Stranger In His Bed

by Lauren Canan

  As she watched him eat his dinner, she realized she wasn’t seeing a man who was happy and content with the world in which he lived. She was seeing a man who marched to the drum his current life demanded. He was staying well away from any friends or relationships that would take his time away from his business, including his own wife. The question was why. He was polite to a fault, handsome, rich...and very much alone. Why had he married her? It was like the dog that finally caught the car it had chased for years. Now that he had it, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

  It was just sad. Period. All of it. How he rarely returned to his childhood home and had little to no personal contact with his brothers except, she assumed, in emergencies. Flying around from one country to another and never realizing a true home... Maybe she could plan something to get his family together.

  She took one last bite of her dinner, laying the fork on her empty plate. “This was excellent. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

  An older man came into the room and politely inquired if either one would care for dessert. Victoria placed her hand over her stomach and declined. “I’m stuffed.”

  “None for me either, Jacob. Dinner was good, thank you.”

  The man nodded, took the plates and left the room.

  “Do you feel up to looking at those design renderings?”

  “Sure.” Her headache still had a dull throb, but it was slightly better than earlier today. She refused to let it keep her from sharing this time with Wade.

  Together they walked down a long corridor. His hand was resting on the back of her waist. It felt odd, but not unpleasant, to be guided through the colossal home by this man. He stopped in front of double doors and opened one side for her. Like everything else in this house, his office was huge. Wade went directly to a side table and picked up a plastic tube containing the drawings. He removed them from their carrier and spread the sheets out on his desk. She walked over and stared at the first composite drawing. Wade was right. Something about the balance was off. As to the color, there wasn’t any.

  “Are the cabanas going to be white?”

  “Yeah,” Wade said, stepping closer until she could feel the heat from his body against her back. “More of a cream. The idea is to use them as a kind of palette for all the colors found on the island. The tropical plants contribute color at ground level, and I believe someone said there are over three hundred bird species, including parrots and macaws.”

  She realized she was once again shrouded in a warm vapor of sensation that was getting hotter by the second. She shook off the beginnings of arousal his closeness was causing, fighting to ignore the sexual response her body was determined to set in motion. She looked at the next few drawings, forcing her mind to stay on them. The cottages were primarily adobe-style with small variations around the entrances obviously intended to make each unique. But even with different doorways and variations in landscaping, they looked the same.

  “What do you think?” His tall, muscled body pressed against her as he gazed at the sketches over her shoulder.

  “These are very nice.”

  “Nice,” he repeated. “Victoria, tell me what you think.” His warm breath caressed her ear, his voice—that deep, rich baritone—causing shivers to run across her skin. Anxiously she reminded herself to breathe.

  Shaking her head, she pivoted around from the drawings and found herself wedged between Wade and the table. The top of her head almost touched his chin, requiring her to look up into his face. His gaze found hers and for countless seconds neither moved.

  She gave a slight shrug. “Who am I to be giving advice on multimillion-dollar vacation complexes?” It was almost a whisper, but it was the best she could do. “I don’t even remember my own name.” His mouth was so close, so tempting. He had a sexy five-o’clock shadow that only served to reinforce her earlier reaction to his masculinity. The feeling of warmth spread through her body like a wildfire fanned by the wind, causing her breasts to swell and her breath to become shallow. She couldn’t help but stare at his lips: so masculine, so tempting.

  He slowly lowered his head, bringing his lips only inches from hers. A little warning bell sounded in her head, reminding her that she was about to start something she wasn’t sure if she was ready for. And if she crossed that line, there was no going back. While he was her husband, she still didn’t know him. She didn’t know what their relationship had been like before the accident. She clenched her hands into fists, determined not to place them against his chest, stand on her tiptoes and press her lips to his. With more strength than she thought she had, she turned back to the sketches.

  She glanced down at the desk and took a deep breath in an attempt to fight off the growing desire to be in his arms.

  She cleared her throat. “If you want the cottages to meld with the island, I would think you would paint some of them a rich sandy brown reflecting the color of the beach. Others could be a pale peach or light orange—pick up the colors in a tropical sunset and maybe a dark turquoise representing the water. The flowering plants will still be striking against a colored wall as long as the blooms aren’t the same color as the walls. Also, each cabana has a private courtyard.” She pointed to the area. “To me that screams hammock with a coconut cocktail. If you can find any hammocks made locally, consider adding one or two to each cottage. Comparatively, I don’t think it’s a big expense and the visitors might really enjoy it. I know I would. I think.”

  She felt his hand slip across her back and cup the side of her waist as he leaned closer to the drawings.

  “And here—” she pulled out another large sheet and placed it next to the one on top, determined to keep herself from melting at his touch, his masculine scent “—they have palm trees centered in front of each cottage. They look...planned. Plant them in small groups at either end of the house and change the positioning with each cottage. Make them look random, like they’re part of the natural element there. I would think the very last thing you would want in a posh resort in the Caribbean is cookie-cutter anything.”

  She could feel his gaze on her face. When she looked around, she was caught by the intensity of those brown eyes. A heated blush encompassed her face. “I’m...sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

  “That’s all I seem to want to do,” Wade said softly, his voice gravelly as he tipped his head and lowered his lips to hers. “Pay very close attention to you,” he said against her mouth.

  She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to, and she didn’t. Her total focus was on Wade and the look on his face that held her captive. His full lips drew her in, and she clutched his shirt with both hands, wanting more, holding on for dear life. A small whimper left her throat when he pressed his lips against hers. Then he drew back before kissing her again, harder, determined. His mouth opened over hers, and his tongue pushed inside, exploring, filling her. His hands rose to cup her face. She could feel his breathing becoming fast, could sense his intense emotion taking her own body to a new level.

  Too soon he lifted his head, breaking the contact as he looked deeply into her eyes. She sensed he was going to kiss her again, but instead a frown covered his handsome features, and he drew back as if weighing the wisdom of his actions. As he continued to hold her face in his hands, his eyes lingered on her lips.

  Something in his eyes made her sense that he regretted getting this close to her. Although she didn’t have a clue why, that suspicion was confirmed when he took a step back and turned away. His mouth set in a straight line. She swallowed hard, feeling awkward and exposed.

  She wasn’t sure what to say, so she said nothing. With one last glance at her husband, she hurried to the door.

  “Victoria...”

  Gathering herself, she stopped just inside of the door. “I think cream cottages will be very nice, just the way your designer has it,” she said without turning around. “
They are lovely just as they are.”

  With that, she made for the elevator.

  “Wait. Victoria,” Wade called.

  She kept walking. Still feeling the moist throbbing low in her belly, she fought the temptation to go back and do something really stupid.

  She had to be realistic. The sky was the limit on what had happened between them before the accident. For all she knew, they were in the final stages of a heated divorce. Come to think of it, that would certainly explain why he’d made no move to touch her before, why he was so distant and, at times, gave her the distinct impression he didn’t even like her. She wished he would just come out with it and tell her what had come between them.

  Not that it would necessarily make her any readier to share his bed if theirs was a true and happy marriage. Although, after what she’d experienced five minutes ago and this morning, he wouldn’t have to try very hard to convince her. At least she would know where she stood in his life. If he wanted a separation, a divorce, she was doing well enough physically that she could move on. She didn’t have to stay here. Surely she had some type of skills that would earn a position somewhere?

  She stepped into the elevator and sensed the same awkwardness as she’d felt the day she arrived. The renewed frustration of having no memories plus her body’s strong reaction to Wade before he turned away increased the volume on her headache. By the time she reached her room, it was full-blown. She hurried to find the bottle of pills.

  It was time she and Wade talked. Really talked. If she was a burden, if there was no love between them, she needed to leave. Before she fell in love with her husband.

  * * *

  Wade stared at the door Victoria had closed behind her. What in the hell was he thinking? Never had he entertained the idea of kissing Victoria. Before the accident, if it had so much as crossed his mind, the very idea would have been ridiculous. She was undeniably attractive, yes. But he’d never been even remotely attracted to her. She met the requirements as far as being the perfect wife for a billionaire: beautiful, poised, charming when the situation demanded. Victoria had no compunction about her role as his pretend wife. Nowhere was it written or assumed they had to genuinely like one another. They rarely saw each other. Any attraction would have been one-sided on her part and, as far as he knew, that was not the case either. Yet since she’d awoken from the accident, he had been inexplicably drawn to her. He would watch her lips as she talked almost to the point of not listening to what she was saying. Her eyes were the shade of the irises his mother used to grow in her garden. Blue with a hint of lavender, amethyst. They were fascinating. How had he never noticed her eyes before?

  As he turned, his gaze fell to the drawings on his desk. Her suggestions were remarkable, and he would definitely pass on her comments to the designer. But it only added to the growing list of suspicions he had about her behavior. Something about her was off. There had to be a catch, something about her he wasn’t seeing. This whole new persona had to be fabricated. Had to be. There was no other viable explanation for it. In the years they had known each other, but especially in the months since she’d agreed to the sham marriage, this was the first time she’d ever shown any interest in what he did. The fact that she’d made suggestions—good suggestions at that—blew his mind.

  If she really was faking the amnesia—whatever her game plan—she was doing a number on his psyche. The closer he got to her, the closer he wanted to be. By the time she’d finally begun talking about the drawings, he was as hard as a steel girder. Damn. In those moments when he’d looked into those eyes, he was past caring why he was suddenly attracted to her. Hell, what did it matter? He wanted to taste her. He wanted to be inside her. Hell, he wanted a lot more than that. Desperately, he wanted Victoria to stay the way she was right now, memory or no memory.

  Never in his previous relationships had he experienced the desire he now felt for Victoria. The cloud of suspicion for most women that had come after Cynthia, his fiancée of two years ago, was slowly evaporating, something he hadn’t thought possible. His throat tightened as long-repressed memories of their final moments tore at his mind. Cynthia had even gone as far as to claim she was pregnant. All in a staged effort to ensure that a marriage between them would come to pass. Then weeks before the wedding her father had stepped forward, admitting his daughter’s scheme. The devastation he’d felt at Cynthia’s betrayal still brought back the anger.

  Victoria had always viewed others as inherently inferior. Her quest for permanent acceptance within the circles of the rich had hardened her. She’d become ruthless in her determination to regain her family’s previous status and had turned into the cold, cynical person she was today. Or at least the person she was before the accident.

  Some of the questions she asked intrigued him. She had appeared completely surprised when he’d told her that she didn’t hold down a job. Working at anything was unthinkable to the Victoria of the past. He knew she was a clotheshorse, always dressing to perfection. Sometimes she even set a fashion trend with one of her styling ideas. But the way she looked at those sketches...her approach was almost professional.

  Her actions were becoming more unusual by the day. Could a knock on the head cause a person’s basic character to completely change? It was almost as though she had a dual personality thing going on. He definitely needed to speak with Dr. Meadows, but since it wasn’t an emergency, it could probably wait until her scheduled appointment. Until then, all he could do was to wait and watch. If she was acting, sooner or later she would slip up. It was inevitable. Like a kid, he had his fingers crossed in hopes that the wicked witch wouldn’t return. Yet, at the same time, he needed some answers.

  He’d racked his brain to try to figure it out. If this was a hoax, what was the payoff? It would have to be about money. With Victoria, it was always about money. But he hadn’t come up with one solid idea of what she might be up to. Yet.

  Five

  Prior to going to bed, Victoria stood in her bedroom, staring at the picture that hung over the mantel. She still didn’t see anything in the painting that reminded her of anyone. It was 80 percent background, and the only subjects were the child and her dog. The artist, Charles Burton Barber, had signed the painting in the lower right-hand corner. So why did it bring the name Murphy to mind? There was no reasonable explanation. She took in a breath and blew it out in yet another sigh of frustration. Memories were churning in the back of her mind; she could almost feel them spinning around and around, searching for a way to come out. How could she open the door and let them?

  A soft knock on the door broke her concentration.

  “Come in,” she said, wondering who could be knocking on her door so late.

  The door opened, and Wade stood on the threshold.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You left rather suddenly.” He tipped his head in question, and his gaze held hers.

  “I’m fine.” She shrugged. “Thank you for letting me look at the drawings. The resort will be incredible.”

  He paused for a long moment as though considering saying something else. Then he nodded. “I hope so. And your insights will be passed on. I think you were right on.” He bumped the door frame with his left fist. “All right, then.” He gave an affirmative nod. “Have a good night.”

  “You as well.”

  Victoria gave up searching her mind for answers and got ready for bed. Lying on the soft mattress in the darkened room, she couldn’t stop herself from reliving the earlier moments in his office. The warmth of his body against her back. The way his lips moved over his strong white teeth when he spoke. She hoped he would kiss her again. Long and slow and deep. Damn this memory thing. Only a few more days and she would see Dr. Meadows again. And she wouldn’t be short on questions.

  * * *

  Everything was moving in slow motion. Multiple shades of red splattered on the glass in front of her. She couldn’t see
out. She couldn’t tell who was behind the pane. She tried to sweep the colors away, but that served only to swirl and mix them into an insipid, lifeless gray. Shards of glass flew about her head, lingered in the air above her before turning and heading straight down, each one piercing her skin with the precision cut of a razor.

  She heard a scream. Over and over, someone was screaming. Was she the only one who heard it? She had to go for help. She had to find someone to help, but she couldn’t move. Then she was again looking in the glass that had transformed into a mirror. She watched the blood run down her face as the sound of a siren filled the space around her. Everything was distorted. The world was spinning upside down. The face in the mirror was talking, but she couldn’t understand the words. Over and over she heard a man’s voice telling her he would free her from this place. He kept telling her to hang on. But she was so tired. The pain in her head was unbearable. Better to give in to the darkness. But she had to breathe. She had to fight for the next breath. If she gathered enough air in her lungs, she could scream and someone would hear her. But the blackness was stronger than she was. Like a wave coming to shore, it rolled over her, soothing her, giving her peace. She had to hang on. No! Please no!

  She felt the warmth of strong arms around her. The darkness began to recede. She buried her face in the muscled shoulder of the man who held her as she cried, the sobs uncontrollable, as was the trembling that tore through her body. She held on to him, needing his strength, afraid he would leave her alone again.

  “Victoria.” The reality of Wade’s deep voice broke into the nightmare. “It’s all right. Come on, hon, wake up. You’re having a bad dream. You’re safe.”

  His soothing words and the warmth of his body as he held her began to diminish the fright of the nightmare. Blinking open her eyes, she saw the increasingly familiar surroundings of her suite. She was in her bed, with Wade holding her safe and protected. She should feel embarrassed that she’d apparently awakened him from his own sleep, but the warmth and safety she felt as he held her close overruled any idea of pushing him away or putting up a front of bogus bravery. The dream had held her in its horrifying grip until Wade had forced it away and brought her back to reality. She took a deep, shaky breath to calm the last of the tremors.