by Anne Ha
Samantha remembered their embrace that afternoon. Though intense, it had also been comforting and tentative, as if they were delicately exploring each other for the first time. In a way, of course, it had been their first kiss—at least from her perspective. Garrick could be familiar with her lips to the point of boredom, but to her, his every plane and angle was like a new land to be explored and mapped and conquered….
Samantha rolled onto her side once more. She stared at Garrick’s profile in the dim light that filtered through the windows on either side of the bed. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, so she could see that his eyes were closed. His profile was handsome and strong, his chin well defined, his lips full and sensuous.
And, as far as she could tell, he was still awake. His breathing hadn’t settled into a regular rhythm, and every few minutes he moved around, as if he couldn’t get comfortable.
“Garrick?” she asked softly.
At first she thought he hadn’t heard her, but then she saw his eye open. “Garrick?” she repeated.
No answer.
Samantha bit her lip. She shouldn’t have said anything, she realized. She should have just lain there until exhaustion finally overcame the heady sensations of being in Garrick’s bed. “Forget it,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”
He rolled his head on the pillow and seemed to fix his eyes on her face. In the dim light she could barely make out his expression. He didn’t look particularly happy.
Finally he closed his eyes as if he were in pain and turned his face back to the ceiling.
She heard him give a muffled groan.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He swung an arm over his eyes.
She watched, trying to understand his reaction. “Something’s wrong, Garrick. I’m your wife. You can tell me.”
He turned toward her and levered up on an elbow, just as he’d done when she’d climbed into bed. The bedclothes lifted with his movement; cool air drifted down between them.
Goose bumps tightened her skin. She felt exposed suddenly, as if he could see her naked body beneath the nightgown. It wasn’t a frightening feeling—just a little uncomfortable, with a return of that shimmery sensation, as if a small electric current were dancing across her flesh.
“What could possibly be wrong, Samantha?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
He laughed, but didn’t seem amused. It was a rough, self-mocking laugh. “What, indeed. You’re here in my bed, where you belong, wearing a nightgown that would tempt a saint. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all.”
She still felt confused, but latched on to the small measure of reassurance she found in his words. “I belong in your bed?”
No answer.
“I’m welcome here?”
“Yes, Samantha…. You’re welcome in my bed.”
Pleasure filled her, unexpected in its intensity. “Good,” she said. “With the amnesia and all, I guess I wasn’t sure…I’m so glad. And I’m glad the amnesia hasn’t changed anything. I mean, it shouldn’t, right? It’s just a little memory loss.” She was babbling, she realized, but couldn’t seem to stop. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re husband and wife….”
“Go to sleep, Samantha.”
“I can’t,” she admitted, fidgeting with the covers, folding the edge of the sheet back and forth between her fingers like an accordion. She sighed. “Too worked up, I guess.”
“Well, you should try, anyway,” he growled. “I need to get some rest tonight, and you’re keeping me from it.”
Her brows drew together. “Are you angry with me, Garrick?”
“No, I’m not angry with you, Samantha.”
“Then what’s going on…? You can’t sleep. Okay, why not? Tell me.”
Silence.
He said, “I can’t sleep because you’re in bed with me. I don’t want to sleep. I want to make love with you. Slowly. I want to drown in the rose petal scent of you, want to push aside that flimsy little nightgown and caress every inch of your body until you melt in my arms. And then I want to slip inside you and bring us both the release we damn well deserve. That’s why I can’t sleep, Samantha. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
She couldn’t breathe. His words, rough as they were, sent a wave of liquid heat crashing through her body. She felt them like a physical touch, a seductive stroke of his fingers on her skin.
Yes, she realized, those words were exactly what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to do all those things he’d described, to welcome her home as only a husband could.
But she couldn’t bring herself to say that, so she said something else instead. “You…you don’t have to call me Samantha if you don’t want to.”
Garrick stared at her. “What?” He sounded as if he was choking.
“You can call me Sam. I don’t remember why I liked Samantha, but I think I like Sam better.”
Silence descended on the room, and it lasted so long she wondered if Garrick had suddenly fallen asleep. He didn’t move a muscle. The sheets didn’t rustle and the bedsprings didn’t shift. She could hear the distant creaking sounds as the old mansion settled down for the night.
Finally she found the courage to look at his face.
Garrick’s incredulity was clear even in the dim light. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
“I heard you just fine,” she answered. He might have meant to scare her off, but he’d only done the opposite. He’d piqued her curiosity. Now she wanted to feel his lips on hers, feel his hands touching her.
“I heard you just fine,” she repeated.
He gave a groan of frustration. “And?”
“And okay.”
He was absolutely still.
“I said okay, Garrick. You can make love to me if you want to.”
Garrick switched on the light.
She blinked at him in the sudden glare. He stared back at her, and she thought she saw a heat in his gray eyes to match the heat in her body, but she couldn’t be sure.
His gaze roved over her face, then dipped lower to the swell of her breasts. The covers had slipped down to reveal them, and the sheer nightgown was no barrier at all. It only accentuated the sensual feel of her nipples as they tightened under Garrick’s perusal.
Samantha made her own perusal, trailing her gaze across the bare skin of his shoulders and upper torso, taking note of the rock-hard muscles, wondering again what he wore farther down.
She caught her breath.
He made her feel sexy and desirable. He made her want him with a need that wiped out every other thought in her head. Had it been like this the first time? And the second and the third?
For a crazy moment Samantha actually savored her amnesia; it let her experience this overwhelming emotional and physical response to her husband as if it were their first time together.
She shivered, waiting.
But instead of drawing her into his warm embrace, Garrick pulled the covers back up to her chin. He adjusted them as if she were a child being tucked into bed. “Go to sleep, Sam.”
For a moment she was so stunned she couldn’t reply. She tried not to show her hurt. “Why?”
He shook his head regretfully. “Because we have to wait until you’re better. As much as I’d like to make love with you tonight, you need to have your memory back first.”
She didn’t understand. And what if she never got her memory back? Would they never make love? “I’m your wife, Garrick. I’m having your baby. It’s not as if we haven’t done it before.”
Garrick closed his eyes, shutting her out. When he opened them again, he seemed even more determined. “I’m sorry, Sam, believe me. But it’s just not possible.”
He raised a hand to caress her face. His fingertips skimmed down her cheek, leaving a tingly trail in their wake. “We’ll talk in the morning,” he said gently. “Then you’ll understand.”
But she didn’t think she would. What could he possibly say to explain his behavior
, his rejection?
Garrick turned out the light and settled back on his side of the bed.
Samantha didn’t speak.
It was going to be a very, very long night.
As soon as the sky began to lighten, Garrick eased out of bed. Quietly, so as not to wake his wife, he put on his robe, thinking of what he had to tell her—and trying to keep his eyes off her sleep-soft body.
Her golden hair fanned across the pillows. One bare arm lay atop the comforter. The warm yellow light of dawn washed over her, and he wanted more than anything to climb back into bed and curl his body around her.
He didn’t want to tell her the truth.
Needing a chance to prepare himself, Garrick made his way downstairs for a cup of coffee. With any luck the rest of the household would still be asleep, and he’d have a few quiet moments alone before he faced the moment of reckoning.
He was out of luck. Jenny sat at the breakfast table poring over a law book, a glass of orange juice at her elbow.
“How’s Sam?” she asked, glancing up.
Garrick went to the automatic coffeemaker on the sideboard and poured himself a cup. “She’s fine.”
Jenny gave him an amused look. “Well, aren’t we cheery this morning! What’s wrong, did she sleep in her own bed last night? I thought the open door would be enough of a hint, but I guess it was too subtle.”
“It wasn’t too subtle,” he growled. “She slept in my bed last night.”
“Oh.” His sister beamed with satisfaction. “Well, after all, she is your wife….”
Garrick turned his back on her, stalking up to the mass of ferns and staring out the window. He took a long sip of coffee and tried to calm himself down. “Jenny, don’t you think this has gone far enough? I appreciate your efforts to trick Samantha into falling in love with me, but it’s time to stop. When she wakes up, I’m going to remind her she doesn’t love me. And doesn’t want me as a husband.” He turned around and met her eyes. “It isn’t fair to keep her in the dark.”
Jenny closed her law book with a thud. “What exactly happened last night, Garrick?”
He exhaled forcefully. “Exactly what you hoped would happen. Sam climbed into my bed, dressed in one of those obscene things I’m sure you planted in her room, and lay there waiting for me to make love to her.”
Jenny gave him a disappointed look. “You didn’t do it, did you?”
Garrick met her look with a scowl. His body ached from spending so many hours so close to his desirable young wife, and it wasn’t helping his mood. Neither was his lack of sleep. “In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said, “she’s not herself. Wife or not, I could never take advantage of her like that.”
Jenny considered him thoughtfully. “Maybe she’s more herself than she has been in years. Is it so hard to believe she would actually desire you?”
Desire? He doubted that was the word for it.
You can make love to me if you want to, she’d said. Hardly a flattering invitation. Hardly an expression of consuming desire. More likely she’d resigned herself to doing her wifely duty.
He stared into his cup of coffee. “Desire isn’t enough,” he muttered.
“It’s a start,” Jenny said.
Garrick sighed and sat at the table. “Yes, a bad one. Look, Sam needs to know the truth. I’m going to tell her everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything.”
Jenny was quiet for a moment.
Garrick took advantage of her rare silence to take a few more sips of coffee. He watched her slowly twirl her glass of orange juice, staring into it as if it held the wisdom of the world.
At last she said, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“I do.”
She remained unfazed. “Yesterday,” she mused, “you were the one telling me not to spill too much.”
He folded his arms. “You weren’t spilling facts, Jenny,” he said, eyes narrowed. “You were spilling fabrications.”
“Now, Garrick,” she replied in a placating tone, “I know this is a confusing time for all of us. The trick is to keep your head. Letting your emotions rule everything will come to no good.”
“And what is it you think I should do?”
Jenny stood and paced around the breakfast room, her steps measured and deliberate. She tilted her head. “It seems clear enough to me. Just go on as you have since Sam woke up. Continue to treat her as the wife you love very much, and don’t breathe a word about the past—at least not about the important parts of the past.”
“I can’t hide her life from her, Jenny. I can’t keep telling her half-truths and letting her jump to the wrong conclusions about everything.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Jenny said. She stopped in her tracks and pointed an accusing finger at him. “What do you think will happen if you tell her the truth about the baby?”
His sister looked cool and calm and ruthless, Garrick thought Like a lawyer making her closing arguments to the jury.
He said, “She knew the truth before the accident.”
“Of course she did. But she doesn’t know it now. All she knows is that she’s married to a wonderful, caring, handsome man.”
“And that she’s pregnant.”
“Right.” Jenny came to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Which is exactly my point. She’s in a delicate condition right now. I’m afraid the shock of learning how the baby was conceived, and how she came to be married to you, might be enough to cause a miscarriage.”
He felt his chest tighten painfully. “Sam’s made of stronger stuff than that.”
“She’s in a very confusing position, Garrick. She can’t remember her past, and anything you tell her is going to have a powerful effect on her. Think about it. If she can’t remember everything about the past ten years, the news of her recent actions will be a shock to her system.”
“She wouldn’t lose the baby.”
Jenny stared down at him, then twisted the screw a final turn. “Are you so sure about that? Sure enough to risk the baby’s life and Samantha’s, too? Haven’t we had enough trauma in the family?”
Garrick didn’t answer. Just the thought of Samantha dying brought back the terrible panic he’d felt when the police had called to inform him of her car accident. His chest clenched tighter.
Jenny resumed her seat. She leaned forward across the table. Her voice was gentle. “You want that child, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I want the child. But I also want it to have a safe, loving home. I don’t see how that’s possible if its parents’ marriage begins with this kind of deception.”
“Tough. That’s the risk you’re going to have to take. The other alternative is unthinkable. So follow my advice and keep being the caring, loving husband I know you can be.”
“Dammit, Jenny.” She was right. He didn’t have a choice. And he hated being backed into a corner.
Jenny relaxed in her chair, a smile on her face. “I know it’s not ideal, Garrick. But look on the bright side. She might end up falling in love with you.”
Chapter Five
He’d said they would talk in the morning and then she would understand. But after their talk Samantha felt every bit as confused as she had before.
Garrick continued to insist they couldn’t make love until she regained her memory. He said she needed more time to recover. She wasn’t herself. Her state was too tenuous.
Something told Samantha the matter was more complex. And, though she knew it was probably better they hadn’t rushed into intimacy on her first night back, she still felt that nagging sense of hurt.
That nagging, familiar sense of hurt, she realized with some surprise. Yes, it was familiar. Right around the edge of her consciousness hung the knowledge she’d felt that way before.
Well, that made sense, she told herself, especially if she’d loved Garrick for the past ten years and he’d ignored her until recently. Maybe he’d been between girlfriend
s and had only turned to her for physical gratification—and maybe he felt so guilty for getting her pregnant that it made him reluctant to make love again.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
To keep herself from brooding, Samantha spent the morning exploring the grounds, which included a tennis court and a swimming pool. Though her car had been scrapped after the wreck, and Beth and Jenny had left for the day, she found several vehicles in the converted carriage house—more evidence of the Randall family’s wealth.
After lunch on the patio, she and Garrick cleaned up while Hugh ran errands. Watching her husband scrub a pan at the sink, Samantha thought again how attractive he was. He’d rolled up his white shirtsleeves, and a lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look younger than usual. Almost as young as he was.
As they worked together, the tension between them ebbed. Garrick kept up a stream of conversation, describing the Rose Festival, Portland’s annual citywide celebration, and suggesting they see a Broadway play that had recently come to town. Gradually Samantha forgot about his rejection the night before, charmed by his gentle teasing and lively gray eyes.
“Garrick,” she said on impulse, “tell me more about yourself. I know that sounds strange,” she added with a self-conscious laugh, “since we’re married and having a baby…”
“What kinds of things would you like to hear about?”
“Anything and everything. I want to know you as well as I used to.”
He rested his palms on the rim of the sink, turning his head to meet her gaze. “I don’t want to tell you anything that might plant false memories.”
“Then tell me stuff that has nothing to do with me. Tell me about your childhood. Tell me where you went to college. Have you always lived in this house?”
“You really want to know?”
When she nodded, he told her about the time he’d fallen out of the big maple tree in the back garden and broken his arm, about some of his more unruly escapades in high school and about his participation on the soccer and tennis teams in college.
“Do I play tennis?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, after a pause during which he obviously debated whether the information would hinder her recovery. “You and Jenny used to play a lot.”