Million-Dollar Amnesia Scandal (6 page)

All he needed was to see her alone to outline his plan.

He lifted his hand to knock a third time, but the door was pulled open and he was presented with April, luscious, hair mussed, a robe tightly sashed at her waist, her cheek still creased with pillow marks. He dragged in a lungful
of air as his body roared to life. She'd just left her bed. It would still be warm with her body heat. His heart thumped hard against his ribs. How would she react if he kissed her? Walked her backward to that still-warm bed, laid her down, pushed her into the mattress with his own body weight?

Unable to stop himself, he reached out, gently running his thumb down her rosy cheek, cupping the side of her face with his palm. Her skin was smooth, silken. Sensuous.

“Seth,” she said, her voice husky.

The sound of her voice startled him, as if rousing him from a dream. He dropped his hand and took a deliberate step back—away from the almost unbearable temptation of her.

He cleared his throat, trying to also clear his mind. “I'm sorry for the early hour.”

April's knuckles, still gripping the brass doorknob, whitened. Eyes wary, as if she wanted to slide behind the protection of the door, she held herself firm. She had courage, this woman. When she spoke, her voice was steady. “I'm guessing you wanted to see me without being overheard by my minder.”

“Actually, yes.”

“I can understand. She's quite determined.” Her hand on the doorknob relaxed, as if she was more confident knowing they were discussing her mother. “She never lets her guard down, rarely lets me out of her sight.”

Seth came to attention. “Is she a problem?”

“She means well,” April said after a small hesitation.

He wasn't as sure of that, but he let it go for now. “Have you had any progress with your memory?”

She sighed and pulled her robe's sash tighter, probably not realizing that it pulled more firmly across her breasts. “At first I thought it might help to have her here. That I
might remember something about her, or that her memories of our time staying here might prompt something.”

He'd hoped the same. He reached for the steaming espresso shot and sipped it to stop his hands from grasping her and enfolding her in his arms.

“But it hasn't?” he said over the rim of the small cup.

“She talks so much about what we did, and my father, that I'm worried that anything I do start to remember will be something she's accidentally planted in my head, instead of a true memory.” She shrugged one shoulder—which also pulled the fabric of her robe tighter, but he tried not to let his eyes linger.

“I'm sorry.” Perhaps letting her mother stay hadn't been the right thing to do. He could fix that. “Would you like me to send her away?”

She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I think I can deal with my own mother. But thank you for your offer, Saint George.”

The sight of her smile so radiant made something in his chest constrict, and he couldn't suppress a return smile. “Well, if the dragon becomes too much, just say the word and I'll ride in on my white steed.”

“I appreciate it.” She chuckled. “So, is that why you woke me so early?”

He set his cup down on the side table and rubbed a hand over his chin. “I have a proposition that I think will suit us both. But I need time to outline it to you without worrying about interruptions.”

“Sounds intriguing.” Her warm brown eyes sparkled.

Everything within him demanded he release the sash at her waist and make those sparkling eyes burn with the scalding heat he knew was within her. Knowing that resisting the urge was the right thing to do was cold comfort, but he resisted nonetheless.

When he trusted himself to speak again, he said, “Can you get away tonight? I'll take you out on the yacht and we'll have dinner.”

She bit down on her lip, but the smile peeped through anyway. “No chance of dragons appearing. You're not taking any chances, are you?”

“I've seen her in action. I think only the presence of a moat around our dinner venue will be enough.”

She laughed then, fully and without restraint. Such a beautiful sound; and more, it made his heart kick up to see her so relaxed—for a few moments she wasn't worrying, just being. And when her laugh ebbed to a natural end, her eyes still shone bright with the joy.

“What time?” she asked.

Seth had to drag his mind away from her laugh, her mouth, and remember what they were talking about. The yacht. Tonight. Dinner. “Seven o'clock.”

She reached for the doorknob again, either because the conversation was coming to an end or because she'd read the thoughts in his eyes. Then she nodded. “I'll meet you down at the dock. It'll be easier to slip away if I'm alone.”

“I'll look forward to it,” he said—wishing he wasn't looking forward to it quite so much—and watched her face disappear as she closed the door.

A
pril followed the path to the dock at five minutes to seven, nerves squirming in her stomach. It was a warm night, so she'd chosen a silky violet dress that felt soft against her skin, and brought a thick shawl in case the breeze picked up out on the water.

Up ahead, Seth stood staring out to sea, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his black trousers, the fabric of his crisp, white shirt draping his back. As she drew near he turned, and even from this distance she saw a fire ignite in his eyes.

The heat of that same fire burst to life down low in her belly, kicking her pulse into overdrive. She stopped on the path. Was it wise to be out on the water alone with him at night, when they were so combustible?

A movement caught her eye. Another man busily moving around on one of the three yachts at the dock, in what looked like steps to prepare to sail. She sighed with
relief. They wouldn't be alone. Of course. A man like Seth would have staff for the menial tasks wherever he went. She continued walking down the path, partly disappointed, but mainly relieved.

No, she corrected herself,
completely
relieved.

Seth didn't smile when she reached him, didn't seem pleased to see her. The tightly leashed emotion in his eyes went beyond such superficial feelings.
He was burning alive.
She understood; she was right there with him, standing amidst the scorching flames, heart throbbing painfully, limbs heavy with shackled longing.

“You managed to get away,” he finally said, voice tight.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out, no words formed in her head. She blinked then reined in her recalcitrant body, and tried again. “I told my mother I had a headache and was going to bed. Not terribly imaginative, but it worked.”

He scrutinized her face, as if checking for any underlying truth to her excuse. “Under the circumstances,” he said slowly, “I'm sure a headache was enough to create an effect.”

A wave of guilt for potentially worrying her mother descended onto her shoulders. In her desperation to get away, she'd chosen a quick and easy excuse, which in light of her recent history, could cause unnecessary angst. But she forced herself to brush concern aside—her mother's refusal to give her space even when asked had left no other option. She would make a point of telling her mother in the morning that she felt fine.

Seth extended a hand. “Are you ready?”

The yacht bobbed on the water and she could see the sense in having someone steady her as she stepped aboard. But since she wanted more than anything to feel his touch
again, to be close enough to smell the scent of his skin, it would be far wiser to step on unaided.

As she was deciding, his resonant, deep voice came from beside her. “Not long ago you were working with a physiotherapist to have the strength to walk again. For safety's sake, let me help you board.”

She bit down on her lip and reluctantly conceded his point. “Thank you,” she said as she took his outstretched hand, feeling the slide of his warm, roughened palm across the highly sensitized surface of hers. A shiver passed across her skin. He held tightly, keeping her secure, but the pressure felt like a tug on her soul. Not daring to meet his eyes, she stepped onto the yacht, then released his hand.

It seemed to be about forty feet long, sleek and shiny, with soft lights on the mast. A staircase descended below, but on this level, there was a deck toward the front and a solid canopy housing the controls.

The younger man who'd been checking on ropes earlier appeared. “The food is in a picnic basket downstairs, Mr. Kentrell. Champagne's in the ice bucket, the other drinks are in the fridge. Everything's ready for casting off.”

“Thank you, Jai,” Seth said, approval clear in his voice. The younger man acknowledged the thanks with a smile and left.

As she watched Jai climb back to the dock and get ready to release the rope, her stomach dropped away. She circled her throat with a hand, as if she could fortify herself against reality. “We'll be alone.”

His eyes flicked to her. “Utterly.”

“Oh,” she said on a long breath.

He didn't appear concerned by the prospect, by the danger they courted. He merely raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem for you?”

“It's not for you?”

His chest seemed to rise and fall a little too frequently, but his voice didn't alter. “I didn't want us to be overheard while we discussed my offer.” He glanced to where Jai was waiting to cast off and lowered his voice. “Our arrangements are of a sensitive nature.”

She took a small step back. He was right—the only person who knew the situation was her mother. Even the hotel manager had only been given limited information. Since they'd just gone to elaborate lengths to avoid her mother, bringing a young employee along to witness their negotiations would be counterproductive. On a boat this size there would be no guarantee they wouldn't be overheard.

However, there may be another danger—beyond their obvious flammability—in letting young Jai leave. She folded her arms under her breasts. “Can you sail?”

Seth's features were transformed into mock affront. “Can fish swim?”

“Okay then,” she said, relaxing a fraction and deciding to take this as it came, “show me what you've got.”

Seth stilled—an arm that had been reaching toward the console hung in midair, his torso and limbs frozen. After several beats, he smoothly began to move again, as if he'd never stopped, and spoke over his shoulder. “Since we've acknowledged a certain chemistry between us, it would help if you avoided making double entendres.”

Given that his back was to her, she didn't need to hide the surprised parting of her lips. She hadn't meant the phrase to have a double meaning, it'd just popped out. She'd pulled a tiger's tail and she'd need to be more careful from now on. “Point taken.”

Seth started the engine and busied himself with things that were totally unfamiliar to her. When she'd been playing the piano, ordering from room service or working the
television remote in her suite—things she must have done before she lost her memory—she'd instinctively known what to do. But the yacht was foreign, with its chrome rails, shiny white surfaces and towering mast. She wasn't a sailor, then.

She gravitated to where Seth stood behind a polished wood wheel. “Can I do something?”

After waving a signal to Jai, who released the rope at the front, then the one at the back, Seth spared her a quick glance. “Can you sail?”

“I don't think so,” she said, looking around again. “Nothing here is familiar.”

Seth frowned. “So we don't know if you get seasick, either. I didn't think about you not knowing.”

Seasick? Her mouth dried. She tried hard to see if her body remembered being seasick in the past, but no luck. If it remembered, it wasn't sharing the knowledge with her brain. She could only think of one source for this information. “My mother would know, but asking would have defeated the purpose of the trip.”

They reversed slowly away from the dock and then turned toward the open sea. Seth kept a wary eye on her as he maneuvered the vessel. “How are you feeling now?” he asked when he'd raised the sails and the hotel was growing smaller.

She closed her eyes for a moment, felt the motion of the yacht, but no nausea or unease registered. “I'm probably fine. But perhaps we should avoid large swells and not test the theory.”

“We're not going that far.” He adjusted their course and she saw they were heading north, following the coastline. “There's a place I used to go to have time alone when I was younger. A little bay—no one around, and calm
water, so you should be fine on the way and when we're motionless.”

“Sounds perfect.” It really did. But…if they were isolated, and Seth kissed her again the way he had on the piano, would she have the strength to stop him? Or would that brazen woman who'd pulled him closer emerge again to take control? Her pulse spiked, and she pulled her shawl around her shoulders and wrapped it tight.

Resisting the urge to watch Seth, she sat on one of the cushioned seats and looked out from under the canopy at the night sky. Stars twinkled in an inky blackness and a curved moon shone down. Her hair was back in a braid, but escaping tendrils fluttered around her face in the breeze created by the yacht's movement. She closed her eyes and soaked up the feeling of being out here, away from land, away from people's expectations. It felt like…freedom.

Their direction changed again and she opened her eyes to see a bay up ahead. A rocky shoreline was topped with silhouetted trees, silent and stark. They pulled into the bay and Seth released the sails, stilling them on the water that seemed phosphorescent in the yacht's light.

“What do you think?” he asked from the wheel.

“It's magical.” She stepped out to the softly lit deck at the front and turned in a slow circle, admiring their spot from all angles—until she came back to face Seth, the most stunning view of all.

He smiled, and it was only a small movement of his mouth, but it said so much, as if he was pleased she liked something that was personal to him. Then the expression was gone. “Jai prepared dinner. Would you like to eat first or have a glass of Champagne?”

Suddenly hungry, she grinned. “Both.”

A strong breeze blew his shirt against his torso, outlining shapes that her fingers wanted to trace, and he rubbed at his
chest absently. “Why don't you have a look downstairs at what he packed while I drop anchor and get us sorted.”

She went down the little stairway and found a whole other world. Wood-paneled cupboards and counters, broad lights in the ceiling, and compact dining furniture—all so welcoming and cozy. She spotted the picnic basket and peeped inside. There was enough to keep them fed for a week, but it was the chocolate-coated strawberries that she pulled out to have with the French Champagne she'd spied in the ice bucket. Listening to the rattle of the anchor being dropped, she packed everything she needed into the picnic basket, climbed the stairs, and laid the rug at the flat spot near the front of the deck.

A few minutes later, she knew Seth had come up behind her by the outbreak of goose bumps across her skin. She turned and thrust the Champagne bottle into his hands, almost as a defense. “Would you like to open it?” she asked nervously.

“Sure.” He took the bottle and removed the cork with only a small sound, and without losing the cork. From everything she'd seen of him so far, the action was vintage Seth—the job accomplished with minimal fuss and an efficiency of action. She allowed herself a small smile.

He filled the flutes and handed her one. “Here's to my plan to satisfy us both.”

Before he could clink their glasses, she pulled hers back. “It was your idea to avoid double entendres.”

“Very true.” He cocked his head to the side, and she couldn't tell if he'd said it on purpose or not. Or which option she'd prefer. Then he raised his glass again. “How about, ‘here's to finding a solution that's fair to us both'?”

“Better.” She touched her glass to his, the intimacy reminding her of when their lips had touched, and she shivered.

“Not really,” he said, his mouth curving into a lazy smile, “but it'll do.”

April sipped her Champagne, watching him over the rim of her glass. Watching him watch her with those navy blue eyes that taunted her dreams. Her face warmed and she hoped her blush would be hidden by the night's shadows.

Breaking eye contact, she reached for the dish of strawberries and held it out to him. He took one and slid it into his mouth, eyes not leaving hers as he chewed. She swallowed hard and turned to the railing to gulp some fresh air. It didn't clear her mind.

Every part of her felt him as he came to stand beside her, his back to the view, leaning on the railing. “April, I'm tired of fighting this.” His voice was impossibly deep.

Surely he hadn't meant that how it sounded? That they should let their attraction take its natural course? Her hands trembled and she sipped the sparkling contents of her glass to cover. “You agreed.”

He moved close. Too close. “I was a fool.”

“You had reasons,” she said on a cracked whisper.

Taking her Champagne glass, he put both down on the deck before standing behind her and drawing her back against his chest, arms around her, his hands linked and resting low on her belly. “I can't even remember the reasons,” he whispered against her hair.

Body molded into his, the feel of him pressed along her almost wiped logic from her mind. But she had to try. “I have reasons.”

His hands ran down her sides, shaping her, and the heat of his mouth rested against her ear. “I dare you to name them.”

And then he took her earlobe between his lips, tugging, licking, and she didn't want to fight it anymore, either. She'd spent far too much energy since she'd met him trying
to deny her body's demand for him, trying to ignore the passion he roused in her. She turned, winding her arms up around his neck.

His arms pulled tight, and the hardness of his chest against her breasts, his arousal against her stomach, made her ache for him all the more.

“April,” he murmured between intoxicating kisses along her jawline, “you've been driving me crazy.”

The intimacy of his words, of his husky voice, sent a tremor through her. “Crazy?” she managed to say. “You're too sane, too controlled for that.”

“I left sanity behind days ago. I've barely been able to think of anything but you.” He nipped gently at her bottom lip. “Wanting to taste you again. Not being able to have you.”

Her knees sagged and she leaned into him. “It's been the same for me.”

“Then let's stop fighting it.” Fingertips stroked along her side in the lightest of caresses, sneaking around to just under her breast, not touching the sensitive flesh, but so close that her nipples tightened and a sound suspiciously like a purr escaped her throat.