Connelly's Flame (2 page)

Panicked, she flashed her eyes to his and found herself looking into the steeliest gunmetal eyes she had ever

seen. They were alert and they scared her.

****

Finally he was warm.

Fuzzy recollections flashed through his head as he remembered being helped into a vehicle. The

most vivid thing he could remember was the cold. The biting pain of the cold.

Now it was warm. He felt better.

The faint sound of the door opening brought him as alert as he could be. Watching through his lashes

he lay still as the figure of a woman filled the doorway.

She was pretty, if he wanted to think about it. A thick green sweatshirt concealed most of her figure

from him but he would guess she was very curvaceous. Her skin was brown, nut-brown. He would put her

about five-five. Her hair was thick and curly, hanging down past her shoulders, framing her face gently. Her

lips were full and lush.

It was her eyes that got him. They were dark and they stared directly at him as she moved quietly

into the room. It seemed to be almost concern he saw in them and he wanted to know what color they were.

He noticed she wore a pair of black sweatpants and had large fuzzy red slippers on her feet, as if she had

killed Elmo or Animal and turned one of them into a pair of slippers.

As he lay there, he watched her go through his clothes, searching for something. She took his clothes

and left just as silently as she had appeared. He didn’t know who she was and that bothered him.

His mind was just too jumbled right now to figure things out. Before he could do anything one way

or the other, the doorway was once again filled by his mysterious woman.

She moved effortlessly across the floor to stop beside the bed. Her head tilted to the side as she

gazed upon him. “Wake up,” her silken voice said. He refused to move and she spoke again. “Hey, wake up.”

6

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

He’d had an instinctive reaction when her hand touched his face. Without conscious thought, he

grabbed her and captured her wrist in his hand. She gave a frightened gasp as her eyes moved up to meet his.

Chocolate. Sinfully dark chocolates were what her eyes reminded him of.

****

hurt you. I just had to wake you up.” Dezarae could feel the intense pounding of her heart. “Please, you’re

hurting me.”

Those eyes never left hers as he dropped her wrist as if it burned him. He remained silent as she

stood straight and rubbed her sore wrist. “Sorry I frightened you but I was worried that you had fallen

unconscious again,” she muttered, still absently rubbing her wrist.

Those smoky eyes moved down her body slowly and back up again making Dezarae feel as if she

stood before him totally naked. When that intense gaze reached her eyes again, she felt flushed.

Damn it. No man has made me feel like this before. At least not a man I don’t know and have never

met.
Swallowing to give herself extra time to regain her composure, Dezarae tried to affect a look of

indifference.

“Can you stay awake until I get you some more broth to drink?” she asked, glad he didn’t know her

well enough to know just how affected her voice sounded.

Still, all he did was stare at her.
Jesus, that is one unnerving stare.
“I will take that as a ‘Yes’. I’ll be

right back.” Dezarae fled to the solitude of her kitchen and made him another cup of broth. By the time it was

ready, her heartbeat had returned to normal.

This time she knocked on the doorframe before she walked in, holding the cup as if it would keep

her safe from him and his stare. With determined steps, she moved to the bedside and held it out to him even

as his eyes held hers.

“Here, drink this.” She flicked her gaze from his to the drink and back again.
My God, he is

suspicious.
“What, you think it’s poisoned?”

Well, those eyes narrowed as they moved from her face down her chest and back again. They stared

into her soul and assessed her. Unnerved her.

“Look.” She put the cup up to her lips and took a drink of the warm liquid. “It is fine, now come on

you need to get some nourishment in you.” Dezarae offered him the cup again.

One strong tanned hand reached up and took the cup from hers. A quivering began in her belly as she

felt his fingers graze against hers. Bringing the cup to his mouth at the very last second, he turned it and

drank from the exact spot that she had put her lips. Those gray eyes never left hers as he drained the cup.

What would it be like to have his lips on mine? Guess he doesn’t have anything against me yet.

Knees trembling from the erotic picture his lips touching the same place as hers had she took the cup back

and swallowed. Now was as good a time as any. “Who are you?”

He blinked as he looked almost hesitant since she had seen him awake. Dark masculine brows

furrowed in thought. Only to scrunch together tighter before he looked up at her and said in a confused voice.

“I don’t know.”

7

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

Her dark eyes grew big, “What do you mean you don’t know?” She questioned.

A void had settled over him as he saw the information he needed from afar in his mind’s eye and

craved but it was just out of reach. “I mean, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know anything. I don’t know

who you are or where I am.” He gripped the blanket between lean fingers.

“Easy, easy now. We were never properly introduced so you shouldn’t know who I am. Okay. Calm

down, my name is Dezarae. Just take it easy.” One dark hand reached out to touch him in a comforting

gesture but at the last second she decided against it and withdrew it to rest at her side.

He began to breathe a bit easier. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what was going on. If he

could just remember one thing, anything... “So you didn’t ask me to test me, did you?” The dark head looked

around her definitely feminine room and he asked, “You don’t know who I am either, do you?”

“No. I don’t.” A bit uncomfortable, she moved back away from the bed, cup in hand. “You should

get some rest. It’s not like you can go anywhere, anyway.” For a brief second, she spotted a dangerous glint

in his eyes before it was gone, masked under a face of indifference. “Your clothes are still being washed;

that’s why I said what I said.” For the second time in a matter of an hour, she bolted from her own bedroom.

In the kitchen, she held her hand over her chest and tried to slow the out-of-control beating of her

heart. Her gaze took in the rattling of the windows as the storm only increased in intensity. The phones were

down, she had already tried to call the sheriff but she would go in the morning and see if anyone knew her

mysterious guest. Assuming the weather would cooperate.

Eyes open or closed, it didn’t matter. All she could see was his chiseled body. He wasn’t a small man

but he wasn’t huge, either. Full of defined muscles from his head down. Undressing him had been fun; if

only he hadn’t been near death she might have enjoyed it even more. Even so, she had not missed eyeing

over what he offered.

Back in the floral bedroom, the dark haired, gray eyed man fought his growing panic. He had no

clothes save for the boxers he was wearing, no idea of where he was, how he got there, or what he was doing

in this woman’s bed. Topping it off, he had no freaking idea who he was.

The more he tried to come up with his God-given name, the worse his head felt. Looking down his

near-naked body, he frowned as he located a tattoo over one pectoral. It was of an anchor and a chain and the

backdrop was a rebel flag. “Who am I?”

Well, she had been right about one thing. He needed some more sleep and so he snuggled down

deeper into the plush mattress on the full-size bed and allowed the gentle smell of some flower he couldn’t

quite identify to cocoon around him as he fell asleep.

He was sound asleep when she came back into the room.

Dezarae smiled as she took in the stranger in her bed. He had curled up against her stuffed tow truck.

His face was finally at peace. Moving silently, she left the room and went to make herself some dinner.

While it was cooking, she took his clothes from the dryer, folded them, and placed them beside the

bed where he still slept. Again, Dezarae reached out her hand like she was going to stroke his face only to

again withdraw it. There was something about this man that called to her but she wasn’t sure what. It could

have been the real fear she had seen when he couldn’t remember his own name but she didn’t know.

One more glance at his body and she slipped back out of the room with an extra blanket for her own

use that night. As she was leaving the room, she didn’t notice the slate gaze that settled upon her retreating

back watching the sway of her hips with considerable less mistrust in them.

Glancing at her watch, she knew how long she had before dinner and so, sliding on her coveralls,

Dezarae went to the garage and began to work on her vehicle. She was restoring a classic. It was a 1967

Shelby Mustang GT500, obsidian black.

Her hands were gentle as they moved over the shell of the car. Restoring cars was her passion. She

was good at it, as the shop next to her would suggest, but it was this car that she worked on in her free time.

Little by little, savoring the experience, for it relaxed her immensely.

So, with a grin, she lifted out the dismantled engine and began to clean parts again, laying them out

to dry after she was done. James Blunt played through her garage as she worked. When her watch beeped she

8

CONNELLY’S FLAME

Aliyah Burke

stood up, degreased her hands, and unzipped the coveralls, draping them across one worktable, and tuned off

the radio before going back into the warm house.

Her house was small, a two-bedroom, one-bath home. It worked for her but with the extra guest she

was going to be sleeping on the couch. Which was fine, she had done it before.

Pulling the casserole out of the oven, she placed it on the hot pad on the countertop. The smell filled

her kitchen as she walked to the cupboards and got down some dishes. As she turned around, she froze.

Leaning in her doorway stood the man she had picked up along side the road.

He stood there like he owned the place. His body was dressed in his jeans that she had left folded

beside the bed. No shirt and she could see the defined abs that disappeared below the waistband of those blue

jeans. Her eyes traveled over the anchor tattoo that sat on his left pec. Suddenly the rebel flag didn’t give her

shivers; well, it did, but not like it usually did.

He oozed sex as he leaned there watching her with those intense gray eyes. Eyes that roamed over

her body again as if he owned her and the property rights to her. Up and down, slowly, his gaze moved.

Burning her, branding her. It was as if he was learning her most private thoughts just from a look.

“I’m sorry I scared you earlier,” he said in a deep voice.

“How are you feeling?” Dezarae asked him, ignoring the trembles his voice hand delivered her body.

“Good.” He took a step towards her but stopped as she shrank back. A sad expression filled his

handsome face. “I won’t hurt you.”

It was hard for him to explain how her recoil from him felt. It hurt but it was more than that. This

feeling of wanting to make her feel safe and protected felt familiar to him. But she said they didn’t know

each other.

Still, the fact that her beautiful sepia face would fill with apprehension at his forward motion crushed

him. He didn’t want that expression anywhere near her face. So he stayed in the doorway. But his eyes never

left her; he willed her to believe him.

How could she when he didn’t even know who he was or what he was? A groan of frustration left

him as he realized this situation was bordering on hopeless.

Hearing the groan, Dezarae took a step towards him immediately concerned for his wellbeing. “Are

you okay?” She walked up to him and realized just how much bigger than her he was. He stood about six feet

four inches and all of it was well-muscled.

The man managed to contain the next groan that was about to slip out because of his body’s reaction

to her nearness. He didn’t understand it. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Do you feel well enough to eat something?” she asked as she retreated back to the cupboard and

took down another set of dishes.

“I think so.” His gaze wandered over her butt as it was exposed from her reaching to the top shelf.

Regardless of the circumstances that brought him here, his body obviously wasn’t broken as far as sexual

reactions. She was making him feel some very intense sensations. And, considering his lack of memory, if

there was a woman out there who made him feel something more intense it would kill him.

“Well, it isn’t fancy but it will stick to your ribs. I hope you don’t mind chicken casserole.”

“Not at all.” He kept staring at her, hoping she would turn and meet his gaze, but she steadfastly

avoided his eyes. After she set the table, she turned and began to prepare a salad as the house shook from the

force of the winds.

“Grab a seat,” she murmured, as she opened the fridge to take out the pitcher of cold water she had