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He hit the call key and waited. A man on the other end answered. Gareth spoke calmly. “This is Gareth Wolff. Your daughter took a fall and has been injured. She’s been checked out by a doctor, and she’s going to be fine. But she’s suffering a temporary memory loss. It would be helpful if you could reassure her. I’ll put her on the line.”
Without waiting for an answer, Gareth handed the phone to Gracie.
She eased up into a half-sitting position, resting her back against the headboard. “Hello?”
Gareth sat down beside her, close enough to hear that the voice on the other end was amused. Close enough to catch snatches of conversation.
“Hot damn, my little Gracie. I didn’t think you had it in you. Faking an accident on Wolff property? Pretending to have amnesia? Good Lord, you’ve got him right where we want him. The whole family will be terrified we’ll sue. Phenomenal idea. Nothing like going after what you want whole hog. Brilliant, my girl. Sheer brilliance.”
Gracie interrupted the man’s euphoria. “Father… I don’t feel well at all. Can you please come pick me up and take me home?”
Darlington chortled. “He’s standing in the room with you, isn’t he? And you’ve got to play this out. Splendid. I’ll do my part. Sorry, Gracie. I’m headed for Europe in half an hour. Won’t be back for a week. And the house is a wreck. I told the contractor to go ahead with the remodel since we were both planning to be out of town. You’d have to stay in a hotel if you came back.”
“This isn’t funny,” she muttered. “I’m serious. I can’t stay here. They don’t want me. I’m a stranger.”
“Dredge up their guilt,” he insisted. “They owe it to you to be hospitable. Flirt with Gareth a little. Play on his sympathies. Damsel in distress and all that. Get him to agree to our proposal. We’ll talk next week. I’ve gotta run.”
“No, wait,” she said desperately. “At least tell me if I have a husband or a boyfriend. Anyone who’s missing me.”
Her father’s cackle of a laugh was so loud she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “Of course not. Lay it on thick. I’m loving this. Wish I could see his face. So long now.”
The line went dead. Gracie stared down at the phone, her composure in shreds. What kind of father did she have? Who could be so callous? So blasé about her injuries? Embarrassment and humiliation washed over her in waves, adding to her feeling of abandonment.
She laid the phone aside and managed a weak grimace. “How much of that did you hear?”
Gareth stood up and crossed to the window, his back to her. “Enough,” he said, disgusted with himself and with her. If he had any sense, he would boot her off the property ASAP.
Gracie’s voice wobbled. “He can’t come pick me up right now, because he’s on his way out of the country for a week. But if you’ll make travel arrangements for me, I’m sure he’ll reimburse you.”
Gareth Wolff turned to stare at her with a mixture of suspicion and pity. “He thinks you’re faking amnesia.”
Her cheeks flamed. “The whole conversation was confusing. I came to see you for a reason. But I don’t know what that is. Though he seems to.”
“And you really don’t have a clue?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”
“You’re not going anywhere at the moment.” Gareth’s jaw was clenched. “If you really do have memory loss, then I have to let Jacob know. The Wolff family doesn’t make a habit of throwing the injured out on the street. And believe me, Gracie, we’re not going to give you or your unbelievably unconcerned father any ammunition for a lawsuit.”
“We’re not going to sue you,” she said quietly. Depression depleted her last reserve of spunk. “I don’t believe in frivolous lawsuits.”
“How do you know?” he shot back. “Maybe the woman you can’t remember would do just that.”
Gracie slid back down into the bed, her skull filled with pounding hammers. “Please leave me alone.”
Gareth shook his head, his demeanor more drill sergeant than nurse. “Sorry, Gracie.” His tone didn’t sound sorry at all. “If we’re playing the amnesia game, I have no choice but to let Jacob know. I’ll drive you over there.”
The thought of standing up was dreadful. “Can’t he come back here? It’s not that late, is it?”
“It’s not a question of being late. Jacob has a fully outfitted clinic at his place. He’ll be able to scan your head and x-ray your leg.”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary. All I want to do is rest. Tomorrow you can get rid of me.”
Gareth strode to the door. “You’re in Wolff territory now. And in no position to call the shots.” He paused and glanced back at her, his expression grim. “I’ll grab my keys and shoes. Don’t move.”
Gracie closed her eyes, breathing deeply, half convinced she was in the midst of a dark and disturbing nightmare. Surely she would wake up soon, and all of this would be a surreal fantasy. Gareth Wolff. She whispered the name aloud, searching for meaning. Why had she come to see him? What did her father want? And how did she get from Georgia to Virginia? Did she have luggage somewhere? A hotel room? A vehicle? Maybe even a laptop? Her tote held nothing but the phone, snacks and some tissues.
She froze, her brow furrowed in discomfort. How could she know what a laptop was and not even remember her own name?
Gareth strode back into the room, his feet shod in worn leather boots. Everything about the room she inhabited made Gracie feel at a disadvantage—the expensive bedding, the masculine decor, the large scale furniture… the total lack of anything familiar.
But something about those scarred boots eased the constriction in her chest. They struck her as normal. Human.
Gareth approached the bed, his face closed. “I’ve spoken to Jacob. He’s expecting us. Let’s go.”
Gracie screeched in shock when he gathered her up, blankets and all, in his strong arms.
He froze. “Did I hurt you? Sorry.” The gruff apology was instantaneous.
She shook her head, trembling as they traversed a wide hallway. “You startled me. That’s all.” Not for anything would she admit that being in his arms was exciting and comforting at the same time. His scent and the beat of his heart beneath her cheek aroused her and gave her the illusory sensation of security.
The earlier fleeting impressions she’d formed of wealth and privilege increased tenfold as they passed through the house. Gleaming hardwood floors. Western-themed rugs. Intricate chandeliers of elk horn shedding warm yellow light.
But Gareth walked too quickly for her to carry out any deeper inspection. In minutes they were out the front door and stepping into the scented cool of a late spring evening.
And how did she know it was spring? The little blips of instinctual information that popped into her head gave hope that her memories were simply tucked away in hiding. Not permanently gone… merely obscured by her injury.
Gareth carried her carefully, but impersonally. It wasn’t his fault if her hormones and heartbeat went haywire. He smelled of wood smoke and shampoo, a pleasing mélange of masculine odors. Despite his flashes of animosity, she felt safe in his embrace. He might not want her in his home, but he posed no threat to her well-being… at least not physically. The unseen dangers might prove to be more hazardous.
She liked being held by Gareth Wolff. What did that say about her?
Of course, her instinctive response could be attributed to something akin to Stockholm syndrome—the bonding between kidnapper and victim. Not that Gareth had done anything wrong. Quite the contrary. But at the moment, he was the only reality in her spinning world. He and his brother Jacob.
Most likely, her affinity for the surly Wolff brother was nothing more than an atavistic urge to seek protection from the unknown.
Gareth’s Jeep was parked outside a large garage at the rear of the house. The building, roomy enough to house a fleet of vehicles, had been designed to blend into the landscape, much like the house. A cedar shake roof and rustic, carefully hewn logs seemed to match the edge in her host’s personality. Gareth’s home was enormous and clearly expensive, but it suited his gruff demeanor.
Once he had tucked her into the passenger seat, he loped around the side of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. Thick fog blanketed their surroundings. Gracie peered into the darkness, shivering slightly, not from the temperature, but from the feeling of being so isolated. She’d seen horror movies that rolled the opening sequence in a similarly creepy fashion.
She clenched her fist in the blanket and pulled it closer to her chest. “Where are we?”
Gareth shot her a quick glance. “Wolff Mountain.”
She cleared her throat. “I hope that’s not as sinister as it sounds.”
His quick snort of laughter ended as quickly as it began. She had a hunch he didn’t want to show any signs of softening toward her.
He wrenched the wheel to avoid a tiny rabbit that scampered in front of them. “This is my home. I grew up here with my two brothers and three cousins. I’m sure all of this will come back to you,” he snarled. “My family has no secrets.”
She wanted to ask for more details, more explanations, anything to fill in the blanks. But her innocent question had clearly hit a nerve. She lapsed into silence, using her free hand to grip the door of the vehicle as Gareth sent them hurtling around the side of the mountain.
The trip was mercifully brief. Without warning, another house loomed out of the eerie fog. This one was more modern than Gareth’s, all steel and glass. Almost antiseptic in design. Though in all fairness she wasn’t getting a first look at it in the best of situations.
Jacob met them at the door and ushered them inside, his eyes sharp with concern as Gareth set her on her feet. “Any change?”
The terse question was aimed more at Gareth than Gracie, so she kept her silence.
Gareth tossed his keys onto a black lacquer credenza. “She doesn’t remember details of her life. But functional knowledge appears to be unaffected. She knows how to use her phone, but the names are a mystery… or so she says.”
Gracie flushed. She was embarrassed and exhausted. The last thing she needed was Gareth’s mockery.
Jacob waved a hand toward a living room that looked like something out of a designer’s catalog. “Make yourself comfortable, bro. The game’s on channel fifty-two. Beer’s in the fridge.”
Gareth frowned. “I should come with you.”
Jacob put a hand on his shoulder. “Not appropriate, Gareth. Trust me. She’s in good hands.”
He turned to Gracie, his smile gentle. “Let’s get you checked out, little lady. I promise not to torture you too badly.”
Unlike Gareth, Jacob trusted her to walk on her own. She abandoned her cocoon of blankets in the foyer and followed him down a hallway to the back of the house. Everything was in black and white—walls, flooring, artwork… A highly sophisticated color scheme, but oddly cold and sterile.
When she stepped through a door into the clinic proper, all became clear. Jacob Wolff had designed his house to mirror his professional domain.
Gracie’s curiosity as she surveyed the state-of-the-art facility had nothing to do with her amnesia. She had never seen such equipment and facilities outside of a hospital. Even with her memory loss, she was sure of that.
As Jacob positioned the CT scanner, she cocked her head. “I may not remember much, but isn’t this setup a little unusual?”
His quick glance reminded her of Gareth. “I have a number of high profile patients who want to be able to get medical attention away from the eyes of the paparazzi.”
She gaped. “Like movie stars?”
He shrugged, adjusting a dial. “Politicians, movie stars… Fortune 500 CEOs.”
Something must have shown on her face, because his expression grew fierce. “Having wealth doesn’t make a person’s right to privacy any less important. I’m fortunate enough to have the means to give them anonymity and quality medical care.”
She held up her hands. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking it.” He motioned to the machine. “Have a seat. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You won’t be closed in.”
She sat gingerly on the narrow bench and tensed as he slid rubber wedges on either side of her head, immobilizing her skull in a semicircle of metal. The camera thingy rotated around her upper body in several quick passes, and it was all over.
Jacob waved her into a chair. “Now I’ll show you the inside of your head. Hopefully we won’t see anything too alarming.”
She sat down gingerly. “As long as you find a brain… that’s all I ask.”
He chuckled, but didn’t speak as he brought up the 3-D images on the screen. Gracie waited, her heart pumping madly. Jacob examined the results with the occasional unintelligible murmur.
Gracie lost patience. “Well?”
He pushed back his chair and turned to face her. “I don’t see anything alarming… no fractures… nothing to require further medical attention. You have swelling, of course, as a result of the blow to your head, but even that is in the normal range.”
She bit her lip, disappointment roiling in her stomach. If there was nothing to substantiate her amnesia, Gareth would think, more than ever, that she was liar.
Jacob seemed to read her thoughts. “Absence of fractures doesn’t discount your current situation. All jokes aside, temporary amnesia is more common than you might think. And we have every reason to think it will resolve itself naturally.”
“But when?” she cried, springing to her feet. “How can I go to sleep tonight and not know who the hell I am?”
Jacob leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. “You do know who you are,” he said gently. “You’re Gracie Darlington. It may take a little while for your brain to accept that as fact. But it will happen. I promise.”
Gracie stewed inwardly as he finished his exam. As expected, the X-ray of her leg showed no sign of any damage other than the bad cut.
After a quick check of temp, blood pressure and a few other markers, Jacob patted her shoulder. “You’ll live,” he teased.
They walked back through the house and found Gareth sprawled on an ivory leather sofa. The thick, onyx carpet underfoot was a sea of inky, lush luxury.
Gareth bounded to his feet. “Sit here,” he commanded Gracie. “I want to talk to my brother.”
Despite the fact that they lowered their voices, Gracie heard every word.
Gareth grilled her doctor. “Well… could you tell if the amnesia is for real?”
Jacob muttered a curse. “This isn’t an exact science, Gareth. All her symptoms fit the profile. But I can’t give you any hard-and-fast answers. My medical opinion is yes, she’s very likely telling us the truth. That’s the good news. The bad news is that amnesia is a tricky bastard. It might be tomorrow morning or next week before she gets it all back.” He paused and grimaced. “It could be several months. We have no way of knowing.”
“Bloody hell.”
Gareth’s heartfelt disgust lodged like a thorn in Gracie’s heart.
Jacob walked back into the living room, giving Gracie a gentle smile. “Take her home and put her to bed,” he said to his brother. “Things always look better in the morning.”
Three
Put her to bed. Gareth tensed inwardly as images teased his brain. Him. Gracie. Tumbling with abandon between the sheets on his comfortable king-size mattress. He’d never brought a woman into his bedroom on Wolff Mountain. Whenever his physical needs overrode his phenomenal control, he sought out one of a handful of women who were as much loners as he was. Mature women who weren’t interested in relationships.
But the last such encounter had been ages ago. And the Wolff was hungry. Put a red hood on Gracie, and she’d be in big trouble. Or maybe she was in trouble already. Taking advantage of a damsel in distress wasn’t his style, but then again, he had never felt such a visceral and instantaneous response to a woman.
He wanted her desperately, and they had only met. At some anonymous bar in a big city he could have invited her back to his room. But this was Wolff Mountain, and different rules applied. Though he was a reluctant host, he had no business lusting after her.
She stood up, her expression half defiance, half vulnerability. “Couldn’t I stay here, Jacob? You know… in case anything happens.”
“No way.” Gareth blurted it out, uncensored.
Jacob and Gracie stared at him.
He shrugged, refusing to admit he had a proprietary interest in the redhead. “Jacob’s a soft touch.” He directed his remarks to Gracie. “I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”
Jacob frowned at his brother. “Gareth’s bark is worse than his bite, Gracie. He’ll take good care of you. But don’t worry. I’ll be around in the morning to see how you’re doing.” He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Try not to worry. Everything will be fine. I’d stake my license on it.”
Gareth ushered Gracie back out to the Jeep, this time letting her walk on her own. He’d liked holding her too damn much. It was best to keep his distance.
The short ride back was silent. Temperatures had dropped, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gracie pull the blankets to her chin. When they arrived at the house, he realized that he was actually going to have to be hospitable. And since she swayed on her feet from exhaustion, he shouldn’t waste any time.
He motioned for her to follow him. At the insistence of his architect brother Kieran, Gareth had agreed to a five-bedroom home. The square footage had seemed like a useless expenditure during construction… and now, four of the bedrooms sat unoccupied. But at least for tonight, Gracie would have a place to lay her head.
He showed her the suite that would be hers… for a very short time, he promised himself. Too long, and his iron control might snap. “The bathroom is through that door.” Even now his hands trembled with the need to touch her.
He eyed her clothing. She was still wearing the simple cotton blouse and jeans she’d had on when she arrived. “I’ll find something for you to sleep in. Tomorrow we’ll work on getting you some clothes.”
When he returned two minutes later with one of his old T-shirts, Gracie was still in the same spot, her expression stark, haunted. Unwillingly his heart contracted. If she was telling the truth about her amnesia, she must be scared as hell. But sweet and courageous, and so damned appealing in her determination not to break down. The reluctant admiration he felt had to be squashed.
When he brushed her arm, she jumped, as if she had been a million miles away. He offered the substitute sleepwear. “Sorry I can’t do better. You’ll find toiletries in the drawers and on the counter. I let my cousin do the decorating, and she promised me that no bathroom was complete without all sorts of smelly soaps and doodads. Help yourself.”
Gracie took the shirt and held it, white-knuckled. “Will you be in your bedroom?”
God help him. He knew she meant nothing by her artless question, but it shook him. “Yeah. As soon as I lock up and turn out the lights.” He paused, feeling uncustomarily conflicted, since he rarely second-guessed himself. “Remember… I’m just around the corner. Maybe if you leave a light on, things won’t seem so strange.”
She nodded her head slowly. “Okay.”
Something about her posture was heartbreaking. She was doing nothing to deliberately manipulate his sympathies, but the bravery in her narrow shoulders set so straight and the uplifted tilt of her chin touched him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.
He hardened his heart. “Good night, Gracie.”
She heard the door shut quietly behind him and felt tears burn her eyes. It took great effort, but she held them at bay by virtue of biting down on her bottom lip and swallowing hard. She refused to let Gareth see her exhibit weakness. He was a hard, suspicious man, despite his physical appeal.
Even so, she wanted him. And the wanting scared her. She felt like the heroine of a dark, Gothic novel, left all alone with the brooding lord of a sprawling, mysterious house.
A glance at the clock sent her stumbling into the bathroom. No wonder she was so wiped out. It was late. Everything would look better in the morning. Darkness invariably bred bogeymen and unseen monsters. Her lack of memory fueled the fires of apprehension.
Gareth had told the truth about the facilities and accoutrements. The floor was inlaid with cream-colored marble veined in gold. An enormous mirror ran the entire length of one wall, showing Gracie reflection after reflection of a strange woman with unkempt hair and no makeup.
Jacob had covered her stitches with a waterproof bandage. Doggedly she stripped off her clothing and climbed into the enormous polished granite enclosure that boasted three showerheads and a steam valve. The hot water pelted her back and rained over her arms and legs. She bowed her head, braced her hands against the wall and cried.
When the tears finally ran out, she picked up a fluffy sponge and squirted it with herbal soap from a fancy bottle inscribed in French. The aroma was heavenly.
Twenty minutes later she forced herself to get out and dry off. Gareth’s T-shirt hung to her knees, half exposing one of her shoulders. The woman in the mirror appeared waifish and very much alone.
She took a few minutes to wash out her undies and hang them on a brass towel rod to dry before returning to the bedroom. In her absence, Gareth had left several items on the bedside table. A pair of thick woolen socks, a tumbler of water with two pain pills and a copy of Newsweek. She wasn’t sure if the latter was for entertainment or edification.
She put on the socks, and for the first time all day, felt a glimmer of humor at how ridiculous she looked. Even with no memory, she knew that a man like Gareth had his pick of women. He might be surly and prickly, but he exuded a potent masculinity that any female from eighteen to eighty would have to be blind not to notice.
Though her accommodations were worthy of the finest resort, sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned, even when the medication dulled the ache in her leg and her head. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered waking up in Gareth’s bed and seeing two strange men staring down at her with varying degrees of suspicion.
Why had she come to Wolff Mountain? What did she hope to accomplish? Was her father involved in something dishonest? The questions tumbled in her brain faster and faster, erasing any hope of slumber.
Finally, when the crystal clock on the bedside table read two-thirty, Gracie climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. It wouldn’t hurt to explore the house. She’d seen very little of it so far. Maybe there was something out there that would jog her memory.
And besides, she was hungry. With her heart beating like a runaway train, she eased open the door to the hall.
Gareth knew the moment she left her room. He’d always been a light sleeper, at least as an adult, and even the faint whisper of Gracie’s soft footsteps was enough to wake him. His frequent insomnia was the penance he paid for defying his father’s wishes and enlisting in the military. A five-year stint in the army had taught Gareth that deep sleep could be fatal. It served him right for giving his father such grief.
Gareth crept down the hallway, following the muffled trail of sounds. He found his houseguest in the kitchen. At first, her mission was prosaic. She poured a glass of milk and consumed it with a chunk of cheddar cheese and a slice of bread.
When she was finished, she carefully washed her glass and saucer and placed them back in the cabinet. Gareth grinned. Did she think she was erasing any record of her nocturnal wanderings?
His amusement faded when she approached the laptop on the built-in desk. All important files were password protected, but a knowledgeable hacker could cause mischief even still. Gracie sat in the swivel chair, tucked her feet on the rungs and began to hit keys with a sure touch.