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She watched him steadily.
‘But I remember what you were wearing that night,’ he said truthfully. The image was as clear to him now as if ithadbeen yesterday. She had been stunning in a white jumpsuit with a neck that veed tantalisingly deep. Cuts in the sleeves allowed the material to drape either side of her forearms, looking timeless and elegant. ‘How you looked, how the scent rising from your skin hit me here.’ He thudded a fist to his chest. ‘How it reminded me of the first time we met and how all I wanted to do that night was take you to bed.’
Her pupils flared at his praise, the flush to her cheeks familiar and filling him with an aching want that he knew wouldn’t be appeased that night. Once again, her lips parted ever so slightly, and he stopped himself from reaching across the table to plump her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
He’d clung to Emily that night, his gaze, his focus expertly blocking out his mother’s hysterical attempts to steal her daughter’s limelight on her sixteenth birthday. Hysteria that had been blessedly in remission for the three years preceding. But with the breakdown of her third marriage Renata Casas had returned to form.
Heart still pounding from the force of his adamant memory of her that night, Emily felt herself swaying towards her husband. It would be so easy to pretend that the last six years hadn’t happened. To indulge in a passion that was still utterly undeniable.
Touch. It wasn’t only what she’d missed about him, but it was a significant part. His touch had brought her to life, had shown her what passion could be, that it had colour, texture, taste and scent. That passion was luxurious and powerful and empowering... He had taken her from that drab beige, unhappy world of hers and thrust her into Technicolor. He had magicked her into a real girl—living and breathing and passionate. And then he had abandoned her.
Desperate to hold onto any thread that would keep her sane, she forced her thoughts away from dangerous ground.
‘Gabi was worried about you,’ she said, unable to forget the way his sister had held so tightly onto her hand, sure that the strength was hers to give to Gabi rather than the other way round.
Javier’s penetrating stare threatened to smother her, accusing her of avoiding the shocking sensuality caused by the scattering of his words. For a moment, she wondered whether he would push the issue. He had in the past. He had wielded their passion like a conductor wielded his baton, deft fingers setting a pace and rhythm that could nearly have ruined her, pulling a melody from her soul that she was unable to deny.
But instead he nodded, a darkness shadowing his gaze. ‘I worry about her. I believe that she is still living with my mother?’
For a moment she was about to admit that she didn’t know. But if he had lost his memory, then he would want to knowwhyshe didn’t know because she would, wouldn’t she? A lack of sleep, a fury of adrenaline, a sense of...somethingbuilding on the horizon all added to what promised to be a spectacular headache. She ran her fingers across her forehead, trying to soothe the tension, a gesture Javier didn’t miss.
‘Yes,’ she eventually answered, having gathered that his sister was still living with his mother from the few exchanges she’d overheard in the hospital.
A frown flickered across Javier’s brow but he did not share his thoughts. Which was another thing Emily remembered from her time with him. How closed-off he had kept her from his family. At first she had thought that they were not particularly close, but over the months of their marriage Renata had called again and again and every time Javier would go. It was a strange thing—as if it were duty, a weary one. But Emily had been reeling from her own hurt from a mother who barely saw her any more. That, combined with a husband who had spent more time away from her than not, had left her feeling vulnerable and lonely. In fact, this was the longest she remembered Javier spending without looking at his phone.
‘What about work? Your businesses...will they be okay?’
She could imagine the panic and fear of his employees and company boards caused by the prospect of his memory loss, temporary or even perhaps lasting. She had lost count of the articles she’d seen over the years about the number of businesses he now owned.
He discarded her question with a sweep of his hand. ‘Yes, I’ve spoken to my assistant. It will be fine. Would you like more wine? I’ll get some,’ he announced, excusing himself from the table before he saw Emily’s reaction.
As if she had been struck, Emily froze—his words turning her to stone.
‘It will be fine.’
The Javier Casas of six years ago would never, ever have said such a thing. In fact, the Javier Casas of six years ago would have already spent four hours working, desperate to catch up with his business affairs. So there was absolutely no way that the Javier of six years ago would think for even a second that his business would be fine without him.
The bastard.
Hewaslying. And this time she knew it with such force she practically trembled with rage.
Javier was congratulating himself on how well it was going as he retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge. He was tempted to have a glass, but doubted that mixing alcohol with strong painkillers was a good idea. And although he had navigated the tricky waters of his memory loss with Emily well, he knew that he would need all his wits about him. As it was, he was already fighting a tiredness that was shocking in its intensity.
He took the wine back out to the table to find Emily looking out at the gorge rising above the Higuerón River. And he stopped. Struck by a shocking and unwelcome wave of déjà vu, his lungs seized and the knife twisted.
How many times had he imagined her here, at the house in Frigiliana, standing just like that, in his mind’s eye? Whether he’d been in Madrid, Barcelona, whether he’d been further afield in Svardia, or Tokyo, or Pakistan, somehow he’d always imagined her here.
Javier had achieved incomparable success in the business world—more than half of which was a closely guarded secret. From the first company he’d owned, given to him by his uncle, who knew Renata Casas would never share the textile empire she considered solely hers, Javier had been driven. Driven to pay his uncle back, to prove that he was worthy of the gift he’d been given. And, with one heart-stopping investment, he’d made enough money to do just that, and more. He had expanded from one business to two, then three and so on. But if his mother had the slightest inkling of how much he was worth...carnage. It would be carnage.
But back then Javier had been driven by the need to prove himself, working like the devil himself, spending every hour he could, just to have something that couldn’t be taken away from him. Something that was his...to share with his wife. But she had left him on the very night that he’d planned to tell her of his success. His hand tightened around the bottle of wine.
Javier had meant his vows, determined not to make the same mistakes as his parents. He had wanted a family. A wife, children, the laughter that had so drawn him to Emily from the very first—he’d wanted that sound in his life every day. How had he forgotten that? Looking at the silhouette she made against the night sky, he put the bottle of wine down and made a decision. Enough was enough. It was time for Emily to come home. And if he had to play the amnesia game to make it happen, he would. He would remind them both of how great they’d been together. There had certainly never been a problem with their attraction—the spark of desire had always burned like phosphorus in pure oxygen—molten, bright and white-hot.
He would—
‘I think I’m going to head to bed.’ His wife’s words cut short and twined with his thoughts and a smile pulled at his lips.
‘That would be delightful,mi amor.’
