by Anne Ha
“It’s okay, Jenny. I’d figured that out, anyway. I was scared of him at first, but I’m not anymore.”
Jenny blinked at her, then shook her head. “Gosh, that’s so weird.”
“Why?” she asked. What was strange about being scared of a man who looked like Frankenstein’s monster?
“You said those exact same words ten years ago. The first time you met Hugh, you practically ran screaming from the house. But pretty soon you guys were buddies. And now you repeated the same thing you told me then. Amnesia’s pretty wild, isn’t it, Sam?”
She nodded. “Garrick said I wanted to be called Samantha.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Well, if that isn’t just like Garrick, saying whatever he wants about your past while forbidding me to do the same! So what if you did ask to be called Samantha? You like Sam better. Samantha was just an attempt to sound sophisticated because—Well, never mind why. You like to be called Sam, so that’s what I’m going to call you.”
Samantha didn’t see any sense in arguing, since she had no idea which name she normally liked better. Sam sounded fine for the time being.
True to her word, Jenny led her on a brief but thorough tour of the important parts of the house, ignoring the east wing and the third floor entirely. By the time she deposited her at her bedroom door, Samantha felt reasonably confident she could find her way downstairs again, and utterly frustrated that she couldn’t remember a thing about a house she’d apparently known quite well.
Aside from that fleeting memory of her mother and the strange moment of familiarity in the entrance hall when Jenny had run down to greet her, she was still no closer to regaining her past.
Jenny gave her another hug. “You should rest now, just as his lordship ordered. I’ll be reading up for my next exam if you need me. Garrick’s probably closeted in his study, though I’m sure he’ll come check on you before long, and Mom will be home for lunch in a couple hours.” She kissed her on the cheek. “It’s great to have you home, Sam. We really missed you.”
Samantha closed the heavy wood door to the bedroom as Jenny started down the hallway. She looked around herself, taking in the high ceiling with its stucco designs, the ornately carved four-poster bed, the elegant dressing table and the lush Chinese carpet under her feet. It all exuded wealth.
And Samantha hated it.
Chapter Three
She swept her gaze through the bedroom again. Admittedly, it was beautiful. Most people would be thrilled to have such a room.
Samantha wasn’t.
Perhaps foolishly, she’d hoped she and Garrick would share a room—but this luxurious haven was clearly hers and hers alone. Samantha couldn’t find a single indication of masculine occupancy. The feminine items were obvious, though: potpourri and scented candles; a flacon of perfume on the dressing table, along with a vase of blue irises; something long and silky hanging from a hook on the door to the private bath.
Stepping farther into the room, she wondered which items should look familiar. If they’d told her she’d lived here a decade instead of two months, she’d never have been the wiser. Everything looked equally foreign.
She lifted the perfume stopper and held it under her nose, then grimaced. The scent was sexy and cloying, and no doubt expensive, but it didn’t appeal to her. It was something a wealthy young woman would wear to a charity auction.
Sighing heavily, Samantha stashed the perfume in the dressing table drawer. This room confirmed her worst fears about herself. She doubted she’d have accepted a separate bedroom—no matter how lavish— if she’d married for love rather than money.
At least they had a connecting door, she told herself. A small consolation.
She crossed to the opening and gazed through it, feeling like a spy, but unable to stop herself. Garrick’s room had simpler furniture, darker colors and a solid, no-nonsense, king-size bed. And, in some elusive way, it smelled different. Spicier. More masculine, like Garrick himself.
Samantha closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as if she’d been drowning and finally made it onto dry land. Then she realized what she was doing and felt like an idiot.
Stepping back from the doorway, she finished her exploration. She learned the locations of her clothes— which were blessedly simple and unpretentious, including her business attire—and blushed when she came to the lingerie chest. She might be modest on the outside, but on the inside she seemed to be quite the romantic.
Too bad her marriage had nothing to do with romance.
Enough! she thought. She had to stop moping, stop feeling sorry for herself. She’d gotten herself into this marriage—even though she couldn’t remember doing it—and she’d have to deal with the consequences.
Samantha showered and lay down for a while, remembering Dr. Hernandez’s warning to take it easy. Her hands kept returning to her belly, and she wondered how long it would take before the pregnancy really showed.
She felt better when she thought about the baby. Despite her current uncertainty, she knew she loved it very much. Tenderness swept through her every time she imagined holding her child in her arms. And if she was capable of such loving feelings, then maybe she wasn’t such a conniving person after all….
At half past twelve, Garrick knocked on her door to announce lunch was ready.
“Get settled in?” he asked when she joined him in the hall.
“Yes, thank you.” She met his gaze, her mind full of questions. Does that door between our rooms stay open each night? Do we ever sleep together? Just what sort of arrangement is this?
But she didn’t ask, as if the answers would be carved in stone once he’d spoken them. She wasn’t quite ready for that.
Downstairs in the dining room, Samantha met Beth Randall. Met wasn’t the right word, of course, since she’d obviously known the older woman for years, but Samantha couldn’t think of any other way to express it: once again she confronted a face she didn’t recognize.
“Don’t worry,” Beth said in a kindly voice. “I understand all about your memory lapse. I’m sure things will feel strange to you for a while, but that will pass.”
Hugh served a rich tomato soup with fresh-baked bread, followed by herbed roast chicken. After a mediocre breakfast at the hospital, Samantha had a healthy appetite—not to mention the fact that she was eating for two.
She enjoyed speaking with her mother-in-law. Beth was open, warm, and friendly. An older version of Jenny, Beth had short dark hair and an attractive middle-aged figure. Jenny had obviously inherited her enthusiasm and bright blue eyes from her mother, but in both aspects Beth had a quality of wisdom and serenity that Jenny hadn’t yet developed.
Beth was a partner in a Portland law firm specializing in antidiscrimination law. Currently she was preparing for a major case, and Samantha soon realized that having Beth home for lunch was more a special occasion than an everyday event. She felt touched that Beth had taken time out of her day to welcome her home.
During the meal, Beth told them about her case and generally steered the conversation to topics that would be of interest even to an amnesiac. Everyone behaved naturally, Samantha thought, as if it were perfectly normal to sit down to lunch with someone who didn’t even know her own identity.
They were a loving family. But she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t remember any of them, and couldn’t help wondering if she were only sitting at the table because she’d manipulated her way into their household.
At the end of the meal, Jenny and Hugh cleared the table together. Beth Randall drew Samantha aside and said to Garrick, “I’m going to take your wife out to the garden for a minute. That is,” she said, turning to Samantha, “if you feel up to a short stroll?”
“I’d like that,” she replied, though she felt a moment’s unease. This had the look of a serious conversation. How much did Beth know about her son’s marriage? And how much had she guessed about Samantha’s motives?
They walked out through the French doors at the back of the house and
wandered through the sculpted garden to a bench overlooking the city below.
On the bench Beth turned to face her and took her hands in hers. “This must be very difficult for you,” she said, “waking up to a strange family and being married to a man you don’t recognize.”
Samantha nodded.
Beth squeezed her hands. “You may not remember it, but we all love you very much. This is your home, and you would be welcome here even if you weren’t married to my son.”
“Oh…” At Beth’s expression of support, tears prickled Samantha’s eyes. She felt so confused and turned around by the events of the past day.
“I’ve tried to be a mother for you since your parents died,” Beth continued. “And I love you as much as if you were my own daughter.”
Samantha’s chest constricted. Could Beth love her if she’d manipulated Garrick into marriage, and done it only for the money? She doubted the older woman, who seemed so wise and perceptive, would misjudge her character to such an extent.
Samantha thought again of her feelings for her baby. She remembered the warm and affectionate welcomes everyone had given her.
Maybe, just maybe, Beth loved her because she was a good person. Maybe she hadn’t done all the things she imagined she had.
“I’m sure Garrick and Jenny will take great care of you,” Beth said. “But if you do need someone else to talk with, call me at the office anytime.” She glanced at her watch and stood up. “I’m sorry to run off, but I have to get back downtown.”
Just inside the French doors, Beth gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt in the accident, Samantha. And I’m glad you finally married Garrick. There’s no one else I’d rather welcome into the family, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to be a grandmother soon.”
Samantha didn’t know how long she stood there, staring into space, after Beth had left.
At one point she felt Garrick’s hand on her shoulder and turned to find him standing beside her. “Samantha?” he asked. “You okay?”
She nodded, looking up into his eyes. “I’m fine.”
He examined her face closely. “You look as if you’ve been crying.”
“I haven’t.” She’d come close, outside with Beth, but she didn’t say so. “I’m just feeling a little emotional.” She tried to smile. “Pregnant ladies are like that.”
Garrick led her down the hall to the library. He closed the door behind them and sat her down on a soft leather sofa.
“Samantha,” he said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, “tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Did my mother say something to upset you?”
She shook her head again, causing the strand of hair to come loose. “She said she loves me,” she admitted, her voice catching.
And then she burst into tears.
Garrick drew her into his arms, letting her sob on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, and with the other hand stroked her back in a comforting motion.
It felt wonderful just to be held in his arms, to have his warmth envelop her and be able to depend on his strength. She shifted to get closer, burrowing against him. She surrendered to all the chaotic emotions within her, all the fear, loneliness and confusion. All the doubts and self-recriminations.
Garrick just held her tightly against him until her tears stopped falling. She felt his lips against her skin and hair, and realized he was giving her gentle kisses.
She didn’t want the kisses to stop, but finally she released her grip on his strong shoulder and pushed herself back upright. “I’ve ruined your shirt.”
Garrick shook his head. He brushed back her hair and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb.
She stared into his eyes, amazed at his tenderness toward her. How could she have ever thought his gray eyes were hard? They weren’t hard at all, but soft and soothing. Filled with compassion and, if she didn’t know better, something that looked an awful lot like love.
Their gazes held for a long moment. Then his dropped slowly to her mouth and he bent his head to kiss her lips.
The caress was warm and soft, sending cascades of liquid languor running through her. Garrick kept kissing her, gently, until she closed her eyes and relaxed back against him. And then he simply held her cradled against him for a long, long time.
Samantha spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden, reading books on pregnancy. Garrick had installed her on the patio outside his private study, and though she couldn’t see him through the reflections on the glass, his nearness comforted her.
She felt better. Crying her heart out on Garrick’s shoulder had done wonders for her state of mind. She’d been bottling up all the terror and uncertainty of waking up in a hospital not knowing who she was—and then coming home to an unexpected mansion—and it was a blessed relief to give in to those emotions.
She was beginning to feel safer. Beth and Jenny loved her, and whatever Garrick might or might not feel, she now knew he didn’t despise her—he couldn’t, and still be capable of the tenderness he’d shown after her talk with Beth.
Jenny joined her for a while to read one of her law textbooks, and Garrick came out frequently with snacks and glasses of juice, each time staying to chat a few minutes.
Maybe, she thought when she was alone again, maybe the story behind her marriage wasn’t as sordid as she’d imagined. What if, instead of scheming to marry Garrick, she’d simply fallen victim to a momentary passion? They’d been friends for years, he’d told her. Didn’t friendship sometimes change abruptly between men and women?
If so, they’d obviously been careless, and for the sake of their child, had agreed to marry. Maybe their friendship would be enough to keep them happy.
She looked up as Garrick stepped out onto the patio, a small bunch of grapes in his hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
She stared at the grapes. “Full.”
He laughed, his gray eyes sparkling. “Pregnant women are supposed to eat well—and frequently. You have to put on enough weight for the baby to be healthy.”
“It’s not a question of the weight, Garrick,” she answered, grinning back at him. “My stomach just isn’t big enough after all the crackers and fruit and juice you’ve been feeding me this afternoon.”
“Mind if I eat these grapes, then?”
“Not at all.”
He pulled up a chair and relaxed down onto it. They sat together in the warm spring air. She read a few pages while Garrick ate the grapes.
It was difficult to concentrate with him sitting so near. Her eyes kept drifting toward his lips and jaw, toward the long nimble fingers transporting grapes to his mouth.
He had kissed her. This husband of hers who didn’t love her—but who seemed to like and care for her— had kissed her and stroked her face with his fingers. He had kissed her lightly, fleetingly, and she’d wanted more.
She was definitely attracted to him. It was easy to imagine that after years of friendship with this handsome man, she’d begun to feel an overwhelming desire for him. She certainly felt it now. And look what happened! She was reduced to reading baby books and trying to keep her eyes off his impossibly sexy mouth.
“Anything interesting?” he asked.
Her gaze flew to his. Had he caught her staring?
“In the book,” he said. “Which one is that, anyway?”
She closed the book, using her finger to keep her place, and tilted the cover toward him.
“Oh, that one’s pretty intimidating.” He leaned down and selected a book from the stack by her chair. “This one is a lot more pleasant. We both liked it the best.”
“You’ve read all these?” She shouldn’t have been surprised, she guessed.
Garrick grinned. “And a few more, too. I’m probably as overwhelmed by the whole pregnancy thing as you are. Do you want the last grape?”
She did, she realized. Her tongue was already anticipating t
he sweetness of it. “Sure,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “If you don’t.”
She held out her hand, but he ignored it. Instead, he raised his hand to her lips, the grape held between his thumb and forefinger.
Their eyes met as the grape touched her lips. Samantha felt a jolt of awareness at the fascination in Garrick’s gaze. Quickly she took the grape into her mouth and looked away. When she looked back, the fascination was gone.
But it had been there, she assured herself when he’d left. She hadn’t imagined it. And it was easy to believe they might have been swept away by mutual passion three months ago.
She still felt confused about the circumstances. But since she wouldn’t know everything until she got her memory back—if she got her memory back—she resolved on the spot to do all she could to make her marriage a good one. Though she may have gotten into it for bad or careless reasons, she had no plans to get out of it. Garrick was a warm and caring man, and his family loved her. Maybe he would grow to love her, too.
She knew she could grow to love him.
Garrick sat in bed, wearing his dressing gown and a pair of pajama bottoms, with a marketing report on his lap. He tried to focus on the important information in front of him but kept thinking of his wife.
Just as he had all afternoon.
With Samantha reading baby books outside his study window, he hadn’t gotten a thing done. He couldn’t keep his mind off that kiss they’d shared— that first kiss, though she didn’t know it.
Ten years, he thought, and they’d only kissed once. Even at their civil ceremony two months ago he’d only brushed his lips against her cheek.
He could still taste the salt of her tears, could still feel her breasts pressed against his chest and her warm breath on his skin. He’d needed every ounce of self-control not to bend her back on the couch and take her right there.
And all he’d been able to think about all afternoon was how it would feel to peel her shirt up over her head, unhook her bra and feel her skin against his own.