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Escape for

New Year

Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows

Robyn Grady

One Night With Prince Charming

Anna DePalo

Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

Shirley Jump

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows

Robyn Grady

About the Author

Award-winning author ROBYN GRADY left a fifteen-year career in television production knowing that the time was right to pursue her dream of writing romance. She adores cats, clever movies and spending time with her wonderful husband and their three precious daughters. Living on Australia’s glorious Sunshine coast, she says her perfect day includes a beach, a book and no laundry when she gets home. Robyn loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.robyngrady.com.

This book is for my fellow

Romance Writers of Australia

Romantic Book of the Year finalists.

Couldn’t have wished for better company!

One

A muffled conversation, barely audible, filtered in through the closed hospital room door. Laura Bishop raised her bandaged head off the pillows and, concentrating, pricked her ears. One voice was female, the other distinctly male—her fiery sister and equally passionate husband. Laura rolled her teeth over her bottom lip and strained to make out the words. No luck.

But neither Grace nor Bishop sounded pleased.

When Laura had taken a tumble at her home this morning, Grace, who was visiting, had insisted they have the bump on her head checked out. Waiting to see a doctor in a cell phone-free waiting room, Laura had asked Grace to contact Bishop at his Sydney office. She hated to bother him but stints at Casualty could wind on forever, and she didn’t want her husband coming home to an empty house and worrying.

Besides, Bishop would want to be informed. He was a protective man … at times, overly so. With her congenital heart condition—and his own family history—Laura supposed he had good reason to be.

The door clicked. When it cracked open an inch, Laura propped up on her elbows.

“I won’t have her upset,” Laura heard Grace hiss from the corridor.

Laura’s husband growled back. “I haven’t the least intention of upsetting her.”

Wincing, Laura eased back down. How she wished the two people she cared about most could get along, but Grace seemed to be the one woman on earth who was immune to Samuel Bishop’s compelling brand of charm. Laura, on the other hand, had been smitten by his sizzling charisma and smoldering good looks from the moment they’d met. Even so …

Lately she’d begun to wonder.

She loved Bishop so very much. She was certain he loved her, too, but given what she’d rediscovered about herself this past week … was it possible they’d jumped the gun and had married too soon?

The door fanned wider. As that familiar athletic frame entered the room, their eyes connected, locked, and suddenly Laura felt dizzier than she had all day. After six months together, Bishop still stirred in her this breathtaking, toe-curling effect, the kind of reaction that flooded her core with want and left her quivering like a half-set jelly.

He looked as magnificent in that dark, custom-made suit as he had that first night, decked out in an impeccable tuxedo, a wicked gleam igniting his entrancing blue eyes when he’d affected a bow and had asked her to dance. Today his eyes were hooded in that same heart-pumping way, but his gaze didn’t glow with anything close to desire. In fact, his eyes seemed to reflect no emotion at all.

A shiver crept over Laura’s skin.

He was always so caring and attentive. Was he annoyed that she’d slipped? That she’d pulled him away from his work? Shaking herself, Laura broke the spell and touched the square bandage that sat above her left temple. She gave a sheepish smile.

“Apparently I fell.”

His dark brows swooped together then his head slowly cocked. “Apparently?”

She hesitated at his single word reply and cast her mind back. “I … I can’t remember it now. The doctor said that’s not unusual. A person has a fall, knocks their head and they can’t recall the incident.”

He was unbuttoning his suit jacket, running a deliberate palm down his crimson silk tie. His fingers were long and lean. His hands, large and skilled. She loved his hands. Loved the way they knew precisely where, and precisely how, to please.

“So what do you recall?”

Her gaze bounced back to his questioning expression and she examined the sterile but comfortable private room.

“I remember arriving at the hospital. Meeting the doctor. Having a scan … and other tests.”

Bishop’s mirror blue eyes narrowed.

He wasn’t fond of tests, as she’d found out two months into their relationship—the night he’d proposed. He’d presented a dazzling white diamond ring and, overwhelmed with surprise and new love, she’d instantly agreed. Later that evening, curled up in his strong arms in his penthouse’s sumptuous bed, she’d told her fiancé about her heart condition—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Never one for attention or pity, she normally kept that information to herself. But if they were to be married, of course Bishop needed to know.

“Grace said she saw you when she was driving up the path to the house,” Bishop said now, flicking back his jacket to slide his hands into his trouser pockets. “She saw you tumbling from the garden’s footbridge.”

Laura nodded. A drop of around six feet. “That’s what she told me, too.” Like she’d said. She couldn’t remember.

A pulse pumped once along the dark shadow of his jaw.

“Grace also said you’re feeling fuzzy. That you seem … uncertain about some other things, too.”

“I’m clear on everything else.” She pulled herself higher on the bank of pillows at her back. “In fact, I feel clearer today than I have in a long while.”

His eyes flashed. She knew he’d heard the backbone in her tone, but he didn’t probe. More tellingly, he didn’t come near, gather her up and comfort her, the way he had that evening after he’d proposed.

That night, when she’d confided in him about her illness, he’d drawn her extra close, had brushed his lips tenderly over her brow then had asked about the odds of any offspring inheriting her disorder. She’d done lots of research. Statistics attested to the fact that a baby could inherit the condition as she had done, however, screening precautions were available. An early termination, due to medical considerations, could be performed. Thankfully, from the hard set of his jaw, she’d gleaned he was as uncomfortable with that scenario as she was. But neither was he convinced that they should take a gamble and simply hope for the best.

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 if someone had slapped her. Gradually her dazed expression faded and her face filled with all shades of remorse.

“Bishop … oh, God. I’m sorry.” Confusion swam in her glistening eyes. “I didn’t mean that. Not a word.”

Bishop let go of the breath he’d been holding. Apparently, a lack of memory couldn’t suppress her true, less than charitable feelings toward him. The person who’d challenged him a second ago had sounded like the Laura who’d glared at him when she’d told him to get out. The Laura who had mailed divorce papers a year to the day after that.

Laura was the one who’d ended their marriage. Of course he’d been upset. Hell, he’d been wounded to his core. But he’d never hated her. He didn’t hate her now. Nor did her love her. Which should make this situation easier than it was.

He nodded to the bed. “You need to lie down.”

“I need to talk to you.”

He held the cover back again. “Lie down.”

When she stood up, refusing, he fought the urge to force her to act in her own best interests and do as she was told. But that was out of the question, for more reasons than one. She was still a beautiful woman … more beautiful than he even remembered. As much as his brain knew they couldn’t live together, his physiology understood only that she was uniquely, tormentingly desirable.

How easy it would be even now to sweep her up, whisk her away and take shameful advantage of this situation. So easy … And more destructive than any act that had ever come before.

He loosened the knot at his throat. He’d try to reason with her one more time.

“You might think you’re all right, but—”

“I thought we were pregnant.”

The back of his knees caved in. Tipping sideways, Bishop propped his shoulder against the wall then, mind spinning, slid to sit on the bed. His ears were ringing. He felt as if a bomb had exploded inches from his face. Holding his brow, he waited for the stars to fade then finally found the wherewithal to question his ex-wife.

His voice was a croak.

“You thought … what?”

She folded down beside him and held his hand as she beseeched him with her eyes. “I was so happy. And worried. Worried about what you would say.”

His chest squeezed around a deep ache at the same time a horrible emptiness welled up inside of him. He felt ransacked. As if his insides had been ripped out and thrown on the floor. He couldn’t go through this again, not for anything. Not even that trusting, desperate look on Laura’s face.

He turned more toward her, willed the truth to show in his eyes. “Listen to me … you couldn’t be.”

“I know we use protection,” she countered, “but nothing’s a hundred percent.”

The breath Bishop held burned in his chest. This was worse than he’d thought. Was now the time to serve it to her cold? If he were in her shoes, he’d prefer it that way. He wouldn’t want to feel like a fool later on. Laura wouldn’t, either. They weren’t married anymore, much less pregnant.

Her green eyes glistened over at him and as her fingers kneaded his, unbidden brush fires began to heat and lick familiar pathways through his veins. Closing his eyes, he worked to kill the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as a devoted husband would. So vivid, so hauntingly clear … it all might have happened yesterday. Their meeting, the wedding, the honeymoon, that fall from the northern footbridge, then the slow agonizing death of “them.”

“You are not pregnant.” His words were strained, controlled. Or, if you are, I’m not the father.

Her slim nostrils flared with quiet courage and she nodded. “The doctor told me. I was mistaken.” That hope-filled light came back up in her eyes. “But when I thought I had a baby growing inside of me, a tiny new life that we’d created, it made me realize …”

Her gaze grew strangely distant and yet somehow stronger. Then her shoulders rolled back and a fire lit her cheeks.

“My illness won’t make a difference to how I feel,” she told him. “I know there’s a risk, but I want a baby, Bishop. Our baby.” She held his hand tighter, angled her head and brought his fingers to her hot cheek. “We just need to have faith.”

Bishop closed his eyes as a scolding, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. They’d already had this conversation.

Going on two years ago. It had been the beginning of the end … a long, drawn out, bitter affair.

Laura’s broken voice cut through the haze.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

Again Bishop tugged the Windsor knot at his throat and, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, lengthened his neck. Other than Laura’s light floral scent, the air in here seemed stale. He needed some space to try and work out how to diffuse this crazy situation before it got any worse.

Winding his hand out of hers, he found his feet and an impassive voice.

“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?” Three fingers of scotch sat at the top of his wish list.

“There is one thing.” She stood, too, leaned closer and placed a warm palm on his chest. Unbidden flames ignited in his sternum as her slightly parted mouth came near. “I need for you to kiss me.”

Two

In her eyes—in his heart—Bishop understood that today Laura loved him. He also understood she was far from her true state of mind. Fighting the raw ache in his throat, he found his ex-wife’s arms and urged her gently away.

Refusing her affection was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do; toward the end of their marriage he’d have given anything to have had her show him love again. But while his hardening body whispered for him to accept what she offered now, his conscience said a resounding no. Laura was far from well, and no man for any reason needed to take advantage of that.

But he had to be careful how he handled this problem. He didn’t want to tip her over whatever mental precipice she so obviously teetered on.

He put a calming note into his voice. “Laura, this isn’t the time.”

“Not the time?” Her face pinched. Then she blinked several times. “I don’t understand. We’re husband and wife. We always kiss.”

His heart lurched but he wouldn’t let that twist of emotion show. How in God’s name would he ever navigate through this mess? He felt as if he’d been thrown into the mouth of an active volcano. Everywhere he stepped he got burned. A lot like their marriage, really.

But information was power. He’d get the facts, a professional’s opinion and see what was what.

Laura was still looking at him, confusion and hurt brimming in her eyes. In the first three months of their marriage, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and vice versa.

Even now …

Needing to reassure her, he relented and let one palm slide down her arm. Immediately, that minimal contact sent up a flare and a throb that echoed like a warning bell through his blood. Setting his jaw, he put up both his hands and took a resolute step back.

“I’ll go speak to a doctor.”

“About the pregnancy test.”

His gut knotted and jaw tightened more.

“Yes. About that.”

He left her standing in a white hospital gown, uncertain, beside the bed. In the corridor, he took a moment to orient himself and order his blood pressure to drop. Laura might be the one who’d had a fall and lost her memory but he was the one feeling off balance. Still, there must be a rational, safe way to maneuver through this hopscotch of emotional landmines. And damned if he wouldn’t find it, and find it fast.

At the nurses’ station, Bishop made an inquiry and a man in a white coat studying a file down the hall was pointed out. He sped off.

“Doctor—” Bishop glanced at the name tag as he came to a stop “—Stokes, I’m Samuel Bishop. I was told you examined Laura Bishop earlier.”

The middle-aged doctor peered over his bifocals and set aside the folder. “You’re Mrs. Bishop’s husband?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The doctor gave a knowing grin and they crossed the room, away from others’ earshot.

“Head trauma,” Doctor Stokes summed up. “Retrograde memory loss.”

Bishop nodded. “How long will it last?”

“Usually in these cases, memory returns gradually over the following days. It can take longer. In some rare instances it never returns.”

Bishop’s head began to tingle. He needed to clarify. “In rare instances?”

“Initial tests were free of fractures or contusions. She could stay overnight but, as long as she takes it easy and you keep an eye on her, there’s no reason she can’t go home. When she sleeps, wake her every three to four hours and ask those same simple questions—name, address—to be sure she’s stable. You can see your own GP for a follow-up.”

Take her home…?

Bishop scratched his temple. “Thing is, Doc, we’re not married anymore.”

One of the doctor’s eyebrows lifted. “Your sister-in-law hinted as much.”

“Ex-sister-in-law.”

The older man’s eyes conveyed his sympathies for the situation before he slotted his hands into his coat pockets. “Subtle jogging of the memory. Perhaps photos when you think she’s ready. When she’s in familiar surroundings, I’m sure more recent events will resurface soon enough.” Doctor Stokes seemed about to say more but then he merely tipped his head. “Good luck, Mr. Bishop.”

As the doctor moved off, Bishop fell back into a nearby chair. He’d need a whole lot more than luck.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip and he scanned the text from his second-in-charge, Willis McKee.

Where are you? A buyer’s on the line. Wants to speak with you ASAP.

Bishop’s jaw shifted. Already?

He’d listed Bishop Scaffolds and Building Equipment, the business he’d built to a multimillion dollar entity, only last week. At the price he’d set, he’d never expected such a quick response, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about it.

Over these past few months, since the finality of the separation had sunk in, he’d felt a certain restlessness. One chapter of his personal life had closed and he’d begun to wonder whether he needed a new challenge in his professional life, as well. But he hadn’t given a lot of thought as to which direction he should take.

Still, he was pleased he’d taken the initiative to move forward. He’d been seeing a nice woman for just over a month, too. Nothing serious; he wasn’t certain he’d ever do serious again. But he enjoyed Annabelle’s company. She wasn’t high maintenance. Didn’t ask the impossible.

Bishop snapped the cell shut.

And now Laura was back in his life, and given the doc’s opinion, who knew for how long? What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t simply walk away. Then again, how could he stay? He was stuck like a bug under a shoe.

A tap on the shoulder brought him back and his head snapped up. When he saw Grace poised beside him, he groaned. At this moment, she was his least favorite person. What was new?

Grace made herself comfortable in a seat alongside him and laced her peach-tipped nails on her crisp linen lap.

“So now you know.”

He slid her a bland look. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“She didn’t remember?”

“Laura thinks today is our three-month anniversary.”

“How are you celebrating?”

He pushed to his feet. “Don’t be smart, Grace.” He set off toward Laura’s room. He’d have to speak with this woman again and soon, but right now he didn’t trust himself to keep his hands from circling her throat. He didn’t care how much she disapproved of him; he should have been warned.

The only good thing to come from his and Laura’s bust up was getting rid of one very toxic influence in his life. Always sticking her nose in, stirring up trouble. Laura had defended her sister, but he wondered if deep down she wondered if she’d picked the short straw in the sister pool of life. Grace was one hell of a control freak.

Of course, he’d heard people say the same about him, but that was different. He had a business to run. People who relied on him to get things done right, and that meant the first time.

“I still think you could have saved the marriage.”

Grace’s silky words hit his back and, temper spiking, Bishop edged around. He set his hands on his hips to keep from making fists.

“First, redundant observation, Grace. There isn’t a marriage anymore. Second—” steam rising from his collar, he strode back “—are you trying to have me think you want Laura and me to get back together? Because I’d sooner believe in the Easter Bunny.”

Fingers unlacing, Grace found her feet, too. She always came across as so damn perfect—hair, nails, prissy platinum blond French roll. He’d love to rattle her cage, but this wasn’t the place. Already, interested people were staring.

“You’re wrong,” Grace said, “if you think I want to see Laura unhappy.”

Grace wasn’t interested in anything but being right. “You never wanted us married.”

“I didn’t want you to marry so soon. You both needed time to think things through. You didn’t give yourselves a decent chance.”

“And you’ve been gloating about that ever since.”

Her head tilted as her gaze searched his. “Have you considered using this time in a positive way? This might be an opportunity to do things differently. To listen to her this time. Try to understand.”

Bishop only glared. Even now she was trying to manipulate. Grace knew nothing. She hadn’t lived in their home during that turbulent time. He’d done his best. From the start, when Laura had said she’d changed her mind and wanted to have a baby of their own rather than adopt, he’d tried to understand. Their downfall wasn’t due to his behavior but to Laura’s conscience; she’d made the wrong decision and had never gotten over it.

Her hopeful look dissolving, Grace sighed.

“I’ve said goodbye to Laura.” She collected her handbag and headed toward the wing’s exit. “Take good care of her.”

He almost called out; where the hell did she think she was going? Grace had always been so ready to ingratiate her presence into Laura’s life before. Now, when Laura really needed her, she was walking out? But the question marks on their curious audience’s faces roped back any choice words. As uncomfortable as this would be with his ex, having Grace around would only make the situation ten times more difficult. If Laura’s parents were alive, he was certain they would step up, but both her mother and father had died long before Laura met him.

Like it or not, this was his problem, as well as Laura’s, to work through.

Resigned, Bishop returned to the private hospital room. When he entered, Laura was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rotated back. Her delicate face was pale. Clearly she wanted to go to him, but after his earlier reticence, she hesitated.

“I spoke with the doctor,” he said.

“And?”

Bishop considered his reply. He thought about Grace’s opinion—a second chance—then the doctor’s remark regarding rare instances. Might Laura never regain her memory? Could this accident give them another shot at their relationship? After all the anguish, a full year apart, was there any piece of him that even wanted that? He didn’t love her. Not anymore. Too much water under that bridge. For now, however, he could only take one step at a time.

Willing the bite of tension away from between his shoulders, he came to her, offered his hand, and innocent hope flickered bright in her eyes.

“Get dressed,” he said with a small but encouraging smile. “The doctor says we can go home.”

An hour later, as Bishop steered up that familiar spiraling mountain road, Laura gazed out the window, a warm smile tugging her lips. She wanted to roll down the window and enjoy a good long lungful of that fresh, clean air. The glorious cloud-wisped sky, those endless forests of eucalypt and pine, so many colorful birds swooping between branches … Everything looked somehow brighter.

She’d loved this part of the Blue Mountains countryside from the moment Bishop had first driven her to his estate two weeks after they’d met. Now, almost six months on, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Or being with, and loving, anyone else. Although …

Laura stole a curious look at the driver.

Bishop looked somehow different this afternoon. Tired from a busy week at the office most likely. Worried about her, of course. But she hadn’t noticed those fine lines branching from his eyes before. And he’d seemed so distant all the drive here. She didn’t need to be Einstein to know he was avoiding the subject she’d brought up in the hospital. He didn’t want to discuss the possibility of renegotiating what they’d decided upon before taking their vows.

That night four months ago, when he’d suggested adoption as their safest bet, a rush of emotion had stung her eyes and hurt-filled tears had brimmed. But he’d assured her that he was only being practical. Sensible. Yes, he understood that her own condition was easily managed, but there was no guarantee that a child might not inherit a more severe form of cardio impairment. Surely the most important thing, he’d said, was to be together and raise a healthy baby. An adopted child.

She’d respected his concerns—still did—but she’d come to realize that he needed to respect her feelings, too. Feelings that weren’t about to go away. From as far back as she could recall, she’d wanted her own family, particularly in her late teens after her parents had passed away. She had her Arts History and Literature degree—her parents had been big on education—but her dream was to be a homemaker, a good wife and great mother. She wasn’t career-minded in the twenty-first century sense, and she didn’t care who knew it. She wanted to bestow upon her children the same kind of love and support she’d known and valued growing up. Never had she considered the possibility of raising another woman’s child.

But she did want a healthy baby, and she most certainly wanted to marry Bishop, so she’d agreed to his suggestion. Over these past months, however, the weight of that decision had pressed on her heart like a stone. More and more she’d begun to believe there must be a thing as being too cautious. It was far from certain that any child they conceived would inherit her disorder. And there was always medication and a simple operation to implant a defibrillator to regulate the heartbeat if need be. Of course, if a child were severely affected, more involved surgery might be needed. A pacemaker. Even a transplant.

But in this age of high technology and information, parents-to-be were aware of so many frightening things that could go wrong in vitro. Then there were the concerns surrounding keeping a child safe later on, from disease and accidents and predators. But most people didn’t let those fears beat them. A husband and wife hoped for the best, knowing they’d be there for one another, no matter what.

As long as she was fertile—and there was no reason to believe that she wasn’t—she wanted to try. The reward would be well worth the risk. Was she wrong to want what so many women longed for?

A child of her blood. A child of her own.

Deep in thought, Laura absently ran a hand over the car’s armrest, and then something odd struck her. She’d been so caught up in memories and today’s events, she hadn’t noticed until now.

“You didn’t mention you were getting a new car.”

Bishop’s eyes, beneath their aviator sunglasses, didn’t leave the road. “Willis negotiated a good lease on the Land Rover.”

Her mind wound back but didn’t hook onto anything. She shrugged. “Willis who? I don’t remember you mentioning that name before.”

“Haven’t I? He’s my assistant. New assistant.”

“What happened to Cecil Clark? I thought you said he did a good job. He seemed nice enough at that charity dinner we went to last month.”

“He … got another offer.”

“You should have matched it.”

His voice dropped. “Sometimes you just have to let people go.”

Four-wheel drive tires crunched as he braked at the top of their lengthy gravel drive. Rather than one of the four garages, he’d parked in front of the house, a sprawling ranch-style dwelling cut into the hillside. Both inside and out, the house combined tasteful luxury with a homey rural feel—enormous individually crafted open fireplaces, large yet cozy bedrooms, two massive home offices, a fully equipped gym with sauna and indoor pool for laps.

On Sundays, Laura served eggs Benedict on the eastern porch and together they would watch the southern hemisphere sun climb higher toward the far-stretching haze of mountains to the west. Even more she loved what came after coffee … returning to bed to savor her delectable, insatiable husband.

Touching the small bandage above her temple, Laura frowned and thought back. Had they enjoyed their ritual this Sunday past? She couldn’t remember.

Bishop swung out of the driver’s side and performed his usual courtesy of opening her door. Together they moved up the slate-paved steps that led to the lofty teak and glass paneled entry door. Halfway up, he paused to clear his throat and rattle the keys awkwardly in his palm.

“My, uh, house key must be on my other set.”

“I have mine.” She didn’t recall grabbing her bag before leaving for the hospital—silly, but she couldn’t even remember this bag. Still she dug in, rummaged around, fished out a set of keys … but then her eyes rounded and she froze.

Horror slow-dripping through her veins, she rotated her left hand one way, then the other as panic fisted tight and fierce inside of her.

“My rings,” she got out. “The nurse must have taken them off before the scan.”

Common sense said her diamond-studded wedding band and magnificent princess-cut engagement ring must be filed away at the hospital somewhere safe. Clearly it was an oversight that they hadn’t been returned before they’d left. But the staff would have records. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t get them back. Still she couldn’t loosen the suffocating knot in her chest. She felt naked without them. Somehow so vulnerable.

Standing on the expansive veranda, with the sun arcing toward the towering eucalypt trees behind, Bishop took a step closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You need to rest.”

He’d said it kindly enough but it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she’d been resting all day. Still, the truth was that suddenly she did feel tired, and a few degrees off balance. Maybe she should swallow her pride and do as he asked. Lie down.

But not alone.

She twined their fingers and tugged until the back of his hand pressed against her heart. She hoped her teasing grin was persuasive.

“You look like you could use a rest, too.”

Emotion flared in his eyes, hot and cold at the same time. “I didn’t have a fall today,” he reminded her. “You did.”

Her heart dropped. He sounded so … detached. But unlike earlier in hospital, this time she knew why. Of course he wanted to be with her. Of course he wanted to caress and kiss her. But safety-first Bishop was determined not to go against professional advice. During the drive home, he’d made a point of repeating the doctor’s instructions that she ought to take things easy for a day or two. Still …

“You know something?” She moved closer until their hands lay flat between them like pressed flowers. “I can’t think of a better way to relax than making love with my husband.”

As if infused by a sudden rush of blood, a cord rose and pulsed down one side of his throat. His chest expanded on a giant breath and that odd emotion in his eyes flared again.

“We’ll go inside.” His free hand opened the door. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”

“Champagne?” she asked, trying hard not to sound hurt by his flat tone as he herded her in. “It’s our anniversary, after all.”

“Tea, iced or hot.” He shut the door and walked past. “In a couple of days we’ll see if you still want champagne.”

Three

When Laura relented and took herself off to bed, Bishop sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

She’d tried to corner him into joining her in the bedroom, but he’d dodged another bullet, albeit with a minimum of skill. He only hoped his ex-wife’s memory returned before either of them had to endure that kind of farce again.

In her mind, they were married. Married couples enjoyed conjugal intimacies, and he and Laura had been intimate often. What bothered Bishop most now was how strongly his body responded to the possibility of holding Laura close. Naked. Loving. His again.

As she disappeared down the wide hardwood hall, gait slow, head down, Bishop shoveled a hand through his hair and threw a glance around. Same furniture, same stunning yet homey fireplace. How many times had they made love before the flames he’d stoked there?

After several moments remembering back … wishing something, somewhere, had turned out differently … he bit down and wheeled toward the door.

His hands bunched at his sides. The urge to walk out was overwhelming; he could only see this ending badly. But he couldn’t leave. At least not yet. If Laura’s inability to remember lasted beyond Sunday, however, he’d fabricate a business trip and organize assistance … a nurse perhaps. Or Grace would need to make arrangements. Until then, he was stuck.

But he wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs. He might be away from the office, his apartment, but he could still get some work done.

He brought his laptop in from the car and without much thought, moved into his former home office. He let his eye linger over the heavy rosewood furniture, the maroon couch, his Rubik’s Cube and the framed photograph of Laura that, remarkably, still sat on the polished desk. He moved forward and let a fingertip trail the cool silver frame.

Hell, he thought she’d have demolished this room and every reminder in it the first chance she’d got. Which led him to thoughts of her “lost” wedding rings.

They weren’t at the hospital. She’d probably flushed them or tossed them in the fireplace, as he’d done with his band a raging moment before he’d slammed the door shut on this place forever. Or believed that he had. But his stay here this time would be short-term. After the long drawn-out business that had led to their separation, the shorter the better.

Settling into his chair, he connected with Bishop Scaffolds’ server and brought up some recent specs. New dies were under discussion but he wouldn’t commit until he was certain the designs were exactly right.

With a background in engineering, he’d always enjoyed a natural affinity with machinery. Routinely he checked presses, calibrations and product tolerances. It wasn’t unusual to find the boss manning equipment should a worker be called away or need a few minutes off. This past week, after listing the company, he’d spent more time than usual in the factory where equipment was manufactured, stored and dispatched. He considered himself as much a part of the working machine, a cog in the wheel, as his employees, every one handpicked and valued.

But maintaining a manufacturing presence in Australia was a tricky ball to juggle. The uncertain slope of the Aussie dollar against other currencies, the force of reduced labor prices in neighboring countries, plus the quality versus cheaper options argument kept Bishop on his toes. The threat of any company folding to the sum of those pressures was real.

When he’d lost a couple of key contracts not long after his and Laura’s split, an unsettling sense of doubt had clung to him. He’d never failed at anything of real consequence, but if he could fail at something as important as his marriage, might he not fail in business, too? If he began second guessing himself, losing his edge, maybe it was time to get out and hand over the business to someone who had the mind-set to keep it strong. He wanted to be that man, but then he’d also wanted to keep his marriage solid.

He went into a few emails but found he couldn’t focus. Visions of Laura’s toned form, tucked under a light cover in the bed they’d once shared, had seeped into his mind and now he couldn’t shift them. Images of her chest softly rising and falling and the way her hair splayed over her pillow while she slept were glued in his mind. He thought of how perfectly her mouth had fit under his—how everything had seemed to fit—and for one frightening moment, he battled a tidal wave urge to stride down the hall and join her.

Growling, he pushed back his laptop and glared at the ceiling. Dammit, he’d never wanted his marriage to end. He’d fought to save it. But no matter what Grace thought about second chances, he’d be an idiot to entertain such a crazy idea. He was here because he had no choice. Laura would get her memory back and then they could each forget this episode and get on with their individual lives.

Laura woke with her heart hammering in her chest. The room was quiet, the walls stenciled with soft-edged shadows. The green numerals on the side table read 2:04.

Shivering and feeling inexplicably alone, she tugged the covers higher. Then she remembered Bishop and her smile warmed her right through. Carefully, she rolled over, reached out in the darkness … and that warmth dropped away.

The space beside her was cold and empty. Why hadn’t Bishop joined her? Because he worried about her bandaged head? Didn’t he know that his embrace was the only medicine she needed?

Well, if he didn’t know, she’d simply have to go and tell him.

After wrapping up in a long, soft robe, she padded out into the hall. Outside Bishop’s office, a wedge of light shone on the timber floor. Frowning, she huddled into the robe’s warmth more. He was working at two in the morning?

She headed off but stopped in the doorway, her heart melting at the sight. Bishop was sprawled out on his Chesterfield couch, an ankle hung over the far armrest, one foot on the floor, his left forearm draped over his eyes. He’d taken off his shoes and trousers, and his white business shirt was undone to his navel. The steady rise and fall of his beautiful big chest told her he was sleeping soundly. Familiar heat sizzled through her. God, how she loved him. How dearly she wanted him. And there was another feeling swirling through her blood … one that was strangely difficult to pinpoint or analyze.

She missed him. Missed him like she hadn’t seen him in years. The knowledge left her with a hollow ache in her chest. A chunk cut out of her heart. But she surrendered to a self-deprecating smile. He’d been away from their bed half a night. How would she cope if he left her for a week? A month?

She wriggled her toes on the cool floor. She wanted to go to him, wrap him up under her robe, rub her leg over the hard length and rouse him. Despite doctor’s orders not to overdo it, if her hands were to knead his body and she poured words of love in his ear, surely he’d relent and make love.

Or would he be unhappy with her? He worried so much about her health.

She was still making up her mind when the ridges of his six-pack suddenly crunched and Bishop woke with a start. Driving back a breath, he sat bolt upright as if a monster had chased him out of a dream. His gaze shot to the doorway, to where she stood. His dark hair was mussed and his bronzed legs beneath the white shirt looked as strong as steel pylons. The tips of Laura’s breasts hardened against the gentle fabric of her robe. How she longed to trail her fingers up over that steel, every blessed inch of it.

His blue eyes focused then narrowed slightly as they raked the lines of her body. A pulse began to beat in his jaw at the same time his eyes grew lidded and she knew he was visualizing the curves and valleys he loved to touch and taste.

Then he scrubbed a hand over his face and, shaking himself, sat straighter. His voice was thick from sleep.

“It’s late. Go back to bed.”

“If you come with me.”

He held her gaze then looked to his desk. “In a few minutes. I have some things to wrap up.”

She crossed the room, sat down beside him and gave him a level look.

“We can’t avoid it, you know.”

He leaned back the barest amount. “Avoid … what?”

“We need to talk.”

She put her hand on his thigh. He promptly removed it.

“Not in the middle of the night.” He pushed to his feet and, grabbing his hand, she pulled him back. He had the strength to resist, but a yielding expression touched his mouth, his eyes, and slowly he lowered back down.

“When I was old enough to understand about my condition,” she began, “that I would need to be careful about overexertion and such—I felt … different. My parents made sure every teacher knew which activities I could or could not do. Once, when we were short on numbers, Mrs. Carols insisted I moved off the sideline and team up for the 500m relay. When he found out, my dad hit the roof. He threatened the principal’s job and demanded an apology from Mrs. Carols as well as from the school.”

Bishop’s brows had knitted. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I want you to understand that I know better than anyone what I’m asking of you, of myself and of any children we have.”

As if he were considering her words, his gaze lowered. He saw his buttons undone and, deep in thought, he began to rebutton. “Laura, it must be close to three o’clock—”

“Junior school was lonely sometimes,” she plowed on. She didn’t care about the time. She needed to say this and he needed to hear it. “I couldn’t do cross-country or horse riding at camp. Kids can be cruel and some laughed behind my back. A couple even called me a cripple.”

Redoing the final button, his hands fisted in his shirt. “I wish I’d been there.”

“I had good friends too, though. We ignored the girls who needed to make themselves feel taller by bringing someone else down. Then university happened and the entire world didn’t need to know anymore. I was just like everyone else. A year after graduation, I met you.”

A small smile hooked one side of his mouth. “That night I kept you up talking till dawn.”

Smiling, too, she turned more toward him. “Eight weeks and one day later, you proposed. When you still wanted to marry me after you learned about my secret, I didn’t think anyone could be more lucky … or more in love …” Her gaze dipped before finding his again. “Even if you didn’t quite understand how deeply I felt about conceiving and having our own child. After I agreed we would adopt, I tried to deny it to myself.”

He broke their intense gaze and cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She touched the square bandage on her head. Feeling a faint throb coming on, she surrendered with a nod. It was enough for now that she’d opened that door a little wider. Tomorrow they would talk more, and when he realized how much carrying and giving life to her own child meant to her—when he accepted that history didn’t need to repeat itself, hers or his—he’d come around. He loved her, and love could surmount any obstacle.

She found her feet and put out her hand. “Coming?” His gaze slid to her bandage and she grinned. If he thought he’d get away with another excuse, he was mistaken. “Or we can stay up and finish this conversation now?”

He stood. “You win. But remember, you’re taking it easy.”

She looped her arm through his and guided him toward the door, toward their bedroom.

Beside the bed, she slipped out of her robe while he unbuttoned his shirt again, which seemed to take an inordinately long time. When she slid between the covers, feeling sexy in the lacy negligee she’d donned when she’d first lain down, she watched as his gaze filtered over her in the golden glow of lamplight. Snuggling into the pillows, she slipped back his side of the covers.

“On my honor,” she said, half-serious, “I promise not to ravage you.”

A moment later, the mattress dipped as he moved in beside her. Lying on his side, resting on an elbow, he searched her eyes. Then he brushed a curl from her brow and said, “I promise the same.”

The next morning, a world of birds’ calls dragged Bishop from a deep sleep. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes, but before he could piece together the previous day’s events, he recognized the room, the unmistakable crisp smell of mountain air. He also recognized the angelic form asleep beside him.

Laura lay on her back, her silky hair splayed around her head like a halo. One thin black strap had fallen off her shoulder. Beneath the lace bodice, he saw the rosy tips of her breasts.

Desire—thick, fierce and hot—plunged through his system, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head and most definitely everywhere in between. On reflex, he reached to cup her flawless cheek but thankfully in time he set his jaw and forced his hand away. It was bad enough that they’d slept in the same bed last night. When he’d promised not to take her, Laura had no idea how serious he’d been. But when she’d curled into him, how could he stop her? Or the acute physical arousal that had kicked in.

Clamping his eyes shut, he’d forced himself to think of anything other than her faint jasmine scent and the satin feel of her negligee … of her skin. He had no idea how long he’d lain awake, forcing himself not to stroke her back or brush his lips over hers.

Now he was fighting the same merciless war. The urgent pulsing in his groin said to forget honor and let his palm slide over all those gorgeous contours. The arousal fueling his erection demanded that his mouth glide down and taste her breasts, her hips, the honey between her legs. He imagined her dreamy sigh as she woke slowly, then her fingers winding through his hair as her hips arced and the trapped pounding in his blood found its release. He thought of her climaxing once, twice, and the possibility of them spending all day in bed.

Hardening more, Bishop swallowed a tortured groan. He’d better get out of this room before he convinced himself what he wanted was not only natural and necessary, but appropriate.

Quietly, he eased up and pushed to his feet. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, which brought another problem to mind. What would he wear over the weekend? Perhaps a quick trip into Burniedale, the nearest township, was in order.

He glanced at his watch.

The shops were two hours from opening yet.

Behind him, Laura stirred but when he turned to study her, she didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, the corners of her too-kissable mouth were curved into a heavenly smile. The doctor had suggested he wake her every few hours and ask routine questions, but she’d been fine four hours ago. She looked so peaceful now, perfectly healthy but for that small bandage above her temple. He wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, when she was asleep he wasn’t walking on eggshells, wondering when and how the memory pennies would begin to fall.

A few minutes later, he stood in his office, collecting his BlackBerry off the desk. He checked his messages and found another from Willis.

Where the hell are you?

Bishop headed outside. Where was he? Living in a time warp where the woman he’d once loved—who had once loved him—couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him in this house, let alone in her bed. The bigger, far more dangerous issue was, as difficult as it was proving to be, he needed to remember that, too.

Moving out onto the eastern porch, he siphoned in a lungful of the fresh morning air. The birds were deafening. Living in the city heart this past year he’d forgotten how loud they could be. But it was a relaxing and at the same time invigorating noise. Another thing he’d missed. Something else he’d tried to forget.

He thumbed in Willis’s quick dial and, phone to ear, waited for the call to connect. He’d swung a hip over the wood railing, was watching a hand-size echidna and its porcupine quills trudge into the brush, when Willis picked up.

“Are you in the office already?”

Bishop’s gaze skimmed the dense forest of gum trees. “I’m nowhere near the office.”

“Did you take care of whatever it was that dragged you away early yesterday?”

“It’ll be sorted by Monday.”

“Good, because I promised these potential buyers you’d speak with them then. I’ll get a confidentiality agreement then talk to Saed about putting together the documents they’ll want to see.”

Bishop listened to Willis’s plans while he examined the weathered stump he’d once used to chop logs for the fire. When Willis finished, Bishop absently agreed. “Sounds good.”

Two beats of silence echoed down the line. “You don’t sound as pumped as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m pumped,” Bishop argued. “I just didn’t think we’d get any nibbles this soon.”

“This isn’t a nibble, Sam. It’s a walloping great bite. The agent said the interested party is none other than Clancy Enterprises.”

Bishop let out a long low whistle. “They own half the companies on the east coast.” Manufacturing as well as retail.

“We’re talking serious money and, if we can go by their track record, we don’t have a whole lot of lead time. These guys move fast.”

A family of wild ducks, two adults, four chicks, waddled out from behind a boulder. Bishop shifted his position on the rail. “How fast?”

“Just sign the on the dotted line fast.”

A touch on his shoulder sent Bishop’s heart lurching to his throat. Jumping off the railing, he spun around. Laura stood before him, wrapped up in that fluffy pink robe, the tip of her nose already red from the morning air’s cool kiss.

Her gaze homed in on his phone and she stepped back, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

As if calling from another world, Bishop heard Willis’s voice coming down the line. “Sam? You there?”

“That’s okay,” he said to Laura, thinking how young and fresh she looked, the same age she’d looked when they’d married. The bitterness he’d seen a year ago seemed to have left her face completely. “I was finishing up.” He set the phone back to his ear. “We’ll talk later.”

Willis didn’t ask questions, which was part of the reason he was paid so well. Willis knew when to push. He also knew when to back off.

Laura hunched and hugged herself, snuggling into her robe. It might be spring but up here the mornings still got mighty chilly.

“Must have been something urgent to be calling at this time?” she asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

But a line had formed between her brows and her gaze had gone from his face to his chest and lower. She shook her head slowly and Bishop braced himself. Something had clicked. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t seen him on this porch in over a year. Or something he’d said, or his tone, had set off a memory. If it all came flooding back, he could be gone in two minutes. He’d simply find his shoes and be on his way. He had no desire to hang around and argue, which seemed to be all he and Laura had done those last few months.

Her head slanted to one side. “Why are you wearing yesterday’s shirt?” Her frown eased into a reproving grin. “Anyone would think you don’t have a change of clothes.”

What could he say? He didn’t live here anymore. He wouldn’t find any clothes in what had once been his wardrobe. If he’d gotten to the shops in time and had bought a couple of shirts …

But this kind of thing was bound to happen. He wouldn’t try to explain. He’d simply show her his empty wardrobe and let her memory take it from there.

So they walked back inside the house, down the hall, back into the bedroom, and while she pulled up the sheets to make the bed, he stood before his former wardrobe doors. Holding himself firm, he eased out a long breath.

Do it. Just do it.

His fingers curled around the knob. And pulled.

What he found inside left his legs feeling like rubber. His jaw dropped, and he stepped closer.

Clothes hung from the rails. But not just anyone’s clothes. His clothes. Suits and shirts, trousers and jeans. He held his brow. This didn’t make sense. Yes, he’d left everything behind. He’d had clothes enough back at the Darling Harbor apartment. He didn’t need anything here. Didn’t need anything to remind him.

But he’d assumed that once he’d gone Laura would have bundled up his clothes and shipped them off to charity. Or burned them. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of all this like she’d gotten rid of him?

“Need some help?”

Her voice, coming from directly behind, found a way through the fog. A moment later, her palms were sculpting over his shoulders and arms. As the contact lit fires all through his body, instinctively he leaned back into her touch. She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades and as her grip hardened on his upper arms, he closed his eyes and tried to stay lucid.

“Of course, we don’t have to wear anything at all,” she purred, and her hands filed down his arms, arrowing over his hips, finally finding and wrapping around the weight confined beneath his trousers.

A whirlwind of darkest desire spiraled through him. His hand covered hers and pressed in as his mind went deliciously blank but for the need to have her again. To drown in her kisses and fill her with his—

Coming to with a jolt, Bishop pried her hand away. Clamping down on the frenzied heat racing through his veins, he turned to her and forced his mouth to curve into a breezy smile.

“You’re certainly persuasive.”

“And you are dying to say yes.” Her gaze heavy with want, she reached up on tiptoe and tugged his bottom lip with her teeth.

A fireball shot to the top of his inner thighs and ignited a very short fuse. When she drew a line around his unshaven jaw and her mouth opened over his, Bishop shuddered and leaned into her kiss. With lava flooding his veins, every cell in his body cried out for more. Then her mouth opened wider, inviting him in deeper. Wanting to possess her, his hands found her shoulders and drew them in.

She tasted the same. Felt the same. And now he knew he was the same hungry man who craved to be with his wife.

She hummed in her throat and the vibration released bright-tipped sparks in his belly that unleashed an inferno a few inches below that. Instinctively, one hand left her shoulder and searched out her breast. As his touch grazed the soft, pert mound, his tongue dipped deeper, running over hers, and any sense of right or wrong vanished beneath the blistering force of mutual need.

Her hands were fanning beneath his shirt, but when he rolled her nipple between finger and thumb, she found his other hand and set it low on her belly. His fingers speared down. She wore no panties. He felt her damp and ready beneath the satin of her negligee. Pushed to his limits, he groaned against her lips.

“This always felt so right.”

“Make love to me, Bishop,” she murmured back.

“You don’t know how much I want to.”

“Oh, but I do.”

He felt her grin against his lips as her palm slid down his side and the pressure built to flashpoint.

He was ready to forget that this wasn’t real … was ready to drop her back onto the bed and enjoy what she offered in a very real way. And yet …

Still holding her, he sucked down a breath and, struggling, got his thoughts together.

“I … think we should stop.”

Her tongue ran along his bottom lip. “Don’t think.”

Good God, but someone had to.

Gritting his teeth, he pried her a little away. “The doctor said—”

“I don’t care what the doctor said.”

“Listen to me,” he growled. “We aren’t doing this.”

Her head came back and she probed his eyes for a long searching moment. “Is it because you think I’ll ask you not to use protection? That I want us to make a baby now?”

Well, that was as good an excuse as any. Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin. “Let’s cool down, have a shower—”

Her eyes flashed. “Fabulous idea!”

“—alone. We’ll have something to eat. You must be hungry. And later …” Later? He promised, “We’ll discuss it.”

And they would. If any conversation could bring her around—bring them both around—it’d be one highlighting the risks associated with her falling pregnant.

Four

Thirty minutes later, Laura’s high-pitched cry, coming from the bedroom, sent the hairs on Bishop’s scalp standing on end and his feet hurling him out of his chair. His heart belting against his ribs, he tore through the open glass sliders, slammed through the main sitting room and bolted down the hall.

What the hell had happened?

When Bishop had stepped out of the shower earlier, he’d heard the main bedroom pipes still running. Laura loved her baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.

After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.

Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.

Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather … excited.

“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”

He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”

“These.”

She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.

“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”

He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off …

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.

But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then she’d hiccupped back a sob and said that she meant it. That he could pack his things and leave. Leave now. She couldn’t take this anymore and neither could he.

“Now it’s the weekend you can wear yours, too,” she was saying.

He came back to the present and his frown deepened. She was talking about his wedding ring?

“I understand you can’t wear it during the week,” she went on. “I know how you like to keep your hand in at the factory and accidents can happen. Rings can get caught. But on the weekends …” She bounced up and snatched a kiss from his cheek. “It’s only you and me.”

Over a year ago, he’d left his wedding band here. Actually, he’d thrown it in the fireplace before he’d stomped off. He’d always imagined that she’d built a roaring fire and had happily watched the gold circle melt into a shapeless blob. So how was he supposed to assure her that he’d wear it now?

But then her other hand came out, fist closed, palm up. When her fingers peeled back, the gold band he’d tossed into the fireplace a year ago gleamed up.

His heart lurched up the back of his throat. Dumbfounded, he shook his head. It couldn’t be.

Carefully, he collected the ring and inspected the inscription inside. Always and Forever.

His voice sounded as if it’d been dragged through molasses. “Where did you find them?”

“Where I always put them,” she said, studying both her rings and the gold band lying in the centre of her palm. “In my jewelry box.”

His stunned gaze went from the ring to his wife’s—his ex-wife’s face. Her jewelry box? Had she dug the ring out of the fireplace after he’d gone? There was no other explanation. And yet whenever he thought about the hurt and frustration, how he’d believed every loaded word that she’d said—

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” she asked.

Bishop opened his mouth, ready to say no way. The divorce was done and dusted, no matter what she might think. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a way out. He could hedge but what would that accomplish? Only suspicion on her part. Agitation on his.

She’d remember soon enough. Until then …

He gave a stilted nod, lifted his left hand and Laura held the band over his fingertip, ready to push it on. For a moment his thoughts wavered. What does it matter? Then, This has gone far enough. But then the ring pushed up over his knuckle and Laura’s eyes were sparkling all the more.

Grace had implied this might be a second chance. The idea had seemed absurd yesterday, particularly coming from his arch nemesis. And yet this morning, being back in this house, spending the night in that bed, having this ring on his finger …

Bishop shook himself.

No. It was crazy. Not possible.

Not happening.

“What would you like to do today?”

His gaze jumped from his finger to her beautiful animated face. The lilac-colored top she wore was cut tastefully but, to his current way of thinking, provocatively low.

He swallowed deeply. “What did you have in mind?”

“Want to teach me to play chess? You said you would.”

He’d already taught her and she’d proven a quick study. He’d thought about letting her win a couple of times, but she was too clever to fool that way. She’d vowed that she’d beat him fair and square one day. If they sat down at that chessboard now, would she remember the moves he’d taught her, or had that part of her memory been wiped clean, too?

He ushered her into his office, to the chess set he’d left behind. “What do you know about the game?”

“There are bishops.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Right.”

“White moves first.”

“Right again.”

Maybe she did subconsciously remember their lessons, which, most likely, meant she would remember more. And that was good, right?

He twirled that band around his finger—still a perfect fit—and sat behind the black. She took the chair behind the white.

He tapped the piece sitting directly in front of the black king. “This is a pawn.”

“They move one space at a time.”

“Only forward.”

“Except when taking a piece, then they move diagonally.”

“Perhaps we should do away with the lesson and start a game.”

She laughed and the sound tinkled through him. “Oh, Bishop, everyone knows that.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know the castle—”

“Rook.”

“—gets to move across and up and down. That the horse is the prettiest piece and the queen is the most powerful.”

He relaxed back in his seat. That was more like it. “That doesn’t sound very technical.”

“Tell me … is it as difficult to play as everyone says?”

“Only if you can’t guess the other person’s move before they make it.”

He knew what came next in their game … every step, every misfire, after she’d let him know she’d changed her mind and wanted to conceive their own child, irrespective of any health concerns.

No matter the challenge he’d met it head-on, strategized, worked out the kinks and had always stayed one step ahead. Except where their marriage had been concerned. And that black mark had always stung. Always would.

Unless …

Puzzled, Laura was looking over the board. “Know the person’s move before they make it? How are you supposed to do that?”

He shaped two fingers down the sides of the black queen. “By skill,” he said, “and luck. And sometimes even by accident.”

When Bishop had to take a phone call midway through their first chess lesson, Laura decided to stretch her legs. She headed off to the kitchen, poured a drink and told herself that getting a handle on the basics of the game shouldn’t be too difficult. And once she was up to speed, no doubt Bishop would enjoy the competition.

She’d spent time playing cards whenever she’d been in the hospital in the cardio ward—sometimes with the nurses if she couldn’t sleep, more often with the other kids. But, before yesterday’s incident, she hadn’t spent time in a hospital bed in years. She’d had a defibrillator fitted and was on a low dosage medication, which kept her well.

The condition had been passed on through her mother’s side. An aunt had died unexpectedly in her teens and that’s when the family had been tested and the condition diagnosed. But Laura suspected that Bishop’s own family history had as much, if not more, to do with his pro-adoption stand.

He’d been the twin who’d survived and she didn’t need to ask if he felt guilty about it. Bishop had told her briefly about the story surrounding his birth and the subsequent death of his baby brother. When she’d tried to delve deeper, he’d withdrawn, other than to say he’d heard enough about it from his parents growing up. Laura had envisaged a boy fighting not to be overshadowed by his mother’s and father’s ongoing grief. But Arlene and George Bishop had seemed pleasant enough, even welcoming, at their wedding. They’d said how proud they were of their only son and that they wished they lived closer; they’d moved clear across the country to Perth five years ago. But they intended to keep in touch and had asked that the newlyweds do the same. Laura got the impression there wasn’t so much of a rift between parents and son as a gradual drifting apart that had, over time, come to be accepted.

Conversely, she and Grace had been so very close, to each other and to their parents. The sisters were devastated when first their father had died in a vehicle accident then cancer had taken their mum—a melanoma discovered too late. But as much as the sisters still figured in each other’s lives, it was no secret that Bishop thought Grace wielded too big of an influence over Laura.

But what was too much? They were close, always had been. Grace had her own family—a four-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl—but she’d always let Laura know she was welcome in her home at any time for any reason. If Grace had been a little outspoken about her concerns before the wedding, it was because she believed no one loved and cared for her sister more than she did.

If Bishop’s twin had lived, perhaps Bishop would better understand the sisters’ situation. They said twins shared a special connection. Maybe Bishop was somehow aware of that connection and missed it more than he knew.

When she’d finished her ice water and Bishop was still on the phone, talking about the sale of something or other, Laura decided to take in some fresh air. She’d had enough of chess for one day.

Outside, the sun spread a warm golden hue over the spires of the eucalypts and pines. She peeled off her cardigan and, marveling at their balance, studied a koala and her baby dozing high up in the fork of a tree. Beyond that clump of gray-green trees lay the rock bricks and planks that made up the northern footbridge.

Her stomach gave a mighty kick. She winced and slid her foot back.

The fall—before and after—she couldn’t recall, but it’d be a long while before she crossed that bridge again. Had she been trying to see something over the edge? Had a lizard scuttled up and scared her from behind? Had she slipped on the dew—

A flash—a fuzzy freeze frame—flicked on in her mind. The image … She couldn’t hold on to it long enough, but the residue of the pain hit her first in the lungs and then lower. Holding her belly, she flinched. When she opened her eyes, her brow was damp with perspiration. She eyed the bridge, shuddered to her toes, and promptly set off in the other direction.

She was headed toward the gazebo when Bishop caught up. The planes of his face were hard in their naturally attractive way, but his blue eyes shone with relief. His hands caught her bare shoulders and urged her near. The heat of his touch, the sincerity in his eyes, left her feeling warm and loved all over.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said in a low, graveled voice. “I was worried.”

“It looked so beautiful out here and I didn’t know how long you’d be on that call. It sounded important.”

His hands slid down her arms then dropped away altogether. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he answered. “I’m thinking of selling the company.”

Laura’s breath caught. She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He was so proud of what he’d built from scratch. He had plans to expand even more.

“When did this happen?”

“I’ve been mulling over it for a while.”

But selling his company was unthinkable. He was so ca pable and responsible … still she had to ask the obvious question. “Are you in financial trouble?”

He began walking down a slate path lined with gold and lavender wild flowers. “Just thinking I might want to try something new.”

“Do you think you’d be away from home more often? Not that it would matter,” she added quickly. “I’d be okay. It’s just if you were … well, I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. Someone to keep me company through the day.”

He nodded slowly, considering. “I think a dog is a good idea.”

“Really?”

He smiled. His eyes were so bright in the spring sunshine, they glittered like a pair of cut jewels. “We’ll do some research.”

The urge overtook her. She threw her arms around him and kissed his bristled cheek. She loved his weekend shadow, the sexy roughness against her lips, the graze when he gifted her one of his delectable morning kisses.

“For some reason I thought you’d say no.”

“What will you call him?” he asked, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as they continued down the sweet-smelling path that led to the gazebo. The white lattice was patterned with a riot of cardinal creeper blooms, deep vibrant scarlet in color. Beautifully fragrant, too.

“I’d have to see him, or her, first,” she told him. “I’ve never thought you could name a member of the family until it arrived.”

On their way up to the gazebo platform, his step faltered and Laura gnawed her lip. As lead-ins went, it’d been a clumsy one, but they had to talk about it sometime.

When he sat down on the surrounding bench, she positioned herself close beside him and folded a fallen lock away from his brow.

“I don’t want us to be afraid of what might go wrong,” she said, “when it has to be better to think about everything that can go right.”

When he only looked away, Laura chewed her bottom lip again. After considering her next words, she delivered them as carefully as she could.

“I know it must have been hard when your brother died.”

“We were newborns,” he said, his brow creasing as he found her gaze. “And that has nothing to do with us.”

“I was only trying to talk—” But the line of his jaw was drawn so tight, his eyes suddenly looked so shuttered. Knowing when to back off, she ordered her locked muscles to relax. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Bishop drove a hand through his hair and groaned. She was dead-on. He didn’t like discussing his twin. It dredged up feelings he’d rather not entertain. Feelings of guilt and helplessness and, the real kicker, loss.

But looking at Laura and her bowed head now, Bishop felt something inside of him shift. They’d never really talked about it during their marriage. If she wanted to discuss it now, hell, maybe he ought to. Perhaps something would tip off her memory and he would be on his way—out of the damnable bittersweet mess.

“We were identical,” he began, letting his threaded hands fall between his open thighs. “I got most of the nourishment before we were born. The other twin—”

“Your brother.”

“—died four days later.”

“And you feel bad about that.”

He felt an urge to explain that it wasn’t his fault. That was life and his parents had never held it against him. But they had been the half truths he’d told her the first time.

Hell, his parents had made him live through that time every birthday, every Christmas, first day of school, on Easter egg hunts, at graduation. If only your brother were here. How sad your twin isn’t at your side today.

Okay. He got it. He respected their regrets and dedication to the son they’d lost. But just for once in his life he’d have liked to achieve and be noticed without mention of that incident.

He blew out a breath and admitted, “Yeah. If ever I think about it, I feel … bad.”

Laura was nodding. “My mother felt bad about passing on her heart condition. Until I told her I was so grateful she had me and if the price was having a metal bit in my chest and taking some medication, that wasn’t too high.”

“But when you were conceived your mother didn’t know the risk.” He and Laura had been aware. Therefore they’d had a duty to act responsibly.

“I’m glad my mother didn’t know about her condition,” Laura said. “And she admitted she was glad she didn’t, either. She always said her children were her life.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. What mother wouldn’t be proud to have such a beautiful daughter? And Grace? Well, Grace might be a witch but, after her comment yesterday about second chances, the vote was out. Even if it was too little too late. He wished they’d had her support when it mattered.

“And all this,” he said, getting to the heart of the matter, “is leading up to the fact that you want to have a family the old-fashioned way.”

Her eyes glistened with innocent hope. “I really do.”

The last time they’d had this conversation almost two years ago, he’d agreed. Laura had been thrilled and within weeks had confirmed her pregnancy. It should have been all rainbows and happy families from there on in.

Far from it.

He didn’t know which had been worse. Watching his mother trying to hide her pain for years after his brother had died, or going through Laura’s pain after her miscarriage. If he’d stuck to his guns and had said it was adoption or nothing, would she have told him to go? Or would they be happy now with a healthy baby, a healthy past, present and, hopefully, future?

“So … what do you think?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to shut down the conversation once and for all, but then he saw the hope swimming in her eyes and the steam went out of his argument. He held his breath, considered the options.

There weren’t any.

“I think …”

Her lips curved up. “Yes?”

“I think we need to think about it more,” he ended.

Her smile wavered and her eyes dulled over, but then the disappointment faded from her expression, replaced by the inherent optimism he’d always loved.

She pointed her white-sandaled toes out and flipped them prettily in the air.

“The Nutcracker’s playing in town,” she said, changing the subject. “Tonight would be sold out but I wonder if we could get tickets for tomorrow.”

The ballet?

The last time they’d gone they’d had an argument. One of his more notable clients and his wife had witnessed the scene. Bishop wasn’t a fan of tutus and tights at the best of times. After that night he’d sworn never to sit through another Fouetté en tournant as long as he lived.

Sensing his reluctance, Laura let her toes drift down. “I know ballet’s not your thing …”

“No, it’s not. But it is yours,” he added.

Going to Sydney tomorrow evening would leave them with another twenty-four hours in this environment. If a few lightbulbs went off … if he were lucky … Hell, they might not get to the ballet at all.