"I have some memories I wish had stayed forgotten; missions that went wrong, friends I’ve lost." The stabbing emptiness was almost more than he could bear as he drew in her warm scent. "And one missing memory I’d give any or all of the rest to have back."

 

He heard her sharply indrawn breath, and smelled the rise of her fear as she breathed, "What memory is that?"

 

Dark humor twitched his lips as he released her, rising to his feet. "You know which one." His fingers moved to brush the tears from her face. "I want to remember what went wrong between us, so I know what I have to fix, to get you back."

 

She opened her mouth, and he saw the pain and denial in her eyes. He didn’t want to hear how it couldn’t work between them. He didn’t want the frightened, confused woman who stared at him with guilt and reproach. He wanted the passionate, eager lover who plagued his feverish dreams -- the woman to whom all things were possible. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if she was memory, or fantasy.

 

His gaze dropped to her lush lips, gaped in silent denial. Her lips and eyes might say no, but everything else about her screamed a loud, clear yes! Her breath hitched in and out with a little catch that said she was aroused. Her heart drummed his name like a hummingbird’s wings. And the earthy, primal scent of sex filled the air between them.

 

His nostrils flared with the scent, and his groin tightened as feral heat sliced through his belly. He had to taste her. He’d go mad, if he didn’t. Hell, he was probably already mad.

 

His head dropped without further debate, and he ate up her gasp of surprise, even as she stiffened and moved to pull away.

 

"Trevor." His name was an anxious breath ripped from her lips. "We shouldn’t."

 

"But you want to." He was never more certain of anything in his life. Her small whimper of desire as he reclaimed her willing mouth only vindicated him.

 

With a tiny moan, she melted against him, and a growl of possessive desire rumbled through Trevor.

 

Mine, his blood thrummed with the pulsing heat of desire.

 

Mine, the insistent throb of his libido demanded.

 

Mine, his heart and soul cried with the agony of knowing it was only half of a truth. She was his center, his source, the other half of his soul and his true mate. Only the blank wall of his past stood between them.

 

With a ragged cry, Trevor broke free of her intoxicating kiss, staggering backward as he stared wildly at her. Now, more than ever, he needed his past back -- if only to convince this woman the past didn’t matter one damned bit.

Contact Esther Mitchell at:

esthermitchell@esthermitchell.com

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Esther Mitchell is based in the United States

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