Dangerous Temptation (14 page)

Accepting this as further proof of his returning memory, he waited eagerly for Caitlin's return. But when she came into the apartment, he was once again struck by her withdrawal, and although he'd been flicking through a newspaper he'd found on the bureau, he followed her when she went to put her purchases away.

Her attitude made it difficult for him to speak casually to her, and he was at once reminded of their contretemps before Mrs Spriggs arrived. Dammit, he thought, they couldn't go on circling one another like two wrestlers in a ring. There had to be a point when politeness gave way to honesty.

He could tell she was nervous as she thrust cartons of milk and eggs into the fridge and stowed frozen foods in the freezer. But refusing to be deterred, he took a packet of coffee beans from the cupboard and tipped a couple of handfuls into the grinder. Working with her, surely he could breach the wall of antipathy she'd erected around herself.

His familiarity with the food processor obviously surprised her, and he guessed she was wondering how he knew where the coffee beans were. But he didn't explain. Let her think it was a subliminal memory, he thought irritably, instead of the result of his earlier explorations.

With the ground beans transferred to the filter, and a jug of fresh water poured into the dispenser, he felt ready to bestow his news. "Um—when was I in the army?" he asked. "Was that before or after I went to college?"

Caitlin turned to face him, her brow furrowing with obvious anxiety, and his stomach lurched. "As—as far as I know, you've never been in the army," she declared, instantly destroying all his hopes. "And—and Mrs Spriggs doesn't drink coffee," she added, observing the three ceramic mugs he'd set beside the coffee maker. "She prefers tea."

Nathan's look of disappointment almost made her wish she'd been able to lie to him. He'd apparently remembered something while she was out, and he'd imagined it was a fragment of his past. But she remembered too well her husband's boast of how he had avoided the draft, and whatever hopes he'd had on that score could not be allowed to proceed.

"You're sure about that?" he asked now, thrusting one of the mugs back into the cupboard and pulling out a china teacup and saucer. His lips twisted. "Shit, I was certain I'd remembered something positive. So how the hell did I know about dog tags? Can you tell me that?"

"I think most people would know what dog tags are," replied Caitlin quietly, finishing putting the perishable foods into the fridge. "They're identification discs, aren't they?" She glanced his way. "You haven't found some, have you?"

Nathan gave her a retiring look. "Now, would I?" he exclaimed with a sigh. "No. I just—oh, I don't know. It doesn't even seem very convincing to me right now. I guess it was just wishful thinking." He paused. "Did you get what you wanted?"

"Yes, thanks."

Caitlin realised that once again he was between her and the door, but with the sound of Mrs Spriggs's vacuum drifting through from the bedroom, there didn't seem any need to be alarmed. Besides, sooner or later they had to talk; she knew that. He wasn't going to be put off by her prevarications for much longer.

She forced a smile. "I see you took a shower." With his hair still damp and clinging to his neck, that seemed a safe comment to make. "I—I should have told you. There's a hair dryer in one of the drawers in your dressing room."

"A hair dryer, eh?" Nathan's mouth compressed a little sardonically. "Well, what do you know? I don't remember ever using one. Seems like my hair's used to drying naturally. Though I guess it is getting over-long."

"Oh, no, I…"

The protest spilled automatically from her lips, and Caitlin felt the wave of heat sweep up her neck. For God's sake, what had possessed her to say that? How he wore his hair was nothing to do with her. It was just that its length added to his alienation—a circumstance she was quite prepared to admit she preferred.

He was waiting for her to finish, and with an awkward shake of her head, she said offhandedly, "I rather like it as it is."

"Do you?"

The words were spoken very softly, and his narrowing gaze held a depth of emotion she didn't ever remember seeing before. Those moments in the bedroom when she'd been so aware of him came back to haunt her, and she wondered why she was so drawn to him now, when she'd never felt this way in the past.

Whatever, when he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb almost sensuously across her parted lips, her tongue crept forward instinctively. She wanted to taste the pad that had touched her and she savoured the faint aroma of coffee on his skin.

His indrawn breath showed he was not unaware of the intimacy, and long muscles, taut and masculine, flexed beneath the short sleeves of his black knit shirt. Dark eyes, as soft and smooth as velvet, impaled her nervous gaze, reminding her, if any reminder were needed, of his strength and her vulnerability to it.

Struggling to escape the trance he was laying on her, she found refuge in an unusual way. It was so long since she had been this close to Nathan, and a sudden awareness of how brown his skin looked—how healthy—brought the unwelcome thought of Lisa Abbott to mind. He must have been attending a health spa, she decided. Had he taken his mistress along?

A pain knifed through her stomach, banishing her weakness and replacing it with cold resentment. Why was she even contemplating his appearance? Whatever he did, it didn't matter to her.

So, when he moved closer and bent his head towards her, Caitlin recoiled in revulsion. He was not going to make a convenience of her. If he'd forgotten about the other woman, she hadn't, and she shouldn't allow her sympathy to get in the way of common sense.

His reaction was not unexpected. When she drew back before his mouth could connect with hers, he uttered a muffled oath. And with a feeling that mingled an unwilling regret with triumph, she put the width of the kitchen between them, bending to take a carton of cream from the fridge to avoid his eyes.

"What is it with you?" he demanded angrily, long fingers combing back the heavy hair that had fallen over his forehead. "For Christ's sake, Kate, I'm your husband! How long are you planning on keeping up this crazy charade?"

Caitlin set the cream on the drainer and made a play of removing its plastic cover. "It's too soon," she said, realising she didn't have a satisfactory answer. So long as he didn't mention Lisa Abbott, neither would she.

"Too soon?" He stared at her impatiently now, and she offered him a wary look. "Too soon for what? For kissing my wife? For welcoming me home? For letting me make love to you? Dammit, what's wrong with us? Don't we communicate any more?"

Caitlin swallowed. "Of course we do."

"On what level?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, why are you acting like we never slept together? You'll be telling me next you're a virgin! Hell, you surely know what that can do to a man."

Caitlin held up her head. "There's no need to be rude."

"Isn't there?" He regarded her scathingly. "Seems to me it's the only way to get a reaction around here."

"That's not true." Caitlin sighed. "I just need a little-time, that's all. We have to get to know one another— again."

"Bullshit!"

Nathan's response was predictable, and Caitlin wondered why she had expected anything else. And at least his outburst was familiar. He had never been any good at guarding his tongue.

Deciding there was no point in trying to reason with him in this mood, she turned away to check on the coffee, but his next words were not predictable at all. "Can't you see?" he implored. "I'm just trying to make some sense of my existence. And it seems to me that our relationship should be the most important aspect of that."

Caitlin swallowed. "Well—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he demanded suddenly. "You have no earthly idea what I'm saying." His lips twisted. "Why should you? I'm the one who's all screwed up. Oh, shit, what I need is a drink."

"You're going to have a drink. The coffee's almost ready," said Caitlin, deliberately misunderstanding him. But she didn't like it when he appealed to her sympathies, particularly when she so badly wanted to respond. "I—I bought some pastries. I thought you might be hungry. You didn't have any breakfast on the plane."

"At three o'clock in the morning? Give me a break," he countered, reminding her of the five-hour time change between New York and London. "Anyway," he added wearily, "I'm not hungry. I guess I lost my appetite along with all the rest."

"Nathan—"

Caitlin started to speak, but before she could say anything she might have regretted later, Mrs Spriggs appeared in the open doorway. "That's it, Mrs Wolfe," she said, offering Nathan a nervous smile. "I've finished the bedrooms. I'll come back tomorrow and do the laundry."

"Thanks."

Caitlin was grateful. She had never had any cause to doubt Mrs Spriggs's word. From time to time, Nathan had complained that she got in his way, or that she didn't iron his shirts as well as he was used to, but most of the time they kept out of each other's way.

Aware of this, she glanced somewhat awkwardly towards Nathan, and as if sensing his presence was surplus to requirements, he brushed past the daily woman and left the room. He didn't even take the cup of coffee she'd poured for him, and presently she heard the outer door of the flat slam.

Immediately, she wanted to go after him. She was terrified of what might happen to him out in the street. But although her hands clenched tightly on the marble worktop, she forced herself to remain where she was.

"Gone out, has he?" inquired Mrs Spriggs in a return to her usual garrulous fashion. Caitlin's father had always said that his daughter allowed the daily woman too many liberties, but there'd been times when she'd welcomed her friendly chatter.

"It looks like it," Caitlin answered now, pushing the newly made pot of tea towards her. And then, because she needed any reassurance, however specious, she added, "D'you think he'll remember where he lives, or ought I to follow him, Mrs Spriggs?"

"Well…" Mrs Spriggs evidently welcomed the opportunity to offer an opinion. "I dare say he can ask somebody else if he gets lost. I shouldn't worry about him, Mrs Wolfe. He's not a baby." She pulled a wry face. "As a matter of fact, he seemed—well, rather competent to me."

"Mmm."

Caitlin wished she felt more confident about his actions, but at least it seemed that Nathan had been civil to Mrs Spriggs. He had been known to swear at her on occasion, particularly if he had a hangover and she started hoovering the floor.

"How—er—how long is it likely to take?" the woman was asking now, and Caitlin didn't pretend not to understand what she meant.

"I wish I knew," she said. "Apparently, there are no hard-and-fast rules about amnesia. No one seems to know exactly how long it may last." She shrugged. "We can only hope for the best."

"I see." Mrs Spriggs nodded. "The best being that—er— Mr Wolfe recovers his memory?" she added curiously, and Caitlin frowned.

"Of course."

"Of course." Mrs Spriggs looked a little discomforted. "But I have to say, he seems—very nice as he is."

Caitlin couldn't prevent a rueful smile. She knew exactly what Mrs Spriggs meant. It would be nice to think that Nathan wouldn't change when he recovered his memory, but she was realistic enough to know that miracles didn't happen.