Meg Lacey - A Noble Pursuit

“I’ve also remembered that I really love coffee. Real New Orleans coffee, hot and so strong it could blast the top of your head off.”

She said it with an innocent tone, but when he glanced at her, she looked anything but innocent. She looked as if she knew that his head was ready to blow any minute, and if she didn’t knock it off he was going to haul her into his lap and make love to her until she didn’t care if she ever remembered anything but him. Unable to think of a comeback, an unusual circumstance for a man in his line of work, Shay grabbed his own cup of coffee from the sofa table and indicated a chair.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

Carefully he stepped around the table to sit on the sofa, only to jump up a moment later when she sat down next to him. With hasty steps he crossed to the bright colored armchair at right angles to the sofa and perched there like a confused parrot.

With an amused smile, Juliette curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under her, making herself right at home. “I won’t bite.”

“No. I know. I just didn’t think…”

Man, was that the truth. If he’d thought at all, used even one-tenth of the brains God gave him, he would’ve minded his own business earlier this evening. Even though he suspected he’d been given a poor tip that wouldn’t amount to anything at all, if he’d only used his brains he’d still be staking out the park where he could see the action…and possibly even glimpse his suspect. If he’d only used his goddamn brains he’d have left this lost waif—who was looking less lost by the minute—on the park bench instead of parked all nice and cozy on his living-room sofa.

He took a gulp of coffee and practically spat it back into the cup as the heat hit his mouth and tongue. He’d obviously underestimated the power of the reheat setting on his microwave. He swallowed, feeling as if his throat was on fire.

“Are you all right?”

Her concerned voice exacerbated his temper. When he could talk again, he said, “No, I’m not all right.”

He glanced over at her, and her appealing look made him want to kick himself. What the hell was the matter with him? The woman had amnesia, for cryin’ out loud; he couldn’t have walked away from her. As a cop, he might be a real hard-ass, but as a man…well, he’d recently rescued a kitten from a Dumpster in Cincinnati and taken it home. So how could he live with himself if he didn’t rescue, a two-legged creature? Especially one with such great legs, he thought as he caught a glimpse of bare skin showing through the robe as she adjusted her position on the sofa. Whoa, boy—forget that. You’re here to serve and protect.

Juliette patted the sofa next to her. “Why don’t you come sit with me?”

“That’s not a good—”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Shay’s spine snapped to attention. “Of course not.”

“Well then?”

She smiled, and Shay could swear he saw the remnants of an age-old Greek siren in that smile, the type of woman who lured sailors to death on the rocks. Somehow he was on his feet moving toward her without having any idea how he’d gotten there. He sat beside her, taking care to leave plenty of room so their bodies didn’t touch. Pretending to be at ease, he leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee, unwittingly exposing his ankle holster.

“Is that a gun?”

Ah hell, he’d forgotten about that. He’d automatically put it back on after he’d changed into dry jeans. “Yeah, but don’t worry, it’s legal. I have a license and everything.”

“I’ve never known anyone who had a gun, except hunting rifles, of course.” Obviously shaken, eyes round as doughnuts, she pointed at his ankle. “Do you still call it a handgun if you wear it on your foot?” She grimaced. “And why do you have a gun in the first place?”

Trying to relax her, he teased, “Well, I could be an escaped convict or some…” He stopped, realizing what a stupid thing he’d just said. Here she was, unable to remember anything, sitting in a stranger’s house, wearing a bathrobe. He opened his mouth to reassure her when she tilted her head, saying thoughtfully, “You don’t seem like a criminal.”

“Why not? What do you think a criminal seems like?” God, he’d never known anyone so naïve. It scared the bejesus out of him.

She nibbled on her fingernail as she studied him. “I don’t know, but not like you. You seem to have too many principles.”

“Then maybe I’m a cop. Cops have principles.” And he’d better remember them fast if he knew what was good for him. Never mix business with pleasure, remember?

“You’re not a police officer.”

“I’m not? Why not?” Not seeming like a cop was his stock in trade, so at least something was working right tonight.

She took a sip of her coffee, eyeing him over the rim for a long moment. “You could be, I suppose, but I can’t quite see you as one. You don’t appear that…that…”

“That what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Crude, or maybe I mean hardened.”

“Not all cops are like that, sweetheart. Just the ones on TV. I could be a nice, sweet, sensitive cop who’s in town on the trail of a criminal.”

“What type of criminal?” From the expression on her face, she’d obviously fallen for his game and was playing along.

Shay grinned. “A real bad dude.” The leader of a smuggling ring he was determined to nail. Failure wasn’t an option in Shay O’Malley’s book.

“Bad in what way?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious. I’ve never known a cop. That is, if you’re really a cop, which I doubt.” She recoiled at the sharp glance he gave her. “What?”

“How do you know you don’t know any cops? Is your memory returning?”

“No…” She paused. “It just doesn’t feel familiar, is all.”

He shrugged, automatically protecting his assignment. “Since I’m not a cop, I’m talking out of turn, but I’d guess cops are like everyone else.”

From the way she looked at him, Shay had a feeling she was absorbing everything about him, from his untrimmed hair to his love for Irish poetry. “I suppose they could be, but—” she shrugged her shoulders “—I really wouldn’t know.”

“If you have no experience with cops, why were you so terrified that I’d take you to one?”

“I wasn’t afraid of the police, but the publicity.”

Shay frowned. “The publicity?”

She stared at the blank face of the TV and said, “You know how these things always end up in the news. Poor little person with no memory, found wandering alone. Then you have reporters poking and prying. Everyone making fun and asking questions.”

“You sound as if you know something about the media.”

She sent him a quick glance. “I don’t know that, exactly. It just feels…”

“Familiar.” He found himself transfixed at the way her blush enhanced her cheekbones.

“Yes.”

“Anything else feel familiar?”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, then moved closer to her and took the coffee mug from her hand, placing it with his on the table in front of them. Then he turned back and gently pulled her against him, knowing it was insane, a total mistake, but doing it anyway, not wanting to know if he was trying to get to the truth of her situation or just trying to satisfy his need to have her in his arms again.

She snuggled against him. “This doesn’t feel familiar, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His fingers caressed her shoulder. “This doesn’t remind you of any special man in your life?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “But it does remind me of being warm and cozy.” The old windows in the building rattled and rain pelted the glass. “I’m glad I’m in here,” she whispered.