“I don’t know,” she admitted, wishing she felt any sense of kinship with her daughter. She checked on the baby, found him sleeping, then returned to the hall. Nick was waiting for her.
Rain bounced off the skylight far overhead and gurgled in the gutters. “I asked you if you believe Alex.”
“Don’t you?”
“Of course,” she said quickly, unable to face the mind-numbing truth that she didn’t trust her own husband.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze was dark. Stormy. “I’m not sure what to believe.”
“You don’t trust him,” she said as they reached the double doors to the suite. “Why?”
“That’s between him and me.”
“Yes, but I have this feeling that it has a lot to do with me,” she guessed, and saw a flicker of emotion in his gaze.
His gaze dropped to her lips for just a second, then returned to her eyes. “You always were an egomaniac, Marla.”
“Was I?” She managed a nervous laugh that seemed to ring hollowly. “Funny, I don’t remember that.” As she reached for the knob of the door, she shook her head. Exhaustion was taking its toll. She wanted to lie down, go to sleep, and when she woke up, hope this nightmare had vanished.
“What exactly do you remember?” he asked.
“Not enough, but . . . I get glimpses of the past, just tiny flashes, nothing concrete, nothing I can hold on to. Kind of like the spark in a lighter that’s running out of fuel. Just a quick glimmer and then it’s gone even though I try like hell to call it back.” Her gaze swept around the hall with its thick carpet, the dark rail of the stairs, brass light fixtures and porcelain pots of philodendron and ferns. “But I have a feeling that my memo
ry’s coming back,” she said, and tried not to notice the scent of his aftershave, or the dark promise she imagined she saw in his eyes.
“That’s good news.”
“The best.”
His look was intense. Heart-stopping. “I’m pulling for you.”
“Are you?”
He reached forward as if he intended to touch the curve of her face, then let his hand fall to his side. “You bet.”
She felt a sudden rush of unwanted tears but fought them back. What was it about him that when he offered a tiny hint of kindness, she wanted to fall apart like some foolish woman, the kind she disdained? Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she tried to lighten the mood. “That might not be such a good idea, because when I remember everything,” she added, opening the door and stepping through the crack, “everybody, including you, better watch out.”
“What’s gonna happen?”
A wry smile twisted her lips. “In your case, maybe I’ll finally recall what it is that makes you so defensive around me.”
He lifted a dark uncompromising eyebrow. “You know, Marla, some things are best left forgotten.”
“I don’t believe it and neither would you if you were me,” she argued. “Not knowing is pure hell. Pure hell.”
“I suppose.” Again he focused on her lips.
Her pulse jumped stupidly. “Anyway, who knows what I’ll remember? But it could be interesting, don’t you think?”
“That’s one word.”
“And another?”
“Damning.” His eyes searched hers. So blue. So intense. So knowing. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. What was it that bonded them so tightly, yet forced them apart? Staring at the slant of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw, she swallowed hard, felt her mouth turn dry as dust and hazarded a quick glance to eyes as seductive as they were condemning. Oh, God, this was so wrong. And yet . . . There was something, a secret, a deep, erotic secret that she sensed existed between them. Wayward, taboo thoughts of lovemaking crept unbidden through her brain and yet they were fantasies, not memories.
“Good night, Nick,” she said firmly, shutting the door quickly before she said or did anything rash, anything she might regret. This was crazy. Nuts! Nick was her brother-in-law and she was imagining what it would be like to touch him, to kiss him. She’d even gone so far as to tease him, flirt with him for crying out loud. As if it was second nature. What was it about him?
She sagged against the door of the suite. She was a married woman. Married—as in until death do us part. “Stop it,” she chided, kicking off her shoes, then padded to the bathroom where she stripped and splashed cold water over her face. Maybe her fascination with him was the reason there had been problems in her marriage. Maybe she’d had an affair with him after she’d married Alex. Maybe he’d lied and the time-line was vastly different. Maybe . . . oh, God, no . . . maybe her baby was his child, the result of an illicit affair and . . . and . . . And she’d pawned James off as Alex’s.