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‘What will I do if the memories never come back?’
‘You will rebuild yourself. You’ve been very lucky. Your injury was severe, but you have no other ongoing problems,’ Mr Selby reminded her bracingly.
Except a husband shestillcouldn’t remember, a reality that tormented Brooke every time he visited her. But he wasn’t able to visit her as often as he had hoped because he was an exceptionally busy banker, who went abroad several times a month. And her initial impression of Lorenzo had been spot on in its accuracy. Hewasvery reserved. He rarely touched her in even the most fleeting way. It was a little as though she had an invisible force field around her, she conceded with a regretful grimace. Obviously he was deeply uncomfortable with the fact that she didn’t remember him but his hands-off approach wasn’t helping her to feel any closer to him. It was a subject she needed to tackle...and soon, she told herself ruefully.
He hadn’t walked away while she was in a coma, so why was he keeping his distance now? Did he love her? Did he still find her attractive? Or was their marriage in trouble?
She agonised over the options in the giant box of make-up because he was coming to see her that evening. She even leafed through the totally impractical garments he had had brought to her, which hung in the wardrobe, and selected a dress because greeting Lorenzo in the yoga pants that she wore for physio sessions hadn’t got her anywhere. Lorenzo was used to a fashion queen, so she would strive to please and maybe that would warm him up.
Her skin heating at that enterprising thought, she did her face and put on the electric-blue dress that she thought was hideously bright, almost neon in shade, but presumably she had bought it and liked it once. She slid into it and then embarked on the matching shoes. She wasn’t supposed to wear heels yet but she wouldn’t be moving around much, which was just as well because the shoes pinched painfully at the toes.
Lorenzo stepped out of his chauffeur-driven limo and studied the modern building with disfavour as he braced himself for another visit to his wife. If she didn’t recover her memories soon, he was likely to be forced to the point of telling her the truth about their marriage. And the psychiatrist had warned him that Brooke wasn’t ready to deal with that reality, that he had become her ‘safe place’ and if that support was suddenly withdrawn, it might well disrupt her fragile mental state and send her hurtling back into panic mode, which would set back the recovery process.
He was already in major conflict with his lawyers’ warnings. They didn’t take a humane approach to the situation he was in, merely cautioning him that frequent visits to his estranged wife would only convince a judge that granting him a divorce would get in the way of what could be viewed as a potential reconciliation. And he didn’t want to do that, no, he definitely did notwantto stay married to Brooke. There had to be a hard limit to his compassion and care. But that wasn’t what was really bothering him, was it?
He wanted her: that was therealproblem. In fact, he lusted after her more, it seemed, than he had ever lusted after her. Why? Because she was different,sodifferent he couldn’t believe it sometimes and, quite ridiculously, helikedher now. How was that possible? Logic told him that he was seeing Brooke as she might have been before the lust for fame and the infatuation with her own beauty had taken hold of her. Even more shockingly, Brookeau naturelwas a class act.
Only he didn’tthinkit was an act any longer because he was convinced that the woman he remembered could never ever have carried off that outstanding mix of artless naivety and innocence she showed him. In short, Brooke was all sorts of things she had never been before with him...caring, unselfish, undemanding. She had made him like her again, but he was determined not to be sucked back into that swamp a second time, he reminded himself grimly. She was recovering well and soon he would be able to cut their ties again and slot her into that penthouse apartment.
Lorenzo strode in and Brooke leapt upright at speed, wanting him to see that she had made the effort, wanting him to see that she was truly getting back to normal...andready to go home.
‘You look...more like yourself this evening,’ Lorenzo commented as she regarded him expectantly.
Her violet eyes, bright with what he recognised as excitement, unsettled him.
‘I think I’m ready to leave here...to come home,’ she told him urgently. ‘I’m sure it would be better for me to be in a familiar place. They’re very kind to me here but I’m going crazy cooped up like this and it’s so boring and uneventful. Your visits are the only highlights in my week.’
With difficulty, Lorenzo mastered his consternation. ‘I’ll speak to your doctors tomorrow. We don’t want to rush into anything. After all, you couldn’t even walk two months ago.’
‘I’m getting stronger every day!’ Brooke argued. ‘Why don’t you see that?’
‘Idosee it,’ Lorenzo countered levelly. ‘But until you recover your memory, it’s too risky.’
Brooke’s hands coiled into tight fists, the sudden burst of temper that ignited inside her an explosion of the frustration she had been fighting off for days. ‘Am I going to stay here for ever, then, as a patient?’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘Because I’ve already been told, and you must also know, that I mightneverget my memory back!’
Lorenzo gritted his teeth. He did know that, but he had confidently put the warning to the back of his mind because every time he saw her, he expected to see her change back into the woman he remembered. ‘Sit down,’ he urged. ‘We’ll discuss this calmly.’
Brooke dropped down on the side of the bed. Lorenzo studied her. She had been all built up to ask him to take her home and now she was upset, and he felt as if he was being cruel even though he knew that he had no other choice. Sitting there, she was a picture with her tangled ringlets half concealing her piquant face, the faint pout of her luscious pink mouth, the long length of her legs displayed to perfection in that dress and those shoes. A punch of lust tightened his groin and he tensed, willing back his desire, fighting for control. The yoga pants had driven him crazy, showing every curve, every indent, but Lorenzo wasn’t easily tempted, not where Brooke was concerned, and he had fought that reaction every rigorous step of the way. He stood by the window gazing out at the tranquil courtyard garden in the centre of the building, striving to calm himself.
‘Before the accident...’ Brooke began hesitantly. ‘Our marriage was in trouble, wasn’t it?’
At that moment she didn’t want the positive answer she suspected to be her new reality. Even so, she felt she still had to ask and had to be strong enough to confront such an unwelcome truth because, in that scenario, pretending wasn’t fair to either of them.
Disconcerted, Lorenzo froze in position. ‘What makes you think that?’ he enquired in a deliberately mild tone.
‘It doesn’t take a rocket scientist,’ she framed a little unevenly. ‘You never touch me unless you can’t avoid it. You never mention anything personal and if I ask questions in that line you stall. You don’t want me home either. Just be honest, Lorenzo. Icantake it. And then, just go home or back to the bank because you seem to work eighteen hours a day.’
Lorenzo almost ground his teeth in frustration. It would have been the perfect moment to speak had he not had to consider her condition. He glanced across at her and saw the tears shimmering like sunshine on water in her eyes.
Angrily aware of the tears prickling, Brooke dashed them away with an impatient hand. ‘Stop treating me like a child, stop choosing your words. I’m twenty-eight years old, for goodness’ sake, not a little girl! It’s bad enough not remembering stuff, but it’s atormentto be sitting here wondering all the time what sort of relationship we have...’
In disconcertion, Lorenzo strode forward just as she leapt up in haste, determined not to cry in front of him. ‘Just go home!’ she told him fiercely as she headed for the door and the sanctuary of the patients’ lounge. ‘I’ll see you another day—’
But she tried to move too fast in the high heels and her weaker leg flailed and tipped her over. She was within inches of crashing down painfully on the hard floor when Lorenzo snatched her up, lifting her clean off her tottering feet and settling her down in front of him in the circle of his arms. The scent of him that close was like an aphrodisiac to her senses, an inner clenching down in her pelvis instantly responding. She closed her arms round his neck because she had decided that if he couldn’t even kiss her, obviously he no longer felt attracted to her, and she would get her answer to how he felt about her one way or another.
Lorenzo collided with her wonderfully unusual eyes and, involuntarily, he bent down and kissed her, damning himself for even that momentary surrender. But he was too clever by half with women not to guess that she was giving him the green light to test him. One brief kiss and nobody was catching it on camera, he reminded himself, and then her soft, succulent mouth opened invitingly under his and suddenly all bets were off because the taste of her went to his head and his groin like a bushfire licking out of control.
She tasted like...she tasted like... His primal nature threatened to take over, almost made him forget that since she had lost her memory this was theirfirstkiss as far as she was concerned. Quite deliberately he tried to rein himself back. But Brooke was still blown off her feet by the explosion of passion Lorenzo delivered with his mouth. His lips were hard and urgent and demanding, somehow everything she had been craving without realising it for endless weeks, and he crushed her to his tall, powerful frame.
