Thanks, Cash.
I’ll have to think about this, how I can pull this wife thing off. At least until she gets her memory back. I can’t have her escaping.
The island isn’t that big, and she’s from a rich family. She’ll be recognized wherever she goes.
I hate to admit it, but a thrill crackles through my blood. Maybe I have been bored, and nailing Cornaro to the wall, with railroad spikes, is too good an opportunity to pass up.
“Something smells good!”
I twist toward the door leading to the hall and damn near drop my spatula. There’s a rocking body too close for comfort.
Valerie Gerard is a pretty woman. Slender, with subtle curves and long tanned legs. Her hair hangs halfway down her back, a chocolate mixture of layered browns, but it’s her eyes that draw me in.
They’re this unique hazel color that looks almost gold. Her face is exceptional, too, round with high cheekbones and pouty lips. The kind that turns heads for miles around when they curve into a smile.
She takes a hesitant step into the room.
I put down the spatula. “How you holding up?”
“Better now. The bath helped.”
“Sweet. Cash knows his stuff once in a while.” I suck in a breath and try not to lose my eyesight in how pretty she is with her hair no longer matted and stuck to the side of her head.
“I still don’t remember anything.” With a shrug, she adds, “Nothing important, I mean.”
She’s wearing a pink tank top and white shorts, the clothes I’d washed last night and carried into the bathroom for her earlier. They don’t look like they’d been full of seawater, weeds, and blood, now.
Neither does she. The side of her head was still bleeding when I hauled her out of the back of Cash’s car last night.
The doctor in him went straight to work, stopping the bleeding first, then examining her from head to toe. I’d done what I could, but my medical training, the small amount I had in the service, hadn’t been much use aside from getting her dry and comfortable.
Not to mention cleaning up after her middle of the night gut assault.
“Come sit at the bar,” I say. It’s a center island, but I still call it a bar. “Bacon and eggs will be coming right up.”
She walks across the tiled floor to the island and sits in the low-backed stools. “Scrambled?”
I hold my breath for a second. “Yep.”
“Awesome. I always love my eggs scrambled.” She glances up sheepishly. “Another useless thing I remember, I guess. Funny how that works.”
Not half as funny as me just making a blind-ass guess at how she likes her eggs.
It’s time to get this pretend show on the road.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t dream of making anything less than your favorite,” I tell her, turning back to the stove. “You practically chopped my head off the one time I brought you sunny-side up.”
“I didn’t!” she gasps, letting out a loud sigh. “Then again…eww, yolk.”
“Exactly. Got you covered, honey. The best fucking scrambled eggs you ever tasted are coming right up.” I’m only partly exaggerating. I’ve never been shy about taking credit for my cooking skills.
“Did Dr. Cash leave?” she asks.
Not knowing if Cash is sneaking out the back way or not, I drop bread in the toaster before answering, “Actually, it’s Dr. Ivers. His first name’s Cash. He always has fun with that. Telling people to make the check out to Cash.”
“Guilty as charged,” Cash says, entering from the breezeway.
The cat comes flying through the doorway behind him and makes a beeline for Valerie.
Cash and I share a look. I’m sure he’s holding his breath just like I am as she pauses, taking in the big tan beast peppered with spots that’s suddenly butting at her leg. Smiling, she leans over and strokes her hand across its head.
Time stalls.
Part of me hopes the cat triggers her memory. Another part hopes to God not. She’s in no condition to go running, especially with a lethal clean up crew after her. She needs to heal up before remembering that her own brother tried to kill her.
Bastard.
Her trim brows knit together as she looks up at me, and then down at the cat again. I can almost see the wheels in her head turning.
Cash must too, because he lurches forward. “That was my best pickup line for years. Whenever somebody asked who to make the check to, I’d answer with My best friends call me Cash.”
She grins politely his way, then frowns again as she looks back down at the cat.
The toaster pops.
My insides jump like I just heard a gunshot. I spin around, grab the toast, and butter it. Then pile a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast, and slide it across the counter to her. I open a drawer and hand her a fork and knife.