What did I want to talk to him about? Was I going to tell him I was marrying Max? I scroll back through some harmless if flirty Good morning and Good to hear your voice tonight texts before I land on a conversation so damning it makes my hands shake.
The hallway is empty, but I can’t risk anyone else seeing these. I take the phone out onto the back patio, sink into a chair, and scroll back to the beginning of the incrimin
ating conversation. I don’t take a single breath while I read it.
Nate: Did you remember to take your gift home with you?
Hanna: I did. God knows what airport security thought of it when they searched my bag.
Nate: I’m sure they’ve seen worse. Glad you have it with you.
Hanna: It’s a sorry substitute for you.
Nate: I’ll make it up to you when I get to Indiana. I’m coming straight to your place and keeping you in bed for days.
Hanna: Hmm. That sounds kind of boring.
Nate: Get naked, woman. I want to tell you how to use my gift.
Hanna: Bossy.
Nate: Only because it makes you wet.
Hanna: Naked.
Nate: In bed?
Hanna: I’ve been in bed since you first texted. I have a 6 a.m. running date tomorrow.
Nate: You should cancel it. I don’t want you running off those curves.
Hanna: You’re the only one who likes my so-called “curves.”
Nate: Who else matters?
Hanna: Good point. I miss your face.
Nate: I miss yours too. You know what else I miss?
Hanna: Tell me.
Nate: The sound you make when I touch your breasts. The feel of your nipples against my tongue. I miss sliding my hand between your legs and finding you wet. I miss the taste of you. The feel of your heels against my back as I take your clit between my lips. But mostly, I miss holding you in my arms. So fucking perfect. So completely mine.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe it was supposed to be like in the movies, where the amnesia patient sees something from her past and suddenly everything comes flooding back to her. But there’s no memory here, and my half of this conversation might as well have been written by another woman.
When I lift my head, Nate is standing in front of me, hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes bored.
“See anything good?” he asks.
My heart is pounding and my breath is shallow and shaky. My cheeks burn and it has nothing to do with regret or guilt or embarrassment. The things he wrote. The things he said. There’s a heavy tightness between my legs. My mind may still be confused, but my body? My body wants Nate as much as it ever wanted Max.
Oh God, Max. I cheated on Max. “Why would I risk everything?”
His jaw hardens and he shrugs. “You’d have to ask your fiancé.”
“You know why I can’t do that.” I push my chair back, and the scraping of metal against concrete rends the air. I lift my chin. “I want to understand. I need you to talk to me.”
He tenses at my demand. “No, I don’t.”