With a contented sigh, Whitney turned to look at him. Zane was still asleep. She’d almost been afraid that he wouldn’t be here in the morning. That this had been a dream, after all.
She felt the desire to run her hand through the hair that fell into his face. She didn’t want to wake him just yet.
Last night returned to her in glowing, vivid terms. Not just the passion, which was exquisite, but the gentleness, as well. The look in his eyes, which had told her more than his words ever could. Words could easily be lies. But the truth would be there in his eyes, his beautiful green eyes.
The rosy glow within her grew.
Propping herself up on her elbow, Whitney was content just to lie here and watch him sleep. Tenderness filled her like a sweet song. It gave the contentment depth and substance.
Unable to resist, she extended her hand over his chest, keeping it steady. As his chest rose with each breath he took, it brushed against her fingertips. She could feel a tingle working its way along her body.
How she wanted him!
Hers, he was hers. What had she done in her life to get so lucky? She wished she knew what had attracted him to her in the first place. The worry nagged at her that she might never be that woman again, the one who had won his heart. The one she couldn’t remember being.
Zane awoke with a start, catching her hand in a viselike grip before his eyes were focused or even opened. “What the...?”
He groaned when he realized it was Whitney. Sighing, he released her hand. Zane scrubbed his own over his face. “Morning.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a greeting, a question or a protest. Just for a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. He’d become alert, from a dead sleep, like a man who was accustomed to being braced for the worst. why? Was there a dark side to this man who filled her with sunshine?
She was being paranoid again, she reminded herself. He’d just reacted with surprise, that’s all. Whitney forced the smile back to her lips.
“You’re awfully jumpy this morning.” She curled her body against his. “I would have thought that after last night, you wouldn’t have a tense bone in your body.”
No, she’d just about liquefied him. He tried to get his bearings and erect a barrier against the guilt that was beginning to snake through his conscience.
He shrugged casually. “Force of habit. I usually sleep with one eye open.”
And why was that? It was such an odd thing to say. Maybe he meant he was a light sleeper, she thought, searching for excuses.
Whitney leaned over and kissed him. He cupped her head, holding her to him. The kiss deepened, growing just wide enough for two.
She sighed when their lips parted. “They were both closed this morning. Your eyes,” she added when he looked at her, puzzled.
Small wonder. Zane laughed. “That’s because you tired me out.”
She’d been the one who’d all but collapsed from exhaustion, not him. It was nice to know that some of it was mutual. She felt like a child with a new toy. “Did I? You seemed inexhaustible.”
He’d always thought of himself that way. Until last night. But then, he’d never met a lover who’d been insatiable before.
“Just an illusion. All part of my charm,” he confided.
And what other illusions were there? a nagging little voice asked before she could shut it away. With deliberate effort, Whitney disregarded it. “Now I know why I married you.”
Her face was hardly an inch away from his. All he had to do was raise his head just a little to kiss her again. Temptation began to take on enormous proportions. “Why?”
“Because you’re an incredible lover.”
His arms tightened around her as he lingered just a moment longer. “How would you know? You haven’t got anything to compare me to. You can’t remember.” He studied her face, suddenly alert. But there was nothing in her eyes to tell him that things had changed in any way. “Or can you?”
She tried not to dwell on the frustration that had never been far from her.
“No, I can’t.” Her eyes were full of mischief. “But some things you just know without the benefit of experience. It’s an absolute,” she declared. Turning into him, she snaked her way up along his torso like a soldier inching his way up along the beach. “And you are absolutely wonderful.”
He smiled at her but said nothing. It looked as if she was going to have to nudge him along a little, she thought. She didn’t mind. The rewards made it worthwhile. “In case you’re too sleepy to realize, that’s an opening for you to leap in and show me just how incredible you can be in the morning.”
He wished he was free to just enjoy her! “I’d love to.”
She cocked her head, alerted by his tone. “I hear a ‘but’ here.”
Amnesiac or not, she was always sharp enough to pick up on things. He dropped his hand to her posterior and gently stroked.
“Speaking of which, you’d better get yours out of bed. Quinton has finally invited us to his suite. For brunch at noon. We can’t be late.” Reluctantly, he withdrew from her and sat up.
But still, he couldn’t quite force himself out of bed.
Whitney drew herself up, tucking the sheet around her. “Yes, we can. We can be fashionably late.”
He looked around for his trousers. For a second, his mind was a blank. “I don’t think he’s the type to be impressed by that.”
Whitney didn’t want her mood spoiled, and thinking of Quinton would definitely spoil it.
“I really don’t care what that man is impressed by.” She placed her hand on his arm, silently imploring him to change his mind. “Zane, I’ve given it my best shot.” She really had, but now it was time to think of herself, of them. “I’ve been nice to him, laughed at his stories, danced with him. I think that I’ve rendered service over and above the call of duty—”
He knew where this was leading and wouldn’t allow her to go there. He had to change her mind. Quinton was superstitious enough to scotch the deal if he felt something out of kilter. Beneath the sophisticated image of an urbane captain of industry was a man who didn’t believe in spilling salt, who hated black cats and avoided the color orange like the plague.
“Yes, you have and you’ve been wonderful about it.” Zane wasn’t accustomed to giving her pep talks. If anything, Whitney was usually the one pulling at the bit to get going. Shifting, Zane gathered her into his arms and lightly brushed his lips over hers. “But I need you to be polite to him just a little longer. He’s almost ready to strike the deal.” He saw the wariness in her eyes and knew she was thinking of last night at the club. “Stay at my side. I won’t let him touch you again.” He looked at her solemnly. “I promise.”
She believed him and was torn. She sensed that there was an independent streak within her, yet it was nice hearing that he wanted to protect her. Maybe there was still a place for chivalry in the world.
“I can take care of myself. It’s not that, it’s just—”
“What?” he prodded gently, wanting to understand.
Maybe he was making a mistake, encouraging her to follow her thoughts to their end. On the one hand, it would make the operation easier if her memory did return. But on the other, how would he ever explain to her about last night? There’d be no working with her after what happened. It was better this way, keeping her completely in the dark for another two days. That was all he figured he needed—just two more days.
She shrugged. Maybe this sounded too self-centered. “I thought that after last night, things would be different.”
They are. Trust me, they are. In ways you can’t begin to imagine right now. But you will, God help me, you will.
“Nothing’s different,” he said lightly. “You’re always terrific in bed.”
She liked hearing that, but she wasn’t digging for compliments. She was desperately trying to find the pieces of her former life, to become acquainted with them and construct a whole.
“Am I?”
<
br /> He pointed toward his eyebrows. “See?”
Her own brows drew together in confusion. “See? What am I supposed to see?”
Zane’s expression was totally innocent. “The singe marks. You nearly burned them off last night. Matter of fact,” he said glancing down at the bed, “I’m surprised the sheets aren’t scorched.”
“We could try again.” The words dripped from her lips, honey tempting a hungry bear with a proven sweet tooth. Whitney sat back on her legs. The sheet she’d tucked around herself drifted away from her breasts, settling tentatively about her hips. Waiting for him to brush it aside.
She tantalized him with each breath she took. He couldn’t draw his eyes away from her breasts. The shower, her clothes and his obligations were getting further and further away.
He was lost and he knew it.
“Ah, now, what did you want to go and do that for, Whit?” Like a man whose free will had been drained from him, Zane gathered Whitney into his arms again.
“I would think that would be pretty self-evident right about now,” she assured him. Leaning forward, she lightly traced the outline of his lips with just the tip of her tongue.
He could feel himself tightening, coiling. Readying for release. “You’ve got a one-track mind, woman.”
She grinned, kissing the side of his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple move in response, heard his breath growing short. “Better than no track at all.”
He didn’t know about that. Whitney was going to be one hell of an angry woman once she remembered. He only prayed he’d be lucky and she wouldn’t remember this soon.
No, he amended, it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t remember. He was going to have to tell her once this went down. Nothing else would be fair.
And in order for it to go down, he reminded himself, he had to keep a clear head. That wasn’t going to happen if he continued to allow her to keep clouding up his mind like this.
“Whitney, we really have to get going,” he protested.
But for a man who had to leave, he certainly wasn’t making any attempt to get out of bed, he thought in disgust.
“One for the road,” she coaxed. Lying back on the bed, she brought him down with her. He didn’t struggle to get away.
“We’re taking an elevator,” he pointed out. Whitney could strip him of all good intentions without even trying.
She had him, she thought, looking into his eyes. It only seemed fair, because he had her. Right in the palm of his hand.
“All right then, let’s make it one for the elevator.”
He laughed, unable to resist her any longer. Not really wanting to. “You are one incorrigible lady, Whitney Bradshaw.”
“Russell,” she corrected. “Whitney Bradshaw Russell. You forgot we’re married.”
That had been a slip. But she made him forget everything but her.
“Not for a minute,” he lied.
“And that’s insatiable, not incorrigible,” she pointed out. Whitney’s smile spread across her lips slowly, as if daring his mouth to follow.
“Yeah, that, too.” Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going anywhere. Not right now. Zane glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “I guess we’ve got a few minutes.”
Hands on his face, she brought it around so that his eyes looked into hers. “Good, then we’ve got forever,” she whispered seductively.
It was happening all over again, that need for her, that feeling that if he didn’t have her, nothing else meant a damn. Like a man possessed, he kissed her over and over again, branding her with his mouth, with his desire.
“Whit?”
How was it possible for her limbs to at once feel deadened and lighter than air? “Mmm?”
This was important, to him if not to her. Zane whispered the words against her ear. “I want you to remember that you started this. Later, I want you to remember.”
He sounded so serious that she wanted to ask him what was wrong. But she didn’t. Because he wouldn’t tell her. She knew that already. All she could do was reassure him.
“I don’t plan to forget any time soon,” she promised. His words fresh in her mind, her gaze swept over his face. “I can’t understand why, if I can remember Jimmy Stewart, how I can forget making love with you. You would have thought I’d remember something so memorable.” She laughed quietly to herself, her eyes already making love to him. “I guess there’s no way to understand.”
“No way,” he echoed.
And then there was no time for talking anymore, only feeling. Only touching and re-exploring places already conquered.
He took her places she already knew, but he showed her a new path there. This time, the lovemaking was frantic, explosive.
It was as if they were both aware of the minutes that were ticking away. Hers were minutes of the hour, tied to a schedule. His marked forever. He knew he was on borrowed time.
Zane took what was being so willingly offered, reveled in what he already knew. She heated beneath his hand almost instantly and he raced against time, against himself, for just one more taste, one more sample.
There might never be another chance.
His mouth touched her everywhere, loving the different flavors, trying to commit them all to memory against the day when she would remember. Or, barring that, against the day he would have to tell her the truth.
She was a feast for his body and his soul.
A feast he couldn’t sate himself with. The more he had, the more he wanted.
Better that he hadn’t known at all what loving her could be like.
But it was past time for that.
With skillful hands and an even more skillful mouth, he brought her up and over crest after crest, watching Whitney’s face, feeling the final burst of ecstasy each time she did.
And then, when he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, when their time together was almost gone, he sheathed himself in her and loved her one more time.
Last night, time and again, he’d been a gentle lover. In the light of day, he was almost a savage one. But even in the heart of this fury, there was a tenderness. It caught her by surprise and brought tears to her eyes. Tears of happiness.
Exhausted, she lay beside him. With considerable effort, she turned her head toward him. “Wow, what was that all about?”
He was wondering about that himself. He’d been almost unrecognizable to himself. Was there an antidote for what he was feeling? “Quality time accelerated.”
That was one way to put it. She sighed and even that took effort.
“You know, I said earlier that I didn’t want to go to Quinton’s suite. Now I’m not sure if I can.” She tried to prop herself up on her elbows and failed. Lips pressed together, she looked down the length of the bed at her feet. “I think I forgot how to walk.”
He laughed, shifting so that he was over her again. He saw fresh desire beginning in her eyes. Obviously she wasn’t as tired as she thought she was.
“Then I’ll just have to carry you.” He teased her with a quick, openmouthed kiss against her navel before sitting up. “Quinton wants a matched set, we give him a matched set.” He saw the doubt creep into her eyes. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be worth it in the long run. And I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
And probably for the rest of my life.
He was making it tempting. She weighed her alternatives and began to weaken. “I can’t stay here?”
If she had a cold, he would have left her behind with chicken soup, room service and a gun beneath her pillow. But she didn’t have a cold. She had amnesia and was in more danger than she realized.
“I don’t want to leave you alone. You still can’t remember anything but the television set.”
He was sweet. He tried to put up a front, but she knew better now. Whitney touched his cheek lovingly. “Oh, I think I’m starting. to remember a few things.”
Like what? “Oh?” he asked guardedly.
She nodded. “Like last night. Like loving you.” She si
ghed. There was no putting off the inevitable, and she knew she couldn’t say no to Zane, not if it meant so much to him. Digging her fists into the bed on either side of her, Whitney rose. “All right, if I have to go, I have to go. Just give me a few minutes to take a shower and get ready.”
Not bothering to pick up her robe, she walked out of the room regally. And completely nude.
Even after everything, she still managed to overwhelm him.
“And I’ve got to remember to keep my eyes in my head,” Zane muttered to himself.
Grabbing the trousers he’d discarded last night, Zane pulled them on and then reached for the telephone. He paused, listening.
The muted sound of running water reassured him. Whitney was taking her shower. That gave him approximately ten minutes, if she ran true to form. He only needed two or three.
Quickly, he tapped out a number. The call was being placed to an answering machine. An answering machine that sat. in a Spartan office overlooking the ocean in Newport Beach. The number was his own, as was the office. It was a front. Both he and Quinton knew that and each knew that the other knew, but it was a necessary part of the charade.
If Quinton checked the list of telephone numbers printed out on Zane’s account, it would look as if he was calling to see if he’d received any messages. They wouldn’t assume that he was calling to leave one of his own.
Sheridan would have the message within five minutes.
The pick up came on the third ring. Zane spoke quickly.
“Hi, it’s me. Whitney still doesn’t remember anything. So far, things are going well.” That depended, he knew, on which side of the bed he was standing on. “Quinton looks like he’s going to bite sometime today, if we’re lucky. His woman isn’t quite the bimbo we thought she was. She’s been pumping Whit with questions. Thank God Whit knows only what I’ve told her. There’s still a chance her condition might snag the operation, but I’m sticking close to her. Talk to you later.”
Zane replaced the receiver in its cradle. He nearly dropped the telephone when he saw her standing in the doorway, a thoughtful frown on her lips, beads of water sliding down her slick body.
Impulse had made her jump out of the shower, dripping wet, with the intention of pulling Zane in with her. The urge faded instantly as she had caught his final words. He was talking to someone about her. Someone, judging by his surprised expression, he hadn’t wanted her to know about.
The Amnesiac Bride Page 12