The Amnesiac Bride

by Marie Ferrarella

  So much for Sally’s predictions. The man seemed to be made out of stone. Either that or she just wasn’t being seductive enough. He seemed completely unmovable and unaffected.

  Well, almost completely, Whitney amended with a pleased smile as she let her eyes drift down the length of his body.

  Still, she was disappointed. Bitterly so. Things were not going the way she assumed they were meant to. She wanted him to sweep her into his arms, to crush her mouth to his and say the hell with the world beyond the door.

  She wanted him to make her feel safe in this new world she found herself in. He was all she had to hang on to.

  The ruffled shirt he’d put on was hanging open around his chest. Whitney lightly ran her fingertips over the downy hair, just barely touching it. She saw desire winking in and out of his eyes again.

  Maybe all he needed was a little more encouragement. “I thought this was supposed to be our honeymoon.”

  He caught her hand in his. She was really getting to him. It had to be because he was so tense about what was going down, he rationalized, but that didn’t change the way he was reacting to her.

  “It is. But there’s no harm in mixing business with pleasure.”

  So far, all she’d seen was the business side of it. She wanted the pleasure to begin. “I don’t know about that.” Resigned, Whitney turned and presented her back to him. “I need a little help with the zipper.” She bit her lower lip, making one last attempt. “Up or down, it’s your choice.”

  He sighed. She shivered as she felt his breath on her back.

  Zane grasped the zipper’s tongue between his thumb and forefinger. With a tug, he pulled it up. “Up, and it’s not my choice.”

  Whitney turned, smoothing out the material along her hips. She saw the way he watched her. Why wasn’t he doing anything about it? “Then whose? I don’t see anyone else in here with us.”

  But there was. There was the other Whitney, and she was hovering just on the outskirts. When she returned, there would be reckonings to make. And hell to pay.

  Zane looked down into her face. “Whit, someday, when your memory comes back, you’ll understand.”

  She thought of the telephone call he hadn’t taken but told Quinton that he had and the wallet Zane had gone to fetch, which they both knew was in his back pocket the whole time. No, she didn’t think that the return of her memory was going to make any sense out of that. Or out of a great many things that were giving her trouble.

  Who was this man, really, who she was hoping was her compass out of the foggy region she found herself in? So far, he wasn’t acting the part of a newlywed husband. Not unless there was something going on that she didn’t understand.

  She wasn’t very hopeful about her condition, either, even though she was becoming accustomed to it. “I don’t know if my memory’s ever going to come back.”

  This part really wasn’t like her, he thought. Whitney might be a realist, but under all that, she was a confirmed optimist. So much so that at times it made him crazy.

  “Give it time, Whitney. It’s only been less than a day.”

  He began buttoning his shirt again. It hadn’t gotten any easier the second time around. His fingers were still too clumsy to handle the tiny pearl-like buttons and the holes they were supposed to fit through. Muttering a curse, he stopped fussing. When he raised his eyes, she was looking at him with the strangest expression. And he saw frustration. Genuine frustration.

  His expression softened. This had to be really rough. “How are you holding up?”

  She shrugged. One of the slender straps slid down her shoulder. Whitney pushed it back into place. “As well as can be expected, I guess.” Her own words mocked her. “Although I don’t know what’s expected.”

  He felt so guilty. Guilty for her getting hurt in the first place, guilty for not telling her the truth. Guilty for the frustration he saw in her eyes.

  “You’re doing fine. Just go on being perfect.” Knowing that Quinton expected him to come dressed to the teeth, he started fighting with the buttons again. There was still more than half a shirt left to go. “That’s why I married you,” he threw in for good measure.

  “Is that the only reason?”

  He knew what she wanted to hear. It was a small enough thing to give her, under the circumstances. He outlined a scenario, unconsciously elaborating on the truth. “That, and because I fell for you the first moment I saw you. There was a fire in your eyes that drew me in and took me prisoner without a single shot going off. Being with you seemed inevitable then.”

  Touched, she smiled at him. Whitney moved Zane’s hands aside. Competently, she quickly slipped each button into its hole.

  “You also come in handy,” he told her as she finished the job.

  She watched him comb his hair. Whitney stifled an urge to run her hands through it. “I thought that maybe you married me because I was good in bed.”

  The question caught him off guard. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “The best.”

  His reply was automatic. It was what he figured she’d want to hear. He had no way of knowing if she was or wasn’t, but he had his suspicions.

  Annoyed with himself, Zane banked down his thoughts. He didn’t have time to let his mind wander like that. It was pointless, anyway. He’d made a decision not to cross that line almost from the beginning. No, he amended, she had made that decision for them.

  Then they had made love before they’d gotten married, she thought. So why had he been so skittish when she’d entered the bathroom while he was taking a shower this morning? If they’d made love, she’d certainly seen him nude before. Try as she might, she couldn’t make the pieces fit together.

  He could feel her watching him. Thinking. Were things coming back to her? Or was she just wondering about them? If she remembered at the wrong time, if she slipped and said something to Quinton...

  It was like sitting on a powder keg, smoking a cigarette and waiting for a spark to fall and set it off.

  Whitney placed her hand on his arm. He turned and looked at her. “Show me,” she urged quietly. “We’ve got a little.time.”

  There had to be a medal for him in this when this was all over. A big one.

  “No, we don’t.” Zane raised his arm to expose his watch and tapped the crystal. They were already running behind. “And besides, I don’t think you should get yourself excited just yet. It might not be good for you.”

  She didn’t want to get herself excited. That was his job. And just looking at him was doing it. That, and what he’d said to her. It had been the admission of a man in love.

  Reining herself in, she sighed.

  “No, shopping with Sally wasn’t good for me,” she corrected. “When she wasn’t talking about clothes, jewelry or men, she was asking me questions. It was exhausting.”

  Zane raised a brow. “What kind of questions?”

  “Questions about us, about you. I was deliberately vague because I couldn’t give her any. She probably thought I was being coy. I think she has a thing for you.”

  “Just your imagination.” He only hoped the answer was that simple. He’d seen the way Sally had looked at the men around the pool. And at him. He hadn’t envied Whitney for what she had to go through. But it had been a fruitful afternoon for him. He was getting Quinton to trust him as much as the man was capable of trusting anyone.

  Watching his reflection, he slipped the ends of a black tie beneath his collar and began to tie it. “So what men did you talk about?”

  “I don’t know any men,” Whitney pointed out. Whatever men she’d known prior to this morning all resided in a murky world she had no access to. “She did all the talking.” Whitney smiled. “I’ve got a feeling that she does more than that.”

  Zane smoothed down his collar. “Quinton better not catch her at it.”

  All hell would break loose if he did, she thought. Whitney laughed dryly. “If you ask me, they deserve each other.”

  Zane checked his wallet before sl
ipping it into his pocket. Ready, he crossed to the door. “No argument there.”

  Whitney was quick to get in front of him just as he reached for the doorknob. “Then why are we in such a rush to be there with them?”

  He wanted her. There wasn’t much she was sure of, but she was sure of that. And she certainly wanted him. It didn’t make any sense to go downstairs when all the fireworks were in this room.

  She was making this damn difficult for him. More difficult than she had any way of knowing. He combed his hand through her hair, cupping her cheek. Even the feel of it excited him. He was going to have to watch himself if he didn’t want to trip himself up.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, Whitney. I can’t. We can’t.”

  Whitney read between the lines. “My health,” she guessed, disgusted.

  She nursed the hope that making love with Zane would trigger something that would turn everything around for her. That was healthy, wasn’t it? Getting her mind back. And even if it didn’t return in a mighty flash, she had a feeling that making love with Zane was an experience she definitely didn’t want to miss.

  “Your health,” Zane agreed. He picked up her purse from the bed and held it out to her. “Come on, they’re waiting.”

  Resigned, she took the small purse and slipped the delicate chain onto her shoulder.

  “Atta girl.” Relieved, Zane kissed the top of her head.

  If she was going to get a consolation prize, he was going to have to do better than that. As Zane opened the door, she placed her hand on top of his. “Wait.”

  Now what? He looked at her expectantly.

  “One for the road,” she announced just before she kissed him.

  And in case it was going to be a long, winding road, she put everything she had into it. Her mouth moved over his, offering a tantalizing sample of just what he was walking away from. And what was going to be waiting for him once they returned.

  Caught up in the moment and the fire, Zane deepened the kiss.

  He didn’t have time for this. They had to get going.

  It was a losing battle. He felt himself sinking.

  His hands roamed the bare expanse of her back, molding her body beneath his palms. Arms tightening, he held her closer to him, closer than a whisper. Closer than a secret that couldn’t be shared with anyone.

  He held her until he knew that if he touched her even one moment longer, he wasn’t going to make that elevator at all.

  Regret bit down, taking a chunk out of him as he moved away from her. She’d completely sapped his strength.

  “We’d better get going.”

  The smile on her face was nothing short of wicked. “I had the impression that we already were.”

  Her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she was having trouble drawing a complete breath. She felt dizzier now than she had when she’d first woken up this morning.

  He’d never seen her like this. Bawdy, willing, wicked. But then, she wasn’t herself. He had to keep reminding himself of that. And he had to watch out for her and protect her until she was.

  But who was going to protect him from her? And from himself?

  “To the casino,” he prompted.

  This time, she laughed as he opened the door for her. “Are you always this single-minded?”

  “Pretty much.” Zane closed the door behind them.

  She shook her head. “I might not remember any of the details, but it’s like my body is on automatic pilot whenever I’m around you. You must be one hell of a lover for me to keep coming back for more like this.”

  He grinned as he guided her to the elevator. “So I’ve been told.”

  She turned and leaned against the wall as she looked up at him. “By the multitude of worshippers who came before me?”

  He tried his best not to notice the way the material clung to her breasts and how firm they looked. Medal, hell—he was on his way to earning a Purple Heart. Zane pointed at the button.

  “Just press for the elevator, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” she teased, pushing the button.

  There were deliberately no clocks in the casino. As people gambled, playing for Lady Luck’s favor, time seemed to recede into a never-never land. Whitney had left her watch in the suite, but her body gauged that they had been down here for a fair amount of time. At least three hours, if not more.

  A lifetime, she thought, glancing at Quinton.

  In the beginning, it had been entertaining, rubbing elbows with an assortment of people who normally wouldn’t have been found together. There was everything from wide-eyed innocents to faded, jaded people, old before their time because they’d tied their futures to the wrong dreams. Whitney saw blue-haired women playing the slot machines, stroking the handles as if they were intimate lovers, shrieking with absolute joy whenever the machine spat out a few coins.

  There were people with the smell of hardened gamblers about them, staking sums at the turn of a card or the roll of the dice that took her breath away.

  Quinton fell into the latter category. He insisted on keeping them near him throughout the evening, telling them to stand on his left. When he first mentioned it, Whitney had thought he was joking. He informed her that he never joked about gambling.

  The more Quinton won—and he seemed to be working on a streak—the more he was convinced that he was right. They were his good-luck charms. As such, he instructed them to remain where they were.

  Quinton’s insistence was beginning to make her feel nervous, but Whitney could see that it didn’t bother Zane. On the contrary, it seemed to please him.

  The evening had begun with dice, then Quinton tried his hand at the card tables. Now he had settled in at the roulette wheel. He’d left the first two a winner and was determined to do the same with this game.

  Whitney was beginning to feel restless. She was tired of standing around like a decoration, cheering Quinton on when her heart wasn’t in it. She wanted to go to her suite, to be alone with Zane.

  “If this keeps up, I think we’re going to be dipped in gold and hanging off some giant bracelet by morning,” she whispered to Zane.

  He grinned and nodded in agreement. But he gave no indication that he wanted to leave. A fair crowd was gathered around the roulette table. They’d formed early in the evening, when Quinton’s winning streak had begun and they had followed him from game to game, hangers-on who lived vicariously what they couldn’t afford to experience firsthand.

  Zane was tense, she thought. She sensed it, though there was nothing about his expression to indicate that he was. To the casual observer, he appeared to be almost unusually calm and laid-back.

  But Whitney knew better. It was almost as if she could see beyond his nonchalant manner. Maybe they had a bond, she and Zane, that transcended vows and the ordinary. She rather liked the thought.

  Sally, resplendent in one of the gowns she had bought that afternoon, was hanging on Quinton’s arm like a silver amulet. Her carefully made up eyes grew huge each time the wheel was spun.

  There was no way to beat the house in the long run. But with the resources available to him, Zane had done his best to come up with a system whose odds were good for making Quinton a winner in the short run.

  Zane had advised him to play conservatively at first, working his way up from one to one bets. But safety had little appeal for Quinton. He was up to a corner bet, where the return, if he won, was eight to one.

  His chip was covering seventeen through twenty-one. The ball landed on twenty.

  “You won again!” Sally cried. Her eyes glowed as she watched the pile of chips multiply.

  Quinton took a moment to bask in the crowd’s excitement and adulation. Then with confidence, he pushed the newly swollen pile of chips forward to a split bet.

  “Let it all ride.”

  The man behind the wheel looked dubious. If either of the two numbers Quinton chose came up, the five-thousand-dollar bet would swell to eighty-five thousand.

  “I’
m afraid I’m going to have to check with the casino manager.” He motioned to the man at the next table. The latter nodded and went off in search of the manager.

  Quinton rubbed his hands together as he looked at Zane. “So, what do you think of the good life, Russell?”

  Zane looked around. Quinton was the center of attention. It wasn’t a position that would have suited him, but Quinton loved it. “It has its advantages.”

  “That it does.” Quinton flipped a chip to a woman who had been eyeing him with an open invitation for the past half hour. “Where have you two been all my life?” High on winning, Quinton passed a pile of chips to Whitney, who accepted them reluctantly. “I won’t forget this, you know,” he assured Zane.

  Zane knew for certain that the man would definitely not forget if he lost this round. He hoped the theory Sheridan had passed on to him held up.

  This was what he’d wanted, Whitney thought. To ingratiate himself with Quinton. She could see by Zane’s expression that things were falling into place for him, although she was still uncertain exactly where that place was.

  When she’d asked him earlier if he was hoping that Quinton would back him in some venture or share some knowledge with him, Zane had remained incredibly vague, as if he didn’t think she would understand.

  He’d treated her, she thought, like a wife in a stilted sitcom, and she hadn’t liked it. It made her wonder if she’d somehow misrepresented herself to him in order to get him to propose. She didn’t think she was the type who was content to be the “little woman,” receding into the background, Moreover, she wouldn’t have thought that Zane would have wanted her to be.

  Every time she thought she understood him, he changed a little, like a kaleidoscope shifting the pieces to form another picture.

  She supposed that some people spent a lifetime trying to get to know themselves, much less someone else. Why did she expect to understand Zane in less than twenty-four hours?

  Still, it was hard to curb her impatience.

  The assistant returned to the table and nodded. A murmur moved through the crowd like a wave. It subsided as the wheel suddenly came to life again.