by Ana Ban
“Good morning,” Donovan said quietly.
Carefully I shifted out from his embrace, putting some distance between us so I could look at his face.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, studying me.
I swallowed once before using my voice. “Better,” I told him. Making the decision to forge on, I continued, “I… I remember you.”
The smile that lit his face rivaled the view from the balcony.
Shaking my head in what I hoped conveyed frustration, I explained, “Not my memories, but you. I know that we… worked together, and that I have… feelings for you. But no more details.”
I was forced to pause several times to clear my throat.
“It’s a start,” Donovan encouraged. “Give me a minute, I’ll make you some tea for your throat.”
Nodding, I waited for him to leave before I rose to use the restroom. When I returned, he was still in the kitchen, so I ventured out to find him.
It was the first time I’d really wandered on my own. The room immediately outside the bedroom was a sitting room, with two comfortable chairs set before a fireplace, which was double sided into the bedroom. Shelves of books lined the walls and in the corner, I found an old record player. The entire shelf surrounding it was filled with albums of every variety. It was a peaceful room, and I could imagine myself sitting there, listening to music while reading a book.
I continued on, into the open living plan of living room, dining room and kitchen. Beyond that, there was another hallway, where I assumed some kind of office was, and perhaps Donovan’s quarters. Given the relationship he and Selena obviously had, it wouldn’t surprise me if they had shared a room, but there were no masculine touches to the suite, which led me to believe he had his own space.
Donovan was in the kitchen, and I know he saw me as soon as I stepped into the living room. Like the bedroom, the décor was basic and homey, yet there were no personal items. No photographs, trinkets or trip souvenirs. Nothing to ascertain the personality of the owner.
I circled the room, running a hand along the shelves as I did. Behind me, Donovan set the tray on the coffee table and waited for me to turn.
“Is anything familiar?” He asked.
Shaking my head, I sat on the sofa and took a sip of the hot liquid. “I would like to look around today,” I said, my voice becoming less hoarse.
Donovan agreed. “I’ll give you a tour of the building. As much as you’re up to, anyway,” he amended. “I’ve called Dr. White to let her know some of your memory has returned. She’ll be in after lunch.”
Nodding, I took another sip. Finally, I could begin what I was here to do.
After I showered and Donovan canceled my therapy for the day, he began by taking me to the roof of the building. There was another patio set up, with several round tables and chairs, and many pots interspersed which would be overflowing with flowers in the spring. The other half of the roof was an enclosed greenhouse.
Donovan took me inside, and here I found vegetables, herbs and berries all in different stages of growth. No wonder Donovan’s cooking tasted so good- it was all fresh ingredients.
“This is incredible,” I commented.
“Your favorite spot is the patio,” Donovan told me. “This is mine.”
For a moment I studied him, then asked the question that had been burning at me since he first rescued me. “What… what exactly… are we?”
He tilted his head, and I realized how ambiguous my question had been. “Are we… married? Dating? Something else?” I clarified.
Understanding, he smiled softly. “We’ve never really put a label on it. We are partners. In business, and in every other way,” he watched me carefully for my reaction. “I can say, that I have been faithful to you since the moment we met, six years ago.”
The intense emotion and sheer honesty spilling out of Donovan made me feel overwhelmed. Having no words, I approached him slowly and slid my arms around his waist, allowing my head to rest against his chest. His heart beat strong and just a little quick, and it pleased me that I was the cause of that.
“Would you like to see the rest of the building?” He asked, pulling away from me after a minute.
Nodding, I allowed him to take my hand as we left the roof. “The first ten floors are offices, with no access to this elevator. The elevator and the emergency stairs can only be operated by me, or you. We’ll have to reprogram you into the system,” I looked up at him, surprised at my turn of luck. He explained, misunderstanding my expression, “We have a security protocol in place, if one of us is… taken.”
Interesting, but good news for me. Not sure how I would have explained a new hand and eye print.
We went down one level, and the doors opened to the most well equipped gym I’d ever seen. It housed every type of equipment imaginable, including several I’d never seen before. There was a wall of free weights, and two walls were mirrored. The other two walls were covered in windows with the same amazing views as the penthouse. One section was empty but for floor mats ringed by punching bags. I itched to try them out.
“When you’re feeling up to it, you can continue your therapy sessions in here until you feel comfortable without the PT.”
Donovan led me back to the elevator, and we continued on our tour.
He showed me our offices next, a large space with two desks and advanced looking computer equipment. After I’d looked around, I was feeling more weak than I was willing to admit.
“Are you ready for lunch?” Donovan asked. I nodded, allowing him to steer me towards the elevator once again. His arm was still wrapped around my waist, and I relied more heavily on it than I would have liked.
“How is your throat feeling?”
I spoke, without needing to clear it first. “Better. Mostly just out of practice,” I smiled up at him.
“We’ve pushed you a lot today. After Dr. White’s visit, you should rest.”
Though it wasn’t what I really wanted to do, I agreed.
When we re-entered the loft, I sat on a bar stool that overlooked the kitchen island while Donovan prepped my meal. The more I got to know him, the harder time I was having relating this person to the criminal I was here to take down.
“Donovan?” I asked softly.
His attention was immediately on me. “Yes?”
“What kind of business are we in?”
Leaving the fruit he was chopping on the cutting board, Donovan approached me, taking both my hands in his.
“Why do you ask?”
Looking around pointedly, I answered, “It seems we’re pretty wealthy. I just… I just wish I could remember more,” I cast my eyes downward, looking frustrated.
With gentle fingers, he tilted my face towards him. “It will come back soon. Please do not feel frustrated.”
Nodding, I waited for him to answer my original question.
Releasing his grasp, he looked me steady in the eye. “We run a mainly shipping business that has a variety of local and international dealings. Perhaps in the next couple of days you could sit in with me on some client phone calls, it may help you remember something.”
Not trusting my voice, I merely nodded again. Seeming satisfied by my compliance, he returned to fixing our lunch.
Instead of sitting on the patio today, he placed a plate before me at the counter, joining me after pouring tea into cups.
“What did you think of our building so far?”
“It’s a lot to take in,” I told him. “How much more is there?”
“Like I told you earlier, the first ten floors are offices for our employees. I won’t take you down there until you feel ready. You and I don’t oversee the daily operations directly, we have an office manager for that.”
I finished my lunch without any more conversation, though my thoughts were on overdrive.
Chapter 17
While Dr. White examined my injuries, I saw her small smile of satisfaction at my progress. Once finished, she met my eyes.
/> “Donovan tells me something of your memory has returned.”
“Kind of,” I told her. “Not memories, exactly, more… feelings.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I know how I feel about Donovan,” I clarified. “The feelings are there, but the reasons behind the feelings are still missing. Is that normal?”
Pausing before answering, Dr. White crossed her arms, supporting her chin with her capable fingers. “The mind is still very much a mystery, even with our advanced sciences. Every person that has head trauma recovers in different ways. I’m not sure we can peg any of it as ‘normal.’ I will say, anything coming back to you is encouraging.”
“Dr. White?” I asked as she turned away to pack her bag. When she turned again, I fiddled idly with the blanket beneath me. “Were you… were you my doctor… before?”
“On occasion, yes.”
“What was I like?”
She approached me, laying a gentle hand on my arm. “I realize how frustrating it is to lose your memory, but I cannot tell you who you are. You will discover that in time.”
“Please,” I grasped at her. “Anything.”
Sighing, she gave in. “You’ve always been extremely intelligent, headstrong and decisive. Those can be good qualities, but they also have their negatives.”
“I’m… I’m not a very nice person, am I?”
Pursing her lips, Dr. White studied me. “Not always. But there is good in you. Just remember that.”
I nodded once, contemplating her words. Once she left and I was supposed to be resting, I continuously turned her words over in my mind. If I kept playing this timid, sweet patient, would Donovan see right through me? Anyone could see how much he cared for Selena, it was in his eyes every time he looked at me. If I didn’t start acting the way Dr. White had described me, would this entire ruse be for naught?
Eventually, I slipped into a restless sleep. Now that my body was accustomed to rest and good nutrition, I wasn’t sleeping as deeply, which left room for dreams to maneuver.
The black leather felt stiff and uncomfortable on my legs, but I walked with confidence through the loft rooms in the blood red stiletto heels. Donovan was there, in his office, on a phone call. He looked up as I stopped, hip cocked, leaning against the wall, the unmistakable look of desire on his face. My lips quirked up, knowing what was in his mind.
He finished the phone call and stood, approaching me slowly, assessing me from head to foot. There were no words, only an electricity in the air that seemed to arch between us.
“What would you like, mistress?” His voice came out husky, and the realization hit me that I was in control.
“Kneel,” I commanded.
He did so, immediately. The rush of power was heady.
“What shall I do now?” he asked, his hooded eyes looking up at me.
“You know what,” I told him, my voice dropping an octave. “Be a good boy and you will be rewarded.”
I woke with a start, soaked in sweat, shooting into a sitting position. Thankfully, I was alone for the moment. After that dream, I didn’t think I could face Donovan.
Feeling sticky and warm, I decided to take a cool shower. Hopefully, the mundane act would help to calm my racing heart and bolster my ability to look Donovan in the eye.
Running the water in the shower, I took a moment to study myself in the mirror. The bruises under my eyes, which had been present for as long as I could remember, were completely diminished. My amber eyes were bright, though wary. Even though I hadn’t been in the direct sun since I’d been in training, my skin had a healthy glow that had always been lacking from my fast food diet. It was amazing the difference just a week had made; I barely recognized myself.
Stepping into the shower, I let the water cascade off me in waves, and I watched, mesmerized, as it swirled down the drain. Closing my eyes, I let the last vestiges of the dream fall to the floor, imagining it following the water.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I opened the closet doors for the first time, perusing the wardrobe for an outfit to make me feel less helpless and more like Selena. It was a very different style than mine – the black leather of the dream wasn’t too far off.
Picking out a pair of somewhat comfortable looking black dress pants and a silky red blouse, I paused at the case of shoes and gave it a once-over. Most of the collection consisted of black heeled boots, but as my eyes drifted down, a splash of red caught my eye.
Gasping, I knelt on the closet floor and grabbed the pair of heels, staring at them in astonishment. They were the exact pair I’d worn in the dream.
It had to be a coincidence. Or I’d seen the pair when Donovan had the closet door open to select an outfit for me, and my subconscious simply used them in the dream. That’s all there was to it.
Shoving the heels back in their slot, I hastily grabbed a pair of flat boots and ventured out to find Donovan.
He wasn’t in the main living area or the kitchen, so I walked down the hall towards his office. There was an unwanted flashback to the dream as I found him behind a desk, on the phone. Standing in the doorway, I waited until he spotted me and motioned me inside before entering.
Quickly hanging up the phone, he gave me a once over. “You look refreshed.”
“I slept a little, and took a quick shower. I thought, perhaps, regular clothes would make me feel more… human.”
We shared a smile at that. “I hope you’re feeling comfortable here. It is your home, after all, even though I realize it doesn’t feel that way right now.”
“I thought it would help if I got back into my normal routine,” I said, watching for his reaction. “You never know what might trigger a memory.”
“Absolutely. Because of the nature of our business, most of our deals are conducted at night. In fact, I have a meeting tonight you can sit in with me on. If, at any point you get tired, I’ll bring you straight back here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I smiled at him.
After dinner, Donovan led me downstairs to our offices. Though I knew there must be other people around, I had yet to meet any, and I found myself wondering if that was typical or for my benefit while I was healing. Staying silent until we were in the office, I began to walk around, getting a feel for the space. Where upstairs everything was soft, feminine, these were decorated in steel and black, more masculine and modern. Was this two sides to Selena’s personality, or did Donovan choose the office décor?
I found both appealing for different reasons. In the loft, the French country feel was warm and inviting, and I felt surprisingly comfortable in it. The office, however, felt more conducive to work, and Dr. White’s words rang in my head. Intelligent, headstrong, decisive. That’s the impression this color scheme gave off.
“What is it?” Donovan asked. He had been watching me analyze the office.
“I was wondering, did I decorate the office, and the loft?”
“You did. Why do you ask?”
With a shrug, I tried not to sound crazy. “It’s almost like two different personalities. But, I suppose that makes sense. A person shouldn’t act the same at home as they do in business.”
Glancing back at Donovan, it was difficult to decipher the look on his face. It was a combination of curiosity and fear. Finally, he settled on an easy smile.
“That’s a good philosophy,” he commended. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a large pair of dark sunglasses and offered them to me.
“What are these for?” I asked.
“We’ve always been cautious in our business,” Donovan explained. “Few people have seen your face. With recent events, that caution seemed justified.”
“So, I do all my business interactions with sunglasses on?” I asked doubtfully, grasping them between two fingers.
“It was your idea,” he grinned.
Slipping them on, I pouted my lips and struck a pose. “Very Hollywood.”
To my surprise, he laughed, a deep, husky sound that made th
e blood in my veins sing. I suddenly found myself thankful for the glasses; they hid the startled look I now portrayed.
Clearing my throat, I went behind what Donovan had told me was my desk during our tour and sat down, rifling through the drawers. There was very little here, and I wondered if that was normal or if Donovan had cleared it out until he thought I got my memory back. The file drawers were empty, and the smaller drawers had just the very basics in them. Looking up at Donovan, who was watching me from across the room, I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“It doesn’t seem like I do much work,” I joked, sliding the glasses off and laying them atop the desk.
“I’ve been handling your clients while you’ve been away,” he told me, and the pain in his eyes at the latter part of his statement was unmistakable.
Swallowing, I nodded once before returning to his side of the room. Approaching him slowly, I steeled myself for the contact, telling my body firmly not to react. My palms slid around his waist, though I kept a respectable distance between us.
“I’m here now,” I told him, looking him directly in the eye. “I’m sorry I’ve caused you pain,” I added quietly.
His breath came out quickly, as if surprised by my guilt. Carefully, he raised one hand up to cup the side of my face before gently pulling me towards him. His hand pressed my face to his chest, where I could hear the steady beat of his heart. This was about comfort, and though the electricity between us still hummed, it was only background noise for the moment.
Chapter 18
I stood behind Donovan, wearing my sunglasses, while he dialed into a video conference call. The man whose image flickered onto the screen was older, though handsome, and when he spoke, I picked up his Italian accent immediately.
“Donovan,” he greeted.
“Buon giorno, Signor Moretti,” Donovan replied. Since it was the middle of the night here, it was early morning for Mr. Moretti.