Million-Dollar Amnesia Scandal (5 page)

“I don't know,” she said finally, but she still didn't meet his eyes.

Heart thumping hard with his need for her, Seth stepped back and put an arm's length of distance between them. “Yes, you do. Tell me.”

She readjusted the neckline of her blouse that he'd pulled to the side. Then she looked him squarely in the
eye and spoke softly. “I don't know whether I can trust your intentions.”

After being so consumed by the kiss, her sharp accusation came like a knife to the gut. “You think I'm capable of seducing you into signing the contract?”

She didn't flinch, but she seemed to choose her words with care. “I think you're capable of worse, if your business interests are threatened.”

About to respond, Seth hesitated. She was right. He'd been called ruthless and single-minded before and he'd deserved the labels. Yet now, when he had the hotel and therefore his career at stake, the only thoughts in his head had been about kissing this woman.

She made him feel so much, enough to drive all thought from his mind. A chill passed along his spine. She made him feel
too
much. It was dangerous.

He liked his relationships with women to be simple and disentangled. Controlled. He decided long ago that he'd be a fool for no one. His mother had been a very public fool for his father, being his mistress for thirty-two years. And Jesse had been used by women for his entire adult life—they'd wanted him to buy them a car or jewelry or to meet people he knew. Jesse hadn't cared; he'd wanted to be seen as the big man.
Damn fool.

He had to walk away from April quickly—before history repeated itself and he became a fool for her. Emotions this strong led nowhere else. He'd seen it often enough.

But first his honor compelled him to let her know the truth. She deserved it. “The only thought in my mind was kissing you.”

Her chestnut eyes were earnest as they looked deeply into his. “We've acknowledged a certain attraction between us.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Seth, promise me you won't use that to encourage me to give in on the hotel issue.”

Attraction?
He almost laughed at the understatement. “April, this isn't merely an attraction for me.” He closed his eyes to make the admission come more easily. “I'm sure you've guessed how badly I want you. So badly that when you're near I can't stop the images of you in my bed. But it won't happen. I won't let it.”

“It's problematic for you,” she said, repeating their phrasing from the car trip.

“Tell me you weren't sleeping with my brother a few weeks ago.” Merely saying the words ripped a hole open in his chest, but it had to be said. Needed to be answered.

“I don't think I was,” she said uncertainly. Her eyes shifted to the left. She'd wondered the same thing.

His whole body clenched tight and he had to relax his jaw to speak. “You can't guarantee it, though, can you?”

She slid down from the piano, straightening her long skirt as she answered, “No, I can't.”

Although he'd expected the words, they still acted as a bucket of ice water over his head. He folded tense arms across his chest. “Convince me you've really lost your memory. Show me some irrefutable proof.”

“I can't,” she said, her forehead puckered in a frown.

Something inside him pushed farther, wanting to sever the invisible cords that had bound him to her in such a short space of time. He pushed his shoulders back. “Sign the contract to give me my hotel back.”

“Seth, you know I can't until I've regained my memory.”

“So you say. If you can't guarantee you weren't recently sleeping with my brother, or prove you've lost your memory or sign my hotel back, then do one final thing for me.”

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“Stop making me want you more than my next breath.” The words were wrenched from his throat. “I refuse to hand over control of what I think and do to a physical desire. I
won't
.” He would
never
be love's fool.

Unable to stand her proximity any longer—especially with his admission hanging in the air—he stalked to the far side of the ballroom. He slammed a hand up high on a round pillar, his back to April. But he felt her follow, bringing her brand of damned temptation with her.

“This isn't what I want either,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice. “I don't even know who I am, or if I can trust you fully. But…”

He turned slowly, taking in the picture of her biting down on her bottom lip, trying to contain what she'd been about to say.

“But?” he asked, knowing he should walk away. Run.

She dragged in a breath, then spoke in a rush. “The only things that have made sense since I woke up are playing music and your kiss. They're the only times I've felt right, that I've felt
me.
When you put me up on that piano and filled me with your heat and passion—”

Seth clenched his fists beside him, physically restraining himself from reaching for her again. “Enough,” he said, voice ragged.

“You're right.” She stood taller, seemed more sure of herself than ever before. “I won't let it happen again, but I can't bring myself to regret it—those few moments of feeling alive, of knowing who I am.” Inclining her head, she was dignity and poise personified. “Thank you.” She was
thanking
him? For almost taking her on a piano in a room anyone could have walked into? Not trusting
himself to reply, he turned sharply and stalked out of the room. He needed a cold shower, or perhaps to dive into the ocean and purge his body of this unreasonable need.

He'd bring his body back under control if it killed him.

T
hree days later, April was eating breakfast on her balcony, taking in the sublime views of the blue-gray water stretching to the horizon, when a curt knock came from the internal door that connected her suite to Seth's. Since their explosive kiss in the ballroom, she hadn't seen him once. She'd kept a low profile, spending most of her time on this balcony or wandering the wilderness tracks at the edges of the grounds.

His only contact had been a brief note under her door, informing her that he'd contacted reception and extended their stay from the original three days to an indefinite time frame. When she read the note, part of her had been relieved she'd have more time to remember, but that didn't explain the way her pulse had picked up. That had been about knowing she wouldn't be leaving Seth just yet….

Knowing he was on the other side of a mere wood-and-plaster wall had become like water torture—a slow,
constant drip, drip at her sanity. She'd lain in bed at night, tossing, turning, tangled in her sheets, thinking of him only a few feet away in his bed. Wondering if his need was as unquenchable as hers. If he'd locked the door from his side.

If he'd turn her away if she crept through.

She groaned and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Was she ready to see him now? Could she trust herself to behave like a business acquaintance, when their kiss had taken her yearning for his touch to new heights?

The knock came again, more insistent, and she took a last fortifying sip of her mango juice before padding in her slippers to the interconnecting door. When she swung it open, she didn't look at him, couldn't afford to just yet. So, insides squirming, she turned and retraced her steps back to the balcony.

“Do you mind if I finish my breakfast while you talk?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Of course not.” His voice flowed over her, seeping in to fill those parts of her greedy for him, luring her back to her nighttime thoughts. She sat, flicking her sunglasses down to shade her eyes, and picked up her bowl of yogurt with a hand that only trembled a little.

“I see your appetite returned,” he said with a trace of a smile in his voice. “Or were you expecting company?”

She surveyed the glass table before her, littered with an empty cereal bowl, the remnants of a fruit platter, her juice glass, buttered toast and two boiled eggs still in their cups. She set the yogurt back down and acknowledged his point. “I'm ravenous. It must be the healing my body is doing.” Though she was sure an argument could be made that she was satisfying a hunger that was
safe.

A hunger that wouldn't cause her heartache.

She risked looking up at him, her own private forbidden
fruit. If she hadn't been sitting already, she might have lost her balance. The light breeze from the ocean danced in his hair and molded his crisp, white shirt to his torso. Their kiss had been too brief—she hadn't had the opportunity to trace the tantalizing lines, to relish the delectable shapes of his chest and arms. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. What a squandered opportunity.

She raised her eyes to meet his and felt an electric jolt from the heavy-lidded awareness there. He knew what she was thinking. His gaze traveled to the side of her throat, skimming past her décolletage. She needed his touch, his mouth, wanted what his gaze offered.

He swallowed hard and looked away. Dug his hands into his pockets. “Speaking of expecting company, you have a visitor. Though, since you're not there to meet her, I suspect it's an unexpected visit.”

A visitor? She folded back into herself, recoiling from the idea. A visitor would expect her to be someone she couldn't remember how to be—something she wasn't yet ready to face.

Unless it was the other person who knew about her memory loss. “My mother?”

“Yes.” He spoke the word with neutrality, but she could tell he hadn't warmed to her. “The concierge just called. Would you like to go down and meet her together?”

Despite the woman being her mother, and having only met the man beside her two weeks ago, she nodded, accepting his offer. With no memories of who her friends were, her options for allies were next to nil. And the time she'd spent in her mother's company had been…tiring. Seth's support was embarrassingly welcome.

“Thank you,” she said as she stood. She'd walked back through the sliding glass doors before she realized
something was askew in the situation. “Why did the call go to you and not me?”

Unfazed, Seth picked up her suite's key card and handed it to her. “I've instructed the concierge and reception desk to forward all inquiries and requests regarding you to me. You're hardly in a position to be fielding them at the moment.”

She opened her mouth to disagree but closed it again. It had only been minutes since she'd been alarmed by the thought of meeting an unknown visitor.

After changing her slippers for sandals, they stepped out of her suite and she let Seth pull the door closed behind them. “Again, thank you. Have there been many calls about me?”

“Mainly journalists wanting an interview or at least some gossip,” he said, as they walked down the richly carpeted corridor. “Your agent has been calling regularly, too.”

She faltered for a fraction before falling into step with him again. She hadn't even considered that she
had
an agent. Although she shouldn't be surprised. If she had the career that Seth's report had shown her to have, of course she'd have a team of people who would now be looking for her. Her chest constricted. She'd been living here in a little bubble, protected from reality, but she needed to start paying attention to the outside world.

She glanced up at Seth's profile. “What have you told them?”

“That you're not fully recovered and will contact them as soon as you're able.” He shrugged one shoulder, as if it was no big deal.

April's fingertips trailed lightly along a brass rail attached to the wall. What would she be doing this minute, if she hadn't been in Jesse's car that day? Meeting with people?
Rehearsing? Then her mind jumped a step further—what would she have been doing all the days since the accident? Her stomach swooped. “Have I missed appointments? Concerts?”

“It's common knowledge you were having a break from performing when the accident happened,” Seth said matter-of-factly. They stepped into the small glass elevator and he hit the ground floor button. “The news was in all the papers about six months ago. Perhaps because, as your mother said at the hospital, you were feeling a little burned out. It was good timing in that regard—you haven't missed anything too important.”

She sighed in relief that she at least hadn't been remiss in her commitments before another question occurred to her. “There hasn't been a single journalist here at the hotel. If they're ringing and they've been at the hospital, why aren't they interested in being here?”

“They are.” He glanced around through the glass as he spoke, forever keeping an eye on the operations of his business. “We have security on the private road leading up to the hotel. Only those with bookings get through. And we've thrown out the guests who were found to be trying for a photo or acting suspiciously.”

Before she could process the information, the elevator doors swooshed open to the lobby.

The tall, elegant woman from the hospital saw them, hurried over and flung her arms around her. “Darling!”

April self-consciously raised her arms to return the embrace. “Hello…”
Mother? Mom?
In the hospital, she'd avoided referring to her mother by a direct name or title, and still wasn't sure what she normally called her.

Before she could decide, the woman took her elbow and drew her away from Seth. “I've come to take you home.”

April's jaw slackened at the bluntness of the sudden announcement. “I'm not going home yet.”

“It's where you belong,” her mother said, not dissuaded in the least.

April felt Seth beside her. “Hello, Mrs. Fairchild.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kentrell,” she said with ice in her voice. “I'm here to collect my daughter.”

He merely arched an eyebrow. “And if your daughter doesn't want to be collected?”

Her mother turned to her. “April, has your memory returned?”

Grasping for a way to not admit the truth, she looked from one to the other, but was unable to blatantly lie. “Not beyond hazy snippets.”

“Then you're in no fit state to make decisions.” She stood closer to April and glared at Seth. “I allowed you to take her from the hospital against my better judgment, but it's gone on long enough now. As a parent, I can't walk away when my child is vulnerable.”

“Your child, Mrs. Fairchild, is an adult.” Seth's mouth quirked sardonically.

She'd decided on the walk down to the lobby that it was time to step up to the plate about the life she'd been ignoring, but it was too soon to leave the Lighthouse Hotel. She'd been thinking more along the lines of having correspondence forwarded to her, schedules and the like. Familiarizing herself. Not going back. Not until her memory returned.

“She may be an adult,” her mother was saying to Seth, “but she can't remember her childhood, her family or what she did last month.”

He rocked back on the heels of his shiny black shoes, all calm unconcern. “And yet she does know her own mind. She's neither confused nor foolish.”

“I'm sure I could get a court to—”

April interrupted. “I'm staying,” she said firmly.

Seth's face remained impassive, but she thought there was a millisecond's flare of satisfaction in his eyes.

Her mother noticed it, too—it was in the way her chin kicked up, the way she folded her arms. “If you're staying, I'm staying, too.”

“There's really no need.” Without seeming to have moved, Seth was shoulder to shoulder with her, presenting a united front. “I assure you April is safe here and the staff are treating her with every possible care.”

“It's not the staff I'm worried about.” Her mother's shrewd eyes narrowed at Seth. April frowned. Had her mother seen more in Seth than just the satisfaction in his eyes? Was their attraction obvious to others?

April laid a staying hand on her mother's arm. “Really, Mother, there's no need…”

Seth nodded, then called over the concierge. “Mrs. Fairchild is checking in. Take her to reception and have her booked into our best available suite.” Then he murmured extra instructions more quietly and April was distracted by her mother grabbing her elbow again.

“Don't worry, darling,” she said with an overly bright smile. “I'll look after you. Everything will be fine now that I'm here.”

April nodded because her mother was expecting her to, but unease sat deep in her chest. She tried to rationalize it away—this was the woman who'd raised her—but the awful reality was that the only person she felt comfortable with, could let her guard down with, was a man she knew she shouldn't trust, the man who merely wanted the hotel from her.

She thought back to the video of her father, to her
reaction to him, and wondered if she'd ever felt the same emotional pull for her mother, or had she always felt differently about her parents?

The concierge in his dark green uniform guided her mother away, and Seth moved closer. “Are you okay?” he asked as he scrutinized her face.

A smidgeon of family loyalty appeared and prevented her saying anything about her mother, so she smoothly changed the subject. “What were the extra instructions you gave to the concierge?”

“I told him to have reception put her at the other end of the hotel from us.”

April bit down on her lip to stop the laugh, and saw the answering twinkle in Seth's eyes. She glanced over at the woman in question, standing across the room, making the receptionist's life difficult with what were no doubt a list of demands.

Then she looked back to Seth, still standing so close. “But why go to that much trouble? You didn't need to check her in—I was just about to tell her I was fine and she could go.”

“Because she was right,” he said quietly, still watching her mother, face inscrutable.

Bemused, April thought back over everything her mother had said. “That I can't make decisions for myself?”

He turned to face her, bringing himself near enough to feel the intoxication of his warm breath on her cheek. “That you're in a vulnerable position and you could use someone to look out for you.”

“Am I in danger from you?” she asked in a low voice.

“Maybe you are.” His eyes fixed on her mouth for a long moment, and her lips came alive, as if he'd grazed them with a finger. “And maybe I'm in as much danger from you.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving April watching him go, her lips still tingling from the touch of his gaze.

 

Seth rapped on the interconnecting door that led directly to April's suite and felt his pulse pick up at the prospect of seeing her. It was early, just past 6:00 a.m., but he hadn't seen her alone in two days. Her mother clung like a vine.

At first he'd accepted that it was for the best. She was safe from his voracious need, and her mother would be the better person to help April regain her memory….

He frowned, realizing that he believed April
did
need to regain her memory. In fact, he couldn't remember when he'd last doubted her—not only had she not slipped up once, but he knew now that she had too much integrity to be playing a farce. She'd been telling the truth the whole time.

He straightened. Regardless of her honesty, the time he'd given her alone with her mother had gone on long enough.

He was here to do a job. It was time he regained his hotel.

Setting his freshly made demitasse of espresso on a table nearby, he rapped on the internal door again, louder this time. Being close to her, knowing he couldn't have her—wouldn't let himself—was intolerable. But it would stop today. He had a plan that would suit them both. They could make a new agreement, move on, move out, and both put the entire episode behind them.