But he’d assumed that once he’d gone Laura would have bundled up his clothes and shipped them off to charity. Or burned them. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of all this like she’d gotten rid of him?
“Need some help?”
Her voice, coming from directly behind, found a way through the fog. A moment later, her palms were sculpting over his shoulders and arms. As the contact lit fires all through his body, instinctively he leaned back into her touch. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and as her grip hardened on his upper arms, he closed his eyes and tried to stay lucid.
“Of course, we don’t have to wear anything at all,” she purred, and her hands filed down his arms, arrowing over his hips, finally finding and wrapping around the weight confined beneath his trousers.
A whirlwind of darkest desire spiraled through him. His hand covered hers and pressed in as his mind went deliciously blank but for the need to have her again. To drown in her kisses and fill her with his—
Coming to with a jolt, Bishop pried her hand away. Clamping down on the frenzied heat racing through his veins, he turned to her and forced his mouth to curve into a breezy smile.
“You’re certainly persuasive.”
“And you are dying to say yes.” Her gaze heavy with want, she reached up on tiptoe and tugged his bottom lip with her teeth.
A fireball shot to the top of his inner thighs and ignited a very short fuse. When she drew a line around his unshaven jaw and her mouth opened over his, Bishop shuddered and leaned into her kiss. With lava flooding his veins, every cell in his body cried out for more. Then her mouth opened wider, inviting him in deeper. Wanting to possess her, his hands found her shoulders and drew them in.
She tasted the same. Felt the same. And now he knew he was the same hungry man who craved to be with his wife.
She hummed in her throat and the vibration released bright-tipped sparks in his belly that unleashed an inferno a few inches below that. Instinctively, one hand left her shoulder and searched out her breast. As his touch grazed the soft, pert mound, his tongue dipped deeper, running over hers, and any sense of right or wrong vanished beneath the blistering force of mutual need.
Her hands were fanning beneath his shirt, but when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, she found his other hand and set it low on her belly. His fingers speared down. She wore no panties. He felt her damp and ready beneath the satin of her negligee. Pushed to his limits, he groaned against her lips.
“This always felt so right.”
“Make love to me, Bishop,” she murmured back.
“You don’t know how much I want to.”
“Oh, but I do.”
He felt her grin against his lips as her palm slid down his side and the pressure built to flashpoint.
He was ready to forget that this wasn’t real…was ready to drop her back onto the bed and enjoy what she offered in a very real way. And yet…
Still holding her, he sucked down a breath and, struggling, got his thoughts together.
“I…think we should stop.”
Her tongue ran along his bottom lip. “Don’t think.”
Good God, but someone had to.
Gritting his teeth, he pried her a little away. “The doctor said—”
“I don’t care what the doctor said.”
“Listen to me,” he growled. “We aren’t doing this.”
Her head came back and she probed his eyes for a long searching moment. “Is it because you think I’ll ask you not to use protection? That I want us to make a baby now?”
Well, that was as good an excuse as any. Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin. “Let’s cool down, have a shower—”
Her eyes flashed. “Fabulous idea!”
“—alone. We’ll have something to eat. You must be hungry. And later…” Later? He promised, “We’ll discuss it.”
And they would. If any conversation could bring her around—bring them both around—it’d be one highlighting the risks associated with her falling pregnant.
Thirty minutes later, Laura’s high-pitched cry, coming from the bedroom, sent the hairs on Bishop’s scalp standing on end and his feet hurling him out of his chair. His heart belting against his ribs, he tore through the open glass sliders, slammed through the main sitting room and bolted down the hall.
What the hell had happened?
When Bishop had stepped out of the shower earlier, he’d heard the main bedroom pipes still running. Laura loved her baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.
After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.
Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.
Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather…excited.
“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”
He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”
“These.”
She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.
“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”
He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off…
“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.
But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then