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He would take every second of that six months he’d bargained for himself. And, memory or no memory, perhaps it would be a good opportunity to get to the bottom of who he truly was.
He dressed, for the first time eschewing the shorts and T-shirts he’d grown fond of for a pair of white linen trousers and matching shirt. His bare feet he left alone. He liked feeling the movement of the sea beneath his soles. Liked the connection with his immediate past. Why change that if he didn’t need to?
He ignored the dart of disappointment to see that Imogen had heeded his words and made herself scarce. Because he would’ve liked another tussle with her?
Deciding there was nothing wrong with that way of thinking, he left the stateroom. A crew member waiting in the hallway immediately stepped forward.
‘Good morning, Mr Diamandis. Would you like some breakfast?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any preference as to where you want to take it, sir?’
‘Where does my wife take hers?’
‘The smaller dining room on Deck Four,’ he replied.
‘Then I’ll dine there with her.’
‘Very good, sir.’
When he continued to linger, Zeph exhaled. ‘It’s fine. You can go. I’ll find my way there.’
The young lad sent him a small searching look before nodding, then hurried off.
Alone, Zeph lingered, closing his eyes and attempting to see if the muscle memory from last night would kick in again. After a full minute of nothing happening, he gritted his teeth and opened his eyes.
But as he climbed the stairs to the deck, something rushed to the forefront of his mind, something that had struck him when he’d risen this morning and then been buried under the sensual deluge of tangling with his wife.
For the first time since he’d lost his memory, he hadn’t had that nightmare.
He hadn’t woken up covered in sweat and with a devastating sense of loss. Hadn’t felt a deeper question mark branded into his skin about that particular area of his past.
And it was because of Imogen.
Climbing onto the deck and striding to the small dining area where his wife sat, Zeph reaffirmed to himself that he’d made the right decision.
Ne, keeping Imogen around was the key to regaining his memories. And he wasn’t going to let that opportunity slip through his fingers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE’DLINGEREDBENEATHthe shower and relived every moment of the episode in the bedroom, alternating between kicking herself for letting things go so far and being disgruntled that somehow she’d once again ended up on the wrong side of Zeph whenhebore the responsibility for her being here in the first place.
Then she’d forced herself to perform a ten-minute yoga session in her room to calm her racing mind. She’d left her cabin confident that she had her emotions under control.
Realistically, there was no way she could get out of the six months Zeph had demanded she spend with him. The ‘I’ll never forget’ part was one she would have to play by ear. And she was most definitely not going to think about it now.
Sipping her coffee, she glanced at the place setting across from hers, telling herself she was prepared for whatever happened with Zeph.
Imogen knew all her calming efforts had failed the moment Zeph stepped onto the deck, brimming with male confidence, looking entirely too dashing in his all white attire—dear God, did any colournotlook incredible on that body?—and making a beeline for her. Once again, he was barefoot, which made him, curiously, even more compelling. Like a man fundamentally connected to the cosmos and confident of his place in the world.
Against her will, she searched his face, her heart thumping wildly at the thought of everything that had happened between them. Wondered whether the icy condemnation he’d left her with still lingered.
When he merely pulled out a seat and sat down, she felt a little bit of wind ease from her sails, and took a tiny breath.
Once they’d been served coffee and fruit and he’d snapped his linen napkin loose, his gaze drifted over to her. She hated herself for her breath catching in her midriff, her senses on tenterhooks as she waited for him to speak.
‘Is that get-up supposed to put me off?’ he drawled, his gaze drifting over the long-sleeved blouse and pencil skirt she’d worn.
