Chapter Three
Elliott
The words cut between us like a knife, and I expect to read fear in her eyes. She’s about to be stuck in a house, miles away from town with a stranger. But for some reason, the words seem to bring her…relief?
Surely, I’m wrong about that. Still, she lets out a little sigh, and the tension on her face leaves. Odd.
The truth is, I’ve never brought anyone to my house. Not since my old man got sick and died five years ago. He was the social one, often interacting with locals and tourists. When he died, that connection was lost. I know all too well my reputation in Eden Cove.
The town’s recluse, they call me. The grumpy fisherman who prefers to work alone and socializes even less.
I only ever interact with people when I go down to town to supply my catch to the restaurants and the single grocery store in town.
My old man’s reputation and my skill as a fisherman is the only reason I’ve not been completely written off.
And yet, this girl has attached herself to my side. Did she not see the wary look the nurse tossed my way? I’m sure they all think of me as a lost cause. I would think that even someone with amnesia would have self-preservation—yet, here we are.
“Let’s get you settled in,” I say, opening the door and climbing out of my truck. I walk around to the back and unload the cooler along with my gear. “I need to put this away and clean up before I can join you. Why don’t you go on ahead and get settled?”
Chloe looks at me with surprise when I nod for the door, her brows lifting when I don’t offer her a key. “It’s open.”
She walks toward the porch but hesitates before opening the door. “You don’t lock your doors?” she asks, peering into the dark. “What if someone walks in?”
“No one comes up here.” They wouldn’t dare. “And if they did, I would know,” I say, nodding toward the security camera.”
“Oh, alright,” she mutters, staring at the open door.
“The light switch is to your left,” I call out as I start for the back porch where I store my gear every evening.
“I could come with you,” Chloe calls out, bringing me to a stop. “I…I don’t think it’s polite to enter someone’s home without them.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “Go on in.”
This time, she nods and walks in. I wait for the lights to come on before rounding the house to put everything away. I make quick work of it, storing the rod and the cooler in the outdoor shed. I enter the house through the back door, heading straight to the freezer.
Chloe is standing by a window, staring out at the water when I finally emerge. She’s still wearing my jacket over the scrubs the hospital provided her, and seeing her wearing my clothes does something to me that I don’t care to look too deeply into.
Even more than that, I don’t care for the way my eyes scale over her body, and—Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? Standing here, watching her like some creep.
I clear my throat, and when she whips around, I read relief on her face when she spots me.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
When her eyes drop to my chest and scale over my torso, I feel that fire light up under my skin, and my fly gets tighter.
Fuck me. “What do you think about fish for dinner?” I ask, attempting to break the tension.
“Poetic,” she murmurs.
“What?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, and I see humor flash in her tired eyes. “I think it’s poetic. The fish didn’t eat me in the water today, so I get to eat them instead.”
“We could go for steak.”
She smiles, and fuck me, the way her full lips curve is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Fish is good. I can cook, if you want.”
I wonder if someone with amnesia would know such things but push it back. “That’s alright. You’re my guest. Why don’t I show you a room you can get cleaned up, and then we’ll eat.”
She nods and follows me out of the living room. I take her to a spare bedroom on the second floor, one without the view of the ocean. I don’t imagine she’ll want to look at the water after her ordeal today. I leave her to shower, then walk down the hall to my own room to wash off the day.
I’m done and well into preparing dinner when she walks into the kitchen, freshly showered and bundled into the long white robe I keep on hand—a holdover from my father’s insistence, even though I never have guests.
“What are you making?” she asks, grabbing a seat at the kitchen island. “It smells so good.”
“Pan-seared salmon and vegetables?” I ask, walking to the fridge to grab her a bottle of water.
The doctor gave clear instructions I intend to follow.
“I caught the fish and grew most of the root vegetables myself. I have a small greenhouse out back.” I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling her all this, but it has something to do with needing a distraction from the way her robe parts at the top to show a bit of her creamy flesh.
“So, everything is organic,” she muses. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to grow your own food. Where I come from—”
My eyes shoot to hers, brows arching up. “Do you remember?”
Something akin to distress crosses her face, and she looks away, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, brushing a hand through her hair and gripping tight.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.
It just came out. I still can’t remember anything.
Maybe it’s a feeling, a fragment—I can’t tell. ”
It’s the way her voice breaks that sends me rounding the counter toward her. “Hey, it’s okay,” I whisper, rubbing her shoulder. I have to bite back a curse when she pushes up and into my arms, dropping her head to my chest and sniffing into it.
Jesus Christ!
“I can’t remember,” she whispers. “I can’t.”
Fuck.
Tentatively, like a man approaching something he knows better than to touch, I wrap my arms around her. “Don’t rush it,” I murmur, running a hand down her back. “The doctor said it could take a while. It’ll come back. Don’t stress about it.”
“Okay,” she mumbles into my shirt, burrowing deeper and rewarding me with the scent of my soap on her skin. It mingles with hers to create the most distracting thing I’ve ever had the misfortune of inhaling. I wince when my cock takes notice.
I’m saved from doing something crazy like burying my nose in her hair when the oven timer dings.
“Dinner’s ready.” Thank fuck!
We eat at the kitchen island, easy and quiet, and it occurs to me somewhere around the second helping that I don’t mind the company. I don’t examine that thought too closely.
***
Maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all—I think for the tenth time as I scroll through yet another article on shock-induced memory loss on my laptop.
It’s been hours since dinner ended, but the scent of her still lingers in my nose.
The way she felt in my arms, all soft and warm, leaning into me like I’m not a hot-blooded man with entirely the wrong kind of thoughts about her.
I want her.
And doesn’t that make me a bit of a creep. To want someone so innocent and fragile. A woman who must now depend on me to protect her. Of course she’d cling to me—I’m her first memory. But I have no excuse for the dirty thoughts that roll around in my mind.
I run a hand over my beard and force my focus back to the screen. The results of my search range from temporary gaps to complete blackouts, but none of them tell me what to do when you want to fuck to the person you rescued…
Goddamnit.
I snap the laptop shut with a frustrated growl before sliding it onto the nightstand.
I’m hard as a rock, but I’ll be damned if I give in to my baser needs and jerk off to the woman I saved.
Now, that is a line I will not fucking cross.
One glance at the alarm clock tells me it’s past midnight. Time to shut it all off.
I’m reaching over to turn off the lamp when a scream, raw and piercing, slices through the quiet. My heart leaps at the sound, and I’m out of bed before my brain catches up. My feet hit the cold wooden floor but it barely registers as I stumble to the door and swing it open.
I rush down the hallway and into Chloe’s room. No intruder, no threat I can see—just the woman thrashing on the bed. The blankets are a twisted heap on the floor, almost like a storm ripped through the room.
Chloe’s face is contorted, eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed in a deep, agonized frown. Her arms are flailing as if fighting someone… or something. Her arms flail as if fighting something off. When she sucks in a sharp, desperate breath, I feel something crack in my chest.
I move toward her, reaching out to rouse her. The touch alone isn’t enough, so I sit on the edge of the bed and scoop her up, pulling her against me. “Wake up, Chloe,” I rasp, my voice rough even to my own ears. “Open your eyes for me, baby. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, the thrashing subsides, and her body begins to relax, her breathing evening out. Only when she sniffs into my shoulder do I realize she’s awake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears clear in her voice.
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
She pulls in a slow breath, and I feel her try to steady herself against me. “I was back in the water,” she whispers. “I couldn’t find the surface. I couldn’t tell which way was up and my lungs were burning and—
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her brow. She lets out a slow breath that tickles my skin. “It’s over. I’m here, and I would never let anything happen to you.”
“I heard your voice,” she whispers, pulling back to meet my eyes. “And then I felt your hands. You saved me again.”
I trace my thumb over her wet cheeks, swiping at the tears clinging to her eyelids. “I would never let you down, Chloe. And when you fall, I’ll always pull you back.”
Her breath shudders out. “You promise?”