SHE DIDN’T SEEM the least bit embarrassed by her confession. In fact, she seemed downright amused. When she’d first pealed into his dirt driveway, cool behind the wheel of her Corvette, Adam had pegged her as a bad girl of the first order—or a clever wanna-be. Now he knew for sure.
Bad to the bone. Well, damn. Imagine the luck.
A bad girl might just be the type of woman he needed in his life right now. Someone open to possibilities. His existence had been damned serious lately. Cheating death. Losing the career he loved. A difficult physical recovery and lack of financial stability. But the restlessness Adam had fought since the moment he woke up in the hospital had grown to an unbearable state. Renée was the best little sister a brother could have, but she wasn’t exactly schooled in the girls-just-want-to-have-fun department. His friends all had wives, children and responsibilities. Living in the boonies, he rarely saw his single city friends. Until now, he hadn’t had the right motivation to venture out.
Sydney, on the other hand, didn’t seem deterred in the least by the changes in his personality, which everyone he knew assured him were significant. She seemed less concerned with the fact that he’d lost his memory than with the insulting realization that he didn’t remember her. Well, he was certainly open to the idea of getting to know her all over again, so long as she understood that he couldn’t consider a serious relationship until he’d closed the chapter of his life regarding the accident and the missing plans. He couldn’t redirect the path of his future when circumstances still trapped him in the past.
And as an added bonus, Sydney knew the identity of the courier who’d disappeared with his architectural masterpiece. The police, his colleagues, his sister—everyone he knew had encouraged him to stop torturing himself with the mystery of what happened the night he’d been hit by the car. Better to move on, they’d told him. Focus on his recovery. He’d done that, and yet he couldn’t break from the prison of not knowing exactly what happened in the past. And subsequently, not knowing what he wanted to do with his life now.
At least, now he felt good. Damned good. And Sydney’s hungry stare didn’t hurt one bit.
“So you slept with the courier?”
“Well, not while I was sleeping with you. Right before. I was on this super-tight deadline and he came to get the manuscript just as I’d typed ‘The End.”’
Her smile wasn’t exactly wistful, but it was close.
“That book had a particularly lusty last chapter,” she explained. “And, well, he was a hell of a good-looking man.”
Adam’s eyebrows popped up—of their own volition, since he hadn’t wanted to give away his surprise.
“So he helped you work off a little sexual energy?”
“He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t you, of course, but he wasn’t bad.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“What, that he wasn’t bad? I do try to be somewhat discriminating.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, though he wasn’t sure at all, “but I was referring to the fact that I was better.”
“Oh, honey, I never thought I’d ever say this to a man and mean it, but you were the best.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“What do you want from me, Sydney?” he asked, certain they needed to lay all the cards on the table right here, right now.
Sydney paused, grabbed one of the throw pillows Renée had lined up geometrically along the back of the couch and fluffed it to her liking.
“Well, you know, I have to reassess my answer. I came here for one very specific reason, but I wasn’t acting on the full knowledge of what caused your disappearance.”
“Damaged goods aren’t so appealing, huh?” Adam wished he could have called back the sorry-sounding quip the minute it passed his lips, but when Sydney rolled her eyes, he was glad he’d been honest. Actually, he figured his habit of blurting out whatever was on his mind wasn’t so much honesty as it was a drawback of hanging around Renée too much.
“Damaged? Please. Scars are sexy. I’ll bet that nearly every hero I’ve written had a scar somewhere. I was referring to the nearly unbelievable fact that you don’t remember me. That has thrown me for a complete loop.”
Adam leaned forward, elbows on knees, aware that Renée would give him another head injury if he put his dirty, sweaty back on her couch cushions.
“You sound like you’re taking this personally. I don’t remember any of the women I’ve dated in the past five years, unless I knew them before that.”
Sydney fluffed her blouse, billowing air over her heated skin. Adam’s gaze strayed to the curve of her breasts, the slim slope of her stomach, veiled by the filmy blouse so that he had to use his imagination to fill in the specifics. Even his brain damage didn’t keep him from guessing the precise arc and weight of her breasts, the texture of her flesh, the precise placement of her navel. He glanced up to see if she knew he was ogling her, but either she was oblivious or simply didn’t mind.
“Of course I’m taking this personally,” she answered. “I’ve operated for years on the confident belief that I am completely unforgettable.”
Adam chuckled. “Under normal circumstances, I’ll bet you are. Unfortunately, nothing about me is normal.”
Sydney leaned closer. The sheer blouse flared, allowing him a clear, unhampered view of her sweet-smelling skin.
“Normal is overrated.”
Renée returned to the room, handed Adam his glass and then asked Sydney if she could refill hers.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
Renée crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what did I miss?”
“You weren’t listening on the other side of the doorway? I would have,” Sydney admitted.
Renée coughed to cover a laugh, and Adam could swear he spied the telltale sign of respect in her eyes.
“I was in the bathroom.”
Sydney’s smile deepened. “Then you missed quite a bit. I would have held it. Seems I have something Adam needs, beyond the obvious.”
Renée skewered Adam with a look that bordered on fear. “What is she talking about?”
“She knows the name of the courier.”
“What courier?” Renée asked, frowning at Sydney’s self-satisfied expression.
“The one who picked up the blueprints the night of my accident,” Adam supplied, keeping his voice monotone, his tone even. Renée bristled whenever he wanted to discuss the possibilities of what had truly happened that night. The implications scared her. Once a happy-go-lucky, proud wearer of rose-colored glasses and a sunny outlook, his sister had become anxious, suspicious. The turning point had been their parents’ deaths, but Adam had no doubt his accident hadn’t helped.
Renée’s once-innocent brown eyes rounded. “But the courier company said the pickup request had been canceled. They insisted no employee of their firm ever came to your condo or touched your blueprints.”
“The courier company is full of shit,” Sydney injected.
Adam nodded. That about summed it up.
“Do you remember what time he arrived?” Adam asked.
Sydney scrunched her mouth as she thought. “It was a year ago, and I did have other things on my mind besides what time the courier arrived. But it must have been before seven, because that’s the last pickup time. We had dinner reservations at seven-thirty. We would have been on time.”
“Would have?”
“We didn’t quite make it.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Renée cleared her throat. “And you know for a fact that this guy worked for the courier company?”
“He wore the uniform, and I’m sure he’d worked for them previously.” She turned toward Renée. “He did pickups from my condo all the time.”
“Before that night, had he picked up recently at your place?” Adam asked.
Sydney bit her lip, reluctant to admit the truth. No, he hadn’t. When she’d started seeing Adam on a regular basis, facing a former lover had seemed somehow…wrong. Instead of calling Kyle and explaining to him why she wasn’t a sure thing anymore, she’d done drop-offs for her overnight documents, instead of requesting a personal pickup.
“I hadn’t, if you’ll pardon the expression, used him for a while, but I’d seen him around the complex. In his truck. I can’t remember a specific date.”
“Do you remember his name?” Renée asked eagerly, verifying for Sydney that she hadn’t been listening while Sydney admitted she’d slept with the man.
“Kyle. He’d been with the courier for our area of town for over a year.”
“Kyle what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We never exchanged last names.”
Sydney considered that for a minute. Didn’t quite seem equitable, did it? He’d known her last name. He’d had to, since her full name was on both the packages he delivered and the pickup orders. Once again, Sydney’s rules of engagement hadn’t worked out as effectively as she’d planned.
“Kyle is a good place to start,” Renée said. “The courier company has to have records of their employees. We can find this Kyle and ask him what happened to the plans. Now we have a witness who saw him take the blueprints out of your condo. Adam, this could…”
Renée’s voice died away midsentence. Sydney watched Adam’s sister’s enthusiasm wane as quickly as it had bubbled. Renée then slowly shook her head. Mirroring her concerned yet determined expression, Adam’s face set grimly. The tension between the siblings simmered, thickened with each moment that passed.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Renée said finally.
Adam swore. “Why not? Don’t think I can handle it, Renée?”
Renée flinched, and Sydney figured this was an argument they’d had before. “It’s not that, Adam. The police advised us not to investigate on our own. I’ll dig out that detective’s card, give him a call. Maybe he can check into this Kyle person. Reopen the accident investigation. Maybe now, with real evidence—a witness—we can report a theft.”
Adam shook his head as he turned away, his shoulders tight, his eyes slivers. “Whatever, Renée. I’m going to take a shower. Sydney, will you please wait?”
Sydney relaxed into the cushions of the couch and took another long sip of lemonade. In the span of ten seconds, Adam’s sister’s reluctance had wound him tighter than the coil on a ballpoint. This was the Adam she remembered, even if he didn’t. Driven, single-minded. Quiet in voicing what he wanted, but still planning on getting it without a doubt. Finding that aspect of his personality still intact spurred a thrill that shot to every pulse point in her body.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
With drawn lips, he nodded and disappeared through a door she guessed led to his room. The minute the door clicked shut, she leveled her gaze at Renée.
“Okay, Sis. What’s really going on here?”
Renée waved her hand, then collected Adam’s glass. “It’s none of your business.”
“Says who? You?”
“You’re real pushy, you know that? Less than an hour ago neither Adam nor I knew who you were, and now you think you’re entitled to know our business?”
Sydney finished her drink and held the glass toward her hostess. “This has nothing to do with entitlement. I care about your brother. Took my losing him to figure that out, but I’m not so willing to walk away this time.”
“The man you knew and the man you just met aren’t the same person, Sydney. Not even close.”
“He looks the same to me,” Sydney said, hoping his sister didn’t believe she’d have some hang-up about the man’s scars. Sydney didn’t mind so much if people pegged her as shallow; she’d be the first to admit she often operated with her own self-interest in mind. But, this time, something deeper was at play. Something she didn’t quite know how to handle. But she’d driven all this way and dolled herself up—she wasn’t backing down now. Particularly since this new Adam fascinated her just as much as the old one had. And she knew that, in his heart, he was exactly the same man she should have fallen in love with when he’d first given her the opportunity.
Now she would make her own second chance, even if she had to slap his sister out of her way to do it. But she’d try to reason with her first. She didn’t need to make an enemy out of someone Adam cared about and who obviously cared about him. They might not ever be friends, but they could at least try to reach an understanding.
“I’m not talking about his looks,” Renée answered.
“He told me about his visual dimension problems. I know he can’t do architectural design anymore. I’m a wealthy woman, Renée. I don’t want or need his income.”
Renée slid onto the cushions beside her, her expression earnest, her fingers shaking so that she had to put the glasses down on the floor and wrap her hands into a ball. “It’s not that, either. Sydney, Adam nearly died. The police ruled the accident a hit-and-run, but—”
“Hey,” Sydney said, taking a chance and covering Renée’s hands with hers. “I understand you’re afraid to lose him. I totally admire your protectiveness. But Adam’s a man, Renée. He needs to feel like one.”
Renée dropped her chin to her chest and nodded softly, but after a few seconds tugged her hands free.
“Is that why you’re here? You want to make him feel like a man?” Venom dripped off Renée’s words and Sydney’s blood simmered.
She licked her lips and forced a grin. “If ever there was a job I was qualified for, that’s the one.”
Renée retrieved the glasses and shot to her feet, stalking across the room with an echo of anger in every step.
She swung to face Sydney just as she reached the doorway, which was adorned with a plaque that read, There’s No Place Like Home. “Fine. I can’t fight chemistry. Maybe screwing you will take Adam’s mind off all that’s happened to him. Go ahead and make him feel like a man. But if you hurt him—”
She didn’t finish her threat, didn’t need to. Either the claim would end up sounding empty or, at the very least, ridiculous. Sydney had no intention of hurting Adam. Not accidentally and not on purpose. She wanted him back. Even if she had to deal with his pushy sister on a frickin’ daily basis.
Sydney didn’t know if she was capable of loving a man—she’d never allowed herself to get close enough for fear of finding out. Until Adam. He’d been the only man in the long list of her lovers ever to challenge her status quo. She’d let him go once, but she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Not if she had half a chance of rekindling some of that lost magic.
So while she waited for Adam to shower, she devised a plan. She had something he needed—information. Not just a name, either—she knew what Kyle looked like. She doubted the courier company would be much help. With the litigious society they lived in, they weren’t going to cough up one ounce of information without a warrant from the police or an order from the court. She’d read enough of her friend Devon’s mystery novels to know that red tape in the police department and the court system could stretch for miles. But if you had the right friends, you could bypass some of the delay. Friends like Jillian Hennessy, her private investigator.
Sydney accepted Renée’s wisdom of allowing law enforcement to follow up, but she also had plotted enough books with Devon to understand how the cops worked. This was an old crime. No hard evidence tied the theft of the plans—by the courier or anyone else—to Adam’s hit-and-run. And robberies were often the lowest priority for overworked police departments. Before Sydney came along, Adam couldn’t even prove to the police that someone had picked up the plans from his apartment. The cops might at least have jumped harder on the hit-and-run investigation had they at least known about Kyle.
She would encourage Adam to alert the cops when the time was right. For now, she suspected he needed to be a stronger part of the investigative process than just a victim calling in for occasional updates. She’d seen a glimmer in his eye—a hunger to take control, possibly for the first time in a long while. The man Adam had been before his memory loss would never have waited around to let someone else handle his problems. Adam Brody made things happen. He’d made his own success as an architect. Hell, he’d made Sydney rethink her entire philosophy of life.
Despite what she’d said to his sister, Adam didn’t need Sydney to make him feel like a man—his strength ran too deep for even a life-threatening accident and memory loss to keep him down for long.
Yet if he needed reminding of his inherent male instincts, she could accommodate him—with pleasure.