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her lip at the power of her arousal and struggled for her equilibrium. “Well, the doctor did warn you I might be difficult,” she finally managed in a voice husky to her own ears.
    Dylan stared at her in disbelief, then dipped his head and swore.
    “I can’t help wondering,” she said. “Have you and I ever kissed before?”
    “Yeah, but—”
    “But what?”
    “It’s been a long time,” he said, moving away from her.
    Inexplicably bereft, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, well then, I guess that blows my first theory.”
    He met her gaze. “First theory?”
    She shrugged. “Well, it was a pretty intense kiss.Spontaneous combustion,” she said. Or nuclear fusion. “I thought that it was maybe a monstrous buildup of curiosity and tension over a lot of years. Like, say twenty. But if we’ve kissed before…” She frowned. “If we’ve kissed before, why did we stop?”
    “Stop what?”
    “Kissing before?”
    He raked his hand through his hair. “Because you were fifteen, your mother got married and you moved away.”
    Alisa searched her memory for one tantalizing crumb and came up empty. “I don’t remember,” she said, and wished with all her heart that she did.
    He met her gaze, and she saw a sweet nostalgia come and go in his eyes. He gently chucked her chin. “That’s okay. Some things are best forgotten.” He dropped his hand, and his eyes grew serious. “In the meantime if you get bored while you’re trying to recover, read a book or turn on the TV instead of pushing my buttons.” He cocked his head to one side as if listening. “Sounds like most of the storm’s gone. Maybe we can go back to the house now.”
    Still thinking about the heat of their kiss and the fact that she and Dylan had been teenage sweethearts, she watched him open the door.
    “Looks safe to me,” he said, waving her toward him. “Come on.”
    Alisa left the barn with him and walked silently. As they drew close to the house, she looked at himcuriously. “Are you saying you didn’t like it?” she asked.
    He glanced at her in confusion. “Like what?”
    “Kissing me,” she said, coming to a stop. “Are you saying you didn’t like kissing me?”
    He stopped and shot her an impatient glance. “No, but you’re recovering from a serious accident, and even though you may not realize it,” he said in a dark voice, “you’re vulnerable. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
    “This is so confusing. One minute you’re the materialistic millionaire, the next you’re allowing handicapped kids to have horseback riding lessons on your property. One minute you’re kissing me like—” She faltered, unable to find a sufficient description.
    His gaze was dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “Like what?”
    She lifted her chin. “Like you wanted to be doing a lot more than kissing. The next minute you’re brushing me off because of some sense of honor. Which one is the real Dylan Barrows?”
    “All of the above,” he said, and led the way into the house.
    Alisa stared after him, filled with frustration and questions. Damn her lack of memory. There was so much she wanted to know about herself and Dylan. The more she was around him, the more questions she had. She couldn’t help feeling like a shell of a woman, a faux human. Her skin, hair and body were pure human, but inside she felt empty. She might aswell be missing a limb. More than anything she wanted this lost feeling to go away. More than anything she wanted to remember everything about her, about Dylan.
     
    Dylan left the house soon after dinner. He could rest easy that Alisa wouldn’t find any more trouble today. She’d nearly fallen asleep at the table. As he strode into O’Malley’s Bar to meet Michael and Justin, he tried to leave his concerns for her behind.
    “How’s life in chicken pox land?” he asked Justin.
    Justin made a face. “The twins are getting over it, but Emily came down with it today. The kids are