The Second Chance

The warm shower sluicing down her back eased her tensed muscles. The stress came as much from her too-sexy husband as it did from any medical issues.

If only she could hide in the shower forever, just let the water wash away all tensions, all concerns. She would pretend for just a moment her life was simple and uncomplicated as the scent of her shampoo mingled with the aroma from the floral-scented candle she’d lit.

How could she have forgotten her marriage? Had the aneurysm wiped five years from her mind for life? Or was the loss stress-related, not coincidental that the memory loss started at the time she’d met her husband?

Trust was difficult enough for her under normal circumstances. She slid her hand over her stomach.

There was no room for error. The stakes were too high. And she needed to take care of her health, which included rest.

She turned off the shower and stepped out onto the heated floor. A sigh of pleasure slipped free. She definitely didn’t remember these, or any of the other luxuries from this life with Chuck Mega-Wealthy Mikkelson.

Except she was a Mikkelson now, too.

This was all too much to think about.

She should be relaxing. She tugged a towel free and dried off, then wrapped the fluffy cotton around her body. She squeezed water from her hair, making her way into the dressing area.

And slamming into a warm wall of hunky man.

Chuck.

Heat from the floor radiated up to send a flush of awareness through her body. Maybe it had been a bad idea moving in here with him as she waited for a cure for the amnesia. This kind of intimacy, the magnitude of their attraction, all of it so fast was...unsettling.

“Excuse me,” he said, clasping her shoulders, his broad hands launching a tingle of excitement through her breasts. “I was just coming in to get some clothes from our closet.”

Our closet.

She drew in a couple of steadying breaths. “I, uh...” Her mouth went dry. She clutched the towel in a fist between her breasts. She should step away.

Should.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

His thumbs moved along her collarbone. “I thought you were still downstairs in the kitchen.”

The touch scrambled her thoughts and stole her breath.

“I feel bad kicking you out of your bedroom,” she said, her eyes drawn to the vibrant green of his. “I can sleep in the guest room. It’s not like I’ll miss this space since I don’t remember it being mine.”

Theirs. Together.

Her gaze slid past him into the bedroom. How had they spent their time here before she’d become ill?

She looked up to the tray ceiling and toward the black fan. She felt disoriented, spinning and spinning, like the blades circulating heated air. She wondered if she’d ever stop circling around this awareness, this nagging feeling at the back of her mind.

She hated how she looked at the plush bed, with its overstuffed white pillows pressed against a headboard that practically went to the ceiling, and remembered...nothing.

This place felt foreign.

Even the pieces of her life that she recognized—like the antique perfume bottle from her grandmother on the mirrored bedside table—felt out of place. Familiar but not enough to comfort her.

She realized Chuck hadn’t responded. His eyes had been tracking hers as she struggled to deal with this attraction to a man she barely knew.

“I feel bad that things are so awkward between us,” she said.

“There’s no instruction manual for how to deal with this.”

She closed her eyes. Breathed in a hint of his aftershave, which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the chilly day. She opened her eyes. “I’ve turned your life upside down.”

“More like you’re turning me inside out in that towel.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Heat stung her face.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault.” His hands slid down her arms and then away from her body as he stepped back. “Good night, beautiful. Sleep well.”

After the way his touch had felt?

Doubtful her night would be at all restful.

* * *

Chuck stretched back into the stiff off-white chair. He blinked his eyes clear, gearing up for another late night in his home office. The yellow light from the desk lamp dully illuminated the study.

He stacked Shana’s things on the desk, putting her paperwork off to the left side, adjacent to the floral arrangements she’d picked out only four days ago.

Might as well have been in another lifetime.

The prospect of divorce rattled him.

Mikkelsons didn’t fail.

He’d been unable to sleep after walking in on Shana coming out of the shower. Only a couple of days ago they’d been at each other’s throats. Now, desire lit up the room every time they were near.

But he saw the wariness in her eyes. And truth be told, he wasn’t interested in launching himself into the emotional shredder with her. He needed to save their marriage, but he also needed to keep things lighter between them. Surely they could enjoy the chemistry they shared and get back on an even footing in their relationship. Eventually, if this pregnancy came to term, they could also bring up their child.

Chuck shook his head, needing to focus. And not on Shana for the moment. For now, he needed to pay attention to the numbers on the chart in front of him and prepare for his late-night meeting.

He highlighted a few lines and scribbled thoughts off to the side. His messy handwriting populated the second page of the document. His eyes slid from the chart to his watch. 11:30 p.m.

Sure, it was an unconventional meeting time. But everything lately seemed mighty damn unconventional. He fired up his laptop and turned on another light in the office. He looked around at the space—his shared space with Shana—and could see all the memories. How she’d arranged the bookshelf first by genre, then by author. She loved reading. And he’d been happy to help her locate the perfect ladder, the perfect carpenter for the recessed bookshelves, the perfect table desk. A lifetime ago.

A lifetime he might have another shot at.

The ding of Broderick’s conference call interrupted Chuck. Right. Business. Broderick’s uncle Conrad was a night owl, too, so the late time didn’t faze him, either. As for Chuck, he welcomed the chance to throw himself into work for a while, no matter the time. Broderick had set the time for after his daughter was asleep.

The video feed lurched to life, pixels turning smooth. Conrad and Broderick sat in the conference room at the Alaska Oil Barons, Inc., office, clean-cut and ready.

No Jack Steele this go-around. Just his second-in-command, Broderick, Jack’s eldest son. And Jack’s brother Conrad stepping in to consult.