Billionaire's Contract Engagement / Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation

by Maya Banks

  She looked up at him, eyes as wide as saucers. “How did I survive that?”

  “You were really lucky.”

  “Everyone kept saying that. But they always say that when someone has an accident and doesn’t die. Right?”

  He shrugged. “I guess sometimes they really mean it.”

  “Was it just the one picture, or are there more?”

  “Half a dozen maybe. I’ll erase them.”

  She held out her hand. “I want to see.”

  “Mel—”

  “Ash, I need to see them.”

  “It’ll just upset you.”

  “It will upset me more if I don’t. Please.”

  He reluctantly handed it back to her, and watched as she scrolled through the photos. When she got to the last one she scrolled back the other way. She did that a few times, then she closed her eyes tight, as though she was trying to block the image from her mind.

  Letting her look had been a bad idea. He should have told her no and erased them. “Mel, why don’t you give me—”

  “I rolled,” she said, eyes still closed.

  “That’s right. Into a ditch. Then you hit a tree. The doctor told you that, remember?”

  Her brow wrinkled in concentration. “The interior was black, the instrument panel had red. Red lights. And the gearshift.” She reached out with her right hand, as if she was touching it. “It was red, too.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “There was an air freshener hanging from the mirror. It smelled like coconuts.”

  There was no way she could have seen that kind of detail in the photo on his phone. She was remembering. “What else?”

  “I remember rolling.” She looked up at him. “I remember being scared, and hurting, and thinking I was going to die. It was. awful. But I do remember.”

  He wondered how long it would take before she remembered what else had happened, why she rolled into the ditch. Had she been conscious enough to know that she was miscarrying?

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s over, and you’re safe now.”

  She looked up at him. “There’s something else.”

  He held his breath.

  She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, then she shook her head. “I don’t know. I know there’s something there. Something I should know. It just won’t come.”

  “It will,” he assured her, hoping it never did, wishing she could just be content to let it stay buried.

  Thirteen

  Mel had a bad dream that night.

  After a dinner of takeout Chinese that they both picked at, and a movie neither seemed to be paying much attention to, Ash walked Mel to bed.

  He was going to tuck her in then go to his office and work for a while, but she took his hand and said, “Please stay.” He couldn’t tell her no. They undressed and climbed into bed together. He kissed her goodnight, intending it to be a quick brush of the lips, because he was sure that sex was the last thing on her mind. But her arms went around his neck and she pulled him to her, whispering, “Make love to me again.”

  He kept waiting for her demanding aggressive side to break through, but she seemed perfectly content lying there, kissing and touching, letting him take the lead. And he realized just how much he preferred this to the hot and heavy stuff.

  Afterward she cuddled up against him, warm and soft and limp, and they fell asleep that way. It was a few hours later when she shot up in bed, breath coming in ragged bursts, eyes wild with fear.

  He sat up beside her, touched her shoulder, and found that she was drenched in sweat. He felt the sheet and it was drenched, too. For a second he was afraid she’d developed a fever, but her skin was cool.

  “I was rolling,” she said, her voice rusty from sleep. “I was rolling and rolling and I couldn’t stop.”

  “It was a dream. You’re okay.” He had no doubt this was a direct result of her seeing those photos and he blamed himself.

  “It hurts,” she said, cradling her head in her hands. “My head hurts.”

  He wasn’t sure if it hurt now, or she was having a flashback to the accident. She seemed trapped somewhere between dream and sleep. “Do you want a pain pill?”

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m cold.”

  Well, lying between wet sheets wasn’t going to warm her.

  “Come on,” he said, climbing out of bed and coaxing her to follow him.

  “Where?” she asked in a sleepy voice, dutifully letting him lead her into the hall.

  “My room. Where it’s dry.”

  He got her tucked in, then laid there for a long time, listening to her slow even breaths, until he finally drifted off.

  She apparently didn’t remember the dream, or waking up, because she shook him awake the next morning and asked, “Ash, why are we in your bedroom?”

  “You had a nightmare,” he mumbled, too sleepy to even open his eyes.

  “I did?”

  “The sheets were sweaty so I moved us in here.” He thought she may have said something else after that but he had already drifted back to sleep. When he woke again it was after eight, far later than he usually got up. Even on a Sunday. He would have to skip the gym and go straight to work.

  He showered and dressed in slacks and a polo since it was Sunday and it was doubtful anyone else would be around the office, then went out to the kitchen. Mel was sitting on the couch wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, knees pulled up with her feet propped on the cushion in front of her. If he didn’t know better, he would say she wasn’t a day over eighteen.

  When she saw him she looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”

  He walked to the back of the couch and leaned over, intending to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head and caught his lips instead. They tasted like coffee, and a hint of something sweet—a pastry maybe—and she smelled like the soap they had used in the shower last night. He was damned tempted to lift her up off the couch, toss her over his shoulder and take her back to bed.

  Maybe later.

  When he broke the kiss she was still smiling up at him.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “There’s coffee.”

  “How long have you been up?” he asked as he walked to the kitchen. She’d already set a cup out for him.

  “Six-thirty.” She followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat on one of the bar stools at the island. “It was a little disorienting waking up in a bed I didn’t fall asleep in.”

  “You still don’t remember it?”

  She shook her head. “I do remember something else though. The book I’ve been reading, I’ve read it before. I mean, I figured I had, since it was on the shelf. But I picked it up this morning after already reading almost half of it, and bam, suddenly I remember how it ended. So I went to the bookshelf and looked at a few others, and after I read the back blurb, and skimmed the first few pages, I remembered those, too.”

  This was bound to happen. He just hadn’t expected it to be this soon. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah. I was sitting there reading those books, thinking how stupid it was that I could remember something so immaterial, and I couldn’t even remember my own mother. Then it hit me. The picture.”

  “What picture?”

  “The one of me and my mom, when I was thirteen.”

  He recalled seeing it in her room before, but not since they had been back. He didn’t recall seeing it in her place in Texas either. “I remember you having one, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “That’s okay. I remembered. It just popped into my head. I knew it was in the front pouch of my suitcase. And it was.”

  Ash could swear his heart stopped, then picked up triple time. She remembered packing? “Your suitcase?”

  “I figured I must have taken it with me on my trip.”

  “Right … you must have.” Hadn’t he checked her suitcases? So there would be nothing to jolt her memory? It was possible that he only pa
tted the front pouches, assuming they were empty.

  Oh, well, it was just a photo.

  “I found something else, too,” she said, and there was something about her expression, the way she was looking at him, that made his heart slither down to his stomach. She pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her back pocket and handed it to him.

  He unfolded it and realized immediately what it was. A lease, for her rental in Abilene.

  Oh, hell. He should have checked the damned outer pockets.

  “I wasn’t on a research trip, was I?”

  He shook his head.

  “I moved out, didn’t I? I left you.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve been sitting here, trying to remember what happened, why I left, but it’s just not there.”

  Which meant she didn’t remember the affair, or the child. The limb-weakening relief made him feel like a total slime. But as long as she didn’t remember, he could just pretend it never happened. Or who knew, maybe she did remember, and she was content to keep it her little secret. As long as they didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.

  “You didn’t leave a note,” he said. “I just came home from work one day and you were gone. I guess you weren’t happy.”

  She frowned. “I just took off and you didn’t come after me?”

  “Not at first,” he admitted, because at this point lying to her would only make things worse. “I was too angry. And too proud, I guess. I convinced myself that after a week or two you would change your mind and come back. I thought you would be miserable without me. But you didn’t come back, and I was the one who was miserable. So I hired the P.I.”

  “And you found out that I was in the hospital?”

  He nodded. “I flew to Texas the next morning. I was going to talk you into coming back with me.”

  “But I had amnesia. So you told me I had been on a trip.”

  He nodded. “I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t come home. I went to your rental and packed your things and had them shipped back here. And I.” Jeez, this was tough. They were supposed to be having this conversation when he was dumping her, and reveling in his triumph. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her.

  “You what?” she asked.

  “I.” Christ, just say it, Ash. “I went through your computer. I erased a lot of stuff. Things I thought would jog your memory. E-mails, school stuff, music.”

  She nodded slowly, as though she was still processing it, trying to decide if she should be angry with him. “But you did it because you were afraid of losing me.”

  “Yes.” More or less, anyway. Just not for the reason she thought. And if he was going to come this far, he might as well own up to all of it. “There’s one more thing.”

  She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself. “Okay.”

  “It’s standard procedure that hospitals will only give out medical information to next of kin. Parents, spouses. fiancés.”

  It took a minute for her to figure it out, and he could tell the instant it clicked. He could see it in her eyes, in the slow shake of her head. “We’re not engaged.”

  “It was the only way I could get any information. The only way the doctor would talk to me.”

  She had this look on her face, as if she might be sick. He imagined he was wearing a similar expression.

  She slid her ring off and set it on the counter. At least she didn’t throw it at him. “I guess you’ll be wanting this back. Although, I don’t imagine it’s real.”

  “No, it’s real. It’s.” God, this was painful. “It’s my ex-wife’s.”

  She took a deep breath, holding in what had to be seething anger. He wished she would just haul off and slug him. They would both feel better. Not that he deserved any absolution of guilt.

  “But you did it because you were afraid of losing me,” she said, giving him an out.

  “Absolutely.” And despite feeling like the world’s biggest ass, telling her the truth lifted an enormous weight off his shoulders. He felt as though he could take a full breath for the first time since the day he had walked into her hospital room.

  “You can’t even imagine how guilty I’ve felt,” he told her.

  “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  Her words stunned him. “What do you mean?”

  “All the late nights at work.”

  “I always work late. I always have.”

  “Do you always tell me you’re at work when you really aren’t?”

  What was she talking about? “I’ve never done that. If I said I was at work, that’s where I was.”

  “I called your office yesterday afternoon, to ask you about dinner, but you didn’t answer. I left a message, too, but you never called back.”

  He could lie about it, say he was making copies or in a meeting or something, but the last thing he needed was one more thing to come back at him. “I was there. Brock and Flynn decided to throw an impromptu party. To celebrate our engagement.”

  Her eyes widened a little. “Well, that must have been awkward.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I guess that’s my fault, for spilling the beans.”

  “Mel, none of this is even close to your fault. I find the fact that you haven’t thrown something at me a miracle.”

  “In a way, I feel like I should be thanking you.”

  “For what?”

  “If you hadn’t done this, I would never have known how happy I could be with you.”

  Not in a million years would he expect her to thank him for lying to her.

  “But,” she continued, and he felt himself cringe. When there was a but, it was never good. “If things stay the way they are, you’re going to lose me again.”

  This was no empty threat. He could see that she was dead serious.

  “What things?”

  “You’re always at work. You’re gone before I get up and you come home after I’m asleep. That might be easier to stomach if you at least took the weekends off. I sort of feel like, what’s the point of being together, if we’re never together?”

  The old Melody would have never complained about the dynamics of their relationship, or how many hours he worked. Even if it did bother her. And maybe that was part of the problem.

  He couldn’t deny that right before she left, he had been pulling away from her. He was almost always at work, either at Maddox, or in his home office. And it seemed that the further he retreated, the harder she tried to please him, until she was all but smothering him. Then, boom, she was gone.

  Had it never occurred to him that he had all but driven her into another man’s arms?

  He knew that the sugar daddy/mistress arrangement wasn’t an option any longer. She wanted the real thing. She deserved it. But what did he want? Was he ready for that kind of commitment?

  He thought about Melody and how she used to be, and how she was now. There was no longer a good Melody and an evil one. She was the entire package. She was perfect just the way she was, and he realized that if he ever were to settle down again, he could easily imagine himself with her. But relationships took compromise and sacrifice, and he was used to pretty much always getting his way, never having to work at it.

  And honestly, he’d been bored out of his skull.

  He wanted a woman who could think for herself, and be herself, even if that meant disappointing him sometimes, or disagreeing with him.

  He wanted Melody.

  “Mel, after everything I went through to get you back, do you honestly think I would just let you go again?”

  Her bottom lip started to tremble and her eyes welled, though she was trying like hell to hold it back. But he didn’t want her holding anything back.

  He walked around the island to her but she was already up and meeting him halfway. She threw herself around him and he wrapped her up in his arms.

  This was a good thing they had. A really good thing. And this time he was determined not to screw it up.

  Aft
er seeing the pictures of her wrecked car, Melody’s memories began to come back with increasing frequency. Random snippets here and there. Things like the red tennis shoes she had gotten on her birthday when she was five, and rides her mother let her take on the pony outside the grocery store.

  She remembered her mother’s unending parade of boyfriends and husbands. All of them mistreated her mother in some way or another, often physically. She didn’t seem to know how to stand up for herself, when to say enough, yet when it came to protecting Mel, she was fierce. Mel remembered when one of them came after her. She couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. She remembered standing frozen in place, too frightened to even shield her face as he approached her with an open palm, arm in mid-swing. She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, then she heard a thud and opened her eyes to find him kneeling on the floor, stunned and bleeding from his head, and her mother hovering over him with a baseball bat.

  She hadn’t been a great mother, but she had kept Mel safe.

  Despite having finally learned that it was socially unacceptable, Mel had been so used to the idea of men hitting that when she’d started seeing Ash she’d always been on guard, waiting for the arm to swing. But after six months or so, when he hadn’t so much as raised his voice to her, she’d realized that he would never hurt her. Not physically anyway.

  When she admitted that to Ash, instead of being insulted, he looked profoundly sad. They lay in bed after making love and talked about it. About what her life had been like as a child, how most of her memories were shrouded in fear and insecurity. And as she opened up to him, Ash miraculously began to do the same.

  She recalled enough to know that their relationship had never been about love, and that for those three years they had been little more than roommates. Roommates who had sex. She couldn’t help but feel ashamed that she had compromised herself for so long, that she hadn’t insisted on better. But they were in a real relationship now. They had a future. They talked and laughed and spent time together. They saw movies and had picnics and took walks on the shore. They were a couple.

  He didn’t care that her hair was usually a mess and her clothes didn’t cling. Or that she’d stopped going to the gym and lost all those pretty muscles and curves she’d worked so hard to maintain, and now was almost as scrawny as she’d been in high school. Less is more, he had said affectionately when she’d complained that she had no hips and her butt had disappeared. He didn’t even miss the push-up bras, although he knew damn well if that had been a prerequisite to the relationship she probably would have walked.