Questions clogged her throat. The smell wafting from a handmade earthenware container made her stomach growl loudly. He didn’t comment, but helped her into a seated position. His manner was matter-of-fact. Everywhere his skin touched hers, she burned.
His expression was hard to read. When she was ready, he placed the tray across her lap. She sucked in a breath as she moved her leg beneath the covers. She hadn’t even realized until that moment that she had injured more than her head.
He answered her unspoken question. “Jacob put six or seven stitches in your shin. You hit some sharp gravel when you…” His voice trailed off, and she saw discomfiture on his face. He pulled up a straight-back chair and watched her eat. If she hadn’t been starving, his intense scrutiny would have made her nervous. But it must have been hours since she’d had any food, and she was hungry.
He, or someone, had prepared chicken soup, which required far more effort than simply opening a can. Large chunks of white meat mingled with carrots and celery in a fragrant broth. She tore off a hunk of the still-warm wheat bread and consumed it with unladylike haste.
Neither she nor her companion spoke a word until she had cleaned her plate, or in this case, her bowl.
Removing the trappings of the decidedly fine dinner, Gareth—was that his name?—sat back down and folded his arms across his chest.
He was dressed casually in old faded jeans and bare feet. But he had buttoned his top half into a rich burgundy poet’s shirt made of an unusual handwoven fabric. Some men might have appeared ridiculous in such garb. On him, the shirt looked perfectly natural, enhancing his air of confidence and male superiority.
She struggled to conquer panic, postponing the moment of truth. “I need to go to the bathroom.” It galled her that she required his help to stand up. Her injured leg threatened to crumple beneath her, but after a moment, she was able to shuffle to the facilities.
The bathroom was enormous, with a stone-lined, glass-enclosed shower. She caught a sudden mental picture of the mysterious male’s huge body—nude—glistening beneath the spray of water and soap.
Her knees went weak. Despite her distress, she was stingingly aware of her host’s blatant sexuality. She took care of necessities, washed up, and then made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. The image confused her. Good Lord. She was so white her freckles stood out in relief, and her hair was a bird’s nest.
She rummaged without guilt through his drawers until she found a comb. But when she tried to run it through the worst of the tangles, she scraped against her injured skull and cried out at the pain.
He was beside her in an instant, not even making a pretense of knocking. “What is it?” he demanded, his gaze fierce. “Are you sick again?” In an instant he saw what she was trying to do. “Forget your hair,” he muttered, scooping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed.
When she was settled, ice packs back in place, he handed her two pain pills and insisted she wash them down with milk. She felt like a child being soothed by a parent, but everything about her reaction to this strange man was entirely adult. He headed for the door. “Don’t go,” she blurted out, blushing as if he could see her inner turmoil. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He returned to the chair, swinging it around to straddle the seat, and folded his arms across the back. His expression was guarded. “You’re perfectly safe,” he said, his low voice rumbling across her shattered nerves with a tactile stroke. “Jacob says you’ll recover rapidly.”
Any bit of softness she sensed in him moments before had been replaced with almost palpable hostility and suspicion. What in the heck did he have to fear from her?
She picked at the edge of the blanket. “Does your brother live with you?”
He frowned. “Jacob has a house on the property. Why did you come here?”
Her tiny surge of energy abated rapidly, leaving her weak and sick again. She slid down in the bed and turned her head away from him toward the open window. “I don’t know,” she said dully.
“Look at me.”
She did so reluctantly, feeling embarrassed and disoriented.
He frowned. “You’re not making sense.”
She bit her lower lip, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. “You seem angry. Is it because of me?”
If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it. For the flicker of a second, alarm flashed in his eyes and his white-knuckled fingers gripped the back of the chair. But as quickly as it appeared, the expression went away.
He shrugged. “Not at all. You’ll be on your way soon enough.”
He was lying. She knew it with a certainty that filled her chest with indignation. Her presence in his house was a problem. A big one. She threw back the covers, panicked and agitated. “I’ll go.”
His frown blackened as he straightened the bedding. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re in no shape to go anywhere tonight. Stay in my bed. But tomorrow, you’re history.”
The pain in her head bested her. That and a heart-pounding sense of foreboding. She clenched the edge of the sheet in her hands, fighting hysteria. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” Now his expression was confused.
“Please tell me who I am.”
Two
Gareth narrowed his eyes, trying to disguise his shock. Here it was. The ploy. The act. Part one of whatever scam she was running. She couldn’t be for real…could she?
He kept his expression bland. “Amnesia? Really? We’re going to do the daytime soap opera thing?” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll play along. I’m Gareth. Your name is Gracie Darlington. You’re from Savannah. Jacob and I checked your driver’s license.”
He watched her bottom lip quiver until she bit down on it…hard. She made an almost palpable effort to gather herself. A gifted actress could do as much. But the look of sheer terror in her painfully transparent gaze would be hard to manufacture. She sucked in a ragged breath. “How did I get here? Do I have a car outside?”
He shook his head. “As near as I can tell, you hiked up the mountain. Which is no small feat, by the way. There are no cleared trails at the bottom. Your arms and legs are all scratched.”
“Do I have a cell phone?”
He cocked his head, studying her face. “I’ll check.” The only item she’d had with her when she arrived was the pink carryall Jacob had examined earlier. Gareth rummaged in it without remorse and, in a zippered pocket, found a Droid phone. He turned it on and handed it to her, tossing the tote on the bed beside Gracie. Fortunately the battery seemed to be fully charged. Gracie pulled up the contact screen.
“Well, at least you remember how to do that.” His thick sarcasm made her wince, but she didn’t look at him. Instead she studied the list of names as if she were cramming for a test. Focused. Intent.
When she finally looked up, her beautiful eyes were shiny with tears. “None of these names mean a thing to me,” she whispered. One drop spilled over. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I remember?”
He took the phone from her, squashing a reluctant sympathy. Gareth Wolff was no pushover. Not anymore. “You whacked your head when you fell off my porch. Jacob’s a doctor. He says you’ll be fine.” But Jacob had left before the whole amnesia thing came to light. Damn it.
Gareth scrolled through the contact list himself, not sure what he was looking for. But then it hit him. There was an “I.C.E.” entry. In case of emergency. Edward Darlington…and the word Daddy.
He hit the call key and waited. A man on the other end answered. Gareth spoke calmly. “This is Gareth Wolff. Your daughter took a fall and has been injured. She’s been checked out by a doctor, and she’s going to be fine. But she’s suffering a temporary memory loss. It would be helpful if you could reassure her. I’ll put her on the line.”
Without waiting for an answer, Gareth handed the phone to Gracie.
She eased up into a half-sitting position, resting her back against the headboard. “Hello?”
Gareth sat down beside her, close enough to hear that the voice on the other end was amused. Close enough to catch snatches of conversation.
“Hot damn, my little Gracie. I didn’t think you had it in you. Faking an accident on Wolff property? Pretending to have amnesia? Good Lord, you’ve got him right where we want him. The whole family will be terrified we’ll sue. Phenomenal idea. Nothing like going after what you want whole hog. Brilliant, my girl. Sheer brilliance.”
Gracie interrupted the man’s euphoria. “Father…I don’t feel well at all. Can you please come pick me up and take me home?”
Darlington chortled. “He’s standing in the room with you, isn’t he? And you’ve got to play this out. Splendid. I’ll do my part. Sorry, Gracie. I’m headed for Europe in half an hour. Won’t be back for a week. And the house is a wreck. I told the contractor to go ahead with the remodel since we were both planning to be out of town. You’d have to stay in a hotel if you came back.”
“This isn’t funny,” she muttered. “I’m serious. I can’t stay here. They don’t want me. I’m a stranger.”
“Dredge up their guilt,” he insisted. “They owe it to you to be hospitable. Flirt with Gareth a little. Play on his sympathies. Damsel in distress and all that. Get him to agree to our proposal. We’ll talk next week. I’ve gotta run.”
“No, wait,” she said desperately. “At least tell me if I have a husband or a boyfriend. Anyone who’s missing me.”
Her father’s cackle of a laugh was so loud she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “Of course not. Lay it on thick. I’m loving this. Wish I could see his face. So long now.”
The line went dead. Gracie stared down at the phone, her composure in shreds. What kind of father did she have? Who could be so callous? So blasé about her injuries? Embarrassment and humiliation washed over her in waves, adding to her feeling of abandonment.
She laid the phone aside and managed a weak grimace. “How much of that did you hear?”
Gareth stood up and crossed to the window, his back to her. “Enough,” he said, disgusted with himself and with her. If he had any sense, he would boot her off the property ASAP.
Gracie’s voice wobbled. “He can’t come pick me up right now, because he’s on his way out of the country for a week. But if you’ll make travel arrangements for me, I’m sure he’ll reimburse you.”
Gareth Wolff turned to stare at her with a mixture of suspicion and pity. “He thinks you’re faking amnesia.”
Her cheeks flamed. “The whole conversation was confusing. I came to see you for a reason. But I don’t know what that is. Though he seems to.”
“And you really don’t have a clue?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”
“You’re not going anywhere at the moment.” Gareth’s jaw was clenched. “If you really do have memory loss, then I have to let Jacob know. The Wolff family doesn’t make a habit of throwing the injured out on the street. And believe me, Gracie, we’re not going to give you or your unbelievably unconcerned father any ammunition for a lawsuit.”
“We’re not going to sue you,” she said quietly. Depression depleted her last reserve of spunk. “I don’t believe in frivolous lawsuits.”
“How do you know?” he shot back. “Maybe the woman you can’t remember would do just that.”
Gracie slid back down into the bed, her skull filled with pounding hammers. “Please leave me alone.”
Gareth shook his head, his demeanor more drill sergeant than nurse. “Sorry, Gracie.” His tone didn’t sound sorry at all. “If we’re playing the amnesia game, I have no choice but to let Jacob know. I’ll drive you over there.”
The thought of standing up was dreadful. “Can’t he come back here? It’s not that late, is it?”
“It’s not a question of being late. Jacob has a fully outfitted clinic at his place. He’ll be able to scan your head and x-ray your leg.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary. All I want to do is rest. Tomorrow you can get rid of me.”
Gareth strode to the door. “You’re in Wolff territory now. And in no position to call the shots.” He paused and glanced back at her, his expression grim. “I’ll grab my keys and shoes. Don’t move.”
Gracie closed her eyes, breathing deeply, half convinced she was in the midst of a dark and disturbing nightmare. Surely she would wake up soon, and all of this would be a surreal fantasy. Gareth Wolff. She whispered the name aloud, searching for meaning. Why had she come to see him? What did her father want? And how did she get from Georgia to Virginia? Did she have luggage somewhere? A hotel room? A vehicle? Maybe even a laptop? Her tote held nothing but the phone, snacks and some tissues.
She froze, her brow furrowed in discomfort. How could she know what a laptop was and not even remember her own name?
Gareth strode back into the room, his feet shod in worn leather boots. Everything about the room she inhabited made Gracie feel at a disadvantage—the expensive bedding, the masculine decor, the large scale furniture…the total lack of anything familiar.
But something about those scarred boots eased the constriction in her chest. They struck her as normal. Human.
Gareth approached the bed, his face closed. “I’ve spoken to Jacob. He’s expecting us. Let’s go.”
Gracie screeched in shock when he gathered her up, blankets and all, in his strong arms.
He froze. “Did I hurt you? Sorry.” The gruff apology was instantaneous.
She shook her head, trembling as they traversed a wide hallway. “You startled me. That’s all.” Not for anything would she admit that being in his arms was exciting and comforting at the same time. His scent and the beat of his heart beneath her cheek aroused her and gave her the illusory sensation of security.
The earlier fleeting impressions she’d formed of wealth and privilege increased tenfold as they passed through the house. Gleaming hardwood floors. Western-themed rugs. Intricate chandeliers of elk horn shedding warm yellow light.
But Gareth walked too quickly for her to carry out any deeper inspection. In minutes they were out the front door and stepping into the scented cool of a late spring evening.
And how did she know it was spring? The little blips of instinctual information that popped into her head gave hope that her memories were simply tucked away in hiding. Not permanently gone…merely obscured by her injury.
Gareth carried her carefully, but impersonally. It wasn’t his fault if her hormones and heartbeat went haywire. He smelled of wood smoke and shampoo, a pleasing mélange of masculine odors. Despite his flashes of animosity, she felt safe in his embrace. He might not want her in his home, but he posed no threat to her well-being…at least not physically. The unseen dangers might prove to be more hazardous.
She liked being held by Gareth Wolff. What did that say about her?
Of course, her instinctive response could be attributed to something akin to Stockholm syndrome—the bonding between kidnapper and victim. Not that Gareth had done anything wrong. Quite the contrary. But at the moment, he was the only reality in her spinning world. He and his brother Jacob.
Most likely, her affinity for the surly Wolff brother was nothing more than an atavistic urge to seek protection from the unknown.
Gareth’s Jeep was parked outside a large garage at the rear of the house. The building, roomy enough to house a fleet of vehicles, had been designed to blend into the landscape, much like the house. A cedar shake roof and rustic, carefully hewn logs seemed to match the edge in her host’s personality. Gareth’s home was enormous and clearly expensive, but it suited his gruff demeanor.
Once he had tucked her into the passenger seat, he loped around the side of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. Thick fog blanketed their surroundings. Gracie peered into the darkness, shivering slightly, not from the temperature, but from the feeling of being so isolated. She’d seen horror movies that rolled the opening sequence in a similarly creepy fashion.
She clen
ched her fist in the blanket and pulled it closer to her chest. “Where are we?”
Gareth shot her a quick glance. “Wolff Mountain.”
She cleared her throat. “I hope that’s not as sinister as it sounds.”
His quick snort of laughter ended as quickly as it began. She had a hunch he didn’t want to show any signs of softening toward her.
He wrenched the wheel to avoid a tiny rabbit that scampered in front of them. “This is my home. I grew up here with my two brothers and three cousins. I’m sure all of this will come back to you,” he snarled. “My family has no secrets.”
She wanted to ask for more details, more explanations, anything to fill in the blanks. But her innocent question had clearly hit a nerve. She lapsed into silence, using her free hand to grip the door of the vehicle as Gareth sent them hurtling around the side of the mountain.
The trip was mercifully brief. Without warning, another house loomed out of the eerie fog. This one was more modern than Gareth’s, all steel and glass. Almost antiseptic in design. Though in all fairness she wasn’t getting a first look at it in the best of situations.
Jacob met them at the door and ushered them inside, his eyes sharp with concern as Gareth set her on her feet. “Any change?”
The terse question was aimed more at Gareth than Gracie, so she kept her silence.
Gareth tossed his keys onto a black lacquer credenza. “She doesn’t remember details of her life. But functional knowledge appears to be unaffected. She knows how to use her phone, but the names are a mystery…or so she says.”
Gracie flushed. She was embarrassed and exhausted. The last thing she needed was Gareth’s mockery.
Jacob waved a hand toward a living room that looked like something out of a designer’s catalog. “Make yourself comfortable, bro. The game’s on channel fifty-two. Beer’s in the fridge.”
Gareth frowned. “I should come with you.”
Jacob put a hand on his shoulder. “Not appropriate, Gareth. Trust me. She’s in good hands.”
Into His Private Domain Page 2
