Remembering Yesterday

Then images rammed into her head like a truck. They were in the open by a lake, she was splayed wide, impaled on a too-thick cock, crying out in pleasure, her nails raking at sweat-slicked, muscled shoulders and . . .

‘You are so beautiful. I love you, Ava.’

‘And I love you, Devlin.’

Her cup clattered onto the table, drawing the man’s attention, and piercing green eyes ensnared her. Every cell in Ava’s body screamed in recognition and surged to life, needy, desperate. A slow burst of heat spread from her stomach up to her suddenly aching breasts, and then back down to more intimate places.

Oh my God.

He surveyed her with disturbing intensity, his green eyes cool and measured. She knew those eyes. She could feel the touch of them, a living caress, deep and powerful. Need coiled inside and arousal surged through her, hot and heavy. His gaze was a searchlight as it caressed over her with exquisite thoroughness, as if he were searing her on his memory.

The need to approach him was as overwhelming as it was inexplicable. She pushed back her chair, and then he lowered his eyes and turned away. His apparent lack of interest sliced deep. Too damned deep for a man she did not know. She lowered herself back into her seat, her eyes glued to him.

“Ava,” her mother hissed. “Stop staring at that man!”

God, she was stuck in a chaotic dream. “Mom, who is he?” she demanded hoarsely.

Her mother drummed her fingers on the table in obvious annoyance. “No one. And you will stop staring this instant. You’re embarrassing us.”

She started to tremble, her head pounding, her heart drumming against her breastbone.

Who was he?

Memories rushed in, hard and brutal, uncaring of her fragile mind . . . snapshots.

Clinging to his waist behind him on a Harley, freedom blowing her hair back. Cooking together as if they had been doing it for years, tasting and kissing, then the food had seemed less important than his caresses. Showering together and lathering each others’ bodies with gel and once again being distracted by their mutual sensuality. Dancing together, sliding rhythmically close to his body, uncaring about the pouring rain. Heated kisses from those so skilled sensual lips. She saw his hard, smooth, sculpted body on top of hers, making slow love to her. His thick length was driving deep into her core, bringing her to pinnacles of pleasure, until she lay limp but smiling. Pure, unguarded happiness and love.

The ache of it almost crippled her.

“Who is he, Mom?” Her voice was a snarl as she unravelled just a bit more. She knew she had seen the flash of recognition in her mother’s gaze, the twist of distaste on her well painted lips.

Her mother clearly knew who he was.

“Take deep breaths, honey,” her mother crooned leaning over their small table and patting her hand “Deep breaths.”

Ava lurched back from the false lull of comfort. “Mom! Who is he?”

Her mother stiffened. “He is no one for you to be concerned with. Just one of those unruly no account Calhoun

boys.”

Ava cried out as another image slammed into her mind.

She was running, laughing with abandon. Her side stitched but the outcome of the race was never in doubt. He caught her, flipped as they rolled to the ground so that she landed on his chest. ‘I cannot wait for you to be Mrs. Devlin Calhoun.’ Then he kissed her once more with such endearing passion.

The snapshots were coming too fast, too vivid. Bile rose in her throat scalding and bitter, and sweat beaded on her lips. She massaged her temple, a tortured moan slipping from her. The clawing blackness that normally surfaced when a memory broke through hovered.

“Let’s go, Ava. We need to get you to Doc Thompson right away.” Her mother’s voice was a distance buzz, and a hot tear splashed on Ava’s thin yellow camisole. Yet she couldn’t move.

‘You’re so incredibly tight and so fucking wet. So perfect for me, Ava.’

The words resonated in her mind and heart, and Ava wasn’t sure how she knew . . . but everything inside her, said that voice belonged to the man casually collecting his order and walking away, as if he didn’t notice her meteoric meltdown. She knew the fragmented memories were really of him—Devlin Calhoun.

But who was he to her?

***

One, two, three….