Blank Slate Page 6

  At least, not without dinner first.

  That last thought made her giggle as he righted her.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked suspiciously.

  Clarissa shook her head. “Nothing.” Like she was going to tell him she’d had a flash of an image of him like he’d looked this morning as he lay sleeping in bed. His chest had been bare, rising and falling slowly with each breath. Hair tousled as though from unseen hands. An arm crooked behind his head had caused his bicep to flex and made Clarissa’s eyes linger.

  Getting those keys out of his pocket hadn’t exactly been a chore. Langston could be quite charming…when he was unconscious.

  Pushing the thought aside, Clarissa went to climb inside the sleeping bag.

  “Take your shoes off first,” Langston reminded her. “And your coat.”

  “You have your shoes on,” she argued. “And won’t my coat keep me warmer?”

  He shook his head. “Too many layers and the air can’t circulate. And I have my shoes on in case someone or something unexpected happens by.”

  Clarissa frowned even as she obeyed. “What are you? A Boy Scout?”

  Langston just looked at her while he took another bite of jerky.

  “Really?” she asked. “You’re kidding.” Though somehow, she wasn’t surprised. His whole demeanor practically screamed “I play by the rules and do what’s right.”

  “Always be prepared,” he replied. A hint of a smile flashed briefly on his face. “Want some?” he offered, holding a piece of jerky out to her.

  “Um, yeah, sure.” Clarissa took the jerky and chewed a bite, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He got a water bottle out of a box and handed it to her before taking one for himself.

  “Why are you being so nice?” she blurted.

  Langston looked at her strangely. “You’d rather I starve you?”

  “No, I just…never mind,” Clarissa stammered, looking away. She took a drink of water. He was right. What a bizarre thing to ask him.

  Clarissa tried to see out the windows, but it was impossible. In the woods, far from civilization, with a storm raging around them, the darkness was impenetrable. All she could see was her own wavering reflection, which didn’t seem like herself at all.

  Absently, Clarissa brushed a hand through her hair, watching the stranger in the glass mirror her movements. It was unsettling, this feeling of being an unknown entity to herself. And alone. She felt so alone. The only person she knew was the man beside her, and he not only didn’t believe her memory loss, he actively disliked the person she used to be.

  It was enough to depress anybody.

  As she stared at the window, the feeling of pressure, of the confines of the car shrinking, began to rise again. Her breath came faster as she searched the darkness, her gaze darting frantically for a glimmer of anything. God, it was cramped in here.

  “Hey.”

  The light touch on her shoulder startled Clarissa so badly she nearly dropped her water.

  “You Okay?” Langston was watching her, the usual suspicion in his eyes replaced by concern.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Clarissa replied hurriedly, surprised that she was breathless. “I’m fine.”

  Langston looked dubious, but just took another drink of water, his eyes still on her.

  Clarissa focused on him. If she just didn’t try to look outside, she wouldn’t think about it. She just needed to keep her mind off it. Luckily for her, she had a prime piece of distraction, albeit a slightly prickly one. She was willing to risk Langston’s temper if it meant she didn’t have to think about how damn small this car was.

  “So you said you joined the FBI because of your dad,” she said. “Was he an agent too?”

  Langston breathed a sigh.

  “We’re going to be stuck here for hours, we may as well talk,” Clarissa prompted testily. For God’s sake, was she not even worth carrying on a conversation?

  “He didn’t work for the FBI, he was wanted by the FBI,” Langston finally said, surprising her. “I didn’t know he was a crook until I was fifteen, when he left me and my mom high and dry. Turned out he’d been embezzling for years, raising the stakes by defrauding customers at the securities firm where he worked when the embezzling wasn’t enough.” He paused, glancing her way. “Sound familiar?”

  His voice was hard and flat.

  Clarissa stared right back, refusing to be intimidated. He could be as judgy as he wanted, but she was sure that if she really had done those things he’d said she had, she must have had a really good reason. She just didn’t know what it was yet.

  “We never saw him again,” he continued. “The people he’d stolen from sued his estate and my mother. Eventually, we lost everything. Whatever he did with the money, I don’t know, but we never saw a penny of it.”

  He told the story impassively, though Clarissa could hear the bitterness underlying his words.

  “That’s really awful,” she said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

  Langston shrugged. “It is what it is. I learned from it, and now here I am catching criminals. One day, maybe I’ll catch him.”

  It was quiet for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Clarissa kept her eyes slanted Langston’s way, however. No way was she looking at the windows again. He must have gotten tired of sitting hunched over because he lay down with a sigh, an arm bent to cushion his head, and his knees up since the SUV couldn’t accommodate his height.

  “Might as well get some sleep,” he observed. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  Clarissa scooted down until she was cuddled inside the sleeping bag. It was warm enough, and though the floor of the SUV was hard, it was better than being outside. She turned on her side to face him, away from the windows. It was odd, yet comforting, being here with him, a near stranger. Though she supposed everyone was a stranger to her now.

  The light from the glow stick wasn’t bright, but enough for her to see Langston. He stared up at the ceiling of the SUV, seemingly unaware of her eyes on him. Despite his epically bad sense of direction, she felt safe, which was incredibly foolish of her. Langston was a man who saw things in black and white, was unforgiving of those who broke the law, and his entire sense of purpose was to bring to justice the people who’d committed those wrongs.

  “Stop staring,” he said, breaking the silence and startling Clarissa from her musings. He turned his head, and their eyes caught.

  “Sorry,” she said softly with a slight shrug. “Nowhere else to look.” She hid a smile at his disgruntled expression.

  Langston turned back to stare at the ceiling again. “So I told you my story,” he said. “Now tell me yours. Why the life of crime? You’re a smart girl. You didn’t have to choose your way of life.”

  Clarissa didn’t answer. After a moment, he turned to look at her. “Still sticking with the amnesia thing?” he asked, his voice colder now than it had been.

  “Langston, I can’t — ” she began.

  “Spare me,” he cut her off. “I was an idiot to think maybe you’d stop lying to me.” This time, he turned his back to her.

  Clarissa wavered between disappointment and anger. Just like a man to think he was always right, and Langston seemed surer of himself than most.

  Although she would have liked to turn her back to him, too, she didn’t dare. The windows were watching her. Clarissa shivered as she glanced at the window above Langston’s head. It loomed over her like a faceless wraith, staring in silence at the occupants inside the car.

  With a chill, Clarissa tore her eyes away, instead focusing on the center of Langston’s back. She slowly inched her way closer to him until his body obscured the window. He was very near now, so close she could feel a bit of his body heat through the layers. His hair was thick and looked soft to the touch. Her hands itched to touch the russet locks, to run her fingers through them.

  She was quite sure he would not appreciate that.

  Clarissa couldn’t help but smile as she imagined what
he’d say, Mr. Oh-So-Serious FBI Man. Then she began to wonder what he would say, and do, if he weren’t quite so proper and determined to follow the rules. Would he turn over? Kiss her? Put his arms around her?

  These thoughts led to delicious fantasies, ones that would no doubt shock and horrify Langston, but which lulled Clarissa into slumber, still wearing a grin.

  It was still dark when she opened her eyes, only this time the dark was absolute.

  Clarissa blinked, but everything looked the same whether her eyes were open or closed.

  Where was she? Her sleep-fogged mind struggled to clear before she remembered — the storm. They were in the car waiting it out.

  But the knowledge didn’t bring calm. Her eyes swiveled frantically, and her pulse jumped, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Air. She couldn’t breathe. The darkness was a smothering blanket, pressing the air from her lungs. Clarissa gasped, the noise loud in the oppressive silence. She tried to suck in air but couldn’t.

  Blindly, her hand struck out, landing on cold glass. Panic clawed at her as she continued to gasp for air. She had to get out, had to breathe.

  “What—”

  Langston’s voice didn’t even penetrate as her frenzied grasp fell on the door handle. With a jerk, she pulled, nearly falling out the door as it swung open.

  “O’Connell! What the hell are you doing?”

  Erik watched, stunned, as O’Connell scrambled to get out of the car. She was trying to escape? Now? Was she insane?

  “Are you out of your mind?” he bit out, grabbing her arm and hauling her back inside before she could get her feet out the door. Feeling around with his free hand, he found another glow stick and cracked it. The light threw her face into stark relief, and Erik froze when he saw her.

  O’Connell was stark white, her eyes like bruises in her face. She clawed at her sweater, as though it were binding her, and terror leaked from her eyes.

  “Air, please,” she choked. “Can’t…breathe.”

  She was having a full-blown panic attack, right here, right now.

  Shit.

  Throwing open the hatchback door, Erik hauled her bodily through it. Once her feet hit the ground, she tore her arms from his grip, stumbling away from him and sucking in greedy gulps of air before falling. She struggled to her knees.

  Erik winced at the sight of her bare hands buried in the bitterly cold snow. He hurried to her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and set her on her feet. Shit! She had no shoes on either. If he didn’t do something, she was going to be in danger of frostbite.

  Without asking permission, though he wasn’t sure she was in any condition to answer, he scooped her in his arms. Going back to the SUV, he set her gently inside, letting her face the open air.

  O’Connell was still breathing too hard and too fast. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut and were wet, though Erik couldn’t tell if it was because she was crying or if it was from the snow.

  Erik felt powerless to help her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were claustrophobic?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he had intended.

  Her eyes shot open, pinning him with an emerald glare. “Because I didn’t know,” she said. “I can’t remember!” O’Connell’s frustrated shout echoed in the woods around them. When she angrily dashed the back of her hand across her eyes, Erik realized it wasn’t from the snow.

  Ignoring a stab of guilt, Erik’s gaze shifted around uncomfortably before again coming to rest on O’Connell. She was still glaring at him, but thankfully, her breathing had regulated and her cheeks were no longer the stark white they’d been previously.

  “We need to get back inside,” Erik said gruffly. “We can’t survive out here.”

  Her face fell, but she recovered quickly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Just give me a minute, Okay?” she asked, her tone grim.

  Erik nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  Minutes passed. It had stopped snowing for the moment, leaving the woods hushed and quiet. The occasional tree branch creaking under the weight of the snow was the only sound.

  The storm had left a few inches of snow covering the windows of the SUV. Erik figured that probably wouldn’t help her claustrophobia. Digging under the front seat of the car, he produced a scraper and cleared the snow from the windshield and the four windows.

  Dusting the snow off his clothes, he stored the scraper again and rounded the car.

  “Any better?” he asked. He didn’t want to rush her, but damn, he was freezing. And she had to be, too. Taking a good look at her, he saw the unmistakable sign of shivering.

  “I think so,” O’Connell said, her teeth rattling. She slowly backed farther into the car, leaving room for Erik to haul himself inside.

  Her eyes were glued to the hatchback as he went to pull it closed, and he could almost see the panic start again in the widening of her eyes and the shallowness of her breath.

  “Hey,” he said. When she didn’t respond, he repeated himself louder. “Hey!”

  O’Connell jerked her gaze to his.

  “Don’t look at it,” he said, pulling the door closed. “Just…look at me instead.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak, her body wracked with shivers.

  “Your clothes are wet,” Erik said, taking stock of the fabric with a few swipes of his hands. “You need to change or you’ll get hypothermia.”

  Leaning over the front seat, Erik started the car. They shouldn’t use the fuel for this, but he had to get her warm. He’d leave it running for just a few minutes, just enough to take the chill out of the air. Digging in her duffel, he pulled out one of the few changes of clothing she had.

  “Put this on,” he said, handing the items to her.

  O’Connell pulled the sweater over her head, and Erik averted his eyes, not that there were many other places to look. He couldn’t really blame her for getting claustrophobic in here.

  “Can you help me?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  Erik turned, chagrined to see her still in just her jeans and bra, a feminine combination he’d always appreciated. Tearing his gaze from the black lace cupping her breasts, he saw the problem. Her hands were shaking too badly to undo her jeans, though she was fumbling in a fruitless attempt to release the button. O’Connell looked up at him, a pained expression on her face.

  “I can’t get it. Can you?”

  Erik cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Ah, yeah, sure,” he said. Undress her again? Yes, please.

  Erik brushed her ice-cold hands aside as he leaned over her. She fell back to rest on her elbows, allowing him better access.

  His fingers brushed the skin of her abdomen as he worked the button free. He tried not to take longer than he should, but he couldn’t pretend that his pulse hadn’t leaped, the blood heating in his veins as the button sprang free and he slowly lowered the zipper.

  O’Connell didn’t protest when he began to peel the wet denim off her. She lifted her hips slightly, allowing him to push the stiff fabric down her thighs. Erik tried not to think of what immediately sprang to mind when she lifted her body that way.

  He worked assiduously, pulling the jeans off one leg, then the other, her sodden socks going as well. O’Connell’s skin was cold and clammy. After a moment’s hesitation, he began rubbing her legs, knowing his hands were warm.

  “Need to get the blood circulating,” he said in a voice much too rough for his liking. Yes, that was the reason he was touching her. Absolutely. It wasn’t at all because he couldn’t resist the temptation her body was to him.

  Erik didn’t dare look up at her, didn’t want to see if she was looking at him with anger, or worse, amusement. She didn’t speak, and she didn’t pull away, so he continued.

  Soft was too inadequate a word to describe her skin. Erik’s hands massaged her calves, easing the tight muscles there. Shivering made the entire body tight as a bowstring, and while her shivers had subsided, the muscles were still in knots.

  The backs of he
r knees were silken to the touch, and he lingered there, the delicate curve of her bones fitting into his palms while his thumbs stroked the area behind the joints. The pressure he exerted nudged her thighs, and they parted easily under his hands.

  Erik’s gaze lifted. O’Connell was watching him touch her. Her eyes were bright, her lips slightly parted as she breathed. He could see the pulse beating under her jaw. The smooth column of her throat moved as she swallowed. Her chest rose and fell, her breathing more rapid than it should have been, and Erik’s gaze fell to her breasts. Their plump fullness seemed to strain against their confines. What he wouldn’t give at this moment to see her bared to him.

  Abruptly, Erik jerked his hands away from her skin. “It’s warm enough. I better turn the engine off,” he mumbled, climbing into the front seat. “You should probably get those dry clothes on,” he said, fiddling with the keys once the engine was off.

  “Yeah,” he thought he heard her say, but her voice was too low to be sure.

  O’Connell moved around, the sound of fabric and rustling in the back telling him she was doing as she’d been told. Erik squirmed in his seat, his jeans suddenly much too tight.

  “I’m dressed now,” O’Connell said.

  Erik told himself he was glad of that as he climbed into the back again.

  Bullshit, his body argued. He ignored it. Now was not the time to be thinking with his dick.

  Clarissa nervously brushed her hair back from her face. She had no idea what had just happened. One minute she’d been shivering uncontrollably, trying not to let the panic of being closed in again consume her. The next, she was being undressed by Langston, the look on his face as though she were torturing him.

  Then he’d touched her.

  Clarissa hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away from his face. His intense concentration as he’d massaged her legs mesmerized her. As did the feel of his hands on her, the rough calluses abrading her skin in a way that had made her heart pound and completely distracted her from the claustrophobia.

  There was something between them, no matter what he did for a living or who she was. And Clarissa didn’t think she was the only one who felt it, not by a long shot.