CHAPTER SIX
Grace
I blinked into the darkness, my body stiffening when I realized I was not alone in bed. Strong arms encircled me, but I felt no comfort, only stifling panic. No happy place to imagine in this nightmare because I had no memory. So, I repeated a mantra in my head: My name is Grace Levinson. I have a name, therefore I exist.
“Babe? I know you’re awake,” a gravelly voice whispered. “Please say something.”
“Let me go,” I croaked.
The warm bands around me loosened but didn’t release me.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
My reply refused to push through my throat because I was choked with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of this man I knew nothing about, but he was the only link to the person I was.
“Christ, you’re shaking.” The arms around me disengaged, the bed shifted, and a light flicked on. My body was moved and then I was staring up at concerned, slate-blue eyes.
The man’s name was Matt or so he said, and I was at his mercy.
“I hate seeing you scared of me, Grace,” he muttered.
“Why are you in bed with me?” I dared ask. “Were we, uh … that close as friends?”
A brow shot up and a corner of his mouth lifted. “You could say that.” His smirk was annoying, oddly familiar, and weirdly soothing.
“How close?”
“Very close.”
Surely no one this vexing meant me harm. I found myself relaxing, but maybe that was his plan. Butter me up for the kill.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, gypsy?” he murmured, leaning over, and kissing the bump on my head.
“I’m finding myself at a disadvantage lying on my back with you looming over me that way. Can I sit up?”
“How’s the head?”
Awful. “My skull feels like someone hammered nails into it.”
He winced in sympathy. “You’ve had a fever for a few days.”
My eyes widened, I scrambled into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in my leg and the anvil weight in my head. “I—what? How many days?”
“Two. Your leg got infected and you spiked a fever when I got you into town. We had to get a doctor in and he changed your antibiotics.”
“You should have left me at the hospital.”
“People are after you. You’d be too exposed. We talked about that.”
“You think I’d remember what we talked about when I’d been suffering from blood loss and hopped up on drugs?”
“There you are,” he grinned, pleased.
“What the hell are you talking about? Shit!” I gripped my head as my outburst triggered an agonizing spasm.
“Calm down, babe.” He gathered me to his chest. His very nice chest. His very nice, muscled, bare chest.
I reluctantly pushed away. I didn’t remember what went on between us before, didn’t he get it? Surely, he didn’t expect us to simply pick up where we’d left off. Memory loss or not, I wasn’t that naïve or stupid.
He sighed. “I don’t like seeing you scared of me. I just saw a spark of your old feistiness, so I know you’re in there somewhere.”
Matt was staring at me intently and I couldn’t look away. There was regret in his eyes and something else.
“So, I’m deducing here, and correct me if I’m wrong,” I started and tried to bring my knees up to hug them as a form of barrier against him, but my injured leg refused to cooperate. I crossed my arms and clasped my upper arms instead. “You’re sleeping in bed with me without your shirt, and I’m assuming this is your shirt I’m wearing. I have no bra, and I’m in my own panties, I hope.”
“They are. Your luggage was delivered yesterday.”
“And before that?”
Matt grinned. “You didn’t have any panties.”
A flush crept up my cheek. “And you slept beside me.”
“Yup.”
“We’ve been intimate before?”
“Yes.”
“Are you my boyfriend?”
His brows drew together in a frown. “Hell, no!”
“Okay. You don’t have to sound so disgusted.”
“I’m not. Listen, Grace—”
“So, we’re friends who sleep together once in a while.”
“That’s one way to put it.” His grin turned salacious. “But we don’t sleep. We fuck.”
“Oh my God.” Realization dawned on me. “You’re Mr. Asshole.”
Matt chuckled. “You’re certainly not the first one who’d called me that.”
“You said you had my phone.”
“Yeah, but …”
“Bring it to me.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Grumbling and mumbling about amnesiac, crazy women, Matt did as he was told. There might be some truth that we might be friends as he said if he tried to call me so soon after the bombing. He actually cared despite being such an infuriating man.
“Here. I charged it for you last night,” Matt said. “Your boss has been calling non-stop and I had to turn it off.”
The phone was prompting me to type in a 4-digit code which I didn’t know. “I don’t know my passcode.”
“Four-four-eight-one,” he rattled off.
“How do you know this?” I asked as I typed in the numbers.
“A friend of mine hacked your phone.”
“Hacked?”
“We broke into it,” he shrugged.
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” I fired back.
“We didn’t need the info from it. Look, Grace, you only have to put in the passcode the first time your phone turns on,” Matt explained patiently. He took the phone from me and locked it. Then he took my thumb and pressed it lightly on the button. My phone unlocked and all these small images appeared.
“I’m pretty sure I pressed that.”
“Must have been the wrong finger or they were grimy. So, what’s so important that you needed to show me?”
“Did you call me right after the bombing happened?” I muttered as I navigated the device. Thank God it was intuitive as I pressed the picture of the phone. Wow, a list of calls and call time displayed. I see a couple from Elliot Holden, who was reportedly my boss, and a couple from Mom.
“My mother called?” I was suddenly seized by emotion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Grace, you were delirious for two days. I had to make sure I had your security in place. I had no time to be your damned secretary, too.”
God, I had bad taste in men. Was I really attracted to this jerk enough to have sex with him? I resisted the urge to throw the phone at his head and found the calls from Mr. Asshole and figured out how to return the call.
I closed my eyes when I heard a phone ringing on the nightstand.
It was Matt. Without a doubt.
He grabbed his phone and showed it to me. “Why are you calling me, Grace?”
Opening my eyes, I turned my phone’s screen to him. “You’re Mr. Asshole.”
“That’s your name for me on your phone,” Matt stated flatly, not so amused unlike the first time I called him that. In fact, he looked pissed.
“Yes. I think I had my reasons for calling you that,” I said. “I think you’re not entirely honest with me as to the nature of our relationship. Are we really friends?”
“What the fuck, Grace?”
“Maybe you find this an opportunity to fuck me over given my amnesia.”
“Grace—”
“Get out of my bed.”
“Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re in mine,” he said icily. Gone was the caring, protective, and charming man. In his place was this cold, forbidding stranger.
I massaged my temples. If only I could get my memory back. “Didn’t take long for your true colors to come out.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he exploded. “Enough with the drama. You don’t want me with you in bed? Fine. I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.”
“No. I don’t want to put you out of your own room.”
“Don’t be a martyr,” he snapped, getting off the bed, and grabbing a shirt off the floor. “You’re injured. I’ll move.” He pulled his shirt over his head and I couldn’t help but notice the ridges of his ab muscles. At least I picked good-looking assholes. Said asshole leaned over and snatched my phone out of my hand.
“Hey? Give that back to me!” I exclaimed, outraged.
“We don’t know who else is after you. I won’t have you randomly calling your contacts and tipping them off where you are,” he explained matter-of-factly. “I’ll make sure to get word out to your mom. Until then, everyone else is a suspect.”
Without waiting for my answer, he turned and slammed out of the room.
I was suddenly jolted with a rush of images of a similar encounter and words that cut deep.
“I don’t do repeats, Grace, especially not with you. This is a one-time fuck.”
He’d walked out on me before. I tried to remember more. The musty smell of the room and the sheets hit my consciousness followed by the feeling of humiliation of not being enough. My breath caught with a flash of naked, sweaty, tangled bodies, and my brain shut off, not willing to peek further into the past because I wasn’t strong enough to handle this yet.
“Oh God,” I rubbed the ache in my chest. “What kind of woman was I?”
My trust in one person was hanging by a thread, and if that broke, where would that leave me?
I couldn’t help feeling like I was a prisoner. He didn’t need to take my phone. Matt could have simply told me not to call anyone yet. We could have had a rational discussion of who was suspect and who was not. But he hadn’t done any of those things, and I was left wondering if there was someone in particular he didn’t want me to call.
Someone who would tell me the truths Matt wouldn’t.