Escape for New Year: Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

Redoing the final button, his hands fisted in his shirt. “I wish I’d been there.”

“I had good friends too, though. We ignored the girls who needed to make themselves feel taller by bringing someone else down. Then university happened and the entire world didn’t need to know anymore. I was just like everyone else. A year after graduation, I met you.”

A small smile hooked one side of his mouth. “That night I kept you up talking till dawn.”

Smiling, too, she turned more toward him. “Eight weeks and one day later, you proposed. When you still wanted to marry me after you learned about my secret, I didn’t think anyone could be more lucky … or more in love …” Her gaze dipped before finding his again. “Even if you didn’t quite understand how deeply I felt about conceiving and having our own child. After I agreed we would adopt, I tried to deny it to myself.”

He broke their intense gaze and cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She touched the square bandage on her head. Feeling a faint throb coming on, she surrendered with a nod. It was enough for now that she’d opened that door a little wider. Tomorrow they would talk more, and when he realized how much carrying and giving life to her own child meant to her—when he accepted that history didn’t need to repeat itself, hers or his—he’d come around. He loved her, and love could surmount any obstacle.

She found her feet and put out her hand. “Coming?” His gaze slid to her bandage and she grinned. If he thought he’d get away with another excuse, he was mistaken. “Or we can stay up and finish this conversation now?”

He stood. “You win. But remember, you’re taking it easy.”

She looped her arm through his and guided him toward the door, toward their bedroom.

Beside the bed, she slipped out of her robe while he unbuttoned his shirt again, which seemed to take an inordinately long time. When she slid between the covers, feeling sexy in the lacy negligee she’d donned when she’d first lain down, she watched as his gaze filtered over her in the golden glow of lamplight. Snuggling into the pillows, she slipped back his side of the covers.

“On my honor,” she said, half-serious, “I promise not to ravage you.”

A moment later, the mattress dipped as he moved in beside her. Lying on his side, resting on an elbow, he searched her eyes. Then he brushed a curl from her brow and said, “I promise the same.”

The next morning, a world of birds’ calls dragged Bishop from a deep sleep. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes, but before he could piece together the previous day’s events, he recognized the room, the unmistakable crisp smell of mountain air. He also recognized the angelic form asleep beside him.

Laura lay on her back, her silky hair splayed around her head like a halo. One thin black strap had fallen off her shoulder. Beneath the lace bodice, he saw the rosy tips of her breasts.

Desire—thick, fierce and hot—plunged through his system, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head and most definitely everywhere in between. On reflex, he reached to cup her flawless cheek but thankfully in time he set his jaw and forced his hand away. It was bad enough that they’d slept in the same bed last night. When he’d promised not to take her, Laura had no idea how serious he’d been. But when she’d curled into him, how could he stop her? Or the acute physical arousal that had kicked in.

Clamping his eyes shut, he’d forced himself to think of anything other than her faint jasmine scent and the satin feel of her negligee … of her skin. He had no idea how long he’d lain awake, forcing himself not to stroke her back or brush his lips over hers.

Now he was fighting the same merciless war. The urgent pulsing in his groin said to forget honor and let his palm slide over all those gorgeous contours. The arousal fueling his erection demanded that his mouth glide down and taste her breasts, her hips, the honey between her legs. He imagined her dreamy sigh as she woke slowly, then her fingers winding through his hair as her hips arced and the trapped pounding in his blood found its release. He thought of her climaxing once, twice, and the possibility of them spending all day in bed.

Hardening more, Bishop swallowed a tortured groan. He’d better get out of this room before he convinced himself what he wanted was not only natural and necessary, but appropriate.

Quietly, he eased up and pushed to his feet. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, which brought another problem to mind. What would he wear over the weekend? Perhaps a quick trip into Burniedale, the nearest township, was in order.

He glanced at his watch.

The shops were two hours from opening yet.

Behind him, Laura stirred but when he turned to study her, she didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, the corners of her too-kissable mouth were curved into a heavenly smile. The doctor had suggested he wake her every few hours and ask routine questions, but she’d been fine four hours ago. She looked so peaceful now, perfectly healthy but for that small bandage above her temple. He wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, when she was asleep he wasn’t walking on eggshells, wondering when and how the memory pennies would begin to fall.

A few minutes later, he stood in his office, collecting his BlackBerry off the desk. He checked his messages and found another from Willis.

Where the hell are you?

Bishop headed outside. Where was he? Living in a time warp where the woman he’d once loved—who had once loved him—couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him in this house, let alone in her bed. The bigger, far more dangerous issue was, as difficult as it was proving to be, he needed to remember that, too.

Moving out onto the eastern porch, he siphoned in a lungful of the fresh morning air. The birds were deafening. Living in the city heart this past year he’d forgotten how loud they could be. But it was a relaxing and at the same time invigorating noise. Another thing he’d missed. Something else he’d tried to forget.

He thumbed in Willis’s quick dial and, phone to ear, waited for the call to connect. He’d swung a hip over the wood railing, was watching a hand-size echidna and its porcupine quills trudge into the brush, when Willis picked up.

“Are you in the office already?”

Bishop’s gaze skimmed the dense forest of gum trees. “I’m nowhere near the office.”

“Did you take care of whatever it was that dragged you away early yesterday?”

“It’ll be sorted by Monday.”

“Good, because I promised these potential buyers you’d speak with them then. I’ll get a confidentiality agreement then talk to Saed about putting together the documents they’ll want to see.”

Bishop listened to Willis’s plans while he examined the weathered stump he’d once used to chop logs for the fire. When Willis finished, Bishop absently agreed. “Sounds good.”

Two beats of silence echoed down the line. “You don’t sound as pumped as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m pumped,” Bishop argued. “I just didn’t think we’d get any nibbles this soon.”

“This isn’t a nibble, Sam. It’s a walloping great bite. The agent said the interested party is none other than Clancy Enterprises.”

Bishop let out a long low whistle. “They own half the companies on the east coast.” Manufacturing as well as retail.

“We’re talking serious money and, if we can go by their track record, we don’t have a whole lot of lead time. These guys move fast.”

A family of wild ducks, two adults, four chicks, waddled out from behind a boulder. Bishop shifted his position on the rail. “How fast?”

“Just sign the on the dotted line fast.”

A touch on his shoulder sent Bishop’s heart lurching to his throat. Jumping off the railing, he spun around. Laura stood before him, wrapped up in that fluffy pink robe, the tip of her nose already red from the morning air’s cool kiss.

Her gaze homed in on his phone and she stepped back, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

As if calling from another world, Bishop heard Willis’s voice coming down the line. “Sam? You there?”

“That’s okay,” he said to Laura, thinking how young and fresh she looked, the same age she’d looked when they’d married. The bitterness he’d seen a year ago seemed to have left her face completely. “I was finishing up.” He set the phone back to his ear. “We’ll talk later.”

Willis didn’t ask questions, which was part of the reason he was paid so well. Willis knew when to push. He also knew when to back off.

Laura hunched and hugged herself, snuggling into her robe. It might be spring but up here the mornings still got mighty chilly.

“Must have been something urgent to be calling at this time?” she asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

But a line had formed between her brows and her gaze had gone from his face to his chest and lower. She shook her head slowly and Bishop braced himself. Something had clicked. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t seen him on this porch in over a year. Or something he’d said, or his tone, had set off a memory. If it all came flooding back, he could be gone in two minutes. He’d simply find his shoes and be on his way. He had no desire to hang around and argue, which seemed to be all he and Laura had done those last few months.

Her head slanted to one side. “Why are you wearing yesterday’s shirt?” Her frown eased into a reproving grin. “Anyone would think you don’t have a change of clothes.”

What could he say? He didn’t live here anymore. He wouldn’t find any clothes in what had once been his wardrobe. If he’d gotten to the shops in time and had bought a couple of shirts …

But this kind of thing was bound to happen. He wouldn’t try to explain. He’d simply show her his empty wardrobe and let her memory take it from there.

So they walked back inside the house, down the hall, back into the bedroom, and while she pulled up the sheets to make the bed, he stood before his former wardrobe doors. Holding himself firm, he eased out a long breath.

Do it. Just do it.

His fingers curled around the knob. And pulled.

What he found inside left his legs feeling like rubber. His jaw dropped, and he stepped closer.

Clothes hung from the rails. But not just anyone’s clothes. His clothes. Suits and shirts, trousers and jeans. He held his brow. This didn’t make sense. Yes, he’d left everything behind. He’d had clothes enough back at the Darling Harbor apartment. He didn’t need anything here. Didn’t need anything to remind him.

But he’d assumed that once he’d gone Laura would have bundled up his clothes and shipped them off to charity. Or burned them. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of all this like she’d gotten rid of him?

“Need some help?”

Her voice, coming from directly behind, found a way through the fog. A moment later, her palms were sculpting over his shoulders and arms. As the contact lit fires all through his body, instinctively he leaned back into her touch. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and as her grip hardened on his upper arms, he closed his eyes and tried to stay lucid.

“Of course, we don’t have to wear anything at all,” she purred, and her hands filed down his arms, arrowing over his hips, finally finding and wrapping around the weight confined beneath his trousers.

A whirlwind of darkest desire spiraled through him. His hand covered hers and pressed in as his mind went deliciously blank but for the need to have her again. To drown in her kisses and fill her with his—

Coming to with a jolt, Bishop pried her hand away. Clamping down on the frenzied heat racing through his veins, he turned to her and forced his mouth to curve into a breezy smile.

“You’re certainly persuasive.”

“And you are dying to say yes.” Her gaze heavy with want, she reached up on tiptoe and tugged his bottom lip with her teeth.

A fireball shot to the top of his inner thighs and ignited a very short fuse. When she drew a line around his unshaven jaw and her mouth opened over his, Bishop shuddered and leaned into her kiss. With lava flooding his veins, every cell in his body cried out for more. Then her mouth opened wider, inviting him in deeper. Wanting to possess her, his hands found her shoulders and drew them in.

She tasted the same. Felt the same. And now he knew he was the same hungry man who craved to be with his wife.

She hummed in her throat and the vibration released bright-tipped sparks in his belly that unleashed an inferno a few inches below that. Instinctively, one hand left her shoulder and searched out her breast. As his touch grazed the soft, pert mound, his tongue dipped deeper, running over hers, and any sense of right or wrong vanished beneath the blistering force of mutual need.

Her hands were fanning beneath his shirt, but when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, she found his other hand and set it low on her belly. His fingers speared down. She wore no panties. He felt her damp and ready beneath the satin of her negligee. Pushed to his limits, he groaned against her lips.

“This always felt so right.”

“Make love to me, Bishop,” she murmured back.

“You don’t know how much I want to.”

“Oh, but I do.”

He felt her grin against his lips as her palm slid down his side and the pressure built to flashpoint.

He was ready to forget that this wasn’t real … was ready to drop her back onto the bed and enjoy what she offered in a very real way. And yet …

Still holding her, he sucked down a breath and, struggling, got his thoughts together.

“I … think we should stop.”

Her tongue ran along his bottom lip. “Don’t think.”

Good God, but someone had to.

Gritting his teeth, he pried her a little away. “The doctor said—”

“I don’t care what the doctor said.”

“Listen to me,” he growled. “We aren’t doing this.”

Her head came back and she probed his eyes for a long searching moment. “Is it because you think I’ll ask you not to use protection? That I want us to make a baby now?”

Well, that was as good an excuse as any. Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin. “Let’s cool down, have a shower—”

Her eyes flashed. “Fabulous idea!”

“—alone. We’ll have something to eat. You must be hungry. And later …” Later? He promised, “We’ll discuss it.”

And they would. If any conversation could bring her around—bring them both around—it’d be one highlighting the risks associated with her falling pregnant.

Four

Thirty minutes later, Laura’s high-pitched cry, coming from the bedroom, sent the hairs on Bishop’s scalp standing on end and his feet hurling him out of his chair. His heart belting against his ribs, he tore through the open glass sliders, slammed through the main sitting room and bolted down the hall.

What the hell had happened?

When Bishop had stepped out of the shower earlier, he’d heard the main bedroom pipes still running. Laura loved her baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.

After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.

Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.

Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather … excited.

“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”

He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”

“These.”

She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.

“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”

He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off …

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.

But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then she’d hiccupped back a sob and said that she meant it. That he could pack his things and leave. Leave now. She couldn’t take this anymore and neither could he.

“Now it’s the weekend you can wear yours, too,” she was saying.

He came back to the present and his frown deepened. She was talking about his wedding ring?

“I understand you can’t wear it during the week,” she went on. “I know how you like to keep your hand in at the factory and accidents can happen. Rings can get caught. But on the weekends …” She bounced up and snatched a kiss from his cheek. “It’s only you and me.”

Over a year ago, he’d left his wedding band here. Actually, he’d thrown it in the fireplace before he’d stomped off. He’d always imagined that she’d built a roaring fire and had happily watched the gold circle melt into a shapeless blob. So how was he supposed to assure her that he’d wear it now?

But then her other hand came out, fist closed, palm up. When her fingers peeled back, the gold band he’d tossed into the fireplace a year ago gleamed up.

His heart lurched up the back of his throat. Dumbfounded, he shook his head. It couldn’t be.

Carefully, he collected the ring and inspected the inscription inside. Always and Forever.

His voice sounded as if it’d been dragged through molasses. “Where did you find them?”

“Where I always put them,” she said, studying both her rings and the gold band lying in the centre of her palm. “In my jewelry box.”

His stunned gaze went from the ring to his wife’s—his ex-wife’s face. Her jewelry box? Had she dug the ring out of the fireplace after he’d gone? There was no other explanation. And yet whenever he thought about the hurt and frustration, how he’d believed every loaded word that she’d said—

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” she asked.

Bishop opened his mouth, ready to say no way. The divorce was done and dusted, no matter what she might think. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a way out. He could hedge but what would that accomplish? Only suspicion on her part. Agitation on his.

She’d remember soon enough. Until then …

He gave a stilted nod, lifted his left hand and Laura held the band over his fingertip, ready to push it on. For a moment his thoughts wavered. What does it matter? Then, This has gone far enough. But then the ring pushed up over his knuckle and Laura’s eyes were sparkling all the more.

Grace had implied this might be a second chance. The idea had seemed absurd yesterday, particularly coming from his arch nemesis. And yet this morning, being back in this house, spending the night in that bed, having this ring on his finger …

Bishop shook himself.

No. It was crazy. Not possible.

Not happening.

“What would you like to do today?”

His gaze jumped from his finger to her beautiful animated face. The lilac-colored top she wore was cut tastefully but, to his current way of thinking, provocatively low.

He swallowed deeply. “What did you have in mind?”

“Want to teach me to play chess? You said you would.”

He’d already taught her and she’d proven a quick study. He’d thought about letting her win a couple of times, but she was too clever to fool that way. She’d vowed that she’d beat him fair and square one day. If they sat down at that chessboard now, would she remember the moves he’d taught her, or had that part of her memory been wiped clean, too?

He ushered her into his office, to the chess set he’d left behind. “What do you know about the game?”

“There are bishops.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Right.”

“White moves first.”

“Right again.”

Maybe she did subconsciously remember their lessons, which, most likely, meant she would remember more. And that was good, right?

He twirled that band around his finger—still a perfect fit—and sat behind the black. She took the chair behind the white.

He tapped the piece sitting directly in front of the black king. “This is a pawn.”

“They move one space at a time.”

“Only forward.”

“Except when taking a piece, then they move diagonally.”

“Perhaps we should do away with the lesson and start a game.”

She laughed and the sound tinkled through him. “Oh, Bishop, everyone knows that.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know the castle—”

“Rook.”

“—gets to move across and up and down. That the horse is the prettiest piece and the queen is the most powerful.”

He relaxed back in his seat. That was more like it. “That doesn’t sound very technical.”

“Tell me … is it as difficult to play as everyone says?”

“Only if you can’t guess the other person’s move before they make it.”

He knew what came next in their game … every step, every misfire, after she’d let him know she’d changed her mind and wanted to conceive their own child, irrespective of any health concerns.

No matter the challenge he’d met it head-on, strategized, worked out the kinks and had always stayed one step ahead. Except where their marriage had been concerned. And that black mark had always stung. Always would.

Unless …

Puzzled, Laura was looking over the board. “Know the person’s move before they make it? How are you supposed to do that?”

He shaped two fingers down the sides of the black queen. “By skill,” he said, “and luck. And sometimes even by accident.”

When Bishop had to take a phone call midway through their first chess lesson, Laura decided to stretch her legs. She headed off to the kitchen, poured a drink and told herself that getting a handle on the basics of the game shouldn’t be too difficult. And once she was up to speed, no doubt Bishop would enjoy the competition.

She’d spent time playing cards whenever she’d been in the hospital in the cardio ward—sometimes with the nurses if she couldn’t sleep, more often with the other kids. But, before yesterday’s incident, she hadn’t spent time in a hospital bed in years. She’d had a defibrillator fitted and was on a low dosage medication, which kept her well.

The condition had been passed on through her mother’s side. An aunt had died unexpectedly in her teens and that’s when the family had been tested and the condition diagnosed. But Laura suspected that Bishop’s own family history had as much, if not more, to do with his pro-adoption stand.