The Wife He Couldn't Forget

by Yvonne Lindsay

  Something was obviously worrying her—deeply, he suspected—but she was a master at hiding how she felt about things. When they’d first met, he’d actually admired that about her, had recognized her resilience and strength and found them incredibly appealing. Olivia never showed weakness or dependency, but he’d learned that in itself wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He knew she had to feel weakness at times—she just refused to show it. Refused to let him help. Marriage was about sharing those loads. Meeting problems head-on, together.

  So what was playing on her mind now and how on earth would he get her to share it with him? Was it something to do with the envelope that had been delivered from those lawyers a couple of weeks ago? The envelope that had magically disappeared and that she hadn’t discussed at all? He’d searched the name of the firm online and discovered that they were specialists in divorce and relationship property laws. The knowledge had left him with more questions than answers.

  Was there something wrong in their marriage that she couldn’t bring herself to discuss? Was this existence they now shared just some facade for a crueler reality? Somehow he had to find out. From the moment he’d seen her at his bedside at the hospital, he’d been assailed with a complex mix of disconnection and rightness. Logically he knew a lot of it could be put down to the head injury he’d sustained and the amnesia, but a little voice kept telling him that there was more he should know. Something vitally important.

  But if it was so important, why then was Olivia holding back? He could sense it in her. The words that she bit off on occasion, the sudden sad expression in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. Even the furrows in her brow, such as she had right now, implied she was worried about something.

  He would give her another few days and then he’d push her to find out what it was. Maybe the missing information was the key to his memory; maybe it wasn’t. One thing he knew for certain, he’d be stuck in this limbo forever if he didn’t get to the bottom of it.

  He moved toward the studio doors. Olivia must have seen him because she turned to face him, her features composed in a welcoming smile that didn’t quite reach those beautiful blue eyes of hers. She had some paint in her hair, another proof of her distraction. Sure, she was never immaculately tidy and controlled when she worked, but today she looked pressured, distracted even. Until she put on her face for him, that was.

  “It’s getting late,” Xander said as Olivia put down her brush. “You should call it a day.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” she admitted, stretching out her shoulders and shaking out her hands. “Nothing’s going right today.”

  “Clean up and come inside the house. I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?”

  Her eyes sparkled with interest, and he smiled in response.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high. It’s nothing spectacular. I’ll see you back at the house. Five minutes, no more,” he cautioned.

  “I’ll be there,” she promised.

  True to her word, on his allotted deadline he heard the back door open and then her footsteps coming toward the kitchen.

  “Something smells amazing,” she said, coming into the room. “Did you cook for me?”

  “I did,” he said, bending down to lift the dish he’d made from the oven.

  “Oh my, did you make your moussaka?” she asked, coming closer and inhaling deeply. “I haven’t had that since—”

  And there it was again. That sudden halt in her train of thought. The words she left unspoken. He wondered what she’d have continued to say if she’d left herself unchecked.

  “Since?” he prompted.

  “Since you made it last, which was a while ago,” she replied smoothly. “I’m looking forward to it. Shall I set the table?”

  “All done.”

  “Wow, you’re organized tonight.”

  “You were busy, and I didn’t have anything else urgently claiming my attention,” he joked. “Come on—we’re eating in the dining room.”

  Carrying the dish, he led the way to the room he’d prepared with fresh-cut spring flowers and their best crockery and cutlery. A bottle of sparkling wine chilled in an ice bucket and tall crystal flutes reflected the glint of the light from above.

  “Are we celebrating?” she asked.

  “I’ve been home a month, I thought it appropriate.”

  “I feel like I should change,” Olivia said, plucking at her paint-spattered shirt and jeans. “You’ve gone to so much bother.”

  “It wasn’t a bother and—” he let his gaze sweep her body “—you look perfect to me.”

  A flush rose on her throat and her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Xander put the dish on the table and took a step toward her. He raised one hand, cupped her jaw and tilted her face to meet his. “I mean it. You’re perfect for me.”

  Then he kissed her. It started out gentle but swiftly deepened into something much more intense. His arms closed around her, and her body molded to his, igniting a sense of rightness that swept over him like a drenching wave. Needs that had been suppressed for weeks unfurled, sending hunger hurtling through his veins that had nothing to do with the meal waiting on the table for them and everything to do with this woman here in his arms.

  Xander wanted nothing more than to push all the accoutrements from the table and lay Olivia on its surface. To feast on her and slake the appetite that demanded satiation. But he wanted their first time back together since his accident to be special, and he’d been planning this all day long. He was nothing if not a planner, and he knew that the long-term satisfaction gained would be all the sweeter for not rushing a single moment.

  Slowly, gently, he eased back on the passion—loosening his hold on her and taking her lips now in tiny sipping kisses. After a few seconds he rested his forehead on hers. His breath was as unsteady as his hands, and desire for her still clamored from deep within his body.

  “Now we’ve had our appetizer, perhaps we should move to the main course,” he suggested, aiming for a light note that—judging by the languorous look in Olivia’s eyes—he may have missed entirely.

  “If you still cook as good as you kiss, dinner is going to be wonderful,” Olivia said dreamily.

  “Still?”

  There was that hint of something he was missing again. They’d always taken turns cooking and often cooked together. But something in the way she said it made it sound as though she hadn’t eaten his cooking in a long time.

  “Oh, you know,” she said with a flutter of her hand and stepped away from him, her gaze averted. “You’ve forgotten a lot of things—what if cooking is one of them?”

  As an attempt at humor it fell decidedly flat, but Xander chose not to pursue it right now. Instead he tucked it away in the back of his mind, along with the other inconsistencies, to be examined another time. Tonight was meant to be a celebration, and he wasn’t going to spoil that for any reason.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re safe from food poisoning,” he said with a smile and held out her chair.

  Once she was seated, he opened the sparkling wine and poured them each a glass. After taking his seat, he raised his crystal flute and held it toward Olivia.

  “To new beginnings,” he said.

  She lifted her glass and quietly repeated the toast before clinking her flute against his. He watched her over the rim of his glass as they drank, taking in the shape of her brows, the feminine slant of her eyes and the neat straight line of her nose. Her features were exquisite, dainty, until you reached the ripe fullness of her mouth, which hinted strongly at her own appetites. Her lips glistened with a little moisture from her wine, and he ached to lean forward and taste them again. He reminded himself anew that the best things in life were to be savored, not rushed.

  The meal proved he’d forgotte
n none of his prowess in the kitchen. After dinner they took the rest of the bottle of wine into the sitting room and watched a movie together, sipping slowly of the wine and of each other’s lips. When Xander suggested they go upstairs, she didn’t hesitate. As he rose from the sofa, where she’d been curled up against him, and held out his hand, she took it and allowed him to pull her upright.

  He led her upstairs and into their bedroom. Filtered light from the street lamp outside drifted through the windows, limning the large iron bed frame and the furniture around the room and creating a surreal atmosphere. In some ways this did feel surreal. Knowing that they were going to make love again. To be what they’d promised one another they’d always be when they made their wedding vows.

  Olivia’s fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, and she made quick work of them before pushing the fabric aside and pressing her palms against his chest. Her palms felt cool to the touch; beneath them his skin burned in response, as his entire body now burned for more of her touch. Or, more simply, more of her.

  A shudder went through him as her hands skimmed down over his ribs, across his belly and then lower, to the buckle of his belt. He shifted, taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth to kiss her fingertips.

  “You first,” he said, his voice rough with the strain of forcing himself to take it slow. “I want to see you again. All of you.”

  Her delicious lips curved into a smile, and she inclined her head ever so slightly. It was enough to make his already aching flesh throb with need. She slowly unfastened each button of her shirt. When the last one was undone, she shrugged her shoulders back and allowed the garment to slide from her body. His eyes feasted on the sight of her. Her breasts were full and lush, pressing against the lace cups that bound them, swelling and falling with each breath she took. Olivia reached behind her, and he swallowed hard as, with the hooks undone, she slid down first one strap, then the other, before pulling the bra away.

  He’d told himself he could wait, but he’d lied. He had to touch her again. Had to familiarize himself with the curves and hollows of her body. A body that had been imprinted on his mind and his soul over and over but that now seemed strangely different. He reached out to touch her—to cup her breasts in his hands and test the weight of them, to brush his thumb across the eager points of her nipples. And then, finally, to bend his head and take one of those taut tips with his mouth. She moaned as he swirled his tongue around her. First one side and then the other. Her fingers tangled in his hair and held him to her as if the very beat of her heart depended on it.

  He made short work of the fastenings on her jeans and slid the zipper down before shoving the aged denim off her hips and down her legs. Xander slid one arm around her waist while the other dipped low, over her hips and to the waistband of her panties. Everything about Olivia felt familiar and yet different at the same time. There was a softness about her that he didn’t remember. Her hips, once angular, were now more gently rounded, and her breasts seemed fuller and more sensitive than he remembered, too.

  It was crazy, he thought. He knew her like he knew the back of his hand. She was still the same Olivia he’d fallen in love with and married and made a home with. She was the same Olivia who’d rushed to his bedside when he’d woken from his coma and the same woman who’d brought him home and cared for him this past month. And yet she was slightly altered, as well.

  His fingers hooked under the elastic of her panties and tangled in the neat thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs. His long fingers stroked her, delving deeper with each touch until he groaned into the curve of her neck at the heat and moisture at his fingertips.

  “You’re so wet,” he said against her skin, letting his teeth graze the tender skin of her throat.

  “For you, Xander. Always for you,” she murmured.

  He felt a ripple run through her as he stroked a little deeper, the base of his palm pressing against her clitoris while he slid one finger inside her. The heat of her body threatened to consume him, to render him senseless with reciprocal need. He gently withdrew from her body and lifted her into his arms, ignoring her protest as he walked the few short steps to the bed and laid her down on the covers.

  “You shouldn’t have done that—you might have hurt yourself,” she admonished in a husky voice that tried but failed to sound scolding.

  “What? And miss doing this?” He wedged one knee between her legs and eased them apart, settling himself between them with the familiarity of the years of their love. He pressed his jean-clad groin against her and was rewarded with a moan from his wife.

  “We’re still wearing too many clothes,” she pointed out, her fingers drifting across his shoulders before tugging playfully at his hair.

  “I’m getting to that,” he answered, shifting lower on the bed and pressing a line of wet kisses down her torso as he did so. “One.” Kiss. “Thing.” Kiss. “At.” Kiss. “A.” Kiss. “Time.”

  With the last kiss he tugged her panties to one side and traced his tongue from her belly button to her center and slid his hands beneath her buttocks to tilt her toward him. As his mouth closed over her, his tongue flicking her sensitive bud, he heard her sigh. There was a wealth of longing in her voice when she spoke.

  “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you, so much.”

  And then she was incapable of speech or coherent thought, he judged from the sounds coming from her mouth. All she was capable of was feeling the pleasure he gave her. And he made sure, with every lick and nibble and touch, that it was worth every second.

  She was still trembling with the force of her orgasm when he slid her panties off completely and shucked his clothes. He quickly reached into the bedside table drawer, grabbed a condom and sheathed himself. Settling back between Olivia’s legs and into her welcoming embrace felt more like coming home than anything he’d felt before. The rhythm of their lovemaking had often been frenetic in the past, but, tonight at least, he wanted to take it slow. To truly live and love in each special moment. He positioned the blunt throbbing head of his penis at her entrance and slowly pressed forward, taking her gasp in his mouth in a kiss as he slid in all the way. Her inner muscles tightened around him, and he allowed himself to simply feel. Feel without pain. Feel without emptiness. Feel without frustration or loss.

  Loss?

  She squeezed again, and he stopped thinking and gave himself over to the moment, to the beauty of making love with the woman he loved more than life itself. And moments after he’d slowly brought her to the brink of climax again, he pushed them over the edge and took them both on that wondrous journey together.

  Later, as he drifted to sleep, his wife curled in his arms with her hair spread across his shoulder, he knew that everything had finally started to fall back into place in his world again. He might not remember everything, but he remembered this and he never wanted to let go of it—or of her.

  * * *

  Olivia woke before dawn with a sense that all was well with her world again. She’d slept better than she had in months, maybe even since before Parker had died. Xander slept deeply beside her, and she gazed at his profile in the slowly lightening room. She would never have believed it was possible to love a person as much as she loved him and she never wanted to lose him again.

  That meant she had to talk to him. Had to tell him about Parker and his death; about their separation. But how on earth was she to start talking about something so horrible when they’d just reaffirmed everything about their love in the most perfect way possible? She didn’t want the darkness of their loss and the cruel words they’d thrown at each other to taint the beautiful night they’d shared. Maybe they should take another day, or even a week.

  It wasn’t going to be easy telling him, whether he remembered eventually or not. But he deserved to know what had happened. Objectively and without emotion or harsh words clogging everything. It also meant facing up to th
e full truth about her contribution to the slow and steady breakdown of their marriage.

  How did she explain why she’d taken decisions they should have made together and made them herself? Decisions like getting Bozo—like stopping her birth control pills before they’d even really discussed when they’d have a family. They’d been in no way emotionally ready to be parents, but she’d forced the issue because she’d had an agenda and nothing and no one would sway her from it.

  Looking back, she could understand why she’d behaved that way, but it didn’t make it right. She’d had to become a mother at only twelve years old, caring for her three younger siblings—aged ten, eight and six—when their mother died. Waking them each morning, feeding them breakfast, packing their lunches and making sure they all got on the school bus on time. Then, at the end of each day, making sure everyone’s homework was completed and a hearty meal was prepared and on the table when her father came in from the farm.

  She’d hoped that taking care of everything would make him happy and proud of her. But it never seemed to work. She did everything she could to try and put some of the sparkle back in her father’s dull blue eyes, but it seemed that no matter how hard she tried, no matter what she did, his grief over her mother’s death locked his joy in life and his children in a frozen slab.

  She became even more organized, more controlling of what happened around her, especially when it came to taking care of her family. And that didn’t let up, not even when she went to university or began teaching. No, she continued to supervise and encourage her siblings’ career aspirations, pushed them to apply for student loans and to enter university while working part-time jobs to help cover their living expenses just as she had. It was only after the youngest of them had graduated, and Olivia was teaching full-time at an Auckland high school, that she began to relax—and then she’d met Xander.