Dangerous Temptation (11 page)

It was ironic that she was wishing now that they'd taken the following morning's Concorde. If she hadn't been so eager to get back to England, it would have made more sense. But she'd seen the overnight flight as a chance to avoid conversation. She usually slept on the aircraft without any problem.

But the selfishness of her decision had dawned on her at the airport. When she'd glimpsed Nathan's taut face, she'd immediately realised her mistake. The prospect of the overnight flight must have brought back horrific images for him. And although he didn't remember boarding the plane, he remembered the aftermath of the crash.

But when she'd booked the flight, it hadn't been his feelings she'd been concerned about. And although she'd offered to change their reservations, Nathan had shaken his head. He appeared to be asleep now, so she didn't know what she was worrying about. With characteristic insensitivity, he'd left her at the mercy of her fears.

She shifted again, turning her head so that he was no longer in her line of vision. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't even want to think about him, but she knew from recent experience that that was not so easily achieved. From the minute she'd walked into the hospital ward and seen him lying there, she'd been in a state of panic. He was in her thoughts; he was in her mind; there seemed to be no escape.

Which was stupid considering the circumstances of their previous relationship. Dear God, they'd been virtually estranged. She'd only come here at all because it was what her father had expected her to do. She didn't want to get involved, however hard that sounded. It wasn't her fault that there'd been an accident and Nathan was hurt.

Yet…

She moistened her lips. What had she really felt when he'd opened his eyes and seen her hovering over him? It had certainly not been indifference, she had to acknowledge that. Such dark eyes he had; had they always been so expressive? He'd looked thinner somehow, as if the accident had drained him. And she hadn't noticed before that he'd let his hair get over-long.

But it was the way he'd looked at her that had set her knees trembling. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said there was sudden desire in his gaze. God, he'd told her so often in the past that she repelled him. Yet when he'd looked at her, there'd been hunger in his eyes.

Her lips twisted in sudden self-denial. It had been the aftermath of the accident, that was all. In his position, discovering he was still alive after such an event must have been traumatic. But his reactions had unnerved her. It was not what she had expected—or
wanted
, she reminded herself again.

Since then, she'd done her best to convince him that they didn't have that kind of marriage. Any attempt he'd made to touch her—to stroke her cheek or hold her hand—had been met with obvious reluctance. She didn't want him touching her; she didn't want him creating a relationship for them when none was there. And most of all, she didn't want him stirring up emotions that she'd believed were dead and buried; that had never been real emotions from the beginning and were nothing more than pity now.

It hadn't been easy, and even now she didn't know if she'd achieved her objective. She'd caught him watching her sometimes with a curious mix of doubt and speculation, and her skin had feathered at the thwarted intimacy in his eyes. But whatever he was thinking, he didn't voice it. Was he waiting until they were completely alone before he made his move?

For the present, she thought he had enough to do, trying to absorb the restrictions that his amnesia had thrust upon him. Caitlin had done her best to deliver the bare facts of his life to him, but she knew he was finding it difficult to put it all together. It would have been easier if she'd been able to arouse some latent point of contact for him to cling to. If there'd been something that had rung a chord in his memory. But there wasn't. So far as his previous life was concerned, it was as if a blanket had descended and covered it. Even his father's visit had meant nothing to him.

Caitlin frowned. Her first encounter with Nathan's father had been something of an anticlimax. She'd decided not to shock the old man by delivering the news of his son's accident by telephone, and the day after she'd first visited Nathan at the hospital, she'd flown to see him.

After taking a cab from the airport in Atlantic City to Prescott, she'd had no difficulty in locating the Wolfes' sawmill. It was a well-known landmark on the outskirts of the small town, and she'd felt a certain eagerness to see it. After all, Nathan had never brought her here before.

But the dilapidated state of the timber yard depressed her. Whatever previous success it had enjoyed, it was obviously neglected now. In fact, if she hadn't seen a plume of smoke issuing from the house next door, she might have asked the driver to turn around and take her back to the airport. As it was, she'd asked him to wait in case Jacob Wolfe wasn't there.

But he was there. He'd answered the door himself, and Caitlin had been horrified at his skeletal appearance. Of course, she'd reminded herself, Nathan had told her his father had been ill. For God's sake, that was why he'd been in the United States in the first place.

But she'd soon discovered her mistake. Although Nathan's father had seemed pleased to meet his daughter-in-law at last, he insisted he hadn't seen his son for over a year. Which had prompted the question of why Nathan had been in the United States and why he should have lied about it to her.

Jacob Wolfe couldn't give her any answers. However, his concern for his son was obviously genuine, and he'd insisted on accompanying her back to New York. Caitlin was sure he had been eager to see his son himself; to ensure that his injuries were not serious, as she'd said. For her part, she'd prayed that seeing his father again might spark some chord in Nathan's memory. It was clear that her husband didn't recognise her.

But, in the event, it was Jacob Wolfe who seemed most affected by the encounter. After visiting his son, he'd seemed bewildered and distrait. Although he'd actually said little to Caitlin, she'd sensed his confusion. Then he'd made some excuse about needing his medication, and left.

He hadn't come back and Nathan's comments about the old man's visit had hardly been satisfactory. He said the old man had seemed strangely bewildered, but Caitlin guessed he'd been shocked to find his son didn't recognise him.

Caitlin had tried to ring him before they left to tell him they were going back to England, but there'd been no reply. Either Jacob Wolfe wasn't at home, or he wasn't answering the telephone. Short of visiting him again, there was nothing more she could do.

Besides, her conclusion that amnesia could affect other people as well as its immediate victim was relevant. Sometimes, when she was talking to Nathan herself, she'd had the feeling she was losing her own mind. It was hard to relate to someone who didn't share your memories—though some of those memories she'd have liked to lose herself.

Naturally, there were things she hadn't chosen to tell him. Although he might very well suspect that their relationship was not all it should be, she hadn't actually told him they lived separate lives. Nor did she intend to do so for the present. Dr Harper had warned her not to say anything that might upset him; that his recovery could be a long and painful process, and controversy could only obstruct those ends.

But there had been occasions when Caitlin had wondered who she was fooling. Whether it wasn't as much to her advantage as to Nathan's that she keep their troubled association to herself. It was pride, she thought, that made the choice so easy. But she sensed another reason that she preferred not to name.

Why? she asked herself now, feeling him move beside her. It wasn't as if she wanted him back, husband or not. She didn't love him. She had never loved him, she assured herself firmly. And just because she was feeling sorry for him was no reason to confuse the issue now.

But the awareness that he could disturb her emotions was hard to swallow. When she'd flown to New York, she'd been so sure she knew how she felt. Yet, seeing him again in that vulnerable state had jarred her defences. If she didn't know better, she'd have said the man she'd married was not the man in the hospital bed.

But he was…

Shifting again, Caitlin wished she could stop thinking; that she could put all her doubts and misgivings to the back of her mind. What she was going to do when they got back to England she had yet to consider. Nathan was going to need constant attention, and she couldn't see herself in the role of a nurse.

The idea of giving up her job and looking after him herself was not an option. And she resented the feelings that had put the thought into her mind. What would Janie, her business partner, think if she suggested it? After the way Nathan had always treated her, she'd say she was mad.

Besides, she enjoyed her work at the antique shop and she saw no reason why she should give it up. Let Lisa Abbott look after him, she thought maliciously. Except that he didn't remember the other woman, and she had no intention of telling him about her yet.

The flickering glow of a video screen attracted her attention. Across the aisle, one of the other passengers was evidently finding it hard to sleep and had switched on his personal monitor. Caitlin wished she'd had the foresight to ask for a video. Anything to fill the empty hours before it was light.

"Am I disturbing you?"

Nathan's voice in her ear startled her. She hadn't been aware he was awake and she hoped he couldn't read her thoughts. It wouldn't do for him to know how much he disturbed her, or how easy it would be to deceive herself into thinking he wasn't the man he was.

Trying to be objective, she was struck all at once by his accent. In the quiet surrounds of the aircraft, his lazy drawl was suddenly unfamiliar, too. Had it always had that softness, that almost Southern intonation? It must have had, but why hadn't she noticed it before?

"Um—no," she responded at last, wishing it were true. Of course he disturbed her. Though perhaps not in that way he expected. She forced a smile. "I probably woke you. I haven't been to sleep."

"Nor have I," he confessed, and to her dismay, he shifted onto his side to face her. "To be honest, I was thinking about the accident." He grimaced. "Fate can really fu— mess up your life."

Caitlin bit her lip. "Yes, I was thinking about the accident, too," she said, not altogether untruthfully. "I should never have booked us on this flight. I'm sorry. It was totally thoughtless." She paused. "Would you like to talk about it? If you think it might help—"

"There's nothing to talk about," replied Nathan flatly. The muted lights in the cabin cast most of his face into shadow, but they couldn't hide the sudden anguish in his eyes. "All I remember is lying at the edge of the runway. That, and the horror of hearing people screaming for help."

Caitlin knew the increasingly familiar desire to comfort him. "There was nothing you could do," she said softly. "The emergency services were there almost at once. It's getting on the plane that's aroused all these apprehensions. As I said before, we should have taken the morning flight. Or even sailed home on the
QE2
."

"The ship," murmured Nathan wryly, proving once again that his brain was still functioning normally when it came to external matters. Then, "No. It's better to face your fears, don't you think?"

Caitlin shrugged a little ruefully. "At least you haven't forgotten everything. Dr Harper told me that some people have to learn to read and write all over again."

"God!" Nathan was appalled. "And I was feeling pretty sorry for myself just now. Imagine being as helpless as a baby. I think my brain's like a cabbage, but at least I know my left foot from my right."

"Your brain's not like a cabbage," Caitlin assured him firmly. "A person's memory can be selective even without losing your memory. I know that."

"Do you?" He slanted a lazy glance her way, and she was uneasily aware of his attraction. "So, tell me, Mrs Wolfe, what have you forgotten? Or don't you remember?"

"Me?" Caitlin's ungrammatical use of the personal pronoun owed as much to her own disconcerted state as to any surprise at the question. The realisation that this man was her husband suddenly had a deeper meaning. How might their relationship develop without the chains that had bound her to him in the past?

"Oh—things," she replied at last, when it became obvious he was waiting for a response, and his dark brows quirked disbelievingly. "It's true," she went on doggedly, striving desperately for an illustration. "Like—when I fell in the stream at Fairings. I didn't remember that."

"Fairings?"

Nathan frowned, and Caitlin hastily explained that that was the name of her parents' house. "In Buckingham-shire," she added. "About forty miles from London. You'll see it, I expect, when we get back."

Nathan inclined his head. "And how old were you when you fell in the stream?" he inquired sceptically.

Caitlin hesitated. "Four—I think."

"Four?" He gave her a retiring look. "Oh, yeah, right. That makes me feel a whole lot better. I don't know why I've been so worried. It's obvious it's just a childish prank."

Caitlin pursed her lips. "Don't be so cynical. Shock can cause all kinds of problems. You have to work it through. That's what Dr Harper said anyway."

"Mmm." He didn't sound convinced. "Do you really think telling me about some ducking you took when you were four—and which, incidentally, you'd forgotten—is a positive thing to do?"

"I thought so." Caitlin looked dejected. "I suppose I didn't—didn't—"

"Think?" he prompted drily. "Yeah, that about covers it. Oh, Kate, you're not the most tactful counsellor I've known."

Caitlin shifted a little uncomfortably at his words. It was the first time he had called her Kate, and it troubled her more than she wanted to admit. If Nathan had ever shortened her name, he'd made it Cat, not Kate. A word he'd used with malevolent pleasure on occasion.

Nathan's warm breath was on her temple, and she could smell the faint aroma of the wine he'd drunk earlier. She'd been doubtful about him drinking it all, but she hadn't voiced her objections. And at this moment, she could have done with a little Dutch courage herself.