Bride in Trouble Page 11

  “You make me feel safe,” she said. “Is it weird that I trust you, even though I feel I hardly know you?”

  He didn’t say anything, and she lifted her head to look at him. He was frowning, but as he felt her gaze on him, he looked at her and smiled. “I don’t think so. I think some part of you remembers.”

  She shifted, still feeling an unsatisfied ache between her thighs. “Which part is that?”

  He laughed. “Go to sleep.”

  Resting her hand on his ribs, she felt the rise and fall of his chest, the deep thud of his heart, and closed her eyes.

  In seconds, she was asleep.

  *

  When she awoke the next day, the bed was empty. For a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined Rafe sleeping beside her. But he’d been there in the night when she’d roused, sprawled on his back, snoring very slightly, taking up too much of the bed, tangled in the covers. She’d lain there for a while watching him. While he was asleep, some of his radiance dimmed, and she didn’t feel as blinded by him as when he was awake. He was like the sun, full of so much energy, and with such a big personality that she felt as if she stood in the gigantic shadow he cast. Had she always felt that way?

  Wondering where he was now, she rose from the bed, stood, and stretched in front of the window. She felt better today. At that moment, her head wasn’t hurting, and the bumps and bruises on her body weren’t as sore. She fancied a hot bath and some breakfast, then she thought she might feel almost normal.

  Leaving the room, she wandered through the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Hearing noises in the spare room, she walked through and paused in the doorway.

  He was working out again. This time, he was lying on his back on a bench, lifting weights. Phoebe leaned on the doorjamb, sipping her water, and watched him. His biceps bunched and flexed as he lowered the metal bar with the huge weights on either end, then pushed it slowly up until his arms were straight. She wouldn’t be able to lift even one of those weights. Sweat dampened his tee and his hair, and he gave a sexy grunt each time he pushed up. Jeez. What was wrong with her? All she could think about was getting her hands on this guy and touching him up.

  Muttering to herself, she backed away silently and went back to the bedroom. She was recovering from a brain injury. The last thing she should be thinking about was getting down and dirty with a sexy firefighter.

  She bathed and dressed, and, by the time she came out, he was in the kitchen, making coffee. He pushed a cup over to her, and she took it, trying not to eye his damp torso.

  “I know, I know,” he said. “I’m sweaty and disgusting.”

  “Totally,” she said. She met his eye, and they both started laughing.

  “I’ll shower in a minute,” he said. Leaning a hip against the counter, he took a mouthful of coffee. “How did you sleep?”

  “Very well.” Thanks to you. She was sure that having him by her side had played a big part in that. He’d held her for a long time, and once or twice she’d roused to feel him stroking her back. How had that felt as intimate as when he’d kissed her?

  “Good,” he said. “You look better this morning.”

  “I feel better. A bit less achy and tired.”

  “What would you like to do today?”

  “I don’t mind. I thought maybe you could suggest somewhere nice we’d been, you know, for memory triggers.”

  His gaze moved over her shoulder, and she knew he was flicking back through his memories like swiping through a camera roll on his phone. He would be remembering places they’d been, things they’d done together. When had he first told her he loved her? Where had they first had sex? It must be hard for him that she couldn’t remember. It might have made other men angry or resentful, but he’d only been patient with her, and understanding.

  Yet another reason he made her melt.

  His gaze came back to her, and he smiled. “We had a lovely day at Waitangi once. It’s supposed to be nice weather today, so it’ll be lovely up there. Fancy going?”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Okay.” He finished off his coffee. “I’ll hop in the shower.” He slid the mug toward the sink and his eyes gleamed. “Want to scrub my back?”

  “Pass,” she said, although she was severely tempted.

  He just grinned and walked off. She watched him go, her gaze lingering on his tight butt. It would be so easy to give in to his subtle persuasion and sleep with him. She had no doubt he’d be gentle, and that it would be wonderful. But she mustn’t do that until she was sure she was going to stay with him. It was still far too early to make any decisions. She couldn’t marry him just because he was gorgeous and she wanted to get into his boxers. The Phoebe she’d become after her father had died might have been the perfect fit for this guy, but what about the Phoebe she was now? How could she be sure they were compatible?

  Resolving to think about it later, she rang her mother, who reminded her that she had a doctor’s appointment that afternoon, and chatted to her until Rafe came out, and then she gathered her purse, slipped her feet into her sandals, and followed him out to the car.

  It took them about twenty minutes to get to Waitangi, and Rafe played some music as he drove, saying these were some of their favorite songs. He sang along, and Phoebe listened, loving his voice, but she didn’t remember any of the tunes. How odd that everything had been erased from her brain, as if all her memories were folders in a filing cabinet that had been torched, leaving nothing but a heap of twisted metal and ash.

  Did it mean that all the feelings she’d had for Rafe were nothing but groups of neurons that had been dislodged with a simple bump? Was the way he made her feel now an echo of how she’d felt, or was she just being fanciful and pretending the connection between them was deep and meaningful when in fact it was nothing more than an animal sexual attraction?

  “Stop worrying,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. I know you well enough.”

  “You knew old Phoebe.”

  “She’s not that different to new Phoebe.”

  “Isn’t she?” she pressed. “Am I exactly the same?”

  He signaled as he slowed at the roundabout, but Phoebe was too agitated to appreciate the beauty of the Pacific Ocean ahead of her, sparkling in the sun.

  “No,” he said eventually as he pulled away.

  “I know I’m not. I can’t be without all the experiences I’ve had over the last eight years. I’m not the person you fell in love with, Rafe. How can you be sure we’re still compatible?”

  He drove over the bridge toward the Waitangi Treaty House, into the car park, and slid the car into a space. He put the handbrake on and switched off the engine. Then he unclipped his seatbelt and turned in the seat to face her.

  “Stop stressing,” he said.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I know, and I understand, but you’re going to drive yourself crazy trying to second guess yourself all the time.”

  “I hate it,” she said, her heart racing. “I hate that I don’t remember you, or what we did, or what kind of person I’ve become. I don’t understand that woman at all. How can I not eat meat? I love a good steak! And bacon! How can I not eat bacon anymore?”

  “It’s not set in stone, Phoebe. If you want to start eating bacon, you can.”

  “The bacon’s not the issue,” she said, somewhat hysterically. “I can’t even comprehend how I couldn’t like bacon. It makes no sense to me at all.”

  “Look,” Rafe said gently. “If you were to draw a diagram of our lives, it would be full of choices and decisions. That’s what the alternate universe theory is all about—that there are an infinite number of universes where every choice we’ve ever made is played out. Some of the choices are tiny—which car you bought, whether you decided to go out or stay in on a particular day. And some are big. Your father dying was one of the bigger crossroads. You could have reacted to that in
a variety of ways. You went down one particular road, and branched off. Now, it’s just as if you’re back at that crossroads. You’re still the same person, the girl I fell in love with.”

  She looked into his eyes, trying to quell the panic that was threatening to engulf her. “I know you’re right,” she whispered. “It’s nothing to worry about. But it’s as if I’m looking down into a deep well, and I can see something glittering on the bottom like a coin, but I can’t quite make it out. There’s something just out of my reach… Something I feel I need to remember, and I can’t get to it. I don’t know what to do, Rafe. I feel like I’m going mad.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rafe’s stomach knotted, and for a moment the truth hovered on his lips, ready to spill like frozen peas from a bag. But Noelle’s firm words echoed in his head, just let her heal, as well as the look in her eyes, almost of panic. She was really afraid that the truth would set her daughter back, and he could understand that. But it was so hard keeping it from her.

  Just a few more days, he promised himself. Phoebe was already looking better. Even forty-eight hours would help. He had to keep her as calm as he could until then, and support her through this difficult time.

  “Your brain is trying to mend the lost connections,” he told her. “I know it’s hard, and you want all the answers now, but you just need to give yourself time.”

  Her green eyes met his, her chest rising and falling quickly with her rapid breaths. “I’m sorry. I’m full of such conflicting emotions. Like with you. I feel such a strong attraction to you, and it’s difficult to fight it, but I know I have to, because I can’t remember our relationship, or how I felt about you, I mean it would be so easy to give in to it, but maybe I’ll get my memory back and I’ll be angry with myself for saying or doing something, and then I’ll—”

  Sliding a hand to the side of her head without the wound, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his.

  Phoebe gave a brief, muffled protest, but Rafe didn’t release her. Instead, he tipped his head to the side, slanting his lips across hers, and brushed her bottom lip with his tongue. A small moan sounded deep in her throat, and then she opened her mouth and returned the kiss, leaning into him.

  Rafe didn’t hold back this time, pouring out his passion, his heartache, and his fear that he was going to lose her, pulling her tightly against him. Leaving her lips briefly, he kissed up her cheekbone to her ear, sliding his hand to her breast and cupping it, brushing his thumb over her nipple. She gasped, and he moved his hand beneath her breast and pressed it over her ribs.

  “I can feel your heart racing,” he said fiercely. “You can’t fake that, Phoebe. It doesn’t matter what memories you have or whether you think you’ve changed—you want me, and I want you, and that’s all that matters.”

  “You make me ache,” she whispered.

  He kissed back to her mouth and brushed his lips against hers. “I know a great remedy for that.”

  She closed her eyes. “Oh God, don’t…”

  “I’ll show you tonight,” he said, running the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip.

  “It must mean something, the way I feel about you.” She slid a hand into his hair, her nails scraping his scalp.

  “Your soul remembers me. It’s like memory foam. It’s shaped itself to me, and now we fit together perfectly.”

  “I almost believe that,” she whispered.

  He touched his nose to hers. “It’s the truth. I’ve won you once already, and I’m not going to let you go without a fight, Phoebe Goldsmith. If you think I’m going to take a back seat and be passive in this relationship, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word passive.”

  His lips curved up. “I don’t know—you’ve tied me to the bed before.”

  Her eyes widened, and she moved back a little. “Seriously?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Oh my God. Have you… um… tied me down?”

  “Many, many times.”

  Her lips parted, and a flush appeared in her cheeks.

  “That surprises you?” he said, amused.

  “I… hadn’t thought about it before. So, we’re not… lights out, missionary position kind of people?”

  He laughed softly and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “Not in the slightest.” He kissed the piece of hair. “You’re very adventurous in the bedroom.”

  He could see the curiosity and excitement in her eyes. “In what way?” she asked.

  “You love trying new positions. Roleplay. Toys.”

  “Like Lego?” she joked weakly.

  “No, Phoebe, like things that buzz in your private places. I know every inch of your body,” he murmured, winding the strand of hair tighter around his finger, so she had to move closer to him. “I know how to tease you right to the edge of passion and keep you there for hours. You like me doing that.” Jesus, he should stop now, he was turning himself on and he had a hard-on he was going to have trouble getting rid of, but her eyes were wide and excited, her beautiful lips soft and parted, and he couldn’t stop himself. “You want me to tell you what part of your body you like me to tease with my finger while you come?”

  She was barely breathing. “You mean…”

  “I do, Phoebe, my beautiful sex goddess.”

  Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Oh God. You’re so wicked.”

  “It’s your fault. I was Mr. Nice Guy before I met you.” There was some truth in the words. His early sexual experiences had been unremarkable, and Tessa hadn’t been keen on experimenting too much in the bedroom. Phoebe had been open to exploration, though, and together they’d done practically everything a couple could do together.

  “You’re teasing me,” she whispered.

  “No. You’ve corrupted me, sweetheart. I go only where you lead me.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  “You are. You’re the most passionate woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Stop it,” she said, pink and agitated. “I don’t believe you. You’re making it sound as if I tell you what to do all the time. There’s no way you’re that docile. You’re more like a feral tomcat.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re submissive in bed?”

  “I’m stronger than you. That’s led to some fun moments.”

  “Rafe!”

  “What?”

  “Stop telling me about rude things we’ve done. You’re making me all flustered.”

  “Aw,” he said, kissing the corner of her mouth, “you love it.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Push me away, then.”

  “I’m trying. You’re like a brick wall.”

  He chuckled. “Look at you, blushing like a girl on her first date.”

  “It feels like my first date, Rafe! I don’t remember going to bed with you, let alone getting up to… whatever we get up to!” Turning, she opened the car door and got out.

  Sighing, he got out quickly, locked the car, and ran after her. Catching up to her, he took her hand and tugged her to a stop.

  “Come here.” He pulled her into his arms. She went stiff for a moment, then buried her face in his T-shirt. “I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “It’s just so weird, and so unfair.” Her voice came out muffled against his shirt. “It’s like something out of a science fiction movie. I feel as if I’ve been abducted by aliens or something.”

  “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

  “No, it’s not your fault. I feel sorry for you.” She turned her face to rest her cheek on his chest. “Relationships take time to build and develop, and now you have to go back to square one. You were marrying this girl who knew you intimately, and she just vanished overnight.” She swallowed hard and moved back to look up at him. “I… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to call it off. The we
dding, I mean. It’s not all about whether I want it to happen. If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll understand.”

  He cupped her face. “I haven’t changed my mind. You might not remember what we had, but it is worth fighting for. We weren’t just in love, Phoebe. We were wildly, madly, passionately in love. I still am. I’m obsessed by you. You mean everything to me. Do you really think I’d just walk away from that?”

  “You did before,” she said. “With Tessa.”

  That stung. “I didn’t feel a tenth—a hundredth—for Tessa what I feel about you,” he said sharply. “I drifted into that relationship; we both did. She would say the same if you asked her. We were like… I don’t know… A log fire on a cool evening. When you look at me across a room, fireworks go off in my head. When I kiss you, the blood in my veins turns to lava. You heat me up from the inside out, and I think I made you feel the same way. I’m not giving up on that.”

  Her green eyes glistened. “What if I never feel about you the same way I once did?”

  His stomach clenched in fear, but he kept his gaze fixed on hers. “I don’t believe that’s going to happen.”

  “You’re mighty sure of yourself.” A touch of the old Phoebe flashed in her eyes—she was taunting him, flirting with him without realizing it.

  “I’m sure of us.” He moved a little closer to her, ignoring the tourists around them walking to the treaty house. He ached to hold her, to have her look at him the way she used to. “Tell me you don’t feel anything for me at all. Tell me that when I look at you, when I tell you how I want to strip off your dress and kiss down your body and pleasure you with my tongue, that you don’t feel a thing.”

  Her lips parted, her eyes taking on a look of helplessness that filled him with joy. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Then I’ll wait,” he said. “I don’t care how long it takes, until you’re ready.” He kissed her.

  When he eventually lifted his head, her eyes were closed, and she gave a dreamy sigh. “I think you’ve slipped something in my drink,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Not quite. Now come on, before I take you back to the car and do unmentionable things to you.”