Hard Night Page 7

  Yes, horrified. Because her body had moved without her conscious thought and that had been frightening. Almost as if she’d been taken over by something else or possessed.

  Possessed by yourself. Joanna Lynn.

  She took another shaky breath, forcing the thought away, bending down to examine the clothing Jacob had left her.

  “Avoidance is not the answer. . . .”

  Faith scowled as his voice rang disconcertingly in her head. He was right, of course; avoiding thinking about it wasn’t the answer. She’d been doing that for six months and all it had gotten her was a constant feeling of fear and unease. And that wasn’t even taking into account being shot at by people unknown and having to go into hiding. Then there were the nightmares and now she’d pulled off some kind of fast unarmed combat move while barely being conscious....

  Yes, none of this was good. And it was doing nothing to help her stay in control.

  Jacob, the bastard, was probably right in what he’d told her on the plane, that the best way to take control of her life was to get her memory back. Even if she was afraid of what she might find.

  And if that meant fighting him . . .

  God, she didn’t want to fight him. She was afraid of that, too, not so much of him hurting her, but of what might happen if she did. Of what it might uncover about herself.

  Don’t you want to ask questions about him?

  Faith picked up the pair of sweatpants that also accompanied the T-shirt. They were way too big, but luckily, they had a drawstring, plus she could roll them up.

  She’d had six months of not knowing about him and not wanting to know either, so was his promise to answer questions really that much of an enticement?

  Ah, but then she knew the answer to that. No matter how much she’d told herself she didn’t want to know, she did. He was a mystery, an enigma, and she had no idea what made him tick. But then in the plane he’d mentioned a brother he’d been searching for and . . .

  Yes. She wanted to know.

  Pulling the sweatpants on, she drew them up and tied the drawstring before bending to roll up the hems. Then she straightened, feeling marginally better now that she was clean and in fresh clothes.

  Though not better enough to want to go racing out to find Jacob and get him in a headlock.

  Then again, she was pretty sick of the constant feeling of fear and disquiet, sick of the nightmares, sick of the dread of chaos and uncertainty. Dressing the part, having a routine, and sticking to the familiar really hadn’t helped in the slightest. And now she’d been thrown into a situation where there was nothing but uncertainty and unfamiliarity . . . Really, what more did she have to lose?

  Yourself.

  She swallowed. Would remembering who she’d once been destroy who she was now? Would it change her? Would she become someone else? Someone she didn’t recognize?

  Her blood went cold, an incipient terror icing her veins.

  Clearly, standing around and thinking was not good for her. Time to go and find some distraction.

  She moved to the doorway and went back out into the living area. There was no sign of Jacob, which she was happy about, since she hadn’t quite decided what she was going to do about his offer, so she went on through the doorway that apparently led to the kitchen and service area.

  A brief exploration revealed not only a sizable, industrial-looking kitchen, but a room that reminded her of Sabrina’s computer area in the 11th Hour HQ. There were a multitude of screens on the walls that looked to be receiving feeds from various security cameras, plus a few more displaying web browsers. A desk sat before the screens with a chair behind it, currently unoccupied.

  Faith also discovered the workout room that Jacob had been talking about earlier, a big space full of different sorts of fitness equipment. There were a stationary bike, a rowing machine, a bench and weights, plus a punching bag suspended from the ceiling. The windows faced the sea, filling the area with light.

  She leaned against the doorway, staring into the room, turning Jacob’s offer over in her head.

  “Still thinking about it?”

  His voice, deep and dark, came unexpectedly from behind her and she jumped, unable to help herself. “Could you not?” She turned around sharply, annoyed at being taken by surprise.

  He was standing right behind her, looming over her like a mountain. He’d changed too, into a plain black T-shirt that stretched beautifully over his muscular chest and a pair of plain black utility pants. He was a study in darkness: dark clothes, dark hair, and even darker eyes. Like Hades, ready to drag Persephone into the underworld.

  Her skin prickled, the curiosity she’d been questioning pulling tight inside her.

  What was the story behind that black gaze? And what about the scars on his face, the faint white lines that marred the olive skin of his cheeks. There were more on his strong jaw, too, though they were mainly hidden by the rough five o’clock shadow that dusted it.

  A weird urge gripped her, to touch that jaw and feel the brush of his beard against her fingers, to trace those faint scars. Her hand began to lift before she was even aware of it, then she became conscious of what she was doing and lowered it hastily.

  He noticed though, damn him, his attention dropping to her hand briefly before returning to her face. “Feel free,” he murmured, a rough edge to his voice. “I won’t bite.”

  Her cheeks heated, which irritated her. How the hell did he know what she was doing all the time? Could the goddamn man read her mind? Well, if he could, good luck to him. While he was there, perhaps he could tell her what he found because she sure as hell couldn’t work it out.

  “Thanks,” she said levelly. “But I’ll pass.”

  His mouth curved in a half smile that had the heat in her cheeks intensifying though she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. “Does that mean you’re going to refuse my offer, Ms. Beasley?” His gaze dropped again, taking in her T-shirt and sweatpants. “Pity when you’re already dressed for it.”

  Faith pushed herself away from the doorframe, uneasy with how close he was and how her body seemed to find that terribly exciting. “I think I’ve had enough for one day. And besides, is fighting really a good idea when you’ve been shot?”

  “I’ve done more than that with a gunshot wound before.” The fascinating half smile deepened. “After all, it’s not like you’re going to hurt me.”

  There was a challenging note in his voice and double damn him, she could feel that thing inside her, the mysterious need that always wanted to answer that challenge rise to meet it.

  Was that need part of Joanna Lynn? The woman who could take a man like Jacob Night by surprise and force him onto his knees? Because she didn’t think it was part of Faith Beasley, the cool, calm, and collected organizer for the 11th Hour.

  How would you know?

  That was the problem, she didn’t know.

  Then perhaps it’s time you did?

  Faith leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, her heartbeat thudding louder in her head. She wasn’t seriously contemplating this, was she? “You said you’d answer any questions. That still on the table?”

  Yes, apparently, she was.

  “Of course.” He put a hand on the wooden frame just above her head, leaning on it. A not-so-subtle dominating move. “As long as you win.”

  She frowned. “You didn’t mention that before.”

  “No, it’s true. I didn’t.”

  “That’s hardly fair.”

  “Why not?” One black brow rose. “Don’t think you can beat me?”

  He was very close, the hard wall of his chest right in front of her, his heat making her feel like she was only inches away from a roaring fire. It was disconcerting and . . .

  Exciting.

  She lifted her chin, not wanting him to know what kind of effect he was having on her. “I had you on your knees before. Maybe I can again.”

  This time his smile was fierce, his deep-set eyes glittering. “You’re certainly fre
e to try, Ms. Beasley. Right now if you like.”

  She shouldn’t. She should refuse and go back to the living room, keep reading her book. Or go into the kitchen and fix herself something to eat. Keep avoiding all the frightening things, keep herself safe.

  But there was something about Jacob’s smile, about the ferocity in it that sparked a response in her. The same one that liked the challenge. It was almost as if she wanted the chance to prove herself to him, which was ridiculous since she didn’t have anything to prove.

  Yet she found she simply couldn’t walk away.

  Instead she stared up at him, her heartbeat accelerating, adrenaline surging in her blood. Then without a word she pushed away from the doorframe and backed into the gym.

  Surprise flickered through Jacob’s eyes, which was gratifying, but then that disappeared, his harsh, compelling face settling into intent lines that made her pulse thud loudly in her head.

  He didn’t hesitate, coming through the door after her and following her over to the clear area near the punching bag.

  A mat had been laid on the floor to provide a bit of a cushion from the bare floorboards beneath, but it was still going to hurt if she fell on it.

  Or was thrown.

  Faith stopped. God, what the hell was she doing? Yes, she’d taken him by surprise earlier, but he hadn’t been expecting her to suddenly be an expert in unarmed combat. And she’d been half-asleep, responding to an instinct she only half understood.

  Now, watching him come toward her, tall and broad-shouldered and muscular, moving fluidly and with that deadly predator’s grace, she was seriously beginning to question her choices.

  She knew nothing about unarmed combat. Nothing at all. Or at least, she knew nothing consciously about it.

  But Joanna Lynn does.

  Well, Joanna might, but Faith? Not so much.

  “I should warn you that I don’t know how to do this,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as scared as she actually was. “So you might want to keep that in mind.”

  Jacob came to a stop at the edge of the mat, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he’d changed his mind. His posture looked relaxed enough, but readiness and tension were in every line of him, his focus completely on her.

  It made her breathless.

  “I certainly will, Ms. Beasley.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Are you ready?”

  She gave a nod, ready as she’d ever be.

  Then he came for her.

  * * *

  Jacob knew the moment he took that first step toward her that Faith was telling him the truth. She really didn’t know what she was doing.

  That wasn’t going to stop him though.

  A rush of adrenaline or fear could prompt people to act instinctively rather than logically, and he was hoping the instinct to protect herself would drive her to reach beyond the veil cloaking her memory. And hopefully, that would give them the breakthrough they needed.

  Or rather, the breakthrough that he needed.

  All he had to do was provide her with the right incentive.

  He moved fast, heading straight for her, and her eyes went wide. She stumbled back a few steps, lifting her hands to stop him, but he’d already come to a halt at the edge of the mat.

  He’d give her a few moments to understand he wasn’t going to hold back, then he’d try again.

  “Don’t think, Ms. Beasley.” Slowly he backed away to the opposite side of the mat again. “Just follow your instinct.”

  She took a couple of deep breaths and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a giant coming at you looking like he wants to kill you.”

  “If it helps, I’m not coming to kill you.”

  “Then why are you looking at me like you want to?”

  “Because instinct happens in moments of pure adrenaline,” he said. “When you’re intensely angry or afraid. So if I make you angry or afraid enough, maybe you’ll connect with the memories you’ve dissociated from.”

  She frowned as she cautiously approached the side of the mat opposite him. “I haven’t dissociated. It’s amnesia.”

  Just as she’d never asked him about her previous life, she’d never asked him about what had triggered her memory loss. In fact, she hadn’t seemed interested in learning more about it at all.

  Maybe this was progress?

  “Yes,” he said. “But it’s possibly connected with a traumatic incident. Your brain has essentially forgotten in order to protect you.” He paused. “It’s likely that’s why you don’t want to remember.”

  The look on her face tightened. “So why are you making me?”

  If he’d been a kinder man he might have felt sorry for her. Perhaps even reconsidered his position. But he wasn’t a kinder man and once he’d made a decision, he seldom changed it. Especially not when it concerned his brother.

  He’d lost everything that had ever mattered to him and now he was so close to regaining the last link he had to the family he’d loved, he wasn’t going to let anything get in his way.

  So all he said was “You know why.”

  “But I—”

  He didn’t let her finish, coming at her again without giving her any time to prepare herself. And this time when she backed away hurriedly, he kept on coming, grabbing both her wrists and taking them behind her, holding them pinned in the small of her back.

  She gave a soft gasp, but didn’t struggle or pull any fancy moves, merely stiffening, her eyes darkening until they were the color of the sky at midnight. Her body was pressed the length of his, breasts, stomach, hips, and thighs all held tight against him. She was warm, very warm.

  Mistake, you fucking idiot.

  The thought flashed through his brain, trailing sparks and fire like a comet. He’d never let himself get this close to her before. He’d never been stupid enough. So what the hell was the matter with him now?

  She was staring up at him as if mesmerized, her mouth going full and soft. Her muscles had loosened, no longer so stiff, and she didn’t fight him. In fact, if he wasn’t much mistaken, it felt like she was relaxing, melting against him instead.

  Which was definitely not supposed to happen.

  “Fight me,” he ordered harshly, gripping her wrists tighter.

  But she only blinked up at him, the softness of her breasts pushing against his chest as she took a shaken breath in.

  His body hardened in response and he nearly growled.

  Fuck, this chemistry between them was making everything far more difficult than it needed to be, not to mention making him aware that his control was far more tenuous than he’d thought.

  Irritated at himself, he held her even tighter, then bent his head, getting in her face. “Fight me, damn you.”

  She took a shaky breath. But didn’t move.

  Jesus.

  He bent even closer, inches away from that wide blue gaze, staring fiercely at her. “Fight me, Joanna.”

  And deep in the endless dark of her eyes, something flickered.

  It was the only warning he got.

  She surged upward suddenly, her forehead connecting with his and making pain explode in his skull. He tried to retain his grip on her wrists, but she used his split second of shock to twist and somehow get free. Then she moved again, fast, her foot connecting with the gunshot wound in his thigh, sending another burst of agony through him. He cursed, trying to grab her ankle, but it was gone. Instead, her fingers closed around his wrist and with a sudden, fierce strength, she jerked his arm up behind his back, at the same time as she kicked at the back of his leg.

  He went down onto his knees for the second time that goddamn day, pain still ringing through his head, his wound throbbing, his arm held up behind him at an agonizing angle.

  Holy fuck. Again? Really?

  He could hear her breathing behind him, fast and hard, and the savage excitement that had hit him back in the living room when she’d had him down on his knees surged through him once more, overwhe
lming the pain.

  Yes, fuck yes.

  It might not be her memory returning, but certainly instinct had her in its grip now and he needed it to tighten its hold on her.

  So he only waited long enough for the pressure on his arm to loosen slightly, then using his superior strength, he jerked it down, tearing her grip free of his wrist and twisting around.

  She danced back, light on her feet. There was an intentness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before, examining him as if he were a mountain to climb or a castle to conquer.

  Excitement beat hard inside him as the heel of her palm came up, ready to connect to his jaw. He ducked low, sweeping his arm out to hook around her waist and jerking her off balance. Then he kicked her ankle out from underneath her and brought her down hard onto the mat. She twisted like an eel, but he was faster, flipping her over onto her back, then coming down on top of her.

  She struggled, trying to bring her legs up to kick him again, but he pushed his hips between her thighs, letting the weight of his lower body pin her. He held himself braced above her, his hands flat to the mat on either side of her head, ignoring the way she pushed at his shoulders and chest, at the way she wriggled and twisted beneath him.

  Her movements were getting him hard, but he ignored that, too, concentrating instead on her face. A flush stained her cheeks, a spark glowing hot in her eyes.

  A spark that looked a hell of a lot like fury.

  “Get off me.” Her voice had thickened, her hands coming to his shoulders and shoving hard. “Get the hell off!”

  But he didn’t move. Instead he bared his teeth, looking into her eyes, addressing the instinct he saw burning in them. “Make me.”

  She cursed and shoved at him again before angling her body, trying to bring her knee up so she could jam it against the gunshot wound in his thigh.

  He kept still, allowing his lower body to press even harder against her, pinning her more firmly.

  “Fuck you,” she spat in a voice that sounded completely unlike hers, then shoved her elbow at his face.