Читать книгу Wedding Party Collection: Don't Tell The Bride - Kelly Hunter - Страница 16
ОглавлениеTuesday morning broke with the sound of the dawn prayer. Istanbul, thought Lena. I’m in Istanbul with its mosques and its rich cultural history and its slick market thieves. Her head throbbed when she moved it ever so slightly—time for more painkillers. There they were on the bedside table with a glass of water beside them, two of them, ready to go.
She eased up onto her elbow and reached for them with her spare hand, and then reached for the water to wash them down with. Give it five or ten minutes and the throbbing would stop and the fog would take over, fog being preferable to pain on most occasions, both of them preferable to being dead.
She rolled over, careful not to lie on the lump on her head, and there was Trig, next to her on the bed, faint shadows beneath his eyes and those long girly lashes. He looked younger in sleep and his body was even bigger up close.
He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
The urge to touch him became unbearable and she scooted closer and slid her hand across his chest. She’d have plastered herself against the rest of him only he’d slept on top of the covers rather than between them. Five more minutes, maybe ten, and the throbbing would stop and maybe she’d be able to do something about waking him in ways a man on his honeymoon might want to be woken, but for now just resting her cheek on his shoulder would do.
And then he rolled towards her and the covers got shoved to the bottom of the bed as he gathered her close and wrapped his arms around her. Target acquired, mission accomplished, and with the faintest rumbling sigh he slid straight back into sleep.
Five more minutes, she thought as she burrowed into his warmth. Five more minutes.
Or maybe an hour.
* * *
Trig woke slowly, with Lena wrapped around him like a limpet and strands of silky black hair tickling his jaw. She stirred as soon as he shifted, and snuggled in closer even as he tried to draw away.
‘Lena—’ Somehow, one of his hands had made its way to her waist. The other one had journeyed a little lower. Neither hand was in any hurry to let go. ‘Lena, I need to get up.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘I really do.’ He pressed a brief kiss to her shoulder and then peeled himself out of there, one reluctant limb at a time. ‘What do you want for breakfast?’
‘You.’
She still had her eyes closed. She’d rolled over into his warm spot, tucked her arms beneath his pillow and probably wasn’t awake enough to know what she was saying.
‘And some of that yoghurt you got me yesterday. And the tea,’ she mumbled into the pillow.
‘So you do remember.’
‘It was good tea.’
‘About the man and wife thing...’
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘Who wants a wife who gets beat up on the first day of their honeymoon? I’m a bad wife. Already. But I will make it up to you. Promise. Just as soon as I get up and go shopping.’
So much for Lena waking up this morning with her memories intact. ‘I really think you should rest,’ he said. And he’d book those flights. ‘Shopping can wait.’
‘Wrong.’ She rolled onto her back and fixed him with a sleepy gaze. ‘Have you seen the clothes in my suitcase? No. And you’re not going to. They’re funeral clothes. I brought the wrong suitcase.’
‘You have a funeral suitcase?’
‘I must have. There’s no other explanation.’
‘Pretty sure I can think of one. You want to hear it?’
‘No, I want to shop. And eat yoghurt,’ she pleaded wistfully. ‘And pastry. Lots of flaky breakfast pastry. I’m starving.’
Now he was starving too.
‘Lena, do you remember where you are?’
‘Istanbul.’
‘Do you know why you’re here?’
‘Honeymoon.’
Okeydokey, then. Time for another trip to the hospital. ‘You want me to get you anything else while I’m out?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Champagne and strawberries.’
* * *
Five hours later, the doctor declared the swelling in Lena’s head much reduced and Trig had declared her memory much improved. She could talk about Damon, Poppy and her father with assurance. She could talk about Jared and the things they’d done in the past. But she had no recollection of getting shot in East Timor, or of her long and arduous recovery, or of Jared going rogue in order to find out who’d betrayed them.
She still thought she was Mrs Lena Sinclair.
The doctor had nixed any long-haul flights for Lena for the next few days, but all was not lost.
The doctor had also banned sex.
‘Got it,’ he’d told the doctor swiftly. ‘No sex. Plenty of rest. Doctor’s orders.’
And then Lena had turned accusing eyes on him and it would have been flattering and funny if it hadn’t been so tragic.
They’d returned to the hotel and Lena had obediently dozed for a couple of hours before declaring herself completely over the hotel-room experience and desperate to take a slow, relaxing walk through the hippodrome next to the Blue Mosque.
‘Is this a honeymoon thing?’ he asked suspiciously. Because it sounded like a honeymoon thing and he wanted to avoid those.
‘It’s a tourist thing.’
‘The doctor said you had to rest.’
‘And I have. Now I need to do something.’
‘The walking will tire you.’
‘How about a Turkish bath, then? Warm water. Relaxation. I hear they even throw in a massage.’
‘Water baby.’
‘I do recall a fondness for water. And doing a lot of leg rehab in it.’ Lena frowned. ‘You said I got shot in the line of duty. I still don’t remember a thing.’
‘Lucky you.’
‘Can you describe it to me?’
‘No.’
She looked at him with far too penetrating a gaze and he thought she would push the issue, but then she shrugged and rifled through her suitcase and held up a brightly coloured swimsuit. ‘So...Turkish bath or unwanted interrogation? Which will it be?’
Which was how they ended up at a Turkish bath house, with him being shepherded through a door to the left labelled men and Lena being pointed to the one on the right that said women.
‘Wait for me when you get out,’ he commanded gruffly.
‘Don’t I always?’
Surprisingly, upon reflection, the answer was yes. He gave her a grin. ‘Rest and relaxation,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget.’
‘I’m on it.’
Once through the man door, an attendant showed him to a shower cubicle and change room. ‘You must shower first,’ the attendant said. ‘And then this door will take you into the bathing area.’
Trig nodded. There’d been pictures of the bath house on the waiting room walls. Rooms full of marble and cascading water. Huge stone slabs where bodies lay prone and masseuses worked their magic. Enough steam to make a belching dragon proud.
Lena’s post-op physiotherapy programme had involved a lot of water-based stretching and exercises and whether she remembered those exercises or not, a warm bathing pool and massage would be good for her.
Trig showered and stowed his wallet and clothing in the locker provided. He picked up a tiny square face cloth from a carefully folded pile of them sitting at the door to the bathing area. No swimwear required, apparently. It said so, right there on the instructions plaque hanging on the wall.
The first thing his eyes were drawn to as he stepped into the room was the high domed and tiled ceiling. The second thing he saw was Lena entering through a door on the other side of the room.
Why on earth would a bathing house have separate change-room areas when the bathing area was for males and females both?
Like him, Lena had only one cloth.
And she didn’t seem to know where to put it.
Only half a dozen other people swam or lazed beneath the cascading water pouring from spouts in the wall. A few men. A few women. No one seemed to be paying much attention to anyone else.
Didn’t matter. Lena stood butt naked with one tiny little cloth that she seemed to want to cover the worst of her scarring with. He crossed to her quickly and held out his cloth.
‘Here. Use it. Cover yourself up.’
She seemed to find his glower amusing. ‘Which bits? Because these wash cloths? Really not that big.’
‘Get in the pool,’ he ordered. The pool would provide at least some protection against prying eyes. And they were drawing attention. He could feel eyes boring into his back. ‘You’d think they might have mentioned when we came in that this was a mixed bathing pool.’
Lena was making her way slowly down the steps, holding fast to the hand rail. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘This is working for me. Are you sure you don’t want your flannel back? Or mine as well, for that matter. Because, frankly, most of the women and some of the men in here are staring at you and salivating.’ Her lashes swept over her eyes and she scanned him from head to toe. ‘And why wouldn’t they? There’s a lot to love.’
He followed her down into the water fast. He’d never considered himself body shy, but still... ‘Keep the flannels. Use the flannels. Why aren’t you freaking out?’
‘Too busy watching you,’ she said with a grin, and then slid into the water and struck out for the far side of the pool. ‘Oh, this is nice.’
‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you were, oh, I don’t know...not buck naked?’
‘Adrian Sinclair.’ Her voice floated warm and teasing across the water. ‘Are you self-conscious?’
‘Apparently.’ The water was deliciously warm, bordering on hot. Lena would like it. ‘I’m also possessive—particularly where you’re concerned. And I’m on my honeymoon and all kinds of frustrated. You might want to keep this in mind should the masseur attempt to wash you down.’ The masseur was washing someone down on the marble block now, and there were suds, lots of suds, and a wet white towel that the masseur was scouring the skin with. He wasn’t being gentle. ‘Maybe you should give that experience a miss, because if he scrubs too hard and antagonises your scars I’ll have to relieve him of his arms.’
‘I’m sure he’ll adjust his ministrations accordingly.’
Trig watched as the masseur fisted half the towel around his hands and proceeded to bring the free end of the towel down hard on the person’s back. He did it again and the towel landed lower this time. Again and again, all the way down to the toes. Every time the towel came down the body strung out on the slab twitched.
‘I might give the flagellation a miss,’ said Lena after a moment.
The masseur had downed the towel and picked up a huge bucket full of water. For someone so small and wiry, the man had some serious body strength. Next minute, he’d thrown the entire contents of the bucket at the person lying on the slab.
‘Wasn’t expecting that,’ said Lena as the person sat up, a man, now that you could see past the suds. The front of him got slammed with another full bucket of water and then he stood up and headed towards a nearby waterfall of water and half disappeared under it. ‘You reckon that was cold water?’
‘Yes.’
‘Me too.’
She had such a shameless grin. ‘You going to tell me how I got these scars now? Because I think I’m ready to hear it. It bothers me that I can’t remember if this happened because I did something wrong.’
‘You did nothing wrong.’
‘I don’t suppose you could expand on that?’
‘I don’t want to discuss it.’
‘Trig, I look at my body in the mirror and I see the scars and feel the aches but I don’t know how they got there. It’s really disconcerting, and I’d really like to know. I appreciate that it’s probably not a memory that you want to revisit, but please...’
Trig scrubbed his hand over his face. He had no defences against a pleading Lena. None.
‘So we were on a simple recon run in East Timor,’ he began. ‘There’d been a last-minute change of plans and we got asked to check out an old chemical weapons lab that had been reported abandoned about three years earlier. That’s what the mission profile said. We came in careful, we always do, and found cobwebs and dust. No footprints. No sign of use. No equipment on the benches, nothing in the cupboards. The place had been picked clean and left to rot.
‘We came back outside. Didn’t figure we had a problem until semi-automatic fire came at us from the left flank and took you down. I don’t know why, because there was nothing there to protect. Another two minutes and we’d have been out of there. No activity to report. Not coming back.’
‘Did we catch the shooter?’
‘No.’
‘Do we have any idea who did the shooting?’
‘No. And no rebel group put their hand up for it. The incident’s been buried. No press coverage, nothing but an internal memo or two and a verdict of random opportunistic insurgence.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I’m not. There’s something else going on. Jared’s looking into it. Quietly.’
Lena nodded. Trig waited.
But no memories of Lena coming to Turkey specifically to find Jared were forthcoming.
Lena leaned her head back against the tiled lip of the pool and closed her eyes. ‘Think I’m going to forget the scrub-down altogether and stay right here for at least an hour. The only thing I plan on opening my eyes for is to watch you get all sudsed up and sluiced back down. I could appreciate that show a lot.’
‘Never going to happen.’
‘Probably for the best. If it did, I’d want a way of showing ownership and you’re not wearing a ring. By the way, when are we getting our rings? Because I have some more ideas on what I’d like.’
‘You do?’
‘I do. And I found a wad of cash and a couple of credit cards in my suitcase belonging to one Lena West. I can pay for rings.’
‘Gentleman pays for the rings, Lena.’
‘Since when?’
‘Pretty sure it’s a rule.’
‘Do we follow rules? As a rule.’
‘Always. What sort of wedding ring do you want?’
‘Plain brushed platinum. Wide.’
‘You want diamonds in it?’
‘Meh.’
‘What about a diamond engagement ring?’
‘Shouldn’t I already have one of those?’ Lena frowned. ‘I wish I could remember your proposal. I want to know how you got away with not giving me a ring.’
‘It’s possible I promised you the world instead.’
‘Not the moon and the stars?’
‘Those too. And Saturn’s rings.’
‘Classy,’ she murmured. ‘Were we beneath the stars at the time?’
Trig made an executive decision. ‘We were on the beach, lying in the whitewash watching baby turtles hatch and return to the sea and it was a starry, starry night.’
‘I can see how that would work. Where would you have even put a ring?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I could have a turtle engraved on the inside of mine,’ she murmured.
Or not.
‘Or the date.’
Or not.
‘What was the date of our wedding?’
‘November the twenty-eighth.’
‘I’ve been married almost a week already? Doesn’t feel like a week.’ She favoured him with a sultry smile. ‘You really are going to have to bed me soon. Because it’s criminal that I can’t remember any of that.’
‘You can’t help it. No need to dwell on it. I’m not dwelling on it.’
‘I can’t remember any of the sex we had before marriage, either. That’s assuming we had it.’
‘Lena, can we not talk about the sex we may or may not have had? I am stark naked in a public bathing pool and at some point I am going to have to get out of here without giving anyone here a heart attack.’
‘You want your wash cloth back?’
‘No! Keep the cloth. You need that cloth to cover you up when we get out of here.’
‘This isn’t working for you, is it? You’re not relaxing.’
‘Maybe if we stopped talking.’
She lasted less than five minutes. Five minutes during which he convinced himself that if he took nothing too seriously, he could probably get through another day of being married to Lena without losing his mind.
‘So would you wear a brushed-platinum wedding band?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Not a lie. More of a theoretical answer to a theoretical question.
‘There could be a glossy strip running through it like a wave. And there could be diamonds, little ones, like a little wavy strip crosswise across the band. Or little sapphires the colour of the sea. But not the deep blue sea. The light blue sea.’
‘I see.’ And he did.
‘Maybe we should consult a jewellery designer.’
‘Maybe. Are you tired?’ he asked. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Hot water does that. May I ask you another question that I can’t remember the answer to?’
‘Shoot.’
‘It’s December the fourth already and we’re in Turkey on our honeymoon. How long is our honeymoon going to take and where are we going for Christmas?’
‘That’s two questions.’ And he didn’t know the answer to either. ‘Two weeks for the honeymoon—though if your memory doesn’t reappear in all its glory soon I want to cut this trip short and take you home.’
Lena said nothing.
‘I mean it, Lena.’
‘I know you do. I can hear it in your voice.’ She brought her hands to the surface of the water and started churning slow circle patterns in the froth. ‘I’m remembering more. I can tell you that. I remember tagging after you and Jared when I was a kid and resenting the hell out of you both for being stronger, faster and more fearless than me. I remember wanting to rip Jessica’s eyes out because you took her to your year twelve formal.’
‘Really? You remember that?’
‘As if it were yesterday. First time I’d ever seen you wearing a suit and tie and the things it did for your shoulders and my libido. As for Jessica, she had an hourglass figure, waist-length auburn hair and a smile just for you. In another universe I might have even liked her. She didn’t even look at Jared.’
‘Yeah, that was always a good sign in a date. Jessica was a good sport.’ Who’d known by the end of the night that Trig didn’t want to take things any further. ‘Probably still is.’
‘Jealous wife here,’ warned Lena.
‘You’re a good sport too,’ he offered hastily.
‘Are you sure? Because I seem to recall that I really, really like to win.’
‘This is true.’
‘I also have this niggling suspicion that I’m a bad loser.’
‘Sometimes you react badly when you’re forced to reveal weakness in front of others,’ he offered carefully. ‘You hate that.’
‘Well, who wouldn’t?’
‘Borrowing strength from someone else when you need it doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human.’ He laid out his thoughts for her; honest in a way he’d never been before. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d lean on others a little more.’
‘Doesn’t that make me needy?’
‘Not saying I want to tie your shoelaces for you. But when you’re railing against your body’s limitations and when you’re scared about being left out or left behind, would it kill you to say something?’
‘Like what? Carry me?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’ve carried me before.’
‘I have.’
‘Which must give you a certain sense of self-worth.’
‘I’m usually more focused on staying alive at the time.’
‘Can’t you see that me borrowing strength from others gives me less self-worth? That the last thing I want is to be a burden to you?’
‘It’s not like that. That’s not what offering and receiving help is all about.’
‘I hear you,’ she said solemnly. ‘I do, but, Adrian, ask yourself this: when has anyone ever carried you?’
* * *
Lena couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment in the bath house when the conversation had turned from teasing to her pleading with Trig to understand her thoughts and feelings when it came to relying on others for things she ought to be able to do for herself.
She did rely on him when she needed to.
She’d relied on him yesterday—for memories and form-filling-out, for safety, and she’d let him carry her and rejoiced in the act; she remembered that part quite well. She was relying on him now, for information and companionship. What more did he want from her? Did she really try to hide her weaknesses from him?
They lasted an hour in the hot pool and beneath the cascading falls of water. There was a ledge you could lie on beneath one of the cascades and let the water beat down on you, and it did it with exactly the right amount of pressure. She made Trig try it but he preferred the more directed pressure of a side spout. Neither of them took up the masseuse’s offer to soap them up and wash them down.
Maybe next time.
An hour and twenty minutes after they’d entered the bath house, they stepped out onto the street, squeaky clean and smelling ever so faintly of roses. Lena liked smelling of roses. She liked Trig smelling of roses too.
She came down the bath-house steps, feeling freer in her gait than she had been in days.
‘You’re walking easier.’ He didn’t miss much, this husband of hers.
‘I know. Turkish baths are my new favourite place. And I know I suggested we look for rings after this, but I’m having second thoughts.’ Never let it be said that she couldn’t admit to weakness. She could work on that. Work on it right now. ‘I’m tired, my head’s beginning to throb and all I want to do is curl up on that hotel bed with a plate of fruit and a movie.’
‘Lena West, are you admitting that you’re not up to shopping with me?’
‘I am. And I hope you’re impressed and it’s not Lena West. The name’s Lena Sinclair.’
She did love a man with a wide and blinding smile.
They hailed a taxi and when they reached the hotel foyer they dropped by the restaurant and ordered a plate of fresh fruit and pastries, and hot coffee and tea to be brought to the room. She was getting used to this hotel now. The foyer and the lifts, the long walk from the lifts to the room.
She got halfway down the corridor before deciding she could use some more help. Especially if it involved being up close and personal with a husband who smelled ever so faintly of roses.
‘Ouch,’ she said and stopped. Trig stopped too. ‘Could be I need a little more help.’
‘With what?’
‘Walking. I have this burning need to be in our room right now, and we’d get there a whole lot faster if you carried me.’
‘Burning need, huh?’
‘Scorching.’
He swung her into his arms. Damn, but she loved his smile. ‘You feeling any less worthy there, princess?’
‘No, I’m feeling kind of smug.’
‘I’ve unleashed a monster.’
‘Pretty sure I’ll get the asking-for-help balance right eventually. Right now I’m feeling so breathless all of a sudden. I may need mouth-to-mouth.’
He got her to the door and got her inside.
And kissed her senseless.
The food arrived ten minutes later. Ten minutes during which her husband had avoided being on the bed with her for all he was worth, offered to run her another bath, twice, opened his computer and scowled at his emails and generally set her on edge with his inability to settle. He downed two cups of thick, fragrant coffee in rapid succession and stared at the walls as if contemplating climbing them.
‘Got an email in from your brother,’ he said finally.
‘Jared?’
‘Damon. He’s got us seats on a flight out of here in three days’ time.’
Lena sat up straighter so she could look her take-charge husband in the eye. ‘What happens if my memory comes back before then?’
‘Then I guess we cancel and continue on to Bodrum.’
‘What’s in Bodrum?’
He hesitated, just for a second. ‘Boats.’
For the first time since waking up on the floor of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, she wondered if her husband was lying to her.
‘Seems like a long way to come for something I know we have a lot of at home.’
‘Diving’s not bad either.’
‘Maybe if we were talking about Sharm El Sheik, down the bottom of the Sinai. Which we’re not. We’re talking about the Bosphorus.’
‘Your geography’s improving,’ he murmured. ‘That’s got to be a good sign.’
Her spidey-sense was twitching too. Lena didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
‘You’re awfully worried about when I get my memory back, aren’t you?’
Her husband’s eyes grew carefully guarded. ‘Not really.’
‘Did we have a fight?’
‘We often fight. Usually for no good reason.’
‘So we did have a fight.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘There’s something you’re not telling me. What don’t I know?’
Trig ran a frustrated hand through his already dishevelled hair. ‘I don’t know what you don’t know. Right now, I don’t think either of us have a handle on what you do and don’t know. There’s stuff you’re repressing.’
‘The bad stuff?’
‘Yeah. And I don’t know how much of that to tell you right now, so I’m hedging, and waiting to see what does come back to you, and I’m stalling, for very good reasons, and hoping to hell that you’ll wake up tomorrow morning and try and break my jaw, because then I’ll know you’re back.’
‘Must’ve been some fight.’
‘We didn’t fight.’
‘Then why can’t I remember our wedding day? Why am I repressing that?’ She suddenly felt nervous. More than nervous. ‘Was it bad? For you? Was our wedding night a disaster?’
‘God help me.’
‘Tell me!’
‘No.’
‘No you won’t tell me or no it wasn’t a disaster?’
‘It wasn’t a disaster.’
‘Do we have pictures of our wedding day?’ Because she hadn’t seen any on his laptop.
‘I don’t know about any pictures. We left right after...the thing.’
‘The wedding.’
Trig nodded jerkily. ‘Lena, can’t you let it go? Just for now?’
‘I can’t.’ She couldn’t look at him any more. ‘I can’t remember our wedding day, or when you proposed to me or what we’re like when we’re together. Nothing, not even a flash, and of all the things I want to remember, it’s those. It feels...disrespectful that I can’t. Who forgets their own wedding?’
‘It’s not disrespectful.’ Her cool, calm husband was unravelling fast.
‘And we really are okay? We’re not on the verge of divorce after a week?’
‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘No. Lena, I gotta get out of here for a bit. I’m going mad.’
‘Will you look for wedding rings while you’re out?’
‘What?’ The poor man looked positively hunted.
‘Wedding rings. You could go browsing. Haggling. Blood sport.’
‘I, uh, wasn’t planning to.’
‘Could you?’ Anxiousness made her fidget. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t mind.’ He’d told her to be clear about her fears. ‘It’d give me something solid to hold to when I can’t remember. Something real.’
She couldn’t read him, this husband of hers. His face was all shut down and he stood so very still.
‘You sure you wouldn’t rather wait until your memory comes back?’ She could barely hear him.
‘I don’t want to wait. I’d come with you—we can do it tomorrow if you’d rather not choose them on your own—but I don’t want to wait. I trust you to choose well.’
Trig ran a big hand over his face.
‘Trust you full stop,’ she said, hoping to reassure him.
And somehow made it worse.
‘I’ll look,’ he said hoarsely and handed over his laptop for her entertainment and fled as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.
Lena let out a breath when the door snicked closed behind her husband. Damn, but she wished she could remember what had gone wrong between them. Because something had and she needed to know what so that she could fix it.
Restless, she turned to his computer and trawled through his music file, trying to find something she didn’t thoroughly approve of.
Maybe he’d downloaded his entire music collection from her.
She scrolled though the photo files next and found plenty of her and Trig or her and Jared, or Jared and Trig—most of them involving ropes and sails and water. She saw pictures of her and Poppy in an elegant apartment and felt relatively certain that the apartment in the picture belonged to her father. She saw a picture of Damon giving surfing lessons to a buxom redhead wearing a buzzy-bee headband and knew it had to be Ruby.
Her memory was returning. Maybe not all at once, maybe in fits and starts, but it was coming back.
She trolled through Trig’s video collection next. A couple of V8 car races that didn’t interest her at all. Some big wave surfing footage that did. The entire season three of a local cooking show. Huh. And a TV miniseries about a circus, a drifter and a whole bunch of supernatural goings-on.
The creepy circus show won hands down.
She was still watching it four hours later when Trig returned. Well, maybe not watching it intently. It was entirely possible that she’d drifted off to sleep at some point between the first episode and wherever they were up to now. Daylight had come and gone. Dusk ruled the sky now.
Trig looked at her, looked at the computer screen.
‘Relaxing,’ he said.
She did like a man with a crooked smile. ‘Doctor’s orders.’
‘You do know you’ve seen this before.’
‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all new. And if this is new, think what else could be an all-new experience. I’ve been re-virginised.’
‘Don’t even go there.’ Trig pointed a warning finger at her.
‘Think about it. I’ve barely been kissed. My breasts have never been tou—’
‘Lena!’
‘I love it when your voice gets all gruff and commanding.’ She lay back on the bed, all biddable and boneless. ‘Who knew?’
‘No sex. Doctor’s orders.’
‘Honeymoon,’ she reminded him.
‘You’re just bored.’
This was true. ‘So entertain me. What’s new in the land of out there?’
‘Well, the shopping here is still an experience to remember and I still pray for my life whenever I get into a taxi. The taxi driver’s name this time round was Boris.’
‘Did he know where to find the best wedding rings?’
‘Of course he did. What kind of question is that?’
‘And did you find any you liked?’
‘You want to see?’
Lena sat up fast. Of course she wanted to see. ‘What kind of question is that?’
He put his hand in his jeans pocket, pulled out a little velvet pouch and tossed it onto the bed.
Lena eyed the little pouch with extreme anticipation. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate the right-to-my-fingertips delivery but shouldn’t you be on bended knee?’
‘Couldn’t you just think of the turtles?’
‘I would if I could remember them. Bend. And give me the proposal speech.’
And wonder of wonders he went down on one knee and made Lena breathless.
‘Heaven help me,’ he said.
‘Keep talking.’
‘Okay.’ He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. ‘Okay, I can do this.’
‘Hang on.’ She smoothed back her hair and straightened her top, sat up straight, shoulders back and an imaginary book sitting on her head. No need for complacence just because they’d done this before. ‘Ready.’
‘Glad one of us is.’
‘Take your time.’
He took a deep breath instead. ‘We’ve known each other a long time,’ he began raggedly. ‘I’ve loved you for a long time. You’re it for me. For better and for ever, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at your side, so...Lena Aurelia West, will you marry me?’
Those weren’t tears in her eyes. They weren’t.
‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Yes. I love you too.’
Trig let out a breath and Lena realised, belatedly, that he was nervous. Really nervous.
‘Why are you shaking? You knew I’d say yes.’ She closed the laptop and pushed it away. She reached out to her husband and coaxed him up onto the bed. ‘That was so beautiful. You should do it again.’
‘Once was enough.’
‘Twice.’
‘Right.’
‘You look pale.’
‘Probably fear.’ He picked up the little royal-blue velvet pouch. It had silver writing on it that she didn’t understand, that she didn’t need to understand as he pried loose the string, took her hand, turned it palm up, and tipped three rings into it, two of them significantly smaller and more ornate than the third.
She picked up the first of the smaller rings. The brushed platinum had a glossy wave running through it. The second of the smaller rings was identical, except that this time the wave was a string of vivid blue sapphires, running from small to large and back to small again. Separate, they were beautiful. Together, on her finger, they looked superb.
‘Real enough for you?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ They must have cost him a fortune.
She looked to the third ring. Brushed platinum, same as hers, but no wave ran through the thick plain band. She picked it up and studied the finish before reaching for his hand and pushing it onto his finger.
‘Suits you,’ she murmured. ‘I’d have got you one with a wave as well. And I’d have been wrong. Have I mentioned lately, just how much I love your hands?’
‘What?’
‘Hands. Yours. I have a total fetish for them. Goes back years.’
‘How many years?’
‘You remember that kitten we found stuck in the drainpipe?’
‘Yeah, but I remember the kitten’s mother that found us two minutes later more. She bit me.’
‘She did.’ Lena grinned at the memory, for it was vivid, bright and there. ‘You have a gentle touch, big guy. Even when under attack. That’s when I fell for your hands.’
Her husband blushed, and Lena grinned some more. ‘Truly, you’re such a beautiful man, inside and out. I just wish I could remember what I did to deserve you. Because looking at you and then looking at me... Adrian, can I ask another question that you’re not going to want to answer? Because it’s a big one, and it’s bugging me.’
‘Can I reserve the right to not answer?’
‘Where I got shot—there’s so much scarring, so many hollows. Am I still able to have children?’
He didn’t have to say a word; his eyes answered for him. Lena nodded and bit down hard on her lower lip. ‘Okay.’ She drew a ragged breath. ‘Okay. God. I don’t know what you see in me.’
‘Don’t you say that,’ he said fiercely. ‘Why do you say stuff like that? You’re it for me. You always have been, and if you still want children, well, maybe we can’t make one but we can care for one that needs caring for. Whatever you want to do, I’m in. All in. Promise me you’ll remember that and that you’ll remember this. Us. The way we are now.’
She straddled him because he was looking down at his wedding ring and she thought that he might bolt; she wrapped her arms around his neck and took his mouth with hers, gentle and coaxing at first, and then more languidly when he responded.
‘Make love to me,’ she whispered. She wanted that, wanted him inside her so damn much. ‘We can go slow. Easy as breathing. The doctor couldn’t possibly object to that.’
‘We can’t.’ His hands were at her back and his lips were at her neck. ‘I can’t. You need to get your memory back first.’
‘For this?’ His lips skated across her breastbone and sent a shaft of pure pleasure straight through her. ‘Pretty sure I don’t. I’m all for making new memories.’
‘Lena, the doctor said no. You have a habit of ignoring doctor’s orders.’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘It has a habit of backfiring.’
‘Oh.’
He sat back against the headboard with Lena still on top of him. She leaned into him and he started drawing lazy lines across her back. Nice. As was the firmness still tightly lodged against her thighs. She rocked against him ever so gently. ‘You going to take care of that?’
‘It can wait. Tortured denial’s my thing.’
‘Really?’
‘Apparently.’ Those clever hands of his scratched at a spot behind her ear and almost set her to purring. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, and it sounded like a prayer for salvation. ‘Let’s see how you’re tracking tomorrow.’
* * *
He couldn’t sleep. How was a man supposed to sleep when his head was full of the scent of the woman he loved and his heart was fair breaking under the weight of all the lies he’d just fed her. Not all of it lies: his proposal had been true. Lay his soul bare and hope Lena remembered in the morning.
See where this road led them and hopefully stumble across Jared along the way.
He still hadn’t forgotten the real reason Lena was here, even if she had.
Because he could take Lena home the minute she was cleared to fly, and wait for her full memory to return, but the minute it did she’d be back out looking for her missing brother again.
He had half a mind to try and find Jared over the next couple of days, get Lena and her brother to sight each other and then take Lena home.
Trig slipped from the bed and reached for his T-shirt. He left the room with a mobile phone and minimum fanfare. The phone had come from Damon. Not government issue, nothing that could be traced back to him.
He punched in a number he knew off by heart and waited to see if a message bank would pick up the call. The message bank wasn’t full and it should have been by now. Someone was clearing those calls. Hopefully it was Jared.
‘Hey, man.’ Jared would know who it was by the sound of his voice. If someone else had Jared’s phone, Trig didn’t plan on making it any easier for them to identify him. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while and we’re in the area so we’re going to drop in. You owe me, big time. And you need to be there.’
