Page 47 of Mistaken Intention

There’s something about her that makes me feel safe, and although I want to protect her too, at the moment, I’m not sure I’m capable.

On the drive down here, I kept hoping something would trigger a memory; that I’d see my ‘home’, and it would all come flooding back. So far, though, nothing’s happening. It all seems so grand… from the gated driveway Hunter drove us along in that enormous black Range Rover, to the extensive lawns and huge house he parked outside of, before he helped us unload the bags and walked in front of us down to this cottage I’m supposed to call home.

Everything is so strange.

Is this really what I come from?

Don’t get me wrong, I like the cottage. I mean… what’s not to like? The living room is large, with a cream-colored couch and two dark blue chairs, all set around an enormous fireplace, with a wooden mantel above it. There are glass doors in the far wall, leading out onto a terrace, and through an arch is a magnificent kitchen. It has off-white units and granite countertops, and has a large table in the center. A door at the end leads through to a formal dining room, with an oak table and eight chairs surrounding it, although I imagine I’d have eaten in the kitchen. I feel like I’m a ‘kitchen’ kind of guy.

I wander up the stairs, taking my time over climbing them, so as not to wear myself out. I know there are four bedrooms up here because Hunter showed me earlier. Mine comprises a suite at the back of the house, and it’s simply furnished, and quite functional, with just a large bed, two nightstands and a couch. I also have an office, a dressing room, and a bathroom, and I go into the office, checking out the tidy desk, with a laptop sitting on its shining surface, and the couch beneath the window, on top of which, there’s a black canvas bag.

I wonder what I did for a living, although there are no obvious clues here, and I go back out and into the dressing room, opening the closets to find them filled with jeans and t-shirts. I have a few shirts, a couple of suits and a tux, but for the best part, it seems I dressed informally… so I guess I didn’t work in an office.

Josie’s room is opposite mine, and she’s in there now, unpacking her things. I looked around her room earlier. Like all the other rooms that overlook the front of the house, it has shuttered windows, which she seemed to like, and big oak furniture, with a large wet room attached. That reminded me of the wet room at the hospital and how she watched me shower in there. I didn’t say anything… not in front of Hunter, but thethought crossed my mind that I’d like to watch her shower, or better still, get in there with her.

There seem to be photographs everywhere, on all the surfaces and most of the walls and, having gleaned nothing from my bedroom or office, I step outside my bedroom door, studying a black-and-white image of a cornfield, with what appears to be a stormy sky above it, when the door behind me opens and Josie comes out. She’s changed out of her purple scrubs and is now wearing skin-tight, stonewashed jeans and a pale lilac t-shirt, which is molded to her breasts like a second skin. My cock is instantly hard and very uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” she asks, looking up at me.

“I’m just confused.” That’s the understatement of the century. Aside from not knowing who I am, I can’t work out what kind of man I am, either. I want to fuck her, so damn hard… but is that the kind of thing Drew Bennet would do? What kind of lover am I? Do I fuck, or do I make love? Do I bide my time, or am I the kind of guy who just goes for it… and if I do, am I tender, or dominant?

“That’s understandable,” she says. “There’s a lot for you to take in.”

No kidding.

She comes and stands beside me, studying the picture, and even though she’s so close I could kiss her, I have to distract myself. “Is it me, or are there a lot of photographs here?”

“There are, but I like them.”

“So do I. Did I take them?”

She tilts her head. “Is that a question, or a memory?”

“It’s a question. I can’t see why else I’d have so many.”

“I agree, but I’m not allowed to tell you. You know that.”

The distraction is working better than I’d expected. This is so frustrating. It’s like there are memories pulling at me, nagging me to recall them, but they’re too far out of reach. “AmI a photographer? Is that my job?” She stares at me, raising her eyebrows. “Okay, okay. I get it. You can’t tell me. But if I was, surely I’d have equipment, wouldn’t I?”

“Possibly.”

“You can be really infuriating, you know?”

“It’s for your own good.”

“Sure it is.” I turn away, but she grabs my arm. I may be a little weak still, but I’m stronger than she is, and I’m standing my ground, so instead of pulling me back, all she does is stumble into me and I reach out, holding her steady.

“Don’t get mad at me, Drew.”

She takes a step back, and I have to let her go. “Sorry. I don’t mean to.”I’m just especially confused. “This is so much harder than I thought.”

“You imagined you’d come back here, and your memory would miraculously return?”

“Something like that.” I let my head drop, staring down at the space between us.

“If only it was that easy.” She moves closer again, dipping her head and crouching slightly, to get my attention in the cutest possible way, which makes me smile. “Shall we go downstairs?”

“Sure.”

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