Page 16

She glanced over her shoulder, and something oddly familiar slid down my spine. Like I was the one who should have been watching my back…hiding something from her? I shook the idea from my mind. It happened often—a seemingly inconsequential phrase, gesture, or object, such as the table in my own damn kitchen. There was history on that slab of wood, and I wasn’t talking about the many years I’d spent there with my dad and brother. Something about it bothered me, yet excited me all the same.

“I could use some air,” she said. “Want to walk?”

Why did this seem so familiar? I nodded, shaking off the weird feeling.

As she slipped into a pair of sandals, I saw into her home. Open, airy, with vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace, and wide windows that overlooked the river. The sun cast a beam of light into her great room. She stepped outside and pulled the door shut, then wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her lips brushed my cheek as she backed away. “Do you remember anything at all about that night?”

“Afraid not.”

We reached the stairs at the same time. I indicated for her to go first, but she halted, lifting a hand toward my face. “Wait, you’ve got a little…” She brushed her thumb on my cheek. “Wouldn’t want people talking about how you were wearing my lipstick.”

“People here talk,” I said, thinking of the icy reception I’d received from the townsfolk—some who’d known me since I was a kid. “Regardless of lipstick malfunctions.”

“No need to give them more fodder.” Nikki withdrew her hand. “I think you’re decent now.”

The corner of my mouth curled up. “You and I both know I’m far from decent. The last memory I have of you proves that.”

“And what’s that?”

“Seattle.” I raised my brows.

She ducked her head, an unmistakable flush coloring her cheeks. “I remember Seattle.”

“What happened between us while I was locked up?”

“Let’s not get into all of that.” She descended the steps, and apparently that thread of conversation was off the table.

I followed, close on her heels. “How about we start with you and the sheriff then? Lyle Lewis, Nikki?”

“We already had this conversation.”

“Except I don’t remember that conversation.”

“Your brother and Jax say you’re pushing too hard. They’re worried you’re going to make the amnesia worse.”

Once we reached the bottom, I grabbed her hand and pulled her around. “You’ve been talking to them about me?”

“I’ve been doing the bookkeeping at the vineyard. Your condition came up.”

“It’s not a fucking condition, Nik. It’s not like I’m crazy. I’m still me.”

“Language and all,” she muttered, disentangling from my grip. She strode ahead several paces and gravel crunched under our feet until we reached the paved shoulder of the road.

“Are you and Jax friends?”

“I barely know him, but I guess you could say that.”

“Like you and I are friends?” I shook my head. “Werefriends.”

She stopped and turned, hands on her hips. “We still are, Rafe. There’s too much history between us.” Her defensive stance eased. “I can’t imagine ever just walking away.”

I reached out and tugged on her arm, bringing her against my chest. Her hands rested on my shoulders, and I stiffened under her touch. Though I no longer needed the sling, my shoulder still ached.

“Nikki…” I licked my lips, tantalized by the thought of losing myself in her, and I almost forgot she was eight years older from the last time I saw her. The last time I fucked her. I tilted my head, closing the distance between us, and moved in for a taste of something I hoped would bring back a spark of sanity to my life.

She gripped my shirt. “What are you—?”