Lost in Me

  Chapter Seven

  When I return to the party, I immediately spot Nate sitting in a chair beside Asher, his guitar in his big hands, his dark hair falling over one eye as he jots notes on a piece of paper. Something twists in my chest at the sight of him. I want to tell myself it’s regret or fear—anything but the longing I know it to be.

  Maggie and Lizzy motion me over from the bar, but I shake my head and stay by the stairs. As if he senses me, Nate lifts his head and his eyes immediately lock with mine.

  I might not understand the tangle of emotions in my chest, but there’s no mistaking the anger that flashes over his face when he sees me, and because I’m a coward, I can’t face it.

  I run back upstairs.

  “Where’s she going?” I hear Maggie ask.

  “She wasn’t feeling great,” Lizzy says. “I’ll check on her.”

  I’m in the hallway when I feel her behind me, her hand on my shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Everything. “Nothing. The doctor said the headaches and dizziness might give me a problem for a few days. A party probably wasn’t the best idea.”

  Her expression is more worried than disappointed. “Let me take you home.”

  “No. It’s a beautiful night, and I’d actually like the fresh air. And I think I’m going to swing by the club and see Max.”

  “Okay,” she whispers. “Promise you’ll call me if I can help?”

  I take in a long, slow breath. “Go back down there and have a good time.”

  “Oh, right.” Her eyes light up. “I have a rocker to seduce.”

  My stomach lurches, but I force a smile. “Right.”

  I watch her go back down before I turn back to the basket of cell phones by the stairs. After shuffling through it, I pull out the few phones I don’t recognize as belonging to me or one of my sisters.

  I hit the buttons to bring them to life and swipe all three screens to unlock them. One screen, no doubt Asher’s, has a picture of Maggie and Zoe as the wallpaper, one has a young woman I don’t recognize, and the other has Storm Troopers.

  There’s no question in my mind that the Storm Trooper phone belongs to the man with the Hulk tattoo and the Spider-Man shirt. The idea of this hard-ass rocker being a closet geek is so adorable. I soften toward him without wanting to.

  Before I can think it through, I’m swiping my fingers across the screen and pulling up Nate’s text messages. It doesn’t take long for me to find a thread with my name.

  The last one I sent was the day of my accident.

  Hanna: Left you a message. We need to talk when you get into town.

  What did I want to talk to him about? Was I going to tell him I was marrying Max? I scroll back through some harmless if flirty Good morning and Good to hear your voice tonight texts before I land on a conversation so damning it makes my hands shake.

  The hallway is empty, but I can’t risk anyone else seeing these. I take the phone out onto the back patio, sink into a chair, and scroll back to the beginning of the incriminating conversation. I don’t take a single breath while I read it.

  Nate: Did you remember to take your gift home with you?

  Hanna: I did. God knows what airport security thought of it when they searched my bag.

  Nate: I’m sure they’ve seen worse. Glad you have it with you.

  Hanna: It’s a sorry substitute for you.

  Nate: I’ll make it up to you when I get to Indiana. I’m coming straight to your place and keeping you in bed for days.

  Hanna: Hmm. That sounds kind of boring.

  Nate: Get naked, woman. I want to tell you how to use my gift.

  Hanna: Bossy.

  Nate: Only because it makes you wet.

  Hanna: Naked.

  Nate: In bed?

  Hanna: I’ve been in bed since you first texted. I have a 6 a.m. running date tomorrow.

  Nate: You should cancel it. I don’t want you running off those curves.

  Hanna: You’re the only one who likes my so-called “curves.”

  Nate: Who else matters?

  Hanna: Good point. I miss your face.

  Nate: I miss yours too. You know what else I miss?

  Hanna: Tell me.

  Nate: The sound you make when I touch your breasts. The feel of your nipples against my tongue. I miss sliding my hand between your legs and finding you wet. I miss the taste of you. The feel of your heels against my back as I take your clit between my lips. But mostly, I miss holding you in my arms. So fucking perfect. So completely mine.

  I don’t know what I expected. Maybe it was supposed to be like in the movies, where the amnesia patient sees something from her past and suddenly everything comes flooding back to her. But there’s no memory here, and my half of this conversation might as well have been written by another woman.

  When I lift my head, Nate is standing in front of me, hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes bored.

  “See anything good?” he asks.

  My heart is pounding and my breath is shallow and shaky. My cheeks burn and it has nothing to do with regret or guilt or embarrassment. The things he wrote. The things he said. There’s a heavy tightness between my legs. My mind may still be confused, but my body? My body wants Nate as much as it ever wanted Max.

  Oh God, Max. I cheated on Max. “Why would I risk everything?”

  His jaw hardens and he shrugs. “You’d have to ask your fiancé.”

  “You know why I can’t do that.” I push my chair back, and the scraping of metal against concrete rends the air. I lift my chin. “I want to understand. I need you to talk to me.”

  He tenses at my demand. “No, I don’t.”

  “You don’t understand what this is like. Not remembering? I’m planning a wedding to this man I’ve wanted most of my life. Don’t I owe it to him—don’t I owe it to myself—to have the truth out there before we promise until death do us part?”

  Even in the moonlight, I can see the pain in his eyes.

  “I just need answers.” I lift my chin and move toward the back wall of the house, toward him. Immediately, I regret the decision because his lips curve into a wicked smile and he closes what distance is left between us. “I need the truth,” I whisper weakly.

  “The truth? Is that what you really want, angel?” His deep voice dances over my skin like a caress. A little tender. A lot wicked.

  I can’t reply. I’m too busy holding my breath. Too deep of an inhale might brush my breasts against his chest, and I’m afraid to touch him. Afraid of what it might make me feel.

  As if he can read my mind, he takes another step closer, and when I step to the side to turn away, I’m against the wall and his body is against mine, his hot breath at my ear.

  “Do you want to know what it was like between us?” he whispers.

  “Yes.”

  I realize my mistake when a groan rumbles from his chest. “Should I start with how wet you were every time I touched you? Or maybe how you begged me that first night?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Have you been telling yourself some wicked rocker seduced you? That I tricked you into my bed? Sorry. You asked for the truth. You begged. Right there outside the club, you begged me until I ripped your panties off and you were too busy biting my neck to talk anymore. Is that what you’re hoping to remember? How you wanted me so badly you let me finger you out in the open, against that building where anyone could have seen?”

  My breathing is uneven, my cheeks hot. When I press into his chest to put some distance between us, my traitorous hands curl into his shirt instead.

  He makes a low growling sound at the back of his throat. His teeth nip at my earlobe. Lightning cracks in the sky behind him. “You might have forgotten me, but you still like dirty talk, don’t you? And maybe if I made you come now, you’d still scream my name. Because you always screamed my name, Hanna. Never his.”

  I gasp. “You are horrible.”

  “What are you really upset about? That yo
u wanted me? Or that even as you stand here wearing his ring, you’re secretly hoping I’ll tell you about it. Secretly wishing you could remember all the details.”

  “I don’t,” I bite out, the words edged with the sob I’m holding back. I shove him, and he steps away, but not because I’m strong enough to move him. I know better. But he steps back. He gives me that.

  My legs are weak and I have to steady myself against the wall. I betrayed Max. Emotion riots in my chest, too much to contain. The worst is true. But the ache of arousal between my legs—that’s the worst betrayal of all.

  “Tell me why I did it,” I say. “I need to understand.”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks out toward the fenced area behind the patio, where Asher’s hot tub gurgles as it spills into the pool. “I made you a promise,” he says, his words measured. “I promised that when you made your decision, I would respect it. That if you took his ring, I wouldn’t try to change your mind.”

  Seconds ago, I wanted his knowing eyes anywhere but mine, but now I wish he would look at me. I need to see the eyes of the man I feel this inexplicable connection to. The man I was considering leaving my fiancé for.

  “I always knew you deserved better than me.” His voice is a deep rumble that tries to hide behind the distant thunder. “I hope he’s worthy of you. I sure as fuck wasn’t.”

  Finally, he turns to me and takes my hands into his. His mouth is inches from mine, and his gaze rests on my lips. I wait for his kiss—wonder if I want it. Time snags on my indecision. Trips. Stutters. Slows to a crawl.

  Lifting one finger at a time, he removes his cell phone from my grasp then steps away. He disappears into the darkness, his silence a promise I can’t remember him making and the ache in my chest a regret I don’t understand.