by Paula Roe
“Don’t give me a guilt trip.” Ally narrowed her eyes. “That won’t wash.”
He sighed. “We’ll be two adults sharing information. That’s it.”
Confusion tugged her in a thousand different directions. Ever since last night, he’d been giving off a lost-soul aura. He was different in many tiny ways, as if he’d been touched by a stranger. He didn’t seem like her Finn anymore. Her Danish Viking.
Whoa. Back up. Not hers. Not anymore.
But he was different. She could sense that as surely as only a woman loving a man could. She could see it in the tiny nuances of his expression, his restraint. The dark shutter he’d thrown over his thoughts.
His mannerisms had once been a journey of discovery, giving her an enormous glow of womanly pride when she’d figured them out. He was an elegant, confident vision of Danish wealth and style, a man she was sure would never look twice at a middle-class Mick from the western suburbs. Now he was almost approachable. Those new lines on his face showed him as a flesh-and-blood man rather than the powerful businessman he was. Not the smart, connected Finn Jakob Sørensen, Denmark’s fifth-richest bachelor and the shining star of Sørensen Silver.
Her Internet search had revealed more than he’d ever told her, of a pampered, educated life, which had been going from strength to strength until that tragic accident merely days after she’d left. Meanwhile hers had ground to a painful screeching halt. Their union had even been reduced to one sentence: “After a brief marriage, Denmark’s favorite son is currently single.”
But that wasn’t the part that really hurt. If their love had been as unique and spectacular as she had once thought, surely Finn would have remembered just one tiny thing about her?
For some inexplicable reason, that thought made her want to crawl into a ball and cry.
She glanced down at her cup, sniffed at the contents. Strawberry tea. She took a sip and nearly scalded her tongue.
“What can I do that doctors can’t?” she finally asked.
“When I went through your letters, I remembered things.”
“But you don’t have any of my letters,” she said, confused.
“They were in my basement.”
Unable to explain that, Ally let it go. “Surely you’ve been to therapy, had tests…”
“The best money can buy. They all say the same thing—wait and see what happens.”
“Ah.”
He gave her a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Patience is not your strong point.”
A strange expression clouded his face, as if he’d caught her with a hand in the till. She let it slide. “So the memory loss isn’t permanent?”
“The doctors don’t know.” She could hear how he hated the not knowing. “I could either regain full memories, or bits and pieces. Or nothing at all. They described it as having a lot of—what do you call it? Day…day jar…”
“Déjà vu.”
“That’s it. So—” He shoved a hand through his hair, a look of fierce determination in his direct gaze. “Tell me what I can do to convince you, Ally.”
Her name curled off his tongue in that delicious accent she never got sick of hearing. It had whispered words of passion and hot sex, declared undying love.
And coolly shattered all her rose-colored dreams of family and security.
She shook her head in anguish and his confidence flattened into a frown.
“If I can’t have you willing, Ally, then you leave me no option.”
Her heart plummeted. He’s going to kick me out of the apartment. “Why are you doing this?”
“Believe me, lille skat, I don’t want it to be this way.”
His rough confession faltered her breath as the hard sculptured planes of his face softened.
Ally carefully placed her cup on the table. Walk out. It wouldn’t be hard. You did it once, you can do it again. Find yourself a lawyer and battle it out.
But just as she was about to follow through on that thought, he sighed. A sigh full of frustration and missed opportunity and things not coming out right.
A sigh that got her square in the chest.
“‘You’re the true reason the sun burns so bright…’”
She stiffened, her entire body tense with shock.
My poem.
Her gaze flew to him and locked, green on gray. His expression was one of familiar stubbornness and resolve. Completely unapologetic.
Silently she begged him to stop, to take it back, but her mouth was as paralyzed as the rest of her body. She couldn’t do anything but numbly listen to the words she knew off by heart.
“‘…the steady flame shining in the blackest of night. The joy in my life, the smile on my face.’”
“Stop,” she finally whispered. But Finn was intent on ignoring her. He merely arched an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. It sent danger whispering along her skin and she wasn’t game enough to march over there and physically stop him.
“‘When my heart was the prize you didn’t even need to race.’”
Ally crossed her arms, steeling herself against the battery of emotion that came with every word Finn recited. But the memories, like tiny hailstones, rained down, striking against her resolve with a tiny chink.
“‘A bright burning summer turned melancholy blue. Believe in the strength of every ‘I love you.’ Have faith in me please, when all is said and done. We’ll be together forever, two hearts rejoined as one,’” Finn concluded.
Silence fell like a thick cloud.
It was a silence in which Ally could hear the thump of her heart forcing blood to her head. A silence punctuated by the flutter of the patio curtains, the distant crash and pound of waves from the beach twenty stories below, the honk and rev of street traffic. It was a silence that really wasn’t one at all because it was full of noisy thoughts.
Oh Lord. She wasn’t made of stone. Nor was her heart. If it was, she wouldn’t have agreed to see him despite her grave misgivings. She wouldn’t have heard him out. And she wouldn’t be feeling this overwhelming sadness for what he had lost.
For the past few months she’d tried to make herself not care.
Unable to meet his penetrating gaze any longer, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, afraid he could see the raw emotion behind her expressionless facade, detect the tremble in her chin.
She’d come here to tell him he was asking for more than she could give. But she had a niggling feeling that if she didn’t help him when he was vulnerable and in desperate need, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
The man who now stood before her was an enigma. He had drunk long and hard from the well of tragedy, had tasted heartache just like her. Outwardly he still looked like the Finn she knew, had that same you-know-you-want-me pull, possessed that same hot stare that made her believe she was the only desirable woman on the planet. But he now had ghosts. Emotional scars.
And she quite possibly held the key to unlocking his memory.
If she refused him, he might never recover the past. And that realization—that she was now the only one who had experienced the bliss and heartache of their union—made her feel horribly, terribly alone.
What kind of mother would I be if I turned my back on someone in need? Refused to help the father of my child?
Her heart ached. It was tempting to take those few steps between uncertainty and freedom. But she couldn’t shake the responsibility that lay before her—of families and children who would suffer because of her decision.
It was a responsibility she couldn’t run away from this time.
When she finally looked up, the expression in his eyes blew her away. Eyes once so full of passion and utter certainty of his destiny were now so…empty.
He could never fully verbalize what his eyes revealed. It was the look of a man who’d tried everything, and who was now down to his last option.
With a semblance of control slowing her breath, Ally said slowly, “You memorized my poem.”
That all-seeing gaze never left her face, pinning her to the spot. “From what I can recall before the accident, no one’s ever written me poetry before.”
Inside, it felt as if her guts had been scooped out with an ice cream spoon. Outwardly, she went for a nonchalant shrug. “Love does strange things to people. I wrote corny poetry.”
“Tell me that meant nothing to you just now.”
“It meant nothing to me just now.”
“Liar.”
He crossed the room in two strides, backing her up against the window. Her bottom hit the glass with a soft thump as she tried to inch away from his sudden heat. Her whole body leaped to life and she felt the tingle of anticipation right up to the roots of her hair.
And right down to her stomach that churned like a blender on high.
With more bravado than sense, she stood her ground. “That’s not fair.”
“The accident wasn’t fair. My memory loss wasn’t fair. Some things in life aren’t.” At this angle she had to look up to meet his eyes. And wished she hadn’t. They were full of an emotion she didn’t care to remember, tinged with a sexual awareness she could hardly forget. “I’m not a man prone to flowery speeches, Ally. The woman who wrote that poem was a woman in love. Think about what we used to have and help me find that codicil. Please.”
With that one tiny word she stifled a frustrated groan, knowing there was no way on God’s earth she could refuse him now, knowing how much swallowed pride it took him to ask for help.
He made a move, almost as if he was going to touch her but then thought better of it.
“I’m as close to begging as you’ll get me, Ally. There will be nothing personal in it. If it makes you feel any better—” his smile was as cool as a stranger’s “—I’ll be on my best behavior. I won’t even touch you.”
But what if I want you to touch me? She searched his face, looking for just one iota of recognition. The emerald-green eyes that stared back held none.
Finn needed her. His words admitted it. His eyes confirmed it. And his actions—although disturbingly out of character—backed up his story.
He was…she was…
Excited by that.
This powerful, amazing man depended on her, and it stunned her to know that she wanted him needing her.
“I’ll do it.”
His smile was triumphant, all potent male in the face of victory. And there it was again, that pull, that sexual connection like a living entity, swamping her body, tempting her to sin.
A shiver of excitement goose-bumped her arms as she quickly shoved her mounting panic down with a firm hand. She wasn’t a slave to her hormones. She could switch everything off and handle it like a responsible, mature adult.
Right?
Four
It took all of Finn’s hard-won control to swallow his whoop of triumph and resist planting a kiss on her upturned mouth.
His insides tossed with a disturbing mix of victory and foreboding as he battled to leash his exhilaration.
When the plane had banked into Sydney air space, circling past the world-famous bridge and the white sails of the Sydney Opera House lit by a thousand nightlights, he’d made a promise to himself: do anything it took to recover his memory so he could save the company. He’d been fully prepared to lie to get her compliance. Now, he was shocked—appalled, even—that he’d been prepared to go that far.
“Thank you,” he said simply, swallowing the bitter taste of self-disgust.
“You’re welcome.”
Like that stupid no-touching promise, her tentative smile only succeeded in escalating his pulse.
Deliberately he backed off and walked over to the breakfast tray, feeling as if he’d just increased that space to football-field proportions. His body groaned, but his head congratulated his iron control, control that had taken a battering a mere minute ago.
She was too tempting, standing there giving off all those vulnerable vibes. Her wide gray eyes could probe a man’s soul, dig out all his secrets without an ounce of effort.
He hadn’t expected to feel this kind of wild inexplicable attraction to a total stranger, hadn’t expected his body to start acting like a horny teenager’s.
And hadn’t expected to feel like such a lort for forcing her into this situation.
“The food’s getting cold.” He refused to look up, as if somehow she could have detected his deception. So he busied himself with the cutlery, releasing the cover from the breakfast plate with a rush of fragrant steam. “You want some toast? Some fruit? I ordered for us both.”
Fully expecting her to refuse, he was surprised by her quick nod. “Okay.”
In a strange mockery of domestic bliss they sat at the long dining table and ate their meal in silence, waiting for the other to speak and set the tone of their impending partnership.
But a minute later he could have cleaved the air with a butter knife, the only sound the clink of cutlery on plate. Rather than calm the awkwardness, the low rumble of crashing waves outside only intensified it.
With a clatter that sounded like a shot he put his fork down. “So where do you want to start?”
Ally blinked, took a breath and attempted a businesslike expression to hide her nervousness. “Well, I have a few conditions.”
His eyebrow kinked up speculatively. “Go on.”
“I want my letters back. All of them.”
He paused then nodded. “Okay.”
“You sign those divorce papers.”
“Done.”
A little miffed he’d agreed so readily, Ally added, “And my apartment block. I gather you own it now?”
He had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Not personally, nej. It’s part of Sørensen Silver’s assets.”
“So you lied.”
“Ja.”
“Well, that will cost you.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion but Ally was past caring. “I want the deed to my place.”
His scowl was disapproval enough. She tilted her chin up. “Take it or leave it, Finn. You can get the contract drawn up while we tackle your problem. And no more lies.”
“We should—”
“Please, let me finish.” She glanced away, down the hallway, her gaze landing on the open bedroom door barely visible. To the bed beyond that.
Rumpled covers. The smell of his sleep-tousled body between the cotton sheets. Him kissing her awake and making sweet love…
Her groin started to throb. Arrggh.
“What happens if this doesn’t work?” she said.
“It will.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” she persisted.
His expression told her he wouldn’t settle for that option. “We’ll cross that river when we come to it.”
“Bridge,” she corrected, falling into their intimate habit before she could stop herself.
“Unskuld?”
“The phrase is cross that bridge. How long are you planning to stay?”
“Two months. Until the end of May.”
Painful memories rushed in as her stomach bottomed out. Never thought I’d feel that kick in the guts again. “Because I have deadlines to meet. A life.” Without you. The unsaid words hung between them, cold and stark. He didn’t look happy. “I know you want answers,” she continued calmly. “I appreciate that. But I have other commitments. I have work to do.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Who for?”
“Until last week, Bliss magazine. Now I’m freelance. I’m working on a book.”
Finn leaned forward in his chair and she instinctively pulled back. “You misunderstand me, Ally. I will do anything it takes to make this work. Even waiting for you to meet your commitments…within reason.”
His conviction stole the snappy comeback from her lips.
“Do you have photos of us? Letters?” He reached for his cup, watching her with unnerving scrutiny.
“Yes. They’re in a box under a pile of other useless—
” She snapped her mouth shut, too late.
His eyes flashed, the only indication of his displeasure. “We’ll need them today.”
“You know, you’re still as bossy as I remember,” she blurted out.
“Correct me if I’m wrong. You agreed to do this. You have letters, photos and other pieces from our past.”
“Right.”
“So what,” he said with exaggerated patience, “is the problem?”
Ally wanted to throw her now-cold tea in his face. Instead she said curtly, “I have a deadline. Next week, to be exact. You’ll have to cut me a little slack.”
“Fint.”
She nearly flinched at his clipped tone. He had her compliance and now he was freezing her out with an icy stare and one cold word. It still managed to drop her heart to her feet.
They cleared the table in another stretch of silence. When there was finally nothing left to do, Finn turned to her.
“Why did you save those letters?”
Because I’m a sentimental fool. With warm guilt flushing her cheeks she said, “My…I lost everything in a house fire when I was ten. So when I can, I save my memories.”
His eyes softened with sympathy and Ally swallowed. No. No, don’t look like that. I don’t want your pity.
“That must’ve been tough.”
Her chin tilted up. “Yeah.” On the pretense of getting a drink of water, she went over to the kitchenette.
Finn followed. “Tell me about our wedding.”
The out-of-the-blue question took her aback. Prepare yourself, Ally. There’ll be a lot more.
“We met in Sydney in April. A month later you convinced me to go backpacking through Europe. Greece, Italy, Portugal. The UK. Six months later we ended up in Las Vegas. We were married on your birthday at The Little Chapel of Love.” She couldn’t help a small smile at the memories. “We had an Elvis impersonator and he serenaded us with a ‘Hunk o’ Burning Love’…” They had laughed so freely, so easily. They’d been so focused, so intent on each other. So in love. She’d never suspected anything was wrong.
Her smile fell quicker than a shooting star.
“So our marriage wasn’t all bad,” he probed.
“Some of it was…wonderful.”
