Page 10 of Cursed
All of that was the truth. But none of it made any difference, now that she was in his arms.
When he bent to kiss her again, a shiver travelled over her body as he stroked the sensitive inside of her lip, then played along the edges of her teeth.
His hand slid up her ribs, sending heat through her body, then eased inward, brushing the side of her breast, creating a jolt of hot sensation.
Their eyes met, and she saw desire. He wanted her. And what he was doing was making her forget she must tell him to stop.
She dragged in a breath. But before she could speak, a voice was interrupting them.
Her father? Had he come back and caught them?
Fear crackled through her.
But it wasn’t her father. It was someone else. Far away. Too far to reach her and Andre.
“Morgan? Morgan, are you all right?” The words floated toward her from across the bayou. Floated on time and space.
She longed to stay where she was. In his arms, wrapped in the pleasant but pungent aroma that clung to his skin. His scent. For the rest of her life, she would know him by that familiar scent.
Then his hand closed over her shoulder, his fingers burning into her flesh as he gently shook her.
Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring up at a face that was the same as her lover, yet not the same.
CHAPTER THREE
Morgan gripped the edge of the car seat, trying to anchor herself, trying to remember who she was—and where she was.
Her name floated into her mind.
She was Linette Sonnier.
Linette.
For a moment, it felt right. Good. Comforting. She liked being the woman in the dream. Then her sense of rightness was shattered as her consciousness swept her back into the terror of the flood waters.
In her mind, the current caught her—carried her away. And she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
God, no. She was going to die.
She fought the force of the flood. Fought the terror.
“Morgan! Morgan!”
Her eyes flew open. She wasn’t in the water. She was safe
in the car. She was Morgan Kirkland, wearing a borrowed robe. She wasn’t someone named Linette.
Relief flooded through her as she clutched the importance of that fact to her breast.
She was Morgan Kirkland. She hadn’t drowned. She was safe. And as she absorbed that blessed fact, others followed. Sheworked for Decorah Security, and for some mysterious reason Frank Decorah had wanted her to take this assignment for Andre Gascon.
And he was standing beside her. He was the one who had pulled her out of the water.
She looked up at him and blinked.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and again she was thrown into confusion as images blended and reformed.
He was Andre. Not the man in her vision. The man who had hired Decorah Security. But she must remember there was another man named Andre. Long ago. And she loved him.
