Disappointment touched him. He’d really hoped it would be different this time around. Apparently, you could take memories of the husband out of the girl, but the fighting core always remained.
Sitting up beside her, Taylor did his best to pretend that things were finally back on track between them. That this was just another average morning in their lives, no different from any of the others they’d experienced. It wasn’t easy.
“It’s still early,” he commented, glancing at the clock sitting on his nightstand. “Want me to make breakfast?”
Gayle felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed. And desperate for a way not to appear to be either. The best defense was a good offense. She gave him a cold look. “Are you saying I can’t cook?”
That hadn’t been his intended message, but her question had a smile curving his lips despite the tension in the air.
“That really doesn’t need saying, Gayle. It’s more like a world opinion.” He saw her look hardening. “Even you’ve admitted more than once that you can’t.”
All of her free hours when she was growing up had gone into training. Then there were all those tours. She’d never had time to learn how to cook and, frankly, no inclination, either. Her brothers teased her about it. But he couldn’t.
Because she needed something to focus on, other than how much she’d given up last night, she let her anger flare. “How hard is it to make eggs and toast?”
His grin widened. “For the average person or for you?”
Hugging the sheet to her, she drew herself up as much as she was able. “And just how many breakfasts have you sampled over the years?”
He wasn’t sure if she was using “breakfast” as some kind of metaphor, but he was taking no chances. “Enough to know I didn’t marry you for your cooking.” Unable to help himself, he added, “Just like I didn’t marry you for your even temper.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And just what is it you did marry me for?”
He’d woken up in a damn good mood. Last night, he’d held on to the hope that maybe things were turning around again. For the positive. He should have known better. “Right about now I tend to forget.” He caught his temper before it flared. “Look, I just wanted to do something nice for you.”
Because of her mind-set, Gayle zeroed in on the one offending word. “I don’t need you to ‘do’ anything for me.”
About to retort, Taylor closed his mouth again. He was letting himself be sucked into an argument that was so less than pointless he couldn’t even begin to unravel it.
He didn’t have to. He’d taken this journey before. “Maybe not, but I know what you’re doing.”
She looked at him indignantly, still struggling to keep the sheet in place. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Oh yes, you are,” he countered. “You’re scared so you’re trying to push me away.”
“Scared?” she demanded angrily.
“Yes,” he repeated quietly. Firmly. Infuriatingly. “Scared.”
Her eyes blazed as she glared at him. It took everything he had not to just pull her back into his arms and make love with her. Granted she was exasperating beyond words, but she was also magnificent like this.
“And just what the hell am I supposed to be scared of?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed into small, blue-green slits. “You?”
“Partly,” he said, but he knew her well enough to know that he was just the catalyst here. “Mostly you’re scared of you.”
She laughed shortly, dismissing the idea as absurd. “I didn’t notice a degree in psychiatry hanging off your toolbelt.”
He didn’t rise to the bait. She could send him over the brink with one word, but he was determined to be the sane one here. One of them had to be. And their marriage was at stake.
“Living with you has given me an honorary degree.” With effort he attempted to reason with her. “Look, I’m not your father.”
“What?” she growled out the single word. Taylor had just crossed a line.
Okay, maybe that didn’t come out right, he silently conceded. But Taylor didn’t know how else to proceed, except to just keep going.
“I don’t want you to obey my every command, Gayle.” The way they both knew her father had wanted. Still wanted, if she only let him. “I don’t want to mold you or make you an extension of myself in any manner, shape or form. I just want you to be my wife.”
“The little woman,” she sneered, deliberately trying to set him off, because inside she felt as if she was losing. Losing to the look in his eyes, to the patience in his voice. She didn’t want to lose. Because losing wasn’t acceptable to her.
He merely shook his head. “Nobody in their right mind would ever think of you that way.”
She glanced down, finding the insult in the words. Her body was outlined by the sheet that covered it. “Are you saying—”
“I’m saying that the way you said it was derogatory, and I’ve never thought of you in any other terms except that you are your own woman.” His eyes held hers. “And that’s just fine with me.”
She pushed her way past the fears, the insecurities that had a way of surfacing unless she held them in check, and just looked at him for a long moment. “That’s the way you think of me?”
“Yes.” And then, because he knew she needed honesty, he added, “I’ve also thought of you as one hell of a royal pain in the butt, and right now, lady, you are going for an all-time record.”
Stung, she reacted without thinking, her hand going back to gain momentum before she swung. Taylor caught her by the wrist, raising her hand above her head before she could make contact with his face.
The sheet she was keeping in place with her arms slipped and he became acutely aware of the fact that she had nothing on from the waist up. Or down. Sleeping hormones all snapped to immediate attention.
Gayle turned him on now more than she had when they first came together as a couple. His eyes held hers, looking for the woman he loved more than life itself. “I don’t want to fight.”
A glint of triumph entered her eyes. “Afraid you’ll lose?”
“Afraid I’ll strangle you.” He released her hand. “Damn it, Gayle, nobody has ever affected me the way you do.” He looked at her long, slim throat. “I want to wrap my hands around that pretty little neck of yours and squeeze until all the annoying words are gone.”
But that wasn’t all, she thought. She could almost feel Taylor’s unspoken thoughts gliding along her skin. “And?”
He took a breath. Until he’d fallen in love with Gayle, he’d kept his own counsel, kept his thoughts to himself. But now the idea of doing that seemed just too lonely. “And I want to make love to you until one or both of us expires.”
She had no idea why a smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “So death is pretty much the bottom line.”
“It usually is. As in ‘till death do us part.’” And he’d never meant anything he’d ever said more in his life. He wanted to face forever with her. Not alone.
Raising the sheet back up around her again, Gayle blew out a breath. Some of the fight she’d felt was temporarily gone. She paused for a moment, then asked, “Where did we get married?”
The question came out of nowhere. Maybe it was a good sign. “In a hospital chapel.”
She stared at him. Sunlight straining through blue-and amber-colored glass flashed through her mind. Something formless tried to pull itself together in her mind, but then it faded as she tried to grasp hold of it. The frustration was driving her crazy.
“Why a hospital chapel?”
He smiled. “That was your idea. You thought it was the best way to avoid the photographers. Except for the one Jake brought to capture the occasion.”
“The wedding album,” she remembered.
“Right. Your father and brothers were there, the first under duress.” The colonel and he had a polite truce, which, according to what Jake had told him, was counted as a victory. The colonel didn’t really tolerate too many people. “I think he
felt I was marrying you for free swimming lessons.”
“Knowing my father, he’d resent another man getting control over me.” She glanced up suddenly, realizing what she’d said.
He laughed. “As your father, he should have known you better.”
He was treating this with good humor. Maybe she’d overreacted, Gayle thought, then immediately upbraided herself. Of course she’d overreacted. Every time she gave a little of herself, she was afraid she’d never get it back. Training with her father had done that to her. She wondered if she would ever get over that.
Gayle pressed her lips together, then forced out an apology. “I’m sorry about before.”
“I was expecting it.” He saw the puzzled look cross her face. “You did it before.” And then, because only one of them remembered, he explained, “The first time we made love. You went from being a sultry summer breeze to a class-five hurricane in about as much time as it took to say it.”
“And you rode it out.”
He shrugged. “Had to.”
She searched his face, trying to understand. The man was good-looking and an incredible lover. He could easily have had anyone he wanted—on his own terms. Why had he stuck it out with her? “Why?”
Didn’t she know? On some deep, inner level, didn’t she know how he felt about her? How he would always feel about her? “Why do you think?”
“You have a death wish.”
He laughed then, and the sound enveloped her like a warm comforter on a cold, crisp winter morning.
“My wishes don’t involve death in any form.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, moving it away from her face. “They do involve you, however. You’re the best game in town. In any town.”
Was that it? Was she just a game to him, a challenge, or was there more to it than that? Her readiness to take offense, to pull away had deserted her. “I don’t think I understand.”
He smiled into her eyes. As gorgeous as she was, it was her eyes he loved best about her.
“You don’t have to. At times, neither do I.” Because he still wasn’t certain of her reactions, he resisted the temptation to draw her back into his arms the way he sorely wanted to. “But so far what we have between us works.” He sighed, remembering. “Or was working until you took Sam up on his dare. He didn’t mean it, you know. Didn’t mean for you to dive into the ocean from that point on the boat.”
She shook her head, not remembering the incident. But she did remember something inherent about herself. Something that she was certain had its initial foundation in the fact that she was her father’s daughter. “I can’t walk away from a dare.”
He knew that, but it still didn’t make any sense to him. It never had. “Why? You don’t have anything to prove.”
She smiled, more at the words than at him. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you claim.”
“Let me revise that, you don’t have anything you need to prove. You’re an Olympic gold medalist, a successful sportscaster. You’re young, beautiful and you have a sexy husband. The tabloids even approve of you. Of us, as a matter of fact.” He found that pretty amazing, given the vulturelike tendencies of that quarter of the press. “Everything is perfect.”
She pursed her lips together. “Except that I don’t remember you.”
“Except that you don’t remember me.” His gaze searched Gayle’s face. Hoping. “Not even a little?”
“There are moments,” she allowed. Moments that raised her hopes, only to dash them in the next heartbeat. “Tiny shards will flash through my brain, only to disappear, leaving nothing illuminated in their wake. So, on the whole, no.”
He should be used to disappointment by now, he thought. But he wasn’t. So he shrugged at her words, doing his best to appear philosophical. He wasn’t much good at pretending, but he tried for her sake. Because, despite her earlier bluster, he felt she was coming around. Not remembering him, but accepting him as part of her life. And not balking at it.
“It’s still early. The doctor said it might take time.”
“He also said it might never come back,” she reminded him. She tried not to allow the thought to depress her. But she did find the thought the most frustrating of all, that the life she’d had with Taylor up until this point might remain a secret from her, locked in her brain for the rest of her life.
He made light of the suggestion. “That’s called covering all bases. Doctors all do that. But he saw no reason for us not to be optimistic that this is just a temporary condition. Most of the time, the amnesia is temporary.”
“But most of the time,” she countered, “the amnesia is all-inclusive.”
He wasn’t going to go there, wasn’t going to allow himself to dwell on dark thoughts. He could do that about a lot of things, but not when it came to her.
Taylor took hold of her shoulders, making her look at him. “Every case is different, Gayle. And you are going to remember me.”
His eyes held hers. He wouldn’t lie to her, she thought. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She wanted to ask him how he knew, how he could be so certain about something about which she had such grave doubts. But in her heart she had a feeling that Taylor wouldn’t be able to answer her question in any manner that would be satisfactory to her. So she quietly clung to his words as if they were a promise. Because she needed to.
She smiled at him, feeling something other than just desire stir within her. “You know, you can be very nice at times.”
This time he gave in to himself and slipped his arm around her. To his relief, she didn’t pull back. He felt her hair tickle his shoulder. “I can be very nice all the time.”
She looked up at him. “So why aren’t you?”
He brushed his lips against hers so lightly she thought she imagined it. “It would be too boring.”
This time the stirring she felt was definitely desire. “Does that offer for breakfast still stand?”
“Sure.” He brushed his lips against hers again, this time a bit harder and with more feeling. His arms closed around her. “In a minute.”
“A minute?” Her eyes laughed at him. “You want to do it that fast?”
He kissed her again. And again. And in between he murmured, “Okay, five minutes.”
She threaded her arms around his neck, her body pressing against his. “Make it ten.”
He was already drawing her back down on the bed. “Whatever you want.”
She frowned at the man who had initially hired her. Finished with the latest set of promos she’d promised to tape, she was on her way out of the studio, planning the evening that lay ahead. She wasn’t sure just what that entailed, but ultimately she intended for them to wind up in bed together.
Her plans were placed on hold when the news producer called her into his office. One look at his face and she had an unnerving feeling that her plans were about to be changed.
When he opened his mouth and told her the assignment, she knew it. Still, she heard herself repeating, “You want me to go out of town?”
Will Carroll nodded, joining his hands together and resting them on his considerable bulk. “Just overnight.” It was obvious by his expression that he’d thought she’d be pleased and was now mystified himself. “What’s wrong? You love going on the road, and this is just a quick stop. Just like the last trip,” he reminded her. “Into Phoenix and then back home again.” He looked particularly happy with himself as he added, “I’ve even booked the same room for you.”
The same room.
Gayle looked at her producer blankly. Something else she didn’t remember, she realized, and held her frustration at bay. No one at the station knew anything about her accident or her memory lapse when it came to her marital condition, and she wasn’t about to fill anyone in. So she merely nodded at Carroll’s words.
In an odd way, she felt the tiniest bit heartened. Apparently there was something besides Taylor that she’d forgotten. She knew that at the very least, this might ma
ke Taylor feel better.
Damn it, she didn’t like this, didn’t like not remembering. People were comprised of their memories, and she wanted hers back.
She realized that Will was looking at her oddly. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “No, just trying to rearrange a few things in my head to accommodate the trip, that’s all.”
The producer picked up a rectangular envelope with two boarding passes peering out of the top, one for Phoenix, one for a return flight.
“Well, don’t spend too much time rearranging. The flight’s at three. Game starts at seven.”
She didn’t bother pointing out that she already knew when tonight’s game was starting. Instead, she took the tickets from him and resigned herself to postponing her night of passion until tomorrow. She had a game to cover. “Okay.”
The scent of flowers filled the interior of his car. As did the off-tune melody he was whistling.
The music stopped when he saw that her car wasn’t in the driveway.
That was all right, he just got home before her. She was probably working late at the station, taping promos or an extra segment. He could wait.
When he let himself into the house, he saw the blinking light on the telephone answering machine. A feeling in his gut told him that he was being too optimistic.
It figured. With Gayle, there was always at least one step back for every two steps forward.
Putting the bouquet of daisies down on the counter, he pressed the play button on the answering machine. A second later he heard her voice.
“Taylor, I have to cover the Angels-Diamondback game in Phoenix. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m really sorry about this.”
He frowned at the machine as her voice faded. An annoying beep told him that the message was over.
“Not as sorry as I am,” he said aloud.
Picking up the bouquet, he was tempted to deposit it into the garbage. He told himself he was overreacting and picking up bad habits from Gayle. So instead he crossed to the cabinet farthest from the refrigerator and got out the vase she kept there. He poured a little water into the vase and stuffed in the bouquet, not bothering to take off the plastic wrapped around it.
Husbands and Other Strangers Page 14
