Cougar Mom

by Eve Langlais

  “I don’t suppose you found one on the beach with me.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see one. And Pierrot never mentioned anything.”

  “That narrows the search. I just need to start contacting places that don’t have bracelets.”

  “Which still number in the dozens for this area.”

  “Oh.” Her lips turned down, and he felt inexplicably annoyed with himself for putting the frown there. Would it kill him to give her a little chunk of hope?

  “You should go on the local news and ask for help. Even if the tourists don’t watch it much, the locals do. Someone might recognize you from somewhere.”

  She shook her head immediately. “I don’t think I could stand to have my face plastered everywhere. And what if someone fake tries to claim me.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” he asked in genuine confusion.

  “I think I saw that in a movie.” She frowned. “It was an action flick with an all-girl cast. Kind of Charlie’s Angels-ish.”

  “I will be sure to avoid it. If you’re not going to put yourself out there, then I don’t know how you’ll get your next clue.”

  She rolled her shoulders. “Pierrot is running my fingerprints. Maybe I shoplifted somewhere when I was younger, and they’ll be able to identify me.”

  “Maybe you’re wanted for mass murder, and they’ll start the process to extradite you.”

  She blinked.

  He smiled. “You aren’t the only one who can toss out far-fetched theories.”

  That brought a responding grin. “Both options are more exciting than the possibility I’m just some boring woman here on holiday going back to some mundane job and life.”

  “Nothing wrong with being ordinary.”

  “But why settle when you could strive for extraordinary?”

  That made him chuckle. “Good point. Now, did I hear correctly? Are the doctors actually discharging you?”

  Her shoulders rolled, and one slipped free of the loose gown she wore. “Technically, other than the memory thing, there is nothing wrong with me.”

  He frowned. “That can’t be right. You suffered a head wound.”

  “Which is healing. Staying here won’t hasten it, and they need this bed.”

  Someone really needed to either add on or build a new hospital. “You said no to going with Pierrot. I assume you have a plan.”

  “Not really. I was hoping I could beg some real clothes from the staff and then kind of wander around and see if I remember anything.”

  “That is the stupidest plan ever,” he blurted.

  She shrugged. “Kind of the only thing I can do.”

  “With nowhere to sleep? What will you eat? It’s not safe for you.” The claim might have been what prompted his next words. “You’ll stay with me.”

  Her reaction?

  Laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” he growled.

  “You, faking politeness for my sake.”

  His brows drew together. “How is offering you a place to stay polite?”

  “Because you obviously feel some kind of moral obligation given you’ve saved me twice.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t owe you anything.”

  Her brow angled on one side. “Then why are you trying to provide me with a roof over my head? You could easily walk away. Right now. And never look back. I am nothing to you.”

  She was well-spoken with a slight Southern drawl. American, he’d wager. “I could walk away, but then again, I have a big house.”

  “Is it really big enough given you don’t even like me?”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly.” He was starting to find the woman very fascinating: her speech, her mannerisms, the obvious intelligence in her slamming body.

  She rolled her eyes. “You accused me of being a conniving liar trying to extort you.”

  “Then prove me wrong.” He couldn’t have said why he insisted, except that he kept seeing that pillow holding her down. Her body limp on the beach. The woman obviously needed a keeper.

  Why was he volunteering, though?

  “You don’t have to help me.” Said softly, and he knew she meant it.

  “I know. But here’s the thing, you have nowhere to go. Not until you regain your memory, that is. Which means, no money for a hotel or food. And before you mention a shelter, you wouldn’t last a day in one of them. I, on the other hand, have quite a few empty rooms. A cook who thinks he’s feeding an army every night, not to mention security in case this wasn’t just a crime of happenstance.”

  She appeared thoughtful. But not about his offer.

  “I wonder how they knew that the extra pillow would be on that chair?” She eyed the currently empty seat.

  “Who left it there?”

  “The nurse who was doing the bedding forgot it when she was called away for some kind of emergency.”

  “Where did the pillow go?” Hugo asked.

  “I don’t know. I was too busy trying to breath to notice.”

  Perhaps she didn’t recollect, but Hugo recalled it being flung at him. It should have been on the floor, yet wasn’t.

  “Who else has been in here?”

  “Right after you chased the killer off, the nurse ran in, followed by the police chief.”

  “Perhaps they took the pillow.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t really care about the damned thing. I’m more interested in the fact that someone tried to smother me.” She eyed the door nervously.

  “Most likely a crime of circumstance.”

  “Is it? Seems like a big coincidence given I almost drowned,” she grumbled.

  He couldn’t blame her suspicion. “If the two events are related, then even more reason for you to go somewhere more secure like my place.” Look at him, begging the woman to come. What was wrong with him? Maybe he should be seeing a doctor. Could be they had a pill to cure him of this crazy affliction.

  “It’s too generous, especially since I don’t know if I can repay you.”

  He snorted. “I can afford it, don’t worry. Not asking for payment. I don’t even know why I’m offering.”

  Those vivid blue eyes met his and held his gaze. “Because, despite what you keep saying, you’re obviously a hero. A savior of damsels in distress. I accept, Mr. Laurentian.”

  There she went, calling him something he wasn’t again. He was known to be ruthless. “How did you know my name?” He frowned, suspicion rearing its head.

  Her laughter mocked. “Because Jacques told me.”

  “Jacques, is it?” He couldn’t explain the sudden flare of heat. He just knew he didn’t like her familiarity with the superintendent.

  “Now, Mr. Laurentian, don’t be angry. It was he who insisted.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She’d said it herself, Hugo was the one who’d saved her twice. And yet, Pierrot got those lips saying his name, not Hugo’s.

  “What would you like me to call you?” Her gaze became transfixed on his.

  “Hugo.”

  “Sounds French.”

  “Because I am. And before you ask me, no, I will not speak French for your entertainment.” A common demand by Americans who found it exotic.

  “I don’t need you to speak it because I apparently do, as well. Along with Spanish and Italian.”

  “That’s a lot of languages.”

  “Why would I know so many? Am I a flight attendant?” Her expression brightened. “Maybe I travel around the world.”

  “You could be a nanny, too.”

  Her smile turned hard. “That was sexist.”

  “How is a nanny sexist?”

  “Assuming an educated woman would be teaching the children of the wealthy.”

  “Because you’d never survive teaching anywhere else.” Not with her fine features.

  “And now you’ve accused me of being weak.”

  “Are you going to find insult in everything I say?”

  She cocked her head. “If you k
eep doing it, yes. Would you like to rescind the invitation?”

  “First off, when I said ‘nanny,’ I didn’t mean the old spinster type. You are definitely in your prime. And sexy. Would you have preferred I said ‘librarian?’”

  “And still not making a case for not being a misogynist.”

  “I will not apologize for finding you attractive. And before you think this is me trying to proposition you, it should be clear that I am not, and I will not ever have any kind of relations with you.”

  “That was blunt.”

  “Experience has taught me that sometimes it’s best.”

  “In that case, I am not sleeping with you either. And not just because you’re obviously a chauvinist.”

  He restrained himself from yelling, but she really was provoking him. “What other reason could there be?” he said with exaggerated sarcasm.

  “I don’t know who I am or who I’m with. Duh.”

  If she was faking the amnesia, she was doing a fine job of covering it. “Now that we’ve clarified that, I would also ask that you not advertise your presence in my home.”

  “Protecting your reputation with the ladies.” She nodded.

  “I don’t date.”

  “Is it because your wife wouldn’t like it?”

  “Are you trying to find out if I’m single?” he countered.

  He would have liked to believe the flush in her cheeks, but surely, a woman of her years no longer felt heated embarrassment.

  “I have no interest in you. Just recovering my memories.”

  “And I might be able to help with that. I’ve got access to things Pierrot doesn’t.”

  “You’d help me? Why?”

  “Weren’t you the one who said I had a hero complex?”

  She tilted her head. “In this case, I think it’s more the feline one. Curiosity.”

  A smile tugged his lips. “Can you blame me? By helping me sate my need, we solve your dilemma.”

  “In that case, I accept.” She held out her hand, and he looked at it a moment before taking it in his, his grip engulfing hers. He noticed the fine bone structure, the heat of her skin, and a jolt of awareness zinged through him.

  He dropped her hand quickly and fled, saying, “I’m going to see what’s needed to get you discharged.” And maybe ask for a mental evaluation while he was at it.

  Chapter Five

  An hour later, sitting in the passenger seat of an air-conditioned luxury car, Ariel didn’t know why Hugo looked so sour. He was the one who’d offered her a place to stay, practically begged her, and then made all the arrangements: getting her discharged and acquiring clothes for her instead of the bathing suit she’d arrived in.

  All that effort, and now he sat across from her in the driver’s seat, ignoring her. Understandable when he drove and needed to pay attention, but he never looked at her once. Didn’t say a single word.

  Then again, she didn’t either.

  Confusion mixed with the lingering pain in her head and made it so she didn’t want to think. She just stared blankly out the window at a tropical paradise that didn’t seem familiar at all. Not to mention the heat. She’d wilted the moment she left the hospital, lending credence to the theory that she was a tourist. Surely a citizen of the islands wouldn’t melt.

  The set of gates slowed the smooth ride, the purr of the motor barely noticeable. He didn’t have to signal for the metal portal to slide open, allowing them entrance. Right inside, she saw a jungle, dense foliage lining a fat but single-lane drive.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “The house.”

  “Your house?” She didn’t recall much of it, her head had been so fuzzy at the time.

  “Where else?” He sounded almost mocking.

  “I thought you’d stick me out of the way in a cabana or something.”

  “Can’t keep an eye on you if you’re not close by. Your doctor insisted.”

  Ariel grimaced. “I feel fine.” Was even discharged with a clean bill of health, and yet the doctor with her hair in a wavy halo and a bright smile had insisted that Ariel be monitored.

  “Indulge me, then. If you die while in my custody, Pierrot will make my life difficult.”

  “Glad to see it’s all about you.”

  “Perhaps not the hero you thought, eh?” he said.

  For all his gruff and sometimes rude remarks, he was going out of his way. Only one way to handle him. “I am grateful that you’re doing this.”

  Just like the first time she’d said it, Hugo shut up. Interesting that gratitude disarmed him. As if she would say “no” to his offer. He could not only provide better meals, but he also had the means to dig a little deeper and faster than the police.

  Having seen what passed as food, and not having any funds, hunger did motivate her acceptance, as did the idea of security. There was something frightening about not knowing who she was. About wondering if perhaps her stint in the ocean weren’t an accident but something more nefarious.

  With no past to guide her, she could be anyone. The wife of a rich billionaire who didn’t want to pay for a divorce. A high-powered executive with jealous competition. For all she knew, she was a secret spy.

  The very thought made her almost laugh. Given how she’d frozen when that pillow was shoved over her face, she obviously didn’t have the kind of stoic nerve needed to fight.

  The house came into view, although the term house really seemed inadequate. Mansion came to mind, perhaps even luxury palace given how it sprawled. The exterior appeared made of smooth, white concrete, formed intricately into a thing of beauty. The frames around the windows were carved like scalloped shells. The roof was heavy clay tile. The shrubbery had a wildness to it that she’d wager was actually cultivated, with flowering vines climbing strategically placed trellises and wrapping around a few stone columns.

  A paradise that seemed much too big for a man alone.

  “How many people live here with you?” she asked. Did he have a partner? Kids?

  “It’s just me.” A terse reply.

  “I wonder if I have a family,” she mused aloud. She didn’t mention how she kept picturing a little boy. Flying backwards and hitting a wall. She flinched each time and couldn’t help but wonder if it was a memory, and if so, was she the one who’d hit the child? As if her mind couldn’t bear for her to remember, it never showed her more than that single moment.

  “If you have family, then they will get worried and come looking,” he remarked as he pulled to a stop. He exited the vehicle and was around it, opening her door for her, by the time she’d unclipped the belt. He even extended a hand to help her out of the low-slung sports car.

  A gentlemanly thing to do, yet the moment she stood beside him, he snatched his hand away as if she had the plague.

  The door opened, and a thickset man appeared, wearing a loose, navy-blue, button-up shirt over khaki shorts, his feet bare. His dark hair was cut short, and his tanned features indicated a possible Polynesian heritage. He was older than Hugo, probably by about ten years.

  Hugo swept a hand in his direction. “This is Gerome. My everything guy.”

  “Ma’am.” He offered a slight tilt of his head.

  She reached out her hand. “Hi, I’m Ariel.”

  At the questioning look directed at his employer, Hugo shook his head. “The name she chose since she can’t remember her own.”

  “I’m sure with some rest, it will return to you, ma’am.”

  “Please, just Ariel.” She followed Gerome inside, conscious that Hugo was at her back. For some reason, it discomfited. Stuck between them with no escape.

  Why would she be so worried? She’d chosen to come.

  Sunshine shone through the skylight overhead in the vestibule, drawing attention to the crushed coral floor glossed over with a hard finish. The walls appeared to be smoothed concrete, painted an ivory that provided a backdrop to the brilliant blooms filling the vases.

  On either side of the en
tranceway stood double doors, the wood of them darkly varnished. They were closed, hiding what lay on the other side.

  “Did you prepare a room for her?” Hugo asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to show her.” Hugo didn’t even glance her way as he strode to a closed door and disappeared behind it.

  Abrupt, and yet she found herself less tense already.

  Gerome caught her watching. “That’s the boss’s office. Consider it off-limits unless you want to get reamed out.”

  “I think I’ll pass.” Her nose wrinkled.

  “Good plan. He can be quite loud about it. Other than the office, there isn’t much space you can’t check out. Living room, dining, kitchen, game room, television room, library.”

  “Do guests receive a map?”

  The big man grinned at her. “It’s hard to get lost. Main floor has one long hall. And the second floor is just bedrooms.”

  “So, I’ll be sleeping upstairs?”

  “That’s for family. We’re going this way,” Gerome advised as he skirted a table in the center of the space. Once past the giant vase on it, she noted a corridor led them deeper into the house before connecting to a long hall that went left and right, lined in windows.

  “Have you worked for Mr. Laurentian a long time?” she asked.

  “Long enough.”

  Not really an answer. “I don’t get the impression he’s very social.”

  Gerome snorted. “He’s not, which is why I was kind of surprised he brought you home.”

  “It’s only because he’s got a hero complex.”

  The remark for some reason caused Gerome to choke. “Don’t ever tell him that.”

  “I did, and he didn’t correct me.”

  “Probably stunned,” Gerome mumbled.

  “I don’t think he likes me very much,” she admitted.

  “He don’t like many people.” The growl sounded more like a warning.

  As they walked along the corridor lined with windows that overlooked the ocean and a backyard oasis, they passed the television room Gerome had mentioned, plus one set up as a spa with massage tables. “This place seems too big for a guy who doesn’t like to socialize.”