Bride in Trouble

by Serenity Woods

  He turned away to fetch some herbs from the fridge, hiding a smile.

  “Dinner’s nearly ready,” he said. “I thought we could finish off the potato salad I bought yesterday on the way home, and have it with a green salad. Okay?”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  He dished the steaks up, poured over a little of the blue cheese sauce he’d made, and took the plates outside to the table on the deck, putting up the umbrella to shade them from the sun.

  “Better not have wine,” he said, bringing out two glasses of iced water.

  “Please tell me I haven’t given up alcohol,” she said, taking a seat.

  “No, you still like a glass of Sauvignon.” He took the seat opposite her, watching as she cut into the steak.

  “Glad to hear it.” She ate a mouthful, her eyes closing in blissful appreciation. “Oh, that’s amazing. It’s so tender. Do you do most of the cooking?”

  “Nah, we tend to share. We’ve actually been to a couple of cooking classes together.”

  “Oh? Really?”

  “Yeah, they were fun. Run by a chef up in Mangonui. The dessert class was very… entertaining.” His gaze slid to the distance as he remembered making profiteroles at home with her. He’d deliberately left some whipped cream in the bowl, and he’d taken great delight in spreading it over her and licking it all off later on.

  He moved his gaze back to her. She was watching him, and clearly knew perfectly well what he was thinking.

  Smirking, he cut up his steak.

  “I’m going to have trouble with you, aren’t I?” she said.

  “Moi?”

  “Mum warned me you were irreverent and mischievous.”

  He chuckled. “Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

  “You have a naughty glint in your eye. I get the feeling you’re thinking about me naked more often than not.”

  “Possibly. I can take my clothes off if you like, then you’ll be able to picture me naked whenever you want.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure? I saw the way you looked at me in the bedroom.” Her eyes had nearly come out on stalks when he’d stripped off his T-shirt.

  “I did not!”

  He just grinned and ate a mouthful of potato salad. “You are allowed to look,” he pointed out. “We are engaged.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You can touch too, if you like. Wanna feel my biceps?”

  “Stop it,” she scolded with some exasperation.

  He laughed and gestured at her plate. “Are you enjoying that steak?” There was hardly any of it left.

  “It’s amazing. I’m still not sure I’m vegetarian. I think you were lying to me when you told me that.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” But he couldn’t stop a little twinge of guilt inside at the thought that he had lied to her. Or, at least, he’d omitted to tell the truth. Noelle might have instigated it, but he was perpetuating the lie by not being completely honest with her.

  He wasn’t going to worry about it now, though. Not when he had Phoebe there, in the house. There was plenty of time to introduce her to the details of their past. First, he had to win her back, and then maybe, when he did reveal everything, it wouldn’t mean the end of their relationship.

  Clearing his throat, he changed the subject, asking her what she’d like to watch on TV after they’d eaten. They talked about movies while they finished their dinner, and then the phone rang, and it was Noelle wanting to see how her daughter was getting on. So Rafe left them to talk while he cleaned up the dinner things and stacked the dishwasher. He could hear Phoebe talking, though, out on the deck, and he heard her defending him, saying, “He’s being great, Mum. He’s really looking after me, don’t worry.”

  When she eventually came in, he was sitting on the sofa, flicking through the movies on the TV.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “She’s just worried.” She sat next to him. “It’s odd, but even though I don’t remember the last eight years, I know I’m not eighteen. Does that make sense? I don’t want to go home and be fussed over by my mother. I love her, but somehow I know that’s not my place anymore.”

  “Where is your place?” he asked.

  She met his gaze, her green eyes shining. “I’m not saying I’m ready to slip back to the way we were.”

  “I know.”

  “But I can tell you care for me. I know I belong here. I just… need time, that’s all.”

  “I know.” He stretched his legs out on the coffee table and raised his arm.

  She looked at it for a moment, and then her lips curved up, and she moved closer to him on the sofa. He lowered his arm around her. He couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts moved beneath the T-shirt fabric; she’d taken off her bra. His body stirred, but he quashed his desire impatiently. He might be used to them having sex all the time, but he was a grown man—he could manage a few weeks without it for Christ’s sake!

  It wasn’t easy when she was leaning against him, though, all soft in his arms. His body wanted her, even though his mind scolded it for thinking about sex when she wasn’t well. The last time they’d made love had been on this very sofa, with her sitting astride him. It was impossible to rid himself of the images of her naked, of closing his mouth over her nipples, of her tipping back her head as she cried out with passion.

  He shifted on the sofa, trying not to get a hard-on. That was the last thing she needed to see.

  They chose a movie, and this time she stayed awake through it. It felt like old times, watching cuddled up, discussing what the actors had been in before, talking about the plot points and their favorite bits. It ended too soon for Rafe, but even though it was only eight thirty, Phoebe was yawning, and he knew it was time for her to go to bed.

  “Come on, sleepy.” He stopped and pulled her to her feet, and led her through to the bedroom. “Go and clean your teeth, and I’ll get the bed ready.”

  She went into the bathroom and closed the door, and he pulled back the duvet for her, closed the curtains, turned on the bedside light, and fetched her a glass of water. She came out, and he held the duvet up while she slid beneath it.

  She sat up, her arms around her knees, watching him as he retrieved her medication and handed it to her. She took it mutely, swallowing it down with the water. Her face was pale, and the dark shadows were back under her eyes.

  “Is your head bad?” he asked.

  “It’s throbbing, yeah. It’s making me feel a bit queasy.”

  “I hope that wasn’t the steak. Your stomach isn’t used to meat.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She didn’t look fine, though.

  He hesitated. “I’ll only be in the living room. If you call out, I’ll hear you.”

  She nodded, but her eyes glistened; she wasn’t far from tears. “I feel a bit sorry for myself, that’s all,” she whispered, touching her hand to the back of her head.

  “I’m not surprised.” An idea came to him, and he smiled. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He went into the living room, closed all the windows, locked the doors, and turned off the lights. Then he went into the spare room, where the rowing machine and weights were. In the corner was a mattress he’d used a couple of times when friends had come over to stay. He brought it and the spare duvet back with him into the main bedroom.

  “I’ll sleep here,” he told her, laying it beside the bed. “That way I’ll be here if you need me.”

  Phoebe’s bottom lip trembled. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Sweetheart, I’d do anything for you. Now lie down and go to sleep. You need to get a good night’s rest, and then tomorrow we can start going to a few places to see if we can jog your memory.”

  He went to the bathroom and cleaned his teeth, then came out and turned off the main light. He stretched out on the mattress, plumping the pillows behind his head, pulled the duvet over him, and lay down.r />
  He picked up his book and opened it to where he’d left the bookmark. Then he glanced up. Phoebe was looking down at him, resting her cheek on her hand. Without saying anything, she lowered her other hand. He clasped it in his, lifted his head, and kissed her fingers. Then he lay back and started reading his book.

  Chapter Nine

  “So, what would you like to do today?”

  Phoebe crunched her toast, studying Rafe as she considered his question. The guy had an inherent sexiness that filtered into everything he did. Did he have any idea how gorgeous he looked at that moment, sitting at the breakfast bar in a faded tee and scruffy shorts and bare feet, his hair all mussed and a day’s growth of beard on his jaw? His blue eyes were half-lidded in the way that she’d thought meant he was thinking about sex, but that couldn’t be true, because they were like that most of the day. He couldn’t be thinking about sex all the time.

  She moved to get her glass of orange juice, and his gaze dropped to where the T-shirt stretched over her breasts. He was thinking about sex. Jesus. The man was insatiable.

  His gaze came back to hers, and she arched an eyebrow. He just gave her an impish smile.

  She couldn’t bring herself to berate him, though. She was incredibly touched by how he’d lain by the bed all night, and had woken immediately whenever she’d roused. At one point, she’d jerked awake from a violent dream of broken glass and flashing lights, her head throbbing, to find him sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand. He’d given her some more painkillers, and had then refused to move until she’d dozed off again. He really seemed to care about her.

  Crunching her toast again, she gave him a small smile.

  “So,” he said. “Plans?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “I guess it depends on how you’re feeling. You still look tired.”

  “I feel tired. And… I don’t know. A bit… confused, I suppose. Like my brain’s working super slowly. It feels rubbery, like it’s rebelling when I try to think.”

  “We shouldn’t push you too hard.”

  “No, I suppose not. Although… I do want to remember. I thought… Maybe we should go to the shop.”

  Rafe pushed away his empty plate and leaned back. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “I don’t know, maybe not. But after you, I thought the shop would be one of the places that might jog my memory.”

  “Okay. I’ll ring Noelle and tell her we’ll be down mid-morning. Would you like a shower today?”

  “I’d love one. And I really need to wash my hair, although I’ve got to be careful of the dressing, obviously.”

  “I can get in the shower with you if you like.”

  She shivered at the thought of him naked and slippery, pressed up against her. “Thank you, Rafe. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He grinned. “I can help you wash your hair over the sink if you want.”

  “That might be a better idea.”

  “Come on, then.”

  He led her into the bathroom, ran the sink full of warm water, and retrieved a plastic jug from the kitchen. She leaned over the sink and closed her eyes, feeling his hands in her hair, wetting it while carefully avoiding the wound. Then he poured a little shampoo into his hands, and she felt him massage it into her hair, his fingers gentle against the left side of her scalp. It was an innocent touch, not at all sexual, and yet there was something so sensual about it that she almost groaned out loud.

  He rinsed it with water from the jug, squeezed the excess water from the ends, and placed a towel over it, massaging it slowly.

  “Thank you,” she said from beneath the towel.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was a little husky. Had it affected him, too?

  She lifted her head, and found herself looking up into his eyes. He slid a hand beneath her chin, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember their time together, something deep inside her still felt that connection with him.

  Or was she just being fanciful? He was young, handsome, and sexy; any woman in her position would be getting all the feels, wouldn’t she? She mustn’t mistake basic desire for something deeper.

  To her joint disappointment and relief, he didn’t kiss her. He wiped the drips from around her face with the towel, then opened one of the drawers under the sink and retrieved a hair clip.

  “Thanks,” she said, turning to look into the mirror as she clipped up her hair ready for the shower.

  Rafe stood behind her, and then, to her surprise, he slid his arms around her and rested his lips on her shoulder. She was still wearing his T-shirt, but the heat of his body burned against her back, and, in the mirror, she saw her nipples tighten through the fabric. She was sure he’d seen it too—he wouldn’t have missed something like that—but he didn’t say anything, he just held her, his arms tight around her waist.

  “I miss you,” he mumbled against her shoulder.

  She rested her arms over his. His skin was warm, his tanned arms covered with light brown hair touched with gold from the sun. They were well-muscled arms, and his hands were large and strong. She could imagine them sliding over her pale skin, touching, stroking…

  “I’m still here,” she whispered, but she knew what he meant. He missed the intimacy of their previous relationship, kissing her, making love to her.

  He didn’t move for a moment, and she closed her eyes, the sun warming her as it slanted through the bathroom window, and Rafe heating her up from the inside just by being so close to her. She was healing physically—she could feel it, the wound closing together, the damaged skin shedding, cells renewing. It would take time until she was back to normal, but she was on the road to recovery.

  But emotionally? Mentally? How could she even begin to heal until she could remember her past?

  She opened her eyes, thinking how pale her skin was next to Rafe’s. Her eyes still bore dark shadows beneath them, and her skin looked almost translucent. In contrast, he was the picture of health, radiating energy—she could almost feel herself sucking it in, desperately trying to refill her empty well.

  “What’s the catch?” she asked, watching as he lifted his head to meet her eyes in the mirror.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re gorgeous. Sexy. You obviously know your way around the bedroom. You cook. You’re smart. You’re kind and caring. What’s the catch? There must be one.”

  He kissed her shoulder, then released her and turned to switch on the shower. “Well, thank you for those compliments. But I’m no chef—I can just throw a few bloke’s dishes together. I’m caring because you need help at the moment, but you’ve accused me in the past of being thoughtless and unfeeling.”

  “Have I?” The thought embarrassed her. “I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “I probably was. I have many faults. I’m impatient, selfish, irritable when I don’t get what I want… I’m hardly perfect.”

  She didn’t say anything, because she hadn’t seen any of those things in him. But then again, she’d only known him a few days. Maybe if she lived with him for six months, he’d irritate her.

  Or maybe not.

  She watched him test the temperature of the water, and then he turned back to her. “Want me to help you in?” he suggested.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay. I might do a quick workout in the spare room before I have my shower.”

  “Sure.”

  She watched him go and shut the door behind him. Her hand rested on the lock. They lived together. They were getting married. Was she being dumb locking the door on him? She felt guilty at feeling uncomfortable, then locked the door crossly and stripped off Rafe’s T-shirt. She was going to do what made sense. Screw what she was supposed or not supposed to feel.

  She took her time showering, picking up the various bod
y washes on the shelf and sniffing them, wondering if it was she who had bought them a week or two before. Using the mint one, she washed her skin, wincing as the occasional graze stung, then came out and dried herself.

  Letting the towel drop, she studied herself in the mirror. Gosh, she was so thin. She must have lost a lot of weight recently with her training. She’d been plump as a teen, and it was nice to be on the thin side, but it was odd to see her hipbones jutting out. Her arm and leg muscles were toned, and her stomach was flat. Her breasts were high and firm.

  Rafe had said You were quite curvy when I met you. Did he mind that she’d lost her roundness? She wondered whether he resented all the training she did. He hadn’t said in so many words, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a riptide running beneath their relationship that he was hiding from her, something that was going to pull her under when she least expected it.

  Sighing, she wrapped a towel around her body before coming out into the bedroom. Rafe wasn’t there, and, in the distance, she could hear a machine going, and it sounded as if he was running. She opened her wardrobe and chose a dark blue dress with colored flowers that appealed to her and slipped it on, then dried her hair, smoothing it carefully over the dressing on the back, and securing it with a simple band so it covered the wound.

  The exertion of getting ready had tired her, but she was determined not to be beaten, so she wandered through to the other side of the house to the spare room, and paused in the doorway.

  Rafe was on the treadmill, running flat out, rock music leaking from his earbuds. Sweat stained the back of his T-shirt in a dark V both back and front, and his face and neck glistened.

  Phoebe leaned against the doorjamb, spellbound. The guy was a wonder to behold. She could see from the weights in the room that he worked out a lot, and he had strong, powerful thighs and muscular arms. He looked at the peak of fitness, and he was gorgeous.

  Tired as she was, she felt a stirring deep inside her, a sexual attraction to him that spoke of something deeper and darker than a mere flirtation. This man had coaxed her to the height of pleasure many, many times. Somehow, her body remembered his touch, even if she didn’t.