Escape for New Year: Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

Eight

The next morning, in their Darling Harbor penthouse, Laura had trouble getting out of bed.

She wasn’t sick. She’d never felt healthier. Or happier. After the hours she and Bishop had spent writhing in each other’s arms, she only wanted to stay there, close to her incredible husband, soaking up his magnificent heat, reveling in the way he fulfilled her, each and every time. In the broader scheme of things, they hadn’t known each other long, but she couldn’t imagine these intense emotions ever waning. The texture of his hair, the sound of his rich, smooth voice, the intoxicating scent she inhaled whenever her nose brushed his chest.

She only hoped he never tired of her. She might have been dealt a bad card—her heart condition—but that was little or no problem now. And fate had more than compensated by gifting her the love of an extraordinary man like Samuel Bishop.

At around nine, while Bishop made some calls, she slid into the bathroom to shower. As she lathered her hair, she smiled, remembering how he’d mentioned during the night that he had a surprise for her this morning. It couldn’t be jewelry. He’d already given her enough to weigh down a queen. Perhaps after their reminiscing, he was going to book another cruise.

Laura dried off, knowing that whatever he had planned she would love. She wouldn’t let her mind wander so far as to consider he might want to window-shop for baby things. Furniture, pink or blue jumpsuits, high chairs, stencils for a nursery wall. And she wanted to buy one of those faith, hope and love trinkets. She’d adored the idea of those symbols, and their meanings, since knowing a friend in primary school who had worn them around her neck on a thin gold chain. If she and Bishop had a girl, the heart, anchor and cross would go onto a bracelet; if a boy, she’d attach them to the cot.

Laura stopped to gaze at her pensive reflection in the fogged up mirror.

With so much to organize, perhaps they should start looking now.

But as she slipped the light butter-colored dress over her head, Laura berated herself. They hadn’t agreed to fall pregnant. Not yet. It was an important and delicate matter, one they both felt strongly about. Still, perhaps she ought to bring it up again sometime today. Logically, she knew they had oodles of time to start a family; she was young and, at thirty, so was he. But that didn’t quell the awareness she felt building every day. More and more she noticed mothers with prams, baby commercials on TV, schools and parks with swings and kids laughing and chasing each other around like mad things.

After applying a lick of mascara and lip gloss, she set a brush to her towel-dried hair. Her thoughts wandered more, to places they’d never traveled before, and the brush strokes petered out.

Frowning at her reflection, she shook her head. No. She would never do it. Even if there were a way. Bishop used protection; his nature was to be cautious, to think before he leaped. Still …

How would he react if she accidentally fell pregnant? Last week she’d honestly believed that she had. She hadn’t planned it. Starting a family was a decision both people in a relationship needed to agree upon.

She started brushing again.

Definitely not. She would never intentionally, accidentally fall pregnant. Bishop would come around soon enough and then they could both go into this next important phase of their lives confident and with a clear conscience.

When she emerged from the bedroom, she found Bishop standing by the wall-to-wall windows that overlooked Darling Harbor’s sun-kissed sights. But he wasn’t interested in the view … traffic on the water, the busy restaurants, the fanfare facade of the Maritime Museum. Bishop being Bishop, he was still on the phone.

He caught sight of her, smiled, then obviously needing to concentrate, angled a little away. After the dinner suit he’d worn last night, those dark blue jeans, zipper at half-mast, were a different but still ultra-sexy look. No doubt he’d team it with a brand-name polo shirt. But for her part, she could gobble up the sight of that magnificently sculpted chest all day long. Every drool-worthy muscle was perfectly defined. The angle of those quarterback shoulders might have been crafted by Michelangelo.

He often stood with his weight favoring one leg. That unconscious pose now, in those heaven-sent jeans, gave him a too-hot-to-handle, rebel’s air that left her mouth dry. Still focused on the call, he shoveled a hand through his shower damp black hair and Laura’s pelvic floor muscles squeezed around a particularly pleasant pulse. With his fingers lodged in his hair, that bicep on display …

Laura fought not to fan herself. She only wished she had a camera to capture the moment and remember exactly how heart-poundingly handsome he was right now.

He disconnected and swung back to face her. Graceful, fluid … He didn’t walk so much as prowl. And the quiet throb, ticking at every erogenous zone in her body, said she wanted very badly to be caught.

Joining her, he dropped a kiss on the side of her neck and lingered to hum appreciatively against her throat.

“You smell almost too good to eat.”

Smiling, she dissolved against him. “Almost too good?”

His big hands measured her waist then slid higher. They didn’t stop until long lean fingers were splashed over her back and a thumb rested beneath the fall of each breast. His head angled more. She shivered uncontrollably as his teeth nipped the sensitive sweep of her throat. The pads of his thumbs grazed her nipples as he murmured, low and deep, against her skin.

“You heard me.”

That syrupy I-can’t-get-enough-of-you feeling sizzled like sparking gunpowder through her system. Her knees threatened to buckle and her lungs labored, unable to get enough air. When her hand drove up his arm, over the sinewy rock of one shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, she sighed as he nipped and his morning beard grazed.

“Are you suggesting we stay in today?” she asked, sounding drugged and feeling that way, too.

“I’m saying you can make me lose my mind.”

“That can’t be a bad thing.”

His face tipped up. His eyes were so hooded, she could barely see the blue.

He blinked once then asked, “Promise?”

She laughed. It was meant to be light, but he’d said that word with such earnestness … she wasn’t certain how to respond.

For once too overwhelmed by his intensity, she touched a kiss to his cheek and, winding out of his hold, moved to the galley kitchen. There were times she felt completely consumed by him. That wasn’t a complaint, but she wondered whether another woman might be able to handle his brute magnetism better. She didn’t see his innate power ever diminishing.

She didn’t want it to.

“I had blueberry pancakes sent up,” he said, reaching for a casual shirt resting on the back of the lounge.

Her gaze darted to the meals area and her previously distracted senses picked up on the smell. Feeling guilty after that slab of cheesecake last night, she held her stomach.

“You’re trying to make me fat.”

“Fat, thin …” He strolled to the table to remove the silver dome. “I’ll take you any way you come.”

Inhaling again, eyeing the fluffy discs dotted with berries and dusted with icing sugar, she conceded. She had lost some weight, after all.

Joining him, she collected a fork, cut a portion off the top offering and slid the cake into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the divine butter and fruit textures and flavors. Swallowing, she groaned with appreciation as well as disappointment.

“I wish mine turned out as good as this.”

“Have I ever complained about your cooking?”

She gave a coy grin. “Never.”

“The benefit with room service is …” He curled over her and stole a kiss from her ice-sugared lips. “More time for us.”

More than tempted, she touched her lips where he’d tasted hers as she sliced off a little more cake. “You really do want to stay in, don’t you?”

“That’s a given. But there’s also that surprise I had planned.”

Her mouth was full again but, needing to know, she talked almost incoherently around it. “Wha ith it?”

He laughed and pulled out her chair. “Finish your breakfast and you’ll find out.”

Ten minutes later, he and Laura were walking through the hotel lobby. He had the ticket out, ready for the concierge to retrieve his car, when he recognized a figure standing in front of the lofty automatic glass doors.

Bishop’s step faltered.

What was Willis doing here?

When his second-in-charge recognized him too, he waved and came forward. Bishop slid a sidelong glance at Laura. He and Willis were friends. Willis knew he’d been married and how badly it had ended. But he didn’t want to explain this to the younger man here or now.

As Willis joined them, Bishop made succinct introductions. “Willis McKee, this is Laura.”

Willis took her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Bishop tells me you’re his new assistant,” Laura inquired.

Willis cocked a brow. “I wouldn’t have said new.”

“Willis and I have known each other a while now,” Bishop chipped in. “Laura, can you excuse us for a minute?” Taking Willis’s elbow, he led him off to a quiet corner.

When they were alone, Bishop’s no-problem exterior cracked. He never had a day off. Now he was being hounded by the man he knew could handle the job, and for more than twenty-four hours. Nothing could be this important.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer your phone or emails last night,” Willis replied, no sign of a tail between his legs. “And these guys are keen, Sam. Dead keen. They’ve been on the phone yesterday and already this morning. They want to look at the books as soon as possible.” Willis’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. “You’re still interested, right? I mean, I understand—” he flicked a glance Laura’s way “—you’re busy. But Laura? I thought you were seeing an Annabelle.”

“Laura’s my wife. Ex-wife to be precise.”

Willis’s jaw hit the ground. “Your what? From what you’d told me, I got the impression there was more chance of a blizzard descending on the Simpson than you two getting back together.”

Bishop rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, the vibes I get are more of the plain and simple variety.”

“Laura had an accident Friday,” he explained. “That’s why I left early.”

Willis took another longer look. “She seems fine now.”

“She’s great … except for the fact that two years of her life have been erased.”

Willis took a moment. “You mean amnesia? And she thinks you and she …” Groaning, Willis held his brow. “Oh, man.”

Bishop nodded. “Complicated.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I went along at first because I didn’t have much choice. Laura thought we were still married. The doctor said if I kept a close eye on her, she could go home. So we spent some time together, and as the hours and days went on …” He rolled back his shoulders, forming the words carefully in his mind before uttering a one. “I’m wondering whether we might not be able to save what we had.”

Bishop respected this man; they were friends, but this was extremely private. Should he have been this open? It wasn’t usually his style. Still, now the words were out, he knew he’d needed to say them out loud. Maybe then he’d be able to see how ridiculous this all was.

“Save your marriage?” Willis’s hands dug into his pockets. “That would be if she remembers, or if she doesn’t?”

“That part’s a little up in the air.”

“It’s none of my business, and you probably don’t need me to tell you, but you should tread carefully. If you decide to go that way, the road will be full of potholes, deep and wide.”

Bishop grunted. No kidding.

“I’m going to book her in to see a neurologist midweek. See what can be done. In the meantime—”

“You have a beautiful bride who’s all doe-eyed for you, but deep down hates your guts. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. What a temptation.”

Feeling his gills heat up, Bishop lowered his gaze and shuffled his feet.

Willis did a double take, then swore. “Oh, no … Sam, you haven’t. She locked you out a year ago and now that she can’t remember the bad times, you’ve slept with her?”

Bishop growled, “I don’t need anyone beating on my conscience about it.” His tone dropped. “I’ve been doing enough of that myself.”

“Look on the bright side. Things couldn’t get any worse the second time around.”

“At least I know what to expect.”

“With a woman?” Willis coughed out a laugh. “You’re fooling yourself.” He drew up to his full height and got back on track. “What do you want me to do about those buyers?”

“Tell them I’m unavailable. We’ll get back to them later in the week.” He’d thought he was ready to sell. Move on. Now he wasn’t so sure. He did know that he didn’t want any reminders of his failed marriage, and every time he walked into that office, talked to his team or went on location, he remembered how he’d buried himself in his work during those hard times. In truth, perhaps those memories had more to do with his desire to sell than feeling stale at work.

Either way, he didn’t need to make a snap decision. He’d see how he felt in a day or two—in a week—about everything and decide then.

They returned to Laura, and Willis nodded his farewell. “Good meeting you, Mrs. Bishop.”

“You’ll have to come up to our place in the mountains for dinner one evening,” she said. “Bring your wife, of course.”

“I’m sure she’d like that. She loves the mountains.”

Laura beamed. “Me, too.” She looked to Bishop then back at Willis. “Why don’t we make it this weekend?”

“This weekend we’re having that get-together for my birthday, remember—” Willis stopped.

Bishop was glaring at him.

She’s not ready for big groups yet.

The consummate hostess, Laura patched up the awkward moment. “Oh, well, if you have a party on, we’ll make it another time.”

Bishop quietly exhaled. Ah, what the hell. It would either be a disaster with everyone asking the wrong questions, or they’d have a great time. If her memory returned before then, it’d be a moot point.

“We’re invited, Laura.” He shrugged, offered a smile. “It slipped my mind.”

Laura’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful.” She spoke to Willis. “I suppose I’ll see you next week then.”

“I know my wife will enjoy meeting you.” Turning to the doors, Willis sent Bishop a wink. “We’ll talk.”

He and Laura headed for the concierge’s desk. The fellow from last night, Herb, was still on. After the ticket was handed over and pleasantries exchanged, he asked, “Did you receive the champagne?”

Laura spoke for them both. “That was so thoughtful. And unnecessary. But thank you so much.”

“You were always so kind, Mrs. Bishop,” the older man said. “It’s good to have you back.”

Looking touched as well as bemused, Laura patted her hair uncertainly then tacked up her smile. “It’s good to be back.”

They headed out through the doors and, between two soaring forecourt columns, waited for his car to arrive. Hanging on tenterhooks, Bishop knew Laura would mention Herb’s comment. Good to have you back. She might think it was weird, but Herb hadn’t seen Laura in eighteen months, and yes, she had always been kind. She was kind to everyone. The last months of their marriage, with regard to him, didn’t count.

But rather than Herb, Laura brought up that other subject.

“Was Willis here about the sale of the company?”

“Yes, he was.”

“So you’re going in to the office later today?”

“No.”

Her eyes rounded as she turned to him. “You’re still taking the day off to be with me?”

She looked so innocent, so radiant, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t sound so amazed.”

Clearly self-conscious now, she bowed her head. “I know you love me—” she met his eyes again “—but I never imagined you’d take time off when you have such important business to sort out.”

The car rolled up. He opened the passenger-side door, thinking that he would never have imagined it, either. What an eye-opener. He hadn’t analyzed the dichotomy before, but it was true. He had put business first. When they’d been married, the company was still climbing and he’d had no choice but to put in the hard yards. Or that’s what he’d told himself. Truth was when things started to slide between him and Laura, he’d hid behind his job, used it as an excuse not to face his problems at home.

He slid in behind the wheel.

How often had he said to himself, If I had my time again? Now it seemed he had.

Thirty minutes later, the car slowed down and Laura brought the dented fingernail out from between her teeth.

“I’m nervous.”

Bishop swung the Land Rover to the curb. “If you don’t like any of them, we’re under no obligation.”

“I’m worried I’ll like them all. What do you think? A girl or a boy?”

The engine shut down. “Your choice.”

“A girl, I think. Maybe we could get a friend for her later on.”

“I’d better watch out or we’ll be taking all four home.”

On the drive, Bishop had let the cat—or dog, as it happened—out of the bag. Laura had been beside herself, she was so excited to be actually looking at puppies. Now, as a tall, wiry lady answered the door of a pristine suburban cottage, Laura held Bishop’s hand tight. The woman introduced herself as Sandra Knightly then ushered them around the back to where a silky coated retriever lay in a comfortable enclosure, nursing four adorable pups.

“As I told you on the phone earlier, Mr. Bishop,” Sandra said, “we have three males, one female.”

Besotted already, Laura hunkered down. “Only one girl?”

“Right there.” Sandra pointed out the smallest. “She’s the quiet one. They’re six weeks old. They’ll be ready to go to their new homes in a couple of weeks.”

“Will their mother miss them when they go?” Laura asked.

“Think of it as your own children leaving for college,” Sandra replied.

“I don’t know that I’d ever like them to go.” Laura reached out a hand then drew it back.

She looked up and Sandra asked, “Would you like to hold her?”

Laura’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Of course. It’s good to have human contact at this age.”

Sandra scooped up the female puppy and laid her in the cup of Laura’s palms. She snuggled the sleepy baby close and brushed her cheek along the pale gold fur. The puppy turned her head and nudged her nose against Laura’s.

“Oh, my.” Her sigh was heartfelt. “She smells so … puppyish.”

Standing again, Sandra laughed. “Would you like me to put her aside for you?”

“Not yet.” Bishop stepped forward.

And Laura’s head snapped up.

“Why not?” Hearing her own tone, more a bark, she bit her lip.

She’d only meant that she knew this puppy was the one. They could look at a dozen more, but she would always come back to this darling. If they didn’t put something down to keep her, she’d be snapped up by someone else. She even had a name picked out.