by Anne Ha
“Did I ever play with you?” She knew the question was off-limits, but asked it, anyway.
He grinned. “You’re very good at tennis,” he said, evading her question. “And a strong swimmer, too. Feel free to use the pool anytime you want.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me if we used to swim together, either,” she teased.
He shook his head. “I like to swim and you like to swim, but that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
“Then let’s go swimming this afternoon.”
Garrick turned slowly toward her, his gaze skimming her figure before rising to her face. Was it her imagination, or did he linger over the swell of her breasts?
“I think,” he said at last, “that we should put that off until you’re better.”
Until we can make love, Samantha thought, remembering their conversation from that morning. In her mind, getting better and being able to make love with her husband had become inextricably intertwined.
She also recalled the sexy bikini she’d found among her clothes. The very idea of wearing it in front of Garrick sent a wave of heat to her skin—the same feeling she got when she thought of slipping into bed with him that evening. Anticipation. Excitement. Longing.
Garrick had returned his attention to the basin of soapy water in front of him. She wasn’t sure if he’d noticed the heat in her cheeks. Following his lead, she tried to focus on drying the dishes.
After she’d dried the last pan and set it on the counter, she tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron and watched Garrick rinse out the sink. The sight of him filled her with contentment, made her imagine a lifetime of sharing household tasks. In a year their baby would sleep nearby while they washed up. Six years from now, she thought with a smile, that same child might run wildly around the house while she and Garrick had a private moment in the kitchen.
Her smile faded as she imagined what Garrick might do during that private moment. Pull her into his arms, perhaps? Bury his hands in her hair and tantalize her with whispered images of what he would do to her later that evening? Or simply hold her close and kiss her?
“What are you thinking about?” Garrick asked softly.
She blinked up at him, refocusing her eyes. He’d stepped away from the sink to dry his hands on a towel. “Us,” she said, then added quickly, “and our baby.”
“Good thoughts?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
She blushed again, nodding. It was so easy to imagine the future with him. “I was thinking how nice it will be to be a family. The three of us.” Or to be more than three—a family of four or five would be nice, too. She picked up one of the pans and dabbed at a drop of water she’d missed. She kept her eyes down. “Maybe we can have more children later….” Of course, more children meant making love again, which meant getting her memory back.
“I’d like that,” Garrick said, his voice rough.
She looked up. “You would?”
“I’ve always wanted children.” He hung up their towels, his glance taking in the stacks of dried pans. “You don’t remember where they go?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll show you.” He reached around her for a large pot.
She picked up a saucepan and followed him across the kitchen to the cabinets beside Hugh’s big restaurant-style range. “How many children?” she asked him.
“As many as you want. It’s a big house.”
“Two would be nice,” she said a little wistfully. “Or three.”
“I think we can manage that.” He put the pans in the cabinet and went back to the sink.
She watched him, hoping he looked forward—as she did—to making the babies as well as raising them. “Did we already have this conversation?”
“No, we didn’t.” He handed her a frying pan. “This goes on the other side of the stove. Bottom shelf.”
She slid it into place. “We never talked about having more kids?”
“We weren’t thinking that far ahead.” He tossed cooking utensils into a few different drawers, poured powdered soap into the dishwasher and switched it on. The machine came to life with a quiet hum.
“All finished,” Garrick said, walking up to her. He reached around her to tug her apron strings loose, then raised his hands to lift the neck loop over her head.
She inhaled, smelling the lemony tang of dish soap that lingered on Garrick’s hands. It mingled with the unmistakable scent of the man himself, spicy and very male.
His hand brushed against her hair, and something shifted inside her. Languid desire pooled in her abdomen.
Surprised by the intensity of her response, she laid a hand on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was steamy and damp from standing over the hot dishwater. She felt the hard muscles of his chest underneath and thought she could even feel the solid pounding of his heart.
She stood there, her hand against his chest, aware that somewhere in the distant reaches of her mind, a memory had shaken itself loose. It descended slowly, like a tiny pebble bouncing down a cliff face, spinning lazily in the sunlight.
The images, hazy at first, gradually took on shape and depth. As clearly as if it had happened yesterday, she saw Garrick and Jenny roughhousing with her in the kitchen.
Jenny, a rambunctious sixteen, had started the nonsense, as usual. But it quickly escalated from playful snapping with twirled up towels to an all-out water fight. Puddles of water covered the floor.
In the memory Samantha was backed into a corner, held there by a very wet, very calm Garrick. His body blocked her escape, his hips pressing lightly against hers. The front of his shirt dripped soapy, citrusscented water. She’d dipped both hands into the dishpan and doused him only moments before.
Remembering, Samantha drew in a sharp breath. Only Garrick’s hips had touched her, but he’d raised a tall glass of water high above her head, well out of reach. Holding her gently prisoner, he’d slowly emptied the glass of water on the top of her head. Rivulets had run down her face and hair, soaking her shirt.
She’d gasped in shock, feeling the most amazingly physical sensations of surprise and confusion as she’d struggled to free herself from the corner, pushing against Garrick’s strong adult body. The playfulness she’d felt earlier in their fight had disappeared, replaced not with fear but with emotions and sensations for which she’d had no name.
Then Garrick had muttered a sharp curse and abruptly jerked away, striding angrily from the room without a backward glance.
She’d been startled and confused by his withdrawal, and had felt the odd, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach slowly recede as the clammy fabric of her shirt brought her back to reality. She remembered Jenny looking at her with a curious expression, as if she, too, had seen something happen, but could no more identify it than Samantha could.
Desire, she thought now, as her breath came short and shallow. She might not have recognized the signs at sixteen, but she certainly did at twenty-five. What she’d felt that afternoon had been desire—raw, souldeep desire.
And Garrick had obviously guessed it. Why else would he have spun away like that, his expression so closed and angry? After all, what twenty-one-year-old man would want to have a sixteen-year-old girl react to him that way?
Samantha frowned, slowly becoming aware that during her memory Garrick had gathered her against him as if to hold her upright.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, concern in his voice. “You faded out on me for a second.”
She released the handful of his shirt she’d clenched as the intensity of her memory swept over her. “I’m fine. I…I had a memory.”
“A memory?” he echoed. His tone was suddenly level and calm. “Like the one of your mother?”
“No, clearer than that.” She slipped her hand out from between them. “Crystal clear, actually. Nothing hazy about it. I remember what I saw, what I felt, what you said…”
“I was there?”
“Yes, you—” She broke off, shivering wit
h remembered desire. You were touching me, she wanted to say, pressing against me and arousing the most extraordinary sensations, just as you’re doing now. “Yes, you were there.”
“Just you and me?”
“No.”
“No?” His question was intent.
“Jenny was there, too. We were all here in the kitchen.”
“Only the three of us, then?”
She nodded. “We had a water fight. You poured a glass of water on my head.” She watched him, wondering what his reaction would be.
Garrick took a slow deep breath and let it out. “I remember that,” he said. He sounded relieved
“So do I.” She grinned like an idiot. It felt so good to have had a memory that she wrapped her arms around Garrick’s neck and kissed him.
After a pause he kissed her back, his tongue stroking hers, his fingers tangling in her hair. The same sensations she’d felt in her memory cascaded through her again. Only this time she knew exactly what they were.
She kissed him until she couldn’t stand it anymore, then broke off, breathing hard. Garrick’s eyes had a dazed look to them, as if her passion had caught him by surprise.
She stared at his face, noting the differences wrought by time. His jaw was firmer, his cheekbones more sharply defined. His gray eyes seemed deeper than they’d been before, the earlier playfulness mixed with wisdom and experience. The Garrick she held in her arms was a man in the prime years of his masculinity, a husband and a father-to-be.
Her husband, she thought with a jolt of pride. Her child’s father.
She licked her lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss. Garrick’s eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. He looked as if he wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t.
Taking her hand, he led her out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the library. He closed the door behind them. “Tell me everything you remember,” he said.
Samantha gave him the details, from Jenny’s first mischievous towel snap to Garrick’s sudden departure from the room. At first—embarrassed by her adolescent body’s reaction—she didn’t admit to the desire that had rocketed through her. But then she reminded herself Garrick was her husband. If she couldn’t trust him with her secrets, who could she trust?
Blushing, she told him how her body had felt, how confused she’d been by her response to him.
Garrick betrayed no surprise at her confession.
“You knew, didn’t you?” She gave a resigned sigh, thinking how the incident must have changed their relationship. “You knew you’d turned me on.”
Garrick didn’t say anything. His expression looked a little pained.
“I’m surprised we were still friends afterward,” she said. “I mean, it must have made you pretty wary to know you could arouse me so easily….” She gave a forced laugh. “Thank goodness I didn’t know what I was feeling, or I might have ripped your clothes off right then and there.”
“Yes, thank goodness,” Garrick agreed through clenched teeth.
Samantha imagined what might have happened if she’d recognized her desire for what it was. As an impetuous teenager, unaware of the grave consequences of her actions, she might not have hesitated to follow Garrick to his bedroom and do her best to seduce him. Which doubtless would have turned him off. But if by some chance it hadn’t, she might have been an unwed teenage mother!
The thought amused her, though she knew the reality of it wouldn’t be amusing at all. She told Garrick what she’d been thinking.
He didn’t laugh. He just said, “You wouldn’t have been unwed.”
She rested her hand on his chest. “You would have married me when I was sixteen? How sweet.”
“Yes, how sweet.” He stood up abruptly, then pulled her to her feet. “What would you like to do with the rest of the afternoon? Go shopping? Take in a movie?”
She laughed. “You don’t like thinking about impregnating a sixteen-year-old, do you?”
“No,” he said. “I definitely do not.”
“Good thing it didn’t happen, then. As for this afternoon, I’d like to visit my old apartment.”
He stopped halfway to the door. “So soon?”
“Yes. I think it might prompt a few more memories. Do you know what, Garrick? This is the first time since I woke up in the hospital that I’m actually confident my memory will return.” She linked her arm through his. “Soon I’ll be able to remember everything.”
“That’s great, Sam,” Garrick told her. “Just great. I’ll get my car keys.”
Visiting her apartment wasn’t a good idea, Garrick thought as he killed the engine in front of a pretty yellow house across town. It sat on a quiet residential street near the Hawthorne District, a trendy area of offbeat shops, cafés and bookstores.
Surely she would take one look at the place where she’d lived for three years and get her memory back in a single rush. She’d know exactly who she was, and how she’d gotten into this mess, and she would go running off down the street just as fast as her feet would take her. Away from him.
No, he definitely didn’t want to be here.
All during the drive over, Samantha had talked about how excited she was to be getting her memory back. And she’d kept shooting him smoldering looks that as much as said, when I get it back, I’m going to make love with you.
If only she knew how wrong she was.
“You lived on the second floor,” he told her as he helped her from the car.
She stood on the sidewalk, her hopeful gaze running over the structure, a single-family residence long since converted to three apartments. After studying the house for a full minute, she turned and surveyed the tree-lined neighborhood before looking at the house again.
“Remember anything?” he asked.
Samantha shook her head, obviously disappointed. “No, nothing.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and drew her close, feeling selfishly relieved she hadn’t, yet wanting to give her comfort. He pointed at the flowers bordering the front lawn. “You and Jenny planted those last year. They’re daylilies.”
She stared at them for a long time. “Why daylilies?”
“I think Hugh recommended them because they’re easy to grow.” Garrick led her up to the porch, where he produced her key and unlocked one of the front doors. “The place is still yours for another two weeks,” he told her, snapping on a light to reveal a steep staircase.
He led the way upstairs to a spacious, airy room. The apartment was simple but well constructed, with good proportions and a lot of light. On the left, through an archway, were the kitchen and eating area. On the right, the bedroom.
Samantha looked around, tapping her chin as she walked slowly through the main room.
“Your couch was over there,” Garrick said, indicating a section of the wall. “You had a television across from it, along with a few plants.”
He followed her into the dining area and watched while she poked around the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, looked into her bare cupboards and ran water in the sink.
It felt strange to see her apartment so empty, he thought. He’d only visited a few times, but he could easily remember how it had looked: lived in and comfortable, with piles of magazines and books…a jigsaw puzzle on the dining table…dishes and cups in the glass-fronted kitchen cupboards…vintage posters of forties film stars. She’d put her stamp on the place, but now it was just an empty apartment.
When Samantha wandered into her bedroom, Garrick hung back in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Even bare, her bedroom reminded him too strongly of the past, of years of impossible, unrequited desire.
Samantha peered out one of the windows.
“You had pale yellow curtains,” he said.
“Where was my bed?” she asked, facing him.
He pointed to the corner. “Right there.” At least, that was where it had been the one time he’d seen her room. He’d come to take care of her when she’d had a fever, holding cool cloths to her forehead
and wanting to climb into bed beside her.
She walked to the spot and turned around, as if trying to see what the view had been from her bed. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again.
“What?” he asked her.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Did we…did we ever…?”
Garrick felt his blood pound. Had they ever made love in her bed? She couldn’t know how many times he’d dreamed of being with her in her own room, of waking beside her to sunlight streaming through her yellow curtains. “No,” he said, knowing his voice came out strained. “We never did.”
They left a few minutes later. Samantha was quiet as he helped her into the car, obviously lost in thought.
“You’re upset,” he said before starting the engine.
“Just discouraged.” She smiled wanly at him. “Sorry I’m not better company.”
He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Everything will be okay, Sam. You’ll get your memory back eventually, and we’ll move on with our lives.”
“But what if I never do? Maybe all I’m going to get are little flashes of the past, and I’ll never be able to put it all together.”
“Then we’ll make new memories for you. Together.” Garrick gave her hand another squeeze before releasing it. “But I do think your past will come back.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life.
Even though I wish it never would, he added silently.
Selfish as it was, he didn’t want her to remember the truth. That she hadn’t loved him. That they’d never made love.
That he wasn’t the father of her baby.
Chapter Six
As they drove off, leaving behind her apartment—an apartment she didn’t recognize—Samantha felt a twinge of despair. It would be so easy, she thought, to give in to self-pity.
But somehow she knew that wasn’t her style, and when Garrick suggested they stop for a snack and a stroll by the river, she managed to quell her bad mood.
Regardless of her amnesia, she had a husband who cared for her. He anticipated her pregnant body’s needs, such as frequent food and fresh air. He was strong and solid and sexy as sin, and she was a very lucky woman.