Brazen & Burning. Julie Leto

know what you’re thinking, but assuming that we once knew each other—”

      “Assuming?”

      Her eyebrows shot up. When she wrenched her hand free, he had no choice but to let go.

      “Adam, I realize I was adamant about keeping our affair quiet and all about sex and nothing about our personal lives, but I got the distinct impression that when I left you, you didn’t want me to go.”

      “You left me?”

      Adam didn’t know why, but that fact didn’t sit well. Didn’t jive with what his sister had told him about his prior affairs and love interests. In Renée’s estimation, he’d broken a string of hearts the length of Interstate 75. He’d been so wrapped up in his career as a hotshot, innovative architect that he’d never married, never fallen in love. And though Renée claimed he didn’t keep his lovers around for more than a couple of months, she had memorized the complete list of the women he’d told her about.

      And the list didn’t include anyone named Sydney Colburn, a woman who’d supposedly dumped him.

      “You find that hard to believe?” she asked, apparently getting annoyed.

      “Surprisingly…yes.”

      “Sorry, sweetheart, but you broke the rule. You asked me to stay the night with you, and that was…against the rule,” she repeated hotly. The flush on her skin darkened from light pink to magenta and she stamped her foot.

      God, she was sexy when she lost her temper. Actually, he figured this woman had written the original definition of sexy, from her long, wavy auburn hair to her peek-a-boo blouse and skintight jeans. Suddenly, imagining that they’d once been involved wasn’t so hard to believe.

      “We had rules?”

      “Don’t toy with me, Adam. Of course we had rules! We wouldn’t even have exchanged last names, except we lived in the same complex and read each other’s mailboxes every day. Why am I telling you this? You know. You know me. You know what I’m like…what I was like. Then. I’m different now. I want different things. That’s why I hired a private investigator to find your new address. That’s why I dressed myself all up and drove a good two hours away from the nearest Nordstrom’s in melt-your-makeup heat to find you.”

      “Two hours from Nordstrom’s? You must be suffering horrible withdrawal,” he quipped.

      She thrust her fists onto her hips.

      “I distinctly remember you regarding the grand opening of Nordstrom’s as something akin to the Super Bowl, mister. We went together. You spent five thousand dollars on a suit in the first half hour alone.” Her tone was even, but sharp. “Don’t you dare condescend to me, Adam Brody.”

      Adam clenched his lips together. Her claim did indeed match what his sister had told him about the past few years of his life, as well as the facts he had solid proof of—like a whole closetful of designer men’s wear languishing in the cabin’s guest bedroom.

      He raised his hands in surrender.

      “I’m sorry.”

      Sydney sighed, then turned on a smile that just about outshone the sun.

      “You’re forgiven.” She snaked her arms around his neck and pressed close, ignoring the sawdust and sweat clinging to his bare chest. Her breasts taunted him with soft pertness. Her scent enticed him. Her mouth, which she licked to an even glossier shine than her lipstick, begged for a kiss.

      And who was he to make her beg?

      He curled his hand around the small of her back and lifted her, pressing her lips to his. Immediately, her mouth opened, her hands reached up to grip the sides of his cheeks, her leg twisted around his thigh to bring the center of her sex in direct contact with his. Adam jolted with explosive need, dropping his other hand to her buttocks, crushing her closer until his body throbbed and his chest heaved. Wild sexual instincts overrode every ounce of sense he had. If not for Sydney pulling back, he might have stripped her naked right there.

      “Whoa, sweetheart.” She made short work of straightening her hair and clothes, tugging her tank top down so that her erect nipples drew his eye. “I remember we used to love the thrill of getting it on in the great outdoors, but don’t you think we should find somewhere a little more private? I don’t guess your sister would appreciate us screwing in her driveway.”

      Adam laughed. He’d never known a woman who spoke about sex so freely. Or at least if he did, he didn’t remember her. Just like he didn’t remember Sydney.

      “We used to do it outside?”

      Sydney rolled her eyes. “We were a hair away from being certified exhibitionists. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten about our tryst on the roof of your building?”

      “Unfortunately…yes.”

      “Excuse me?” She stepped back, clearly not believing him.

      No time like the present to tell her the whole truth. “Much as I hate to tell you this…I don’t remember us. In fact, I don’t remember you at all.”

      3

      “YOU’RE JOKING, RIGHT?”

      Sydney searched Adam’s face for any sign of facetiousness, but the sharp planes of his stubble-roughened cheekbones and the kiss-swollen curve of his mouth didn’t show anything but dead seriousness. Even his irises, a unique light brown that reminded her of the fawn-beige paint on her father’s first Rolls Royce, reflected nothing but honesty. They didn’t twinkle with his notoriously wicked sense of humor. They didn’t dart to the side when she persisted in staring.

      “Tell me you’re joking,” she pleaded.

      He glanced appreciatively down the length of her body. “I wish I was. You seem like someone who’d be hard to forget.”

      “Hard to forget? I’m impossible to forget!”

      Sydney stepped back, teetering on her high heels, her toes straining against the razor-thin straps. Furious, she cursed and tore off the sandals. Her first instinct was to throw them long and hard across the lawn, but her second instinct—to throw them at his head—stopped her from throwing them at all. Ordinarily, she wasn’t a violent woman. Instead of inflicting physical harm she decided to hold tight to the potential lethal weapons until she figured out how the hell Adam Brody, the man who’d almost made her break the dating mantra she’d lived by, could have forgotten their brief, but awesome affair.

      “You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you?” She shook the shoes at him, hoping one more chance would convince him to change his story. How could he forget her? Her? “This is payback for my dumping your sorry ass.”

      Adam chuckled, and though the sound trickled through her like neat bourbon with a twist of lime, something sounded foreign to her. Un-Adam-like.

      Her insides froze. She noticed a scar nestled in his thick eyebrows. She swallowed hard, her mind working furiously.

      “What happened to you?”

      “Accident, or so I’m told.”

      She dropped her sandals on the ground. Moisture deserted her mouth and she struggled to swallow, wishing she had that bourbon he’d reminded her of a second ago. With a tentative step, she closed the distance between them and brushed a lock of chestnut hair away from his forehead.

      “Oh, God…”

      “That’s nothing.”

      He turned around and gave her a full, unhampered view of the still-red-and-puckered scar slashing down his back.

      She gasped. “Does it hurt?”

      “Sometimes. When it rains.”

      Tentatively, she reached out, but stopped with her fingers only centimeters away.

      “You can touch it,” he said.