Into His Private Domain

He was dressed casually in old faded jeans and bare feet. But he had buttoned his top half into a rich burgundy poet’s shirt made of an unusual handwoven fabric. Some men might have appeared ridiculous in such garb. On him, the shirt looked perfectly natural, enhancing his air of confidence and male superiority.

She struggled to conquer panic, postponing the moment of truth. “I need to go to the bathroom.” It galled her that she required his help to stand up. Her injured leg threatened to crumple beneath her, but after a moment, she was able to shuffle to the facilities.

The bathroom was enormous, with a stone-lined, glass-enclosed shower. She caught a sudden mental picture of the mysterious male’s huge body—nude—glistening beneath the spray of water and soap.

Her knees went weak. Despite her distress, she was stingingly aware of her host’s blatant sexuality. She took care of necessities, washed up, and then made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. The image confused her. Good Lord. She was so white her freckles stood out in relief, and her hair was a bird’s nest.

She rummaged without guilt through his drawers until she found a comb. But when she tried to run it through the worst of the tangles, she scraped against her injured skull and cried out at the pain.

He was beside her in an instant, not even making a pretense of knocking. “What is it?” he demanded, his gaze fierce. “Are you sick again?” In an instant he saw what she was trying to do. “Forget your hair,” he muttered, scooping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed.

When she was settled, ice packs back in place, he handed her two pain pills and insisted she wash them down with milk. She felt like a child being soothed by a parent, but everything about her reaction to this strange man was entirely adult. He headed for the door. “Don’t go,” she blurted out, blushing as if he could see her inner turmoil. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He returned to the chair, swinging it around to straddle the seat, and folded his arms across the back. His expression was guarded. “You’re perfectly safe,” he said, his low voice rumbling across her shattered nerves with a tactile stroke. “Jacob says you’ll recover rapidly.”

Any bit of softness she sensed in him moments before had been replaced with almost palpable hostility and suspicion. What in the heck did he have to fear from her?

She picked at the edge of the blanket. “Does your brother live with you?”

He frowned. “Jacob has a house on the property. Why did you come here?”

Her tiny surge of energy abated rapidly, leaving her weak and sick again. She slid down in the bed and turned her head away from him toward the open window. “I don’t know,” she said dully.

“Look at me.”

She did so reluctantly, feeling embarrassed and disoriented.

He frowned. “You’re not making sense.”

She bit her lower lip, feeling the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. “You seem angry. Is it because of me?”

If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it. For the flicker of a second, alarm flashed in his eyes and his white-knuckled fingers gripped the back of the chair. But as quickly as it appeared, the expression went away.

He shrugged. “Not at all. You’ll be on your way soon enough.”

He was lying. She knew it with a certainty that filled her chest with indignation. Her presence in his house was a problem. A big one. She threw back the covers, panicked and agitated. “I’ll go.”

His frown blackened as he straightened the bedding. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re in no shape to go anywhere tonight. Stay in my bed. But tomorrow, you’re history.”

The pain in her head bested her. That and a heart-pounding sense of foreboding. She clenched the edge of the sheet in her hands, fighting hysteria. “Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?” Now his expression was confused.

“Please tell me who I am.”

Two

Gareth narrowed his eyes, trying to disguise his shock. Here it was. The ploy. The act. Part one of whatever scam she was running. She couldn’t be for real… could she?

He kept his expression bland. “Amnesia? Really? We’re going to do the daytime soap opera thing?” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll play along. I’m Gareth. Your name is Gracie Darlington. You’re from Savannah. Jacob and I checked your driver’s license.”

He watched her bottom lip quiver until she bit down on it… hard. She made an almost palpable effort to gather herself. A gifted actress could do as much. But the look of sheer terror in her painfully transparent gaze would be hard to manufacture. She sucked in a ragged breath. “How did I get here? Do I have a car outside?”

He shook his head. “As near as I can tell, you hiked up the mountain. Which is no small feat, by the way. There are no cleared trails at the bottom. Your arms and legs are all scratched.”

“Do I have a cell phone?”

He cocked his head, studying her face. “I’ll check.” The only item she’d had with her when she arrived was the pink carryall Jacob had examined earlier. Gareth rummaged in it without remorse and, in a zippered pocket, found a Droid phone. He turned it on and handed it to her, tossing the tote on the bed beside Gracie. Fortunately the battery seemed to be fully charged. Gracie pulled up the contact screen.

“Well, at least you remember how to do that.” His thick sarcasm made her wince, but she didn’t look at him. Instead she studied the list of names as if she were cramming for a test. Focused. Intent.

When she finally looked up, her beautiful eyes were shiny with tears. “None of these names mean a thing to me,” she whispered. One drop spilled over. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I remember?”

He took the phone from her, squashing a reluctant sympathy. Gareth Wolff was no pushover. Not anymore. “You whacked your head when you fell off my porch. Jacob’s a doctor. He says you’ll be fine.” But Jacob had left before the whole amnesia thing came to light. Damn it.

Gareth scrolled through the contact list himself, not sure what he was looking for. But then it hit him. There was an “I.C.E.” entry. In case of emergency. Edward Darlington… and the word Daddy.

He hit the call key and waited. A man on the other end answered. Gareth spoke calmly. “This is Gareth Wolff. Your daughter took a fall and has been injured. She’s been checked out by a doctor, and she’s going to be fine. But she’s suffering a temporary memory loss. It would be helpful if you could reassure her. I’ll put her on the line.”

Without waiting for an answer, Gareth handed the phone to Gracie.

She eased up into a half-sitting position, resting her back against the headboard. “Hello?”

Gareth sat down beside her, close enough to hear that the voice on the other end was amused. Close enough to catch snatches of conversation.

“Hot damn, my little Gracie. I didn’t think you had it in you. Faking an accident on Wolff property? Pretending to have amnesia? Good Lord, you’ve got him right where we want him. The whole family will be terrified we’ll sue. Phenomenal idea. Nothing like going after what you want whole hog. Brilliant, my girl. Sheer brilliance.”

Gracie interrupted the man’s euphoria. “Father… I don’t feel well at all. Can you please come pick me up and take me home?”

Darlington chortled. “He’s standing in the room with you, isn’t he? And you’ve got to play this out. Splendid. I’ll do my part. Sorry, Gracie. I’m headed for Europe in half an hour. Won’t be back for a week. And the house is a wreck. I told the contractor to go ahead with the remodel since we were both planning to be out of town. You’d have to stay in a hotel if you came back.”

“This isn’t funny,” she muttered. “I’m serious. I can’t stay here. They don’t want me. I’m a stranger.”

“Dredge up their guilt,” he insisted. “They owe it to you to be hospitable. Flirt with Gareth a little. Play on his sympathies. Damsel in distress and all that. Get him to agree to our proposal. We’ll talk next week. I’ve gotta run.”

“No, wait,” she said desperately. “At least tell me if I have a husband or a boyfriend. Anyone who’s missing me.”

Her father’s cackle of a laugh was so loud she had to hold the phone away from her ear. “Of course not. Lay it on thick. I’m loving this. Wish I could see his face. So long now.”

The line went dead. Gracie stared down at the phone, her composure in shreds. What kind of father did she have? Who could be so callous? So blasé about her injuries? Embarrassment and humiliation washed over her in waves, adding to her feeling of abandonment.

She laid the phone aside and managed a weak grimace. “How much of that did you hear?”

Gareth stood up and crossed to the window, his back to her. “Enough,” he said, disgusted with himself and with her. If he had any sense, he would boot her off the property ASAP.

Gracie’s voice wobbled. “He can’t come pick me up right now, because he’s on his way out of the country for a week. But if you’ll make travel arrangements for me, I’m sure he’ll reimburse you.”

Gareth Wolff turned to stare at her with a mixture of suspicion and pity. “He thinks you’re faking amnesia.”