by Robyn Grady
“I haven’t thanked you yet.”
Morgan Tibbs dragged her attention from her Forbes magazine. “This is Daniel’s jet,” she said. “Not mine.”
“I mean for the clothes.” The briefs.
“Oh. Thought they might come in handy.”
Morgan went back to her magazine and Scarlet went back to sipping water.
“Suppose I should feel weird,” Scarlet finally said, “flying halfway around the world with people I barely know in a luxury private jet, but it’s no weirder than what I’ve lived through these past twenty-four hours.”
“The amnesia?”
“Uh-huh.”
Morgan put down her Forbes. “I have an aunt who experienced a fugue state. She worked as a headmistress. When she didn’t show up for duty for a couple of days, a search team went out looking for her. She was found over a hundred miles away, meditating with a peace-loving group who were waiting for aliens to land in the parking lot. My aunt had no clue about her previous life. Seems her husband, who’d faked his own death twenty years earlier, had shown up on her doorstep. The shock set her off.”
“Did her memory come back?”
“Pretty much as soon as they got her home.”
“That didn’t happen for me.”
“No sparks at all?”
“A few things. Sure.”
Morgan ran a finger and thumb over the six studs in her right ear. “Maybe this is your mind’s way of telling you to take a break.”
“I seem to have nice enough parents who obviously care about me. I have a nice home. A good job. From all accounts, great friends.”
“Sounds neat. A great life to go back to.” She lifted her magazine. “And yet here you are, flying away from it all.”
Daniel came strolling down the aisle.
“Morgan, these figures don’t add up. Can you go over the analysis of per capita spread based on age and socioeconomic demographic and let me know if your median is anywhere near mine?”
“Love to.”
Morgan slinked out of her seat, took his laptop and disappeared.
When Scarlet was sure Morgan was out of earshot, she whispered, “Is she being facetious?”
“Always.” Daniel took the seat next to her. “And she’s the best right-hand man/person/woman I’ve ever had.”
Scarlet’s smile faded.
“Daniel, do you think that this amnesia thing could be self-inflicted?”
“What? Like you meant to trip and knock yourself out?”
“Like some part of my brain is purposely forgetting?”
“As vast as our universe is, our brains are just as immeasurable.”
Scarlet drank that in. So he was saying maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t. She didn’t feel as if she was putting on an act. She knew what she knew and the most important thing was that she felt safe with him. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. Even if her mother had seemed annoyed that their daughter should upset society by doing what she felt was right.
“I didn’t know you very well,” she said, “did I? And yet my gut tells me you know me better than everyone else combined. Why is that?”
His smile was soothing. Sexy.
“I’m not a doctor.”
“You’re my friend,” she countered. “Aren’t you?”
“Sure I’m your friend.”
But his smile said he wasn’t convinced.
“In other words,” she decided, “I should just sit back, enjoy the champagne and all-expenses-paid vacation and quit worrying.”
“That would be my best advice. But then you’re more pedantic than that.”
She searched her brain for clues. “Pedantic as in O.C.D.-ish?”
“You have goals.”
“Well, that’s good,” she announced, but he only looked away. “Unless they’re bad goals?”
“Or someone else’s.”
“My parents’?”
He turned to face her. “Scarlet, you were recently engaged. A few days ago you called off the relationship.”
“You’re kidding. I was getting married?”
“You decided he wasn’t right for you.”
“Wow. Hope I didn’t break his heart too much.”
Daniel’s gaze shuttered.
“Does he know about my fall?” she asked, all the more curious. “About my memory loss?”
“Before we left your parents’ house, your dad pulled me aside. He’d contacted Everett Matheson to pass on the news.”
She tried to remember but the name didn’t ring any bells. “And?”
“And your ex said he was busy in New York.”
Emotion hit her chest, took her breath. In the recesses of her brain, she remembered a man’s pompous sounding laughter. It made her shudder.
“He wasn’t concerned?” she asked. “Not at all?”
Daniel reached across, held her hand. “Don’t worry. He didn’t deserve you.”
* * *
They flew directly into Sydney, dropped Morgan off, then went on to Cairns. They cruised an hour and a half in a convertible down the Bruce Highway to Port Hinchinbrook heaven. When she walked into the open-plan lower story of his extravagant beach house and was greeted by that amazing panoramic view of the ocean, she gasped.
“This is like paradise. Why would anyone ever want to live anywhere else?”
“You haven’t been out on the yacht yet.”
“You are so incredibly lucky.”
He thought about that. He wished his childhood had been different. Normal. But he didn’t live in the past. He’d moved on. Made his own luck.
She was studying her arms. “I put sunblock on for that brilliant drive with the top down but I need more. I’m dying to go walk along the shoreline.” She spun to face him. “I need a swimsuit.”
“Let’s see what we can do.”
He ushered her up the stairs.
The top story was a huge open-plan bedroom. Laid out on the bed, draped over partitions and furniture, was the wardrobe he and Morgan had secretly put together online during the flight over.
She covered her open mouth with her hands. “This is all for me?” She headed for the nearest lot of dresses, studied some price tags and held on to a nearby chair for support. “This is crazy. Obscene! You must have spent a fortune.”
“You are a woman who likes quality clothing, remember?”
“Not really.” Her face broke into that unabashed smile he loved. “But I won’t argue.”
As he watched her dance around the room, twirling with various garments held against her and swinging by to press a big kiss on his cheek, a feeling ribboned through him, bright and uncommonly close. He’d bought people gifts before—he enjoyed being generous—but he couldn’t remember anyone being so unrestrained in showing their appreciation. She was like a kid on Christmas morning. This everyday girl was happy, and she had no qualms about letting the world know it. He loved her exuberance. Her open, almost reckless brand of affection.
Honestly, he’d be sad when this Scarlet disappeared.
“If you don’t like anything, we’ll return it,” he said, concentrating on enjoying the here and now.
“Don’t you dare! I adore every single piece.” Her exuberant expression become more contemplative as she studied him. “You’re always this thoughtful, aren’t you? You like surprising people. Seeing them happy.”
Wringing villainous hands, he advanced. “Ah, but I can be ruthlessly selfish, too.”
“You should probably show me that side to compare.”
Lord knows, he was thinking the same.
She blindly set aside the colorful frock she held and they came together in the middle of the room, the sunshine radiating in through the northern wall of glass warming the contact all the more. Her arms circled his back, while he gathered her up in his, and a split second later their mouths joined. At last he was kissing her again.
Since that bone-melting scene in her walk-in closet, he’d doubled his efforts to keep his distance from Scarlet in
that physical sense. He’d had visions of being cornered on the plane and, as cool as Morgan was, he didn’t need to put her in an awkward position. Nothing would have been more embarrassing than his assistant being forced to watch the enraptured couple make out.
Restraint had been called for. All that wanting to feel Scarlet’s skin pressed up against his had to wait. He’d contented himself with the occasional hand on her shoulder, a casual brushing of arms as they passed. Even when they’d slipped into his convertible in the airport long-term parking lot and were alone again, he’d kept his hands on the wheel.
Now, Daniel unleashed his pent-up need. He couldn’t wait to get their clothes off. He wanted to have her naked, writhing beneath him. Then he wanted a replay with positions reversed. And that was just the beginning.
His mouth covering hers, he began to unbutton her blouse. But the holes were tight and the buttons numerous and small. Frustrating.
Really very annoying.
He broke the kiss to actually see what he was doing. Even then, it was agonizingly slow going. Why wasn’t Scarlet taking charge or at least helping? She only stood there patiently while he grew increasingly aggravated at the tiny pearl beads. His fingers had never been this clumsy before.
“You want me to suffer,” he surmised.
“How does it feel?”
She was getting him back?
“Morgan puts up with a lot,” he said. “It was best we showed some self-control in the air.”
She checked out his progress, his ever more urgent tugs at her blouse. “How’s that self-control working for you now?”
He ripped the blouse open. Pearl buttons popped, spitting shrapnel at his chest, onto the floor.
“Obviously not well,” he said, spreading the fabric, exposing her breasts. He paused. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
She was winding her arms out of her blouse. “Apparently I don’t like them.”
Those words came to him muffled, as if she’d spoken through a pillow. All his energies were concentrated on admiring her body, sculpting the shape of her perfect breasts with his hands, telling himself he ought to cut to the chase and rip off her jeans, too.
“How desperate were you to visit the beach?” he asked in between grazing his lips up the slope of her neck.
“After sitting for so long I thought we could use the exercise,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair.
“Exercise comes in many and varied forms. Did you know that simply taking one’s clothes off can burn eight to ten calories?” He nipped her earlobe. “Vigorous sexual intercourse burns four hundred.” He stole another kiss…a thorough, make-no-mistake tongue-on-tongue assault. “Of course,” he said, coming up for air, “the best way to ensure you get a great work out is to—”
“Orgasm?”
He grinned against her lips. “As many times as possible.”
Capturing her mouth again with his, he herded her toward the bed while he ran his palms down her bare back and threaded his fingers into her jeans. When the backs of her legs hit the foot of the bed, she broke the kiss and dragged in a lungful of air.
“Have you worked up a sweat yet?”
He was unbuttoning her jeans. “I’m more interested in your metabolic rate.”
His fingers snaked down into that warm, soft, wet place. Her head lolled to the side and her hips tipped forward. While his other palm feathered up to cup her jaw, he scooped two fingers deep inside, between her folds.
She hummed out a smile. As he dropped kisses over the shell of her ear, across her brow, her pelvis tilted toward him more and more until she was grinding. His own fires were building, too. His erection was pounding, aching to take over.
As she moved with him, he remembered his view from on high of her kneeling before him, taking him fully into her mouth. He recalled the pressure when she’d held and gently squeezed him. He’d never forget warning her it was almost too late and how she’d worked even harder before he had time to withdraw. During the flight, he’d kept his hands to himself but he’d given a lot of thought to giving her the same kind of pleasure. She’d approved of the clothes. He hoped that she’d like what he had in mind for her now even more.
She was clinging to his shirt when her climax broke. As spasms rocked through her, one delicate hand dropped and clamped over his. Her head rocked back and, eyes shut tight, she snatched back air and gave herself over to each wave of throbbing heat.
He didn’t allow her time to float down, recover. Instead, he eased her back onto his bed. With her bottom near the edge and legs loosely dangling over the side, he wrangled off her jeans and scrap of silk underwear. Hunkering down, he urged her knees wide apart and positioned himself between them. The sight of her glistening and swollen was enough to send him into spasms. With a palm set on each inner thigh, he used his thumbs to open her more and expose her nub. Then he lowered his head and, relishing each stroke, brought her to climax again.
* * *
The next day was gorgeous. “A real beauty,” Daniel called it. Flawless skies. Little wind. Perfect glassy seas.
From the back entrance of his amazing Hinchinbrook holiday home, Daniel showed her down the southern drive across the road and some parkland—which he apparently owned but had donated to the community—to a hundred-foot pontoon. The yacht was a jaw-dropper.
“Presidents have yachts less impressive than this,” she pointed out.
“A friend of mine owns the company,” he said, as if that explained it. He opened the back deck door and, with a flourish, gestured her aboard. “Let’s go sailing.”
Floppy hat on, sunblock well applied, she followed as he climbed a set of fiberglass stairs to the fly bridge. Beneath a canopy, amid a gentle balmy breeze, she stood back and watched as he turned a key, pushed the throttles and steered them out into the passage.
“We’ll cruise at around ten knots,” he said, while she studied his classic profile and the cute way his hair licked off his collar. “We’ll pass Hinchinbrook Island in thirty minutes.”
As they slid out over a vast expanse of sun-kissed water, Scarlet held on to the rail and, breathing in the heady scent of fresh salty air, tried to cement herself in this tropical paradise reality. This was another world. Another time. Who needed D.C., its politics and all its watch-your-back traffic? She only wanted to get around barefoot. Wanted to hang on to this sublime sense of freedom.
“Tell me about this place,” she said. “It reminds me of Tahiti.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Is that from a personal memory?”
Or from books, internet ads, photos from traveling friends? She came up a blank. “I’m not sure.”
Frowning, he concentrated on the ocean again.
“The island up ahead is approximately thirty-eight kilometers long and ten meters wide.”
Twenty-four miles by around six, she thought.
“It has eleven beaches that all belong on postcards or travel agency walls. The national park covers thirty-nine thousand hectares. A hundred acres of natural heaven.”
“You know your facts.”
Strong bronzed arms extended, hands on the wheel, he flashed over a grin. “I’ve played tour host before.”
For visitors to his Port Hinchinbrook home. Guests on this yacht. Female guests? Of course Daniel had a life before now. He was hardly a priest. Clearly he enjoyed female company. To be fair, she must have had previous lovers, too. Everett the ex for one. But whenever she studied him, looking so commanding and sailor-sexy at the helm, she shunned imagining him with anyone else. Or speculating about whom he might hook up with once this unusual affair was done.
And it would end. Her memory would return and their differences would come to light again. Differences that scratched at the back of her mind every now and then. He came from one world—this open carefree realm. And she came from another—one that was reflected in her parents’ regal home, the immaculate clothes hanging in her wardrobe.
Reaching open water, the engines re
vved higher and the ancient island drew nearer. The hills and heavy verdant foliage looked untouched.
“Are visitors allowed?” she asked.
“Hinchinbrook Island has a resort, but only a limited amount of visitors are allowed on the trails each year.” Muscles jumped in his arms as he veered the boat marginally to the left. “We’ll visit another day,” he said. “You need to see the reef.”
They sailed farther out while she absorbed the surrounding beauty of sea and sky as well as the captain. The telling kink on one side of Daniel’s mouth said this was a big part of what he loved most. This was one of the pleasures he lived for. And as her body rocked with the slap of twin bows against water and she breathed in nature at its quintessential best, she imagined herself enjoying this life day after day. Being with Daniel like this all the time. Then she remembered what she knew of her life in D.C. and she simply couldn’t see the two ever melding.
Soon Daniel was easing back on the throttles. The surrounding water was crystalline. Transparent. Farther out, shelves of coral came into view. With its many vibrant colors, this living, breathing wonderland seemed to lie just below the surface. She saw multiple schools of fish darting around their playground. She couldn’t wait to dive in and swim around, too.
A whirring, clanking sound vibrated beneath them. The anchor, she guessed, lowered to the floor of the sea—not onto the coral—to keep them in place. Daniel shut off the engine and rubbed his hands.
“Let’s get wet.”
Ten minutes later they were geared up and splashing off the side of the yacht into water that was the ideal temperature. She wore an exquisite watermelon-colored one-piece, one of the many items of clothing generously supplied by her host. Daniel wore swim shorts that made her think of James Bond and that incredible beach scene. Although she’d take her gorgeous geek over 007 any day.
While they swished their flippers, keeping vertically afloat, Daniel showed her how to clear her mask and use the snorkel hose. When she swam down to the coral, she should let her hose fill with water, he said. Returning to the surface, she needed to “blast clear” the water from the tube with a sharp exhalation.
“That plateau,” she said, peering down while she waved her legs and flippers, “it looks close enough to touch from here.”
