Escape for

New Year

Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows

Robyn Grady

One Night With Prince Charming

Anna DePalo

Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows

Robyn Grady

About the Author

Award-winning author ROBYN GRADY left a fifteen-year career in television production knowing that the time was right to pursue her dream of writing romance. She adores cats, clever movies and spending time with her wonderful husband and their three precious daughters. Living on Australia’s glorious Sunshine coast, she says her perfect day includes a beach, a book and no laundry when she gets home. Robyn loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.robyngrady.com.

This book is for my fellow

Romance Writers of Australia

Romantic Book of the Year finalists.

Couldn’t have wished for better company!

One

A muffled conversation, barely audible, filtered in through the closed hospital room door. Laura Bishop raised her bandaged head off the pillows and, concentrating, pricked her ears. One voice was female, the other distinctly male—her fiery sister and equally passionate husband. Laura rolled her teeth over her bottom lip and strained to make out the words. No luck.

But neither Grace nor Bishop sounded pleased.

When Laura had taken a tumble at her home this morning, Grace, who was visiting, had insisted they have the bump on her head checked out. Waiting to see a doctor in a cell phone-free waiting room, Laura had asked Grace to contact Bishop at his Sydney office. She hated to bother him but stints at Casualty could wind on forever, and she didn’t want her husband coming home to an empty house and worrying.

Besides, Bishop would want to be informed. He was a protective man … at times, overly so. With her congenital heart condition—and his own family history—Laura supposed he had good reason to be.

The door clicked. When it cracked open an inch, Laura propped up on her elbows.

“I won’t have her upset,” Laura heard Grace hiss from the corridor.

Laura’s husband growled back. “I haven’t the least intention of upsetting her.”

Wincing, Laura eased back down. How she wished the two people she cared about most could get along, but Grace seemed to be the one woman on earth who was immune to Samuel Bishop’s compelling brand of charm. Laura, on the other hand, had been smitten by his sizzling charisma and smoldering good looks from the moment they’d met. Even so …

Lately she’d begun to wonder.

She loved Bishop so very much. She was certain he loved her, too, but given what she’d rediscovered about herself this past week … was it possible they’d jumped the gun and had married too soon?

The door fanned wider. As that familiar athletic frame entered the room, their eyes connected, locked, and suddenly Laura felt dizzier than she had all day. After six months together, Bishop still stirred in her this breathtaking, toe-curling effect, the kind of reaction that flooded her core with want and left her quivering like a half-set jelly.

He looked as magnificent in that dark, custom-made suit as he had that first night, decked out in an impeccable tuxedo, a wicked gleam igniting his entrancing blue eyes when he’d affected a bow and had asked her to dance. Today his eyes were hooded in that same heart-pumping way, but his gaze didn’t glow with anything close to desire. In fact, his eyes seemed to reflect no emotion at all.

A shiver crept over Laura’s skin.

He was always so caring and attentive. Was he annoyed that she’d slipped? That she’d pulled him away from his work? Shaking herself, Laura broke the spell and touched the square bandage that sat above her left temple. She gave a sheepish smile.

“Apparently I fell.”

His dark brows swooped together then his head slowly cocked. “Apparently?”

She hesitated at his single word reply and cast her mind back. “I … I can’t remember it now. The doctor said that’s not unusual. A person has a fall, knocks their head and they can’t recall the incident.”

He was unbuttoning his suit jacket, running a deliberate palm down his crimson silk tie. His fingers were long and lean. His hands, large and skilled. She loved his hands. Loved the way they knew precisely where, and precisely how, to please.

“So what do you recall?”

Her gaze bounced back to his questioning expression and she examined the sterile but comfortable private room.

“I remember arriving at the hospital. Meeting the doctor. Having a scan … and other tests.”

Bishop’s mirror blue eyes narrowed.

He wasn’t fond of tests, as she’d found out two months into their relationship—the night he’d proposed. He’d presented a dazzling white diamond ring and, overwhelmed with surprise and new love, she’d instantly agreed. Later that evening, curled up in his strong arms in his penthouse’s sumptuous bed, she’d told her fiancé about her heart condition—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Never one for attention or pity, she normally kept that information to herself. But if they were to be married, of course Bishop needed to know.

“Grace said she saw you when she was driving up the path to the house,” Bishop said now, flicking back his jacket to slide his hands into his trouser pockets. “She saw you tumbling from the garden’s footbridge.”

Laura nodded. A drop of around six feet. “That’s what she told me, too.” Like she’d said. She couldn’t remember.

A pulse pumped once along the dark shadow of his jaw.

“Grace also said you’re feeling fuzzy. That you seem … uncertain about some other things, too.”

“I’m clear on everything else.” She pulled herself higher on the bank of pillows at her back. “In fact, I feel clearer today than I have in a long while.”

His eyes flashed. She knew he’d heard the backbone in her tone, but he didn’t probe. More tellingly, he didn’t come near, gather her up and comfort her, the way he had that evening after he’d proposed.

That night, when she’d confided in him about her illness, he’d drawn her extra close, had brushed his lips tenderly over her brow then had asked about the odds of any offspring inheriting her disorder. She’d done lots of research. Statistics attested to the fact that a baby could inherit the condition as she had done, however, screening precautions were available. An early termination, due to medical considerations, could be performed. Thankfully, from the hard set of his jaw, she’d gleaned he was as uncomfortable with that scenario as she was. But neither was he convinced that they should take a gamble and simply hope for the best.

In the quiet of the hospital room now, Bishop’s head angled and he continued to study her as if he wasn’t certain who she was. As if she were some new and curious anomaly. Laura’s nerves frayed more and she thrust her hand out, beckoning. She couldn’t stand the distance a moment more.

“Bishop, please come over here. We need to talk.”

The ledge of his shoulders went back and, as an almost suspicious expression darkened his face, her stomach knotted more. When his eyes skimmed her brow, her cheek, her lips, her skin heated, and not in a pleasant way. The vibes he gave off …

If she hadn’t known better, she’d think he disliked her.

Finally he came forward, but his gait was guarded, as though he expected to be ambushed at any moment. Had the doctor spoken to him about more than her fall? If not, she’d better tell him now, herself, before someone else could. How would he react when she told him that, no more than an hour ago, she’d taken a pregnancy test?

Pulling herself up, she swung her feet onto the floor so that they could sit side by side. Bishop cut the remaining distance separating them in three purposeful strides. Her stomach jumped when, in a commanding gesture, he cast the covers back more. Avoiding her gaze, he tipped his head at the sheets and a lock of his immaculately groomed hair fell over his brow.

“Get back in bed.”

She contained the inappropriate urge to laugh. This was absurd.

“Bishop, I’m fine.”

His gaze slid to hers and his brows lifted. “You are?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do you know where you are?”

She suppressed a sigh. What was it with a knock on the head and endless questions? She’d been barraged by them half the day.

“I’ve been through this already with the doctor.” As well as Grace and a handful of nurses. But when his implacable look held, she exhaled and supplied the name of the hospital and added, “Which is west of Sydney and east of the Blue Mountains.” Where they lived.

“What’s my name?”

She tacked on a smug smile and crossed her legs prettily.

“Winston Churchill.”

Familiar warmth rose up in his eyes—a comfortable, sensual glow that left her aching to reach for him. But then that serious line cut between his brows again and he cleared his throat like he did whenever he was uneasy.

“No games.”

She almost rolled her eyes. But anyone who knew Bishop knew his stubborn streak. The sooner this was over and he was assured, the sooner she could get her change of heart out in the open, the sooner they could work this issue through, and the sooner they could get on with their life together.

God willing.

“Your name is Samuel Coal Bishop,” she stated. “You enjoy reading the Financial Review cover to cover, long distance running and the occasional good bottle of wine. Furthermore, tonight you’re celebrating an anniversary.” She smiled … soft, inviting. “Three months ago today, you and I were married.”

Her words hit Bishop squarely in the chest, knocking him completely off balance. It was all he could manage not to cough up his lungs and reel back from the blow. Instead he ran a rather unsteady hand through his hair.

Good God in Heaven. She’d lost her mind.

Grace, the nurse … they’d said Laura had hit her head and was a little hazy. No one told him that she’d lost two years of her life! That she thought they were still married. As for falling off that same footbridge …

Bishop hid a cringe. Was this some kind of sick joke? Would the host of a lame candid-camera show jump out, sock him on the arm and point out a hidden lens?

But looking into Laura’s unsuspecting emerald eyes now, Bishop knew she was deadly serious. Gazing up at him, with such unabashed innocence and adoration, was the face of the fair-haired angel he’d married. He hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d been asked to come here today. Now Laura’s request for her sister to call him made sense. So did Grace’s inability to look him in the eye when he’d hammered her for details a few minutes ago.

Bishop resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands and groan out loud. He should have insisted on seeing a doctor. He’d been set up. He knew by whom and he could sure as hell guess why.

Laura’s sister set the blame for their marriage’s breakdown solely upon his shoulders. Chances were that Grace had hoped when Laura laid eyes upon the fiend who’d deserted her, a deluge of sordid memories would come flooding back. Laura’s memory would be restored. Once again, Belligerent Bishop would be the bad guy and control freak Grace would be number one in her little sister’s life. If he’d had a low opinion of Grace before, this took the cake. He’d deserved to know the facts.

Laura had deserved that courtesy, too.

After so long of a silence, worry began to cloud Laura’s eyes. His brow damp, Bishop adjusted the crimson knot at his throat and scanned through the maze in his mind. But the harder and longer he searched, the more dead-ends hit him in the face.

Only two things were certain. He couldn’t throw up his hands, walk out and leave her here, wondering. Neither could he callously dump the truth of recent events on her. He and Laura might have said goodbye under less than amicable terms—downright hostile, actually—but now she was ill.

And, dammit, he’d loved her once. Deeply. She may or may not thank him for it later, but he had to make an effort to ease her though this … reunion.

He found a small, amiable smile. “Laura, you’re not well. You need to stay overnight. I’ll speak with the doctor and—” He stopped. Blinked.

And what?

He cleared his throat. “And we’ll go from there.”

She uncrossed her legs only to ravel hers arms over her waist and ease up her chin.

“No.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

Her arms unwound and, her expression imploring now, she reached for him.

Bishop froze. He should pull back. Crush any possibility of physical contact. He’d never been able to resist her whenever they’d touched.

But the last time they’d been anything close to intimate was well over a year ago. Perhaps that part of him—that primal, perpetually hungry part—was largely buried, along with the love they’d once known.

And so, to curb her suspicions—to keep her calm—he reached out, too, and allowed her delicate fingers to lace through his. Instantly his blood began to stir, and when her sparkling eyes looked into his, the awareness he saw there delivered a pleasure-pain jolt that pierced his ribs and stole his breath.

“Darling,” she murmured, “I’ve spent enough of my life in hospital rooms. I know you mean well, but I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool. I’m not a child. I have my own mind and I know I’m okay.”

Swallowing the dry brick lodged in his throat, Bishop eased his hand from hers, slid a foot back and, determined, injected a take-no-prisoners tone into his voice.

“I’m afraid you’re not in a position to object.”

Her eyes darkened and her lovely mouth turned slowly down. “I didn’t give up my rights when I married you—”

Stopping mid-sentence, her head went back and she flinched, as if someone had slapped her. Gradually her dazed expression faded and her face filled with all shades of remorse.

“Bishop … oh, God. I’m sorry.” Confusion swam in her glistening eyes. “I didn’t mean that. Not a word.”

Bishop let go of the breath he’d been holding. Apparently, a lack of memory couldn’t suppress her true, less than charitable feelings toward him. The person who’d challenged him a second ago had sounded like the Laura who’d glared at him when she’d told him to get out. The Laura who had mailed divorce papers a year to the day after that.

Laura was the one who’d ended their marriage. Of course he’d been upset. Hell, he’d been wounded to his core. But he’d never hated her. He didn’t hate her now. Nor did her love her. Which should make this situation easier than it was.

He nodded to the bed. “You need to lie down.”

“I need to talk to you.”

He held the cover back again. “Lie down.”

When she stood up, refusing, he fought the urge to force her to act in her own best interests and do as she was told. But that was out of the question, for more reasons than one. She was still a beautiful woman … more beautiful than he even remembered. As much as his brain knew they couldn’t live together, his physiology understood only that she was uniquely, tormentingly desirable.

How easy it would be even now to sweep her up, whisk her away and take shameful advantage of this situation. So easy … And more destructive than any act that had ever come before.

He loosened the knot at his throat. He’d try to reason with her one more time.

“You might think you’re all right, but—”

“I thought we were pregnant.”

The back of his knees caved in. Tipping sideways, Bishop propped his shoulder against the wall then, mind spinning, slid to sit on the bed. His ears were ringing. He felt as if a bomb had exploded inches from his face. Holding his brow, he waited for the stars to fade then finally found the wherewithal to question his ex-wife.

His voice was a croak.

“You thought … what?”

She folded down beside him and held his hand as she beseeched him with her eyes. “I was so happy. And worried. Worried about what you would say.”

His chest squeezed around a deep ache at the same time a horrible emptiness welled up inside of him. He felt ransacked. As if his insides had been ripped out and thrown on the floor. He couldn’t go through this again, not for anything. Not even that trusting, desperate look on Laura’s face.

He turned more toward her, willed the truth to show in his eyes. “Listen to me … you couldn’t be.”

“I know we use protection,” she countered, “but nothing’s a hundred percent.”

The breath Bishop held burned in his chest. This was worse than he’d thought. Was now the time to serve it to her cold? If he were in her shoes, he’d prefer it that way. He wouldn’t want to feel like a fool later on. Laura wouldn’t, either. They weren’t married anymore, much less pregnant.

Her green eyes glistened over at him and as her fingers kneaded his, unbidden brush fires began to heat and lick familiar pathways through his veins. Closing his eyes, he worked to kill the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as a devoted husband would. So vivid, so hauntingly clear … it all might have happened yesterday. Their meeting, the wedding, the honeymoon, that fall from the northern footbridge, then the slow agonizing death of “them.”

“You are not pregnant.” His words were strained, controlled. Or, if you are, I’m not the father.

Her slim nostrils flared with quiet courage and she nodded. “The doctor told me. I was mistaken.” That hope-filled light came back up in her eyes. “But when I thought I had a baby growing inside of me, a tiny new life that we’d created, it made me realize …”

Her gaze grew strangely distant and yet somehow stronger. Then her shoulders rolled back and a fire lit her cheeks.

“My illness won’t make a difference to how I feel,” she told him. “I know there’s a risk, but I want a baby, Bishop. Our baby.” She held his hand tighter, angled her head and brought his fingers to her hot cheek. “We just need to have faith.”

Bishop closed his eyes as a scolding, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. They’d already had this conversation.

Going on two years ago. It had been the beginning of the end … a long, drawn out, bitter affair.

Laura’s broken voice cut through the haze.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

Again Bishop tugged the Windsor knot at his throat and, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, lengthened his neck. Other than Laura’s light floral scent, the air in here seemed stale. He needed some space to try and work out how to diffuse this crazy situation before it got any worse.

Winding his hand out of hers, he found his feet and an impassive voice.

“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?” Three fingers of scotch sat at the top of his wish list.

“There is one thing.” She stood, too, leaned closer and placed a warm palm on his chest. Unbidden flames ignited in his sternum as her slightly parted mouth came near. “I need for you to kiss me.”

Two

In her eyes—in his heart—Bishop understood that today Laura loved him. He also understood she was far from her true state of mind. Fighting the raw ache in his throat, he found his ex-wife’s arms and urged her gently away.

Refusing her affection was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do; toward the end of their marriage he’d have given anything to have had her show him love again. But while his hardening body whispered for him to accept what she offered now, his conscience said a resounding no. Laura was far from well, and no man for any reason needed to take advantage of that.

But he had to be careful how he handled this problem. He didn’t want to tip her over whatever mental precipice she so obviously teetered on.

He put a calming note into his voice. “Laura, this isn’t the time.”

“Not the time?” Her face pinched. Then she blinked several times. “I don’t understand. We’re husband and wife. We always kiss.”

His heart lurched but he wouldn’t let that twist of emotion show. How in God’s name would he ever navigate through this mess? He felt as if he’d been thrown into the mouth of an active volcano. Everywhere he stepped he got burned. A lot like their marriage, really.

But information was power. He’d get the facts, a professional’s opinion and see what was what.

Laura was still looking at him, confusion and hurt brimming in her eyes. In the first three months of their marriage, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and vice versa.

Even now …

Needing to reassure her, he relented and let one palm slide down her arm. Immediately, that minimal contact sent up a flare and a throb that echoed like a warning bell through his blood. Setting his jaw, he put up both his hands and took a resolute step back.

“I’ll go speak to a doctor.”

“About the pregnancy test.”

His gut knotted and jaw tightened more.

“Yes. About that.”

He left her standing in a white hospital gown, uncertain, beside the bed. In the corridor, he took a moment to orient himself and order his blood pressure to drop. Laura might be the one who’d had a fall and lost her memory but he was the one feeling off balance. Still, there must be a rational, safe way to maneuver through this hopscotch of emotional landmines. And damned if he wouldn’t find it, and find it fast.

At the nurses’ station, Bishop made an inquiry and a man in a white coat studying a file down the hall was pointed out. He sped off.

“Doctor—” Bishop glanced at the name tag as he came to a stop “—Stokes, I’m Samuel Bishop. I was told you examined Laura Bishop earlier.”

The middle-aged doctor peered over his bifocals and set aside the folder. “You’re Mrs. Bishop’s husband?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The doctor gave a knowing grin and they crossed the room, away from others’ earshot.

“Head trauma,” Doctor Stokes summed up. “Retrograde memory loss.”

Bishop nodded. “How long will it last?”

“Usually in these cases, memory returns gradually over the following days. It can take longer. In some rare instances it never returns.”

Bishop’s head began to tingle. He needed to clarify. “In rare instances?”

“Initial tests were free of fractures or contusions. She could stay overnight but, as long as she takes it easy and you keep an eye on her, there’s no reason she can’t go home. When she sleeps, wake her every three to four hours and ask those same simple questions—name, address—to be sure she’s stable. You can see your own GP for a follow-up.”

Take her home…?

Bishop scratched his temple. “Thing is, Doc, we’re not married anymore.”

One of the doctor’s eyebrows lifted. “Your sister-in-law hinted as much.”

“Ex-sister-in-law.”

The older man’s eyes conveyed his sympathies for the situation before he slotted his hands into his coat pockets. “Subtle jogging of the memory. Perhaps photos when you think she’s ready. When she’s in familiar surroundings, I’m sure more recent events will resurface soon enough.” Doctor Stokes seemed about to say more but then he merely tipped his head. “Good luck, Mr. Bishop.”

As the doctor moved off, Bishop fell back into a nearby chair. He’d need a whole lot more than luck.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip and he scanned the text from his second-in-charge, Willis McKee.

Where are you? A buyer’s on the line. Wants to speak with you ASAP.

Bishop’s jaw shifted. Already?

He’d listed Bishop Scaffolds and Building Equipment, the business he’d built to a multimillion dollar entity, only last week. At the price he’d set, he’d never expected such a quick response, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about it.

Over these past few months, since the finality of the separation had sunk in, he’d felt a certain restlessness. One chapter of his personal life had closed and he’d begun to wonder whether he needed a new challenge in his professional life, as well. But he hadn’t given a lot of thought as to which direction he should take.

Still, he was pleased he’d taken the initiative to move forward. He’d been seeing a nice woman for just over a month, too. Nothing serious; he wasn’t certain he’d ever do serious again. But he enjoyed Annabelle’s company. She wasn’t high maintenance. Didn’t ask the impossible.

Bishop snapped the cell shut.

And now Laura was back in his life, and given the doc’s opinion, who knew for how long? What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t simply walk away. Then again, how could he stay? He was stuck like a bug under a shoe.

A tap on the shoulder brought him back and his head snapped up. When he saw Grace poised beside him, he groaned. At this moment, she was his least favorite person. What was new?

Grace made herself comfortable in a seat alongside him and laced her peach-tipped nails on her crisp linen lap.

“So now you know.”

He slid her a bland look. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“She didn’t remember?”

“Laura thinks today is our three-month anniversary.”

“How are you celebrating?”

He pushed to his feet. “Don’t be smart, Grace.” He set off toward Laura’s room. He’d have to speak with this woman again and soon, but right now he didn’t trust himself to keep his hands from circling her throat. He didn’t care how much she disapproved of him; he should have been warned.

The only good thing to come from his and Laura’s bust up was getting rid of one very toxic influence in his life. Always sticking her nose in, stirring up trouble. Laura had defended her sister, but he wondered if deep down she wondered if she’d picked the short straw in the sister pool of life. Grace was one hell of a control freak.

Of course, he’d heard people say the same about him, but that was different. He had a business to run. People who relied on him to get things done right, and that meant the first time.

“I still think you could have saved the marriage.”

Grace’s silky words hit his back and, temper spiking, Bishop edged around. He set his hands on his hips to keep from making fists.

“First, redundant observation, Grace. There isn’t a marriage anymore. Second—” steam rising from his collar, he strode back “—are you trying to have me think you want Laura and me to get back together? Because I’d sooner believe in the Easter Bunny.”

Fingers unlacing, Grace found her feet, too. She always came across as so damn perfect—hair, nails, prissy platinum blond French roll. He’d love to rattle her cage, but this wasn’t the place. Already, interested people were staring.

“You’re wrong,” Grace said, “if you think I want to see Laura unhappy.”

Grace wasn’t interested in anything but being right. “You never wanted us married.”

“I didn’t want you to marry so soon. You both needed time to think things through. You didn’t give yourselves a decent chance.”

“And you’ve been gloating about that ever since.”

Her head tilted as her gaze searched his. “Have you considered using this time in a positive way? This might be an opportunity to do things differently. To listen to her this time. Try to understand.”

Bishop only glared. Even now she was trying to manipulate. Grace knew nothing. She hadn’t lived in their home during that turbulent time. He’d done his best. From the start, when Laura had said she’d changed her mind and wanted to have a baby of their own rather than adopt, he’d tried to understand. Their downfall wasn’t due to his behavior but to Laura’s conscience; she’d made the wrong decision and had never gotten over it.

Her hopeful look dissolving, Grace sighed.

“I’ve said goodbye to Laura.” She collected her handbag and headed toward the wing’s exit. “Take good care of her.”

He almost called out; where the hell did she think she was going? Grace had always been so ready to ingratiate her presence into Laura’s life before. Now, when Laura really needed her, she was walking out? But the question marks on their curious audience’s faces roped back any choice words. As uncomfortable as this would be with his ex, having Grace around would only make the situation ten times more difficult. If Laura’s parents were alive, he was certain they would step up, but both her mother and father had died long before Laura met him.

Like it or not, this was his problem, as well as Laura’s, to work through.

Resigned, Bishop returned to the private hospital room. When he entered, Laura was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rotated back. Her delicate face was pale. Clearly she wanted to go to him, but after his earlier reticence, she hesitated.

“I spoke with the doctor,” he said.

“And?”

Bishop considered his reply. He thought about Grace’s opinion—a second chance—then the doctor’s remark regarding rare instances. Might Laura never regain her memory? Could this accident give them another shot at their relationship? After all the anguish, a full year apart, was there any piece of him that even wanted that? He didn’t love her. Not anymore. Too much water under that bridge. For now, however, he could only take one step at a time.

Willing the bite of tension away from between his shoulders, he came to her, offered his hand, and innocent hope flickered bright in her eyes.

“Get dressed,” he said with a small but encouraging smile. “The doctor says we can go home.”

An hour later, as Bishop steered up that familiar spiraling mountain road, Laura gazed out the window, a warm smile tugging her lips. She wanted to roll down the window and enjoy a good long lungful of that fresh, clean air. The glorious cloud-wisped sky, those endless forests of eucalypt and pine, so many colorful birds swooping between branches … Everything looked somehow brighter.

She’d loved this part of the Blue Mountains countryside from the moment Bishop had first driven her to his estate two weeks after they’d met. Now, almost six months on, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Or being with, and loving, anyone else. Although …

Laura stole a curious look at the driver.

Bishop looked somehow different this afternoon. Tired from a busy week at the office most likely. Worried about her, of course. But she hadn’t noticed those fine lines branching from his eyes before. And he’d seemed so distant all the drive here. She didn’t need to be Einstein to know he was avoiding the subject she’d brought up in the hospital. He didn’t want to discuss the possibility of renegotiating what they’d decided upon before taking their vows.

That night four months ago, when he’d suggested adoption as their safest bet, a rush of emotion had stung her eyes and hurt-filled tears had brimmed. But he’d assured her that he was only being practical. Sensible. Yes, he understood that her own condition was easily managed, but there was no guarantee that a child might not inherit a more severe form of cardio impairment. Surely the most important thing, he’d said, was to be together and raise a healthy baby. An adopted child.

She’d respected his concerns—still did—but she’d come to realize that he needed to respect her feelings, too. Feelings that weren’t about to go away. From as far back as she could recall, she’d wanted her own family, particularly in her late teens after her parents had passed away. She had her Arts History and Literature degree—her parents had been big on education—but her dream was to be a homemaker, a good wife and great mother. She wasn’t career-minded in the twenty-first century sense, and she didn’t care who knew it. She wanted to bestow upon her children the same kind of love and support she’d known and valued growing up. Never had she considered the possibility of raising another woman’s child.

But she did want a healthy baby, and she most certainly wanted to marry Bishop, so she’d agreed to his suggestion. Over these past months, however, the weight of that decision had pressed on her heart like a stone. More and more she’d begun to believe there must be a thing as being too cautious. It was far from certain that any child they conceived would inherit her disorder. And there was always medication and a simple operation to implant a defibrillator to regulate the heartbeat if need be. Of course, if a child were severely affected, more involved surgery might be needed. A pacemaker. Even a transplant.

But in this age of high technology and information, parents-to-be were aware of so many frightening things that could go wrong in vitro. Then there were the concerns surrounding keeping a child safe later on, from disease and accidents and predators. But most people didn’t let those fears beat them. A husband and wife hoped for the best, knowing they’d be there for one another, no matter what.

As long as she was fertile—and there was no reason to believe that she wasn’t—she wanted to try. The reward would be well worth the risk. Was she wrong to want what so many women longed for?

A child of her blood. A child of her own.

Deep in thought, Laura absently ran a hand over the car’s armrest, and then something odd struck her. She’d been so caught up in memories and today’s events, she hadn’t noticed until now.

“You didn’t mention you were getting a new car.”

Bishop’s eyes, beneath their aviator sunglasses, didn’t leave the road. “Willis negotiated a good lease on the Land Rover.”

Her mind wound back but didn’t hook onto anything. She shrugged. “Willis who? I don’t remember you mentioning that name before.”

“Haven’t I? He’s my assistant. New assistant.”

“What happened to Cecil Clark? I thought you said he did a good job. He seemed nice enough at that charity dinner we went to last month.”

“He … got another offer.”

“You should have matched it.”

His voice dropped. “Sometimes you just have to let people go.”

Four-wheel drive tires crunched as he braked at the top of their lengthy gravel drive. Rather than one of the four garages, he’d parked in front of the house, a sprawling ranch-style dwelling cut into the hillside. Both inside and out, the house combined tasteful luxury with a homey rural feel—enormous individually crafted open fireplaces, large yet cozy bedrooms, two massive home offices, a fully equipped gym with sauna and indoor pool for laps.

On Sundays, Laura served eggs Benedict on the eastern porch and together they would watch the southern hemisphere sun climb higher toward the far-stretching haze of mountains to the west. Even more she loved what came after coffee … returning to bed to savor her delectable, insatiable husband.

Touching the small bandage above her temple, Laura frowned and thought back. Had they enjoyed their ritual this Sunday past? She couldn’t remember.

Bishop swung out of the driver’s side and performed his usual courtesy of opening her door. Together they moved up the slate-paved steps that led to the lofty teak and glass paneled entry door. Halfway up, he paused to clear his throat and rattle the keys awkwardly in his palm.

“My, uh, house key must be on my other set.”

“I have mine.” She didn’t recall grabbing her bag before leaving for the hospital—silly, but she couldn’t even remember this bag. Still she dug in, rummaged around, fished out a set of keys … but then her eyes rounded and she froze.

Horror slow-dripping through her veins, she rotated her left hand one way, then the other as panic fisted tight and fierce inside of her.

“My rings,” she got out. “The nurse must have taken them off before the scan.”

Common sense said her diamond-studded wedding band and magnificent princess-cut engagement ring must be filed away at the hospital somewhere safe. Clearly it was an oversight that they hadn’t been returned before they’d left. But the staff would have records. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t get them back. Still she couldn’t loosen the suffocating knot in her chest. She felt naked without them. Somehow so vulnerable.

Standing on the expansive veranda, with the sun arcing toward the towering eucalypt trees behind, Bishop took a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”

He’d said it kindly enough but it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’d been resting all day. Still, the truth was that suddenly she did feel tired, and a few degrees off balance. Maybe she should swallow her pride and do as he asked. Lie down.

But not alone.

She twined their fingers and tugged until the back of his hand pressed against her heart. She hoped her teasing grin was persuasive.

“You look like you could use a rest, too.”

Emotion flared in his eyes, hot and cold at the same time. “I didn’t have a fall today,” he reminded her. “You did.”

Her heart dropped. He sounded so … detached. But unlike earlier in hospital, this time she knew why. Of course he wanted to be with her. Of course he wanted to caress and kiss her. But safety-first Bishop was determined not to go against professional advice. During the drive home, he’d made a point of repeating the doctor’s instructions that she ought to take things easy for a day or two. Still …

“You know something?” She moved closer until their hands lay flat between them like pressed flowers. “I can’t think of a better way to relax than making love with my husband.”

As if infused by a sudden rush of blood, a cord rose and pulsed down one side of his throat. His chest expanded on a giant breath and that odd emotion in his eyes flared again.

“We’ll go inside.” His free hand opened the door. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”

“Champagne?” she asked, trying hard not to sound hurt by his flat tone as he herded her in. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”

“Tea, iced or hot.” He shut the door and walked past. “In a couple of days we’ll see if you still want champagne.”

Three

When Laura relented and took herself off to bed, Bishop sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

She’d tried to corner him into joining her in the bedroom, but he’d dodged another bullet, albeit with a minimum of skill. He only hoped his ex-wife’s memory returned before either of them had to endure that kind of farce again.

In her mind, they were married. Married couples enjoyed conjugal intimacies, and he and Laura had been intimate often. What bothered Bishop most now was how strongly his body responded to the possibility of holding Laura close. Naked. Loving. His again.

As she disappeared down the wide hardwood hall, gait slow, head down, Bishop shoveled a hand through his hair and threw a glance around. Same furniture, same stunning yet homey fireplace. How many times had they made love before the flames he’d stoked there?

After several moments remembering back … wishing something, somewhere, had turned out differently … he bit down and wheeled toward the door.

His hands bunched at his sides. The urge to walk out was overwhelming; he could only see this ending badly. But he couldn’t leave. At least not yet. If Laura’s inability to remember lasted beyond Sunday, however, he’d fabricate a business trip and organize assistance … a nurse perhaps. Or Grace would need to make arrangements. Until then, he was stuck.

But he wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs. He might be away from the office, his apartment, but he could still get some work done.

He brought his laptop in from the car and without much thought, moved into his former home office. He let his eye linger over the heavy rosewood furniture, the maroon couch, his Rubik’s Cube and the framed photograph of Laura that, remarkably, still sat on the polished desk. He moved forward and let a fingertip trail the cool silver frame.

Hell, he thought she’d have demolished this room and every reminder in it the first chance she’d got. Which led him to thoughts of her “lost” wedding rings.

They weren’t at the hospital. She’d probably flushed them or tossed them in the fireplace, as he’d done with his band a raging moment before he’d slammed the door shut on this place forever. Or believed that he had. But his stay here this time would be short-term. After the long drawn-out business that had led to their separation, the shorter the better.

Settling into his chair, he connected with Bishop Scaffolds’ server and brought up some recent specs. New dies were under discussion but he wouldn’t commit until he was certain the designs were exactly right.

With a background in engineering, he’d always enjoyed a natural affinity with machinery. Routinely he checked presses, calibrations and product tolerances. It wasn’t unusual to find the boss manning equipment should a worker be called away or need a few minutes off. This past week, after listing the company, he’d spent more time than usual in the factory where equipment was manufactured, stored and dispatched. He considered himself as much a part of the working machine, a cog in the wheel, as his employees, every one handpicked and valued.

But maintaining a manufacturing presence in Australia was a tricky ball to juggle. The uncertain slope of the Aussie dollar against other currencies, the force of reduced labor prices in neighboring countries, plus the quality versus cheaper options argument kept Bishop on his toes. The threat of any company folding to the sum of those pressures was real.

When he’d lost a couple of key contracts not long after his and Laura’s split, an unsettling sense of doubt had clung to him. He’d never failed at anything of real consequence, but if he could fail at something as important as his marriage, might he not fail in business, too? If he began second guessing himself, losing his edge, maybe it was time to get out and hand over the business to someone who had the mind-set to keep it strong. He wanted to be that man, but then he’d also wanted to keep his marriage solid.

He went into a few emails but found he couldn’t focus. Visions of Laura’s toned form, tucked under a light cover in the bed they’d once shared, had seeped into his mind and now he couldn’t shift them. Images of her chest softly rising and falling and the way her hair splayed over her pillow while she slept were glued in his mind. He thought of how perfectly her mouth had fit under his—how everything had seemed to fit—and for one frightening moment, he battled a tidal wave urge to stride down the hall and join her.

Growling, he pushed back his laptop and glared at the ceiling. Dammit, he’d never wanted his marriage to end. He’d fought to save it. But no matter what Grace thought about second chances, he’d be an idiot to entertain such a crazy idea. He was here because he had no choice. Laura would get her memory back and then they could each forget this episode and get on with their individual lives.

Laura woke with her heart hammering in her chest. The room was quiet, the walls stenciled with soft-edged shadows. The green numerals on the side table read 2:04.

Shivering and feeling inexplicably alone, she tugged the covers higher. Then she remembered Bishop and her smile warmed her right through. Carefully, she rolled over, reached out in the darkness … and that warmth dropped away.

The space beside her was cold and empty. Why hadn’t Bishop joined her? Because he worried about her bandaged head? Didn’t he know that his embrace was the only medicine she needed?

Well, if he didn’t know, she’d simply have to go and tell him.

After wrapping up in a long, soft robe, she padded out into the hall. Outside Bishop’s office, a wedge of light shone on the timber floor. Frowning, she huddled into the robe’s warmth more. He was working at two in the morning?

She headed off but stopped in the doorway, her heart melting at the sight. Bishop was sprawled out on his Chesterfield couch, an ankle hung over the far armrest, one foot on the floor, his left forearm draped over his eyes. He’d taken off his shoes and trousers, and his white business shirt was undone to his navel. The steady rise and fall of his beautiful big chest told her he was sleeping soundly. Familiar heat sizzled through her. God, how she loved him. How dearly she wanted him. And there was another feeling swirling through her blood … one that was strangely difficult to pinpoint or analyze.

She missed him. Missed him like she hadn’t seen him in years. The knowledge left her with a hollow ache in her chest. A chunk cut out of her heart. But she surrendered to a self-deprecating smile. He’d been away from their bed half a night. How would she cope if he left her for a week? A month?

She wriggled her toes on the cool floor. She wanted to go to him, wrap him up under her robe, rub her leg over the hard length and rouse him. Despite doctor’s orders not to overdo it, if her hands were to knead his body and she poured words of love in his ear, surely he’d relent and make love.

Or would he be unhappy with her? He worried so much about her health.

She was still making up her mind when the ridges of his six-pack suddenly crunched and Bishop woke with a start. Driving back a breath, he sat bolt upright as if a monster had chased him out of a dream. His gaze shot to the doorway, to where she stood. His dark hair was mussed and his bronzed legs beneath the white shirt looked as strong as steel pylons. The tips of Laura’s breasts hardened against the gentle fabric of her robe. How she longed to trail her fingers up over that steel, every blessed inch of it.

His blue eyes focused then narrowed slightly as they raked the lines of her body. A pulse began to beat in his jaw at the same time his eyes grew lidded and she knew he was visualizing the curves and valleys he loved to touch and taste.

Then he scrubbed a hand over his face and, shaking himself, sat straighter. His voice was thick from sleep.

“It’s late. Go back to bed.”

“If you come with me.”

He held her gaze then looked to his desk. “In a few minutes. I have some things to wrap up.”

She crossed the room, sat down beside him and gave him a level look.

“We can’t avoid it, you know.”

He leaned back the barest amount. “Avoid … what?”

“We need to talk.”

She put her hand on his thigh. He promptly removed it.

“Not in the middle of the night.” He pushed to his feet and, grabbing his hand, she pulled him back. He had the strength to resist, but a yielding expression touched his mouth, his eyes, and slowly he lowered back down.

“When I was old enough to understand about my condition,” she began, “that I would need to be careful about overexertion and such—I felt … different. My parents made sure every teacher knew which activities I could or could not do. Once, when we were short on numbers, Mrs. Carols insisted I moved off the sideline and team up for the 500m relay. When he found out, my dad hit the roof. He threatened the principal’s job and demanded an apology from Mrs. Carols as well as from the school.”

Bishop’s brows had knitted. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I want you to understand that I know better than anyone what I’m asking of you, of myself and of any children we have.”

As if he were considering her words, his gaze lowered. He saw his buttons undone and, deep in thought, he began to rebutton. “Laura, it must be close to three o’clock—”

“Junior school was lonely sometimes,” she plowed on. She didn’t care about the time. She needed to say this and he needed to hear it. “I couldn’t do cross-country or horse riding at camp. Kids can be cruel and some laughed behind my back. A couple even called me a cripple.”

Redoing the final button, his hands fisted in his shirt. “I wish I’d been there.”

“I had good friends too, though. We ignored the girls who needed to make themselves feel taller by bringing someone else down. Then university happened and the entire world didn’t need to know anymore. I was just like everyone else. A year after graduation, I met you.”

A small smile hooked one side of his mouth. “That night I kept you up talking till dawn.”

Smiling, too, she turned more toward him. “Eight weeks and one day later, you proposed. When you still wanted to marry me after you learned about my secret, I didn’t think anyone could be more lucky … or more in love …” Her gaze dipped before finding his again. “Even if you didn’t quite understand how deeply I felt about conceiving and having our own child. After I agreed we would adopt, I tried to deny it to myself.”

He broke their intense gaze and cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She touched the square bandage on her head. Feeling a faint throb coming on, she surrendered with a nod. It was enough for now that she’d opened that door a little wider. Tomorrow they would talk more, and when he realized how much carrying and giving life to her own child meant to her—when he accepted that history didn’t need to repeat itself, hers or his—he’d come around. He loved her, and love could surmount any obstacle.

She found her feet and put out her hand. “Coming?” His gaze slid to her bandage and she grinned. If he thought he’d get away with another excuse, he was mistaken. “Or we can stay up and finish this conversation now?”

He stood. “You win. But remember, you’re taking it easy.”

She looped her arm through his and guided him toward the door, toward their bedroom.

Beside the bed, she slipped out of her robe while he unbuttoned his shirt again, which seemed to take an inordinately long time. When she slid between the covers, feeling sexy in the lacy negligee she’d donned when she’d first lain down, she watched as his gaze filtered over her in the golden glow of lamplight. Snuggling into the pillows, she slipped back his side of the covers.

“On my honor,” she said, half-serious, “I promise not to ravage you.”

A moment later, the mattress dipped as he moved in beside her. Lying on his side, resting on an elbow, he searched her eyes. Then he brushed a curl from her brow and said, “I promise the same.”

The next morning, a world of birds’ calls dragged Bishop from a deep sleep. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes, but before he could piece together the previous day’s events, he recognized the room, the unmistakable crisp smell of mountain air. He also recognized the angelic form asleep beside him.

Laura lay on her back, her silky hair splayed around her head like a halo. One thin black strap had fallen off her shoulder. Beneath the lace bodice, he saw the rosy tips of her breasts.

Desire—thick, fierce and hot—plunged through his system, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head and most definitely everywhere in between. On reflex, he reached to cup her flawless cheek but thankfully in time he set his jaw and forced his hand away. It was bad enough that they’d slept in the same bed last night. When he’d promised not to take her, Laura had no idea how serious he’d been. But when she’d curled into him, how could he stop her? Or the acute physical arousal that had kicked in.

Clamping his eyes shut, he’d forced himself to think of anything other than her faint jasmine scent and the satin feel of her negligee … of her skin. He had no idea how long he’d lain awake, forcing himself not to stroke her back or brush his lips over hers.

Now he was fighting the same merciless war. The urgent pulsing in his groin said to forget honor and let his palm slide over all those gorgeous contours. The arousal fueling his erection demanded that his mouth glide down and taste her breasts, her hips, the honey between her legs. He imagined her dreamy sigh as she woke slowly, then her fingers winding through his hair as her hips arced and the trapped pounding in his blood found its release. He thought of her climaxing once, twice, and the possibility of them spending all day in bed.

Hardening more, Bishop swallowed a tortured groan. He’d better get out of this room before he convinced himself what he wanted was not only natural and necessary, but appropriate.

Quietly, he eased up and pushed to his feet. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, which brought another problem to mind. What would he wear over the weekend? Perhaps a quick trip into Burniedale, the nearest township, was in order.

He glanced at his watch.

The shops were two hours from opening yet.

Behind him, Laura stirred but when he turned to study her, she didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, the corners of her too-kissable mouth were curved into a heavenly smile. The doctor had suggested he wake her every few hours and ask routine questions, but she’d been fine four hours ago. She looked so peaceful now, perfectly healthy but for that small bandage above her temple. He wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, when she was asleep he wasn’t walking on eggshells, wondering when and how the memory pennies would begin to fall.

A few minutes later, he stood in his office, collecting his BlackBerry off the desk. He checked his messages and found another from Willis.

Where the hell are you?

Bishop headed outside. Where was he? Living in a time warp where the woman he’d once loved—who had once loved him—couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him in this house, let alone in her bed. The bigger, far more dangerous issue was, as difficult as it was proving to be, he needed to remember that, too.

Moving out onto the eastern porch, he siphoned in a lungful of the fresh morning air. The birds were deafening. Living in the city heart this past year he’d forgotten how loud they could be. But it was a relaxing and at the same time invigorating noise. Another thing he’d missed. Something else he’d tried to forget.

He thumbed in Willis’s quick dial and, phone to ear, waited for the call to connect. He’d swung a hip over the wood railing, was watching a hand-size echidna and its porcupine quills trudge into the brush, when Willis picked up.

“Are you in the office already?”

Bishop’s gaze skimmed the dense forest of gum trees. “I’m nowhere near the office.”

“Did you take care of whatever it was that dragged you away early yesterday?”

“It’ll be sorted by Monday.”

“Good, because I promised these potential buyers you’d speak with them then. I’ll get a confidentiality agreement then talk to Saed about putting together the documents they’ll want to see.”

Bishop listened to Willis’s plans while he examined the weathered stump he’d once used to chop logs for the fire. When Willis finished, Bishop absently agreed. “Sounds good.”

Two beats of silence echoed down the line. “You don’t sound as pumped as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m pumped,” Bishop argued. “I just didn’t think we’d get any nibbles this soon.”

“This isn’t a nibble, Sam. It’s a walloping great bite. The agent said the interested party is none other than Clancy Enterprises.”

Bishop let out a long low whistle. “They own half the companies on the east coast.” Manufacturing as well as retail.

“We’re talking serious money and, if we can go by their track record, we don’t have a whole lot of lead time. These guys move fast.”

A family of wild ducks, two adults, four chicks, waddled out from behind a boulder. Bishop shifted his position on the rail. “How fast?”

“Just sign the on the dotted line fast.”

A touch on his shoulder sent Bishop’s heart lurching to his throat. Jumping off the railing, he spun around. Laura stood before him, wrapped up in that fluffy pink robe, the tip of her nose already red from the morning air’s cool kiss.

Her gaze homed in on his phone and she stepped back, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

As if calling from another world, Bishop heard Willis’s voice coming down the line. “Sam? You there?”

“That’s okay,” he said to Laura, thinking how young and fresh she looked, the same age she’d looked when they’d married. The bitterness he’d seen a year ago seemed to have left her face completely. “I was finishing up.” He set the phone back to his ear. “We’ll talk later.”

Willis didn’t ask questions, which was part of the reason he was paid so well. Willis knew when to push. He also knew when to back off.

Laura hunched and hugged herself, snuggling into her robe. It might be spring but up here the mornings still got mighty chilly.

“Must have been something urgent to be calling at this time?” she asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

But a line had formed between her brows and her gaze had gone from his face to his chest and lower. She shook her head slowly and Bishop braced himself. Something had clicked. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t seen him on this porch in over a year. Or something he’d said, or his tone, had set off a memory. If it all came flooding back, he could be gone in two minutes. He’d simply find his shoes and be on his way. He had no desire to hang around and argue, which seemed to be all he and Laura had done those last few months.

Her head slanted to one side. “Why are you wearing yesterday’s shirt?” Her frown eased into a reproving grin. “Anyone would think you don’t have a change of clothes.”

What could he say? He didn’t live here anymore. He wouldn’t find any clothes in what had once been his wardrobe. If he’d gotten to the shops in time and had bought a couple of shirts …

But this kind of thing was bound to happen. He wouldn’t try to explain. He’d simply show her his empty wardrobe and let her memory take it from there.

So they walked back inside the house, down the hall, back into the bedroom, and while she pulled up the sheets to make the bed, he stood before his former wardrobe doors. Holding himself firm, he eased out a long breath.

Do it. Just do it.

His fingers curled around the knob. And pulled.

What he found inside left his legs feeling like rubber. His jaw dropped, and he stepped closer.

Clothes hung from the rails. But not just anyone’s clothes. His clothes. Suits and shirts, trousers and jeans. He held his brow. This didn’t make sense. Yes, he’d left everything behind. He’d had clothes enough back at the Darling Harbor apartment. He didn’t need anything here. Didn’t need anything to remind him.

But he’d assumed that once he’d gone Laura would have bundled up his clothes and shipped them off to charity. Or burned them. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of all this like she’d gotten rid of him?

“Need some help?”

Her voice, coming from directly behind, found a way through the fog. A moment later, her palms were sculpting over his shoulders and arms. As the contact lit fires all through his body, instinctively he leaned back into her touch. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and as her grip hardened on his upper arms, he closed his eyes and tried to stay lucid.

“Of course, we don’t have to wear anything at all,” she purred, and her hands filed down his arms, arrowing over his hips, finally finding and wrapping around the weight confined beneath his trousers.

A whirlwind of darkest desire spiraled through him. His hand covered hers and pressed in as his mind went deliciously blank but for the need to have her again. To drown in her kisses and fill her with his—

Coming to with a jolt, Bishop pried her hand away. Clamping down on the frenzied heat racing through his veins, he turned to her and forced his mouth to curve into a breezy smile.

“You’re certainly persuasive.”

“And you are dying to say yes.” Her gaze heavy with want, she reached up on tiptoe and tugged his bottom lip with her teeth.

A fireball shot to the top of his inner thighs and ignited a very short fuse. When she drew a line around his unshaven jaw and her mouth opened over his, Bishop shuddered and leaned into her kiss. With lava flooding his veins, every cell in his body cried out for more. Then her mouth opened wider, inviting him in deeper. Wanting to possess her, his hands found her shoulders and drew them in.

She tasted the same. Felt the same. And now he knew he was the same hungry man who craved to be with his wife.

She hummed in her throat and the vibration released bright-tipped sparks in his belly that unleashed an inferno a few inches below that. Instinctively, one hand left her shoulder and searched out her breast. As his touch grazed the soft, pert mound, his tongue dipped deeper, running over hers, and any sense of right or wrong vanished beneath the blistering force of mutual need.

Her hands were fanning beneath his shirt, but when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, she found his other hand and set it low on her belly. His fingers speared down. She wore no panties. He felt her damp and ready beneath the satin of her negligee. Pushed to his limits, he groaned against her lips.

“This always felt so right.”

“Make love to me, Bishop,” she murmured back.

“You don’t know how much I want to.”

“Oh, but I do.”

He felt her grin against his lips as her palm slid down his side and the pressure built to flashpoint.

He was ready to forget that this wasn’t real … was ready to drop her back onto the bed and enjoy what she offered in a very real way. And yet …

Still holding her, he sucked down a breath and, struggling, got his thoughts together.

“I … think we should stop.”

Her tongue ran along his bottom lip. “Don’t think.”

Good God, but someone had to.

Gritting his teeth, he pried her a little away. “The doctor said—”

“I don’t care what the doctor said.”

“Listen to me,” he growled. “We aren’t doing this.”

Her head came back and she probed his eyes for a long searching moment. “Is it because you think I’ll ask you not to use protection? That I want us to make a baby now?”

Well, that was as good an excuse as any. Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin. “Let’s cool down, have a shower—”

Her eyes flashed. “Fabulous idea!”

“—alone. We’ll have something to eat. You must be hungry. And later …” Later? He promised, “We’ll discuss it.”

And they would. If any conversation could bring her around—bring them both around—it’d be one highlighting the risks associated with her falling pregnant.

Four

Thirty minutes later, Laura’s high-pitched cry, coming from the bedroom, sent the hairs on Bishop’s scalp standing on end and his feet hurling him out of his chair. His heart belting against his ribs, he tore through the open glass sliders, slammed through the main sitting room and bolted down the hall.

What the hell had happened?

When Bishop had stepped out of the shower earlier, he’d heard the main bedroom pipes still running. Laura loved her baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.

After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.

Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.

Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather … excited.

“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”

He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”

“These.”

She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.

“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”

He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off …

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.

But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then she’d hiccupped back a sob and said that she meant it. That he could pack his things and leave. Leave now. She couldn’t take this anymore and neither could he.

“Now it’s the weekend you can wear yours, too,” she was saying.

He came back to the present and his frown deepened. She was talking about his wedding ring?

“I understand you can’t wear it during the week,” she went on. “I know how you like to keep your hand in at the factory and accidents can happen. Rings can get caught. But on the weekends …” She bounced up and snatched a kiss from his cheek. “It’s only you and me.”

Over a year ago, he’d left his wedding band here. Actually, he’d thrown it in the fireplace before he’d stomped off. He’d always imagined that she’d built a roaring fire and had happily watched the gold circle melt into a shapeless blob. So how was he supposed to assure her that he’d wear it now?

But then her other hand came out, fist closed, palm up. When her fingers peeled back, the gold band he’d tossed into the fireplace a year ago gleamed up.

His heart lurched up the back of his throat. Dumbfounded, he shook his head. It couldn’t be.

Carefully, he collected the ring and inspected the inscription inside. Always and Forever.

His voice sounded as if it’d been dragged through molasses. “Where did you find them?”

“Where I always put them,” she said, studying both her rings and the gold band lying in the centre of her palm. “In my jewelry box.”

His stunned gaze went from the ring to his wife’s—his ex-wife’s face. Her jewelry box? Had she dug the ring out of the fireplace after he’d gone? There was no other explanation. And yet whenever he thought about the hurt and frustration, how he’d believed every loaded word that she’d said—

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” she asked.

Bishop opened his mouth, ready to say no way. The divorce was done and dusted, no matter what she might think. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a way out. He could hedge but what would that accomplish? Only suspicion on her part. Agitation on his.

She’d remember soon enough. Until then …

He gave a stilted nod, lifted his left hand and Laura held the band over his fingertip, ready to push it on. For a moment his thoughts wavered. What does it matter? Then, This has gone far enough. But then the ring pushed up over his knuckle and Laura’s eyes were sparkling all the more.

Grace had implied this might be a second chance. The idea had seemed absurd yesterday, particularly coming from his arch nemesis. And yet this morning, being back in this house, spending the night in that bed, having this ring on his finger …

Bishop shook himself.

No. It was crazy. Not possible.

Not happening.

“What would you like to do today?”

His gaze jumped from his finger to her beautiful animated face. The lilac-colored top she wore was cut tastefully but, to his current way of thinking, provocatively low.

He swallowed deeply. “What did you have in mind?”

“Want to teach me to play chess? You said you would.”

He’d already taught her and she’d proven a quick study. He’d thought about letting her win a couple of times, but she was too clever to fool that way. She’d vowed that she’d beat him fair and square one day. If they sat down at that chessboard now, would she remember the moves he’d taught her, or had that part of her memory been wiped clean, too?

He ushered her into his office, to the chess set he’d left behind. “What do you know about the game?”

“There are bishops.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Right.”

“White moves first.”

“Right again.”

Maybe she did subconsciously remember their lessons, which, most likely, meant she would remember more. And that was good, right?

He twirled that band around his finger—still a perfect fit—and sat behind the black. She took the chair behind the white.

He tapped the piece sitting directly in front of the black king. “This is a pawn.”

“They move one space at a time.”

“Only forward.”

“Except when taking a piece, then they move diagonally.”

“Perhaps we should do away with the lesson and start a game.”

She laughed and the sound tinkled through him. “Oh, Bishop, everyone knows that.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know the castle—”

“Rook.”

“—gets to move across and up and down. That the horse is the prettiest piece and the queen is the most powerful.”

He relaxed back in his seat. That was more like it. “That doesn’t sound very technical.”

“Tell me … is it as difficult to play as everyone says?”

“Only if you can’t guess the other person’s move before they make it.”

He knew what came next in their game … every step, every misfire, after she’d let him know she’d changed her mind and wanted to conceive their own child, irrespective of any health concerns.

No matter the challenge he’d met it head-on, strategized, worked out the kinks and had always stayed one step ahead. Except where their marriage had been concerned. And that black mark had always stung. Always would.

Unless …

Puzzled, Laura was looking over the board. “Know the person’s move before they make it? How are you supposed to do that?”

He shaped two fingers down the sides of the black queen. “By skill,” he said, “and luck. And sometimes even by accident.”

When Bishop had to take a phone call midway through their first chess lesson, Laura decided to stretch her legs. She headed off to the kitchen, poured a drink and told herself that getting a handle on the basics of the game shouldn’t be too difficult. And once she was up to speed, no doubt Bishop would enjoy the competition.

She’d spent time playing cards whenever she’d been in the hospital in the cardio ward—sometimes with the nurses if she couldn’t sleep, more often with the other kids. But, before yesterday’s incident, she hadn’t spent time in a hospital bed in years. She’d had a defibrillator fitted and was on a low dosage medication, which kept her well.

The condition had been passed on through her mother’s side. An aunt had died unexpectedly in her teens and that’s when the family had been tested and the condition diagnosed. But Laura suspected that Bishop’s own family history had as much, if not more, to do with his pro-adoption stand.

He’d been the twin who’d survived and she didn’t need to ask if he felt guilty about it. Bishop had told her briefly about the story surrounding his birth and the subsequent death of his baby brother. When she’d tried to delve deeper, he’d withdrawn, other than to say he’d heard enough about it from his parents growing up. Laura had envisaged a boy fighting not to be overshadowed by his mother’s and father’s ongoing grief. But Arlene and George Bishop had seemed pleasant enough, even welcoming, at their wedding. They’d said how proud they were of their only son and that they wished they lived closer; they’d moved clear across the country to Perth five years ago. But they intended to keep in touch and had asked that the newlyweds do the same. Laura got the impression there wasn’t so much of a rift between parents and son as a gradual drifting apart that had, over time, come to be accepted.

Conversely, she and Grace had been so very close, to each other and to their parents. The sisters were devastated when first their father had died in a vehicle accident then cancer had taken their mum—a melanoma discovered too late. But as much as the sisters still figured in each other’s lives, it was no secret that Bishop thought Grace wielded too big of an influence over Laura.

But what was too much? They were close, always had been. Grace had her own family—a four-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl—but she’d always let Laura know she was welcome in her home at any time for any reason. If Grace had been a little outspoken about her concerns before the wedding, it was because she believed no one loved and cared for her sister more than she did.

If Bishop’s twin had lived, perhaps Bishop would better understand the sisters’ situation. They said twins shared a special connection. Maybe Bishop was somehow aware of that connection and missed it more than he knew.

When she’d finished her ice water and Bishop was still on the phone, talking about the sale of something or other, Laura decided to take in some fresh air. She’d had enough of chess for one day.

Outside, the sun spread a warm golden hue over the spires of the eucalypts and pines. She peeled off her cardigan and, marveling at their balance, studied a koala and her baby dozing high up in the fork of a tree. Beyond that clump of gray-green trees lay the rock bricks and planks that made up the northern footbridge.

Her stomach gave a mighty kick. She winced and slid her foot back.

The fall—before and after—she couldn’t recall, but it’d be a long while before she crossed that bridge again. Had she been trying to see something over the edge? Had a lizard scuttled up and scared her from behind? Had she slipped on the dew—

A flash—a fuzzy freeze frame—flicked on in her mind. The image … She couldn’t hold on to it long enough, but the residue of the pain hit her first in the lungs and then lower. Holding her belly, she flinched. When she opened her eyes, her brow was damp with perspiration. She eyed the bridge, shuddered to her toes, and promptly set off in the other direction.

She was headed toward the gazebo when Bishop caught up. The planes of his face were hard in their naturally attractive way, but his blue eyes shone with relief. His hands caught her bare shoulders and urged her near. The heat of his touch, the sincerity in his eyes, left her feeling warm and loved all over.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said in a low, graveled voice. “I was worried.”

“It looked so beautiful out here and I didn’t know how long you’d be on that call. It sounded important.”

His hands slid down her arms then dropped away altogether. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he answered. “I’m thinking of selling the company.”

Laura’s breath caught. She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He was so proud of what he’d built from scratch. He had plans to expand even more.

“When did this happen?”

“I’ve been mulling over it for a while.”

But selling his company was unthinkable. He was so ca pable and responsible … still she had to ask the obvious question. “Are you in financial trouble?”

He began walking down a slate path lined with gold and lavender wild flowers. “Just thinking I might want to try something new.”

“Do you think you’d be away from home more often? Not that it would matter,” she added quickly. “I’d be okay. It’s just if you were … well, I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. Someone to keep me company through the day.”

He nodded slowly, considering. “I think a dog is a good idea.”

“Really?”

He smiled. His eyes were so bright in the spring sunshine, they glittered like a pair of cut jewels. “We’ll do some research.”

The urge overtook her. She threw her arms around him and kissed his bristled cheek. She loved his weekend shadow, the sexy roughness against her lips, the graze when he gifted her one of his delectable morning kisses.

“For some reason I thought you’d say no.”

“What will you call him?” he asked, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as they continued down the sweet-smelling path that led to the gazebo. The white lattice was patterned with a riot of cardinal creeper blooms, deep vibrant scarlet in color. Beautifully fragrant, too.

“I’d have to see him, or her, first,” she told him. “I’ve never thought you could name a member of the family until it arrived.”

On their way up to the gazebo platform, his step faltered and Laura gnawed her lip. As lead-ins went, it’d been a clumsy one, but they had to talk about it sometime.

When he sat down on the surrounding bench, she positioned herself close beside him and folded a fallen lock away from his brow.

“I don’t want us to be afraid of what might go wrong,” she said, “when it has to be better to think about everything that can go right.”

When he only looked away, Laura chewed her bottom lip again. After considering her next words, she delivered them as carefully as she could.

“I know it must have been hard when your brother died.”

“We were newborns,” he said, his brow creasing as he found her gaze. “And that has nothing to do with us.”

“I was only trying to talk—” But the line of his jaw was drawn so tight, his eyes suddenly looked so shuttered. Knowing when to back off, she ordered her locked muscles to relax. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Bishop drove a hand through his hair and groaned. She was dead-on. He didn’t like discussing his twin. It dredged up feelings he’d rather not entertain. Feelings of guilt and helplessness and, the real kicker, loss.

But looking at Laura and her bowed head now, Bishop felt something inside of him shift. They’d never really talked about it during their marriage. If she wanted to discuss it now, hell, maybe he ought to. Perhaps something would tip off her memory and he would be on his way—out of the damnable bittersweet mess.

“We were identical,” he began, letting his threaded hands fall between his open thighs. “I got most of the nourishment before we were born. The other twin—”

“Your brother.”

“—died four days later.”

“And you feel bad about that.”

He felt an urge to explain that it wasn’t his fault. That was life and his parents had never held it against him. But they had been the half truths he’d told her the first time.

Hell, his parents had made him live through that time every birthday, every Christmas, first day of school, on Easter egg hunts, at graduation. If only your brother were here. How sad your twin isn’t at your side today.

Okay. He got it. He respected their regrets and dedication to the son they’d lost. But just for once in his life he’d have liked to achieve and be noticed without mention of that incident.

He blew out a breath and admitted, “Yeah. If ever I think about it, I feel … bad.”

Laura was nodding. “My mother felt bad about passing on her heart condition. Until I told her I was so grateful she had me and if the price was having a metal bit in my chest and taking some medication, that wasn’t too high.”

“But when you were conceived your mother didn’t know the risk.” He and Laura had been aware. Therefore they’d had a duty to act responsibly.

“I’m glad my mother didn’t know about her condition,” Laura said. “And she admitted she was glad she didn’t, either. She always said her children were her life.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. What mother wouldn’t be proud to have such a beautiful daughter? And Grace? Well, Grace might be a witch but, after her comment yesterday about second chances, the vote was out. Even if it was too little too late. He wished they’d had her support when it mattered.

“And all this,” he said, getting to the heart of the matter, “is leading up to the fact that you want to have a family the old-fashioned way.”

Her eyes glistened with innocent hope. “I really do.”

The last time they’d had this conversation almost two years ago, he’d agreed. Laura had been thrilled and within weeks had confirmed her pregnancy. It should have been all rainbows and happy families from there on in.

Far from it.

He didn’t know which had been worse. Watching his mother trying to hide her pain for years after his brother had died, or going through Laura’s pain after her miscarriage. If he’d stuck to his guns and had said it was adoption or nothing, would she have told him to go? Or would they be happy now with a healthy baby, a healthy past, present and, hopefully, future?

“So … what do you think?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to shut down the conversation once and for all, but then he saw the hope swimming in her eyes and the steam went out of his argument. He held his breath, considered the options.

There weren’t any.

“I think …”

Her lips curved up. “Yes?”

“I think we need to think about it more,” he ended.

Her smile wavered and her eyes dulled over, but then the disappointment faded from her expression, replaced by the inherent optimism he’d always loved.

She pointed her white-sandaled toes out and flipped them prettily in the air.

“The Nutcracker’s playing in town,” she said, changing the subject. “Tonight would be sold out but I wonder if we could get tickets for tomorrow.”

The ballet?

The last time they’d gone they’d had an argument. One of his more notable clients and his wife had witnessed the scene. Bishop wasn’t a fan of tutus and tights at the best of times. After that night he’d sworn never to sit through another Fouetté en tournant as long as he lived.

Sensing his reluctance, Laura let her toes drift down. “I know ballet’s not your thing …”

“No, it’s not. But it is yours,” he added.

Going to Sydney tomorrow evening would leave them with another twenty-four hours in this environment. If a few lightbulbs went off … if he were lucky … Hell, they might not get to the ballet at all.

Five

Before Bishop drove off to the nearest shops to get a few provisions, Laura had sussed out whether he needed condoms. She’d already checked the bedside drawer where he always kept them, and he didn’t need to stock up. There was plenty of contraception on hand.

That was okay. She’d only broached the subject of them falling pregnant yesterday. Getting her husband to come around to her way of thinking—the way that put faith ahead of doom and gloom—might take a little doing. She could wait. She and Bishop had too much going for them to let this difference get in the way.

She baked some pastries and had sat down at her laptop in her office when Bishop returned. She swung around in her high-backed chair as he moved up and lifted her face to him, waiting for a kiss hello. He searched her eyes for a long, heartfelt moment, then lowered his head and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek.

A band around her chest pulled tight. He’d avoided kissing yesterday, last night. But for that peck, he hadn’t kissed her at all today, and she wasn’t happy about it. Rather than sounding testy or upset, however, she thought she’d go for teasing.

“Hey, I didn’t hurt my lips when I fell.”

Before he could see it coming, she caught him around the neck and brought him back down. Her mouth zeroed in on his with the precision of a ballistic missile. His lips were slightly parted, and she made certain to take advantage of that, too.

She aimed to kiss him swiftly but thoroughly, and as her mouth moved over his, her fingers kneaded the back of his strong, hot neck. There was a second of resistance on his part when she thought he might jerk away. But then a growl rumbled from his chest up his throat. The vibration tingled over his lips, ran over her tongue, then he was kissing her back.

The connection didn’t last long enough. Just when she was thinking a trip to the bedroom might be in order, his hands found her shoulders and he pushed himself away. Before he could prattle on about doctor’s orders again, she spoke up.

“I had it wrong,” she told him.

An emotion she couldn’t name darkened his eyes as he slowly straightened and those broad shoulders rotated back. “What have you got wrong?”

“The Nutcracker’s not playing. It’s Swan Lake.”

That emotion flickered again and then his brow furrowed and his voice deepened more. “Swan Lake.”

Understanding his tone, she tilted her head. “We don’t have to go.” Frankly, after that kiss she’d be more than content to stay in. But he surprised her.

“No, we’ll go,” he said, his gaze shifting from hers to the computer screen. “I’ll never forget the last time we went.”

Laura cast her mind back. “We’ve only been together once. Just before we were married.”

“I could’ve sworn we’d gone again after that.”

He looked so earnest, she coughed out a laugh. “Was it that bad? Sounds like you had nightmares about men coming after you in tights.”

His gaze dipped to her lips and he smiled softly. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it.” He thrust his chin at her chair. “Shift and I’ll book.”

“What? My Amex card isn’t as good as yours?”

“Just trying to do the gentlemanly thing and pick up the tab.”

As if he ever let her pay for a thing.

Lifting out of the chair, she thought about kissing him again. But she’d let him book and then they could get back to … business.

“In that case, guess I’ll go occupy myself in the kitchen.”

Deciding on which outfit to wear to the ballet—her Lisa Ho cream wraparound or that new season black sequined jacket with a classic little black dress—Laura hummed as she made her way down the wide central hall and into the well-equipped kitchen.

She liked to cook—roasts, Thai, experimental appetizers, mouth-watering desserts. Her mother had always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Laura could vouch that her husband certainly enjoyed his home-cooked meals—almost as much as he enjoyed making love.

And after dinner she would remove the bandage from her head and persuade her husband that tonight the doctor didn’t know best. She’d rested long enough.

Entering the kitchen, she was a little taken aback at how many grocery bags lay on the counters. Seemed Bishop had stocked up. He usually left the major shopping to her. She stacked the fridge and the pantry then flicked on the oven to warm half a dozen bakery scones. Tomorrow she’d whip up a fresh batch herself.

She slid open the cake tin drawer, dug in to select a tray but, as she reached down, her mind went strangely blank. After a moment, she remembered what she was after and shuffled again through the pans. But where was her favorite heating tray? Straightening, she stuck her hands on her hips and glanced around the timber cupboard doors. Where on earth had she put it?

Of course it was no big deal. Definitely no need to worry Bishop with the fact that her memory was foggier than she’d first realized. Just little things, like wondering at the unfamiliar brand of toothpaste in the attached bath, or pondering over leftovers in the fridge that she had no recollection of cooking.

A rational explanation existed for it all, Laura surmised, wiggling out a different tray for the scones from under the hot plates. Things were a little jumbled, but they’d sort themselves out soon enough.

When she arrived back at her office, brandishing two cups of steaming coffee—one black, one white—Bishop had a different webpage open. She caught a glimpse of the images—bundles of fur with cute black noses and gorgeous take-me-home eyes. She gave a little excited jump and coffee splashed onto the tray.

“Puppies!” Eyes glued to the screen, she set down the tray on a corner of the desk and dragged in a chair. “I was thinking maybe a cocker spaniel.”

Elbow on the desk, he held his jaw while scanning a page displaying a selection of breeds. He grunted. “Aren’t they dopey?”

“They’re soft and gentle and a thousand times cuddly.”

“Maybe something bigger.”

“You mean tougher.”

He collected his mug and blew off the steam. “You haven’t got too many neighbors around here,” he said and then sipped.

“We haven’t got too many neighbors,” she corrected. What was with this you business?

He set down the mug, turned back to the screen and clicked a few more searches. “Maybe a Doberman.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely, but I can’t imagine snuggling up into a powerhouse of muscle and aggression.” She ran a hand down his arm. “Present company excluded.”

“They’re supposed to be very loyal,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her compliment, and pictures of dogs with gleaming black coats, pointed ears and superkeen eyes blinked onto the screen. Laura’s mouth pulled to one side. Sorry. Just not her.

“Did you have a dog growing up?”

He clicked on a link and a list of breeders flashed up. “A golden retriever.”

“Guide dogs.”

“One of the breeds used, yes.”

“Can you tap that in?”

A few seconds later, images of the cutest, most playful puppies on the planet graced the screen and childlike delight rippled over her. Her hand landed over his on the mouse and she scrolled down for more information. Nothing she read or saw turned her off.

“They’re so adorable,” she said as Bishop slipped his hand from beneath hers and covered his mouth as he cleared his throat. “They look like they’re smiling, don’t you think? I can definitely see us with one of those.”

“Good family dog,” he read from the blurb. “Gentle temperament. Prone to overeating, shedding and joint problems.” Obviously uneasy, he shifted in his seat. “One of my foremen spent over two grand getting his cat’s broken leg fixed. Bad joints mean huge vet bills.” He clicked the previous page back. “Let’s look at Rottweilers.”

She grinned. It wasn’t about money. “I don’t want a guard dog. I want a companion. A personality that will become part of our family.” And would eagerly welcome new members in. “Just tell me … do you still like retrievers?”

“Of course.”

“Then if we both want a retriever and somewhere down the track he needs some medical attention, wouldn’t you rather have what we really want than settle on something which may or may not have other problems? There are risks everywhere, Bishop. Risks in everything.”

His jaw jutted, but the dark slashes of his eyebrow quirked. While he considered, Laura folded her hands in her lap. She’d made her point. She was talking about far more than which dog to buy.

“But we don’t have to make a decision today,” she ended in a placating tone. “There’s no hurry.”

“You’re right.” He clicked on the top right-hand X and the puppies disappeared. “No hurry at all.”

The phone rang. Not his cell phone this time. Which meant there was a good chance the call wasn’t about business. Maybe Kathy from the library. They’d been talking about starting a literacy program for over-fifties.

Trying to recall what their last discussion had outlined, Laura pushed back her chair but Bishop was already up.

The bbbbrrr-ring of the phone ripped through to his bones, as unsettling as a bank alarm. Moving quick, his hand landed on the extension.

During his drive to the shops earlier, he’d considered the phone and the problems surprise calls could cause. If one of Laura’s friends contacted her, it wouldn’t take long for inconsistencies to rise and questions to flare in both parties’ minds. Laura didn’t need to be backed into a corner, faced with a reality that seemed Hitchcock-esque given what she could and could not remember. Prodding was far different to someone knocking you for a complete loop during a phone call.

Driving back, he’d decided to intercept calls, not to keep Laura from her friends and others who cared, but to forewarn of the situation and ask that they tread lightly for now. Eventually, Laura would check emails. Oddities like Swan Lake playing rather than The Nutcracker would become more obvious. Dates wouldn’t mesh, like the dates he worried she might see on the web when trying to book those tickets. Soon there’d be questions. Ultimately, as she needed to know and was ready to hear, there’d be answers.

But for now …

His hand still on the receiver, he said, “I’m expecting a call.” Then to divert her, “Is that scones I smell warming?”

Leaping up, she cursed and sprinted out. “I forgot.”

Waiting until her padding down the hall quieted, he answered the call. He should’ve known who it would be.

“How are things going?”

He exhaled and a measure of his tension dissolved. Grace.

He ran a finger over a tiny crystal clock. “Not as bad as I thought.”

“She hasn’t remembered?”

“Not a thing that I can tell.”

“I should probably come up and see her.”

Or not.

“That’s up to you.”

“But you’d rather I stay away.”

Smirking, he pushed the clock back. “You can read me like a book.” He liked as much distance between himself and Grace as possible.

“But she’s happy?”

He imagined Laura in the kitchen she loved, drawing the scones from the oven then finding those special little spoons she saved for serving jam. She made the best jam.

He surrendered to a smile. “Very happy.”

There was a long pause. Bishop could imagine Grace smoothing her French roll. “I hope she’ll understand when this is all over.”

“Depends on who ends up sticking around. This Laura or the one who couldn’t wait to see the back of me.”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Bishop’s heart squeezed to his throat and he spun around. Laura held a tray with scones, whipped butter, jam and those tiny silver spoons. From the open look on her face, she hadn’t heard too much.

He hoped his smile didn’t look manufactured. “Your sister.”

Her eyes rounded playfully and she stage whispered, “You’re having a conversation with Grace?”

“About your condition.”

“My fall?” He nodded. “If it gets you two talking at last, it was worth it.” Setting the tray down, she accepted the phone. “Hey, Grace. How’re you doing? Oh, I’m fine.” She gave Bishop a wink and angled toward the window view. “Better than fine.”

Unable to pass, he dabbed some homemade jam on a scone and bit into the doughy sweetness. Grace would keep Laura on the phone for a while. He didn’t need to listen in.

He wandered out from her office, his gaze skimming the same surrealist paintings that had frequented the hallway walls when he’d left. Further on, he took stock of the kitchen, its polished granite benches and gleaming utensils that Laura had taken such pride in when making those superb dinners she whipped up seemingly out of thin air.

He stopped beneath the ornate arch that led to the main living room. Same chintz couches, crafted timber furniture and grand fireplace, which they’d spent so many evenings cuddled up in front of, she reading a bestseller, he browsing over papers from work. In the beginning they’d felt so relaxed together and yet the steady thrum of excitement had always been there, too. A buzz that not only connected them, but drew them irreversibly, magnetically near.

Those were the best days of his life.

His gaze inched along the knickknacks on the marble mantelpiece … silver candlesticks, some ballerina figurines, a cup she must have accidentally left there. His eye line drifted higher. Then his heart stopped beating.

Their wedding photo was gone.

And why wouldn’t it be? This was her house. They’d lived separate lives for over a year. His bet was she’d used the photograph as fuel for the fire. But then she’d kept his clothes and wedding ring. Maybe the photo was stored away, too.

More immediately, what would this Laura say when she realized the picture she adored was missing?

He swung an urgent glance around. Should he hunt in some cupboards, try to find and hang it back up before she noticed? Or would seeing the photo missing press a necessary button to jump-start her memory?

Although what had just happened between them should have sent up some flags.

The inevitable had happened. He’d kissed her. Or rather she’d kissed him. And he hadn’t stopped her. But for a brief moment of “what the hell?” he hadn’t even tried.

He’d mulled over how it would feel should he relent. Strange? Pleasant? Knock-your-socks-off fantastic? Check box three. And now, God help him, he couldn’t help thinking about later, because Laura was going to want far more than lip service tonight.

“I was thinking I might come up and see you tomorrow,” Grace said down the line while Laura made herself comfortable in one of the winged armchairs positioned beside a window view in her office.

“I’d like that, Grace, but Bishop and I are going into Sydney. The ballet’s on.”

“You’re going out? Do you think that’s wise?”

“Oh, Gracie, not you, too!” How many times did she need to tell people she was fine? A bit of a foggy memory didn’t count.

“Learn to live with it,” Grace returned. “I care about you.”

Laura laughed softly. “I got that.”

“Will Bishop be staying in town?”

“Tomorrow night? Why do you ask?”

“He’s a busy man. I thought he might want to stay down rather than drive out again Monday morning to the office.”

“I don’t think so.” Laura concentrated on the chess piece, thinking back. No, she was certain. “He didn’t say he would.”

“How is Bishop?”

Laura put on a suspicious tone. “Why this interest in Bishop all of a sudden?”

“Just making sure he’s treating my little sister right.”

“Always and always.”

“Really?”

A prickle of annoyance rolled up Laura’s spine and she held the receiver tighter. “Grace, I know you thought we married too soon. And maybe you were right,” she admitted, knowing she’d thought the same herself yesterday in the hospital. “Maybe we should have waited a little longer to iron things out. But we love each other. That’s what gets a couple through.”

“I take it you’re going to tell him you don’t want to adopt?”

“I brought it up yesterday.” And again today. “We’re going to work it out, Grace.”

Her sister sighed down the line. “Oh, sweetheart, I hope you’re right.”

Six

Laura cooked a roast dinner with all the trimmings and rosemary cream gravy. When Bishop took himself off to his office after dessert, Laura steeled herself against disappointment. He was avoiding her. Or, rather, avoiding that touchy subject.

But as she finished packing the dishwasher and headed off for a shower before bed, she put herself in her husband’s shoes. Analytical. Methodical. He was divorcing himself from her until he thought she was completely well, as well as settle in his own mind the conundrum of adoption versus conception. If he thought she needed rest and he needed to be left alone, she would accommodate his wishes.

Up to a point.

As she’d told Grace, they were going to work this problem out. And if he didn’t want to talk … Well, she’d simply have to grab and hold his attention some other way.

Before her shower, Laura removed the bandage from her head. She fingered the raise and shadow of a bruise in the gilt-framed vanity mirror. Barely a scratch. No sign of a headache. Quite honestly, she thought she ought to have done more damage given the six-foot distance off the bridge to the river rocks she must have landed on.

After a long, hot shower, she took care drying off, dabbing Bishop’s favorite talc powder in all the right places, then slipping into the negligee she’d worn on their honeymoon in Greece. She mustn’t have worn it since then. She’d found the mauve silk pushed to the back of her drawer behind other negligees.

Moving into the bedroom, she glanced at the clock: 8:43. She filled her lungs and, confident, sashayed down the hall.

But a few moments later she discovered that Bishop wasn’t in his office. She found him out on the eastern porch, leaning against a column, seemingly counting the stars, and given tonight’s luminous night sky, there must be more than a trillion.

Crossing to stand behind him, she filed her hands around his waist and set her cheek against the broad expanse of his back. His unique scent filled her lungs, burrowed under her skin. Her eyes drifting shut, she circled her nose over his shirt between his shoulder blades and imprinted the smell … the moment … onto her memory forever.

He must have heard her coming. He didn’t move when she embraced him. Now, however, as her fingers trailed up his shirtfront and her palms ironed over his ribs, his hands covered hers and tightened around them.

“It’s chilly out here,” he said in that rich, smooth voice she loved.

She grinned against his back. “I hadn’t noticed.” Then she twined around and stood between her husband and the view of slumbering mountains. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off by placing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to hear about doctor’s orders. I’m not cold.” She threaded her arms around his middle. “Not while you’re near.”

As a breeze rustled through the leaves, in the shadows he focused on her brow. “You’ve taken your bandage off.”

“I’m hoping to take off more than that.” She found his hand and shaped his palm over her shoulder until the strap of her negligee slipped down. Then she angled her head to press a lingering kiss on the underside of his wrist. “I love you so much, Bishop,” she whispered as her lips brushed his flesh. “So much … sometimes it hurts.” She dropped tender kisses on his palm then on each fingertip in turn. “How long has it been since we made love?”

He exhaled. “Too long,” he said.

Arching her neck back, still holding his hand, she skimmed his fingers down her throat. “I feel as if you haven’t held me in an age.”

Without her help, his hand continued over her shoulder then down the line of her back until it reached the rise of her behind. Laura sighed as the million sparks zapping through her blood caught light. Humming out a smile she grazed her lips over the hot hollow at the base of his throat and placed his other hand on her breast.

“Bishop, take me to bed.”

As she pressed softly into him, familiar, simmering heat condensed high in his thighs.

Bishop grit his teeth but, although he knew what he ought to do, he didn’t release her. His hold—on her breasts, on her behind—only increased while in his gut he felt an almighty battle raging, a war so fierce, the pull of yes-no threatened to tear him apart. If he did as she asked … if he took her to bed … they would each win and both lose. They wanted this, they’d always been electric together in the bedroom, but this time there’d be a heavy price to pay.

Unless her memories of that time before were lost forever.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, Bishop searched her eyes and challenged himself again to do what Laura would want him to if she could only remember. But all he could see was pure clean love glistening in her eyes, pouring from her face. At this moment, she truly loved and believed in him. If he made an excuse this time it would only hurt her. And yet, if he complied …

Breaking, Bishop groaned and brought her closer.

What the hell. If she got her memory back during the night, she could hang him in the morning.

His head dropped lower and as his mouth claimed hers, he swept her up in his arms and headed inside. When he reached the foot of their bed, he released her lips and set her gently on her feet. While his pulse hammered through his veins, his gaze drank in the heavenly sight of her standing in the moonlight flooding in through the bedroom’s ten-foot-high windows.

She raised her arms and, understanding, he folded the light fabric up in his hands and eased the negligee over her head. Before the silk and lace hit the floor, his head had lowered over hers again. He felt her dissolve in his arms as she happily, completely surrendered.

Laura trembled inside and out as her hands wandered over the granite of his chest and muscled sides. Then, only half aware, lost in the kiss, she was helping him tug the shirttails from his belt, unbuttoning the front, winding the fabric off his shoulders, down his arms. His kiss was so skillful, thoughtful, and at the same time, demanding. An avalanche of stirring sensations … of memories … rained down and filtered through her. When his mouth left hers to feather a tingling path over the sensitive curve that joined shoulder to neck, the energy, already so strong, multiplied. Intensified.

Laura’s head rocked back.

She reveled in the feel of him. Her senses reeled at his clean male scent. As her palms sculpted over his shoulders and biceps, her mind visualized those hot mounds of steely flesh—how she loved to cling to them when he thrust above her—and she smiled.

His thumbs rubbed mesmerizing deep circles high on her arms as his mouth trailed her collarbone then dipped lower until the warm wet sweep of his tongue twirled and teased one nipple. Every atom of oxygen in her lungs evaporated. Gasping back air, she drove her fingers through his hair while tiny brush fires flashed and ignited through her veins. And the slow burn only grew, second by second, with every heartbeat and breathtaking loop of his tongue.

Light-headed, she tugged at his belt and murmured into the shadows, “We don’t do this enough.” His teeth nipped and tugged the bead at the tip of her breast and she sighed. “In the beginning we’d spend entire weekends in bed.”

“I remember,” he groaned, then drew her deeply into his mouth.

He’d heeled off his shoes. Now he tugged and stepped out of his trousers. When he hooked her under each arm and laid her upon the bed, she moaned with barely contained anticipation and delight. Like a big cat on the prowl, on all fours he edged up until he hovered over her. His head slowly dipped to kiss her mouth, her brow, the shell of her ear, as her back arched higher and his erection throbbed and grew.

“Should we flick back the quilt?” she asked between breath less kisses and running her leg over his. “Get beneath the covers?”

His palm, large and slightly rough, scooped under her hip. In a slow, languid movement, his muscular body grazed up against hers, drawing an urgent gasp of want from her lips. His knees nudged between hers. When his tip found her moist … silky, swollen and ready … he grinned against her parted lips.

“I’m good,” he said, and eased in more. “How about you?”

In answer, her pelvis tilted up at the same time his came down and he drove three parts in. The thrust hit a hot spot so bright she gasped for air. Her nails dragged up over rippling tendons as she swallowed loving words from his mouth. Making love with Bishop had always been wonderful, but this time …

This time was something beyond incredible. With the iron ruts of his abdomen grinding against her, his mouth sipping from her throat and strong fingers curling through her hair she felt consumed by a blanket of heat. The burn lifted her to a place no woman had ever flown to before. He felt so deliciously heavy on top her … so delectably, alarmingly male.

Smiling into the shadows, Laura held tight to the feeling.

He still wanted her. Of course he did. The same insatiable way she wanted him.

The slow, steady friction soon turned to leaping flame. As the energy—the raw imploding power—built and pulsed, she clung to his arms as her muscles contracted around him and every particle shivered, focusing on the indescribable magic awaiting her only a heartbeat away.

Perspiration slicked his skin; he slid and ground against her, making her burn wherever they touched. A rumbling groan sounded in his chest and in the shadows she saw him set his jaw. And then, without warning, he rolled away.

Working for breath, it took a few seconds for her to realize he wasn’t coming back. She pushed up onto her elbows, worried.

“What’s wrong?”

Stretched out on his back, out of breath, he laced his fingers over his brow. “We need protection.”

Protection?

Laura fell back. She wanted to say just this once, couldn’t they forget it? But there wasn’t a chance he’d listen to that. Unprotected sex could result in an unwanted pregnancy. Unwanted on his part, anyway.

So she waited for Bishop’s side drawer to open, for her husband to reach in and fish out a foiled packet from the place he always kept them. But he didn’t move. Not an inch. And as the stillness eked out, the cool in the room compressed and settled upon her.

He’d been so insistent. After being concerned about her welfare last night and today, finally he hadn’t wanted to stop long enough to pull back the covers. And yet now …

She pushed higher. “Bishop, what’s the matter? They’re in the drawer, right there beside you.”

Another few seconds ticked by before he rolled onto his side away from her. Laura watched the long powerful line of his silhouette moving, heard the drawer slide open then his grunt.

She sat up a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Condoms. They’re there. A whole pack.”

Grinning, she brushed her lips against his shoulder. “We don’t have to use them all in one night.”

“I just …” He shrugged and exhaled. “Never mind.” She heard him remove one before he turned back. Once again his mouth slanted over hers and instantly any chill was gone, replaced by the heat he so effortlessly brought out in her. The embrace intensified, the kiss deepened and the need to join in the most fundamental way grew again. When her palm filed down the hard trunk of his thigh, his own hand mimicked her move, curving down her spine then sliding between her legs. He began to stroke her, tease her, and as he kissed her thoroughly she knew this night wouldn’t end without that ticking bomb deep inside of her exploding at least once.

Teetering on the edge, she murmured against his lips, “I love when you kiss me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

As if she’d given the golden command, he began moving down, his mouth roaming, suctioning here and there, over her ribs, her belly, around the ticklish dip of her navel. And every kiss took her that much higher, drew her that much nearer. Had her falling that much more in love.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Bishop knew he’d lost the plot. When he’d found a box of sealed condoms in the drawer where he’d always kept them, he’d sent up a prayer of thanks then had plowed on. He’d expected Laura to have ditched the contraceptives long ago, but like the wedding photo and rings, she’d left them alone. Because she couldn’t bear to touch them? Because she’d secretly wished for her husband back?

Hell, at this precise moment in time, he was way too pumped to wonder.

He’d succumbed to Laura’s wiles and, God help him, he couldn’t regret it. Particularly now as his mouth trailed an unerring course over her flat stomach and lower. When he reached those soft, moist curls, his brain stopped working altogether.

While her hips slowly rotated, he nuzzled down. After dropping a few barely there kisses on her inner thighs, he got more comfortable and, using his fingers and his tongue, exposed more of her. Her sigh of pure pleasure heightened his own, and as he made love to her with his mouth—with everything he was or had ever been—he understood that this time was beyond compare. Because it was forbidden? Or because they’d denied each other for too long? He only knew she’d never tasted sweeter and his desire for her had never been stronger.

It seemed like he’d only begun when he sensed the intensity building inside of her. Wanting to give her an experience without equal, he held her hips while his mouth covered her and he did what he knew she liked best. Her spine pushed down and she trembled, barely noticeably at first. But as the rolls of energy grew, she began to shudder and moan.

He stayed with her, adoring her fingers bunched in his hair and the series of contractions that urged him not to stop. When she was still floating down, he moved away just enough to open that foil wrapper and rolled down their protection.

When he joined her again, her eyes were closed, her head was slanted to one side and a fan of fair hair was flung over her face. Sighing, she clung to him as he eased in.

With one arm curled over her head, he gazed down at her face, more beautiful than any woman’s alive. As he moved above her, found just the right rhythm, he wanted to tell himself to go slow. Make this last. Tomorrow he might not be welcome in Laura’s life much less her bed.

As the heat of the inferno licking through his veins intensified, so too did his pace. Still, as his lips traced down her cheek and he stole another penetrating kiss, he was certain he could hold out. This was simply too good to let go yet. But then she quieted and a heartbeat later bucked beneath him, peaking again and riding another orgasmic curl. The push was too much.

Murmuring her name, concentrating on the delicious burn and how glorious she felt surrounding him, he drove in again and jumped off into the firestorm that consumed him inside and out. As white-hot flames swirled though him, Bishop held on tighter and for the first time hoped she didn’t remember too soon.

The next morning Bishop sat on the eastern porch, gazing blindly out over the hills, listening to the early morning laughter of kookaburras and wondering what the hell had possessed him last night.

What had he been thinking? Sleeping with Laura once had been a bad idea. Sleeping with her again, and again, had to be moronic. Sure, it’d felt great. Unbelievably fantastic! But that wouldn’t save him when her memory returned and she demanded to know why he’d taken advantage of the situation like he had. Never mind that she’d as good as drugged him with her words and her touches and her smiles. When the real Laura returned she wouldn’t listen to a word of it. That Laura wasn’t in love.

No more than he was.

Nothing could obliterate the words they’d exchanged during their roughest patch. The things they’d said to each other would crush the worthiest of loves. It had certainly killed his.

But love aside, clearly he still had feelings for her. He was still smitten by her scent, her voice, the cute sway of her hips whenever she walked. Laura affected him at his most basic primal level. Even when he’d sworn he never wanted to clap eyes on her again, he’d been on the verge of forcing her to hush by kissing her senseless. There’d been a time after they’d split when he thought he never wanted to sleep with another woman, the tough times had affected him that much. Truth was, until last night, he hadn’t broken the drought. Although, he’d been heading that way with Annabelle.

His elbow on the outside chair armrest, he held his brow and rubbed his temple.

What was he going to do about that? He and Annabelle weren’t in a relationship, as such. They’d seen each other a few times. They seemed to like the same things, got each other’s humor and respected each other’s space. But after what had happened between him and Laura last night …

His hand dropping from his brow, he blew out a breath.

Clearly, he wasn’t anywhere near ready to even think about getting involved with Annabelle or any other woman.

Shifting his hip, he dug the cell out of his back pocket. A moment later the recipient’s soft voice drifted down the line.

He straightened in his chair. “Annabelle. It’s Samuel.”

“Sam? I was hoping you’d phone this weekend. You’ve been busy?”

“You could say that.”

As usual, she was understanding. “There’s still most of Sunday left.”

He cursed himself. He’d never felt more like a heel, but there was no way around it.

“Look, this is probably not a conversation we should have over the phone. But …” His gaze wandered over the bush, the gazebo, the setting that used to be so much a part of his life and seemed to be again for however long. “I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

“Something’s wrong?”

“I told you I’d been married.”

“Yes … you said it ended badly.”

“Thing is, Laura, my ex, had an accident Friday.”

He imagined Annabelle’s long dark lashes batting as she took that in and then her eyes widening as she made a likely assumption. “You’re with her now?”

“I took her home from the hospital.”

“You’re … patching things up?”

“It’s complicated.” He rubbed his brow. Really, really complicated.

“But you’re together?” Her tone was less fragile now.

He answered as honestly as he could. In a sense… “Yes.”

He waited as Annabelle no doubt composed herself. But she sounded calm when she spoke. Understanding, even. She’d make someone a great wife someday.

“Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”

“Except, I’m sorry.”

“Can I ask you not to lose my number, you know, in case things don’t work out?”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

But as he hung up, Bishop knew he wouldn’t contact Annabelle again. Not because things would work out between him and Laura; he was damn close to certain it wouldn’t. But because if they saw each other again, Annabelle would always wonder whether he was thinking about his ex. If he were in her position he might do the same.

Besides, Annabelle deserved someone who could offer her a future and Bishop hadn’t been after commitment even before Friday’s incident.

And so another short chapter in his life was closed, while the case of the amnesiac ex was still wide-open.

As he slotted the phone away, his nose picked up on an aroma that came from the kitchen. Butter melting in a pan.

It was Sunday. Tradition decreed they have brunch on this porch. Hash browns and bacon, pancakes and maple syrup, or their old favorite, eggs Benedict? No matter which, from experience he knew the meal would be mouth-watering.

Bishop moved inside, thinking how easy it’d be to slip back into this lifestyle … if Laura remained this Laura and they could work their issues out. But it was dangerous to think that way. Yes, he’d had the best sex ever last night with his ex. He knew no complaints would be coming from her quarter. But relationships were about a whole lot more than physical attraction and sexual gratification. If he’d understood that over two years ago, he’d have held off asking Laura to marry him.

He hated to admit it, but snooty Grace was right. He’d fallen in love so hard and so fast he hadn’t spared the time to think things through. Amazing, given his stellar track record regarding decision making.

He moved down the hall and as that delicious hot butter smell grew, so did his concern.

In sleeping with Laura last night he’d set a precedent. This afternoon they were off to Sydney, and she would expect them to make love again tonight. And he couldn’t deny that he wanted to do just that. More to the point, if she didn’t get her memory back between now and then, he knew that he would.

Seven

“Sam Bishop? Is that you?”

In response to the male voice at their backs, Laura pulled up at the same time Bishop swung around. A smile breaking on his face, Bishop offered his hand to the jovial-looking man striding up.

“Robert Harrington.” Bishop shook the man’s hand. “It’s been a while.”

Mr. Harrington, a rotund man in an extralarge dinner suit, arched a wry brow. “Enjoying the ballet, son?”

Bishop tugged an ear. “It’s … lively.”

The man chuckled as if to say he understood. Obviously, Robert Harrington wasn’t a Swan Lake fan, either.

Earlier, on the heels of their Sunday morning eggs Benedict tradition, she and Bishop had journeyed to Sydney and, after strolling around the Rocks, one of Sydney’s most historic harbor-side suburbs, had checked into their Darling Harbor residence, a five-star-hotel three-bedroom penthouse Bishop used if business kept him in the city during the week. Soaking up the sunshine on the balcony and watching the boat activity on the sparkling blue waters below had absorbed the rest of their lazy afternoon. They’d arrived at the Opera House with barely enough time to be seated. Five minutes ago they’d joined the rest of the Opera Theater’s glittering crowd to partake of refreshments during intermission.

Their seats could have been better, but Laura wouldn’t complain. It was the thrill of the experience she adored. Her mother had introduced her to the theater, in all its guises, at an early age. She’d dreamed of perfecting pointe work and pirouettes and one day starring in the Australian Ballet. But professional ballerinas were superb athletes; heart conditions, even mild ones, weren’t the norm. So Laura, along with Grace on occasion, had been content to enjoy a number of magical performances as enthusiastic spectators.

Laura wished Bishop shared her love of the art form, but she was only grateful he hadn’t bleated on about coming along; a lot of men might suggest their wives take a friend while they chilled out at a football match or poker game. But Bishop was one of the most supportive people she’d ever known.

That’s why she was certain they could work out this difference regarding how to start their family. When he truly understood how important having her own child was to her—when he evaluated the risks from a less, well, paranoid point of view—he would come around. He’d support her, as he always had. This time next year, they might even be singing lullabies to their firstborn.

Boy or girl, she’d be beyond happy with either. Or both.

Laura put those thoughts aside as she smiled a greeting at this middle-aged couple. Wherever they went, it seemed Bishop bumped into someone he knew. Why should a night at the Opera House be any different?

“You haven’t met my wife.” Robert Harrington turned to a lithe, graceful-looking woman. “Shontelle, this is Samuel Bishop. We had business dealings a year back.”

“Pleased to meet you, Samuel.” Shontelle’s pearl-and-diamond necklace sparkled under the lights as the chattering crowd wove around them. Laura waited. Bishop was usually prompt with introductions but, for once, he missed a beat.

Taking the initiative, she introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you, Robert, Shontelle. I’m Laura.”

While Shontelle returned the greeting, Robert scratched his receding hairline. “Laura … Sam, wasn’t that your wife’s name?”

Her cheeks pinking up, Shontelle delivered her husband’s ribs a silencing nudge.

But Laura only laughed. “Not was. Is.”

Robert’s eyebrows shot up and his smile returned. “Well, that’s great.” He clapped Bishop’s tuxedo-clad shoulder heartily. “Great to see you together.”

The two couples bantered on a few minutes more, then went their separate ways. She and Bishop found a relatively quiet corner in the bustling room, away from the heart of the glitter and constant clink of glasses.

Laura spoke over the rim of her champagne flute before she sipped. “That was strange.”

“Strange?”

She imitated Robert Harrington’s baritone. “Wasn’t that your wife’s name? Didn’t you think that was odd?”

Bishop raised his glass in a salute. “Guess we should get out more often.”

“You know what else is strange? I’ve lost weight. I’ve been the same weight for years but now this dress is big on me.”

“It looks beautiful on you. You probably just haven’t worn it for a while.”

She examined the fall of her red evening dress. The bodice was highlighted by black lace inlays and the back decorated with multiple ribbon crisscross ties, which she’d drawn tightly to compensate for her leaner figure.

“I wore it a month ago to that business dinner in Melbourne, remember?”

His chin lifted the barest amount. She could have sworn his eyes narrowed as his gaze roamed her face.

“What else do you remember?”

He hadn’t finished the sentence before that northern footbridge flashed to mind. Then she remembered the hospital, thinking that she was pregnant. She remembered the doctor, the test, the tears—

Laura sucked back a quick breath then, blinking into her champagne flute, frowned.

There hadn’t been any tears. She’d been disappointed that the pregnancy test was negative, but also grateful she hadn’t risked a baby’s well-being when she’d taken her tumble. She remembered being so happy to see her husband and wondering at his odd behavior … that Bishop hadn’t come and embraced her straight away. It had taken a little while for him to thaw, even when they’d gotten home. But last night, he’d been as loving as ever.

So why this gnawing, niggling feeling at the back of her brain all of a sudden? A wavering sense that something, somewhere, between them was missing? Robert Harrington’s curious comment hadn’t helped.

Wasn’t that your wife’s name?

“Laura, are you okay?”

Bishop’s deep voice hauled her back. He was looking at her intently, his brows drawn. And the bell was ringing, calling them back to their seats. Feeling off balance, she slid her flute onto a nearby ledge.

Was she okay?

Willing the faint dizziness away, she pinned up her smile. “Absolutely fine. I’m looking forward to seeing the rest of the ballet.”

As they moved back through the crowd, the bell ringing low and persistent, Bishop threaded his jacketed arm through hers. She always felt so proud walking beside him. People noticed her husband—not only his movie star looks, but that unconscious quality that radiated off him like crackling heat off a fire … a vibrant warmth that was inviting and yet also potentially dangerous. Instinct told people you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Samuel Bishop. Not that they would ever be on opposing sides. Their difference of opinion on how to start a family didn’t count. As she’d told Grace, they’d work that out.

“You didn’t have much for dinner,” he said as they climbed the carpeted stairs behind the slow-shifting throng. “We’ll order some supper when we get in.”

One part of her wanted to go straight back to the apartment, make love and then order a cheese platter and a fruity wine to savor throughout the night. Another part wanted to eke out as much of this dazzling evening as she could. Bishop was right. They did need to get out more.

“Let’s walk back to the apartment,” she suggested as they arrived at their gate. “We can stop for a bite on the way.”

He flicked a suspect glance at her red high heels. “In those shoes?”

Teasing, she bumped her hip to his. “These shoes deserve to be shown off.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, the bell stopped ringing and the theater lights dimmed. “Then shown off they shall be.”

Laura didn’t want to tell Bishop she hadn’t remembered buying the shoes … like that handbag … like forgetting she’d slipped off her rings before Grace had driven her to hospital. In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have mentioned she thought she’d lost weight. But they were trivial bits and pieces that would filter back in time. And when they did, no doubt this annoying niggling—that there’s something missing feeling—would up and fly away.

After the curtain had dropped and thunderous applause faded, he and Laura left the theater to stroll down the many Opera House steps, then along the boardwalk.

The night was mild and still bubbling with life—buskers strumming, tourists milling, night owls taking advantage of the round-the-clock restaurants. Laura was praising the prima ballerina’s performance in the last act when Bishop’s step slowed out front of an open-air café. Cozy tables dotted a timber deck that overlooked dark harbor waters awash with milky ribbons of moonlight. The coffee smelled out-of-this-world good.

“How are the heels holding up?” he asked. “Your feet need a rest?”

“I vote chocolate cheesecake.”

His gaze flicked from the dessert display window to her knowing eyes, and he laughed softly. She was well aware of his sweet tooth and he was aware of hers.

“With two scoops of ice cream?” he suggested.

Her hand in his, she tugged him toward the tables. “Done.”

He pulled out a chair for her by a roped railing, and a waitress took their orders.

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” Laura asked casually as she skimmed the ballet’s keepsake program for the tenth time. But despite the casual tone, Bishop knew she was already wishing the morning away. He’d worked long hours when they’d been married. Still did. She’d always dreaded Monday mornings when he left her to travel to his office in the city.

“Actually, I’m having a couple of days off.”

Her eyes popped. “You never have time off.”

“I’m sure I had time off for our honeymoon.” A glorious week cruising the Greek islands. Santorini, Mykonos. The days had been brilliant. The nights were even better.

“Honeymoons are compulsory as far as vacations are concerned.” Her finger, trailing his left jacket sleeve, ended its journey by circling that shiny gold band. Her voice took on a note of doubt. “Are you sure the company’s not in any trouble?”

“If it were, I’d be chained to my desk.” He poured two glasses from the water carafe. “Trust me, Bishop Scaffolds is stronger than ever.”

The worry, pinching her brows, eased and she raised her water glass. “Well, then, here’s to a good long sleep in.”

While she sighed over how romantic the twinkling bridge looked with a full yellow moon crowning its arch, Bishop made a mental note to text Willis; the boss wouldn’t be in until at least Tuesday. From there he’d take each day as it came. Willis was more than competent to handle the day-to-day grind. As for the parties who were inquiring about purchasing the company …

Bishop flicked out his napkin as the cake arrived.

If the potential buyers were keen, they’d wait a few days.

They’d each enjoyed a first succulent taste of slow baked heaven when an elderly gentleman sporting an olive green beret presented himself with a flourishing bow at their table. He carried a battered easel. Two pencils sat balanced behind one ear.

“Would your wife care for a portrait?” the gentleman asked with a heavy French accent.

Bishop smiled dismissively. He liked his privacy.

“I don’t think—”

“She’d love one,” Laura piped up, before sucking chocolate sauce off her thumb and sitting straighter. “She’d love one of the both of us.”

Out the side of his mouth, Bishop countered, “Do you really feel like posing for half an hour?”

“No posing,” Frenchie said, flicking out his squeaky easel and wedging the legs into the planks. “Eat, talk. Reminisce. While I—” he whipped a pencil out with a magician’s finesse “—create.”

“I know what we can reminisce about.” Laura’s foot under the table curled around his pant leg. Bishop imagined her red painted toes as they slid up his calf. “Those amazing days we spent together sailing the Aegean.”

He angled slightly down. Out of sight, his hand caught her foot and he tickled her instep. “How about that unbelievable night on Naxos?”

“Please, please. Sit closer.” Frenchie feathered a pencil over the paper then stepped back to inspect his work so far. “This, I know, will be magnifique.”

Bishop reveled in the sweetness of chocolate and honey vanilla while listening to Laura’s recollections of their honeymoon … what they’d eaten and when, the people they’d met, their private dance on their private balcony in the moonlight that last night. Curious that she’d forgotten their divorce yet could remember every sensual detail of the time directly after their wedding as if it were yesterday. While the Mediterranean breeze and their lovemaking had kept them warm, she’d whispered in his ear and made him promise to take her on a cruise every year.

In between mouthfuls of cake, they talked and laughed. Bishop was so engrossed in their memories of Greece that he’d almost forgotten about the portrait until Frenchie set aside his pencil and announced, “It is done!”

Now, in the shadow of the Opera House’s enormous shells, he dragged himself back to the present and reached for his inside jacket pocket.

“How much do I owe?”

Frenchie waved a blasé hand. “Your choice.” Then, obviously proud, he pivoted the easel around.

Laura’s hands went to her mouth as she gasped. “Oh, Bishop, it’s perfect.”

Bishop had to agree. It captured not only their images but the gay atmosphere of the night as well as their obvious affection for each other. It was like looking back in time.

“It was a pleasure to work with a couple so very much in love.” Frenchie beamed.

Laura’s eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight. “Does it show?”

“Like a comet,” Frenchie enthused with a grand sweeping gesture, “illuminating a velvet night sky.”

Laura’s expression melted and Bishop slid out a large bill. Frenchie might be a bit of a poet, but his description wasn’t much of an exaggeration. That’s how they must appear to others tonight. Head-over-heels newlyweds in love. While they’d talked and shared desserts it had felt that way, too. He would’ve liked nothing better to have sat here, like this, all night.

By the time they finished up, it was late, so Bishop hailed a cab and her feet in their gorgeous heels got to rest.

As they crossed beneath the crystal chandelier of their hotel’s grand marble foyer, the efficient-looking concierge—a different man from the one earlier today—glanced up from checking something behind his desk. A big grin etched across his face and he fairly clicked his heels.

On their way to the lifts, Laura commented, “Very friendly staff they have here. You should tip that guy for that special welcome home.”

His step faltered the barest amount before he slid over a smile. “It’s because you look stunning tonight.” With the portrait in its cardboard sheath under his arm, Bishop stopped before the bank of lifts and thumbed a key. “You’re glowing.”

The lift arrived and she moved inside, smiling at his compliment, but deep down holding herself against a faint stab. Glowing was a term often bestowed upon pregnant women. Before that doctor at the hospital on Friday had informed her that she was mistaken—that she wasn’t pregnant—she’d actually felt as if she were glowing, even with that scrape and bump on her head.

But she could well be glowing tonight. They’d had a wonderful evening out, and with Bishop playing hooky from office duties tomorrow, there were many more hours of “wonderful” ahead.

As the car whirred up to the penthouse floor, she leaned on Bishop to balance as she eased off one four-inch heel then the other.

Bishop took note. “You’ve shown them off enough for one night?”

Performing, she twirled a shoe around her finger. “Oh, this is only the beginning.”

His brows hitched and pupils dilated until the crystalline blue of his eyes was near swallowed by black. When the metallic door slid open, she sashayed out ahead, sandals draped provocatively over one shoulder. She heard his footfalls on the marble tiles behind her.

“Guess you’re not tired,” he said.

“You guessed right.”

They entered the suite, a vast cream, black and crimson expanse, furnished with clean lines and minimalist finesse. She cast her shoes aside. Unable to hold back a moment longer, she coiled her arms around his neck and tipped her mouth up to meet his.

The ballet had kept her occupied earlier, but when they’d sat by those sparkling harbor waters tonight, eating their cake and reliving those fantastic few days abroad after their wedding, there were times Laura had needed to bunch her hand in her lap to divert the energy she’d felt pulling her toward him. It was as if she were hooked on an invisible line and desperately wanting to be wound in … to let him kiss her with all the heat of emotion both their hearts could give.

In the cab home, crossing the hotel foyer, riding the lift, she’d wanted to do exactly this … let him know with a touch of her hand, the stroke of her tongue, that she couldn’t live without him. With his breathing deepening now, his bristled chin grazing rhythmically against her cheek and his arms locked around her, the hot need inside of her only grew. Like a bulb without spring sunshine, she could survive without Bishop, but she would never know such true warmth.

Such real love.

That would never change. No matter what challenges they faced, they would always have this. An insatiable, natural need to be close.

When he grudgingly released her, her heart was pounding so hard that the vibration hummed through her body all the way to her fingers and toes. Her hand filed up through the back of his hair as she breathed in the glorious scent he left on his pillow each morning.

“Know what I want to do?”

“How many guesses do I get?” His voice was low and husky with desire, his eyes lidded with want.

“How many do you need?”

“I’ll take one.”

Her palms splayed over the broad ledge of his jacketed shoulders as she pressed in against him. “What if you’re wrong?”

A lazy grin hooked one side of his mouth. “I’m not wrong.”

“So I don’t need to give you a hint?”

That lazy grin widened. “Hints are always welcome.”

“Well, then, first we need to take this off.”

She dipped beneath his lapels and scooped the jacket off his shoulders. His lidded eyes holding hers, he tossed the coat aside. She assumed a speculative look as her palms ironed up the steamy front of his shirt.

“And that tie needs to go, too,” she decided, tugging the black length free from beneath its collar.

Bishop asked, “What about cuff links?”

“Cuff links are definitely out.”

He managed the links while she saw to his dress shirt studs. When the last button was released, her touch fanned the steely ruts of his naked abdomen then arced up through the dark, coarse hair on his chest. She let out a sigh as her nails trailed his pecs before catching the shirt and peeling the sleeves slowly down.

Anticipating the moment, she quivered inside as she lightly pressed her lips below the hollow of his throat; the pulse she found there matched the throb tripping a delicious beat at her core. A cord ran down one side of his tanned neck. When the tip of her tongue tasted a trail up the salty ridge, his erection, behind its zipper, grew and pushed against her belly. Growing warmer by the second, she blew a gentle stream of air against the trail her tongue had left.

“Do you remember what we were wearing on the balcony that night on the ship?”

His hands were kneading her behind, rotating her hips to fit against his as he attentively nipped the shell of her ear.

“I remember what we weren’t wearing.” Cooler air brushed her back as he tugged on a ribboned bow and her bodice loosened. “Would you like to slow dance on this balcony tonight?”

Sighing, she ground against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A knock sounded at the door, then a call. “Room service!”

Laura’s stomach jumped while Bishop’s chin went down. He searched her eyes.

“We haven’t ordered anything, have we?”

“It’s a mistake.” Slipping back into the mood, she wove a hand up over the hot dome of one shoulder. “Ignore it.”

“It might be important.”

“Not as important as this.”

Falling back into the magic, she drew his head down and kissed him more thoroughly than the first time.

But the call came again. “Mr. Bishop, room service, sir.”

Groaning, Bishop unraveled her arms and headed for the door. “Remind me to hang the sign up as soon as he’s gone. Do. Not. Disturb.”

A bellboy with a sun-bleached surfer’s mop stood behind the door. He didn’t raise a brow at Bishop’s state of half dress but merely handed over a shiny silver bucket, its sides frosty and the well filled with an impressive-looking bottle as well as two chilling glasses.

“Compliments of the house, sir,” the young man said, then spun on his spit-polished heel with a cheerful, “Good night.”

As Bishop hung the sign then closed the door, Laura crossed over and read the note, penned on hotel stationery.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Bishop.” She shook off a laugh. “I was here just a couple of weeks ago, and a week before that.” Staring at the note, she cast her mind back then set the note down on the teak hallstand ledge. “We should send this back. They’ve made some sort of mistake.”

“Have they?”

She shot him a questioning look then shrugged. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Maybe there is.”

As he held her gaze, she sent him a dry grin. “Then I’d like to hear it.”

“Would you?”

Her jaw tightened and she crossed her arms. “Don’t do that, Bishop.”

“Do what?”

“That. Answer everything with a question.”

As Bishop’s eyes hardened—or was that glazed over?—an icy shiver chased up her spine. Feeling bad, foolish, she pressed her lips together. Her tone had been brittle. She hadn’t meant it to be. It was just that …

Well, first there’d been that Robert Harrington and his odd comment, then the concierge’s almost surprised reaction at seeing them, now this offering from the hotel management as if she’d been gone for years.

It didn’t make sense.

But she was aware of the look on Bishop’s face. Removed? Concerned? He thought she’d overreacted and he was right. Management had sent champagne. He was suggesting there was some good reason. Which was feasible. And unimportant. She was making more of this than she needed to. She was curious—puzzled—that’s all.

Pasting on a smile, willing the flush from her cheeks, she nodded at the bottle.

“Either way, it’s a nice gesture. We should thank them in the morning.”

Bishop moved past and carefully set the bucket on the coffee table. If Laura thought she was confused, he hadn’t a clue what he was doing or what he planned to do next.

Every step he’d taken since Friday afternoon had led to precisely this moment. Logical steps. Steps that had made sense at the time. Even making love last night. In his defense, he could put up a good argument for that. What man in his right mind could’ve refused? Particularly when it was this man with that woman.

When she’d waxed on tonight about how unbelievable their honeymoon had been, recreating all those images and feelings while they’d nibbled on cake, she’d accomplished something he would never have dreamed possible. She’d taken him back—really back—in time. He’d looked into her eyes, so animated and thirsty for life—for him—and, God help him, he’d only wanted to stay.

And that awareness made this situation—where they stood now—different than it had been last night, or this morning.

He hadn’t wanted to force any recollections back too fast, too soon. He’d tread lightly, initially, because he hadn’t known how to go about it, then because he’d liked to see her happy. Ultimately he’d liked feeling happy again, too.

He’d been very happy tonight.

Before the champagne had arrived, they’d been on the brink, about to make love again, and yet when she’d looked so frustrated and confused just now, he’d tried to force that memory door open again, and more than a crack. He’d pushed to try to make her remember. And he’d done it for a reason. A selfish reason.

If this happened—if they had sex, made love, came apart in each other’s arms—he wanted it to be real. Maybe if she remembered the past, the ugly breakup, while she was feeling the way she did about him now, the anger and pain would pale enough for them to be able to work something out. That’s all he’d ever wanted.

To work things out.

He folded down into the circular leather lounge, smoothed back his hair with both hands then found her eyes again.

“Laura, come here. We need to talk.”

“About what?” She crossed and sat close to him, her beautiful face wan, her emerald eyes glistening with questions.

“We need to make an appointment.”

“An appointment for what?”

“A follow-up. To get you checked out.”

She blinked several times then tipped away. Even laughed a little. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” She went to object and he held up his hands. “Okay. No more questions. Except one. And I want you to think about it before you answer.”

She searched his eyes and eventually nodded. “All right.”

“At the hospital, you said you thought you were pregnant. It is possible you were mixed up? That maybe …”

Not wanting to say it but needing to, he exhaled and reached for her hand. Gripped it tight.

“That maybe you’d been pregnant before?”

Her expression cracked—half amused, half insulted. As if she’d been burned, she pried her hand away.

“That’s ridiculous. For God’s sake, Bishop, I’d know if I’d been pregnant before.”

So adamant. Too adamant.

He swallowed against the ache blocking his throat. Out of anything he could have asked her—anything that would have set off a battery of alarm bells—that question had to have been it. And yet the only reaction he got was a disgusted look as if he’d called her a name. If he bit the bullet, went further and tried to explain about their discussions two years ago, how she’d been so happy with his decision to try to conceive, then ultimately so crushed …

Her eyes glistened more. A hint of panic hid behind the sheen. But her voice was hauntingly level when she spoke.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

His midsection clenched and his gaze dropped away.

He’d had no illusions, but this was way harder than he’d thought. Near impossible.

He believed he’d asked the right question, but there was another. And now that he’d come this far, he had to ask it, for both their sakes.

After finding her gaze again, he lowered his voice. “Laura, how do you think you’d handle losing a child?”

She let out a breath. And smiled. Hell, she looked relieved.

“Is that what all this is about?” She leaned nearer and braced his thigh. “Nothing bad will happen. We have to believe that. I know everything will be all right. Have faith. Have faith in us.” She squeezed his leg. “I do.”

The emotion clogging his throat drifted higher and stung behind his nose. How could he respond to that? He had nothing. Then a crazy notion hit. So crazy, he wanted to laugh.

Wouldn’t it be something if she fell pregnant again and this time everything worked out? If she didn’t get her memory back, what man would convict him? She’d be happy. His soul would be redeemed. Or, if she fell pregnant before her memory returned, couldn’t they work through to reinvent the happy ending they’d both deserved the first time around? Was that too crazy to hope for? Another chance?

Her hand left his thigh. “You mentioned something about a slow dance on the balcony.”

Before he could respond, she stood and held out her hand. He looked at her for a long, tormented moment. There was no right or wrong. No win or lose. No way to predict how this would end. Or if it would.

His fingers curling around hers, he found his feet and led her out onto the balcony.

A cool harbor breeze filed through their hair as he cradled her close and she rested her cheek against his fast-beating heart. With the distant hum of traffic for music, he began to rock her gently around. After a few moments she murmured, so softly he barely heard.

“I love you, Bishop.”

High in his gut that tight ball contracted more and time wound down to a standstill. The decision was instinctive.

He put aside the man he was now, the man whose heart had been mangled and who had vowed to never marry again. He tamped down the voice that said not to lie. That cried out what he planned was unforgivable. Instead, he assumed the mask of a man just three months married. A man who knew he should let go of the guilt over surviving his brother and forego the fear of “what ifs” in the womb and beyond. A man who wanted their own child as much as Laura did, no matter what.

No matter what.

He brushed the hair from her cheek, whispered her name then, willing himself to believe it, said, “I love you, too.”

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.

Looking to Sandra, Bishop rolled back his shoulders. “We’d like to discuss it.”

“It’s a big decision,” Sandra agreed. “All the relevant information is on the website where you found me. But feel free to call if you have any questions.”

Hating to leave, Laura kissed her puppy between her floppy ears. “You stay put, little one,” she murmured against the downy fur. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Two minutes later they were back in the car, buckling up. So happy and anxious and excited, Laura felt as if she could burst. She gave her thighs a hyped up little drum. “She’s totally perfect, isn’t she?”

He put on sunglasses. “She’s a cute pup.”

“So we can get her?”

“I’d like to be thorough. We want to make sure.”

Laura clenched her jaw and held back a groan. Why must everything be put through the Samuel Bishop tenth degree decision sieve? For once, couldn’t he say, “Yeah. Let’s do it!”

“I don’t care if she isn’t from a long line of champions or if she’ll need a hip replaced when she’s twelve,” she told him. “I’d want her anyway.”

“And you wouldn’t be crushed if down the road we found out she had a problem … that we might lose her?”

“Of course I’d be crushed. But I wouldn’t love her any less, and I wouldn’t blame anyone. I certainly wouldn’t blame you.”

“You wouldn’t, huh?”

“I know you want to protect me, Bishop. You don’t want anything bad to ever happen. And I love you all the more for it. We can plan and hope and dream our lives will turn out a certain way. We can care for each other and pray that nothing goes wrong. But no one’s immune. If we put ourselves out there, sometimes we’re going to get hurt. The alternative is to hide away. Wrap ourselves in cotton wool. I would never hold you back from your dreams. If you want to build Bishop Scaffolds into a multinational corporation, I’m one hundred percent behind you. If you want to sell to pursue another venture, I’ll support you there. I know you’ll support me in my dreams, too.”

She was talking about more than buying a puppy, and he knew it.

He searched her eyes for the longest time. She saw the battle going on inside of him. Bishop was a man who made precise moves. He needed to anticipate, to strategize and arrive at the best possible solution to advance. As a wife, his process could be frustrating; impulsiveness didn’t feature in Bishop’s personal dictionary. But he wasn’t indecisive. Quite the opposite. When he made up his mind, that conviction was set in cement. But he had to be sure … as sure as he’d been when he’d asked her to be his partner in life.

A deep line formed between his brows as he frowned and he thought. Behind his sunglasses, he was looking deeply into her eyes, but she knew he was envisaging the future …. Her concern if the puppy developed joint problems, her misery should she be struck by a snake or get lost in the bush. He wanted to shield her from pain. That was noble. But Laura wanted to feel, to love, and if that meant a possibility she might lose, then she was prepared to accept that, too.

He flicked a glance back at Sandra’s house and, after another long moment, nodded once.

“It’ll be two weeks before we can collect her.”

A yip of happiness escaped and Laura flung her arms around him. He’d agreed they should get a puppy, this puppy, but in her heart she suspected she’d broken down a wall and he was agreeing to more.

At least she prayed that he was.

Nine

Bishop put a deposit down on the pup and Laura gave her furry baby another big cuddle goodbye. She spoke of little else all the way to the Darling Harbor apartment or on the way home to the Blue Mountains. Bishop couldn’t decide if he felt relieved or ridden with guilt that he’d agreed to her getting a dog.

This time two years ago they’d had very near the same conversation. He’d stuck to his guns about checking out potential pets yet had agreed a short time later to Laura falling pregnant. He knew why he’d made that call. Laura would be able to abide by the logic behind checking out a dog’s pedigree, but despite his own reservations, in his heart he understood, now more than ever, that Laura would never forget about conceiving and having her own child. Clearly, regardless of everything they’d gone through—everything she’d gone through—Laura hadn’t put aside her deeper feelings.

Had he been wrong to expect such a sacrifice on her part in the first place? Had his insecurities been more important than her desire to be a mother in the truest sense? He’d thought he was merely being cautious, a responsible parent-to-be, but perhaps he’d simply been selfish putting his wishes above hers.

After he swung the Land Rover into the garage, he removed the luggage from the trunk, recalling how he’d rationalized this all the first time, when they’d been three months married. If Laura was willing to take the risk, he’d come to the conclusion that he could do little other than support her choice. It wasn’t about courage or recklessness or defeat on his part. Back then it had been about love and, initially, she’d understood that. The here and now was about seeing if there was any chance they might get that love back.

When he’d married Laura he’d believed to his soul that she would be his wife for life. Divorce papers and living apart hadn’t changed that ingrained perception, which was only one of the reasons he would never marry again. Beneath all the murk of the breakup, behind the smoke and mirrors of her amnesia, did Laura feel the same way? Reasonably, why else would her mind wind back to this precise point in her life, in their relationship, if not for some deep desire to change the misfortune that had come before? Statistics said her memory would return over time. When it did, she could tell him whether he’d taken advantage of the situation or if this time he’d been the one who’d taken a risk that might pay off.

When Bishop moved inside with their luggage, Laura was standing in front of the fireplace, peering up at their wedding portrait, her head tilted to one side as if something wasn’t quite right.

While she’d chatted to Grace Saturday morning, he’d found their wedding photograph stashed at the back of a wardrobe in the adjacent guest room. His heart had thudded the entire time he’d perched atop a stepladder and rehung the print, but he had an excuse handy should she walk in. A spider’s web had spread across one corner, he’d decided to say, and he’d taken the print down to see if the culprit was living behind the frame.

But she’d stayed on the phone a half hour and hadn’t noticed the portrait either way after that. As he watched her now, inching closer to the fireplace, examining the print as though it were a newly discovered Picasso, he considered the other discrepancies she might wonder about now that they were home again. Things that didn’t quite fit.

He’d bat the questions back as they came and tomorrow he’d get her into a general practitioner who could give them a referral to a specialist. Until then he’d wing it and let the pieces fall as they may.

Still engrossed in the photograph, she tapped a finger at the air, obviously finally figuring out what was wrong.

“It’s crooked,” she announced.

After lowering the luggage, he retrieved the stepladder, which was still handy. As he set it up before the fireplace, ready to straighten the frame, Laura continued to analyze.

“It seems so long ago,” she said, “and yet …” She released a breath she must have been holding and a short laugh slipped out. “Can you believe we’ve been married a whole three months?”

He grinned back. “Seems longer.”

He straightened the frame. She took in the angle, then nodded. “Perfect.”

On his way down the ladder, he remembered the sketch lying on the car’s backseat. “Have you thought where you might hang the other one?”

“Mr. Frenchie’s? We’ll need to get it framed first. Something modern, slim-lined, fresh!”

She was headed toward the phone extension. As she collected the receiver, Bishop’s pulse rate jackknifed and he strode over. When he took the receiver from her, her chin pulled in.

Hoping unease didn’t show in his eyes, he found an excuse.

“We’ve only just come home.” He set the receiver back in its cradle. “Don’t you want to unpack, have a coffee, before we let the outside world in?”

“I was expecting Kathy to leave a message about the library. I told you about the literacy program we want to set up. We usually get together Wednesdays if there’s anything to discuss.”

She waited for him to back down, to say, of course, call your friend. But if he did that, Kathy would likely ask what on earth Laura was rabbiting on about. Laura would expand and not clued in, Kathy would laugh, perhaps a little uneasily, and say that her friend was living in the past. That what Laura was talking about happened two years ago.

Should he protect her from such a harsh jolt or hand the phone over and let friend Kathy help unravel this tangle of yarn? He’d been prepared to field any blow when last night he’d questioned her about losing a baby, so what was different now? Other than the fact that he wouldn’t have control over how this conversation wound out. No control at all.

He glanced over the luggage by the door then their wedding portrait, rehung on that wall. Were they home again or should he have kept the engine running?

Resigned, he stepped back.

“I won’t be on the phone all day,” she said, guessing at his problem. She could talk under water once she got started. “I just promised Kathy I’d call her early in the week to check.”

“Take as long as you like.”

He moved down the hall, feeling as if he were walking the corridor of a listing ship … as if he were traveling back, deeper and deeper through time. If he walked far enough, fast enough, maybe Kathy wouldn’t ask questions and the present, and its regurgitated disappointments, wouldn’t catch up … at least not today.

He ended up out on the eastern balcony. For what seemed like a lifetime, he absorbed the warm afternoon sun and soothing noise of the bush … the click of beetles, the far-off cry of a curlew. To his left, a couple of wallabies were perched on a monstrous black rock. They chewed rhythmically and occasionally scratched a soft gray ear. Their manner was lazy, instinctive, as it had been for many thousands of years. Bishop breathed in, and the strong scent of pine and eucalypt filled his lungs. As fervently as he’d wanted to leave here a year ago, he’d missed this place.

Hell, he’d missed this life.

But with Laura talking to that friend inside, he felt the cool edge of an axe resting at the back of his neck. Would it fall now? Tomorrow? Next week? How in God’s name would this end?

Laura’s footfalls sounded on the Brush Box timber floor behind him and the hairs on Bishop’s nape stood up. But he was ready for the attack. Like Willis had said, it couldn’t get any worse than the first time.

He angled around. Laura was striding out onto the porch but he couldn’t read her expression.

“Kathy was home,” she told him.

He folded down into a chair. “Uh-huh.”

“But her daughter and grandbabies were over. She said there was no meeting this week.”

The sick ache high in his stomach eased slightly and he sat straighter. “She did?”

That was it?

“She said she’d call back, but I said not to worry. We’d just got back from the city and had unpacking to do.”

We?

He threaded his hands and, elbows on armrests, steepled two fingers under his chin.

“What did Kathy say to that?”

“The baby started to cry so she had to go.”

Even more relieved, he exhaled slowly. One massive pothole avoided. Although, sure bet, there’d be more—and soon.

He’d tried being subtle as a brick with his prodding last night. The questions he’d asked about possible pregnancies hadn’t ignited any sparks. Rather than approaching this dilemma at ramming speed, perhaps he ought to take this opportunity to scratch around and sprinkle a few seeds—ask some casual questions—that would grow in her mind day-to-day.

He lowered his hands. “How old is Kathy’s grandbaby?”

Laura spotted the wallabies. A brisk mountain breeze combing her hair, she moved toward the railing for a better look. “Oh, three or four months, I suppose.”

“Kathy has more than one grandchild?”

“Just the one.”

And yet she’d said grandbabies, plural, earlier. An unconscious lapse to the present?

“What’s the baby’s name?”

Her gaze skated away from the bush and she lifted a wry brow. “I think it might be Twenty Questions.” Then her grip on the railing slackened off and she gave a quick laugh. “Since when did you get so interested in the local librarian’s grandchildren?”

“I’m interested in you.”

Thinking how the afternoon light glistened like threads of golden copper through her hair, he found his feet and joined her.

Her smile turned sultry as she traced a fingertip down his arm. “How interested?”

“Interested enough.”

“Enough to take another day off?”

He focused on her lips.

“Too easy.”

The brightest smile he’d ever seen graced her face. But a heartbeat later the joy slipped away and some other emotion flared in her eyes. A cagey, almost frightened look, and he wondered what he’d said. But she didn’t say a word, although he could tell from the questions in her eyes that she wanted to.

His hands found her shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Tell me what you’re thinking.

“I—I’m not sure. I guess I’m not used to you taking time off. Not that I don’t want you to. It’s just …”

He dug a little more. “What?”

Her gaze darted around his face. The color had drained from her cheeks and some of the trust in her eyes had fallen away.

“Bishop … I have to ask.” She stopped. Swallowed. Wet her lips. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She’d just had the strangest feeling. More than a feeling. That niggling again, which, rather than waning, had grown, and a lot. Still, she couldn’t put a precise finger on where, or what or who was behind it. She only knew it had been there in the way his assistant Willis had looked at her when he and Bishop had returned from their talk in the hotel lobby. There again when she’d examined their wedding picture after they’d arrived home and just now … some gesture, some word, had brought that awareness shooting like a cork to the surface of her consciousness. It was like a runaway thought she couldn’t quite catch … a dream she couldn’t quite remember. A moment ago Bishop had asked some everyday questions about a friend and yet, standing on this spot, with those wallabies on that rock and the sun at precisely this angle …

A hot pin had wedged under her ribs and, try as she might, she couldn’t remove it. What had happened—what had been said—to make her feel as if she’d crashed into a ten-foot high brick wall at warp speed?

She focused on his eyes. What aren’t you telling me?

“There is … something,” he said.

The hot pin slid out and, breathing again, she leaned back, letting the railing catch her weight.

So it hadn’t been her imagination. For a second she’d thought she might be going mad! But whatever it was nagging, there was a reason and Bishop was about to tell her.

“I haven’t told you …” he began haltingly “… not enough anyway … how much you meant to me.”

Like a well filling, her relief rose higher, but then that niggling pricked again and she frowned. What he’d said didn’t quite make sense. The tense was wrong. I haven’t told you how much you meant to me?

“You mean, you haven’t told me how much I mean to you.”

“I want you to know it now.”

His tone was so grave and his expression … He looked almost sad.

Her heart melting, she found his hand and pressed it to her cheek as a lump of emotion fisted in her throat. Her husband loved her. Really loved her. She was so lucky. So much luckier than most.

“I know, darling,” she murmured. “I feel the same way.”

He seemed to consider his next words. She could almost see him lining them up in his mind.

“I was taken aback when I saw you lying in that hospital bed.”

She thought that through and came to a conclusion.

“You thought something was wrong with my heart?” Oh, no! She wanted to hug him so tight. Reassure him everything was all right. “I would’ve been in a cardio ward. Besides, that’s all under control.” She turned her head to kiss his palm. “Easy.”

That pin jabbed again, deeper and sharper this time and her heart missed a beat at the same instant her gaze trailed away and she tried to grasp on to and hold that elusive, annoying thought.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he was saying.

Drifting back, she found his gaze again. “That’s why you acted so strangely?”

He nodded. “I’d seen you in hospital before.”

She narrowed her eyes, thinking back. She’d been in hospital in her younger years, but …

Certain beyond doubt, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“No?”

The pin stabbed again, so deep it made her flinch. She held her chest and, a knee-jerk reaction, wound away from him. At the same time, a noise—a crunching kind of rattle—echoed to her left. Her gaze shot over. She expected to see—

She held her brow.

—she couldn’t think what.

She concentrated to form a picture in her mind, but she only saw those wallabies bounding off; they must have pushed loose gravel over the side. Now their boomerang tails and strong hind legs were catapulting them away, farther into the brush.

Here one minute. Gone the next.

Gone for good.

Those words looped around in her mind. She shivered and hugged herself tight. Her mind was playing tricks. Tricks that were seriously doing her head in. But she had a remedy.

Shaky inside, she feigned a smile. She hated to sound fragile, but she needed to lie down.

“Bishop, do you mind if I take myself off to bed early? Our late night must be catching up.”

“You have another headache.”

“No. Just … tired.” Taking her elbow, he ushered her inside. “Wake me up when you come to bed?” she asked.

As if to confirm it, he dropped a kiss on her crown. As they moved down the hall, she felt compelled to ask him to promise. That’s what a newly married bride would do, no matter how tired, right?

But the words didn’t come. And as that pin pricked again—niggling, enflaming—she only wished she knew why.

Ten

The following day, Bishop accompanied Laura into the office of a local GP.

Colorful children’s drawings hung on a corkboard, but Bishop’s attention was drawn to the top of a filing cabinet and a Hamlet-type skull, only this skull exposed the complicated mass that made up the mysterious chambers of a human brain. A little creepy but, in this instance, rather fitting.

Dr. Chatwin, a woman in her thirties, gestured to a pair of chairs.

“Please take a seat, Mrs. Bishop. Mr. Bishop.” While they made themselves comfortable, the doctor swept aside her long brunette ponytail and pulled in her chair. “Your husband spoke with me briefly this morning, Mrs. Bishop.”

Dressed in a pale pink linen dress Bishop had always loved to see her in, Laura crossed her legs and held her knees. “Please, call me, Laura.”

Dr. Chatwin returned the smile. “You hit your head last week and are experiencing some difficulties, is that right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Laura’s clasped hands moved from her knees to her lap. “Not … difficulties.”

The doctor’s brows lifted and she leaned back in her chair. “Some issues with memory?”

Laura froze before her slender shoulders hitched back. “Some things have seemed … a little foggy.”

Swinging back around, the doctor tapped a few words on her keyboard. “Any headaches, dizziness, sleeplessness, nausea?”

“One headache.”

“Irritability, confusion?”

“I suppose some.”

While Bishop stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, happy to let a professional take charge, the doctor performed the usual tests with her stethoscope then checked for uneven dilation of the pupils. She asked a few simple questions. What suburb they were in. Laura’s full name. The date. She gave no outward sign of surprise when Laura announced a year two years past.

After tapping in a few notes, the doctor addressed them both. “You’d like to be referred to a specialist, is that right?”

Bishop replied. “Thank you. Yes.”

Without argument, the doctor began writing the referral. “Dr. Stanza is considered the best neuro specialist in Sydney. This isn’t an urgent case, however, so expect a wait.”

Bishop straightened. “How long of a wait?”

“Call his practice,” the doctor said, finishing the note. “They’ll book you into his first available slot.” After sliding the letter into an envelope, she scribbled the specialist’s name on the front. “As you’re both no doubt aware, there are instances of memory impairment associated with head trauma due to a fall. The doctor last week would’ve told you recollections usually return over time, although it’s not unusual for the events leading up to the incident, the incident itself and directly after to be lost permanently.” The doctor pushed back her chair and stood. “You’re not presenting with any physical concerns, Laura.” Her warm brown eyes shining, she handed the envelope to Bishop and finished with a sincere smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, particularly with your husband taking such good care of you.”

Five minutes later, Laura slid into the car, feeling tense and knowing that it showed, while Bishop reclined behind the wheel, ignited the engine, then slipped her a curious look.

“Something wrong?”

Laura didn’t like to complain. Bishop was simply making certain she was cared for. As she’d told the doctor, she had felt irritable on occasion. Some things were a little confusing … clothes she couldn’t remember in the wardrobe, a new potted plant in the kitchen … that truly odd feeling she’d had yesterday on the eastern porch when those wallabies had bounded away. But the doctor hadn’t seemed concerned. She’d indicated that the missing bits and pieces would fall into place soon enough.

The broad ledge of Bishop’s shoulders angled toward her. “Laura, tell me.”

“I don’t need to go to a specialist,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You heard Dr. Chatwin. No physical problems. Nothing urgent. I don’t want to waste a specialist’s time. It’ll probably cost a mortgage payment just to walk through the door.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “We don’t have a mortgage.”

“That’s not the point. Dr. Chatwin said she was sure I’d be okay.”

“I’m sure you will be, too. But we’ll make an appointment with the specialist and if we don’t need it, we’ll cancel.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

“If it is, then there’s no harm done.” His voice lowered and he shifted the car into Drive. “But you’re going.”

She stared, not pleased, out the window as they swerved onto the road that would take them home. She loved that Bishop was a leader, that he wanted to protect and care for her. But she didn’t need to be bossed around. She hated visiting doctors and hospitals. How many times did she have to say she was okay?

She stole a glance at his profile, the hawkish nose and proud jutting chin and her arms slowly unraveled.

And another thing … he hadn’t come to bed last night. When she’d woken, his side hadn’t been slept in. Seeing the covers still drawn, the pillow still plump, had put an unsettling feeling in her stomach, as if she’d already foreseen or had dreamed that he wouldn’t be there when she woke. Not that she’d tell Bishop that. He’d blow it way out of proportion. She didn’t need to be asked more questions.

But perhaps Bishop needed the green flag from this specialist before giving his consent to her falling pregnant. He liked to have all the pegs lined up before going forward with anything. And he took the whole becoming a father thing ultraseriously which, on a baser level, she was grateful for.

So she would grit her teeth, visit this specialist, get the all clear, and once she had a clean bill of health, there should be absolutely nothing to stand in their way.

Three days later, splitting wood for the fireplace, Bishop set another log on the chopping block and, running a hand up over the smooth handle, raised his axe. The blade came down with a whoosh and a thunk that echoed through the surrounding forest of trees.

He’d taken the rest of the week off, and every minute since that doctor’s visit, he’d waited, wondering if this would be the day when his metaphorical axe would fall. Every minute inhabiting that house, sharing that bed, he was conscious of living out the mother of all deceptions.

But, if he were being manipulative, it was with good reason. He was a man stuck in the middle of a particularly difficult set of circumstances … locked in a game of nerves where he could anticipate the moves and yet still had little control over how this rematch would end.

Grinding his teeth, Bishop set another log on the block. He was about to bring the axe down when Laura appeared, carrying his cell phone, traversing the half dozen back stairs and crossing the lawn to where he waited near a yellow clump of melaleuca. With her, she brought the floral scent of her perfume as well as the aromas of the casserole and chocolate sponge dessert she was preparing. He’d missed her home-cooked meals more than he’d realized. Hell, he’d missed a lot of things.

“It’s Willis.” After handing over his phone, she dropped a kiss on his cheek then inspected the blemish-free sky. A frown creased her brow. “You should put a hat on.” She headed off with a skip. “I’ll bring you one.”

He was about to call out don’t bother, but he liked her looking after him. The meals, the smiles. The love.

His attention on the sexy bounce of her step, Bishop put the phone to his ear. On the other end of the line, Willis didn’t beat around the bush.

“I don’t know how much longer I can put them off,” Willis said, referring to the potential buyers of Bishop Scaffolds. “They want to speak with you, Sam.”

Having set the axe down, Bishop wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm. Laura was right. He should wear a hat.

He moved into the shade. “Not this week, Willis.”

“Early next week then.”

“I’ll let you know.” He tipped his nose in the direction of the kitchen and inhaled. “Laura’s doing beef Stroganoff. You should smell it.”

Willis stayed on track. “I’ve given them as much as I can with regard to figures and projections. But the guy keeps calling. You should at least give him ten minutes on the phone. It’s only good business.”

Bishop understood Willis’s point. He should phone, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. He was anxious about when, or if, Laura’s memory would return, but on another level he was feeling, in a strange sense, settled; he worried he’d tell the buyers he was no longer interested and later regret that he hadn’t moved on the opportunity. So it was better, for now, to wait and see what transpired.

Bishop swapped the phone to the other ear. “I’ll call him next week.”

A long silence echoed down the line. Bishop dug a booted toe in the black soil while he waited for Willis to spit out whatever else was bothering him.

“You want me to be frank, Sam?”

“That’s what I pay you for.”

“Laura still hasn’t got her memory back?”

“Correct.”

“I know you want to help, but there’s a good chance the past will all come back and you’ll be in the doghouse again. Even if those memories don’t return, you’re still going to have to tell her the truth.” When Bishop only stared into the sun, scrubbing his jaw, Willis prodded. “You know that, right?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t imagine it is. That’s why you need to be doubly cautious.”

Hell, cautious was his middle name.

But Willis was right. He was getting carried away. Getting tangled up between past, present and possible future. One of them needed to keep their feet firmly planted on the ground.

Willis changed the subject. “Are you coming tomorrow night?”

To his birthday bash? Bishop moved back to the axe he’d left leaning beside the block. There’d be people there from work. People who knew about his divorce. He doubted anyone would have the guts to ask either him or Laura directly about that, or the fact that they looked to be together again. If anyone did …

With his free hand, he swung up the axe and inspected the blade. The sharp edge gleamed in the sunlight.

Bottom line, he wanted to help her remember, right? If things got interesting tomorrow evening and she started to come around too quickly, he’d whisk her away and begin explaining. Not a moment he looked forward to.

But Willis had hit the proverbial nail. He and Laura couldn’t live in the past. Not indefinitely, anyway.

“We’ll be there,” Bishop said. “Laura’s excited about it.”

“Great. We’ll find a few minutes to talk then.”

Bishop was signing off when Laura strolled out again, Akubra in hand. She stuck it on his head and told him to leave it there.

Grinning, he tipped the rim. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Is everything okay at the office?”

“Everything’s good.”

“It’s been wonderful having you home this week, but if you need to go in, don’t stay because you’re worried about me.” When he only looked at her, she set her hands on her hips. “I feel great, Bishop.” Then, shading her eyes from the sun, she asked, “What will we give Willis for his birthday? Is he interested in chess?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You’ve never asked?”

“It’s never come up.”

“But you have a chessboard in your office. The one I gave you as a wedding gift.”

Twenty-four karat gold and pewter pieces. It was the most exquisite set he’d ever seen. But something in her tone set his antenna quivering. These past days they’d spent so much time together, taking walks, enjoying picnics, at other times staying indoors to ponder over the chessboard. Laura had been testy when they’d left Dr. Chatwin’s office on Tuesday; she didn’t want to see a specialist. And she’d seemed so off balance that evening on the porch—Monday. But since that time she hadn’t shown any obvious signs of feeling foggy, as she called it, or agitated. Quite the opposite. She’d seemed particularly breezy.

And yet subtle things she’d say or do let him know that some connections, or at least curiosities, were still clicking. The thing that struck him most was that, despite whatever connections she might secretly be making, Laura didn’t seem any the less in love with him. In fact, her love seemed to grow every day.

As for him …

Laura’s next question took him by surprise.

“Have you heard from your parents lately?”

He gave the obvious reply. “They live in Perth.”

“I know that, silly. But there is such a thing as a phone.”

Some years ago, his parents had moved to Western Australia, a six-hour flight from Sydney. They’d flown back for his wedding and had approved of Laura in every way. He only wished his mother hadn’t cried so much during the ceremony. Without asking he knew she was wishing that his brother had been there; she’d made sure to tell him later. Bishop understood the emotion—he felt it, too. But on that one day, Lord knows he hadn’t needed it.

He’d vowed if anything so tragic ever happened to him—if, God forbid, he lost a child—he’d keep the memories, the pain and regrets—to himself. But in hindsight, he should have been more open about his feelings after Laura’s miscarriage rather than building that wall … pretending it hadn’t hurt as much as it had. As Laura stood here now, the mountains a dramatic backdrop and the sun lighting her hair, he knew he ought to have shared more of himself, particularly when she’d stayed shut down.

She’d needed comfort then, not steel.

“Maybe we should invite them out for a couple of weeks,”

Laura went on. “Your mother seems so sweet. It’d be nice to get to know her more.”

“I’m sure she’d like that, too.”

“You could call your folks tonight after dinner.”

“I could do that.” But he wouldn’t.

“I should probably start getting the guest wing ready.”

“Laura, my parents travel a lot. They might not even be home.”

And as they walked arm in arm back to the house, she leaning her head against his shoulder and a palm folded over the hand he had resting on her waist, Bishop decided that was the excuse he’d give after pretending to call.

The following evening, he and Laura arrived in Sydney for Willis’s birthday bash forty minutes late. For a present, they decided on a dinner voucher at one of Sydney’s most exclusive restaurants. As Bishop slid out from the car now, the lights and sound coming from the party venue descended upon him. He’d tried to stay optimistic, but he couldn’t see tonight working out well. Someone was bound to say something that would trip a switch and Laura would naturally want to know more. Most likely she’d grow suspicious. Agitated. There could be a highly embarrassing scene.

It wasn’t too late to back out.

Instead, Bishop sucked it up, swung around the back of the car and opened Laura’s door.

“Willis knows a lot of people,” Laura said, surveying the elite restaurant as she slid out. Through the generous bank of streetfront windows, a throng of people could be seen milling, talking and generally having a good time. Wringing her pocketbook under her chin, Laura hesitated.

Bishop’s palm settled on her back. “We don’t have to go in if you’d rather not.”

The pocketbook lowered, her shoulders squared, and she pinned on a smile. He guessed that at some deeper hidden level where memories waited to be restored, she was as worried about this evening as he was.

“I want to go in,” she told him, but then rolled her teeth over her bottom lip. “I’m just a little anxious. I don’t know many of the people you work with.”

Bishop straightened his tie. She’d know fewer of them tonight.

They climbed the stairs, entering through tall timber paneled doors decorated with colorful leadlight, and a DJ’s music, underlined with general chatter, grew louder. There must’ve been a hundred people talking, drinking, laughing at anecdotes and discussing politics or the latest Hollywood gossip. Bishop’s gaze swept over the group. No Willis in sight. In fact, he couldn’t see anyone he knew. But then a familiar, animated face emerged from the crowd.

Ava Prynne worked in Bishop Scaffolds’s administrative section. Tonight she wore her platinum-blond hair in cascading ringlets that bobbed past the shoulders of a snug-fitting aqua-blue dress that barely covered her thighs. When she saw him, Ava, champagne glass in manicured hand, sashayed over.

“Mr. Bishop! I was hoping you’d come.”

“I’ve said before, Ava, call me Sam.”

He didn’t agree with those formalities in the office.

Ava’s gray eyes sparkled beneath the chandelier light and she breathed out his name. “Sam.”

Bishop cleared his throat. He hadn’t been aware that Miss Prynne had a crush on him until this moment.

Laura leaned across and introduced herself. “Do you work at my husband’s company, Ava?”

The blonde’s gaze slid across. Her smile disappeared at the same time Bishop’s stomach kicked and he bit his inside cheek. Already it begins.

Ava looked Laura up and down. “Husband?”

Bishop waited for the answer, then the next question, then the next. He might feel sick to his gut, but what else could he do?

But before Laura could speak and confirm that the man to whom this woman was so obviously attracted had been married three months, a uniformed waiter with a tray appeared.

“Drink, sir, madam?”

Thankful for the intervention, Bishop grabbed a juice—he was driving back—and collected a champagne cocktail for Laura.

He nodded at Ava Prynne’s glass. “Top up?”

Ava’s curious gaze, swinging from Laura back to her boss, lightened a little. “Uh, no, thank you … Sam.” But the smile she had for him fell as she looked back to Laura, then she manufactured an excuse to leave behind an awkward situation. “Katrina from accounts has just walked in. I’ll see you both later.” Ava and her blue micro dress hurried off.

Laura’s brow quirked at an amused angle. “Lucky I’m not a jealous woman.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.”

He’d said the words before he’d thought, but it was true. Laura had never had reason to think he had eyes for anyone but her. She still didn’t. Ava Prynne, Annabelle … no one compared.

Tables set with gleaming cutlery and fragrant multicolored centerpieces occupied the far end of the room. To their left, waitstaff manned a line of bains-marie filled with steaming dishes. The tantalizing aromas of roast beef, mornay and Chinese cuisine seeped into his lungs.

Ready to set off toward the food and avoid any more awkward introductions for the moment, he tipped his chin at the spread. “The buffet’s out.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I’m not that hungry yet. Are you?”

“I can wait.” In fact, he could wait until they got home. He’d thought they could handle whatever came from tonight but now, whether it might seem rude or strange, God how he wanted to leave. But he could delay … keep them alone and together for a time.

“Would you like to dance?”

Laura’s emerald eyes lit up. “You recognize it, too.”

“Recognize what?”

“That song.” She sidled up to him, toying with the silk knot at his throat. “It’s our bridal waltz.”

He concentrated and the memories the tune stirred left a warm place in his chest. He cast a glance around for a dance floor, but couldn’t find one.

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