by Paula Roe
He leaned in closer, so that all the noise and bustle of the restaurant faded into the background and nothing existed outside her intriguing scent and the masked expression in her eyes.
“What kind of book are you writing?”
“Speculative fiction. Time-travel futuristic,” she amended at the blank look in his eyes.
“How long have you been writing?”
“Since I was thirteen.”
“Did I ever read any?”
“Once.”
“And? Did I like it?”
“You said my heroine was too butch.”
He picked up his glass with a grimace. “That was…insensitive of me.”
Ally resisted the urge to pinch herself. Her attention went to the generous swell of his mouth as he drew the rim of his glass across his bottom lip and studied her.
The change in him was disturbing her more deeply every minute. If she couldn’t rely on Finn’s predictability, what could she rely on?
“I read that writers don’t make much money,” he said.
“Not in the beginning. But I’m doing some freelance to compensate. Editing, articles. Since I left my job I haven’t been happier.”
It was only half true. She was happy she didn’t have to see Simon’s pretty-boy face again. Happy she could set her own schedule and devote all her time to writing. The downside was, of course, her unhealthy savings. She really needed to see a financial planner but couldn’t afford—
“What about the apartment? You said you pay rent,” Finn interrupted, her voice of pessimism.
“But I’ll soon own it outright. So—” she ignored his dark frown “—getting back to our problem. Tell me what the doctors said.”
After a pause he said, “The technical term is post-traumatic amnesia, which results from a head injury.”
Ally nodded. “What about retrograde amnesia—the loss of memories of past events?”
“Ruled out when I started remembering.” At her quizzical look, he added, “The memory’s unlikely to return at all with retrograde.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
Finn nodded. “I’ve read everything on the subject. Even the stuff in the trial stage.”
“Have you tried hypnotherapy?”
“Ja.”
“Acupuncture?”
“A few times.”
“Drugs?”
“No.” He reached for the butter and smeared some on his bread roll. “No drugs. Anyway, they’re usually used to offset dementia in the elderly. I’m frustrated, elskat, not crazy.”
Ally toyed with her glass, tracing the stem with a forefinger. His endearment came just as easily to his lips as if he’d never stopped saying it. Yet there was something more sincere in that little word—loosely translated it meant little love—than the million times he’d said it before. And because she couldn’t help it, thoughts of their near-kiss flooded in, leaving her gasping in a rush of sudden desire and wanting.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he gave her an enquiring smile. “What?”
Desperate to focus on something else, to appear calm despite her churning insides and pounding heart, she said, “The change in you. It’s…” She placed her cutlery together across the plate. “You’re different.”
“How?”
“You’re less restless. More centered. And you seem more empathetic,” she explained.
“Is this your way of saying I was an impatient jerk?”
Ally couldn’t help but smile at his chagrin.
“No.” She pushed her plate aside and folded her arms on the table. “But there was always a part of you I felt I couldn’t reach. As though you’d closed yourself off. That part only got bigger once we were in Denmark.”
But now…He’d been more open with her in the last day than during the entire time she’d known him. That glaring difference sent a strange feeling of dread shooting through her, as if he expected the same in return.
And that thought scares me.
“What did you see in me?” Finn asked, his expression deadly serious.
“You had this aura—an air of confidence. For someone completely lacking in it, it just…drew me. You were fascinating, in control and wildly attractive.” She watched his sensuous mouth curve up. “Don’t get too full of yourself. You had a tendency to be way too sure of your charms.”
“Was I?”
“Yes. All you had to do was crook your little finger and…”
“And?”
She colored the most attractive shade of pink, Finn thought with amusement.
“You get the picture.”
“Maybe you’ll have to spell it out,” he teased, and was rewarded with a wide-eyed look that made him want to lean over and kiss her. Wouldn’t that be as surprising as hell?
She blinked. “And you still won’t take no for an answer.”
“I’m determined.”
“I would’ve gone for stubborn.”
“Ouch.” He grabbed his chest melodramatically. “You’re sharp.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“And is my face different, too, or is staring one of your strange habits?”
She flushed again, much to his delight. “You’re still the most focused person I know. Here—” she dug around in her bag and came up with notepad and a pen “—I’ll make a time line.”
“A what?”
“A time line. You know, plotting relevant events in date order—”
“I know what a time line is.”
“Good. Can you order me a soda?” Ally slapped the notepad down on the table and began scribbling.
She’d finished by the time her drink arrived. She swirled the ice around in the glass and took a long gulp. Instead of being pleased at her efficiency he was glaring at the timeline like he would a cubic zirconia in a diamond lineup.
She tilted the straw at him. “Can’t read my handwriting?”
He looked up, transferring his loaded green gaze to her. “Let me get this straight. We met in April last year, left Sydney in May to go traveling. We got married in August then arrived in Denmark in October. Then you left in December, just before the New Year.”
“Yep.” She took another drink and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair to relieve her backache. In the last half hour, it had upgraded to excruciating, and the sudden reality of her impending pregnancy threw her for a loop. With a sigh she shifted in her seat. “You briefed me just before we touched down in Copenhagen but I knew there was more to it than your ‘I’ve got a bit more money than I let on.’” She gave him an ironic smile. “And then your stepmother called the same day and beat you to the explanation.”
“And you believed her?”
“Did she lie to me, Finn? Were you not engaged before you met me? Weren’t you being groomed to marry some wealthy woman with a title so your family’s assets and status would continue to grow?”
“That was Marlene’s grand plan, one both my father and I agreed was ridiculous. Did you even listen to my side of it?”
“That wasn’t the point. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me before then. Marlene not only hated me for ruining her plans, but she saw me as competition. And to top it off, I was now one of the most talked-about foreigners in the country, my every move scrutinized, dissected and judged. I tried for nearly three months, but I couldn’t live like that.”
“Not even for me?”
“No,” she said flatly. “You get happily-ever-after in fiction. Not in real life.”
“I’m not an idiot, Ally. I know relationships have to be nurtured. Cultivated. Worked at.” The unspoken accusation hung like an early-morning fog in the air.
What could she say? I was scared? I was way too young? I didn’t want you to hate me because I’d decided to keep our baby?
“You quit a marriage on one mistake,” he said finally.
Unprepared for the blow, she blinked in shock. “You knowingly lied to me!”
“And you couldn’t c
ommit.”
“You couldn’t trust.”
“How can I defend myself when I can’t remember?”
“Oh, and accusing me of being uncommitted is fair?” She crossed her arms.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Now we get to it.” She leaned forward to emphasize the point. “Once we set foot in Denmark you closed off as if you were shutting the damned door on me. You were cold and aloof and preoccupied with how your family was handling the attention. You never once asked me how I was handling it.”
His eyes bored into hers. “You handled it,” he said softly, “by running away.”
Nine
“I will not,” Ally said calmly, even though her stomach began to pitch, “apologize for the past, Finn. It’s over and done with. You accused me once of giving up—I won’t let you do it all over again.”
A strained standoff thundered between them as they glared at each other, both unwilling to back down.
As if sensing the tension, the waitress silently brought the bill then slunk off. Ally shifted in her chair again and as Finn reached for the bill, she closed her eyes in respite.
Finn stared at her, a thousand conflicting battles warring inside as his head began to ache. How could he trust her answers when he could see her hesitation, hear the half truths? Yet despite his simmering frustration, she tugged at something in his heart, at a place where her breath, her scent, her skin, felt warm and comforting. A place where small fragmented memories dashed by before he had a chance to grab them, study them and make sense of everything. She felt somehow so familiar but yet a complete stranger.
Control was something he’d been short of since landing in Sydney. Right now he was sitting in the middle of a wild tossing ocean with no rescue in sight.
It has to be tough on her, too. He noticed the bunched-up shoulders, the ramrod-straight back. The tension bracketing her eyes. She looked as tired as he felt.
Regret began to seep in. Without a word he reached over and placed a finger on her forehead to gently rub the frown lines. She jumped as if he’d poked her in the eye.
“Let’s go. How much do I owe you?” She scraped back her chair and got to her feet, but when she reached for her bag he stilled her with a hand.
“I’m paying,” he said. “That’s okay.”
She pulled away far too quickly. “I need to give you half.”
He shook his head. “This is my problem. I can afford to foot the bill.”
Her whole body stiffened. “I’ll pay my own way, thanks.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” She stared down at him. “You’re already buying my apartment. I don’t need you to pay for me, too. I won’t be indebted to anyone.”
If this works you won’t be much longer, lille skat.
She shoved some notes into his hand and turned, marching down the cobbled street. His eyes roamed over her lush curves as he followed her determined walk.
Finn insisted on collecting her box of memories and Ally relented, feeling the stresses of the day bearing down on her.
She unlocked her apartment door, pushed it open and flourished dramatically. “Welcome to chez McKnight.”
Finn walked past the small alcove with its coat hooks and shoe rack, into the large living room painted the dark blue of sky just before sunset. A worn lounge chair in burnt orange dominated the center, facing the TV unit sitting flush on the left wall. On the right was her workspace—a long battered desk complete with computer, printer and scanner. The rest of the space was taken up with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Those shelves not housing books two deep and shoved in any which way, held candle holders, picture frames or other knickknacks Marlene would have sneeringly termed “dust gatherers.” Dead ahead, behind white gauzy curtains, was a sliding glass door that opened to a small balcony. To the left, past the TV, lay a door he assumed led to the kitchen, and past that, a hallway.
Framed pictures dotted the walls—album art from what he guessed was a favorite band, a classic Van Gogh café scene. A spectacular shot of Las Vegas at night.
The colors were bold, vibrant and strong. A testament to the woman living there. The whole place felt…comfortable somehow. Like the essence of Ally, her energy and aspirations and haven all rolled into one. He sensed her pride and contentment in this place as if it were the fanciest apartment in Copenhagen.
This isn’t a woman who needs money to complete her, his conscience whispered.
Ally locked the door behind her. “I’ll go get that box.”
When she returned, Finn was scanning her bookshelf. Glancing briefly to her desk then back to him, she wondered whether he’d noticed the finance books she’d left open. But he seemed more interested in her photos than in checking out her workspace.
She placed the plastic box on the coffee table as he scooped up her keys.
“I’ll go put it in the car.” He picked up the box with apparent ease. “I don’t know how late we’ll be so you’d better pack some clothes. You can spend the night.”
Four months ago that would’ve been a demand made in heaven. Not today.
Still, she swallowed her retort and nodded curtly. Bite the bullet and get it over with. Then you can have your life back. “I’ll be down in a second.”
Quickly she went to the bedroom and threw a change of clothes and other necessities into an overnight bag. Just as she was about to pull the door closed behind her, the intercom buzzed.
“Hello?”
“It’s Simon. Can I come up?”
The world stopped turning for just one second as her heart forced a raw, angry breath into her throat. “No.”
“I need to talk to you about work,” he insisted.
“I don’t work for you anymore, Simon.”
“Look, can we not have this conversation like this? Can I come up?”
“I’m coming down.”
She slammed the door and began to descend, but to her surprise she spotted Simon rounding the stairwell.
“I held the door open for some guy with a box.” He gave her that look, one that she’d once compared to a little boy’s mischievous grin. Now it just made her want to slap him. A dark sinking feeling settled in her stomach.
She crossed her arms protectively. “How did you find me?”
“Personnel files.” His thousand-watt smile was meant to be persuasive, seductive. It left her cold. As did his top-to-toe inspection that felt cheap and nasty. “You’re looking great. How are you?”
“Still pregnant.” His cocky smile dropped quicker than a shooting star, Ally noted with satisfaction. “What do you want?”
“Ally. Do you really want to talk about this—” he waved an all-encompassing hand with only a mild look of disdain “—in this hallway?”
She gave a snort. She didn’t want this man in her personal, private space. Eyeing her reading material, slouching on her furniture. Tainting her sanctuary.
“Say what you have to and leave.”
With a sigh, he leaned against the balustrade, his arm draped casually along the railing. She couldn’t help but compare his expensive I’m-someone-very-important-and-very-hip look to Finn’s overt masculinity. And she found Simon’s desperate need for wealth and show a pale comparison to her husband’s aura of power and confidence.
“Max sent me,” he said.
Ally frowned. “Why?” She didn’t think the editor-in-chief even knew her name.
“It’s about the Bliss Awards.”
“The press office deals with that.”
“You’re getting one next week and Max wants you there to accept it.”
Ally’s mouth sagged open for one second before she realized and snapped it shut.
Simon continued somewhat smugly. “Your column had the highest reader rating since…well—” he shrugged “—since we started a book column. Max isn’t happy that you left or that no one wants to do your job. He wants you to come back.”
“I’m getting a Bliss Award.” Thro
ugh the haze of incredulity, Ally failed to notice Simon crowding her space. It was the strong whiff of oriental musk that hit her like a speeding reality check, sending her backward a step.
Simon either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.
“Yeah. Favorite Column or something. Ally. We have to talk about you. Us.” He reached out and stroked her arm, but she quickly pulled away. He suppressed a frown. “I know you’ve been a little…emotional since we…Since you and I…Well, let’s forget about that scene in my office and start over.”
She rounded her eyes. “Oh, how generous of you.”
“Look. The thing is, Max wants you back. And—” he brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his arm “—people have been talking.”
“About?”
He flicked his dismissive brown-eyed gaze down to her stomach then up again. “Us.”
The jerk couldn’t even say the word. “So?”
“People think we had sex.”
She gave a short laugh. “Wasn’t that the whole point of New Year’s Eve? So you could boast about it afterwards?”
“Ally. Hon. Calm down.”
“And we can’t have me getting too emotional, can we? I might go and do something completely stupid.”
He looked alarmed. “You wouldn’t…say anything, would you?”
“Take your hand off my arm.”
He withdrew and she took the opportunity to start down the stairs. The jerk. No, the mega jerk. She threw him a furious glance as he followed her, deliberately letting him dangle. “Who knows? I’m in such a delicate, emotional state I’m likely to do anything.”
“Look, Ally,” he cajoled, the smooth inflection in his voice getting her back up “We should discuss this. You can have your job back. You’d like that, right?”
“No. I wouldn’t.” Now that she had him panicky, the victory seemed all too ironic. “Save it, Simon. I’ve got to go.”
“Can we negotiate?”
“You’ve got nothing I want,” she stumbled on a step and gasped, grabbing the railing. Abruptly she slowed her pace.
Behind her, she caught the waves of irritation rolling off him, his frustrated stomp as he was forced to follow her down the stairs.
