by Lisa Childs
And Amanda had recovered fast, opening her eyes when he’d swung her up in his arms. Murmuring in protest even while she winced with pain.
“Migraines are very debilitating,” Sarah continued.
After she’d left him all those years ago, he’d suffered from some headaches brought on by insomnia. But he didn’t think they compared to the pain Amanda suffered.
Was her old head injury the cause of her pain? Or the trauma from the way she had been injured? Not only did a medical doctor examine her, but also a psychiatrist who had treated his mother, summoned by Evan.
“You know,” Sarah mused, “I didn’t think I’d like her very much.”
“Who?” Distracted by his thoughts, Evan had no idea what she was talking about.
“Amanda. But that was before I met her, before you and Royce discovered what had happened to her.” She shivered. “But even then, she had left you before that happened. And I still harbored some…resentment that she had hurt my friend, you know.”
Evan’s heart softened at her loyalty. He was blessed with the best damn friends. “Sarah…”
She blinked back a hint of tears. “But then I met Christopher.”
He followed her gaze down the hall to his little boy, and his heart softened even more. “He’s an amazing kid, isn’t he?”
“A good kid,” she agreed. “And he wouldn’t be so sweet and secure and wouldn’t love his mother so much if she wasn’t so devoted, if she wasn’t such a wonderful mother. She is a wonderful mother, Evan.”
Did that make up for all the years he’d not known he had a son? Because, although she’d forgotten her husband after the attack, she’d known she was pregnant before it, and she hadn’t told him. She’d left him instead.
But if he had known, would he have been much of a father? With the genes he carried, was that even possible? Except for the attack, maybe Christopher and Amanda had been better off without him.
Maybe it was time he found out what kind of father he’d be. Because now that he knew about Christopher, he didn’t think he could let him go as he had originally intended to let Amanda go. He couldn’t be that unselfish.
To let Sarah know he appreciated her support, he squeezed her hand as he passed her in the hall. The little boy glanced up at his approach. “Hi.”
He and Jeremy had taken chairs in the waiting area where they munched on the snacks they’d chosen from the vending machine. Evan crouched down near his son’s chair. “Hi, Christopher. So what did you pick?”
“A6,” the little boy replied. “I know my letters and numbers.”
Jeremy chuckled. “And he read them all to me.”
Pride swelled in Evan’s chest. Then he realized he had no right to it. Amanda had raised their child. All he had contributed was DNA, just as his biological father had.
“Well, that’s great, little guy,” he managed to say over the lump of emotion clogging his throat.
Christopher smiled, then glanced toward the door behind which doctors examined his mother. “You’re strong. You picked Mommy up and she weighs a lot more than me.”
“Your mommy’s going to be fine, Christopher.” William Weering was not going to win.
“I know. She gets bad headaches, but she always gets better. When she comes out, can we go home?” His dark eyes brightened with hope.
Home. Christopher meant a little bungalow in River City. Evan meant an imposing house on the lakeside, something he’d intentionally built with no warmth, no welcome. After Amanda had left, he had wanted to close himself off from the world. But he had found that impossible in Winter Falls, where he’d found his family, not even realizing he had another one only a few hours away.
He wanted his house to be home for Amanda and Christopher. But he doubted that it would ever be. “Not today, little guy.”
“I’m going to stay with Jeremy again?” His dark gaze, full of adoration, flickered toward the older boy.
Evan shook his head. “No, I’d like you to come stay with me, at my house. Your mommy stayed there last night.”
“Mommy will be there?”
If the doctors released her…
“Evan,” Sarah said as she approached them, her heels tapping. “Dr. Snyder would like to speak with you.”
Evan caught sight of the tall thin psychiatrist standing outside the door to Amanda’s room. He straightened up, brushing a hand over Christopher’s soft hair. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” The little boy stared up at him, his bottom lip trembling. “Daddy…”
Evan’s heart lurched. He blinked hard, as his hand lingered on the boy’s head. His boy’s head.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” the doctor said when Evan joined him.
“Until a few days ago, neither did I. How is she, Doctor?”
The doctor shrugged one shoulder. “Without her full history, I can’t say much. Dr. Barnes and I both believe her fainting episodes have been brought on by migraines, and those are either a result of the old concussion or her recent stress.”
“And the amnesia?”
“It’s real.”
“I never doubted that.” Not after their initial meeting, not after he’d learned the awful truth of what had happened to her.
“She honestly can’t remember anything from before waking up after the attack. Her old life is lost to her.”
To them both.
Evan had to ask the question that had been burning in his mind, that had him shoving albums at her, had him kissing her… No, he hadn’t kissed her for her memory to return. He had to be honest. He’d kissed her for himself. For his pleasure.
And he burned to kiss her again.
He cleared his throat. “Will her memory ever return, Doctor?”
Again the psychiatrist shrugged. “It’s been almost six years, Evan.”
“What does that mean?”
From years of treating his mother, he knew whatever a psychiatrist said always meant something. But at least this doctor didn’t use psychobabble. He believed in speaking in terms laypeople could understand.
“Either the head injury did so much damage that that part of her memory has been permanently erased.”
How hard had the bastard beaten her? He didn’t think he could handle knowing that, though.
“Or?”
“Or she’s put a block in her mind to prevent any memories of the attack from surfacing. It’s a mental defense mechanism.”
“But she hasn’t just forgotten the attack.”
“No, the attack was so brutal, so traumatizing—”
Evan winced.
“Sorry.” The doctor sighed at his own insensitivity. “Bottom line is that she doesn’t dare remember anything after waking up in the hospital for fear of remembering the attack, too.”
Frustration gnawed at Evan. “So if it’s mental, she can get over this. You can help her like you did my mother.”
Retha Warner lived a normal happy life now, doting on her new granddaughter and her husband. What would his mother think of the grandson she’d not known about? He didn’t even have to wonder. Knowing the size of her heart, he didn’t doubt she’d love Christopher, too.
“It’s been a long time, Evan. Six years. That block could be permanent now.”
So his wife might never remember him?
AMANDA LICKED HER LIPS. Her mouth had to be dry from reading Christopher two bedtime stories. One for tonight and one to make up for last night. He had ruled that the phone call didn’t count.
Reading had to be what dried out her mouth. It couldn’t be the gentle way that Evan tucked their child into the guest-room bed. He pulled the comforter to Christopher’s little rounded chin, his deep voice rumbling with emotion as he wished him sweet dreams.
“I like your house,” Christopher said.
Her breath had barely returned from the way he’d raced around the imposing structure, clamoring on the stainless-steel steps and running across the catwalk that separated the master bedroom from the g
uest bedrooms.
Evan had not built his house with a child in mind. But then, he hadn’t known. Why hadn’t she told him about her pregnancy before she’d left? Why had she left him?
Watching him now as he stared down at his sleepy son, she couldn’t think of a single reason. But then thinking about the past only inspired migraines.
Both the medical doctor and the shrink had recommended that she not force any memories. And that she deal better with her stress. Suppressing it wasn’t healthy.
The only way she could deal with it would be when William Weering III was back behind bars where he belonged. She shut her eyes on the image of his hair gleaming in the woods across the street from the house where her son was.
Too close to her son. She glanced across the bed toward the window, where the blinds had been drawn. Could he be out there now?
Evan had assured her that not only would the security firm he’d hired stand guard, but a sheriff’s deputy would, as well. They were safe.
For now.
He hadn’t said that, but she knew it. She knew that Weering was biding his time, playing out the plan he’d devised those long years in prison. He wasn’t going to give up. But she doubted that Evan would, either.
She backed out of the room where Evan knelt at Christopher’s side. His deep voice murmured to their son, “I’m glad you like it here…son.”
She shivered and turned away, overcome with compassion and remorse. She had kept them apart too many years. She couldn’t watch them anymore, so she started across the landing, wincing against the bright, overhead light as the vestiges of her migraine lingered.
The doctor’s orders replayed in her mind. “Lie down in a dark room. Migraines make you light sensitive.”
Dark room?
The mere thought filled her with the very stress she was supposed to avoid. When a broad hand closed over her shoulder, she jumped, nerves frayed.
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Evan had pitched his voice low, he didn’t know how soundly his son slept. He didn’t know his son. Because of her.
But instead of resenting her, he risked his life to help her.
His hand slid away. “You really should get some rest. The doctor said that exhaustion contributed to your col—”
He’d cut off his comment too late. She knew what he meant and her face burned with embarrassment. “Collapse? Was that what you were going to call it?”
“Amanda…”
She sighed. “I guess you have reason to call it that. I’ve fainted twice in your arms now.”
“You’re under a lot of stress right now, Amanda. And with your old injury…you’re fragile.”
Fragile. Victim. Anger replaced the embarrassment, burning hotter and more intensely. “I’m not fragile!”
“Amanda, you’ve been through so much…”
God, she was sick of his pity, his compassion. It was then she realized she wanted his plain passion. She wanted him to burn with it.
For her.
Turning her thoughts, she said, “So have you been through so much…since you found me.” Maybe since she left. Had he missed her? Was that why he wore her ring close to his heart, or was it to remind him to never trust again?
“I told you that you could trust me, Amanda. Now why don’t you go lie down and rest? There’s another guest room, or were you going to share with Christopher?”
Boldness lifted her chin, had her meeting his gaze with an intense look. “I want to share…with you, Evan.”
His dark eyes flickered. He cleared his throat before saying, “I can’t, Amanda. I can’t just hold you like I did last night.”
“I don’t want you to.” She stepped closer, skimming her fingers up his chest to his broad shoulders.
“What are you saying?”
She wrapped her hand around the nape of his neck and rose up on tiptoe, sliding her mouth over his. “Does that answer your question?”
He groaned, his tongue flickering out, giving her a tantalizing taste of his dark passion. “Amanda…”
His hands closed over her shoulders. But instead of pulling her closer, he held her away, his arms rigid. “Amanda, I can’t promise you gentle. I’m not a gentle man. I might—”
“Scare me?” Her heart pounded with fear. It wasn’t of him but of what she felt for him. A desperate need clawed at her, and she sidled closer to his long lean body, breathing in the aromatic seductive scent of him.
His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping while he asked, “Have you…since the attack?”
She knew what he meant. Heat flashed into her face. “I haven’t wanted to be close to anyone since, so no. But it wasn’t fear that held me back.”
Maybe she remembered she was married but suppressed it as the shrink had hinted. Maybe she had always known she was married. “I don’t know what did. Maybe it was only about trust.”
And nothing to do with suppressed memories. “I couldn’t trust anyone, couldn’t get close to anyone…”
Not until Evan.
“You shouldn’t trust me, Amanda. I’m not the man you think I am.”
“You’re my husband, Evan.”
And for tonight that was reason enough to want him. She would not explore those deeper, almost forgotten emotions that drew her to him. Drew her into his arms again and again. But she wanted more than protection or comfort from him this time.
He studied her face for a long moment, perhaps looking for any sign that she had accepted she was his wife. More than that—she had remembered it.
She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. Why couldn’t she remember him with her mind when her body seemed to remember him so well that it burned with wanting him?
His fingers stroked over her cheek, as did his dark gaze. “You are so beautiful.”
She shook her head again, ignoring the wave of dizziness, another residual of the migraine. “Not like the woman in those albums.”
None of her was like that woman, not anymore. She was more than forgotten. She was gone.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed too quickly.
She felt a sharp ache, jealous of the woman she had been, the one at whom he had gazed so adoringly throughout their wedding album.
His voice rumbled deep in his chest as he continued, “In some ways you’re more beautiful. Softer.”
More vulnerable. Then she remembered the picture that had captured Mrs. Quade yearning.
She shut her eyes and yearned, too, for what that woman had had. Evan.
Cool lips slid over her closed lids, brushing soft kisses. Broad hands splayed over her back, molding her closer to the taut muscular length of him.
Amanda’s arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him down until his mouth found hers. His lips sipped at hers in gentle teasing kisses.
She wanted more. She wanted everything.
Her fingers wrestled with the knot of the tie at his throat. Tailored suit, red tie. Power tie. He didn’t need the tie to show what anyone who met him immediately knew. He was a powerful man. And it had nothing to do with how he dressed or what he owned, it was simply who he was.
He was her husband.
She moaned in her throat and knotted her fingers in his silk tie. “Evan…”
“Shh…” He pulled back, and the tie slid from his shirt collar. “Christopher’s sleeping.”
“Like a rock. He won’t hear anything. Evan, I want more. I want you!” But did he want her?
He’d promised to protect her, but he hadn’t promised to desire her.
Chapter Nine
He caught her up in his arms, but his eyes weren’t filled with the concern he’d displayed earlier when she’d fainted on him yet again. Now his eyes burned with passion.
For her.
Amanda trembled as desire coursed through her, the feeling new and exciting. The tie slid through her suddenly nerveless fingers and snaked over the railing.
“Evan, I can walk.” The protest was token as he swung around and
headed for the other end of the catwalk. Over the stainless-steel railing, she caught sight of the slate floor and the puddle of red where she’d dropped his tie.
Then he passed through a doorway into a room where the blinds had been pulled and darkness reigned. She didn’t tremble with fear.
Desire intensified, weakening her legs, so that she swayed in his arms as he slid her down his body. She felt the bed behind her knees and Evan all along the front of her.
Pressed close against taut muscles, she borrowed some of his strength and tumbled them both down to the mattress, which bounced beneath their combined weight. A giggle bubbled out of Amanda, surprising her.
So she giggled again. “I thought I’d forgotten how.”
He nibbled at her neck, his hot mouth sending shivers down her spine. “To do this?” he asked, his voice even deeper than usual, with passion.
“To laugh.”
“I’ve heard you laugh with Christopher.”
“Our son makes me happy.”
Evan drew back, levering his weight off her, but his dark gaze stayed steady on her face. “Don’t think that I can, Amanda. I can’t. You wouldn’t have left me if I could.”
“Evan, tonight is not about happily ever after. If I had ever believed in it, I stopped when I lost my memory. Tonight’s just about this…
She wove her fingers through his hair, soft like their son’s. Then she pulled his mouth down to hers, running her tongue over the curve of his lips.
He expelled a ragged breath, and as his control snapped, he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue slid through her parted lips, tasting, claiming. Then he pulled back again, asking in a tortured groan, “Is it enough, Amanda?”
For an answer, her fingers trailed down to the buttons on his white shirt, sliding them free until the fabric parted and fell from his broad shoulders. The chain dangled free, the diamond ring winking in the faint light filtering in through the blinds.
Again she asked herself why he wore it yet? To remember their love? Or her betrayal?
Hands trembling slightly, she skimmed her palms over the hard planes of his chest, well-toned muscles rippling beneath her caress. “You’re more than I could have ever dreamed, Evan.”