“He hit you before. I remember that,” he murmured, studying her cheek before looking past her to stare at not-Patrick. “Does he still?”
She turned her head, followed his stare. He was watching the man who’d reminded her so disturbingly of her fiancé. “I . . . nobody has ever hit me before. Well, he has. But only him.”
The man shook his head. “You’re wrong there. He hit you before . . . when we were all different.”
“That’s nice and . . . unclear.”
“Another life,” he murmured. Cupping her cheek, he stroked his thumb along the sweep of her cheekbone. “I always remembered. But you’ve forgotten . . . haven’t you?”
She stared up at his face. “If I ever knew you, I’d remember.”
“Not if you weren’t supposed to.” He pressed against her lower lip. “He hit you before . . . and he killed me. After that, I don’t know what became of you. But I think you do. If you’ll let yourself remember.”
Dru grimaced. “That’s insane.”
“So is kissing a man you’ve never met . . . but you did that. And you did a damn good job of it.” He lowered his head, rubbed his lips over hers. “Wanna do it again?”
As she opened for him, that sane voice in her mind whispered, “This is just insane.”
But the voice was quieter this time. Quieter . . . and she wasn’t quite so sure of her sanity, either.
“It’s not insane . . . this is the most rational either of us has ever been.”
“Is it?” She stared up at him, some part of her insisting that this was crazy. All of it. But she couldn’t. Because it felt right. Seemed so right. Far better than anything having to do with Patrick . . .
“Don’t think about him,” he ordered.
“Hard, that. Seeing as he’s standing right . . .” Dru lifted her head, and then stopped in midsentence once she realized Patrick wasn’t, in fact, standing there.
And they weren’t there anymore.
They were in a bright, open room that seemed strangely familiar, although she knew she’d never seen it in her life. The walls had the most ornate wallpaper on them, pink vining flowers that climbed up to a high, airy ceiling. A lovely, four-poster bed that made her think of a time gone by.
“Do you remember this?” he murmured, turning his arms so that they stood facing the bed.
Dru blinked. “No. Why should I? I’ve never seen this place.”
He sighed. “You have . . . in another life.”
A laugh escaped her. “Another life. You must have knocked your head or something . . .”
“Look in the mirror, Dru. See us . . .”
She lifted her head and her breath froze in her lungs. He wasn’t the same. But the eyes . . . she knew those eyes. He stood at her back, longish blond hair pulled back from his face, his clothes clean but roughly made. She, though, her hair was done up in ringlets and curls, swept up high off her face, displaying her neck, a fine necklace. The gown she wore was something she expected to see on the cover of a romance novel, the kind where the man had his shirt half open while the woman was bent back over his arm at an impossible angle.
Swallowing, Dru shook her head. “That’s not me.”
And then she clapped a hand over her mouth. For it wasn’t her voice, either. Softer, huskier, slower.
“It is you . . . it was. Before he took you away from me. Don’t let him take you away again.” He dipped his head and kissed her neck. “This was us. I loved you from the minute I saw you. Do you remember?”
Tearing away from him, she stumbled over to the mirror, certain this was a trick. That red-gold hair . . . no, that wasn’t her hair. And those certainly weren’t her tits. She glanced down at her chest and grimaced. “I can’t breathe.”
“I can help you with that.”
“I just bet,” she muttered sourly, but when she went to turn around, he stopped her. Stiffly, she stood there while he went about stripping her out of a dress that left her baffled. The dress. A petticoat? Other bits and pieces of clothing she didn’t recognize. Finally, she stood there in long, lacy underwear, a chemise, and a corset. “I still can’t breathe.”
“I always loved seeing you like this.” He dipped his head and