Page 6 of Bad Moon Rising
He pressed tight against her but didn’t hurt her. “No one knows I still exist.”
He could kill her. Right here. Right now. But something made him hesitate.
Him holding back meant he wasn’t a soulless assassin.
She wriggled her hand free of his hold. “Let me get something out of my pocket. I swear, it’s not a weapon.”
He didn’t give her permission, nor did he remove the knife. Once she retrieved the lighter, she flicked the flame on and off twice, as “Unknown” had instructed.
The knife disappeared, but he pressed a hand into her chest to mash her against the wall. The grip wasn’t crushing. Yet, it contained her. In a hiss of breath, he asked, “Where’d you get that?”
“I did what I was told. Now, do whatever you’re supposed to do to allow me to remember my past.”
“What?” His face scrunched up. An errant bit of unruly hair fell across his forehead and tickled the point at the top of his sculpted nose. Cameras must love his symmetry and angles.
“You know me, right? You know who I am? Is Nova actually my name? Have we met before? Please, I need to remember.”
“I don’tknowyou,” he said.
He didn’t know her? Hehad to.Her phone vibrated against her racing heart, likely another countdown warning.
Task accomplished. She’d gotten him out of the subbasement. Did she need to get him out of the club for the miraculous recovery of her memories?
“Why was it important I leave downstairs?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She wanted to text back “Unknown”to report her success, but, “Unknown” probablywouldn’t respond. She’d replied to the texts the moment she woke up and never got anything back. “I think we have to get out of the club. Something might be about to happen.”
His head whipped to the side to search the dance floor. “I have business to attend to. You’re going to stay put until I finish. If you don’t—”
“If your knife comes out again, I’ll shove it inyourheart,” she interrupted.
“I like a good fight.” He leaned in. The air bristled with energy. His bourbon breath saturated her nose. “I don’t lose.”
She stared into his bottomless blue eyes, feeling breathless and tingling all over. But not in the least intimidated.
Hoarsely, he said, “I’m also very good at hunting once I have the scent of the one I need to catch.”
“If I ran, it’d be a challenging hunt for you.”
His gaze dropped to focus on her lips. Her mouth went dry, like a desert. Was he going to kiss her? She wasn’t opposed.
Nerves tightened her stomach as she envisioned her mother turning in her grave at the thought of such a violation of etiquette as an illicit kiss in public. Violation of etiquette? Was this a memory? Hot damn. How was it wrong to kiss this exceptional man? Right on the heels of that revelation came a buttload of stubbornness to do exactly whatever the hell she wanted.
She remembered her mother, not by an image, but with the idea of propriety. This deep-set sense of decorum seemed antiquated, not something belonging to the twenty-first century.
She’d remembered something! This man might actually be the key to her past without the need for a chemical antidote. Maybe this is why she had to find him and get him out…to get him alone.
If a kiss could open her mind to remembering, then she was all in. Hell, memory crisis aside, she wanted to feel the power of him against her. Lips…his tongue—both were a tempting start. Should she initiate this kiss or let him? She waited.
Nothing happened.
He didn’t move.
“You should be frightened of me,” he whispered, a noise she shouldn’t have been able to hear over the pulse-pounding music but did.
“I’m not.”
His large frame and broad shoulders invaded her space, his forearm grazing hers as he leaned in. “Are you sure?”
