A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

I’m sure you’re not the problem child in this equation.”

      The remark caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

      “You’re thoughtful, kind and quick to show gratitude.”

      “Are you saying that in some subtle effort to encourage my memory?”

      He shook his head. “I only want to reinforce that you’re in a safe place when your memory returns.”

      She appreciated the gesture and his efforts, so much that she had to blink back a rush of tears. Crying didn’t seem like something she normally indulged in, and it felt as if she’d hit her quota outside what they’d been told was her apartment.

      “Feel like a movie?” he asked.

      “Sure. As long as you choose.”

      “Can’t remember any favorites?” he queried with an easy smile.

      “Not so far.” The idea of watching a movie made her feel lighthearted, as if it was some kind of rare treat. That didn’t make much sense if she had her own place, but whatever. She had to let her mind come back online at its own pace.

      Carson chose a romantic comedy his sisters loved. The blend of action, romance, laughter and fun held her attention. She relaxed, curled into the corner of his big couch and just let the story wash over her. When the credits rolled, she was smiling and full of good feelings with only the smallest twinge of a headache behind her eyes. “That was a great idea.”

      “I’m glad.” He walked over, ejected the DVD and returned it to the case.

      His entertainment system switched over to the television broadcast, and she recognized the anchors on the news. Considering that small revelation progress, she begged Carson to let her watch for a few minutes. Suddenly her face filled the screen along with her name. Melissa froze as a picture of Noelle Anson followed, along with overhead views of the place where the body was found. The view changed again, showing a reporter standing outside a hospital where Noelle’s coworkers had created a makeshift memorial.

      She heard Carson’s voice, muffled and distant, then closer. The reporter’s voice died and the television screen went black. Carson held her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Melissa! Melissa, breathe.”

      Had she stopped breathing? His hands were on her arms, rubbing briskly. She was so cold and trembling again.

      “Breathe. Slow and easy,” he said over and over. “Look at me now. Come on.”

      She followed the sound of his voice, struggled to cooperate with his requests. Her eyes locked with his, registering the abject worry in his hazel eyes. “What is wrong with me?”

      “Trauma. It leaves a ton of wreckage.”

      She heard the experience and pure sympathy in his voice. If he could get over what happened to his ambulance partner, she could fight back from this abyss to help her friend.

      “Did they say they were looking for leads?”

      “Yes.”

      “Looking for information on me?”

      “They said they were looking for people who saw you together last night.”

      She had a sudden fear that this mess would cost her the museum job. On instinct alone she knew that kind of fallout would be awful for her. On the heels of that, she felt dreadful that she’d apparently lost a good friend and was selfish enough to worry about her work rather than a woman’s life. “I’m a terrible person,” she muttered.

      “You didn’t hurt your friend.”

      “I want to believe you. I almost do. But my friend is dead, and inside—” she tapped her fingers over her heart “—I’m actually worried about my job.” She couldn’t look at him. It was bad enough to say it all out loud. She couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes.

      Carson tipped up her face so she had to look at him. “That’s human, Melissa.”

      “I don’t even remember what I do.” Her voice cracked on a borderline hysterical laugh. “I don’t—”

      She gasped when Carson tugged her to her feet and nudged her along to the kitchen.

      “Chocolate. You’ll have something sweet, and then we’re going to bed.”

      “What?” The image of being in bed beside his lean, warm body gave her mind something new and tempting to latch onto. An utterly inappropriate choice, but she couldn’t reel it back in.

      “I, ah. I didn’t say that quite right. Have a seat.” He guided her to the counter stool. “I have it on good authority, which adds up to pretty much every woman I know, that chocolate fixes everything. So you’ll have chocolate and then you’re going up to your room and sleeping. You don’t have to worry about me interrupting you at all tonight.”

      “Okay.” Sleeping alone in the twin bed didn’t hold as much appeal as sleeping beside him, but it was the smart solution. He was taking care of her, and she’d have been crazy to give in to the attraction pulsing through her blood at the moment. “Chocolate sounds perfect,” she managed.

      A slice of cake appeared in front of her. It was airy and nearly black, and the aroma alone eased her frayed nerves.

      “Ice cream?” Carson had a small pint of ice cream in one hand, scoop ready in the other.

      “No, thank you.”

      “More for me,” he said with an easy shrug. He topped his slice of the dark cake with a generous scoop of ice cream and then returned the remaining ice cream to the freezer. He raised his fork in a dessert version of a toast, and they dug in.

      The cake was amazing, the rich cocoa flavor melting in her mouth. “Your sister again?”

      “Yes,” he said. “But this is a family recipe. My mom used to make this all the time because it’s so fast and easy.”

      “This?” She turned her plate, wondering how something so intense and delicious could be easy. “If we find out I like to cook, I want the recipe.”

      “Deal.”

      She believed he’d honor that deal, just as he kept his word and insisted she head straight up to the bedroom as soon as she finished her cake. He refused her offer to take care of the dishes, practically pushing her up the stairs.

      In the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her hair and teeth, and changed into the T-shirt he’d brought in for her last night. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

      This time she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets, but sleep eluded her. Staring up at the dark ceiling, she thought about Carson’s confidence in her, even without her memories. She prayed her mind would cooperate soon. The police needed to know who had killed her friend and beaten her up. She had to remember, no matter what those memories revealed about who she was and how she was involved.