by Linda Turner
“Yes, he is,” Phoebe agreed. “Make sure you remember that in the days and weeks to come.”
The opening of the second Joe’s Place was still two months away, but Joe knew he was quickly running out of time. The entire staff, including a chef and manager, had to be hired, the menu had to be decided on and the work on the building itself wrapped up. While Annie was out with Phoebe, he spent the afternoon going over résumés for potential managers. Determined to avoid the type of problems he’d had before he brought Drake into the operation, he went over one after another.
Nothing, however, registered, and he had no one to blame but himself. Every time he let his guard down, his thoughts wandered to Annie. What was she doing? Had the office she shared with Phoebe brought back any memories? And if it had, were they good ones or bad ones? How long would it take her to remember their marriage?
He had to believe that eventually it would all come back to her. It had to. She needed her past, needed the security of knowing who and what she was, and he wouldn’t deny her that even though he knew those selfsame memories would cause problems for them. He was the workaholic she’d accused him of being before she’d walked out—he couldn’t deny it. But he had to draw the line when she compared him to her father, who, according to both Annie and Phoebe, had loved making money more than he’d ever loved his wife and child.
The money had never been an issue, dammit! He hadn’t come from an upper-middle-class background like hers. His father had never kept a job for longer than a month or two without finding an excuse to quit. While her mother had stayed home with her when she was a child, his mother worked just to keep food on the table. He didn’t want that for his wife and child if something happened to him. He’d tried to explain to her how important it was to him to build a nest egg so that when they did have children, their future would be secure, but she hadn’t listened. She’d wanted a baby and nothing else mattered, least of all his own hopes and dreams for her and his children.
And he still resented that, he discovered as he stared blankly down at the résumé of a wanna-be manager. She tore his life up when she left him, and now she’d torn it up again by coming back the way she had. If, God help them, she didn’t get her memory back, only a blood test would tell them if the baby was his when it was born. How the hell was a man supposed to concentrate when he had a thing like that hanging over his head for months to come?
Frustrated, angry with her and himself and the entire situation, he reached for the next résumé. It went without saying that he might as well have saved himself the trouble. His eyes kept drifting to his watch. Where the devil was she?
Finally giving up in defeat, he abruptly pushed to his feet, put the résumés away, then wandered out into the restaurant to greet customers and make sure they were enjoying their meals. It was that personal touch and his true interest in the customers’ wants and needs that had made Joe’s Place a success over the years. But when his eyes kept drifting to the restaurant’s front doors, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. Keeping the customers happy was important, but he was prowling around for only one reason. He was waiting for Annie.
It wasn’t, however, until she stepped through the main doors an hour later that he realized that he hadn’t really expected her to come back to him at all. Relief hit him then, the force of it stunning him, infuriating him. What the hell was wrong with him? He had no problem with watching over her, protecting her, seeing to her needs until she got her memory back. But he wouldn’t, by God, care. Because if he did and she left him a second time, he didn’t think he could endure it.
The restaurant was packed that night, the crowd lively. Deciding that he wasn’t ready for another intimate dinner on the balcony like the one they’d shared the night before in their apartment, Joe suggested they eat supper at the restaurant instead, and Annie readily agreed. He thought he’d be able to keep his distance more easily in a crowd, but he hadn’t reckoned on Annie. She’d had a wonderful afternoon with Phoebe and was thankful to have made a new friend, even though it was one she’d had for years. Her eyes sparkling, her smile as quick as her laughter as they waited for their food to be brought to their table, she retold some of the stories that Phoebe had told her and had no idea that Joe had heard them all before. And he didn’t tell her. This was the Annie he had first met and fallen in love with, the one who had been gone for too long.
Watching her, captivated in spite of all his best intentions, he fought the pull of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes, but she didn’t make it easy for him. In spite of the other diners who sat at tables all around them, the world was reduced to just their table. And Annie. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She ate her steak and baked potato and part of his, eating with a ladylike grace and truck-driver appetite that he couldn’t help but appreciate. Amused in spite of himself, he said, “How about dessert?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” she protested, then made him laugh when she said wistfully, “but strawberry shortcake does sound good.”
“Hey, don’t stop on my account,” he said dryly, and signaled for the waiter.
Afterward, when she laughingly claimed she was starting to waddle, he walked her home. There were two ways home—they could walk along the river or take the stairs to street level and cut through the next block—but with no conscious decision on his part, Joe took the Riverwalk.
It was a mistake—he realized it immediately. The moon was out, music spilled from the nearby restaurants and clubs, and lovers strolled hand in hand everywhere he looked. Keeping his hands strictly to himself, he should have looked for the nearest flight of stairs and gotten the hell out of there, but he didn’t. Memories played in his head, haunting him, seducing him. How many times had he and Annie walked this same way, touching each other all the way home, teasing each other until they were both hot and breathless and couldn’t wait to fall into bed? They’d driven each other crazy more nights than he could remember, and he’d loved it.
If she hadn’t left him, if she hadn’t come back to him just because she was pregnant and in trouble, they could even now be going home to bed.
But she had, and he’d never been one to play what if. His mouth compressed in a flat line, he hurried her along. “C’mon, it’s getting late. You must be tired.”
Annie opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, but he didn’t give her a chance. Jostling through the festive crowd, he pulled her after him and extended his stride, until she almost had to run to keep up with him. Then they reached the arched gate that opened onto the private back gardens of the Lone Star Social Club. Quickly unlocking it, he hustled her inside, into the house, and up the stairs before she could even think about catching her breath.
“Joe! What in the world! What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on,” he retorted as he unlocked their apartment door and pushed it open. “Will you be okay here by yourself if I go back to the office for a while?”
He didn’t step into the apartment, but waited in the hall like a man who had a train to catch. Confused, she stared up at him searchingly. The charming man she’d just had dinner with was gone, and in his place was the cold stranger who kept his emotions safely hidden and treated her like an unwanted relative who had suddenly turned up on his doorstep without warning. He had to deal with her, but he really didn’t want to, and for that, she felt the constant need to apologize.
She told herself she had no right to feel hurt—you had to care about someone before you gave them the power to hurt you. And in spite of the fact that they’d been married for five years, Joe Taylor was a virtual stranger to her. But still, there was an ache deep within her chest that was as raw as an open wound, and he had put it there. She would have died, however, before she let him know it.
Forcing a smile that never reached her eyes, she said airily, “Of course. I probably should go to bed anyway—it’s been a long day. So go on. I’ll be fine.”
Her tone was just righ
t, her smile breezy. She gave every appearance of being strong and independent, and there was no reason to linger. He stayed, however, right where he was and frowned down at her. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now—”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Will you just go? If I need you, I’ll call. Okay?”
He should have gone then—he told himself he wanted to. But the memories that had dogged his quickened footsteps all the way home were there in the dark depths of her sapphire eyes, and he couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn away. He saw his hands settle heavily on her shoulders and would have sworn they belonged to someone else. Then he was dragging her up on her toes and he couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t stop.
He crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue already plundering, savoring. He didn’t give her time to think, to object, but took like a man who hadn’t tasted any kind of sweetness in ages. Hungry, greedy for more, he couldn’t get his breath, couldn’t get a handle on his self-control and didn’t care. His blood was hot, boiling, his head spinning. And still he wanted more.
Lost to everything but the fury of his own needs, he didn’t realize that she’d stiffened like a poker until he wrapped his arms around her and tried to draw her flush against him. Her arms wedged between them, she didn’t give so much as an inch. Between one frantic heartbeat and the next, his head cleared.
He’d damn near taken her right there in the hall like a madman!
Swearing, cursing himself, he released her, but it was too late. The second he stepped back, he saw her eyes were wide with shock, her cheeks bright with color. “I’m sorry! That was a stupid thing to do! I know you didn’t want that—I don’t know what came over me.” Stumbling for an acceptable explanation when there wasn’t one, he backed away. “It won’t happen again,” he promised. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
Desperate for a way out, he finally remembered why they were standing in the hall. “I’m going back to the restaurant now. The number’s in the book by the phone. I’ll be back by eleven. Lock the door.”
Dazed, she stumbled across the threshold and shut the door, only to lean weakly against it, conflicting emotions hitting her from all sides. He’d kissed her. Why? What did he want from her? She’d been so sure that he was only tolerating her presence because of the possibility that she was carrying his baby, but the hot emotions she’d seen in his eyes when he reached for her had nothing to do with anything as bland as tolerance. Lord, who would have thought the man could kiss like that? She must have kissed him a million times before, but this was the only time she remembered, and she couldn’t seem to get her breath.
It won’t happen again. You don’t have to be afraid.
Wincing, she hugged herself. She hadn’t been afraid… exactly. If her life had depended on it, she couldn’t have said what she was. Except confused. And restless. He, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough.
Pressing her ear against the door, she listened to the dying sound of his footsteps as he headed for the stairs halfway down the hall and told herself that he wasn’t running from her, only the situation. She wasn’t the Annie Taylor he’d married and separated from. It wasn’t her he was rejecting.
An hour ago, she might have taken comfort from that, but it didn’t help now. Because she was the Annie Taylor he’d kissed.
When the phone rang ten minutes later, she was in the master bedroom turning down the bedspread. Figuring it was Joe, checking to make sure she was okay, she stretched out on the bed and reached for the extension. He must have called the second he got back to the restaurant. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she said huskily, by way of a greeting. “I’m fine. Really.”
She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d apologized again, but her only answer was silence. Frowning, she unconsciously tightened her fingers around the receiver. “Joe? Is that you?”
There was no answer, just a silence that hummed in her ear, and for no reason she could explain, her heart started to knock against her ribs. It was just a wrong number, she told herself. Just some ignorant person who didn’t know how rude it was to not admit that he’d dialed wrong, then apologize. There was no reason to be afraid.
But when she hung up, she was shaking.
Five seconds later, she was in the living room, fumbling with Joe’s address book for the number to the restaurant. It had to be here somewhere, she told herself frantically. He’d told her it was. All she had to do was calm down and think. Think, Annie! What would he list it under?
She was near tears when she found it and quickly reached for the phone. She had three numbers punched in when she suddenly froze. What was she doing?
Disgusted with herself, she slammed down the phone. “Don’t be such a baby!” she muttered. “It’s just a stupid wrong number, for heaven’s sake! There’s no reason to get all bent out of shape. Or call Joe! He’s busy and won’t appreciate you calling him away from work just because you’re paranoid.”
There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In her head, she knew that, but her body wasn’t listening. Her pulse was pounding, her palms damp, her mouth dry as dust. She wanted to hide, which was ridiculous. This was her home. Closing her eyes, she dragged in a shuddering breath and willed herself to calm down.
How long she sat there, she couldn’t have said. Her breathing gradually returned to normal, her heart rate steadied. Finally thinking more clearly, she double-checked the lock on the front door and found it secure. Her tight nerves eased, but she knew there was no way she was going to be able to sleep. Not now. The apartment was too quiet, too empty.
For the sake of her sanity, she switched on the TV just to break the heavy silence that engulfed her, then went looking for a book to read. She was just reaching for one on the top shelf of the bookcase in the living room when the phone rang again.
She froze, she couldn’t help it, her heart in her throat. She wouldn’t answer it. It was probably just another wrong number, anyway. She’d just let it ring and whoever was on the other end would eventually get disgusted and hang up. All she had to do was wait him out.
But it could be Joe.
The thought slipped up on her from behind, nagging at her. He’d been reluctant to leave her there alone—he could be calling to make sure she was all right. If she didn’t answer, he’d be worried….
She made no conscious decision to move, but suddenly she was across the living room and reaching for the phone. “Hello?”
For a split second, she thought it was going to be another wrong number. Then a rough, male voice on the other end of the line said, “Annie.”
That was it—just her name in a matter-of-fact voice that was more of a statement than an inquiry. There was nothing threatening about it, nothing the least bit sinister. But between one heartbeat and the next, she was terrified, and she couldn’t explain why. Sobbing, her skin crawling, she slammed down the receiver. Feeling dirty, she ran for the bathroom.
Chapter 5
The water pounding down on her head had long since grown cold, but Annie never noticed. Huddled in the corner of the shower stall, her brow furrowed with fierce concentration, she soaped a washcloth, then ran it over her breasts, hips, legs and arms, missing nothing in between. Then she numbly repeated the process. Once, then twice, then again. In the bedroom, the phone rang, but she didn’t hear it. Time, the world, ceased to exist. There was just her, the water and the soap.
Clean, she thought dully. She had to get clean. She had to get the dirt out from under her skin.
Down in the restaurant, Joe frowned and hung up the phone in his office. There was nothing wrong, he assured himself. Annie had probably unplugged the phone in the bedroom when she’d gone to bed. And once she was asleep, she’d never hear the one in the living room. There was no reason to go running up to the apartment, as if she was some sort of maiden in distress. He’d heard her lock the dead bolt himself, and she’d promised to call if she needed him. The fact that she hadn’t could only m
ean one thing—she was perfectly safe and he was being paranoid.
Deliberately, he tried to bring his attention back to his paperwork, but he couldn’t shake Annie from his thoughts. Just because she hadn’t called didn’t mean she wasn’t in trouble. What if she hadn’t been able to get to the phone?
“Damn!” Pushing back his chair from his desk, he muttered curses, chastising himself for worrying like an old woman. But there was no getting around it—he wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight until he knew for sure that she was all right. Gathering up his paperwork, he headed for the door.
“I’m going to check on Annie,” he told Drake. “I probably won’t be back tonight.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Drake responded, with a mock salute. “Don’t worry about anything here. I’ll hold down the fort.”
It normally took him five minutes to walk home, but this time he made it in two. Worry etching his brow, he unlocked the front door to the apartment and stepped inside. The TV was on in the living room, tuned to an old John Wayne movie. Annie had always been crazy about the Duke—the sound of his familiar drawl should have been comforting, but wasn’t. A quick glance around assured him that everything was as it should be, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Then he heard it. The shower.
Relief flooded him, and he groaned aloud at his own stupidity. He’d had this image of her struggling with some unknown intruder and all the time she’d just been taking a shower. With the water pounding down on her head, she couldn’t possibly have heard the phone ringing. God, what an idiot he was! Thankfully, he hadn’t called Sam like he’d wanted to. He’d never have heard the end of it.
Promising himself that he’d have a phone installed in the damn shower stall tomorrow, he sank down on the couch to watch the end of True Grit. Ten minutes passed, then another five, and the water continued to run in the bathroom. Wondering what was taking Annie so long, he glanced at his watch and frowned. Nearly twenty minutes had passed since he’d stepped into the apartment, and he didn’t know how long she’d been in there before that. What the hell was she doing?
