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“That maybe you’d been pregnant before?”
Her expression cracked—half amused, half insulted. As if she’d been burned, she pried her hand away.
“That’s ridiculous. For God’s sake, Bishop, I’d know if I’d been pregnant before.”
So adamant. Too adamant.
He swallowed against the ache blocking his throat. Out of anything he could have asked her—anything that would have set off a battery of alarm bells—that question had to have been it. And yet the only reaction he got was a disgusted look as if he’d called her a name. If he bit the bullet, went further and tried to explain about their discussions two years ago, how she’d been so happy with his decision to try to conceive, then ultimately so crushed …
Her eyes glistened more. A hint of panic hid behind the sheen. But her voice was hauntingly level when she spoke.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His midsection clenched and his gaze dropped away.
He’d had no illusions, but this was way harder than he’d thought. Near impossible.
He believed he’d asked the right question, but there was another. And now that he’d come this far, he had to ask it, for both their sakes.
After finding her gaze again, he lowered his voice. “Laura, how do you think you’d handle losing a child?”
She let out a breath. And smiled. Hell, she looked relieved.
“Is that what all this is about?” She leaned nearer and braced his thigh. “Nothing bad will happen. We have to believe that. I know everything will be all right. Have faith. Have faith in us.” She squeezed his leg. “I do.”
The emotion clogging his throat drifted higher and stung behind his nose. How could he respond to that? He had nothing. Then a crazy notion hit. So crazy, he wanted to laugh.
Wouldn’t it be something if she fell pregnant again and this time everything worked out? If she didn’t get her memory back, what man would convict him? She’d be happy. His soul would be redeemed. Or, if she fell pregnant before her memory returned, couldn’t they work through to reinvent the happy ending they’d both deserved the first time around? Was that too crazy to hope for? Another chance?
Her hand left his thigh. “You mentioned something about a slow dance on the balcony.”
Before he could respond, she stood and held out her hand. He looked at her for a long, tormented moment. There was no right or wrong. No win or lose. No way to predict how this would end. Or if it would.
His fingers curling around hers, he found his feet and led her out onto the balcony.
A cool harbor breeze filed through their hair as he cradled her close and she rested her cheek against his fast-beating heart. With the distant hum of traffic for music, he began to rock her gently around. After a few moments she murmured, so softly he barely heard.
“I love you, Bishop.”
High in his gut that tight ball contracted more and time wound down to a standstill. The decision was instinctive.
He put aside the man he was now, the man whose heart had been mangled and who had vowed to never marry again. He tamped down the voice that said not to lie. That cried out what he planned was unforgivable. Instead, he assumed the mask of a man just three months married. A man who knew he should let go of the guilt over surviving his brother and forego the fear of “what ifs” in the womb and beyond. A man who wanted their own child as much as Laura did, no matter what.
No matter what.
He brushed the hair from her cheek, whispered her name then, willing himself to believe it, said, “I love you, too.”
Eight
The next morning, in their Darling Harbor penthouse, Laura had trouble getting out of bed.
She wasn’t sick. She’d never felt healthier. Or happier. After the hours she and Bishop had spent writhing in each other’s arms, she only wanted to stay there, close to her incredible husband, soaking up his magnificent heat, reveling in the way he fulfilled her, each and every time. In the broader scheme of things, they hadn’t known each other long, but she couldn’t imagine these intense emotions ever waning. The texture of his hair, the sound of his rich, smooth voice, the intoxicating scent she inhaled whenever her nose brushed his chest.
She only hoped he never tired of her. She might have been dealt a bad card—her heart condition—but that was little or no problem now. And fate had more than compensated by gifting her the love of an extraordinary man like Samuel Bishop.
At around nine, while Bishop made some calls, she slid into the bathroom to shower. As she lathered her hair, she smiled, remembering how he’d mentioned during the night that he had a surprise for her this morning. It couldn’t be jewelry. He’d already given her enough to weigh down a queen. Perhaps after their reminiscing, he was going to book another cruise.
Laura dried off, knowing that whatever he had planned she would love. She wouldn’t let her mind wander so far as to consider he might want to window-shop for baby things. Furniture, pink or blue jumpsuits, high chairs, stencils for a nursery wall. And she wanted to buy one of those faith, hope and love trinkets. She’d adored the idea of those symbols, and their meanings, since knowing a friend in primary school who had worn them around her neck on a thin gold chain. If she and Bishop had a girl, the heart, anchor and cross would go onto a bracelet; if a boy, she’d attach them to the cot.
Laura stopped to gaze at her pensive reflection in the fogged up mirror.
With so much to organize, perhaps they should start looking now.
But as she slipped the light butter-colored dress over her head, Laura berated herself. They hadn’t agreed to fall pregnant. Not yet. It was an important and delicate matter, one they both felt strongly about. Still, perhaps she ought to bring it up again sometime today. Logically, she knew they had oodles of time to start a family; she was young and, at thirty, so was he. But that didn’t quell the awareness she felt building every day. More and more she noticed mothers with prams, baby commercials on TV, schools and parks with swings and kids laughing and chasing each other around like mad things.
After applying a lick of mascara and lip gloss, she set a brush to her towel-dried hair. Her thoughts wandered more, to places they’d never traveled before, and the brush strokes petered out.
Frowning at her reflection, she shook her head. No. She would never do it. Even if there were a way. Bishop used protection; his nature was to be cautious, to think before he leaped. Still …
How would he react if she accidentally fell pregnant? Last week she’d honestly believed that she had. She hadn’t planned it. Starting a family was a decision both people in a relationship needed to agree upon.
She started brushing again.
Definitely not. She would never intentionally, accidentally fall pregnant. Bishop would come around soon enough and then they could both go into this next important phase of their lives confident and with a clear conscience.
When she emerged from the bedroom, she found Bishop standing by the wall-to-wall windows that overlooked Darling Harbor’s sun-kissed sights. But he wasn’t interested in the view … traffic on the water, the busy restaurants, the fanfare facade of the Maritime Museum. Bishop being Bishop, he was still on the phone.
He caught sight of her, smiled, then obviously needing to concentrate, angled a little away. After the dinner suit he’d worn last night, those dark blue jeans, zipper at half-mast, were a different but still ultra-sexy look. No doubt he’d team it with a brand-name polo shirt. But for her part, she could gobble up the sight of that magnificently sculpted chest all day long. Every drool-worthy muscle was perfectly defined. The angle of those quarterback shoulders might have been crafted by Michelangelo.
He often stood with his weight favoring one leg. That unconscious pose now, in those heaven-sent jeans, gave him a too-hot-to-handle, rebel’s air that left her mouth dry. Still focused on the call, he shoveled a hand through his shower damp black hair and Laura’s pelvic floor muscles squeezed around a particularly pleasant pulse. With his fingers lodged in his hair, that bicep on display …
Laura fought not to fan herself. She only wished she had a camera to capture the moment and remember exactly how heart-poundingly handsome he was right now.
He disconnected and swung back to face her. Graceful, fluid … He didn’t walk so much as prowl. And the quiet throb, ticking at every erogenous zone in her body, said she wanted very badly to be caught.
Joining her, he dropped a kiss on the side of her neck and lingered to hum appreciatively against her throat.
“You smell almost too good to eat.”
Smiling, she dissolved against him. “Almost too good?”
His big hands measured her waist then slid higher. They didn’t stop until long lean fingers were splashed over her back and a thumb rested beneath the fall of each breast. His head angled more. She shivered uncontrollably as his teeth nipped the sensitive sweep of her throat. The pads of his thumbs grazed her nipples as he murmured, low and deep, against her skin.
“You heard me.”
That syrupy I-can’t-get-enough-of-you feeling sizzled like sparking gunpowder through her system. Her knees threatened to buckle and her lungs labored, unable to get enough air. When her hand drove up his arm, over the sinewy rock of one shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, she sighed as he nipped and his morning beard grazed.
“Are you suggesting we stay in today?” she asked, sounding drugged and feeling that way, too.
“I’m saying you can make me lose my mind.”
“That can’t be a bad thing.”
His face tipped up. His eyes were so hooded, she could barely see the blue.
He blinked once then asked, “Promise?”
She laughed. It was meant to be light, but he’d said that word with such earnestness … she wasn’t certain how to respond.
For once too overwhelmed by his intensity, she touched a kiss to his cheek and, winding out of his hold, moved to the galley kitchen. There were times she felt completely consumed by him. That wasn’t a complaint, but she wondered whether another woman might be able to handle his brute magnetism better. She didn’t see his innate power ever diminishing.
She didn’t want it to.
“I had blueberry pancakes sent up,” he said, reaching for a casual shirt resting on the back of the lounge.
Her gaze darted to the meals area and her previously distracted senses picked up on the smell. Feeling guilty after that slab of cheesecake last night, she held her stomach.
“You’re trying to make me fat.”
“Fat, thin …” He strolled to the table to remove the silver dome. “I’ll take you any way you come.”
Inhaling again, eyeing the fluffy discs dotted with berries and dusted with icing sugar, she conceded. She had lost some weight, after all.
Joining him, she collected a fork, cut a portion off the top offering and slid the cake into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the divine butter and fruit textures and flavors. Swallowing, she groaned with appreciation as well as disappointment.
“I wish mine turned out as good as this.”
“Have I ever complained about your cooking?”
She gave a coy grin. “Never.”
“The benefit with room service is …” He curled over her and stole a kiss from her ice-sugared lips. “More time for us.”
More than tempted, she touched her lips where he’d tasted hers as she sliced off a little more cake. “You really do want to stay in, don’t you?”
“That’s a given. But there’s also that surprise I had planned.”
Her mouth was full again but, needing to know, she talked almost incoherently around it. “Wha ith it?”
He laughed and pulled out her chair. “Finish your breakfast and you’ll find out.”
Ten minutes later, he and Laura were walking through the hotel lobby. He had the ticket out, ready for the concierge to retrieve his car, when he recognized a figure standing in front of the lofty automatic glass doors.
Bishop’s step faltered.
What was Willis doing here?
When his second-in-charge recognized him too, he waved and came forward. Bishop slid a sidelong glance at Laura. He and Willis were friends. Willis knew he’d been married and how badly it had ended. But he didn’t want to explain this to the younger man here or now.
As Willis joined them, Bishop made succinct introductions. “Willis McKee, this is Laura.”
Willis took her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Bishop tells me you’re his new assistant,” Laura inquired.
Willis cocked a brow. “I wouldn’t have said new.”
“Willis and I have known each other a while now,” Bishop chipped in. “Laura, can you excuse us for a minute?” Taking Willis’s elbow, he led him off to a quiet corner.
When they were alone, Bishop’s no-problem exterior cracked. He never had a day off. Now he was being hounded by the man he knew could handle the job, and for more than twenty-four hours. Nothing could be this important.
“What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone or emails last night,” Willis replied, no sign of a tail between his legs. “And these guys are keen, Sam. Dead keen. They’ve been on the phone yesterday and already this morning. They want to look at the books as soon as possible.” Willis’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. “You’re still interested, right? I mean, I understand—” he flicked a glance Laura’s way “—you’re busy. But Laura? I thought you were seeing an Annabelle.”
“Laura’s my wife. Ex-wife to be precise.”
Willis’s jaw hit the ground. “Your what? From what you’d told me, I got the impression there was more chance of a blizzard descending on the Simpson than you two getting back together.”
Bishop rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, the vibes I get are more of the plain and simple variety.”
“Laura had an accident Friday,” he explained. “That’s why I left early.”
Willis took another longer look. “She seems fine now.”
“She’s great … except for the fact that two years of her life have been erased.”
Willis took a moment. “You mean amnesia? And she thinks you and she …” Groaning, Willis held his brow. “Oh, man.”
Bishop nodded. “Complicated.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I went along at first because I didn’t have much choice. Laura thought we were still married. The doctor said if I kept a close eye on her, she could go home. So we spent some time together, and as the hours and days went on …” He rolled back his shoulders, forming the words carefully in his mind before uttering a one. “I’m wondering whether we might not be able to save what we had.”
Bishop respected this man; they were friends, but this was extremely private. Should he have been this open? It wasn’t usually his style. Still, now the words were out, he knew he’d needed to say them out loud. Maybe then he’d be able to see how ridiculous this all was.
“Save your marriage?” Willis’s hands dug into his pockets. “That would be if she remembers, or if she doesn’t?”
“That part’s a little up in the air.”
“It’s none of my business, and you probably don’t need me to tell you, but you should tread carefully. If you decide to go that way, the road will be full of potholes, deep and wide.”
Bishop grunted. No kidding.
“I’m going to book her in to see a neurologist midweek. See what can be done. In the meantime—”
