by Robyn Grady
As long as she was fertile—and there was no reason to believe that she wasn’t—she wanted to try. The reward would be well worth the risk. Was she wrong to want what so many women longed for?
A child of her blood. A child of her own.
Deep in thought, Laura absently ran a hand over the car’s armrest, and then something odd struck her. She’d been so caught up in memories and today’s events, she hadn’t noticed until now.
“You didn’t mention you were getting a new car.”
Bishop’s eyes, beneath their aviator sunglasses, didn’t leave the road. “Willis negotiated a good lease on the Land Rover.”
Her mind wound back but didn’t hook onto anything. She shrugged. “Willis who? I don’t remember you mentioning that name before.”
“Haven’t I? He’s my assistant. New assistant.”
“What happened to Cecil Clark? I thought you said he did a good job. He seemed nice enough at that charity dinner we went to last month.”
“He…got another offer.”
“You should have matched it.”
His voice dropped. “Sometimes you just have to let people go.”
Four-wheel drive tires crunched as he braked at the top of their lengthy gravel drive. Rather than one of the four garages, he’d parked in front of the house, a sprawling ranch-style dwelling cut into the hillside. Both inside and out, the house combined tasteful luxury with a homey rural feel—enormous individually crafted open fireplaces, large yet cozy bedrooms, two massive home offices, a fully equipped gym with sauna and indoor pool for laps.
On Sundays, Laura served eggs Benedict on the eastern porch and together they would watch the southern hemisphere sun climb higher toward the far-stretching haze of mountains to the west. Even more she loved what came after coffee…returning to bed to savor her delectable, insatiable husband.
Touching the small bandage above her temple, Laura frowned and thought back. Had they enjoyed their ritual this Sunday past? She couldn’t remember.
Bishop swung out of the driver’s side and performed his usual courtesy of opening her door. Together they moved up the slate-paved steps that led to the lofty teak and glass paneled entry door. Halfway up, he paused to clear his throat and rattle the keys awkwardly in his palm.
“My, uh, house key must be on my other set.”
“I have mine.” She didn’t recall grabbing her bag before leaving for the hospital—silly, but she couldn’t even remember this bag. Still she dug in, rummaged around, fished out a set of keys…but then her eyes rounded and she froze.
Horror slow-dripping through her veins, she rotated her left hand one way, then the other as panic fisted tight and fierce inside of her.
“My rings,” she got out. “The nurse must have taken them off before the scan.”
Common sense said her diamond-studded wedding band and magnificent princess-cut engagement ring must be filed away at the hospital somewhere safe. Clearly it was an oversight that they hadn’t been returned before they’d left. But the staff would have records. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t get them back. Still she couldn’t loosen the suffocating knot in her chest. She felt naked without them. Somehow so vulnerable.
Standing on the expansive veranda, with the sun arcing toward the towering eucalypt trees behind, Bishop took a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”
He’d said it kindly enough but it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’d been resting all day. Still, the truth was that suddenly she did feel tired, and a few degrees off balance. Maybe she should swallow her pride and do as he asked. Lie down.
But not alone.
She twined their fingers and tugged until the back of his hand pressed against her heart. She hoped her teasing grin was persuasive.
“You look like you could use a rest, too.”
Emotion flared in his eyes, hot and cold at the same time. “I didn’t have a fall today,” he reminded her. “You did.”
Her heart dropped. He sounded so…detached. But unlike earlier in hospital, this time she knew why. Of course he wanted to be with her. Of course he wanted to caress and kiss her. But safety-first Bishop was determined not to go against professional advice. During the drive home, he’d made a point of repeating the doctor’s instructions that she ought to take things easy for a day or two. Still…
“You know something?” She moved closer until their hands lay flat between them like pressed flowers. “I can’t think of a better way to relax than making love with my husband.”
As if infused by a sudden rush of blood, a cord rose and pulsed down one side of his throat. His chest expanded on a giant breath and that odd emotion in his eyes flared again.
“We’ll go inside.” His free hand opened the door. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”
“Champagne?” she asked, trying hard not to sound hurt by his flat tone as he herded her in. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”
“Tea, iced or hot.” He shut the door and walked past. “In a couple of days we’ll see if you still want champagne.”
Three
When Laura relented and took herself off to bed, Bishop sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
She’d tried to corner him into joining her in the bedroom, but he’d dodged another bullet, albeit with a minimum of skill. He only hoped his ex-wife’s memory returned before either of them had to endure that kind of farce again.
In her mind, they were married. Married couples enjoyed conjugal intimacies, and he and Laura had been intimate often. What bothered Bishop most now was how strongly his body responded to the possibility of holding Laura close. Naked. Loving. His again.
As she disappeared down the wide hardwood hall, gait slow, head down, Bishop shoveled a hand through his hair and threw a glance around. Same furniture, same stunning yet homey fireplace. How many times had they made love before the flames he’d stoked there?
After several moments remembering back…wishing something, somewhere, had turned out differently…he bit down and wheeled toward the door.
His hands bunched at his sides. The urge to walk out was overwhelming; he could only see this ending badly. But he couldn’t leave. At least not yet. If Laura’s inability to remember lasted beyond Sunday, however, he’d fabricate a business trip and organize assistance…a nurse perhaps. Or Grace would need to make arrangements. Until then, he was stuck.
But he wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs. He might be away from the office, his apartment, but he could still get some work done.
He brought his laptop in from the car and without much thought, moved into his former home office. He let his eye linger over the heavy rosewood furniture, the maroon couch, his Rubik’s Cube and the framed photograph of Laura that, remarkably, still sat on the polished desk. He moved forward and let a fingertip trail the cool silver frame.
Hell, he thought she’d have demolished this room and every reminder in it the first chance she’d got. Which led him to thoughts of her “lost” wedding rings.
They weren’t at the hospital. She’d probably flushed them or tossed them in the fireplace, as he’d done with his band a raging moment before he’d slammed the door shut on this place forever. Or believed that he had. But his stay here this time would be short-term. After the long drawn-out business that had led to their separation, the shorter the better.
Settling into his chair, he connected with Bishop Scaffolds’ server and brought up some recent specs. New dies were under discussion but he wouldn’t commit until he was certain the designs were exactly right.
With a background in engineering, he’d always enjoyed a natural affinity with machinery. Routinely he checked presses, calibrations and product tolerances. It wasn’t unusual to find the boss manning equipment should a worker be called away or need a few minutes off. This past week, after listing the company, he’d spent more time than usual in the factory where equipment was manufactured, stored and dispatched. He considered himself as
much a part of the working machine, a cog in the wheel, as his employees, every one handpicked and valued.
But maintaining a manufacturing presence in Australia was a tricky ball to juggle. The uncertain slope of the Aussie dollar against other currencies, the force of reduced labor prices in neighboring countries, plus the quality versus cheaper options argument kept Bishop on his toes. The threat of any company folding to the sum of those pressures was real.
When he’d lost a couple of key contracts not long after his and Laura’s split, an unsettling sense of doubt had clung to him. He’d never failed at anything of real consequence, but if he could fail at something as important as his marriage, might he not fail in business, too? If he began second guessing himself, losing his edge, maybe it was time to get out and hand over the business to someone who had the mind-set to keep it strong. He wanted to be that man, but then he’d also wanted to keep his marriage solid.
He went into a few emails but found he couldn’t focus. Visions of Laura’s toned form, tucked under a light cover in the bed they’d once shared, had seeped into his mind and now he couldn’t shift them. Images of her chest softly rising and falling and the way her hair splayed over her pillow while she slept were glued in his mind. He thought of how perfectly her mouth had fit under his—how everything had seemed to fit—and for one frightening moment, he battled a tidal wave urge to stride down the hall and join her.
Growling, he pushed back his laptop and glared at the ceiling. Dammit, he’d never wanted his marriage to end. He’d fought to save it. But no matter what Grace thought about second chances, he’d be an idiot to entertain such a crazy idea. He was here because he had no choice. Laura would get her memory back and then they could each forget this episode and get on with their individual lives.
Laura woke with her heart hammering in her chest. The room was quiet, the walls stenciled with soft-edged shadows. The green numerals on the side table read 2:04.
Shivering and feeling inexplicably alone, she tugged the covers higher. Then she remembered Bishop and her smile warmed her right through. Carefully, she rolled over, reached out in the darkness…and that warmth dropped away.
The space beside her was cold and empty. Why hadn’t Bishop joined her? Because he worried about her bandaged head? Didn’t he know that his embrace was the only medicine she needed?
Well, if he didn’t know, she’d simply have to go and tell him.
After wrapping up in a long, soft robe, she padded out into the hall. Outside Bishop’s office, a wedge of light shone on the timber floor. Frowning, she huddled into the robe’s warmth more. He was working at two in the morning?
She headed off but stopped in the doorway, her heart melting at the sight. Bishop was sprawled out on his Chesterfield couch, an ankle hung over the far armrest, one foot on the floor, his left forearm draped over his eyes. He’d taken off his shoes and trousers, and his white business shirt was undone to his navel. The steady rise and fall of his beautiful big chest told her he was sleeping soundly. Familiar heat sizzled through her. God, how she loved him. How dearly she wanted him. And there was another feeling swirling through her blood…one that was strangely difficult to pinpoint or analyze. She missed him. Missed him like she hadn’t seen him in years. The knowledge left her with a hollow ache in her chest. A chunk cut out of her heart. But she surrendered to a self-deprecating smile. He’d been away from their bed half a night. How would she cope if he left her for a week? A month?
She wriggled her toes on the cool floor. She wanted to go to him, wrap him up under her robe, rub her leg over the hard length and rouse him. Despite doctor’s orders not to overdo it, if her hands were to knead his body and she poured words of love in his ear, surely he’d relent and make love.
Or would he be unhappy with her? He worried so much about her health.
She was still making up her mind when the ridges of his six-pack suddenly crunched and Bishop woke with a start. Driving back a breath, he sat bolt upright as if a monster had chased him out of a dream. His gaze shot to the doorway, to where she stood. His dark hair was mussed and his bronzed legs beneath the white shirt looked as strong as steel pylons. The tips of Laura’s breasts hardened against the gentle fabric of her robe. How she longed to trail her fingers up over that steel, every blessed inch of it.
His blue eyes focused then narrowed slightly as they raked the lines of her body. A pulse began to beat in his jaw at the same time his eyes grew lidded and she knew he was visualizing the curves and valleys he loved to touch and taste.
Then he scrubbed a hand over his face and, shaking himself, sat straighter. His voice was thick from sleep.
“It’s late. Go back to bed.”
“If you come with me.”
He held her gaze then looked to his desk. “In a few minutes. I have some things to wrap up.”
She crossed the room, sat down beside him and gave him a level look.
“We can’t avoid it, you know.”
He leaned back the barest amount. “Avoid…what?”
“We need to talk.”
She put her hand on his thigh. He promptly removed it.
“Not in the middle of the night.” He pushed to his feet and, grabbing his hand, she pulled him back. He had the strength to resist, but a yielding expression touched his mouth, his eyes, and slowly he lowered back down.
“When I was old enough to understand about my condition,” she began, “that I would need to be careful about overexertion and such—I felt…different. My parents made sure every teacher knew which activities I could or could not do. Once, when we were short on numbers, Mrs. Carols insisted I moved off the sideline and team up for the 500m relay. When he found out, my dad hit the roof. He threatened the principal’s job and demanded an apology from Mrs. Carols as well as from the school.”
Bishop’s brows had knitted. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I want you to understand that I know better than anyone what I’m asking of you, of myself and of any children we have.”
As if he were considering her words, his gaze lowered. He saw his buttons undone and, deep in thought, he began to rebutton. “Laura, it must be close to three o’clock—”
“Junior school was lonely sometimes,” she plowed on. She didn’t care about the time. She needed to say this and he needed to hear it. “I couldn’t do cross-country or horse riding at camp. Kids can be cruel and some laughed behind my back. A couple even called me a cripple.”
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 mi
staken. “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.
