Genevieve asked the bartender for a gin and tonic and sipped it slowly. “He’s thinking about retiring soon…my husband, that is. We have our eye on a beautiful horse farm out in rural Virginia. I have visions of the two of us sitting in rocking chairs watching the sun set.”
“Sounds lovely.”
Genevieve’s absent gaze was wistful. “Perhaps only a fantasy, unfortunately. He thrives on the high-octane energy in Washington. I’m not sure how he’ll take to being put out to pasture.”
“I hope everything works out for you.”
They stood in silence for several moments. Gracie appreciated the woman’s kindness to a stranger, but even this minimal conversation was tiring after a long day, a long week. Her stomach rolled. Perhaps she should eat something.
Genevieve seemed to call herself back to the present. “So, Gracie. Are you and Gareth Wolff an item?”
“Just friends.” Gracie grimaced inwardly. How many women this evening had wondered the same thing? Obviously Genevieve’s motive in asking was no more than simple curiosity, but Gracie felt self-conscious nevertheless.
“He’s a very impressive man.”
“Yes, he is. I admire him very much.”
“Tell me, Gracie. What do you do when you’re not socializing with one of the East Coast’s most eligible bachelors? Are you an artist like Gareth?” Genevieve’s gentle interrogation was nothing out of the ordinary. Simple dinner party conversation. Queries a six-year-old could answer.
Gracie froze. Deer-in-the-headlights froze. She and Gareth should have come up with a plan for this eventuality. But they had been too busy indulging their hunger for each other. “Well, I…”
Her face must have shown distress, because Genevieve backed off immediately. “I’m sorry, my dear. My husband always accuses me of being nosy. If you’d rather not say, I certainly understand. All of us inside the beltway certainly understand secrecy.”
“Oh, no,” Gracie said, legs trembling. “It’s not that at all. I have nothing to hide. It’s just that…”
Her throat closed up. Nausea rose and crested in her belly. Embarrassment rolled over her head like a suffocating shroud. How had she not prepared for this eventuality? She could have lied. Pretended to be a lawyer, a teacher…anything.
Genevieve took her arm. “It’s okay,” she said in a soothing voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Let me take your glass so it doesn’t spill.”
Gracie’s hands were ice-cold. Her vision tunneled. She must have looked like hell, because Genevieve’s placid expression went from cordial to panicked.
Gracie tried to breathe through the constriction in her chest. “Gareth,” she whispered. “I need Gareth.”
Her world went black.
Fourteen
He saw her go down. For a split second his brain couldn’t process what was happening. “Sorry,” he muttered, thrusting the woman in his arms away and sprinting across the dance floor.
The older woman who had been conversing with Gracie had managed to catch her somewhat, supporting Gracie’s dead weight long enough to keep her from hitting her head as she collapsed to the floor.
Gareth scooped up the unconscious Gracie in his arms, cursing his stupidity. “Help me find a bedroom,” he demanded, his tone harsh.
The woman never missed a beat. They walked quickly down a hallway into a quiet wing, ending up in a beautifully appointed guest room that was thankfully empty.
Gareth laid Gracie carefully on the bed. Put his hand on her chest momentarily. She was breathing. One small part of his brain had wondered if Jacob missed something…if the previous head injury had resulted in death. Dear God…
He closed his eyes for a split second, his composure in shreds.
As he turned around, the woman held out her hand. “I’m Genevieve,” she said.
Shaking her hand briefly, he turned back to where Gracie lay so still and lovely in her black dress, the color emphasizing her pallor. “What happened?”
“I don’t really know.” Genevieve shrugged, her face unhappy. “We were having a nice conversation when she suddenly became overwrought.”
“In what way?”
“I asked her about herself…you know…what she does for a living, and she became very agitated before passing out.”
Gareth cursed furiously.
Genevieve blanched. “I’m sorry. Is this my fault somehow?”
He fisted his hands, wondering if he should call 911. “No,” he muttered. Gracie wouldn’t want her personal business to end up the source of gossip. “She’s been through a very difficult time lately. I thought an evening out would be good for her. Apparently I was wrong.”
Gracie stirred on the bed, her colorless lips moving silently as she began to wake up.
“What can I do to help?” Genevieve asked.
He rummaged in his pocket for a card. “Please call the car service. This is my driver. Ask him to come to the back door ASAP.” He paused, knowing he owed this woman a debt and an apology. “Thank you for being kind to her. I’m sorry if I was rude.”
Genevieve touched his arm gently. “I saw your face, young man. This woman is your life.” With no more than that, she exited the room.
Gareth sat down on the bed and pulled Gracie into his arms, holding her tightly. “I’ve got you,” he said, his eyes stinging. “I’ve got you.”
Her lashes lifted, revealing a cloudy, confused gaze. “Gareth?”
“You’re fine. Everything’s fine. We’re going home.”
“But I wanted to dance with you.”
He hadn’t thought he could feel any worse. “Maybe another time,” he said, the words torn from his throat. “Let’s get you home.”
Genevieve was as good as her word. As soon as Gareth spirited Gracie to the back of the house, carrying her with utmost care, the car appeared at the back door. Genevieve waved them off and promised to give Gareth’s goodbyes to the senator.
Gareth would have taken Gracie away under any conditions, but the hour was late, and Gareth had certainly fulfilled his obligation.
In the limo he reached into the mini fridge for a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap. “Drink this,” he said softly, holding her across his lap and wondering if he’d ever be able to let go. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Her blue eyes met his. “I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you in front of the senator,” she said miserably. “I never should have come.”
“Correction,” he said tersely. “I never should have brought you.”
Her tiny gasp and the wounded look on her face reduced him to cursing again. “Hell, Gracie. You know that’s not what I meant. I’m worried about you, damn it. Clearly neither of us has taken the consequences of this amnesia thing seriously enough. What happened in there? Why did you faint?”
She insisted on leaving his lap, her shoulders bowed in defeat. “It was nothing,” she murmured, her face turned toward the window as they streaked along through the night, cocooned in intimacy. “A stupid nothing.”
He caressed her arm. “Tell me. Please.”
“She asked me what I did…when I wasn’t dating the East Coast’s most eligible bachelor. All I had to do was make up something, but for some reason, her simple question caught me off guard. I’d probably had too much wine…and I didn’t eat enough of my dinner. What can I say? I was an idiot.”
“Stop that,” he said firmly. “You’re not to blame. I brought you here. Took you out of a safe environment. Exactly what Jacob warned me not to do.”
“But I wanted to come,” she insisted. “I wanted this one special time with you before I have to leave.”
“Not so special anymore, is it?” He brooded quietly in his corner, wishing he could turn back the clock.
At the hotel, she battled him, insisting on going inside under her own steam. The only reason he didn’t overrule her was that the argument took what little strength she had left and winnowed it away.
In their living room, he hesitated, unsure of the
appropriate course of action. He wouldn’t make love to her, not tonight. She needed to rest. But would she rather be alone?
She swayed on her feet, her skin paper-white, her eyes haunted. Not a trace of his spunky, combative houseguest remained.
“Maybe you’d be more comfortable in your own bed,” he muttered. “No need to set an alarm. All I had planned for tomorrow was some touristy stuff. Or we can go home if you’d rather.”
Her gaze was uncomprehending, her eyes bleak.
“Come here.” He picked her up. She didn’t protest as her head lolled against his shoulder.
In her room, he stood her on her feet only long enough to slide the dress from her body and tuck her between the sheets wearing nothing but those sinful panties. Seeing her almost-nude beauty shook him.
Earlier in the limo, a wanton and fabulous Gracie had dazzled him with her strength, her fiery femininity. Now she was a broken doll. And it was his fault.
Gracie woke in the dark, struggling to break free from the tentacles of a bad dream. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out and wake Gareth. She’d done enough damage as it was. He didn’t need her to lean on him, to suffocate him with her neediness.
And if she was going to enjoy his lovemaking in whatever short time they had left, she surely didn’t want a man who felt sorry for her.
After donning a thigh-length silk robe, she crept stealthily into the living room and opened the armoire that hid a small fridge. Taking out a bottle of sparkling water, she unscrewed the lid and sipped it slowly, wondering if her life would ever get back to normal.
She was trapped in a strange limbo. Too broken and confused to recognize the past, too distraught to contemplate the future.
She crossed the room, eased open the glass doors and stepped out onto the small balcony. It was cold now, the flagstones icy beneath her feet. She welcomed the discomfort, needing to shake off the lingering effects of the nightmare.
Traffic noise, even at this hour, hummed in the distance. This beautiful historic city had seen its fair share of heartache and pain. With equal measures of hope and triumph in between. Gracie intended to emulate that pattern. Life had dealt her a dual blow…erasing her memory and filling the resultant void with an intense yearning for a man who would not, could not be hers.
She had to trust that whatever followed, wherever the path led her, she would survive, both literally and emotionally. She was strong; she felt that in the marrow of her bones. And she was never going to admit defeat when it came to retrieving her memories, even if some of them were gone for good.
And as for Gareth…
Well, Shakespeare had it right. It was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
She shivered violently, her numb fingers clenched around the glass bottle. The thought of returning to her solitary bed held little allure. But she dared not risk adding pneumonia to her list of physical ailments.
As quietly as she had exited, she padded back inside, locking the French doors and pulling the diaphanous fabric panels into place. When she turned around, her heartbeat spiked in alarm. A man loomed in the shadows of the room. Gareth.
She set the water bottle on a table and wrapped her arms around her middle. “You scared me,” she said softly.
“Then we’re even. What are you doing out of bed?”
“I’m sorry I woke you.” It wasn’t an answer to his question, but she didn’t mention the dream. If a woman planned to stand on her own two feet, she had to start somewhere.
Gareth closed the distance between them. For the first time, she realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of navy silk boxers. His broad chest looked even more impressive au naturel than it had in a designer tuxedo. With rumpled hair and the dark shadow of a beard marking his roughly sculpted jawline, he looked nothing like the senator’s honored guest. He stopped mere inches from her, their bodies almost touching.
“Come to bed with me,” he said, the words a low rumble that stroked her nerves and weakened her knees.
“I can’t, Gareth.” She wanted to. She craved the oblivion that she would find in his arms, the soul-searing relief of climax, the physical bliss his claiming would bring. But she hadn’t slept well the past few nights without Gareth in her bed. And she ached with a fatigue that was as much mental as physical.
“Not for that. You need to let me hold you.” He stopped, backed up verbally. “I need to hold you,” he said, dropping his forehead to hers as he slid his arms around her waist. “Good God,” he exclaimed. “You’re freezing.”
She wanted to cry when he picked her up, his strength effortless as he carried her back to his bed. He tucked her beneath the covers and slid in beside her. The sheets still held the heat from his body. She curled into a ball, her head pillowed on her hand. Gareth spooned her from behind, his natural warmth so comforting she wanted to purr.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
His unmistakable erection pulsed between them, but he neither acknowledged his physical state nor made any attempt to coax her into a more intimate embrace.
She yawned, sleep slurring her words. “For rescuing me tonight.”
He chuckled, holding her close, his hard, hair-covered arm tucked firmly beneath her breasts. “A woman as strong as you are is more than capable of rescuing herself.” He played with a curl behind her ear, his fingers sending shivers of sensation down her neck. “Go to sleep, Gracie.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Go to sleep.”
She obeyed him instantly, her body going lax, her breathing slowing to a calm, steady cadence. Holding her like this was both pleasure and pain. His body recognized the opportunity for what it was. His better instincts reminded him that she was fragile, in need of healing.
As the clock marked off the hours, he pondered his options. The life he’d built for himself had no permanent place for a woman. And even if he managed to rewrite his own hard-and-fast rules, Gracie might not need him anymore once she returned to her home turf.
He could love her if he allowed himself that leeway. But he hadn’t. Not yet. Caution still held the reins. He knew what it was like to love and to lose, and he was in no hurry to experience that pain again.
He cupped one of her small, firm breasts. She fit into his arms perfectly. But into his life? That was another story.
Who was Gracie Darlington? And did it really matter if she had amnesia? The world was full of couples who married only to realize that they didn’t know the other person at all. Was it ever possible to really know someone?
He loved the qualities Gracie had shown him. Her sweet spirit. Her compassion. Her refusal to whine or complain in the face of adversity. Surely nothing sinister lurked in the wings.
Marriage? He lifted a mental eyebrow, stunned that the word had popped into his head, even obliquely.
Resting his cheek against her shoulder, he tried to let sleep claim him. Hard as a pike, hungry as a lion, he forced himself to relax, to be lulled by the rhythm of her breathing.
The world outside their room ceased to exist as he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair.
Fifteen
Gracie had disappeared when he woke up. But the pillow beside him still bore the imprint of her head. He yawned and stretched. She couldn’t have been gone long.
After showering rapidly, he went in search of her…and found her standing on the balcony again, this time dressed in crisp white slacks and an off-the-shoulder turquoise peasant blouse. She looked fresh and beautiful, and he wanted her so badly, he shook with it.
He scowled, unused to being at the mercy of his body. Enduring periods of celibacy had always been his choice. But with Gracie, his self-control ceased to exist. If he had his way, they would never leave the suite. Spending the day in bed held a raw, seductive appeal.
She smiled at him when he stepped outside. “Good morning.” Her eyes were clear, the shadows gone.
He gave her a hard kiss, one that left her flustered and rosy cheeked.
“Good morning, yourself. Are you ready to hit the town? I thought we’d take in some of the museums.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Do you have any feel for whether you’ve ever explored the Smithsonian?”
“Not a clue. So I’m ready to be entertained.”
He would have liked to interpret her words on a carnal level, but he’d promised himself to give her an uncomplicated, enjoyable day. Tomorrow they would head back to the mountain…and soon, on to Savannah. He shoved the thought aside. “Grab what you need. I have a driver picking us up in fifteen minutes.”
Gracie managed to shut out all memories of the previous night’s debacle. For a few short hours, she intended to have nothing on her mind but a handsome man, a fun day and a chance to spread her wings.
Gareth had hired a driver for their outing, insisting that Gracie was not up to walking the distances required to go from museum to museum. It was patently untrue. She felt full of energy and ready to tackle the world. But if Gareth insisted on pampering her, who was she to quibble?
After breakfast at a street-side café, they made their way via a maze of one-way streets to their first stop. The Museum of American History. Gracie recognized items in many of the exhibits: Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers, Julia Child’s kitchen, the Star-Spangled Banner, Michelle Obama’s inaugural gown. But she had no clue if she had stood in these exact same spots before, or if she knew the cultural icons in other contexts.
Later, they picnicked on the mall, seated side by side on a park bench, the sun beaming down with benevolent warmth. The driver had picked up a preordered basket filled with all sorts of goodies. As they ate, Gracie smiled, enjoying the feeling of normalcy. All around them, life ebbed and flowed. “I like it here,” she said, sipping a Coke and stretching her legs to admire the espadrilles Annalise had picked out.
Into His Private Domain Page 13