Your Mouth Drives Me Crazy. HelenKay Dimon

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      “This should help.” He continued his one-sided conversation in a deep, hypnotizing voice.

      He seemed mighty pleased with himself. And since he had stepped right under the water with her, a bit ballsy for her taste.

      “This will feel better in a second,” he said to the quiet room.

      He wasn’t wrong.

      Firm hands caressed her skull, replacing the frigid ocean with bathwater. He rinsed and massaged and rinsed again. The sweep of his hands wiped away the last of her confusion. With that task done, his palms turned to her arms, brushing up and down, igniting every nerve ending in their path.

      His chest rubbed against her bare breasts until heat replaced her chill. With thighs smashed against his legs, the full-body rubdown sparked life into body parts that had been on a deep-freeze hold for more than a year.

      “Better?”

      She didn’t answer him. Wasn’t even sure she could speak if she wanted to.

      “Open your eyes and say something.”

      The husky command broke her out of her mental wanderings and sent a shot of anxiety skating down her spine. This was the part of the program where she ran and hid…and then ran some more.

      Naked. Alone. Strange man. Yeah, a very bad combination.

      “I know you’re awake.” He sounded pretty damn amused by the idea.

      The jig was up. Okay, fine, she got his point.

      Not knowing if her rescuer counted as a friend or foe, she played the scene with the utmost care. Only a complete madman would attack a vulnerable woman who didn’t know her own name. If her stranger fell into that category, she’d scream and make a mad dash into the kitchen for the nearest sharp knife. The nearest sharp anything.

      She groaned in pain that was only half false.

      “Your eyes are still closed,” he said.

      Yeah, pal, no kidding.

      “You aren’t fooling me.”

      Well, she could certainly try.

      His hands continued to massage her sore flesh with just the right amount of pressure to bring her blood sizzling back to life. If he kept this up, her eyes wouldn’t open. She’d be asleep.

      She couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Actually, she could. It had been fifteen months. Fifteen months of searching. The path led to Kauai. To the yacht. To flying over the side and into the water. To being in this shower.

      “We can stand here all night for all I care,” he said.

      Nothing that extreme. Maybe ten more minutes.

      He chuckled. “Doesn’t bother me.”

      Lucky for her she found an accommodating potential serial killer.

      “Because I’m the one with clothes on,” he pointed out.

      Her eyelids flew open.

      The deep rumble of his laugh intensified. “Thought that one might get your attention.”

      Oh, he had her attention. All six-feet-something of him, with haunting dark eyes, straight coal black hair cut short and blunt, and chiseled high cheekbones that spoke to Hawaiian bloodlines.

      Her gaze dipped lower and…damn.

      That gasp she’d been holding finally escaped her lips. The part below his neck looked as impressive as his face. A broad muscular chest, every inch tan and perfect. Blue jeans balanced on lean hips.

      Double damn. Obviously strong and in command, this guy could crush her if he wanted to.

      That realization got her talking. “Who are you?”

      One dark eyebrow kicked up in question. “That was my question. You are…?”

      A woman in deep trouble. A woman at home with a camera and in a darkroom. A woman with a mission.

      The idea of confiding in someone tempted her, but she resisted. She didn’t know this guy or his agenda. Hell, she didn’t even know who her enemies were and why. Until she did, she was not saying a word.

      “I…I don’t know,” she stammered out.

      She was playing a dangerous game. No other choice. Someone had pushed her off a party boat. Either Sterling Howard had figured out her real identity and ushered her off his yacht the hard way or…actually, she couldn’t think of an “or” option.

      “Don’t know what?” he asked.

      “My name.”

      Those deep brown eyes, almost black, narrowed. “For most people it’s an easy question. You’ve likely had one since birth.”

      “I, uh, can’t remember it,” she said, making sure her voice held the appropriate mixture of concern and shock. Funny how those two emotions came to her without any trouble at the moment.

      “Wait a second. You mean—”

      “Yes.”

      His hands tightened briefly on her elbows, then relaxed. “Interesting.”

      The longer she stood there, the more pronounced their size difference became. “Not to be rude or sound ungrateful, but could we have this little chat later? Like, when I’m dry and fully dressed.”

      “You really can’t remember your name?”

      She lifted her hands and covered her breasts. A stupid move, yes. He’d already seen all the goods. Not that he cared one wit. He didn’t appear to be staring anywhere but dead into her eyes.

      “Trying the dry thing now would be good,” she said.

      He reached behind her and turned off the water. “You’re saying you have amnesia?”

      For a second she wondered if a person with a real case of amnesia would recognize the word amnesia. Deciding that type of thinking would drive her nuts, she answered, “Yes.”

      “Seems a bit convenient.”

      The least the guy could do was have the decency to look a little worried about her made-up amnesia story. “There’s nothing convenient about not knowing who you are.”

      He stepped out of the tub and grabbed up a towel for her. “Here. Dry off. We need to pump some heat into you and then…”

      “Yes?” she asked, a bit concerned about what the rest of his sentence could be.

      “Find some clean clothes for both of us. I’m guessing you’d like to be dressed when we talk.”

      She’d rather skip the talking part. “Talk about what?”

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