Liberty (4 page)

She fed him some and he immediately recognized the taste. It reminded him of childhood, a summer day, when he was a boy sitting on a park bench eating it out of a paper cup, but that was it. His memory dried up like a puddle on a hot day.

He ate most of it, watching her as she snuck a few spoonfuls. It was intimate, sharing an object that both their mouths had touched. Her lips were pillowy soft; they were perfect with no trace of lipstick. He could almost remember the way they felt, but that could have been one of his foggy dreams. He would feel them soon. He would have her.

“You’re exhausted.” She fingered his scar with her thumb. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

He was exhausted, eating and keeping his eyes open exhausted him. He was sick of being sick.

Tomorrow.

He would start his life over tomorrow. He would take care of his soft wife instead of the other way around.

“Lay back, Ryan. I bought you a real blanket when I was out. You won’t be cold tonight.”

She leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of the tops of her breasts before she placed a chenille blanket across him. The blanket was nice, but there was only one thing that was going to keep him warm tonight. He grabbed her hand, his grip strong this time.

“What is it? Do you need something?”

He sat up unassisted and put his hands on her small waist. She froze again and he silently cursed. He had to figure out why she was so adverse to his touch. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life with a flinching woman. He drew her close to him and hugged her as tightly as he could manage. It took all his strength to do that. He leaned against her, losing the ability to support himself.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered. “Go to sleep, honey.” He didn’t let go of her.

She sighed.

“You want me to sleep with you, don’t you?”

He looked up at her and grunted. She looked apprehensive, but he caught her eye and held contact. He saw the moment when she relented. It was then that he laid down.

She kicked off her shoes before curling up at his side. Now he could sleep.

“No funny business, Jarhead, and if the doctor catches us I’m blaming this on you.”

His lips twitched into a grin and he found the strength to kiss her forehead moments before he fell asleep.

Chapter Four

T
his man is not my husband.

The thought ran through Lexy’s head when she first awoke in Ryan’s arms. He couldn’t be. He looked the same. Big. Powerful. With a presence that took up the whole room, but he didn’t feel the same to her. She didn’t feel the same around him as she did with her husband. She had woken up in the middle of the night to find him staring down at her with his hauntingly blue-gray eyes and for the first time in ten years she felt truly safe. She wanted to laugh because that was the reason she married her Ryan. To feel safe, to feel home. It was the thing she craved most.

As she continued to stare at him the safe feeling was replaced by something entirely different. Warmth. Desire. The urge to turn to him and strip herself naked, to feel his hands against her sensitive breasts and make slow, sensual, sleepy love, took her breath away. She never felt that with Ryan. He never made her feel anything other than disgust for him.

This man is not my husband.

The man in bed beside her was different than the one she had known. But who the hell was he? His good twin? It didn’t matter. As soon as he was better she was leaving. She was probably just being crazy anyway. The military didn’t make such mistakes.

However, she would store the memory of how he looked at her that night. She needed at least one good recollection of him before she left so that the last ten years of her life weren’t an utter waste.

“Your friends are coming,” she told him the next morning when they were awake. “Tom and Georgie and Lance.” She popped an ice chip in his mouth. “I like to call them the dim-witted triumvirate.”

He frowned at her, looking confused.

“What? You don’t like that name? Well, I don’t care. They are dumber than horse shit on a hot day.”

He grinned at her, sending a smile that was almost bone melting and out of character for him.

“I’m sad to say that you are the smartest of the bunch and that’s not saying a whole lot.” She placed another ice chip in his mouth. This time he grabbed her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers, which sent an unexpected tingle between her legs. It alarmed her.

That part of you is dead.

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she just needed some gentle attention.

“Behave yourself, mister.”

His eyes twinkled at her and the doubt returned. Ryan’s eyes had been dead for years, or at least blurred by excessive alcohol use, but now... It had to be Ryan. War must have changed him, stripped away everything that was familiar about him.

She turned away from him ready to start the day. “I’m going to wash you today. You don’t want to smell like a barn when they come, do you? But then again they smell like horse shit on a hot day, too.”

He gave a stunning smile that was designed to melt lesser beings.

“Don’t you smile at me, mister. They’re your friends. If they’re idiots what does that make you?”

He grabbed her hand again and pressed a kiss into her palm. It was sweetly seductive in its simplicity. It took a special man to try to seduce a woman from his sick bed.

“Stop that, damn it!” Her cheeks burned. She tried not to look flustered but she was. She wasn’t seventeen anymore. A few kisses wouldn’t reel her in. “Sit up,” she ordered.

He did so and with ease and she removed his flimsy hospital gown, which was only held on by a tie at the neck. She exhaled as his powerful back was revealed to her. It was filled with lean muscle and decorated with angry red scars and burns. Her fingertips seemed to acquire a mind of their own and reached out to touch him. There were dozens of them, places where the shrapnel struck him. These weren’t the wounds of childhood. This didn’t happen when he fell off his bike. These were war wounds. This is what war did to him and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He stayed very still while she touched him. So still she almost forgot what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her fingers. She was glad he couldn’t see her face when she went to fill a basin with water. She felt flushed. Touching him had caused moisture to form between legs and an ache that cried out to be soothed.

He lay back waiting for her, and she saw his front. The sight caused her to stop in her tracks. She had never seen him in that kind of shape before. His chest was hard and wide. His stomach was tight and flat. They, too, were decorated by burns. Less, but still angry.

“Ryan...” Her breath caught as she spotted a nasty spot on his torso that had been burned so badly the skin was no longer smooth but puckered and rough. She touched him again. Running her fingers over his road map of scars. “Do they still hurt?”

He shook his head and she knew he lied. She didn’t want to feel bad for him. She had scars, too, and hers wouldn’t be fading anytime soon, either.

Taking a bar of Ivory soap and a washcloth, she gently washed his arms, neck and chest. She felt his eyes on her, watching her, drinking her in. She refused to look up at him. Afraid he might be able to read her thoughts. His body was magnificent despite the scars. She liked touching it.

They never had passion in all the years they were married. Sex just seemed to be a basic need for him. It was never something they enjoyed together. It was just something she endured. She never got to be in control. She never felt fulfilled. But now she could take her time touching him. She found herself mesmerized by the feel of his skin beneath her hands. An image of him entered her mind. Him naked on a bed, his throbbing erection jutting out, begging to be stroked, to be satisfied. She was with him on that bed, above him, running her hands over his pecs, maybe following her fingers with touches from her lips. With her mouth she would smooth kisses over the places that used to be soft with fat, that used to be bloated but had now turned rock solid.

She would drive him crazy with caresses, but she would never touch him where he wanted it the most and he couldn’t do anything to stop her torture. She glanced at the sheet which still covered his lower half. She dared not wash there. Although the curiosity of seeing what his cock looked like caused her hand to move lower.

She snapped out of her daydream when she realized that she was trembling, that she throbbed for some sort of satisfaction.

What the hell was wrong with her? This was Ryan. She hated him. How could she be sexually attracted to him when she didn’t like sex?

“You’re all clean,” she said, patting him dry with a towel when she gained some control over herself. “You smell good, too.” It was then she made the mistake of looking into his eyes that were blue-and-steel-colored and graced with long spiky lashes.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said clearly, no hint or rasp, no sound of Texas in his voice.

The ice must have helped, but she barely processed his words because he was staring at her so intently. He was staring at her like he knew the naughty thoughts that had raced through her mind.

“You’re welcome,” she said dumbly.

She should have looked away but she didn’t. She couldn’t and it was a mistake because he grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. She didn’t even have time to react or maybe she didn’t want to react. His kiss was soft at first, just one pair of sweet lips stroking another, but then it changed, it became something more. He cradled her face in his hands in an act so purely sweet it left her breathless as he deepened the kiss. The tip of his tongue came into her mouth and she found herself responding, melting, relenting. His kiss was tender lips and a sweet wet tongue. It made her forget it all, forget that she was kissing a man she had hated for the past ten years.

What the hell am I doing?

Her husband was kissing her and she was kissing him back. Somehow his hands wandered underneath her tank top, touching her back, her stomach, the skin of her waist. Soon one wandered up to her breast, ever so gently rubbing her nipple. It puckered. It felt unexpectedly good. She pushed her breast into his hand, prompting him to give her more of the attention she apparently craved. But it was wrong. How could she be attracted to a man who hurt her?

He’s not your husband.

Then who the hell is he?

She was about to come to her senses and pull away but he pulled away from her first, leaving her bewildered.

“I want this damn catheter out right now.”

“Ryan!” Her eyes grew wide. She knew exactly why he wanted it out.

“It hurts,” he whimpered.

“Good!” She turned away, smoothing her hands over her flushed face. “You shouldn’t be such a damn pervert.”

He grinned at her. She wanted to be mad; she wanted to draw up every bad thought she had of him but she couldn’t. Not when his grin lit up his face.

“There is nothing perverted about kissing you.”

He pulled her close again, fluttering kisses across her throat. She allowed it. Hell, she didn’t allow anything. Her body was ruling her now. She drank up his affection like a flower thirsty for water. Sweetness. It wasn’t something she found often in her life and while she had it she would accept it. He rested his head on her shoulder and regarded her with his alarming eyes.

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?”

“I was wondering that myself,” she answered.

“Tell me your name.” He blinked at her, confused.

She blinked right back. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand, linking his big fingers through hers. “I can’t remember.”

She backed away from him. “Don’t joke, Ryan. Don’t play with me. We’ve been married for ten years.” He had to know who he was. She was just being crazy when she doubted that he was her husband.

“Ten years?” He looked confused. “You’re so young. You look twenty-five.”

“I’m twenty-seven, damn it and this is not funny.” Her voice was rising as panic and fury ran rampant through her. “We’ve been together for three days. Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I couldn’t talk. But I tried to, remember? I want to remember you. I don’t know your name and I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Look at me.” She pushed her face to his. “Look at me and tell me you don’t remember anything about me, about us. You don’t remember the past ten years of our godforsaken marriage? How could you forget me?”

Because he’s not your husband.

But he has to be.

It was as if God or somebody was playing a cruel joke on her, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what she had done to deserve it.

He studied her face, even lifted his fingers to trace the curve of her cheek.

“I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that, Ryan. It’s ten years too late.”

“Just tell me your name. It might help me. I want to remember you.”

The past three days had been a crazy illusion. This man had to be her husband. He had to be, because only Ryan would be kind and sweet and gentle to her, not because he loved her, not because he missed her, but because he had no clue who she was and any soft woman would do. To him, she was a stranger. To him, the past ten years of drunken abuse didn’t exist.

She felt as if she was about to go insane. She felt like screaming into the wind, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of falling apart.

“My name is Alexa—Lexy Beecher, and I am your wife.”

His eyes widened and he searched her face.

“Tell Lexy I’m sorry,”
he said more to himself than to her.

“Do you remember?”

“No. I was just supposed to tell you that— I’m sorry.”

“Yes, Ryan. Yes, you are.”

Chapter Five

R
yan had been put through the ringer. In the span of a few hours he had been seen by a neurologist, a neuro surgeon, had a cat scan, an MRI, multiple X-rays and every other test his doctors could think of.

His mother was outwardly distraught and questioned him on every aspect of his forgotten life. She seemed to think endless questioning would spark his dead memories.

What’s your favorite food?

Chicken Cordon Bleu.

Wrong.

What was your first job?

Paperboy?

Wrong.

Who was your first love?

Lexy. That one he thought he would nail, but no.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He failed every personal test. But he knew the score of the Super Bowl and could name the Supreme Court Justices and all the teams in the MLB.

He just couldn’t remember his wife.

She stood quietly in the corner, looking horrified. Ten years of marriage was gone from his brain. Ten years. He didn’t feel like a married man. His mother said he was a bad husband. How, he did not know. Maybe his marriage was so awful he purposely blocked it out. Somehow Lexy seemed unforgettable. He married her at seventeen, too. Was she that irresistible? Someone like him should have known better. He was twenty-two and going places. Why be saddled down with a wife? Ten years. They had no children, and half the time she seemed to hate him. Why the hell were they still married?

He had to be in love with her. They had to have great passion. When they kissed, he felt it deep inside; it shook him. She was so responsive, explosive. He was still weak and in pain but he could imagine what it would be like when he was healthy. He wanted to know all things concerning his wife. He would learn.

They were left alone for a while. His mother stepped out, too upset to be there. Lexy sat quietly, playing with her long French braid.

“Talk to me, honey,” he told her. He couldn’t stand her stony silence.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Nothing? We’ve been married for ten years and I’ve been blown up by a damn rocket. My friends are dead and I can’t remember a damn thing. I’ve been poked and prodded and tested over and over. You aren’t the only who is having a rough day. So please spare me the self-righteous attitude and talk to me.”

“I hate you.” She rolled her dark, slanted eyes. “There, I talked to you. Are you happy?”

“No. Tell me why you hate me.”

She glared at him, unable to hide the exhaustion from her eyes. “Go jump off a bridge.”

“If I could walk I would do a backflip off of one. Maybe the fish would talk to me.”

They stared at each other for a very long moment and then Lexy unexpectedly cracked a smile. Damn, she was beautiful.

“I hate you. You son of a bitch.”

“Don’t call my mom a bitch.”

She laughed and rose from her chair in the corner. Her whole face lit up when she laughed. Why did he have the feeling that she didn’t do much of that?

“If I would have known getting blown up would make you funny I would have done it myself years ago.”

He reached for her hand, stroking her slender fingers till they relaxed. “Harsh. My pride is wounded along with my body. Don’t you feel sorry for me?”

“Umm, let me think about it.... Nope.”

“You got a smart mouth, Alexa, but I think it’s damn sexy. Come here and kiss me.”

“I’ll pass.” She rolled her eyes.

“Please.” He saw her hesitate, knowing she didn’t trust him but eventually she settled the inner battle she was fighting.

“Fine.” She bent and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

“Well that sucked.”

“That’s all you’re getting. So shove it.”

He tugged her closer so that her face was a mere inch from his. “Kiss me,” he begged, even though he wanted to do much more than that. “I’m a wounded war hero. It’s your duty.” She exhaled deeply and leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“Happy now?”

“No.” He pulled her even closer and kissed her. A real kiss, one that comforted him and made this hospital stay bearable. He couldn’t wait to get her home, to strip off her clothes, to touch her between her legs and make her wet for him. He would kiss her there, too. He would touch and stroke and kiss until she was coming and then he would plunge inside her and do it all again.

“
Woo-Boy!
Ry-an. You’re the only man I know who can get lucky from a hospital bed,” he heard a man say.

Lexy cursed silently under her breath. He reluctantly pulled away from his wife’s lips and looked up to see a man in a faded T-shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots in front of them. His mother told him that he was in Texas and born and raised here, but he felt no connection to this place.

“How the hell are you? You look like shit.” The man cackled and slapped his shoulder. “Nah, you look good for getting blown to hell.”

He looked to Lexy and frowned.
Who the hell was this ass?

“This is Lance.” She searched his face for any sign of recognition. But there was none, he knew. He had never seen this man before. “You work together at the shop.”

Shop?

“What the hell are you introducing us for, Sexy Lexy? We’ve been knowing each other for nine years.”

Sexy Lexy. That sounded familiar.

“Don’t call her that,” shot out of Ryan’s mouth before he could think. She was sexy, but she was his—and not even he would call her that.

“What the hell is your problem?” Lance frowned.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” his wife said quietly, her cheeks red from embarrassment or anger. He couldn’t tell. “Not you or me or that stupid nickname.”

“No fucking way,” Lance said, clearly shocked.

“When he was blown to hell, as you put it, he suffered head trauma.”

“You mean—” he frowned deeply, scratching his forehead “—that he’s got, whatchamacallit... Amnesia, like in the movies.”

“Yes,” Lexy said drily. “Just like in the movies.”

“You mean to tell me that you don’t remember that time we drove down to Mexico and met them girls on spring break? One of ’em had the biggest pair of...” He trailed off when he remembered Ryan’s wife was present. “Well, anyway, it was a wild weekend.”

“I don’t remember what happened last month much less something that happened when we were in college.”

“College?” Lance burst out laughing. “If you went to college then I am the President of these here United States.”

“Lord help us,” Lexy mumbled under her breath.

Ryan grinned at her before returning his attention to Lance.

“I didn’t go to college?” That didn’t sound right. He did go. He was educated. He had a Masters of...of... Damn it. He had no idea.

“No. And we went to Mexico three years—” He stopped and looked at Lexy. “I mean eleven years ago.”

“You’ve only known him for nine, jackass.” She rolled her eyes, and Ryan felt her shrink away from him. She had grown cold to him instantly. They were fine when it was just the two of them, but when the world interfered they didn’t stand a chance. Not that he blamed her. The more he learned about himself the less he liked.

“Mad Dog!” somebody chanted loudly.

Two more men appeared—one blond who was nearly Ryan’s height but a few hot dogs away from being a tub of guts, and the other red-haired and slim. Ryan looked to his wife for help.

“Tom’s the skinny one. Georgie’s the one who’s not.”

He nodded, knowing he shouldn’t judge a book by the cover, but these books just seemed empty.

“Look at you.” Georgie slapped his shoulder. “You’re as skinny as a damn stick. You better let your mama fatten you up, or better yet your wife.” His eyes poured over Lexy, taking in her every feature and eventually settling on her breasts. That wasn’t the way you looked at another man’s wife. Jealousy flashed through him.

“How are you, Sexy Lexy? You’ve been hiding from me.” Georgie went over and kissed her cheek. Ryan watched as Lexy stood frozen, inwardly recoiling at his touch.

“Don’t call her that,” he found himself telling Georgie. His fists were clenched. The urge to punch the stocky blond giant was overwhelming.

“He don’t remember,” Lance supplied. “Not a damn thing. Not even Mexico.”

“Is that true, Mad Dog?” Tom asked him.

Ryan nodded. “The only thing I remember seeing is my wife.” He emphasized the final two words, letting them know exactly where he stood.

Don’t mess with Lexy.

Even from a hospital bed he was itching to knock their heads together.

“Well, ain’t that some crazy shit.” Tom exhaled. “I thought we was gonna go back to old times when you got back, like before you quit drinking. But hell—” he wiped his hand across his face “—if you can’t remember, we’ll have to start making new good-old times.”

“I quit drinking?” He was a drinker?

“Yeah, we was surprised, too,” Georgie said. “You could out-drink any man in town. I’m surprised you made it home and never killed anybody.”

“You let me drive home drunk?”

“We didn’t let you,” Lance said. “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to. You was a mean drunk before you went in the service.”

He didn’t want to hear anymore, and if he could cover his ears with his hands without looking like a three-year-old he would have. His friends were assholes and he was a reckless drunk. The tales didn’t coincide with the man he knew himself to be. He couldn’t have been such a creep. He looked at his wife for confirmation, but she wouldn’t look at him.

“Lex?”

“I’m going to find your mama.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “Catch up with your friends.”

“Honey,” he appealed to her, not wanting to be left alone with these idiots. Finally he caught her eye. Her face was washed with sadness even though she smiled at him.

“Have fun,” she said before she rushed out of the room.