A Husband She Couldn't Forget

by Christine Rimmer

  “Mom loves the dahlias. She says thank you.”

  Cat would have said more. “And what else?”

  “She said to tell you to be good to me—or else.”

  He nodded. “Now, that sounds like your mom.”

  “You want to see her?”

  “Yeah. If she’s feeling up to it.”

  “Come on, then.”

  He followed Aly up the stairs.

  She led him to the door of the master bedroom and tapped on it. “Mom? Connor wants to say hi.”

  “Sure.”

  Aly ushered him in ahead of her.

  Cat, somehow looking even more pregnant than she had the evening before, was sitting up in bed with her scruffy little dog snoozing at her side. “Connor. My flowers are beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you like them. How’re you feeling?”

  Cat gave him a slow smile. “Much better. You had me worried, though.”

  What was he supposed to say to that?

  Before he could come up with the right words, Cat said in a warm tone, “Goodnight, Connor.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, and they left it at that.

  He joined Aly in her room, where she was repacking her suitcases.

  Downstairs again, she kissed her disapproving dad goodbye and they were out of there.

  At his house, Connor hauled everything back up to the guest room and left her to settle in for the second time.

  In the kitchen, he made himself a ham sandwich and ate it standing by the sink. He drank a bunch of water and then poured himself some Bowmore over ice.

  Still standing by the window that looked out on Mrs. Garber’s tiny side yard, he sipped his drink until there was nothing left but an ice cube. Aly didn’t come down and the house was too quiet. He could almost be alone all over again.

  Aly needed checking on, he decided. She’d suffered a head injury, after all.

  He climbed the stairs and found the door to her room wide open. She was sprawled faceup, sound asleep on the bed, still wearing that fitted pink shirt and black pants, but minus her shoes. He stood in the open doorway to her room, drinking in the sight of her, watching her full breasts rise and fall in an even rhythm, admiring the dark halo of thick hair spread out on the pillow.

  She seemed okay, her expression relaxed. Peaceful. He should close the door and let her rest.

  Quietly, he took off his boots and set them by the door. It was still light out, but she’d turned on the lamp by the bed. Silent in stocking feet, he went to her and switched off the light.

  She stirred a little but didn’t wake. He put a knee to the mattress. With a soft little sigh, she rolled away from him onto her side, conveniently making room for him next to her.

  He took shameless advantage, lying down beside her, wrapping himself around her, ready to jump up and start apologizing if she objected to his being there.

  Damn. She smelled so good. Warmth and woman and ginger spice. He pulled her closer against him, burying his nose in the dark cloud of her hair.

  She fitted herself into him, snuggling her gorgeous, round bottom back against his groin. It felt like heaven—and now he was sporting wood. Desire was an ache spreading all through him. He pulled her in closer, bringing his knees up, making a cradle for her thighs.

  Holding Aly. Nothing compared.

  She took his hand and snuggled it between those beautiful, soft breasts of hers—awake, after all? Evidently. The softest little chuckle escaped her. “I’m not having sex with you tonight, so get that idea right out of your head.”

  He nuzzled her hair out of his way and brushed his lips along the side of her neck. “But I can stay?”

  She took her time answering. He was certain he would be sent packing. But then she sighed. “Yeah. Stay.”

  * * *

  When Aly woke around midnight, Connor was gone.

  She got up, took off her wrinkled clothes and padded to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Back in the bedroom, she put on a sleep shirt. Smiling to herself, she climbed under the covers.

  He’d ended whatever it was with that other woman. And he’d admitted that he wanted to be only with her.

  Things could be worse.

  Maybe she and Connor wouldn’t end up together. Maybe she would wake up one morning and remember with clarity all the things about the past seven years that everyone else said were true. Maybe the time would come that she would be eager to return to her life in New York.

  But in the meantime, as long as her ex-husband was willing to put up with her, as long as he looked at her like he craved a whole lot more with her than he thought he had a right to ask for, well, she had a plan, and the plan was to do everything in her power to get up close and personal with him.

  * * *

  The next morning, she woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. Downstairs, Connor handed her a mug of coffee and pulled out a chair for her at the table.

  She went off to her parents’ house smiling. Connor wanted her in his house and it felt absolutely right for her to be there.

  In the evening, they cooked together. She tossed a salad and fixed saffron rice while he grilled marinated chicken. It was good, just to be with him.

  Good, but not enough.

  And didn’t he seem kind of cautious now? He was careful not to get too close. When she brushed against him, he moved away. As soon as they’d cleaned up after the meal, he disappeared into his home office upstairs.

  Was he having second thoughts about the two of them taking their current status as roommates to the next level? She reminded herself not to rush things. She had weeks and weeks left in town—maybe longer. Maybe the rest of her life. It was so hard to say at this point.

  That night, she dreamed of Strategic Image. Of her office, where framed prints chronicling campaigns she’d worked on over the years filled the wall behind her glass desk, testimony to her success and to how much she loved her job. When she woke in the morning, she had a mild headache.

  She also remembered that dream.

  Just as Dr. Warbury had predicted, her memory was beginning to return. Bits of her past had already come back to her. Not many yet—well, only two: that moment out on Fifth Avenue and now the dream of her office. It felt like a giant puzzle with all but two pieces missing.

  But at least it seemed fully possible that, in time, she would know what she needed to know about the years since Connor had had her served with divorce papers.

  Sunday, while she was alone in her mom’s kitchen mixing tuna salad for lunch, her phone buzzed with a text.

  Going to Daniel’s for dinner tonight, Connor wrote. Just wanted you to know. Thought you might want to go ahead and eat with your folks.

  She frowned at the screen as she tried to decipher his message. Seemed to her he wasn’t inviting her. And she would bet he’d known that morning or even the day before that he would be at Daniel’s tonight.

  Foolish man. If he refused to invite her, he was going to have to say so.

  She texted back, Who all will be there? I want to come.

  It took him forever to answer. She grinned down at her phone and waited him out. Finally, he reported that it was kind of a standing thing—Sunday dinner at Daniel’s. He wasn’t sure how many of his brothers and sisters would show up.

  Connor had started out with eight siblings—four brothers and four sisters. One brother, Finn, had disappeared at the age of eight during a family trip to Russia, never to be seen or heard from again. That left him with three brothers and four sisters, some of whom were married now. Daniel had three children. It could be a big group. She really wanted to see them all, find out how they were doing.

  She texted back her demand. Invite me.

  The phone rang in her hand. She put it to her ear. “Well?”

  “You really sure you want to go?” He soun
ded kind of worried. But hopeful, too.

  They needed to talk. It seemed that he still felt he should keep his distance from her. Wrong. “Yes, I’m sure I want to go. I’ll meet you at your house. What time?”

  “Five?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  The Bravos didn’t seem all that surprised to see her. Connor must have filled them in on the situation. They welcomed her with big smiles and lots of enthusiasm. His sisters hugged her; his brothers did, too. They asked how she was doing after the accident and they didn’t seem to blame her at all for the divorce.

  Connor might have lied to keep her, but he must have been honest with his family about why the marriage ended. At least he hadn’t turned them all against her.

  Had she done that to him? Turned her dad and her brothers against him?

  Due to the holes in her memory, she wasn’t sure what she’d said or done back then.

  But she had no doubt that she’d cast Connor as the villain. Why wouldn’t she? Even he frankly admitted that he’d been the bad guy in their breakup, the one who lied about his intentions and then refused to compromise in the slightest to try and work things out.

  She needed to have a talk with Dante and her dad, at least—and before them, with her mom. Find out what she’d said to them seven years ago about the dissolution of her marriage—find out, and then do what she could to end the hostilities.

  It kind of astonished her how much had happened in her years away. Daniel’s first wife, Lillie, had died three years back of complications from lupus after giving birth to twins, Frannie and Jake. Those two were adorable, happy and playful, talking nonstop, throwing a ball for the family basset hound, Maisey, and giggling in delight when the dog brought it back.

  Then, a year ago, Daniel had married Lillie’s cousin, Keely Ostergard. Daniel and Keely had a six-month-old, Marie. Aly also met Matt Bravo’s bride, Sabra. Matt and Sabra lived on her family farm just outside Astoria. Aislinn, oldest of the Bravo sisters, introduced Aly to her husband, Jaxon Winter.

  Dinner was a crowded affair. The table in the dining room was a long one, but there were a lot of Bravos to fill it. It was potluck, with everybody bringing something. At her mother’s that day, Aly had baked chocolate chip cookies, so she’d brought a couple dozen of those.

  They had coffee after the meal, and a pineapple upside-down cake Sabra had brought. The cake and Aly’s cookies were gone before anyone asked for a second cup of coffee.

  It was after nine when she and Connor said their goodbyes and climbed into his Land Rover.

  “Tired?” he asked, as he drove them through the quiet, dark streets of their hometown.

  “A little.” Since the accident, she tired more easily, though her stamina did seem to be increasing, day by day.

  At Connor’s house, Maurice had somehow managed to slip into the garage. The cat was waiting for them on the steps leading to the inside door.

  “I’ll take him home,” Connor said. He scooped up the cat and carried him up through the house to the front door. “Go on to bed,” he instructed before he went out. “Get some rest.”

  She did no such thing. She was waiting on the sofa in the living area when he returned five minutes later.

  “I thought you were going to bed,” he said over his shoulder as he locked the front door.

  “Wrong. You told me to go to bed.” She slipped off her sandals and folded her legs up to the side on the couch cushions. “But it just so happens I’m not that tired.”

  He came up the single step to the living area and went on into the kitchen, where he got down a bottle of Scotch and a glass.

  It simply wouldn’t be right to let him drink alone, now would it? “Got vodka?”

  He gave her another glance over his shoulder. “Where do your doctors come down on drinking?”

  “Should I get hammered? No. Can I have a drink now and then? Absolutely.”

  He took down a second, taller glass. “Tonic or cranberry juice?”

  “Tonic would be great.”

  He poured their drinks and brought them into the living area. “Here you go.”

  She took the tall glass and patted the couch cushion. “Sit with me.”

  He gazed down at her, hesitating. But then he gave in and folded his tall frame into the space beside her. She hid a smile. Poor man. Trapped by his ex-wife, who wouldn’t just give up and go to bed when he told her to. “It’s good, thank you,” she said, after taking a sip. “And it was great to see your family again.”

  “They always loved you.”

  “I love them.” She had another sip. “They didn’t seem surprised to see me.”

  He’d put a single large ice cube in his Scotch. It clinked against the glass as he drank. “I told Daniel pretty much the whole story, about the accident and your partial amnesia, your mom and the baby and your coming to stay with me.”

  “And the family grapevine took care of the rest?”

  “Essentially.”

  She set her drink on the coffee table and held out her hand to him. “Here. Give me yours.”

  He frowned at her. “Why?”

  By way of an answer, she snatched his glass from him and set it with hers. He didn’t object. But he did watch her, eagle-eyed, his expression equal parts wary and predatory.

  Sadly, the wariness would keep him from making any kind of move—and so be it. She’d never been the shy type. She would do it for him.

  She leaned closer. Now she could smell his cologne and feel the tempting heat of him. Best of all, he didn’t back away.

  She leaned even closer and said more softly, “Friday night you came and wrapped yourself around me. You slept with me—for a while, anyway.” There were no more than a couple of inches from his lips to hers. His breath caressed her, warm and scented with Scotch. “Since then, though, it’s definitely felt like you’ve backed off, like you’re trying to keep distance between us.”

  He took several seconds to frame his answer. “It’s a bad idea to get carried away,” he said in a careful, measured tone. But those eyes of his, they said something else altogether. Those eyes weren’t measured. Those eyes burned.

  They burned for her. They always had and both of them knew it.

  “Uh-uh,” she replied, allowing herself a smug little smile. “It’s a good idea. Coming here to stay with you is the best idea I’ve had in seven years. I’m so glad I got whacked in the head.”

  “Don’t even joke about it.” His voice was deliciously low and rough and hot.

  She leaned that fraction closer, eliminating the last bit of distance between them. Their lips met—lightly. Gently.

  That first contact brought a happy sigh from her. His lips were so soft, in perfect counterpoint to the slight scruff on his cheeks. “Oh, Conn...” She breathed the words into his mouth.

  He inhaled sharply. “Aly...”

  And finally, he broke. With a low, desperate sound, he reached for her. His lean, hard arms came around her, dragging her close as he kissed her.

  Heat bloomed in her belly and a shiver skated down her spine. His kiss was everything she yearned for, all the promises that mattered most, the promises they’d both failed so completely to keep.

  It had been years—and all right, she still didn’t remember those years, exactly. But, oh, she did feel them, feel the loss of him, feel that core of emptiness inside her since they’d turned away from each other.

  She had missed him. In the deepest, most punishing, lonely sort of way. Every cell in her body had been starved for him in their years apart.

  And now, at last, he was holding her, his hungry mouth devouring hers. She shifted, turning in his arms until he cradled her across his lap. He started to lift his mouth from hers.

  No way.

  Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she pulled him do
wn, surging up at the same time to keep him from breaking the contact. With a groan, he sank back into her and the kiss went on—glorious. Magical.

  Her greedy fingers danced across the hard musculature of his shoulders. She threaded them up into the close-trimmed hair at his nape. His tongue came out to play and she was only too eager for that sort of game.

  As the kiss got deeper, his touch grew bolder. His hand glided along the curve of her hip, palming her waist, moving higher. He cupped one breast.

  She moaned in gleeful encouragement and he plucked at the nipple through her shirt and bra. That made her ache in the most delicious way.

  Oh, it was perfect. Everything she wanted, all that she craved, what she needed so much. Conn, holding her, kissing her, stroking all the places only he knew how to touch.

  His kisses were the best kisses. They always had been.

  Even their first kiss, all those years and years ago, remained unforgettable to her. It was forbidden, that kiss—because his loyalty then was to Dante and it was understood, a secret code, between Connor and Dante, that Connor wouldn’t mess with his best friend’s little sister.

  But that day, he’d broken loyalty with Dante, if only for one brief, beautiful moment...

  * * *

  That day, she was thirteen and he was fifteen, and it was summertime in Valentine Bay.

  It was a warm day, with a slight breeze. It felt like Southern California had come to visit the Oregon coast.

  Conn and Dante and three of their buddies had gone out to Valentine Beach. One of the guys had a license, so they’d taken his truck. Aly had begged to go, but they only mocked her the way they always did. They didn’t need Dante’s little sister tagging along after them.

  But she knew where they were going and rode her bike, locking it to a bike rack a few blocks from the beach and running the rest of the way. Stopping at the higher dunes a good distance from the water, she dropped her pack and her towel in the sand and watched what was going on down on the beach. It didn’t take her long to spot the five boys she’d come looking for.