Million-Dollar Amnesia Scandal (3 page)

When he replied, his voice was smooth and calm as always. “How does it feel?”

“I don't know.” She nibbled on her lip. “Like something already exists between us.”

He slid her a heavy-lidded look before returning his eyes to the road. “Define ‘something.'”

“When you look at me, I…” She trailed off, not really sure how to explain, wishing he'd help instead of grilling her. She moved in her seat, as if that could alleviate the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. There was something between them, new or existing. He must know it.

“You what?” Seth asked, voice huskier than it had been minutes before.

Her throat felt suddenly dry, but she forced it to work. “It's like we have a…a connection. Already.”

Seth's chest expanded rapidly with a breath, but his voice had returned to normal. “As much as I'd like to have had a ‘connection' with you, I'm afraid this is just garden variety attraction.”

This
was a mere attraction? “Do you often have attractions like this?”

He hesitated then cleared his throat before replying. “No.”

“And yet,” she said, collecting her jumbled thoughts, settling her racing pulse, “you called this a garden variety one.”

His hands on the wheel clenched and released before he nodded curtly. “I stand corrected. We seem to have quite a strong attraction.” He signaled before overtaking an RV. “But that's all it is. I give you my word we never met before that day in the hospital.”

“I believe you,” she said, barely above a whisper. And she did. She may not know much about him, but he had a core of honor. If he said they hadn't met, they hadn't.

But she couldn't become involved with someone when her mind was such a scramble. She clasped her hands on her lap. “Since we're talking about this, I have to tell you that it's…problematic for me.”

“You find your attraction to me
problematic?
” His lips quirked up at their ends.

She opened her mouth to reply when she realized he was teasing her. She blinked. Seth Kentrell was capable of teasing? Based on their earlier interactions, she wouldn't have guessed it possible. For some reason, it made a bubble of joy form in her chest.

“I'm sorry, did you have plans for us to form a relationship?” she asked, deadpan, teasing him back.

His smile was brief before he frowned. “The idea of a relationship between us would be as
problematic
for me as for you. More so. I just need my hotel back, April.”

She flinched inwardly. It was what she wanted to hear; but still, the brush-off hurt a little. She should be grateful they were on the same page. Should be. And she would be.

She straightened her spine as much as she could in the car seat. “So, no acting on this. Agreed?”

He met her eyes for the briefest of moments before returning them to the road ahead. “Agreed.”

But as she sneaked a look at him, she wondered if he was able to shut off a response as easily as he implied. She wasn't so sure she had that level of self-discipline—to repress an attraction she felt so keenly. But she
would.
From this moment.

They talked for the rest of the trip to Queensport about less loaded topics than Seth's family, her lack of memory or their attraction.

When Seth pulled up in the paved area at the front of the Lighthouse Hotel's entrance, April looked around in wonder. It was beautiful—historic and grand. Three stories high in most places, with large windows and gables adorning the front. At one end was the tall lighthouse, built of the same large pieces of roughly hewn stone as the main
building. It looked over the paved area where they stood, across a grassy, ten-foot-high cliff out to the sea.

A porter came to take their bags, then a valet took Seth's car. April gazed out at the water's wind-whipped surface and breathed in the salty air. A small part of the tension in her shoulders lifted—tension she'd been carrying since she'd woken to see Seth and her mother in her hospital room. And she started to believe there really might be answers here for her.

She turned back at the sound of voices and saw Seth holding his hand out to a tall, lean man with closely cropped silver hair and intelligent eyes. “April, this is Oscar Wainwright, the manager of the Lighthouse Hotel. Oscar, I'm sure someone as famous as April Fairchild needs no introduction.”

Oscar beamed. “Certainly not. We're honored to have you, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Oscar…” Seth's voice dropped, became more serious. “I need to apprise you of two sensitive issues. Perhaps we could go into your office.”

Keen to accommodate, Oscar led the way. Seth again offered her his arm but she was feeling fine so she shook her head. Besides, since the day he'd carried her in his arms, she'd played over the feeling of being close to him, touching him, in her mind too many times. She didn't want to create more memories to infiltrate her subconscious.

Seth followed her—a pace behind, again as if prepared to be there if she needed him—as they walked to an office not far from the entrance. Although his shadowing of her jutted up against her desire for independence, there was something…
nice
about having Seth walking close. She was too aware of him for it to be comfortable, but she liked the feel of him beside her.

Oscar showed them to high-backed seats before taking his place behind a massive oak desk.

Seth held her elbow as she sat down then took his own seat and faced his employee. “We'll be here three nights.”

Oscar nodded. “I've had the two connecting presidential suites prepared.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He'd booked connecting suites? Had she misread the situation and his intentions, his meaning during the conversation in the car about attraction? His words from the hospital replayed—I won't be
among
the first to know you've remembered. I'll
be
the first.” She relaxed a fraction. He wanted his hotel back, and for that he needed her memory so he could negotiate with her. Of course he'd want to be nearby during their stay. It was reasonable.

“Given the media coverage,” Seth said, “you would have heard about Ms. Fairchild's recent accident.”

Oscar looked at April with somber features. “My wife and I were very sorry to see the news reports. She's a huge fan of your work, as am I.”

“Thank you,” April said.

Oscar turned back to Seth, genuine sympathy creating creases around his eyes. “And I was devastated to hear of your brother's passing. He may not have been a regular here, but he was held in high esteem.”

“I appreciate that.” Seth gave a quick, tense smile then cleared his throat. “The first matter is that Ms. Fairchild's memory was affected by the accident.”

“Affected?” Oscar asked.

April nodded. “I'm afraid I can't remember anything much.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

Seth crossed one ankle to rest on the opposite knee,
bringing the focus back to him. “We'd rather it didn't become public knowledge at this stage, so I'd appreciate it if you put some special rules in place with your staff.”

“Certainly.” He pulled a yellow legal pad to the center of his desk and picked up a pen.

“Tell them Ms. Fairchild is having some recuperation time after her accident and needs to be left alone. No polite questions, no conversations, no autographs. They speak only when spoken to, and only on matters regarding her stay.”

A warm glow filled her chest. She knew she should feel piqued that Seth was arranging things for her, but she couldn't. Instead, she was relieved he'd protected her from polite inquiries that she wouldn't necessarily be able to field. And grateful he'd thought to do it for her.

The manager made a note on the legal pad. “I'll do so immediately.”

“Second, it seems that Jesse and Ms. Fairchild signed a contract on the day of their accident regarding the Lighthouse Hotel. The validity of the contract is still in question, but in the meantime, Ms. Fairchild is to be treated with the respect she'd be given if she owned the property and any requests—such as to see behind-the-scenes operations—are to be granted. All decisions will still go through your line manager at Bramson Holdings until this matter is resolved, but technically, she's the owner-in-waiting. And I don't have to tell you that discretion is of the utmost importance, even from your line manager.”

“Of course, Mr. Kentrell.” Oscar didn't make a note of this one.

“Thank you, Oscar. I apologize for the brevity of this meeting, but I need to take Ms. Fairchild to her suite. We've come straight from her hospital room.”

“Ms. Fairchild's health is our main concern,” the man
ager said, offering her a concerned smile. “I'll call a concierge.”

Oscar left the room and April turned to Seth. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You didn't need to tell him about the contract. I thought you'd keep that under wraps until a final decision was made. If you get the hotel back, no one ever need know.”

He frowned. “Even though the contract doesn't take effect until the end of the month, and it may not stand up, you're possibly the current legal owner. It was the right thing to do to inform the manager. You deserve to be treated as such.”

“I appreciate it,” she said, eyeing him curiously. She was getting the feeling Seth Kentrell always did the right thing. A couple of times since she'd met him there had been deeper, darker emotions flaring in his navy blue eyes, but he'd quickly leashed them before they had time to manifest. He held himself in such control.

A concierge in a dark green uniform arrived to show them to their suites, and once again Seth followed her closely, there if he was needed. Regardless of what else was between them with the hotel issue, one thing she knew for sure, physically she was in safe hands. He wouldn't let her fall.

Warmed by the idea, she walked through the lobby to a pretty glass elevator, but then, as they continued along the hall three floors up, an amorphous thought intruded. There was a definite feeling of…something. Like déjà vu, it was on the edges of her consciousness, just out of grasp. She looked at the walls, the doors they passed, taking in every detail, every potential clue. But the feeling faded and she was left with nothing more than misty remnants of a half-formed idea. And disappointment that a memory
had again slipped beyond her reach just as she'd begun to touch it.

Seth tipped the concierge and stood at April's door, hands deep in his pockets. “Have a rest. Your legs must be tired. They're unused to this much movement.”

As he said the words, fatigue suffused her limbs. She'd spent most of the morning sitting in a car and in Oscar's office, but she wasn't yet back to full strength. “Perhaps a nap would be good,” she conceded.

“When you're ready, knock on my door.” He pointed to a door on the inside west wall. “I'll be working in my suite through there. Or ring the operator and ask to be put through to me.” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “I'll be waiting.”

A
pril slept soundly through the afternoon and night and woke early, feeling refreshed and eager to explore her new surroundings. After a quick shower, she found a note slipped under the door connecting her suite to Seth's.

She gripped the note, undecided. This hotel had pulled at her, had been inextricably linked to losing her memory, and she'd needed Seth to bring her here. She knew he wanted to keep her close—mainly to ensure she wasn't trying to hoodwink him—but did that mean he intended them to spend all their time together?

Part of her wanted the freedom to explore at her own pace, to investigate the crumbs of memories she knew were here. Besides one visit to her hospital bed, and the drive out, he was a stranger—albeit a stranger with whom she
shared an inconvenient attraction. Perhaps it'd be best if she took it from here, not rely on him.

Then again, at the moment, even her own mother felt like a stranger. And despite knowing it was unwise, she trusted Seth Kentrell. A vision of his dark beauty rose in her mind. The lure of him, of being near the electric field that seemed to surround him, was just as strong as the lure of exploring on her own. Perhaps stronger.

That banked fire in his eyes both made her wary and called to her on a primal level. If he ever tried to kiss her, would she have it within her to resist? Her skin quivered. Would she want to?

She lifted her hand and hesitated only a second before knocking on his door.

Confident footsteps sounded on the other side before it swung open. Seth stood there, radiating heat and masculinity, and she forgot to breathe. She'd been right to be wary of him. This was not a man to play with, or to underestimate.

“Good morning, April,” he said, voice as smooth as matured whiskey. “Did you sleep well?”

She took a deep breath, drinking in his forest-fresh scent, glad she'd decided to see him despite the danger. “I slept right through. My body is obviously still healing.”

“We'll take it easy.” He ushered her through to his room's dining suite. “I thought you might prefer breakfast here, instead of under the prying eyes in the restaurant.”

There was that pattern of doing the right thing by her again. “That was considerate.”

“I've been known to be considerate before. On occasion.” One end of his mouth hitched, almost a grin, but not quite.

He passed her the menu but she shook her head. “Just toast, please. My appetite hasn't returned properly yet.”

Seth picked up the phone and placed their orders before inviting her to sit on the overstuffed couch. “I wonder if you'd like a tour of the hotel today?”

She sank into the couch, then looked up at him. “Surely you don't have the time to play guide to me. You have a large business to run.”

“This
is
my business.” He lowered himself onto the couch beside her, resting his arm along the back. “I need your memory to return so we can freely discuss the ownership of this hotel, and I can go back to the task of running it and the others.”

She smiled wryly. “I'm the fly in your ointment that needs extraction.”

The half grin returned for an instant before being pulled back into a smooth smile. “I prefer to think of you as my focus for the time being. A pleasant focus, if you don't mind me saying.”

April studied his face. He was using charm to disarm her, trading on their acknowledged attraction, and regardless of how it set her stomach aflutter, she couldn't forget its purpose. He'd just admitted he needed her to give the hotel back, so he was trying to eliminate any adversarial elements to their relationship, making her believe they were after the same thing, on the same team.

To get what he wanted.

She smiled the same smooth smile he'd granted her. “So what do you have in mind for your day with your
focus
then?”

His raised eyebrow said he knew she was aware of his strategy, and it didn't faze him. “I thought, after breakfast I could give you a tour of the hotel. Perhaps it'll remind you of why you wanted to buy it. Or you'll see it's just a hotel, hardly worth your bother.”

She batted her lashes. “Thoughtful of you to consider my needs so selflessly.”

“I thought so.” His dark blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Some more documents you might find interesting have arrived.” He reached to the side table and picked up several thick reports, then handed her the first one. “This is a guide to the day-to-day running of the Lighthouse Hotel.”

April took it and leafed through. It seemed to be designed to scare her with charts, tables and spreadsheets. Sewerage problems, bottles of mustard ordered, roof repairs, employee pension plans.

He passed her a second report. “A summary of the assets you relinquished in exchange.”

She took the second report and opened to the first page. A photo of her at the piano, singing. And photos of a modern steel-and-glass house, and a state-of-the-art studio—obviously her home. It didn't look familiar. The next pages had a list of the artists signed to her label, Fairchild Creative, along with the songs they'd released and pictures of their CD covers—though she noted her own songs weren't listed. She must have kept the rights to those.

Whoever had put these reports together had done a good job of making one look more attractive than the other—following what were surely Seth's orders.

A knock at the door and the call of “room service” brought Seth to his feet. While he was unaware of her scrutiny, April watched him guide the young man in. He moved with masculine elegance, but also with stark efficiency—not wasting a single movement as he signed the bill and showed the man out.

He may be charming, but he was playing hardball. Playing for keeps.

She couldn't forget that.

 

Seth watched April finish her toast. She looked better today—more color in her peaches-and-cream complexion. He'd dreamed last night of touching that skin, finding out whether it was as soft as it looked.

She wiped her hands on a napkin. “If you've finished, I'd like to have a look around.”

Interesting, that she didn't have the same enthusiasm for her own house. Once again he wondered about the reality of her amnesia. Surely someone without a memory wouldn't want an unfamiliar setting to be their first port of call?

“Such enthusiasm for a hotel,” he said mildly.

“I know what you're thinking,” she said, and the look in her eye said she had taken in his full meaning. “But reading through that dossier you gave me in the car, nothing seemed familiar besides grief for my father. Nothing else called to me. Even my own mother may as well be a stranger. But the Lighthouse Hotel—” she looked out the window to the windswept coastline “—there's just
something.
”

“Perhaps Jesse showed you photos of it when you signed the contract. Then it would have been one of the last things you saw before the accident. That could explain the impact.”

“Careful, Mr. Kentrell. Any more suggestions like that and I'd be inclined to think you actually believe I've lost my memory.”

“It's called ‘the benefit of the doubt,' Ms. Fairchild.”

She considered him for a moment in silence. “It is. But it's not a courtesy I expected you to extend to me.”

“I'll admit I have my reservations,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Your amnesia is very convenient.”

“Convenient in what way?” She frowned. “If I've just bought a hotel, as you say, why wouldn't I want to just take possession?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps you're being cautious.”

“Cautious? I have a signed contract.”

“Your legal team may require time to build their defense,” he said, and watched her closely for a sign that he'd hit his mark. He was fairly sure this was her plan, but some part of him hoped it wasn't. That she was as honest as she appeared.

“Ah. My defense.” Her smile was heavily laced with irony. “In the same way your legal team is at this moment mounting a challenge to the contract.”

He shrugged one shoulder. Of course he had his people on that.

“Then, if I have lost my memory, it's more convenient for you than me. You have this time to prepare, but I'm in the dark and will be scrambling once my memory returns.”

A flicker of unease moved in his chest. “The easiest thing all around would be for your memory to return—” he emphasized the words to show he still hadn't made up his mind “—so that we could discuss the matter in full, and you could sign the contract I had made up.”

“Does one hotel mean so much to you?” She cocked her head to the side. “I lost count of the number of hotels your company had listed in that report.”

“One hotel means more than you can understand at the moment.”

“Why?”

The last thing he would do was hand her knowledge of his vulnerabilities. He wouldn't tell her that losing this one hotel could mean the difference between keeping the entire company and losing it to his half brother. He picked up a napkin, roughly wiped his hands and threw it onto the table. “Are you ready for a tour?”

She blinked slowly, as if analyzing his change of topic. Then she stood. “Lead the way.”

 

Seth watched April look around the commercial kitchen, focused on her growing frustration. It'd been a similar situation when he'd shown her the concierge desk and the indoor pool. “What is it?”

“I think I've stayed in this hotel before,” she said, turning in a slow circle.

He shook his head. “Guests don't have access to the kitchen. And I double-checked with Oscar in case Jesse brought you here to inspect the property before you signed the document—he would have been notified if a celebrity had been here, regardless of whether he was on shift or not. He assures me you haven't entered the building during his eight years as manager.”

“There has to be some connection.” She rolled her full bottom lip between her teeth and he felt an almost irresistible urge to capture that lip between his own teeth.

He swallowed hard and focused on her question. “It could just be photos and Jesse's descriptions.”

“What if I worked here?”

The corners of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. “You've been a star since you were thirteen. I hardly think you've have time to bus tables for us.”

“Could I have performed here?”

“We're not big enough for someone of your caliber. You pretty much burst onto the scene overnight and have been playing big venues since.”

“But it doesn't make sense. Why is this place more familiar than anything else about my life? Even if I've been a guest and somehow sneaked into the kitchen, that doesn't explain why it has more impact than photos of my own home.”

Her forehead frowned in confusion bordering on distress, and he wanted to draw her into his arms, to soothe her. He rubbed a hand across his chin. Could she be this good an actress?

He let out a long breath. “I don't know. Let's keep going. Maybe something will click.”

She nodded absently as Seth led her out of the main building and through the grounds. He paused for a moment to smell the fresh, salty air. The grass beneath their shoes was neatly trimmed, but the grasses along the rugged shoreline were longer and they swayed gently in the sea breeze.

He loved the Lighthouse Hotel. Most of the hotels the company owned were in cities, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of life. Others were on perfect white beaches, filled with tourists sun baking and playing in the surf. But this hotel had its own vibe—secret, mysterious, wild.

The ground was a little uneven, so, knowing she'd barely been able to walk a week ago, he slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. April looked up quizzically, assessing his intent. “You're still not steady on your feet.”

She nodded, looking down as she walked, perhaps unused to accepting help from others, despite being surrounded by assistants for fifteen years. “Thank you,” she said.

He guided her to the lighthouse and she stopped at its base to look up at the wide, round structure. “It's beautiful,” she whispered.

He followed her line of sight, up the roughly cut stones of its structure to the glassed-in room at the top, under a white dome. “I've always thought so,” he agreed. “It hasn't been an active lighthouse for years, but it's popular with the guests.”

“Can we go up?” Her chestnut-brown eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

“We can, but I don't think your legs would be up to it.” It might only be the equivalent of three stories, but that would be too far for her today.

She cast another look up, then met his gaze. “I'm prepared to give it a go.”

Seth reluctantly considered the idea. The medical staff had made him promise not to let her overdo it. But how to decide what constituted “overdoing it”? If he were in her shoes he'd want to explore further.

He set his hands on his hips, feet shoulder-width apart. “On one condition. If I think you've pushed yourself far enough, you let me carry you the rest of the way.”

She lifted her chin, obviously considering resisting, then she blew out a breath and nodded.

“You don't like relying on people, do you?”

She paused then smiled ruefully. “The strange thing is, I don't remember anything about myself, but I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that's true.” She turned to the stone entranceway and spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you for the offer to carry me. It's considerate, but I won't need it.”

He held back a smile—her mouth was making promises he didn't think her legs were able to fulfill, but he left it at that.

As they walked slowly up the winding concrete stairs, he had to admire her determination. Regardless of the memory issue, she'd been hospitalized for thirteen days, some of the time she'd been unconscious, and that had to be hell on her body. They'd told him on her discharge that she'd been doing physiotherapy to gain back the muscle condition that being bedridden for almost two weeks had lost, but she wouldn't be near the condition she would have been
in before the accident. And still she pushed herself on to climb the stairs.