The Cattleman And The Virgin Heiress. Jackie MerrittЧитать онлайн книгу.
Is it all right if I leave?”
Sudden panic nearly choked Hope, and she lifted her arms and locked her hands behind his head. “Please don’t leave me alone…please!”
Matt knew that she was not offering him anything to stay with her; she was only clinging to him because she was panicky and scared out of her wits.
Gritting his teeth, he tore his thoughts away from sex. “I’ll stay,” he said, “but I need a little more room.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll move over.” Hope released her death grip on him and moved over about two inches. “Is that better?”
“That’s…fine.” Her head was still on his arm and her hand on his chest. He slid his other arm away from her waist and laid it down his side on his own torso. “Let’s try to get some sleep now.”
“Yes, of course.” But after a moment she said, “I think that dream was symbolic of something that really happened.”
“Symbolic?” He was trying to get sleepy by pretending he was in his own bed and not lying close enough to Hope to feel the warmth emanating from her body. A state of pretense would be much easier to achieve if she would stop talking.
“I’d hate to think it wasn’t just symbolic. I mean, what if some horrible man really did tie me up?” Hope’s hands were free now, and she absentmindedly rubbed her wrists. “Matt, my wrists have rope burns! I was tied up!”
He’d seen the marks on her wrists, and wondered about them, but he couldn’t add to her horror by telling her about his own misgivings concerning those bruises.
“You shouldn’t let your imagination run wild,” he said flatly, keeping even compassion out of his voice and telling himself that it was for her own good. Until she recalled everything about herself for herself, speculation on her part and suggestions from him or anyone else who might eventually get wind of this drama would only make her more fearful, and she was scared enough already.
“These sore spots around my wrists are not imagined, Matt. And the man in the dream wasn’t conjured up by a troubled mind, either. He’s a real-life, flesh-and-blood person who wants to do me harm.” Hope paused to ponder her own conclusion. “But why?” she murmured, speaking more to her confused inner self than to Matt.
Her determined logic startled Matt. After all, she hadn’t gotten so far off the beaten path all by herself. Someone must have brought her here, or, at least, brought her to a spot within walking distance. And then what’d that someone do, throw her out of his car? Or had she made a run for freedom and her first opportunity for escaping some warped bastard had happened on McCarlson land? Maybe the guy didn’t know the area well and hadn’t realized he was on private property.
But the theme of that newspaper article was that Hope was missing. Maybe she’d gone off with a boyfriend and he hadn’t been the nice guy she’d thought he was. This whole muddle of facts and guesswork could be nothing more than a romantic tryst getting out of hand. And if Hope hadn’t lost her memory for some damned reason then there wouldn’t be anything at all mysterious about her delivery to this part of Texas.
“Can you remember what the guy in your dream looked like?” Matt asked, because now he was thinking that if there was a man involved with the fright she’d received last night, she just might know him.
A shudder passed through Hope’s body. “No, but I know he was a horrible person.”
“How can you be so sure about that, Hope? I’m not trying to be cruel, but without memories to back up your assumptions, can you be certain of anything?”
She hesitated a few moments, then she raised herself to her elbow, looked down at him and said, “I guess I’m relying on basic instinct, which we all have, don’t we, memory or no memory?”
Her eyes, even in the soft glow of lantern light, were as blue as Texas bluebonnets. She wasn’t just pretty, she was sexy. At least she was making him think of sex again. She had on an old shirt of his, and coincidentally it was almost as blue as her eyes. She was as enticing in that worn-out old shirt, with her head of thick, lustrous dark hair in appealing disarray, as any woman he’d ever seen.
“Instinct is…uh, usually a good barometer to, uh, to go by,” he stammered, making a stab at reassurance when his mind was stuck on the ache in his groin. He almost told her about it. He came very close to saying, “Hope, if I stay in this bed for the rest of the night, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you. Can you deal with that? Are you having similar ideas about me?”
Hope couldn’t read his mind, but there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat faster. You’re letting your imagination run wild! If the man thought of you as attractive, you’d have sensed it before now. Good Lord, go to sleep before you make a complete fool of yourself!
She lay down again and turned her back to him. “I’m suddenly very tired. Good night,” she said.
Matt heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Things would be better in the morning, he told himself, praying it would be true. Once the phones were working again, he could let the Stockwells know that Hope was safe. She wasn’t so sound, true, but with the Stockwells’ money they could hire the best specialists the medical profession had to offer to cure her amnesia.
As for him, he’d get over the yen he had for her, that itch he didn’t dare scratch. What choice did he have but to get over it?
Hope’s eyes simply would not shut. She hadn’t deliberately lured Matt into her bed, but that’s where he was, and every cell in her body was aware of it. He was, after all, wearing nothing but undershorts, and the sensation of being held in his arms, pressed tightly to so much masculine bare skin, would not leave her. Her skin seemed to tingle every time she thought of it, and, much to her dismay, she kept thinking of it until she could just barely manage to breathe without Matt hearing her. She would be humiliated beyond words if he should catch on that she was lying there pining for…for…
Hope frowned. What, exactly, was she pining for? Some kisses? Being held by strong, manly arms again? For some reason, even with that erotic ache in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t envision herself under a man and making love. Why not, for heaven’s sake? She had no trouble recalling ordinary things, such as eating, bathing and dressing. And even kissing.
So how come she couldn’t recall the act of lovemaking? Her lips pursed almost angrily. Say it like it is, dodo, how come you can’t recall sex? It’s not because you’re a cold fish, by any means, not when you’re lying here sweating and yearning for Matt McCarlson to touch you!
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