“You don’t know who you are.”
“No, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. “But instead of finding out, I’d rather get to know you better.”
“Your personality is still intact.”
“What did you call me earlier? Dutch?”
She nodded and walked to a table that was just inside the entryway.
Dutch looked around him. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. It’s not mine.”
“Whose is it?”
“Company apartment. Take a seat.”
“Hmm, bossy. I like it.”
She shook her head, but he saw she was still smiling. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Before I answer that, tell me who you are.”
She reached down under her pant leg, pulled something out, and handed it to him.
“Special Agent Malin Kilbourne,” he read on the CIA badge. He tossed it on the table, stood, and walked over to the refrigerator. “You got anything to eat in here, special agent?”
“Fresh out of spaghetti and meatballs, I’m afraid.”
“Ah. So you know what I like to eat.” He turned around and looked into her eyes. “Please tell me we aren’t related.”
She laughed and joined him next to the refrigerator. “No, Dutch, we aren’t related.”
“But we have a past.”
“We do.”
“A complicated one.”
“Your instincts are amazingly sharp.”
“Right,” he said, sitting back down. “Tell me what you know.”
“You’ve been in Germany approximately seven days. Doc has been trying to reach you for the last six…does that name mean anything to you?”
He shook his head as he watched her pull food out of the refrigerator. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more—to know who he was, something to eat, or to get Malin Kilbourne naked.
Her hair was pulled back, but it looked long and inky black. Her hazel eyes and curvaceous body were equally stunning as her pretty face. His guess was that when she was naked, her hair spread out on the pillow beneath her head, and her eyes hooded in pleasure—she was breathtaking.
“You’re feeding me, so I guess you like me.”
“That might be a stretch.”
“Complicated bad, then.”
She smiled and nodded.
“Tell me this much, was the sex good?”