Forgotten Marriage

by Paula Roe

  The truth of who he’d been sat uncomfortably on his shoulders: a man driven to prove himself, to follow in his father’s footsteps. A man who worked too much and enjoyed the fruits of his labor too little. A man who let his wife—a woman he loved, apparently—walk out of his life.

  The enormity of the task suddenly swamped him. For helve, how could this work? How could he overcome his wife’s unconcealed distrust, save the company and keep this sudden unwanted attraction under wraps?

  Control was slipping from his grasp and that horrified him.

  The truth. She wants the truth. You have to tell her something.

  He rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand. “How much did I tell you about my family?”

  “Not much. I heard about the lineage from Nikolai. Louisa talked about the company, her job and the employees, plus her current boyfriend. And Marlene…besides detailing your ex-girlfriends, which she always preempted with, ‘you need to know,’ she had as little to do with me as possible.”

  Damn the woman. “My stepmother came from a poor family and has always been obsessed with money and position. She mentions ‘royal blood’ to anyone who’ll listen, but my ancestors come from an obscure line. I’m no prince.” His thinned his lips. “I broke off my engagement before I left for Sydney. The Sørensens are one of the oldest families in Denmark but with little collateral. My father tied everything up in the business. He took some risky ventures, ones that had just started to make a profit. My uncle, on the other hand, was self-made and on his death five years ago it went to me. My current worth is well over a couple of billion.”

  “Dollars?”

  At his nod she blinked, shock sending her back a step. “I never knew.”

  He shrugged as if it was no big deal but that only seemed to alarm her.

  Her hands began to shake. Swiftly he plucked the cup from her fingers and placed it on the table.

  She made it to the couch, sat heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, tugging on the roots in frustration.

  Finn knew exactly how she felt because he’d been battling with conflicting emotions for the past few months.

  “Say something,” he said softly, hating how he almost sounded pleading. Vulnerable.

  “Give me a minute here.”

  So he did.

  He studied her in silence, trying to compare her in-the-flesh reality with the old photos he still had. He’d stared at them for hours on end, desperately trying to recall any scrap of feeling, emotion or passion he’d obviously felt.

  Nothing.

  A tidal wave of remembrance washed over him now, dragged him unwillingly back to the day he’d discovered that box full of memories in his basement.

  He’d sifted through the letters with those ants scuttling up his neck. And the confusion, the surety that something wasn’t right, had increased. Like playing a game of hot and cold, he’d been icy standing at the basement door. Sitting on the floor surrounded by cards, letters and small gifts from a complete stranger, he was burning up.

  And then came the brief flashes—an unfamiliar city skyline. A knowing look from dark-gray eyes. And the remnants of a gentle touch that seared his skin, as arousing as it was inexplicably sad.

  A small light had shone weakly in the black hole of his memory. Foolishly he’d let hope bloom.

  Yet after he’d reached the bottom of the box and repacked it, the days had dragged by with no further enlightenment in sight.

  Impatience had morphed into a frustration so deep his concentration was shot. He suffered flashbacks in his sleep—on the rare occasions he did sleep. He’d lost weight. The headaches became one big constant throb.

  A week later his father had finally died. He’d tried to bury himself in the codicil mess, yet even when he’d been elbow-deep in interviews and paperwork, he’d catch a familiar scent of perfume, or hear a woman laugh a certain way. Or more frustratingly, an unconnected memory would invade his brain, waving from the sidelines but never fully revealing itself.

  He couldn’t live like that.

  For the millionth time since the accident, he squeezed his eyes shut and repeated the words that had become his mantra: Why can I not remember?

  Faced with this too-silent woman on the couch, all his doubts came bobbing to the surface like a buoy on the Nyhavn Canal. He’d been so focused on finding the codicil he’d shoved all those bittersweet recollections from his mind. But the questions couldn’t be ignored. Why had she left? Why had he let her? And, more importantly, who was she? Would she sell off her shares to spite him? Or want a piece of the action?

  There was only one person who could provide those answers. One woman who was now so deathly silent that Finn felt the burning desire to check her for signs of life.

  Or was it a burning desire just to touch her?

  He shoved his itchy fingers into his pockets as the gentle throbbing reminder of a headache began to beat.

  Ally stood abruptly. “So Marlene gets control if you don’t find the codicil.”

  “Ja.”

  As she slowly rubbed her temple, Finn zeroed in on those long, elegant fingers. Her nails were neatly filed and painted a screaming shade of hot pink.

  “Nikolai was talking of divorce when I took over the vice presidency,” he said, remembering how Louisa had put him straight on the two-faced plottings of his stepmother. “She wanted half of everything. Now she wants to sell off his company. Put thousands of people out of work. Stop financial support of a dozen charities. She’d love to see his memory in ruins and his money in her pockets. She tried to publish a tell-all book, but we got an injunction.”

  He eased back against the desk and reached for his cup of coffee, leaving Ally to absorb that revelation.

  Partly to rid himself of this irritating pull he felt, he picked apart her features and ruthlessly analyzed them.

  She was a far cry from typical Danish beauty. He could name a dozen women who were taller, slimmer, prettier.

  Yet…she had a way about her, an aura that separated the pretty from the standouts. Her looks were cute rather than drop-dead gorgeous. And those abundant curves were packed into a compact five foot three, and even more abundant hair only complemented her lushness.

  That hair now gently curled down her back, the shorter strands framing a determined jaw. She was more rounded than the woman in his photos. Even though her collarbone was clearly defined and her shoulders and arms toned, her figure was…well, he’d never seen someone fill a pair of blue jeans so snugly. Her hips flared out, her bottom was deliciously curved. The worn denim cupped all her assets like a loving hand.

  And a million times in the past, he’d made love to her.

  His body jolted, as if it subconsciously recognized the stranger in his room. As if it remembered her touch, her breath. The way her skin felt underneath his fingers. As if it longed to be buried in her earthy warmth once again.

  He scowled. He’d been without a woman since the accident—a rarity, his friends had teased. But he’d felt not one shred of attraction, no sexual urges.

  Another time, another place, and Ally McKnight would have been a fantasy come true. But nothing was familiar, nothing clear-cut. And his sudden attraction to a stranger just muddied the waters more.

  He’d already seen flashes of his past by reading her letters. If he could regain it all…He closed his eyes briefly then opened them. He’d pinned his hopes on her and he wasn’t leaving until he had answers.

  And now, staring at her profile almost hidden under a wild mass of hair, he wished he could crawl into that cute little head and read her thoughts.

  Finally she met his eyes and the sheer panic in hers threw him more soundly than any mind-reading could have achieved.

  Before she had a chance to open her mouth and destroy his plans, he said suddenly, “Are you seeing someone?”

  She choked out a harsh laugh. “A bit late to be asking that, isn’t it?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “
What about Tony?”

  “What about him?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “You called me Tony when I rang.”

  Ally felt like lying. She really wanted to. But instead she found herself saying, “He’s just a good friend.”

  At his frank disbelief she rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heavens’ sakes! Tony’s gay, okay? G-A-Y.”

  “So there’s no one?”

  “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  She felt the blood rush to her face, angry, hot. “You can’t just drop this bombshell then expect me to fall over myself to help you. Our marriage is over.”

  His steely stare engulfed her like a lick of flaming heat. A cold expression bloomed across his face, distorting it until Ally finally recognized the look, knew she was seeing the aftermath of their breakup all over again.

  “So,” he said, menacingly soft. “This is about retribution.”

  Panic roiled up in her stomach and she choked on the bitter taste in her mouth. “It’s about self-preservation.” She stalked over to the desk and scooped up her keys.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “Home,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “I’m tired and angry and upset. I might not have a perfect life but it’s mine. You’re obviously not prepared to hear the truth from me. And I don’t know if I even want to help you.”

  And she slammed out the door.

  Three

  The next morning, after a half-hour power walk, Ally jumped into the shower and cranked the water up, sighing in relief as the spray pounded the tension from her aching back muscles.

  The relief was short-lived as she remembered last night.

  So there’s no one?

  I don’t have time for a relationship.

  She sighed and ducked her head under the spray. Her excuse tipped the predictable scale into orbit. In reality, Finn had been her whole world and when she’d left she’d cut her heart out. Loving him had meant pain, disappointment and regret. She couldn’t go through all that a second time.

  And boy, she’d fallen fast and hard. He’d been an unattainable, indulgent fantasy, exuding an air of supreme confidence, as if he knew and accepted his place in society, the life he was born into. Before she’d found out who he really was, she had sensed Finn was someone special. And she’d wanted to be part of that specialness, too. He was charmed and charming, so out of her reach…yet amazingly, he’d wanted her. They had quickly fallen into bed, and in the haze of intense sexual compatibility, he’d proposed. She’d accepted without hesitation, without an inkling as to how her life would change so completely.

  Finn always made her body sing with one touch, one kiss. How could you go back to mediocrity after sampling perfection?

  So she’d stuffed all her feelings, all her longings, deep down inside where the agonizing memories couldn’t get at her.

  Which was probably why it had been so easy for her ex-boss to corner her at the New Year’s Eve cruise, to coax her into one of the dark suites and get her half undressed before she’d come to her senses and escaped. After she’d analyzed the situation to death, she put her lack of judgment down to pure loneliness. Simon’s pursuit had made her feel attractive again and she’d wanted to prove she hadn’t imagined the magic she’d shared with Finn, that she wasn’t defective or weird or pining for the impossible. That she could eventually enjoy sex with another man again, even get remarried.

  She gave a twisted grimace.

  The very next week the office gossip grapevine had been buzzing with her and Simon’s “affair.” So when he’d attempted to pick up where he’d left off, she’d told him about her pregnancy. He’d shown his true colors quickly, resorting first to insults then threatening a demotion. Furious, she’d thrown his precious Walkley Award on the floor and smashed it with his nine-hundred-dollar oversized five iron. Then she’d quit.

  Ally winced at the memory. She hated losing control. It made her feel…helpless. As though she was seven years old again, hearing her father blame the drink, the loan sharks, her mother. Everyone but himself. And later on, her mother promising her the moon and stars before leaving the very next day.

  Her chest tightened as a thousand dark thoughts raced through her mind. What if she was her mother’s daughter and couldn’t cope with a child? Or worse, if she was her father all over again?

  She stroked her stomach, letting the water stream over her shoulders and pool into her cupped hand resting just below her belly button.

  She wouldn’t let that happen. Finn may not want a child but she did. This baby would be wanted. Unconditionally loved.

  Which meant the father could not know.

  Ally got out of the shower, padded into her bedroom and finished toweling off, going over what she was going to tell Finn.

  The proud, unforgiving man she’d loved.

  She pulled on her underpants and clipped on a lacy pink bra.

  Strange, but there’d been nothing proud or unforgiving in the way he’d asked for her help. More oddly, he’d actually let her walk out on an argument. That never happened. Usually, he pushed and twisted her words until she finally gave up. On more than one occasion, he’d shamelessly exploited their heightened emotions to kiss the fight out of her.

  Her breath caught and rattled around in her throat. Thank heavens for small mercies.

  Finally dressed, she glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty. Plenty of time to check her e-mail, do some digging on the Internet, then face her past for the last time.

  Ally had called Finn and given him a half-hour warning of her arrival. She hadn’t detected any overt emotion in his smooth response, no deep meaningful revelation that would indicate how she should act when they were face-to-face.

  She drove down Coogee Bay Road to Finn’s hotel, the window low and the CD player cranked up. Music for courage, she’d decided. More precisely, the disco remix of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.” She was still humming the tune when she rode the elevator up to Finn’s floor.

  He stood at the door, waiting for her. For one second Ally took in the dark circles under his eyes, his travel-weary expression combined with rumpled hair, and nearly gave in to the temptation to hug him.

  She pulled herself up short when he smiled, his shadows scattering along with her lapse in strength. Her gaze traveled down his body, noting the neatly pressed dress shorts and the vaguely familiar gray T-shirt.

  She stared at the dips and bulges of his chest through the fabric and her memory twigged.

  That T-shirt had been part of his thirtieth birthday present from her. She closed her eyes briefly as the memories sent her pulse rocketing. They’d won a packet at the Las Vegas tables and had celebrated by making love on the fiftieth-floor balcony of the Mirage.

  Damn. Why isn’t amnesia catching?

  She swallowed thickly. “Goddag.”

  His smile was pleasant surprise. “You remember Dansk.”

  Ally shrugged as he stepped aside to let her enter. “Just the basics.”

  He gestured to the breakfast tray emitting a gentle plume of delicious-smelling steam on the dining table.

  “Hungry?”

  “I’m not staying.” She walked past him, carefully avoiding contact. A mean feat because he was just so damned…muscular, she realized. He’d been working out. Sweating. Groaning. Heaving…

  She headed toward the open patio doors. The sun streamed in, dappling the carpet in shards of brilliant light. The familiar toot and hum of traffic rose up from the street, a gentle background soundtrack to the ever-present crashing waves.

  She breathed in deeply before turning to face him. “I just wanted to tell you face to face. I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “For a million reasons. Starting with letting the past stay buried.”

  “I thought this might happen,” he said shortly. “So I’m prepared to offer monetary compensation.”

  “Excuse me?”

 
“How much? How much will it take for your help?”

  “Did you think…? Nothing!” Insulted that he’d actually considered the thought, her cheeks flared. Instinctively she took a step back, toward the door.

  “Wait,” he commanded. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “And how do you think it sounded?”

  “It sounded cheap. I’m sorry.”

  Finn apologizing again? She blinked in surprise but he’d turned to the coffee pot on the table.

  “Did we hate each other that much, Ally?” he asked calmly, concentrating on pouring his coffee.

  Her heart bottomed out at the underlying thread of confusion behind those words. “No. It was…quite the opposite.”

  He straightened and proffered a cup. “I still don’t understand why you won’t help me.”

  I can’t help you. She took the cup and carefully avoided his fingers. There had been times when she’d hated him, hated herself for the mess they’d made of their lives. But she’d gone through a multitude of changes these past few months, finally becoming grounded at the ripe age of twenty-nine. The adult Ally was telling her this would be a perfect opportunity to prove she’d moved on with her life, that he didn’t affect her anymore. That she was happy and content without him.

  But then she thought of her heart, still bearing the scars of their parting. And the recriminations, the rejection. The abject disappointment in him, in herself, knowing she wasn’t enough to make him happy.

  It took her breath away just thinking about it.

  A tumble of irony threatened to erupt in a maniacal giggle. She’d been trying to forget the past and Finn had gone and beaten her to it.

  “We hurt each other, Finn. It wouldn’t be healthy to do this.”

  “And you think a hole in my memory is healthy?” He cradled his cup in one large palm and leaned against the edge of the table. “You think making a thousand employees jobless is healthy? Of losing a solid Danish export because of one woman’s pettiness?”