Million-Dollar Amnesia Scandal (12 page)

 

Seth gripped the Scotch glass tightly, knowing that if he squeezed it any harder it might shatter. The sliding door to his balcony was ajar, allowing the cold night breeze to waft in, along with the notes from the piano in the adjoining suite and April's voice singing about being crazy. Her
balcony door must have also been open, giving him an almost ringside seat for the haunting melody.

At one in the morning, he should be asleep. But this was the last night he'd be so close to her, the last time he'd hear her play in these unguarded moments. He couldn't bring himself to miss a second.

He still couldn't believe he'd had the strength to let her go. Up in the lighthouse, he'd been preparing the words in his mind to convince her to stay until her memory returned, until they had the hotel ownership resolved. But then he'd realized he shouldn't. Simply couldn't make her stay any longer when she needed to go. He cared about her too much.

Do you even know where desire ends and neutralizing a threat begins?
She'd been right—he'd lost sight of that line long ago. And April deserved better. He'd win the hotel, but not like that.

He downed the rest of the Scotch in one gulp, welcoming the burn in his throat since his entire body was already alight. He'd barely touched her since the night they'd made love on the yacht, and his body was in a constant state of protest. Needing to bring his scorching temperature down, he unbuttoned his shirt, and rolled up the sleeves. She was driving him to distraction.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could block out his insatiable need. It didn't work. He poured himself a second drink and, barefoot, strode over the carpet to the interconnecting door, leaned on it, sipping at his Scotch.

Her voice, so husky yet pure, tore through to his soul, and she was singing about being crazy for someone. Was it just a song? Or was she in the seventh level of hell along with him? Before he could resist the urge, his hand went to the doorknob and he turned it. The door swung open to expose her in a soft caramel nightdress, her hair loose
about her shoulders. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead and his lungs strained to draw oxygen. Her gaze lifted and sparked as it met his over the baby grand, her fingers and voice not faltering from the song, as she sang the words straight to him. His heart hammered an erratic beat; his skin was too tight, as if he'd burst free of it at any moment.

In between lines of a verse about being lonesome and wanting, her pink tongue emerged to moisten lush lips and he was undone. He covered the ground between them in less than an instant, slammed the glass down on the surface of the piano, and drew her from the stool and into his arms. Every muscle tensed to the screaming point, his mouth came down on hers with a crushing intensity that he was helpless to control, but she met and matched him with equal force.

His hands ironed down her sides, catching her nightdress and gripping it in his fists. “One night, April,” he said with desperation against her hair. “Give us one last night.”

Nails digging into his arms through his shirt, her breath panted near his ear. “I couldn't turn you away now if I wanted to.”

In one fluid motion he whipped the nightdress over her head, leaving her naked before him. It was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes, trying to slow down, then opened them again and looked his fill of her creamy skin. Trembling hands roamed down, savoring the slope of her breasts, the curve of her hips, her round buttocks. He claimed the slick depths of her mouth again, heard a moan and wasn't sure who'd made the sound.

She slid her fingers over the cotton covering his shoulders, leaving a path of fireworks in her wake, and dislodged the shirt down his arms to the floor.

“Touch me,” he said on a ragged breath. “I need your hands on me.”

She did, oh God, she did—over his torso, the electrical current zipping right through to his bones.

Then she stilled and gazed deep into his eyes. “You're the only lover I remember, but no one else…” She pressed a heated kiss to his pec. “It couldn't be like
this
with anyone else.”

She was right. He had all his memories, and it had never been like this with anyone else for him, either. There was something elemental—primal—between them. He grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the shiny black top of the baby grand. “I've never had so little control,” he rasped. “It's you. You drive me to the brink.”

She was so high on the piano that when he stood between her thighs, he laid his head between her breasts, cradling a luscious globe with a palm, relishing the feel of being so close again. Then he pulled her head down to kiss her, dragging her full bottom lip into his mouth, their breaths mingling.

Her urgent fingers darted for his belt and zipper, but she was too high to reach them, and a small sound of protest came from deep in her throat. He understood her frustration—he needed her hands on him again, touching him. He brought her palms to his shoulders, then grabbed his trousers on either side of the zipper and yanked. The button flew up into the air, and the sound of it bouncing off the lacquered surface of the piano made April's mouth slacken then curve at one corner. “Impatient,” she said.

“Beyond impatient for you,” he growled. The rapid rise and fall of her chest made her breasts catch the light as she inhaled, and he watched, mesmerized, before capturing a peak between his lips.

“Yes,” she whispered, then used the sides of her feet to
pull at his trousers, pushing them to the floor. He snagged the stool with an ankle and dragged it over, knelt and gained enough leverage to lean her back, draping the baby grand, her luscious body a banquet before him, her hair spread like a halo around her face. Abandoning any possibility of savoring this slowly, he crawled up onto the piano with her, covering her body with his own, reveling in the feel of her softness beneath him.

“Seth,” she said, and when her mouth opened to say more, he took advantage and kissed her, deep and hard. Her hands slipped beneath his boxers until finally, finally, she held him, and his entire world contracted to just that one point of contact. It was too much, but not enough, nowhere near enough. More, he needed
more.
He shunted the boxers down his legs, then brought his hands back to hold her waist, grounding himself with her.

His hand slithered lower, over her hip, gliding over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she whimpered. The pads of his fingers scraped again, then higher, until her breath hitched and she arched her hips, inviting, begging; and without hesitation, he positioned his knees between her thighs and thrust forward, entering her, letting her transport him to the place only she could create, a place where sensation filled his every cell, where he floated free of tethers to the material world. A place where her body belonged to him alone. He pumped faster and her legs wrapped around his waist, locking at the ankles, urging him on.

She was near the edge, he could feel it, and her eyes looked at him without seeing. But he wanted her to remember this, remember
him.

“Say my name,” he ground out.

“Seth,” she said breathlessly, her eyes regaining focus. “Seth, you're everything.”

She convulsed around him, calling his name, and the contractions of her body pulled him over the edge with her, into a place so intense he was in danger of imploding. He shuddered into her, and then he was falling, falling, gripping April, never wanting to let go.

 

Much later, when he could finally open his eyes, he moved his weight to one side to give her some space, but she murmured, “No,” and pulled him back. He tried to balance his weight, not wanting to crush her, but not wanting to be separated, either.

“I've got a better idea,” he said next to her ear.

He jumped down from the piano, slid his hands beneath her still flushed body and lifted. She began to protest, but he whispered, “Shhh,” and she relaxed back into his arms. She felt so damn right there. He carried her through to her bed and gently laid her on the rumpled sheets before crawling in beside her.

“I'm staying the night,” he said, not prepared to argue on this point.

She crawled closer, snuggling against him, and murmured her assent, and within minutes her breathing changed and he felt her go limp.

Sleep didn't come as easily to him. She was so soft, so lush in his arms, and he watched the night gradually fade through the window, dreading the rising of the sun.

H
olding back tears, April sat on the high, grassy ledge that met the sand, watching the choppy ocean under an overcast sky. It would rain later, which seemed appropriate—Mother Nature crying alongside her.

She was ready to go—she'd organized everything last night before Seth had come to her—but her mother hadn't finished packing, so April had said she'd wait out here, using the window of time to say farewell to the only surroundings that were familiar to her. The tears threatened again but she wouldn't let them fall—it was time to face the world, to go to her own home, and she needed all her courage.

From the corner of her eye she saw movement and turned to find Seth walking across the expanse of lawn toward her. As if a sheer curtain had flown across her eyes, she lost focus, leaving the scene fuzzy, so she blinked, then blinked again. Was it Seth? Everything cleared for a second, and
she saw his familiar tall shape, his dark hair being rumpled by the breeze. A buzzing sounded in her ears, but it wasn't from her surroundings, it was inside her head.

Suddenly the planet tilted off its axis. Head spinning, she grasped handfuls of grass to steady herself, but everything was slowly revolving about the figure of Seth. Except it wasn't Seth, it was her father, smiling, striding across with his arms held wide, calling her name. The world came crashing down with punishing weight and she choked on a sob.

“April!” Seth's voice was urgent in her ear. His arms encircled her, rocking, but her heart pounded too hard and she couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes from the spot where she'd remembered her father standing, even though he was no longer there. He was gone.
Gone.

Seth's fingers wiped away hot tears from her cheeks, and he turned her face to his. “April,” he said, voice desperate. “What happened?”

Her throat was too dry to speak, and the lump lodged there was too large to even swallow past. Instead, she leaned into him, felt his arms tighten around her, and she held him for dear life. His hands rubbed up and down her arms, as if trying to bring warmth to her limbs, perhaps comfort.

“Tell me you're all right,” he quietly demanded.

When she found her voice, it was more of a croak. “I'm fine.”

He still held her against him, but she felt some of the tension leave his body. “Then what happened? You looked like death.”

She gazed out over the lawn where her father had stood moments ago. Years ago. Her heart clutched as if squeezed by a cold fist. “I've remembered.”

With a gentle finger under her chin, he turned her back
to him, his navy blue eyes burning with intensity. “What have you remembered?”

“Everything.” A wobbly smile crept across her face as the memories tumbled into her mind. “My father's bear hugs. My childhood dog, Fergus, licking my face. Singing at Madison Square Garden. Giggling with Emerson Scott when we were teenagers. I remember everything.”

Past and present slotted into place beside each other, filling her to a nauseating bursting point, but she was secure in Seth's solid arms, safe with him filling her vision.

A sharp voice sounded from nearby. “What have you done to my daughter?”

Seth didn't move, didn't take his eyes from April. “I'll get rid of her,” he said quietly.

Despite a shiver crawling over her skin, she laid a palm on his cheek. “Thank you, Saint George, but I need to do this one.”

She tried to stand, but her legs were all jelly. In an instant, Seth's arm was back around her waist, pulling her up and against his warm body. She breathed his scent, the same forest-fresh essence that she'd smelled on the first day they'd met in the hospital, when she'd leaned against him much the same way. The desire to melt into him was strong, to let him protect her. But it was time to slay her own dragons, to face down her challenges.

Finding her balance, she took a step away and turned to her mother. “My memory's returned,” she said, her voice trembling only a little.

Her mother's face paled, but her chin kicked up. “Then we can finally leave this place for good. We have a lot of plans to put in motion. I'll ring your agent now and ask if he can see us today.”

Remembering a lifetime of being steamrolled by this
woman, April squared her shoulders. “No, Mom.” Her new life started now, this minute.

“We can talk about it in the car.” An overly bright smile stretched across her mother's face like an ill-fitting mask—it was too tight, cracked at the seams. “The valet has it waiting.”

April drew in a revitalizing breath. She was the woman she'd been before the accident again, but better. Stronger. In a strange way, not knowing herself for four weeks had allowed her to come to know herself on a deeper level. To rediscover her joy in music and star-gazing and taking time out. Seth was behind her; she could feel the heat he generated. He was ready to support her, but she could do this all on her own. It was past time.

Spine straight, she spoke with the quiet power she could feel inside. “I fired Gerald the day of the accident. We won't be meeting with him today or any day. But you knew that.”

“That was a strange time, darling.” Her face contorted into a sympathetic expression that didn't match her eyes. “Gerald didn't take you seriously. Let's wait until you're feeling better and we'll talk again.”

“I remember
everything,
Mother.” April hadn't just told her she was going to fire Gerald—she'd shared all her plans for the future.

Seth moved up beside her, a light hand rubbing the small of her back. “What is it?”

She kept her eyes on her mother as she answered him. “I quit music—recording, concerts, my label. I fired my agent, who pressured me to stay even after I'd talked of needing to step back. Therefore, I no longer have a need for a manager.”

There was a pause where no one spoke or moved, the
only sounds the wind whipping along the shoreline and a lone seabird.

“You fired your mother,” Seth eventually said, his voice neutral, but holding a world of understanding.

“Darling, you were burned out.” Her mother's false smile was still in place, but her voice was becoming more desperate. “We'll go back to your house and you can finish your recovery there.”

“I
am
recovered, and I'm not going with you.” April softened her voice. “I'm sorry that your job depends on mine, but I can't stay in a career I no longer want just to keep you employed as my manager. And I would hope that my mother wouldn't want me to.”

Deep sadness pulled inside as she faced the knowledge that her mother didn't want the best for her, nor support her choices. But that's what came from blurring the lines between business and personal relationships.

Her mother's eyes slid to Seth and back again. “Let's not talk about this in front of strangers. This is family business.”

April sighed. Families were supposed to look out for each other. Have each other's backs. There had been a few people like that in her life: her father, her friend Emerson. Seth. She and Seth might be at cross purposes about the Lighthouse Hotel, but she'd trust him with her life. Or—her stomach lurched—was she in danger of confusing the lines between business and personal with
him,
the way she had over the years with her mother?

With no time to analyze that question now, she folded her arms and met her mother's gaze. “No, it's not family business. It's career business. You've made enough from my career to keep you comfortable, and now it's time to separate. Once we've disentangled our business interests, we can talk about our mother-daughter relationship.”

Her mother's smile dropped, leaving something cold and pitiless. “You love the fame. You've always wanted this.”

Seth's hand at the small of her back stilled and pressed more firmly. April took the strength he offered and stood taller. “Decisions I made at thirteen shouldn't dictate my entire life. I'm making new decisions, starting now.”

A stiffness descended over her mother's features as if she was just realizing this wasn't a whim, that it would really happen. Then she shook her head and said, “Call me when you've come to your senses,” before turning sharply and stalking off toward her waiting car.

April's knees buckled and Seth pulled her close against his side, supporting her weight. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Her mother's car drove across the paved reception area and down the winding driveway. “Right now, I'm not sure of anything. But yes, I needed to make that break and stand on my own feet. Take control of my destiny.”

His expression barely changed, but there was a trace of something akin to pride in the depths of his eyes. “Do you want to sit down?”

“Maybe.” She looked around. There was a couple walking some distance away, and a car had arrived with people now emerging from within. Not much activity, but she already felt vulnerable, and being in anyone's field of vision made it worse. She looked up at him. “I've checked out of my suite.”

“We'll go back to mine till you decide what you want to do.” Arm firmly around her waist, he led her back to the hotel and along the corridors to his room. Blindly she followed, glad he was there to hand the reins to while she needed him.

Shivering uncontrollably, she held him tighter. Once inside, he guided her into his bedroom and tucked her in
his bed, under the covers, fully clothed. She sank back into the pillows and, scarcely blinking, watched him as he rang the concierge and arranged for the bags they'd taken from her mother's car to be brought up to his suite.

Then he lifted the covers and climbed in beside her, sitting up against the headboard, and held her face to his chest, stroking her hair. Needing his strength, she snuggled in, wanting the oblivion that his presence normally granted. Instead, her mind raced over past events, putting the scraps she'd remembered in the past weeks into context. Seth murmured soothing words and her eyes drifted shut as she allowed herself to be cared for in this little cocoon from the world.

The shivering gradually eased, and after what seemed like hours, she stretched her legs and looked up at him. “Thank you.” Though she was leaving, and he wouldn't be part of her future, there was no one else she wanted here with her in this moment. No one she'd feel as safe with in her emotionally bare state.

“I'm glad I was here,” he said, voice low, then he dragged in an impossibly deep breath. “April, don't answer this if you don't want to—” he hesitated and she knew what he was going to ask “—but you said you remember firing your agent on the day of the accident?”

Everything inside her clenched tight. It was time to face the worst of her returned memories—for herself and for Seth. She laid her head against his chest again and nodded, his crisp shirt sliding with the movement. “And I remember the drive with Jesse.”

“If you'd rather not…” His voice was strained.

She reached over and took his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I'll tell you.” She closed her eyes, frowning, as she recalled the events leading up to his brother's death. “He drove us to the lawyer's office. It was a lawyer he knew
out of the city, who'd fitted us in on short notice to write up the contract.”

“Why not come to me? Why do it at all?” he asked, face contorted with stifled grief and confusion.

She ran her fingers absently along the front of his shirt. “From what he said, I think he'd never considered himself cut out for the hotel business. He wanted something more glamorous, perhaps something more exciting.”

Seth's chest rose under her cheek, held a moment, then dipped with his heavy exhalation. “That sounds like him.”

“And I think he wanted to step out from your shadow.” She felt him stiffen, and she looked up into his eyes. “He idolized you and felt he could never compete. So he wanted something completely different, completely his own.”

“Your recording label,” Seth supplied, sounding weary. “Working with musicians and celebrities would give him the glamour and excitement, and in a field separate from me.”

“I guess so.”

He thudded his head back on the soft headboard. “The fool. Why didn't he
talk
to me about it?”

Although she had no siblings, it wasn't hard to understand how difficult this would be to hear. She shimmied up the bed to sit against the pillows beside him. “That would have defeated the point of doing something on his own,” she said softly.

“True.” He gave her a resigned smile. “So the lawyer drew up a contract and you both signed it. Then what?”

A prickling sensation spread through her belly, and she pleated the sheet between her fingers. “Jesse had brought Champagne to celebrate his new life direction and he poured us all a glass. I didn't see him drink more than the one glass, or I swear I never would have let him drive.”

“The autopsy said he had alcohol in his system, but not much,” Seth said, nodding.

She swallowed, trying to moisten her parched throat. “He drove back to the city, and he was talking so fast, lifting his hands to gesture, just so excited.”

A smile haunted his eyes but didn't break through on his face. “Jesse was always excitable.”

“There were no other cars on the stretch of road, and—and a dog ran out.” She flinched, heart galloping, remembering the same flinch when she'd seen the dog as a passenger in the car. “Jesse swerved, missed the dog, and maybe without that touch of alcohol, without his consuming excitement, if both hands had been on the wheel when he saw the dog, he wouldn't have lost control of the car.”

She was cold, so cold. He reached for her, pulled her close, tucking her face against his neck. “You don't have to say any more,” he said, voice stretched tight.

“I have to.” She struggled to make her throat work—the scene was playing out in front of her and she had to get it all out. “I saw the tree. It was coming too fast.” She spoke against the warm skin of his neck, tears gathering in her eyes. “Jesse spun the wheel and threw out a hand to push me away, and the driver's door took the brunt. I don't remember the impact,” she said on a cracked whisper, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. His heart sprinted as fast as hers; she could feel the compounding effect of the beats where their chests pressed together.