Rich, Rugged...Ruthless

by Jennifer Mikels

  After dressing, Sam returned to the den to set jeans and a shirt for him on a chair. If he awakened before she came back and he wanted to dress, he could manage. As she had done the other night, she watched him sleeping. With his breathing slow and steady, he looked at peace, so approachable. Bending forward, she brushed her lips across his, then covered him with a blanket before turning her thoughts to breakfast.

  She wandered into the kitchen and, after starting the coffee, she removed several eggs from the refrigerator.

  He was brave, far braver than others realized, she reflected. Unlike some patients, he’d held back complaints, never gave in to self-pity. He must be scared once in a while. Late at night while in the bed and the darkness, with only his own thoughts for company, fear must come close to overwhelming him. But he’d never let anyone see that. So in a way, the man he’d been—the private and sometimes unyielding and sometimes demanding man—still existed. And that man gave him the strength to get through the difficult times.

  She loved that man, too. He wasn’t perfect. He brooded. He was sometimes cranky. He was often too quiet. But Max—the old and the new—was her “Mr. Right.”

  Behind her, the coffeemaker hissed loudly with the final drops as a bluesy rendition of “It Had To Be You” drifted from the radio.

  Bright sunlight streaked between the venetian blinds in the den when Max opened his eyes. Though half asleep, he’d known when Sam had left him. The room had been cast in the light of gray dawn. After she’d covered him with a blanket, her lips had brushed his. The instant she’d left, he’d missed her.

  Missed her? He hadn’t expected to find more than sex with her, but whatever he was feeling went beyond the physical storm she brewed within him with a simple touch. He’d wanted to pleasure her, give her a gentleness he’d only just discovered he possessed.

  He didn’t think she would expect anything this morning. She hadn’t looked for promises from him last night. But where did they go from here? What could he offer her?

  Spotting his clothes, he crossed the room and began dressing. For the first time since he’d awakened in that hospital room not knowing his name, he didn’t feel alone. Someone special was in his life.

  With no clear-cut answer, he ambled toward the kitchen, lured there by the deep, rich smell of coffee. Music—the sound of Pete Fountain and his clarinet playing a Dixieland classic—came from the kitchen.

  Max stopped at the doorway, braced his shoulder against the doorjamb and enjoyed the sight of her moving around the sunny, bright room, the telephone receiver glued to her ear.

  Her back to him, she kept her attention on the French toast browning in the frying pan. “I’ll tell Max,” she said to the caller.

  He waited until she set down the phone. She stood now in the softness of morning sunlight, and without doing anything, she enticed him. He moved behind her, crowding her. “Tell me what?”

  On a laugh, she turned, her eyes filled with a warm glow. He thought she looked happy, content. He sure as hell was. “That was Rachel,” she told him. “She called to tell us that she hired a cook.”

  Because he needed contact of some kind, he kissed the side of her neck. “When will she start?” He could have told her that he was satisfied with the meals she’d made, but he supposed asking Sam to handle the duty wasn’t fair.

  “Tomorrow. Rachel told her to arrive at six in the morning. That way she can make breakfast.”

  “Is this someone I know?” He stepped back to pour himself coffee. He hoped it was a stranger, someone who didn’t have a history with him. He was tired of feeling guilty because he couldn’t remember people.

  “She used to work for a state senator’s family, but her daughter lives in town, so she wanted to find a job near her. Rachel assured the woman that she wouldn’t have to live-in unless it was agreeable to her. She doesn’t, does she?”

  “No. That’s fine.” Actually to give Samantha and him more privacy, he would prefer that she didn’t. A laugh nearly slipped out. Amazing. He’d linked them together as if they were a couple. Did he have a right to want that? Could he be with her later—after he regained his memory?

  “Your sister would like to come over later.”

  “Her and Jack?” He’d first met his brother-in-law while he’d been in the hospital and had instantly liked him. Though Max couldn’t recall their friendship, he planned to encourage one.

  “Uh-uh. Jack is with his sister, Gina. They work together, as private investigators.”

  Max didn’t remember her. What had the doctor told him? His memory could return any minute. Or not, he mused.

  “Anyway, she and Alyssa will be coming over.”

  Max set his cup on the table as Sam came near with a pitcher of warm syrup. He hadn’t seen Christina’s baby yet.

  At the stove again, Sam slid the French toast onto plates. “Rachel said to let her know if you don’t want visitors today.”

  Thoughtfully he stared at her. “I wonder if I always made her call before she came over.”

  “Probably.”

  Max didn’t miss her teasing grin. “Why do you think so?”

  “‘The handsomest stuffed shirt I ever saw’—that’s what Lily Mae said about you.”

  “Should I consider that a compliment or be insulted?”

  “Considering that it came from Lily Mae, I’d take it as a compliment. The newspaper is there,” she said, indicating a nearby chair.

  He couldn’t care less. Out the window he saw Louise and Martin arriving. Above the garage, the apartment windows of the chauffeur’s quarters were open. Foster would be coming outside soon. Rachel would be arriving with the little one, and all he could think about was being alone with Sam. He stepped up behind her again, and placed a hand on her belly, then pulled her back against him.

  Laughter flooded her voice. “If you keep fooling around, we’ll never eat.”

  “Fooling around?” How slim she felt beneath his hands. How quickly, with a simple touch on her, she made him feel desperate. He caressed her hair, pushing strands back so he could nibble her ear. “I thought I showed more finesse,” he whispered, and reached around her to switch off the burner. “Breakfast will reheat in the microwave, won’t it?”

  On another laugh, she turned in his embrace. “Definitely.”

  By the time they left the bedroom, the house was no longer quiet. Louise was dusting in the formal dining room, Foster was washing the limo, and Martin was trimming a hedge.

  Using the kitchen phone, Max called his sister, made arrangements for her to come at ten, then joined Sam at the kitchen table.

  Sam felt as if she belonged here, but it occurred to her that he didn’t. Probably before his amnesia, he’d never sat at the kitchen table, had never eaten in this room.

  Rachel confirmed that thought when she came to visit. “I can’t believe you’re still having breakfast.” She gave the clock on the wall a quick check. “It’s kind of late for you, isn’t it?” She sent a questioning look from Max to Sam and back to him. “Never mind. If you want to sleep late, that’s your business. But I was surprised to find you in here.”

  “It was time for a change.”

  “Time for a lot of things.” A seriousness clouded Rachel’s eyes for a second. “I thought you should know. I heard that the police are doing a DNA test on Gavin Nighthawk.”

  “The doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “This could be a wild-goose chase.”

  Rachel nodded agreeably. “Yes, it could.”

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Max finished the last of the French toast on his plate. “Where’s the little one?”

  “Alyssa was sleeping so I left her in her infant seat in the dining room by Louise. I’ll get her.”

  “No. We’ll go to her.”

  As Max rose to his feet and shoved back his chair, Sam went to the sink. She plunged her hands into the soapy dishwater. “I’ll finish cleaning up and do the dishes first.”

  Across the room, h
er eyes met his. Go, she silently seemed to say. Max understood. He needed time alone with Rachel. Though he didn’t know what their relationship had been before his amnesia, he hoped for a closeness with her now. “We didn’t see each other often, did we?” he asked when he fell in step with Rachel in the foyer.

  “Hardly ever.”

  Max relied on her honesty. “My fault?”

  “We both led our own lives for a while, Max.” She touched his arm. “I wasn’t living here. I was living in Chicago. I didn’t come back until Christina disappeared. It was no one’s fault we grew so far apart.”

  Bending over the baby in the carrier, Rachel pulled down the white-and-pink blanket covering her. “This is Alyssa.” A sound of deep devotion came into her voice.

  Small and wrinkled, with delicate features, her eyes squeezed tight, Alyssa bowed her little mouth. Max wished her eyes were open.

  Tenderly Rachel stroked the soft dark hair on Alyssa’s head. “I hope the next time we come she’s awake.”

  Wanting contact, Max curled a gentle hand over Rachel’s shoulder. “I’d like to spend time with her.”

  “Whenever you want.” She caught his hand. “Come on. I brought photo albums with me.” She led him toward the sofa. “I thought they might help you remember something.”

  Sam busied herself in the kitchen. When she thought enough time had passed, she carried a tray with coffee to them. “Can I join the party now?” she asked from the doorway. “I brought some plum cake.”

  In the manner of a good friend, Rachel offered a huge smile. “Oh, I wish I could stay, but I have an appointment at the salon in town.”

  While Max walked his sister to her car, Sam stood outside the front door. Waving to Rachel, she waited for Max to come back to her.

  His eyes danced with some private amusement. “She asked if I was sleeping with you.”

  Sam lifted a brow. “What did you say?”

  He laced his fingers with hers. “I told her I don’t want to know about her sex life, so why would she want to know about mine?”

  Sam tsked. “That’s as good as an admittance.”

  “Probably.”

  Sam inched against him. “Was she upset with you?”

  “She laughed.” Lightly he kissed the side of her neck. “Didn’t you offer some of that plum cake?”

  “Ah, that’s why you’re smooching me.”

  His lips hovered above hers now. “’Smooching you’?”

  “You have a thing for sweets, don’t you?”

  “Always,” Max whispered before closing his mouth over hers.

  His lips didn’t tease. There was a new heat, a familiar thoroughness to his kiss now. All that Sam had felt last night with him seemed only a breath away. He could take her, here, in the middle of the front doorway, in daylight with anyone watching—if she hadn’t heard the noise. The purr of a car engine made its way through the haze slipping over her. Reluctantly she pulled back to see a white compact car on the driveway. “You have company,” she said. The driver, a thin man in his late twenties, was a stranger to Samantha. “I don’t know who that is.”

  Though more interested in running a light trail of kisses along her jaw, Max briefly looked up. “An employee from the bank bringing me work,” he muttered against her cheek.

  “You’re finding yourself,” she teased. “Everyone said you’re a workaholic.”

  “I’m not.”

  Sam nearly closed her eyes when his tongue stroked her earlobe. “Of course you are.”

  “I’ll prove it. We’ll do whatever you want after he leaves.” Gently he nibbled at the sensitive lobe. “I won’t even open the folders.”

  “Of course you won’t,” she said dubiously, pulling away while she still could.

  Max followed her stride from him until she disappeared into the dining room. A sense of something lost skittered through him. Damn. She’d only stepped away and he was yearning for her. He had it bad for a wild redhead. He’d like to excuse it to fascination with her quirky sense of humor. Or the allure of those incredible green eyes. He could say he was captivated by the whole package. Who knew? All he knew for sure was that she’d become important to him.

  “Mrs. Redden asked that I drop these off,” the young man from the car said with his approach, intruding on Max’s thoughts. “I’m one of the loan officers, Mr. Montgomery. Greg Kanish.” Studious-looking, with a slightly receding hairline, he stared at Max through thick-lensed, dark-rimmed glasses.

  Max noted the manila folders he’d taken from the briefcase. “Thank you for bringing these files.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. If that’s all, I’ll…I’ll leave then.”

  Max accepted the folders and riffled through them for one in particular. “Wait a minute. Where’s the Hutchinson file?”

  “The—” Kanish’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I thought— It’s not there?” He crossed back to Max in a few strides. “I was certain I’d brought that one with me. I—I’ll go back to the bank, sir. I’ll be back with it in a few minutes. Would that be all right?”

  “Relax.” Max studied figures on one sheet. “Greg, it’s no real problem. Edna—Mrs. Redden, is coming tomorrow. Remind her to bring it with her.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Max ended his perusal of statistics. An unpleasant feeling coursed through him. Kanish scurried away, but Max gathered Greg would have bowed if he thought it would help. What the hell was the problem? Needing answers, Max picked up the phone on the foyer table and punched out Edna’s number at the bank. A call to her should clear up his questions. “He seemed downright fearful that he’d lose his job because he forgot a bring the Hutchinson file.”

  Edna was quiet for a long moment, too long.

  “Edna, talk,” Max insisted.

  “You would have terminated an employee for that,” she admitted.

  Max frowned as much at her words as the itch beneath his cast. “It sounds as if you worked for a tyrannical S.O.B.” That she was silent spoke volumes. He scowled as he wandered into the den to his desk. “Was I that bad?”

  “You could be demanding. But, Mr. Montgomery—”

  “Edna, I asked.” From a desk drawer, Max pulled a straightened coat hanger that he’d stashed there days ago. “Don’t be concerned about being honest. It’s okay.” Determined, he slid the wire inside the cast. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” With a quick goodbye to her, he concentrated on the task at hand and worked the wire down to the itch. It was then that he saw Samantha standing in the doorway. “Did you overhear?”

  “I heard.” She came closer and pointed at the wire. “If you keep doing that, you’ll lose good conduct merits, Montgomery.”

  “It itches like hell.” Max removed the wire and stuck it back in the desk drawer.

  Sam merely shook her head. “I’m deaf to your complaints.”

  “You’re a hard-hearted woman, Carter.”

  “Damn straight.” She opened the drawer, and for good measure, she took the wire with her. Interested in the photographs, she ambled to the coffee table and flipped open one of the photo albums. “Is this you?” she asked about a photograph of a young boy around seven.

  “A lot of the photos are of us as children.” Max sidled close and turned a page of the album.

  Peering over his shoulder, Sam noted another photo of him when he was around twelve. He looked more sober then. The candid shots that followed were adorable. Two little girls with their dolls were having a tea party under a giant willow tree. A boy in a military school uniform scowled at the camera.

  Max turned about ten pages. “These are later ones.”

  They were of teen years, Sam noted.

  “Rachel said that was at a summer formal.”

  Though younger, Max was just as handsome. Sam viewed the people he’d called friends. An impression of wealth existed. The blond girl with him was sweet, but classic-looking, polished, sophisticated, every hair in place. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Paig
e Canterford. Her brother Trey and I were good friends at one time.”

  Sam stared longer at the girl’s photo. Paige suited him. With some people, breeding carried importance. Ellis would expect his only son to find a woman who’d promote the right image, wouldn’t he?

  “Did she say if you ever saw him recently?”

  Max shook his head. “They moved away.”

  Once again Sam scrutinized the photographs in the leather-bound album. “And his sister?”

  “We weren’t serious about each other.”

  Sam had always known there were blank chapters in his life. It seemed unlikely that a rich, handsome man had never been seriously involved with a woman. But she assumed Paige Canterford hadn’t been the one. “Want to do something different?”

  Max shut the book and set it down. He was more interested in now and the woman near him than a trek down memory lane. “Different, like what?”

  Invitingly she swayed toward him, lacing her fingers with his. “Where’s your spirit of adventure, Max?” She tugged on his hand to make him move with her.

  “Where are we going?” Devilment flashed in his eyes. “Upstairs?”

  “For a walk.” Sam stifled a snicker as he leveled a scowl at her.

  “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  “Talk to me later,” Sam said with a promise in her voice.

  Nine

  His arm around her waist now, Max tugged her closer. “A walk wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  “I know. You’ve already made yourself clear about that. But a walk will be good for you.”

  He pulled a face. “You’re being Florence Nightingale now.”

  Sam stepped back to place a palm on his back, then nudged him toward the door. “I’m looking out for your welfare.”

  Over his shoulder, he grinned at her. In the eyes meeting hers, she saw an affectionate look that was far more disturbing than a seductive one. “If you really cared about my—”

  “Quit grumbling,” Sam insisted as she snagged her sunglasses from the foyer table. “Tell me about the photographs you looked at.” She postponed their conversation until she’d closed the door. “Did any of them help?”