The Second Chance. Catherine Mann

looked up to the tray ceiling and toward the black fan. She felt disoriented, spinning and spinning, like the blades circulating heated air. She wondered if she’d ever stop circling around this awareness, this nagging feeling at the back of her mind.

      She hated how she looked at the plush bed, with its overstuffed white pillows pressed against a headboard that practically went to the ceiling, and remembered...nothing.

      This place felt foreign.

      Even the pieces of her life that she recognized—like the antique perfume bottle from her grandmother on the mirrored bedside table—felt out of place. Familiar but not enough to comfort her.

      She realized Chuck hadn’t responded. His eyes had been tracking hers as she struggled to deal with this attraction to a man she barely knew.

      “I feel bad that things are so awkward between us,” she said.

      “There’s no instruction manual for how to deal with this.”

      She closed her eyes. Breathed in a hint of his aftershave, which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the chilly day. She opened her eyes. “I’ve turned your life upside down.”

      “More like you’re turning me inside out in that towel.”

      “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Heat stung her face.

      “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault.” His hands slid down her arms and then away from her body as he stepped back. “Good night, beautiful. Sleep well.”

      After the way his touch had felt?

      Doubtful her night would be at all restful.

      * * *

      Chuck stretched back into the stiff off-white chair. He blinked his eyes clear, gearing up for another late night in his home office. The yellow light from the desk lamp dully illuminated the study.

      He stacked Shana’s things on the desk, putting her paperwork off to the left side, adjacent to the floral arrangements she’d picked out only four days ago.

      Might as well have been in another lifetime.

      The prospect of divorce rattled him.

      Mikkelsons didn’t fail.

      He’d been unable to sleep after walking in on Shana coming out of the shower. Only a couple of days ago they’d been at each other’s throats. Now, desire lit up the room every time they were near.

      But he saw the wariness in her eyes. And truth be told, he wasn’t interested in launching himself into the emotional shredder with her. He needed to save their marriage, but he also needed to keep things lighter between them. Surely they could enjoy the chemistry they shared and get back on an even footing in their relationship. Eventually, if this pregnancy came to term, they could also bring up their child.

      Chuck shook his head, needing to focus. And not on Shana for the moment. For now, he needed to pay attention to the numbers on the chart in front of him and prepare for his late-night meeting.

      He highlighted a few lines and scribbled thoughts off to the side. His messy handwriting populated the second page of the document. His eyes slid from the chart to his watch. 11:30 p.m.

      Sure, it was an unconventional meeting time. But everything lately seemed mighty damn unconventional. He fired up his laptop and turned on another light in the office. He looked around at the space—his shared space with Shana—and could see all the memories. How she’d arranged the bookshelf first by genre, then by author. She loved reading. And he’d been happy to help her locate the perfect ladder, the perfect carpenter for the recessed bookshelves, the perfect table desk. A lifetime ago.

      A lifetime he might have another shot at.

      The ding of Broderick’s conference call interrupted Chuck. Right. Business. Broderick’s uncle Conrad was a night owl, too, so the late time didn’t faze him, either. As for Chuck, he welcomed the chance to throw himself into work for a while, no matter the time. Broderick had set the time for after his daughter was asleep.

      The video feed lurched to life, pixels turning smooth. Conrad and Broderick sat in the conference room at the Alaska Oil Barons, Inc., office, clean-cut and ready.

      No Jack Steele this go-around. Just his second-in-command, Broderick, Jack’s eldest son. And Jack’s brother Conrad stepping in to consult.

      Conrad Steele leaned forward, deep blue eyes a stark contrast to his thick salt-and-pepper hair. In his deadpan way, no emotions entering his expression, Conrad asked, “How’re things with Shana?”

      “Still no recollection of the past. But we’re settling into a new routine.” One full of desire that left Chuck aching. He wouldn’t mention that. “I appreciate your accommodating my working from home.”

      Broderick nodded, brow tense as he leaned forward, too, setting a pen down on the dark wood conference table. “If you need time off, just say the word.”

      Chuck barked a laugh. Time off was the furthest thing from his mind. “Last time I took a month for personal reasons, my brother threatened to break my legs.”

      Conrad smiled tightly. “Trystan handled himself well with the press and at the fund-raiser.”

      Trystan was the younger Mikkelson brother, who had been adopted by Jeannie and her first husband after his mother, Jeannie’s sister, had become addicted to drugs. He was as much a part of the family as all the other Mikkelson siblings.

      “Other than punching the paparazzi.” Broderick shot his uncle a look.

      The older man shrugged. “Some would say the situation warranted a fist to the face.”

      Grinning, Chuck said, “And some would say you’re siding with my brother to cause trouble.”

      Conrad steepled his fingers along his nose. “Trust between our families isn’t going to happen in a day.”

      Hell yeah on that point. “Especially when people like Milla Jones are throwing around accusations about my family.”