Her Forgotten Husband (Harlequin Treasury 1990's)

by Anne Ha

  “Do you know what you’re doing, Sam…?”

  She paused to look up at him. She felt flushed, intoxicated. “Um, no…not really.” Her voice, throaty and rough, didn’t sound like her own.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said.

  But he didn’t stop her. He lay still, compliant, while she kissed his cheek, his eyelids and finally his mouth.

  Samantha felt an intense, emotional response—as if all her feelings of the past few days had finally found a channel, a means of release.

  And the kiss became more than a kiss. It became everything she wasn’t brave enough to say out loud.

  She nibbled on his lips. I want you, Garrick.

  She traced the seam of his mouth. Make love to me. Caress every inch of my skin. Drive me so wild with desire I can’t stand it anymore.

  She touched her tongue to his, intoxicated by the contact. Garrick, I need you. Now.

  She explored his taste and textures as her heart hammered a ragged rhythm. I love you.

  The thought shouldn’t have shaken her, but it did.

  Nothing on earth could be more normal, more absolutely prosaic, than for a wife to love her husband.

  But it didn’t feel normal. Not at all. She felt out of control, as if she’d slipped on an icy sidewalk—or her car had spun out on a curvy road.

  If she’d loved him for years, loved him enough to sleep with him and to marry him, realizing her feelings shouldn’t be an issue. But even if she had, she didn’t remember it. The love she felt right now wasn’t remembered love at all, but current love.

  Love isn’t something you need to remember, Sam. Love is something you feel right now. Memory or not…

  Kissing her husband, Samantha definitely felt it.

  She loved him.

  Irrevocably.

  Her pulse racing, Samantha pulled away enough to study Garrick’s face.

  In the light from the bedside lamp, he looked unbearably handsome. His features were masculine and exquisitely sculpted. A lock of dark hair fell over his brow, and his pupils were dilated, nearly concealing the gray irises.

  She gave him a tremulous smile. Surely the fact that she’d fallen in love with him all over again was a good sign. It meant the bond between them was strong—strong enough to transcend anything, even amnesia.

  She might have woken up in the hospital and come to hate him, or realized she didn’t much care for him one way or another. Might have.

  But she hadn’t.

  “Samantha?”

  She didn’t even try to hold back. Giddy with the knowledge of her feelings, she wrapped her arms around him. “Garrick,” she said, “it’s the most amazing thing.”

  “What is?”

  “That I’m madly in love with you.” She buried her face in his neck, inhaling his spicy male scent. She knew she would never get enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Garrick felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs.

  He wondered if he’d lost his hold on reality. He’d been damn close to losing his mind ever since she’d asked for that back rub, but—

  Had she just told him she loved him?

  “Oh, I haven’t gotten my memory back,” she said, pressing warm, moist kisses to his throat. “But I didn’t need to. I love you right now, even without it—”

  Garrick didn’t let her finish, just angled her face up to his and kissed her with barely controlled emotion.

  He’d loved her so long, wanted her so long, that her words set off an inexorable reaction.

  He simply had to have her.

  If she’d protested, of course, he would have found the strength to stop—but he was just as glad he didn’t have to do so. Samantha pressed herself willingly against him, returning his passion with her own.

  She smelled of rose petals and massage oil, and it drove him crazy. He kissed every bit of her exposed skin, caressed her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her nightgown.

  She sighed, and moaned, and whimpered.

  He brought his lips to her ear. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, “I do. Make love to me.”

  At the honest desire in her voice, Garrick forced himself to pause, to keep his hands motionless. Forced himself not to rip the gown right off her.

  She deserved more than a brief, frantic mating of bodies. She deserved all the tender slowness he could give her.

  And the waiting would increase her pleasure.

  Kissing her throat, he touched her again through the silky material. He stroked the curve of her breast, circling toward its peak and then away again, never quite touching it.

  She shifted restlessly.

  Garrick unfastened the top button of her nightgown, then skimmed the vee of bare skin with his tongue.

  She arched her back to give him better access. “Please, Garrick.”

  “Easy,” he said. He touched the tip of her breast.

  Samantha expelled her breath in a rush. Her pleasure almost undid him. He struggled for control as he freed a few more buttons on her gown. With shaking fingers he brushed the sleeves off her shoulders.

  He couldn’t believe this was real—couldn’t believe they were finally together the way he’d always wanted. It felt too good, too perfect.

  But then he ceased thinking entirely, lost himself in touching his wife, in her gratifying responses. He teased her breasts with his tongue and mouth until she turned her head from side to side on the pillow, urging him on with her words and with her trembling body. He touched her everywhere, and soon she was touching him, too.

  When he knew neither of them could take any more, he stripped them both of their remaining clothes. They lay naked, completely vulnerable to each other.

  Garrick reached between them, stroking her. He explored the moist heat of her. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Foolish question. She was more than ready.

  But she answered him anyway. “Yes,” she said. And she pulled him on top of her.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. Raising his hands to cup her face, he kissed her with all the love of the last ten years as he slipped inside her.

  The sensations overwhelmed them both. She fit snugly around him, her dampness welcoming his hardness. They lay still for several moments, just drinking in the feel of each other, before he began to move his hips.

  Almost immediately her body reached toward release. Deliberately slowing his strokes, he drew out every last fragment of her pleasure.

  But nothing could keep her from falling apart in his arms. Her muscles contracted around him, driving them both over the edge. Groaning, Garrick pressed his lips to hers, kissing her once again, swallowing her cries of fulfillment.

  He felt like a louse.

  A weak, depraved, dishonest louse.

  Garrick stared at the ceiling above his bed. His sleeping wife lay in the crook of his arm, snuggled against him like a kitten. The wife he’d finally claimed as his own.

  The wife he’d taken under false pretenses.

  The cold light of morning made his actions look sleazy. Sure, Samantha had said she loved him—even now, the memory made his heart quicken. But could her love survive the truth? Or would she hate him once she learned?

  Garrick wouldn’t blame her if she asked for a divorce. He’d had no right to make love to her last night, as wonderful as it had been.

  Never mind that he’d been crazy with happiness. Never mind that he’d loved her for ages.

  If he’d waited this long to have her, he could have waited just a little bit longer—until she’d gotten her memory back. Eventually she might have learned to love him on her own, without the help of amnesia.

  But now she’d have to get past his deception first She’d have to forgive him. And even a saint would have trouble doing that. He certainly couldn’t do it himself.

  He should have told her everything as soon as she awoke in the hospital. He should tell her now—wake her up and tell her he’d lied
by omission, that their marriage was a sham.

  But no, he couldn’t tell her. After she’d shared herself with him so intimately, the truth would be devastating. It might, as Jenny had argued, jeopardize her health. He couldn’t take that chance. He’d never forgive himself if he caused her to have a miscarriage.

  He just hoped Samantha’s mind would take care of her, would release her memories slowly enough that she could come to terms with the past without being overwhelmed.

  In the meantime he knew no one else would let the truth out, either. Jenny certainly wouldn’t, and Beth and Hugh were much too discreet, too tactful. Though they’d never discussed it with him, he knew they’d both known what he felt for Samantha—and what she hadn’t felt for him. And he assumed they’d guessed what had happened to bring about their marriage. To anyone who knew the participants, the sordid details weren’t difficult to imagine.

  He tensed automatically at his thoughts, and Samantha stirred in his arms. She stretched sensually, then opened her eyes.

  “’Morning,” she said, her voice sleep-soft and husky.

  Garrick stared down at her. She looked…satisfied. Obviously she wasn’t having regrets about making love with him. Her smile was too warm, too genuine.

  He wanted her again. He wanted to forget the past and the future. Damn, but he wanted her again.

  Suppressing his renewed desire, he kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Good morning, Sam. How do you feel?”

  “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, her skin soft and very naked along the length of his body. “Good. Sleepy. But I didn’t have a memory.”

  “Oh?”

  She stretched again. “I’d thought I might,” she murmured, “because of all the sensations.”

  “Sensations,” he repeated. Was she really awake?

  “Yes. I thought if we made love, I might remember doing so before.”

  He frowned. “Samantha, look at me.”

  She opened one eye. “What?”

  “You thought it would set off a memory?”

  “Mmm-hmm. ‘Cause it’s such a strong sensory trigger.” Drowsily she explained her reasoning. “I guess it wasn’t that great an idea, though, since it didn’t work.”

  Garrick wasn’t so sure. Last night hadn’t disproved her theory, but he couldn’t exactly tell her why—that she’d never been with him before. “I’m sorry,” he said, hating himself for the subterfuge.

  Samantha seemed only mildly disappointed. “Oh, well. To tell you the truth, I forgot all about getting my memory back while we were…you know…” She stopped, her cheeks turning pink.

  He felt his body respond to her words, to images of last night. Damn, but he was like an adolescent boy around her. “Good,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “And now that we have…” She paused and bit her lip. “Well, you’re not going to go back to saying we can’t, are you?”

  “No, Sam.” Garrick wished he could resist temptation, but he wasn’t going to fool himself. One night with his wife would never be enough. It had only made him want her more.

  Her amnesia, he thought, was certainly making him see an unsavory side of himself. A side disturbingly similar to his brother. Maybe he and Warren hadn’t been as different as he’d always wanted to believe.

  Though their lovemaking hadn’t brought a memory, Samantha didn’t have to wait long before something else did.

  That afternoon Jenny sent Garrick out for ice cream while she and Samantha checked her jewelry collection for something to wear to the theater.

  They were heading back downstairs when Garrick returned from his errand. They’d almost reached the marble staircase to the entrance hall and could clearly hear his key in the solid brass lock of the front door.

  Samantha stopped in her tracks as the tumblers clicked into place and the latch slid back with a snap. Jenny kept going, rushing down to meet her brother. Left behind in the hallway, Samantha felt a jolt of recognition. She knew, with absolute certainty, that a memory was coming. As soon as she turned the corner, the images would fall into place.

  She almost didn’t do it. A sudden sense of anxiety almost made her turn around and run right back to her room. Which was ridiculous—she wanted her memory back, didn’t she?

  Forcing herself to continue, Samantha stepped off the padded hall carpet and onto the hard marble stairs. She gripped the handrail tightly and let her gaze drop to the entryway.

  Jenny stood with her brother, reaching for the bag of ice cream he held. Samantha saw them, but she saw a different picture as well. The two scenes—one from the present and one from the past—were superimposed on the same background. She saw Jenny in her twenties and also in her teens. She saw Garrick as he was and also as a very young man. And beside that other Garrick she saw a third person, as well.

  Warren.

  She recognized him at once. He looked a few years younger than he’d been in the photograph, but there was no mistaking his identity.

  The two brothers had just come home for the holidays. Samantha remembered she and Jenny had been upstairs, trying out a new computer puzzle, when they’d heard a car in the drive. She remembered Jenny’s excitement, how she’d jumped up from her desk and launched herself down the hallway. Samantha, being more reserved, had followed with tentative steps.

  She’d never met Jenny’s brothers before, and had felt a little nervous. Their laughing voices had carried up to her as she rounded the corner to the stairs. And then she’d looked out across the entrance hall, just as she was doing now.

  She’d caught her breath as she saw the best looking guy in the world. Tall and dark, he stood with selfassured elegance. He wore stylish clothes and a charming, utterly dazzling grin.

  Samantha was definitely dazzled. She stared in awe for several seconds, no longer hearing her best friend’s chatter.

  Then the man glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “And who’s this?” he said in a smooth-as-silk voice. “She looks like a princess from one of your novels.”

  From that moment on, he’d been her hero.

  The grown-up Jenny intruded on her memory. “Sam? Aren’t you coming?”

  Samantha focused on her friend. She felt disconnected, confused. Swallowing the tightness in her throat, she managed a nod.

  “Well, then, what are you waiting for? The ice cream’s melting.” Jenny plucked the bag from her brother’s hands and took off down the hallway.

  Garrick remained, waiting for Samantha to descend the rest of the stairs. She did so, barely aware of her movements, and allowed him to escort her to the breakfast room.

  The ice cream might as well have been sawdust. She ate it mechanically, not tasting it. She sat at the table with her husband and best friend, but couldn’t have said what they discussed.

  Her mind was in the past, dwelling on that flash of girlish attraction she’d felt.

  Attraction that hadn’t been for Garrick, but for Warren.

  When she’d woken up at the hospital, she’d assumed she’d had a crush on Garrick since the moment they’d met. Obviously she’d been wrong. In her memory she was hardly aware of Garrick at all. He was just the guy who stood next to Warren. Sure, Jenny had run to Garrick first, leaping up into his arms for a welcoming hug, but Warren—elegant, charming Warren—had claimed all of Samantha’s attention.

  Her head started to ache.

  Oh, dear Lord, she thought. If she’d been wrong about her crush on Garrick, she was probably wrong about other things, too.

  Since coming home from the hospital, she’d constructed a story about her growing love for Garrick— about how her childhood crush had changed into a deeper love, until she’d slept with him, gotten pregnant and married him.

  But that was just a story. The first part of it wasn’t true; the rest might be a lie, too.

  She thought of the odd moments of apprehension she’d experienced. Had she been too quick to discount them?

  Thank goodness there wasn’t any way to misinterpret her des
ire for Garrick during the water fight. And the affection between them was clear in her memory of buying the chair.

  Even if she’d had a crush on Warren at first, she told herself, that didn’t change the way she felt about her husband. She loved him, and he cared for her, as well. Why else would he have stayed all night at the hospital, read all those baby books, been so attentive and comforted her every time she felt overwhelmed? He was a strong, successful, considerate man. He possessed an admirable sense of honor, and he was damned attractive to boot!

  Her attraction to Warren must have faded fast. A few weeks, or maybe a year at the most, and she would have realized that Garrick was the real man of her dreams.

  Samantha stopped herself. She sounded desperate, as if she was trying too hard to convince herself.

  If everything was fine, then why. had that memory of Warren upset her so much? And even though she and Garrick seemed to have the perfect relationship, hadn’t he told her they’d been fighting right before her accident?

  She sighed in frustration, wishing she could just live her life instead of analyzing it so much. Jenny was probably right. The past didn’t matter.

  “Anything wrong, Sam?”

  She looked up to find both Garrick and Jenny staring at her with concerned expressions. She dragged herself away from her morbid thoughts and attempted a smile. “Sorry, I was just—” she searched for a suitable half-truth “—just wallowing in self-pity.”

  Jenny grinned brightly. “Mood swings are part of being pregnant. Have some more ice cream.”

  She shook her head, wishing she could blame her depressing thoughts on her pregnancy. “Thanks, but I’ve had enough.”

  Jenny recapped the ice cream cartons and tucked them into the freezer. “Okay, then. I’ll be out on the patio if you need me.”

  After Jenny left, Garrick scooted his chair closer and took one of Samantha’s hands in his, stroking her skin with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”