Jordan had told me all about him—how much he was worth, how crazy he was about me, how sexy he was—but she'd definitely understated that last part because this guy was off the charts hot. Always dressed in a shirt and tie, he appeared stiff and stuffy, but it hadn't taken me long to fall under his spell, as I guessed many women did. Those milk chocolate brown eyes that always seemed to be watching me made my legs go weak when he stared at me, even if he was looking for something in me that I may never remember.
The thought that he and I had been so in love that we'd planned to get married and now none of that existed anymore made my heart hurt. Every time he was near me I felt his loss. It was like a heaviness that emanated from him. He tried so hard to hide it, but it was no use. It covered every inch of him like a cloak of sadness he couldn't shake.
He was a stranger to me in many ways, but even without a memory of everything we'd been, something inside me yearned to be next to him, to touch him. Maybe there was some memory of him deep in my mind that I hadn't found yet but still knew what he'd meant to me.
I looked around my room and couldn't help admit it was beautiful. Designed with the finest fabrics and furnishings, he'd spared no cost with this room, much the same as with the rest of the house. I'd noticed that my bedroom was nearly a replica of his on the other side of the house. Was this intentional? Had he had this room redone while I was in the hospital or had this room always looked like his?
I padded over to the desk to smell the enormous bouquet of pink roses that filled the room with the most delicious fragrance. Pink flowers had always been my favorite ever since I was a child, and the mere fact that I remembered that made me happy. That I seemed to not be able to remember anything of the last four years was still incredibly depressing, but remembering my love of pink roses was something.
Tristan's remembering made me even happier. I couldn't explain why, but I already felt drawn to him. Was it because I knew he loved me, even though I couldn't say the same? I didn't know, but his thoughtfulness with the flowers made me feel cherished for the first time in a long time.
I hadn't noticed before, but there was a small envelope attached to the white silk bow around the flower stems. Slipping the card out, I read Tristan's note.
All my love,
Tristan
As I stood there holding that card, I had the strongest sense of déjà vu. I closed my eyes and struggled to grasp at a shred of an idea of what it meant, but after a few minutes, I gave up in frustration. It felt like there was something, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
Inhaling the sweet scent of roses one last time, I took the card with me and placed it on the night table, reading it once more before I turned out the light. All my love, Tristan. Rolling onto my back, I stared up in the darkness at the ceiling and thought about how many times I'd wished some great guy would feel just this kind of love for me and nothing had happened. He'd either never noticed I even existed or like others, had taken what they could until they grew tired of me.
Them I remembered. The ones who cared nothing were as clear in my mind as my own name. Tristan left roses and cards professing his love, and he was a total stranger.
Sometimes life sucked.
Reaching over to my night stand, I picked up the card with Tristan's handwritten note and pressed it to my lips. If only I could remember...
Then a thought came to me. Maybe he would know why I'd had that feeling of déjà vu when I'd read his card. I walked over to his side of the house and nervously knocked on his bedroom door. He had said if I needed anything I should find him, so I hoped maybe he wouldn't have a problem with me knocking on his door at night.
Idiot, the man says he loves you. He's not going to mind you coming by.
The door opened and there he stood in nothing but black silk pajama bottoms. I nearly passed out from the sight, and every word I would have wanted to say evaporated from my mind to make room for every sexual thought that could fit. God, he looked incredible!
As my eyes roamed up and down his toned, muscular body, I saw the tribal tattoo that sat above his left pec and traveled down his gorgeous left bicep to his elbow. That someone like him had a tattoo at all surprised me, but with a body like his, he should have had tattoos over every last inch of him.
And then the truth dawned on me: I'd slept with this man. I'd touched that body. There was no way in a just world I'd have forgotten that. No way. God, life really did suck sometimes.
"Nina, is everything okay?" he asked as if he were standing there like he normally did, all dressed and covered and exuding just his normal level of sexy, not the so-sexy-I-wanted-to-jump-him level he had going on at that moment.
My mind was filled with ideas about six-packs, whatever they called that cut near a well-built man's hipbones and how incredible Tristan's pants looked as they sat just under those cuts, and every indecent idea I'd ever had about what I would do with my tongue if I had the chance to touch a body like Tristan's. I couldn't talk. Suddenly, my mouth felt parched, and I licked my lips just to enable me to try to form words. It wasn't going to be easy with him standing there like that.
"I...you...I thought I remembered something," I stammered out.
Smooth. This was why hot guys never wanted me, I suspected.
Through all that super hot sexiness came excitement like a child on Christmas morning. His deep brown eyes lit up at the sound of my words and a genuine smile broke out on his face. "You remembered something?"
Nodding, I lifted up his card. "I think so. When I read your note, I had the clearest case of déjà vu."
He stepped back to let me past, and I walked in to stand in the middle of the room, unsure if I should sit on the bed or on the chair near the window. Tristan stood behind me for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to do either, and then sat down on the bed in front of me.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asked as he looked up at me with an almost innocent look. Almost.
This wasn't going to be easy. I nodded and sat down beside him, all the while attempting to keep my gaze focused on his face instead of everywhere else on his body. Talk about an impossible task!
"Something in my note made you remember something?" he asked as he took the card from me, his fingers grazing mine and making my skin dance with excitement.
"Yeah. I can't put my finger on it, but I felt like there was something."
Without saying a thing, he stood from the bed and walked over to the dresser to open a drawer. He pulled something out, and I saw as he returned to sit next to me that he had a small stack of papers in his hand.
"These are letters and notes I wrote you."
I took them and opened the one that sat on top of the pile. They weren't in chronological order because the first one talked of my moving into his room. The next one was far more businesslike and talked of my job. Right there on his bed, I sat and read through our past together, not remembering anything more but so wishing I would.
More than anything else, Tristan's notes and letters told me we were happy. Two people in love and happy. His handwritten words touched me. Never as flowery as some women might want, they were very much him telling me he cared.
Finally, when I'd read each letter, some more than once, I looked up and saw him watching me intently. He looked so interested in me and how his letters made me feel. I couldn't figure out if I wanted to smile or cry. They were beautiful and sexy and unlike anything any man had ever given me. So simple yet so personal.
"Did I write you any letters, Tristan?"
He grinned a sexy smile. "No. You preferred to speak instead of write."
"And you didn't? Strong silent type, I guess?"
"I prefer to express myself in ways I can control."
His answers intrigued me, so I pressed further. "And you can't control your mouth?"
His eyes darkened, and he slid his tongue over his bottom lip. "It's not my mouth I can't control."
I had no doubt about that. Even more, I had no doubt that I wanted to know more about his mouth. And every other part of him.
"Oh. So what can't you control?"
"Let's just say you do things that make me not have the control I prefer."
His voice was deep and made me want to hear him speak more. "Tell me about what I was like with you."
My words sounded almost like they were begging. Maybe I was. I wanted to know the person he'd fallen in love with—the woman who had made such an incredible man fall for her. Was I still that woman? Or had she been replaced by some cipher who clung to any shred of thought that could attach her to the present in the hopes that it would help her remember the past four years?
"Honest. I never had to guess how you felt."
That was definitely me. I probably told him I loved him before he told me. Honest wasn't terribly sexy, though, usually.
"Did you like that? I can be incredibly difficult with my honesty, if I remember correctly."
He looked away and then back at me with a changed look in his eyes. "I loved it."
"Don't get too many people telling you the truth, huh? Most people don't like hearing it."
"Most people don't tell me anything."
"What do you mean?"
He seemed to think about how he wanted to answer before he finally said, "My work life is one in which very few people speak to me during the day. Most people who want to get to me instead deal with assistants and managers."