Читать книгу Mills and Boon Christmas Joy Collection - Liz Fielding - Страница 51

When Laura relented and took herself off to bed, Bishop sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

She’d tried to corner him into joining her in the bedroom, but he’d dodged another bullet, albeit with a minimum of skill. He only hoped his ex-wife’s memory returned before either of them had to endure that kind of farce again.

In her mind, they were married. Married couples enjoyed conjugal intimacies, and he and Laura had been intimate often. What bothered Bishop most now was how strongly his body responded to the possibility of holding Laura close. Naked. Loving. His again.

As she disappeared down the wide hardwood hall, gait slow, head down, Bishop shoveled a hand through his hair and threw a glance around. Same furniture, same stunning yet homey fireplace. How many times had they made love before the flames he’d stoked there?

After several moments remembering back…wishing something, somewhere, had turned out differently…he bit down and wheeled toward the door.

His hands bunched at his sides. The urge to walk out was overwhelming; he could only see this ending badly. But he couldn’t leave. At least not yet. If Laura’s inability to remember lasted beyond Sunday, however, he’d fabricate a business trip and organize assistance…a nurse perhaps. Or Grace would need to make arrangements. Until then, he was stuck.

But he wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs. He might be away from the office, his apartment, but he could still get some work done.

He brought his laptop in from the car and without much thought, moved into his former home office. He let his eye linger over the heavy rosewood furniture, the maroon couch, his Rubik’s Cube and the framed photograph of Laura that, remarkably, still sat on the polished desk. He moved forward and let a fingertip trail the cool silver frame.

Hell, he thought she’d have demolished this room and every reminder in it the first chance she’d got. Which led him to thoughts of her “lost” wedding rings.

They weren’t at the hospital. She’d probably flushed them or tossed them in the fireplace, as he’d done with his band a raging moment before he’d slammed the door shut on this place forever. Or believed that he had. But his stay here this time would be short-term. After the long drawn-out business that had led to their separation, the shorter the better.

Settling into his chair, he connected with Bishop Scaffolds’ server and brought up some recent specs. New dies were under discussion but he wouldn’t commit until he was certain the designs were exactly right.

With a background in engineering, he’d always enjoyed a natural affinity with machinery. Routinely he checked presses, calibrations and product tolerances. It wasn’t unusual to find the boss manning equipment should a worker be called away or need a few minutes off. This past week, after listing the company, he’d spent more time than usual in the factory where equipment was manufactured, stored and dispatched. He considered himself as much a part of the working machine, a cog in the wheel, as his employees, every one handpicked and valued.

But maintaining a manufacturing presence in Australia was a tricky ball to juggle. The uncertain slope of the Aussie dollar against other currencies, the force of reduced labor prices in neighboring countries, plus the quality versus cheaper options argument kept Bishop on his toes. The threat of any company folding to the sum of those pressures was real.

When he’d lost a couple of key contracts not long after his and Laura’s split, an unsettling sense of doubt had clung to him. He’d never failed at anything of real consequence, but if he could fail at something as important as his marriage, might he not fail in business, too? If he began second guessing himself, losing his edge, maybe it was time to get out and hand over the business to someone who had the mind-set to keep it strong. He wanted to be that man, but then he’d also wanted to keep his marriage solid.

He went into a few emails but found he couldn’t focus. Visions of Laura’s toned form, tucked under a light cover in the bed they’d once shared, had seeped into his mind and now he couldn’t shift them. Images of her chest softly rising and falling and the way her hair splayed over her pillow while she slept were glued in his mind. He thought of how perfectly her mouth had fit under his—how everything had seemed to fit—and for one frightening moment, he battled a tidal wave urge to stride down the hall and join her.

Growling, he pushed back his laptop and glared at the ceiling. Dammit, he’d never wanted his marriage to end. He’d fought to save it. But no matter what Grace thought about second chances, he’d be an idiot to entertain such a crazy idea. He was here because he had no choice. Laura would get her memory back and then they could each forget this episode and get on with their individual lives.

Laura woke with her heart hammering in her chest. The room was quiet, the walls stenciled with soft-edged shadows. The green numerals on the side table read 2:04.

Shivering and feeling inexplicably alone, she tugged the covers higher. Then she remembered Bishop and her smile warmed her right through. Carefully, she rolled over, reached out in the darkness…and that warmth dropped away.

The space beside her was cold and empty. Why hadn’t Bishop joined her? Because he worried about her bandaged head? Didn’t he know that his embrace was the only medicine she needed?

Well, if he didn’t know, she’d simply have to go and tell him.

After wrapping up in a long, soft robe, she padded out into the hall. Outside Bishop’s office, a wedge of light shone on the timber floor. Frowning, she huddled into the robe’s warmth more. He was working at two in the morning?

She headed off but stopped in the doorway, her heart melting at the sight. Bishop was sprawled out on his Chesterfield couch, an ankle hung over the far armrest, one foot on the floor, his left forearm draped over his eyes. He’d taken off his shoes and trousers, and his white business shirt was undone to his navel. The steady rise and fall of his beautiful big chest told her he was sleeping soundly. Familiar heat sizzled through her. God, how she loved him. How dearly she wanted him. And there was another feeling swirling through her blood…one that was strangely difficult to pinpoint or analyze. She missed him. Missed him like she hadn’t seen him in years. The knowledge left her with a hollow ache in her chest. A chunk cut out of her heart. But she surrendered to a self-deprecating smile. He’d been away from their bed half a night. How would she cope if he left her for a week? A month?

She wriggled her toes on the cool floor. She wanted to go to him, wrap him up under her robe, rub her leg over the hard length and rouse him. Despite doctor’s orders not to overdo it, if her hands were to knead his body and she poured words of love in his ear, surely he’d relent and make love.

Or would he be unhappy with her? He worried so much about her health.

She was still making up her mind when the ridges of his six-pack suddenly crunched and Bishop woke with a start. Driving back a breath, he sat bolt upright as if a monster had chased him out of a dream. His gaze shot to the doorway, to where she stood. His dark hair was mussed and his bronzed legs beneath the white shirt looked as strong as steel pylons. The tips of Laura’s breasts hardened against the gentle fabric of her robe. How she longed to trail her fingers up over that steel, every blessed inch of it.

His blue eyes focused then narrowed slightly as they raked the lines of her body. A pulse began to beat in his jaw at the same time his eyes grew lidded and she knew he was visualizing the curves and valleys he loved to touch and taste.

Then he scrubbed a hand over his face and, shaking himself, sat straighter. His voice was thick from sleep.

“It’s late. Go back to bed.”

“If you come with me.”

He held her gaze then looked to his desk. “In a few minutes. I have some things to wrap up.”

She crossed the room, sat down beside him and gave him a level look.

“We can’t avoid it, you know.”

He leaned back the barest amount. “Avoid…what?”

“We need to talk.”

She put her hand on his thigh. He promptly removed it.

“Not in the middle of the night.” He pushed to his feet and, grabbing his hand, she pulled him back. He had the strength to resist, but a yielding expression touched his mouth, his eyes, and slowly he lowered back down.

“When I was old enough to understand about my condition,” she began, “that I would need to be careful about overexertion and such—I felt…different. My parents made sure every teacher knew which activities I could or could not do. Once, when we were short on numbers, Mrs. Carols insisted I moved off the sideline and team up for the 500m relay. When he found out, my dad hit the roof. He threatened the principal’s job and demanded an apology from Mrs. Carols as well as from the school.”

Bishop’s brows had knitted. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I want you to understand that I know better than anyone what I’m asking of you, of myself and of any children we have.”

As if he were considering her words, his gaze lowered. He saw his buttons undone and, deep in thought, he began to rebutton. “Laura, it must be close to three o’clock—”

“Junior school was lonely sometimes,” she plowed on. She didn’t care about the time. She needed to say this and he needed to hear it. “I couldn’t do cross-country or horse riding at camp. Kids can be cruel and some laughed behind my back. A couple even called me a cripple.”

Redoing the final button, his hands fisted in his shirt. “I wish I’d been there.”

“I had good friends too, though. We ignored the girls who needed to make themselves feel taller by bringing someone else down. Then university happened and the entire world didn’t need to know anymore. I was just like everyone else. A year after graduation, I met you.”

A small smile hooked one side of his mouth. “That night I kept you up talking till dawn.”

Smiling, too, she turned more toward him. “Eight weeks and one day later, you proposed. When you still wanted to marry me after you learned about my secret, I didn’t think anyone could be more lucky…or more in love…” Her gaze dipped before finding his again. “Even if you didn’t quite understand how deeply I felt about conceiving and having our own child. After I agreed we would adopt, I tried to deny it to myself.”

He broke their intense gaze and cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She touched the square bandage on her head. Feeling a faint throb coming on, she surrendered with a nod. It was enough for now that she’d opened that door a little wider. Tomorrow they would talk more, and when he realized how much carrying and giving life to her own child meant to her—when he accepted that history didn’t need to repeat itself, hers or his—he’d come around. He loved her, and love could surmount any obstacle.

She found her feet and put out her hand. “Coming?” His gaze slid to her bandage and she grinned. If he thought he’d get away with another excuse, he was mistaken. “Or we can stay up and finish this conversation now?”

He stood. “You win. But remember, you’re taking it easy.”

She looped her arm through his and guided him toward the door, toward their bedroom.

Beside the bed, she slipped out of her robe while he unbuttoned his shirt again, which seemed to take an inordinately long time. When she slid between the covers, feeling sexy in the lacy negligee she’d donned when she’d first lain down, she watched as his gaze filtered over her in the golden glow of lamplight. Snuggling into the pillows, she slipped back his side of the covers.

“On my honor,” she said, half-serious, “I promise not to ravage you.”

A moment later, the mattress dipped as he moved in beside her. Lying on his side, resting on an elbow, he searched her eyes. Then he brushed a curl from her brow and said, “I promise the same.”

The next morning, a world of birds’ calls dragged Bishop from a deep sleep. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes, but before he could piece together the previous day’s events, he recognized the room, the unmistakable crisp smell of mountain air. He also recognized the angelic form asleep beside him.

Laura lay on her back, her silky hair splayed around her head like a halo. One thin black strap had fallen off her shoulder. Beneath the lace bodice, he saw the rosy tips of her breasts.

Desire—thick, fierce and hot—plunged through his system, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head and most definitely everywhere in between. On reflex, he reached to cup her flawless cheek but thankfully in time he set his jaw and forced his hand away. It was bad enough that they’d slept in the same bed last night. When he’d promised not to take her, Laura had no idea how serious he’d been. But when she’d curled into him, how could he stop her? Or the acute physical arousal that had kicked in.

Clamping his eyes shut, he’d forced himself to think of anything other than her faint jasmine scent and the satin feel of her negligee…of her skin. He had no idea how long he’d lain awake, forcing himself not to stroke her back or brush his lips over hers.

Now he was fighting the same merciless war. The urgent pulsing in his groin said to forget honor and let his palm slide over all those gorgeous contours. The arousal fueling his erection demanded that his mouth glide down and taste her breasts, her hips, the honey between her legs. He imagined her dreamy sigh as she woke slowly, then her fingers winding through his hair as her hips arced and the trapped pounding in his blood found its release. He thought of her climaxing once, twice, and the possibility of them spending all day in bed.

Hardening more, Bishop swallowed a tortured groan. He’d better get out of this room before he convinced himself what he wanted was not only natural and necessary, but appropriate.

Quietly, he eased up and pushed to his feet. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, which brought another problem to mind. What would he wear over the weekend? Perhaps a quick trip into Burniedale, the nearest township, was in order.

He glanced at his watch.

The shops were two hours from opening yet.

Behind him, Laura stirred but when he turned to study her, she didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, the corners of her too-kissable mouth were curved into a heavenly smile. The doctor had suggested he wake her every few hours and ask routine questions, but she’d been fine four hours ago. She looked so peaceful now, perfectly healthy but for that small bandage above her temple. He wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, when she was asleep he wasn’t walking on eggshells, wondering when and how the memory pennies would begin to fall.

A few minutes later, he stood in his office, collecting his BlackBerry off the desk. He checked his messages and found another from Willis.

Where the hell are you?

Bishop headed outside. Where was he? Living in a time warp where the woman he’d once loved—who had once loved him—couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him in this house, let alone in her bed. The bigger, far more dangerous issue was, as difficult as it was proving to be, he needed to remember that, too.

Moving out onto the eastern porch, he siphoned in a lungful of the fresh morning air. The birds were deafening. Living in the city heart this past year he’d forgotten how loud they could be. But it was a relaxing and at the same time invigorating noise. Another thing he’d missed. Something else he’d tried to forget.

He thumbed in Willis’s quick dial and, phone to ear, waited for the call to connect. He’d swung a hip over the wood railing, was watching a hand-size echidna and its porcupine quills trudge into the brush, when Willis picked up.

“Are you in the office already?”

Bishop’s gaze skimmed the dense forest of gum trees. “I’m nowhere near the office.”

“Did you take care of whatever it was that dragged you away early yesterday?”

“It’ll be sorted by Monday.”

“Good, because I promised these potential buyers you’d speak with them then. I’ll get a confidentiality agreement then talk to Saed about putting together the documents they’ll want to see.”

Bishop listened to Willis’s plans while he examined the weathered stump he’d once used to chop logs for the fire. When Willis finished, Bishop absently agreed. “Sounds good.”

Two beats of silence echoed down the line. “You don’t sound as pumped as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m pumped,” Bishop argued. “I just didn’t think we’d get any nibbles this soon.”

“This isn’t a nibble, Sam. It’s a walloping great bite. The agent said the interested party is none other than Clancy Enterprises.”

Bishop let out a long low whistle. “They own half the companies on the east coast.” Manufacturing as well as retail.

“We’re talking serious money and, if we can go by their track record, we don’t have a whole lot of lead time. These guys move fast.”

A family of wild ducks, two adults, four chicks, waddled out from behind a boulder. Bishop shifted his position on the rail. “How fast?”

“Just sign the on the dotted line fast.”

A touch on his shoulder sent Bishop’s heart lurching to his throat. Jumping off the railing, he spun around. Laura stood before him, wrapped up in that fluffy pink robe, the tip of her nose already red from the morning air’s cool kiss.

Her gaze homed in on his phone and she stepped back, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

As if calling from another world, Bishop heard Willis’s voice coming down the line. “Sam? You there?”

“That’s okay,” he said to Laura, thinking how young and fresh she looked, the same age she’d looked when they’d married. The bitterness he’d seen a year ago seemed to have left her face completely. “I was finishing up.” He set the phone back to his ear. “We’ll talk later.”

Willis didn’t ask questions, which was part of the reason he was paid so well. Willis knew when to push. He also knew when to back off.

Laura hunched and hugged herself, snuggling into her robe. It might be spring but up here the mornings still got mighty chilly.

“Must have been something urgent to be calling at this time?” she asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

But a line had formed between her brows and her gaze had gone from his face to his chest and lower. She shook her head slowly and Bishop braced himself. Something had clicked. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t seen him on this porch in over a year. Or something he’d said, or his tone, had set off a memory. If it all came flooding back, he could be gone in two minutes. He’d simply find his shoes and be on his way. He had no desire to hang around and argue, which seemed to be all he and Laura had done those last few months.

Her head slanted to one side. “Why are you wearing yesterday’s shirt?” Her frown eased into a reproving grin. “Anyone would think you don’t have a change of clothes.”

What could he say? He didn’t live here anymore. He wouldn’t find any clothes in what had once been his wardrobe. If he’d gotten to the shops in time and had bought a couple of shirts…

But this kind of thing was bound to happen. He wouldn’t try to explain. He’d simply show her his empty wardrobe and let her memory take it from there.

So they walked back inside the house, down the hall, back into the bedroom, and while she pulled up the sheets to make the bed, he stood before his former wardrobe doors. Holding himself firm, he eased out a long breath.

Do it. Just do it.

His fingers curled around the knob. And pulled.

What he found inside left his legs feeling like rubber. His jaw dropped, and he stepped closer.

Clothes hung from the rails. But not just anyone’s clothes. His clothes. Suits and shirts, trousers and jeans. He held his brow. This didn’t make sense. Yes, he’d left everything behind. He’d had clothes enough back at the Darling Harbor apartment. He didn’t need anything here. Didn’t need anything to remind him.

But he’d assumed that once he’d gone Laura would have bundled up his clothes and shipped them off to charity. Or burned them. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of all this like she’d gotten rid of him?

“Need some help?”

Her voice, coming from directly behind, found a way through the fog. A moment later, her palms were sculpting over his shoulders and arms. As the contact lit fires all through his body, instinctively he leaned back into her touch. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and as her grip hardened on his upper arms, he closed his eyes and tried to stay lucid.

“Of course, we don’t have to wear anything at all,” she purred, and her hands filed down his arms, arrowing over his hips, finally finding and wrapping around the weight confined beneath his trousers.

A whirlwind of darkest desire spiraled through him. His hand covered hers and pressed in as his mind went deliciously blank but for the need to have her again. To drown in her kisses and fill her with his—

Coming to with a jolt, Bishop pried her hand away. Clamping down on the frenzied heat racing through his veins, he turned to her and forced his mouth to curve into a breezy smile.

“You’re certainly persuasive.”

“And you are dying to say yes.” Her gaze heavy with want, she reached up on tiptoe and tugged his bottom lip with her teeth.

A fireball shot to the top of his inner thighs and ignited a very short fuse. When she drew a line around his unshaven jaw and her mouth opened over his, Bishop shuddered and leaned into her kiss. With lava flooding his veins, every cell in his body cried out for more. Then her mouth opened wider, inviting him in deeper. Wanting to possess her, his hands found her shoulders and drew them in.

She tasted the same. Felt the same. And now he knew he was the same hungry man who craved to be with his wife.

She hummed in her throat and the vibration released bright-tipped sparks in his belly that unleashed an inferno a few inches below that. Instinctively, one hand left her shoulder and searched out her breast. As his touch grazed the soft, pert mound, his tongue dipped deeper, running over hers, and any sense of right or wrong vanished beneath the blistering force of mutual need.

Her hands were fanning beneath his shirt, but when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, she found his other hand and set it low on her belly. His fingers speared down. She wore no panties. He felt her damp and ready beneath the satin of her negligee. Pushed to his limits, he groaned against her lips.

“This always felt so right.”

“Make love to me, Bishop,” she murmured back.

“You don’t know how much I want to.”

“Oh, but I do.”

He felt her grin against his lips as her palm slid down his side and the pressure built to flashpoint.

He was ready to forget that this wasn’t real…was ready to drop her back onto the bed and enjoy what she offered in a very real way. And yet…

Still holding her, he sucked down a breath and, struggling, got his thoughts together.

“I…think we should stop.”

Her tongue ran along his bottom lip. “Don’t think.”

Good God, but someone had to.

Gritting his teeth, he pried her a little away. “The doctor said—”

“I don’t care what the doctor said.”

“Listen to me,” he growled. “We aren’t doing this.”

Her head came back and she probed his eyes for a long searching moment. “Is it because you think I’ll ask you not to use protection? That I want us to make a baby now?”

Well, that was as good an excuse as any. Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin. “Let’s cool down, have a shower—”

Her eyes flashed. “Fabulous idea!”

“—alone. We’ll have something to eat. You must be hungry. And later…” Later? He promised, “We’ll discuss it.”

And they would. If any conversation could bring her around—bring them both around—it’d be one highlighting the risks associated with her falling pregnant.