Lori Wilde - Racing Against the Clock

In college, her roommates had extolled the joys of sex in vivid detail. Hannah had even attempted the act herself but after one or two groping sessions in the back seat of some guy’s car, she had come to the conclusion that one, sex was noisy, sweaty and not worth the bother and two, she was in the minority in her opinion.

“This way,” Tyler said, leading her up the path to the two-story frame structure built on stilts.

She could see sand dunes beyond, and the ocean shimmering in the distance. It had been such a long time since she’d been to the seaside. The water called to her, pulled at something deep inside her solar plexus. The tide was so elemental, so basic, at once temporary yet enduringly permanent. She was tired of her complex life and had a sudden desperate need for the simple fundamentals.

Food. Water. Love. Not knowing where that last thought came from, Hannah moved toward the ocean.

“Where are you going?”

“Can we take a walk along the beach?” she asked, desperate to clear her head. His proximity was disconcerting. The smell of his woodsy aftershave mingled with the scent of the ocean, creating a powerful draw inside her. A draw she must deny.

Tyler arched his eyebrows at her request. “Sure, if you feel up to it.”

Without waiting for him, she trailed over the shifting sand toward the beckoning waves. She needed to put distance between them, needed to get some perspective on what she was feeling. She’d never been this physically attracted to a man before and she didn’t know how to handle her body’s purely feminine response. Particularly when she could not act on her feelings. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Jane,” he said, and it took Hannah a minute to realize he was speaking to her. “I know that’s not your real name, but I don’t know what else to call you.”

Hannah turned and saw him silhouetted in the moonlight, regal as a mythical knight. His handsomeness took her breath. He possessed an elegant self-assurance and a natural patience. In that instant, she almost told him her name but fear for his safety stopped her. The less he knew about her, the better for both of them.

Wistfully, she thought back to her childhood when her first-grade teacher had read the story of Cinderella to the class. Until that time, Hannah had never heard the tale. Her parents, disdainful of fiction in general and fairy tales in particular, had read only nature stories and biographies for entertainment. Of course, like any little girl, she had been enthralled with the notion of Prince Charming. Excited, she had rushed home to tell her mother what she had learned. Her mother had burst her bubble, telling her that fairy tales were utter nonsense written for silly fools. Then she had pulled Hannah out of public school.

The memory lingered. She wondered why her mother had been so opposed to the romantic story. Now, looking at Tyler, Hannah recalled the joy she had experienced upon hearing that story her first and only time.

What was the matter with her? Why was she thinking these crazy romantic notions when her mind should be consumed by thoughts of Virusall?

“Jane will do fine,” she said, and wished she could tell him her real name. She would have loved to hear him whisper “Hannah” in his low, sexy voice.

“I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be on my way in the morning.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Listen, you’ve been very sweet and I really appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I’ve got to be straight with you. I don’t ‘do’ people well.”

He cocked his head. The moonlight caught his eyes and they glinted with a dangerous light. “What’s that suppose to mean?”

“I’m a loner. I have a hard time with small talk.”

“And?”

“I snore.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you make a terrible house guest?” He gave her a look that raised goose bumps on her arms. What was it about him that drove her hormones insane? Was this what they called chemistry? It felt wonderful and wild and scary and out of control. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. But she loved it.

“Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”

“Don’t worry. I live in the city. The beach house is yours.”

“I won’t be here long,” she reiterated.

“Stay as long as you need.” Tyler stepped closer and Hannah felt both fearful and thrilled that he might try to touch her again, but he didn’t. Discombobulated, she glanced away.

“Let’s walk,” she said and started down the beach.

The chilly night wind whipped the thin scrubs around her legs, sliced through her car coat and snatched at her curls. She took a deep breath. It was good to feel cold. She savored being alive with a handsome man by her side. A man she liked more than she had any right to.

These feelings were deadly. She had to be on her way as soon as she got a good’s night sleep. For both their sakes. Because she could tell by the expression on his face he was feeling the same powerful push-pull of attraction that was grabbing at her chest.

“I haven’t been to the beach house since summer. It’s probably pretty musty inside. Salt water takes its toll.”

Hannah nodded. Silence elongated between them, increasing their awkwardness with each other.

“Are you married?” she asked at last.

“No. Are you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, then she remembered she was suppose to have lost her memory. “I don’t think so,” she hedged. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure your amnesia is temporary. It’s not uncommon in the aftermath of an accident. Spontaneous memory usually returns in a few hours to a few days.”

Fresh guilt swept over her. The more she lied to him, the worse she felt.

“I was married once,” he said quietly. “A long time ago.”

The water lapped at their feet. The moon shone down. She could almost palpate his uneasiness.

“You never remarried?” She angled a sideways glance at him. His face was cast in shadows, his jaw ridged.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Divorced?” she asked, startled to find her throat thick with an unnamed emotion.

“Widowed.”

Then he stopped, turned his back on her and stared out to sea, letting Hannah know the subject was closed. He had loved his wife a great deal, she realized. So much that he still found it hard to talk about her. The knowledge stirred a longing deep within her. Would anyone ever love her with such intensity? Better question, would she even live to see the end of the week?

Not for the first time, she wondered why Tyler had offered her sanctuary. She shivered and hugged herself. If she hadn’t been desperate she would never have accepted his offer.

“You’re cold.”

He slipped off his heavy jacket and draped it gently around her shoulders. He held himself stiffly, making sure he didn’t touch her. He was as discombobulated by their attraction and apparently did not welcome it anymore than she did. That was good. If they both kept their distance everything would be all right.

The jacket smelled of him. Of hamburgers and hospitals, soap and antiseptic. She couldn’t help herself. She found the scent very comforting.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go to the house.”

She stumbled in the sand, almost lost her balance. He reached out to take her hand, but she hung back.

“Does touching me make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

“I just don’t want you to fall, but if you’re uncomfortable, I understand.” He dropped his hand and seemed relieved she didn’t need him.

“I’m fine.” But then she stumbled again, belying her statement.