to save him.
He recal ed the oncoming semi.
And maybe his returning memories would get them both kil ed.
“Iestyn?” Her fingers tightened. “What is it?”
“It’s you,” he said. “You . . . affect me.”
“You think I’m helping you to remember?”
He met her eyes. “Not only that.”
Whether he wanted it or not, whether he left her or not, he was tangled up in her, snared by the way she made him feel. When they touched and when they didn’t. When she moved. When she breathed.
Christ.
He put his head down on the steering wheel, feeling like he’d slammed into the semi after al .
After a moment’s silence, she got out of the Jeep.
Good. He listened to the sound of her footsteps as she rounded the hood. He needed a moment. He needed . . .
She nudged his shoulder through the opening on the driver’s side. “Move over. I’m driving.”
“Pushy, aren’t you.”
“I never have been before. It’s you.” He raised his head to look at her. Her clear eyes were dark, uncertain. A smile trembled on her mouth. “Apparently you affect me, too.”
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She took his breath away. “Lara.” He stopped, unsure what came next.
“Over,” she said.
He dragged his sorry ass into the passenger seat and watched her fumble with the seat, the mirror, the ignition.
Careful, control ed, the kind of woman he usual y had nothing to do with. When everything was adjusted to her satisfaction, she pul ed back onto the freeway.
And almost immediately put on her turn signal.
“What are you doing?” he asked as they rumbled into the exit lane.
“Finding a place to spend the night.”
“You’re wasting our lead. We could be miles away by morning.”
“You need to rest and I’m freezing. We need a hotel.”
He wanted to argue with her. But the truth was, they both needed sleep. If Axton’s crew caught up with them, they were in no shape either to fight or to run.
“Not a hotel. A motel. The cheapest, sleaziest motel you can find.”
“Don’t we have money?”
“I have my pay from my last job. But we need someplace that takes cash and doesn’t ask questions.”
She turned off the exit ramp into a warren of suburban sprawl, dirty brick and broken concrete and signs with the letters fal ing off. oil ch g. w c me. s rved hot.
Eventual y she found what he was looking for, a long, two-story building with peeling brown paint and sagging white railings and broken glass glittering in the parking lot. She pul ed up under the blinking sign, heart of jersey motel. The pink light of the neon heart flickered over her face. Iestyn grinned. “Very romantic.”
She didn’t smile. “I’l check us in.”
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“I’l do it.”
She engaged the emergency brake. “You can’t go up to the desk like that. You look like you’ve been in a bar fight.”
“Which means I’l fit right in with their regular clientele. You don’t.”
“I’m just as scruffy as you are.”
“You stil don’t look like the kind of girl who rents rooms by the hour. You’ve never been in a place like
