In the quiet of the hospital room now, Bishop’s head angled and he continued to study her as if he wasn’t certain who she was. As if she were some new and curious anomaly. Laura’s nerves frayed more and she thrust her hand out, beckoning. She couldn’t stand the distance a moment more.
“Bishop, please come over here. We need to talk.”
The ledge of his shoulders went back and, as an almost suspicious expression darkened his face, her stomach knotted more. When his eyes skimmed her brow, her cheek, her lips, her skin heated, and not in a pleasant way. The vibes he gave off …
If she hadn’t known better, she’d think he disliked her.
Finally he came forward, but his gait was guarded, as though he expected to be ambushed at any moment. Had the doctor spoken to him about more than her fall? If not, she’d better tell him now, herself, before someone else could. How would he react when she told him that, no more than an hour ago, she’d taken a pregnancy test?
Pulling herself up, she swung her feet onto the floor so that they could sit side by side. Bishop cut the remaining distance separating them in three purposeful strides. Her stomach jumped when, in a commanding gesture, he cast the covers back more. Avoiding her gaze, he tipped his head at the sheets and a lock of his immaculately groomed hair fell over his brow.
“Get back in bed.”
She contained the inappropriate urge to laugh. This was absurd.
“Bishop, I’m fine.”
His gaze slid to hers and his brows lifted. “You are?”
“Perfectly.”
“Do you know where you are?”
She suppressed a sigh. What was it with a knock on the head and endless questions? She’d been barraged by them half the day.
“I’ve been through this already with the doctor.” As well as Grace and a handful of nurses. But when his implacable look held, she exhaled and supplied the name of the hospital and added, “Which is west of Sydney and east of the Blue Mountains.” Where they lived.
“What’s my name?”
She tacked on a smug smile and crossed her legs prettily.
“Winston Churchill.”
Familiar warmth rose up in his eyes—a comfortable, sensual glow that left her aching to reach for him. But then that serious line cut between his brows again and he cleared his throat like he did whenever he was uneasy.
“No games.”
She almost rolled her eyes. But anyone who knew Bishop knew his stubborn streak. The sooner this was over and he was assured, the sooner she could get her change of heart out in the open, the sooner they could work this issue through, and the sooner they could get on with their life together.
God willing.
“Your name is Samuel Coal Bishop,” she stated. “You enjoy reading the Financial Review cover to cover, long distance running and the occasional good bottle of wine. Furthermore, tonight you’re celebrating an anniversary.” She smiled … soft, inviting. “Three months ago today, you and I were married.”
Her words hit Bishop squarely in the chest, knocking him completely off balance. It was all he could manage not to cough up his lungs and reel back from the blow. Instead he ran a rather unsteady hand through his hair.
Good God in Heaven. She’d lost her mind.
Grace, the nurse … they’d said Laura had hit her head and was a little hazy. No one told him that she’d lost two years of her life! That she thought they were still married. As for falling off that same footbridge …
Bishop hid a cringe. Was this some kind of sick joke? Would the host of a lame candid-camera show jump out, sock him on the arm and point out a hidden lens?
But looking into Laura’s unsuspecting emerald eyes now, Bishop knew she was deadly serious. Gazing up at him, with such unabashed innocence and adoration, was the face of the fair-haired angel he’d married. He hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d been asked to come here today. Now Laura’s request for her sister to call him made sense. So did Grace’s inability to look him in the eye when he’d hammered her for details a few minutes ago.
Bishop resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands and groan out loud. He should have insisted on seeing a doctor. He’d been set up. He knew by whom and he could sure as hell guess why.
Laura’s sister set the blame for their marriage’s breakdown solely upon his shoulders. Chances were that Grace had hoped when Laura laid eyes upon the fiend who’d deserted her, a deluge of sordid memories would come flooding back. Laura’s memory would be restored. Once again, Belligerent Bishop would be the bad guy and control freak Grace would be number one in her little sister’s life. If he’d had a low opinion of Grace before, this took the cake. He’d deserved to know the facts.
Laura had deserved that courtesy, too.
After so long of a silence, worry began to cloud Laura’s eyes. His brow damp, Bishop adjusted the crimson knot at his throat and scanned through the maze in his mind. But the harder and longer he searched, the more dead-ends hit him in the face.
Only two things were certain. He couldn’t throw up his hands, walk out and leave her here, wondering. Neither could he callously dump the truth of recent events on her. He and Laura might have said goodbye under less than amicable terms—downright hostile, actually—but now she was ill.
And, dammit, he’d loved her once. Deeply. She may or may not thank him for it later, but he had to make an effort to ease her though this … reunion.
He found a small, amiable smile. “Laura, you’re not well. You need to stay overnight. I’ll speak with the doctor and—” He stopped. Blinked.
And what?
He cleared his throat. “And we’ll go from there.”
She uncrossed her legs only to ravel hers arms over her waist and ease up her chin.
“No.”
He frowned. “What do you mean, no?”
Her arms unwound and, her expression imploring now, she reached for him.
Bishop froze. He should pull back. Crush any possibility of physical contact. He’d never been able to resist her whenever they’d touched.
But the last time they’d been anything close to intimate was well over a year ago. Perhaps that part of him—that primal, perpetually hungry part—was largely buried, along with the love they’d once known.
And so, to curb her suspicions—to keep her calm—he reached out, too, and allowed her delicate fingers to lace through his. Instantly his blood began to stir, and when her sparkling eyes looked into his, the awareness he saw there delivered a pleasure-pain jolt that pierced his ribs and stole his breath.
“Darling,” she murmured, “I’ve spent enough of my life in hospital rooms. I know you mean well, but I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool. I’m not a child. I have my own mind and I know I’m okay.”
Swallowing the dry brick lodged in his throat, Bishop eased his hand from hers, slid a foot back and, determined, injected a take-no-prisoners tone into his voice.
“I’m afraid you’re not in a position to object.”
Her eyes darkened and her lovely mouth turned slowly down. “I didn’t give up my rights when I married you—”
Stopping mid-sentence, her head went back and she flinched, as