She gave him a good-natured grin, but it was clear she was still unsure of how to act around him. He couldn’t blame her for that.
But she also looked ready to bolt and that’s the last thing he wanted, so he took the time to take her in. Alive. Vibrant. Here, with him and Thomas. Thank God.
On top of her head, she’d piled her hair in a loose, messy bun. Wavy blond strands fell out of the bun, framing her slender face.
Her white dress hugged her breasts, drawing his eyes. Tempting him. Reminding him of the heat they’d always found in bed. The passion that still simmered between them, that they could find again if he could make the most of this time. His hands ached to stroke the fabric along her skin, to caress her along the length of the dress that fell in rolling pleats from her waist, to trace the red flower embroidery snaking around at midthigh.
To press his mouth behind her knee and tunnel his way up her skirt.
She looked like a vision right out of The Nutcracker. Clara, as she ran away with the Nutcracker Prince. The only question was, could he be that prince again? Could he charm her, show her how damn great they were together? Somewhere along the years the fantasy had given way to a reality that neither of them had anticipated.
And he hated that.
And he hated that the reality had broken their family, nearly ending the life he’d dreamed of as a boy.
Though she lacked memories, every item she’d added to the house screamed its sentimentality. It was like alarms blaring. The dress she wore was no different.
It was the same dress she had worn two years ago, on their vacation to St. Augustine. They were only supposed to be in town for the night. He had surprised her after a major art opening by booking a charming bed-and-breakfast room for the weekend. They’d spent the whole time laughing, drinking local wine. Back when things were simpler. When they still sparkled and sizzled together.
It could be that way again.
It would be that way again. He refused to accept any other outcome.
“Don’t let my mother get to you or put pressure on you when it comes to our marriage.”
It was the best he had to offer. Wooing her back into this family was a delicate task requiring finesse.
“There’s not much you could do to romance a new mom who’s recovering from amnesia.” She tapped her forehead in jest.
“That sounds like a challenge.” He thrived on a challenge.
“Okay—” she spread her arms wide “—give it your best shot.”
“Really? You want me to sweep you off your feet?” He cocked his head to the side, a thrill zipping through him.
“Sure, what woman wouldn’t want to be swept off her feet?” Inclining her head, she dramatically twirled. The fabric of her skirt tightened and loosed as she turned. She was so damn sexy.
And he wanted her for his own.
“Challenge accepted.” Progress. He could practically taste it.
She stopped midspin. “Wait, never mind. This shouldn’t be a game.”
“Believe me—I understand that all too well.” Closing the gap between them, he rested his hands on her shoulders. “So relax. I’ve got this under control. Let me pamper you, and you focus on recuperating.”
“You’re right. The best thing I can do for my family is to regain my memory so we can move forward with our future rather than staying here in limbo with you working from home at a vacation house.” She twisted her hands nervously, glancing out the window. “Honestly, I believe it’s too soon for us to go on some extravagant outing.”
So large gestures were out of the question. It was time for a game plan. He knew he had to be quick. They couldn’t hole up in this house forever. Her memory would slowly come back into focus. It was time for action. Now.
Still, he said, “Of course. I agree and I have a few ideas, but I’ll need a half hour to pull things together. There’s a hammock past the pool, by the shore. I’ll meet you there.”
Her smile was hopeful. Beautiful. “Sounds perfect.”
* * *
Alaina inhaled deep breaths of ocean air, one after the other, a foot draped over the side of the hammock, toe tapping to keep the steady swaying motion. The hammock was attached to two fat palm trees, branches and fronds rustling overhead.
Could Porter really find a way to put her fears to rest? Could regaining her memory be as simple as relaxing and enjoying time with the man she’d married?
She wanted to believe that. It had only been a week since she’d woken up after all. Yet, every hour that passed with no breakthroughs knotted the anxiety tighter within her.
Answers. That was what she needed. She was desperate for them. She kept hoping the scenery would jog her memory. Bestow the memories that were locked away somewhere in her mind.
Glancing at the harbor, she tried to imagine what sort of person she had grown into. A twenty-eight-year-old woman with a husband rich enough to bump elbows with the incredibly wealthy. And, judging by the sheer size of the yachts before her, incredibly wealthy didn’t even begin to cover it.
Yachts spotted the water with the same frequency as white caps in a storm. A few of them looked like personal cruise ships.
Had she been out on any of these? Did she move comfortably in a world like this? Knowing what her life had been like before, she couldn’t imagine it.
Her thoughts were cut short as a sun-bronzed woman approached. Alaina guessed the woman was probably a decade older than her. Maybe more. But older, Alaina realized, was a matter of perspective. She still felt as if she was looking through the eyes of a twenty-three-year-old.
The woman bustled toward Alaina, brunette hair flapping beneath an oversize white floppy hat. Cat-eyed sunglasses shielded the majority of her face, concealing her eyes from view. The gust of wind tugged at her bright pink-and-peach shift dress.
Alaina stood with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was glad to have someone else to talk to, but on the other, she was nervous. It was too soon. What if the woman asked something Alaina couldn’t answer?
But then hadn’t she just thought how she needed to push ahead? She had to be strong, brave, for Thomas.
And Porter.
The woman jogged the last few steps and hugged Alaina hard before stepping back, her hands clasped to her chest. “Oh my God, Alaina, I thought that was you.” The woman scrunched her nose, crinkling zinc oxide into the creases. “I forgot for a minute you can’t remember all of us. I’m Sage Harding. Your neighbor. I like to think I’m your friend, even if we only see each other a couple of times a year for holidays.”
A couple of times a year? But Porter had said they came here often. Perhaps Sage didn’t come as often and so their paths only crossed a couple of times a year. Alaina wanted to believe that. Porter had no reason to lie.
She didn’t understand her need to believe the worst in him, to be so suspicious of his every word.
They were married. There was ample proof. And they’d adopted a child together. They had a beautiful life—if she could just bring herself to accept it.
“Thank you for coming over to speak to me, Sage. That makes me feel less like an amnesia freak or a patient.”
“Honey, you can’t help what happened to you.” Sage sat on a teal Adirondack chair next to the hammock. “You were in a car accident.”
“I understand the facts in my mind, but it’s difficult to trust my mind these days.” She rolled her eyes at her own lame joke. “But enough about my medical woes.