Free Returning Home by Karen Whiddon Page A

right?”
    Sagging in defeat, he opened his eyes. “I thought I... remembered something,” he told her haltingly. “Something that happened between you and me.”
    Hope drew in her breath audibly. “Did you? What did you remember?”
    He saw and noted the barely hidden panic in her eyes and voice. Searching for words to describe the disjointed images he’d seen, he found none. “Noth ing,” he made himself say. “Nothing that made sense, anyway.”
    She nodded. He saw disappointment mingled with relief in her face. She was hiding something that he intuitively sensed was of critical importance.
    But what? More than anything, he wished he could remember.
    “My sister had a reason for sending for you, didn’t she?”
    Startled , Hope’s gaze flashed to his, then away. “What do you mean?”
    Shifting his weight, he took both her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. “We have some sort of unfinished business, you and I, don’t we?”
    Though he could tell she wanted to, to her credit she didn’t try to pull away. He watched as she com posed herself; then, when she had the serene mask back in place, she smiled.
    “No, Jeff. I think we finished it ten years ago.” Gently, she tugged her hands from his. “I’m very tired. If no one else would mind, I’d like to go lie down.”
    As if on cue, Charlene and Clay, with a sleepy Derek in tow, appeared. “It’s late,” Charlene said, her sharp gaze missing nothing. “Clay needs to get home and put Derek to bed.”
    “Clay, it was good to see you again,” Hope said as she stood.
    Belatedly, Jeff did, too, noting the genuine pleasure in her husky voice.
    The two hugged, then broke apart.
    With an awkward grin, Clay held out his hand. “Good seeing you, buddy.”
    Though Jeff knew he had big hands, Clay’s engulfed his. They shook, neither of them sure of what to say.
    “Thanks,” Jeff finally said, following Clay to the door and watching as his friend loaded up his son and drove off.
    Suddenly, he understood Hope’s desire to be
    alone. He felt like a wounded animal, wanting to lick his wounds and hide.
    “Come on.” Squashing his impatience, he took Hope’s arm, trying to ignore her soft skin and femi nine scent. Ignoring his sister’s curious gaze, he steered Hope down the hall to her room. Hesitating in the doorway, he found his eyes drawn to the wide bed with its bright, floral spread.
    “Thank you.” Wide-eyed, she looked up at him.
    “I—” Another flash of images roared through his brain. He saw himself and Hope, their limbs entwined. He felt silky, sleek skin, and searing heat He sensed carnal images, arousing. But, there was more than just mere lust. There was much, much more.
    With stunned shock, he realized he saw himself with Hope, making passionate love on this same bed.
    Arousal shot through him, fierce and commanding. He swayed with the force of his desire, struggling to get himself under control.
    As if she could read his mind, Hope scooted away. “You’d better go,” she said, her voice trembling.
    She was right. He turned blindly to leave before he gave in to the urge to taste her lips, to see if she felt as good as his fragment memories promised.
    At the doorway, he stopped, knowing she could hear the harsh sound of his breathing. He kept his back to her, his shoulders stiff. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “Things are coming back in bits and pieces.”
    She made no comment There wasn’t the exclama tion of delight that he half expected, not even polite interest. Turning back he saw why. Nothing but fear, stark and real, shone in her eyes.
    She was afraid he was remembering only the wrong things.
    He was half afraid of that himself.
    With a muttered curse, he strode from the room.
    After he’d gone, Hope let out her breath. He said he was beginning to remember. She knew, somehow she knew, exactly what he’d remembered as he stared down at her on the bed. She’d seen the desire in his face, felt the power of it