Into His Private Domain

When the tears finally ran out, she picked up a fluffy sponge and squirted it with herbal soap from a fancy bottle inscribed in French. The aroma was heavenly.

Twenty minutes later she forced herself to get out and dry off. Gareth’s T-shirt hung to her knees, half exposing one of her shoulders. The woman in the mirror appeared waifish and very much alone.

She took a few minutes to wash out her undies and hang them on a brass towel rod to dry before returning to the bedroom. In her absence, Gareth had left several items on the bedside table. A pair of thick woolen socks, a tumbler of water with two pain pills and a copy of Newsweek. She wasn’t sure if the latter was for entertainment or edification.

She put on the socks, and for the first time all day, felt a glimmer of humor at how ridiculous she looked. Even with no memory, she knew that a man like Gareth had his pick of women. He might be surly and prickly, but he exuded a potent masculinity that any female from eighteen to eighty would have to be blind not to notice.

Though her accommodations were worthy of the finest resort, sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned, even when the medication dulled the ache in her leg and her head. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered waking up in Gareth’s bed and seeing two strange men staring down at her with varying degrees of suspicion.

Why had she come to Wolff Mountain? What did she hope to accomplish? Was her father involved in something dishonest? The questions tumbled in her brain faster and faster, erasing any hope of slumber.

Finally, when the crystal clock on the bedside table read two-thirty, Gracie climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the door. It wouldn’t hurt to explore the house. She’d seen very little of it so far. Maybe there was something out there that would jog her memory.

And besides, she was hungry. With her heart beating like a runaway train, she eased open the door to the hall.

Gareth knew the moment she left her room. He’d always been a light sleeper, at least as an adult, and even the faint whisper of Gracie’s soft footsteps was enough to wake him. His frequent insomnia was the penance he paid for defying his father’s wishes and enlisting in the military. A five-year stint in the army had taught Gareth that deep sleep could be fatal. It served him right for giving his father such grief.

Gareth crept down the hallway, following the muffled trail of sounds. He found his houseguest in the kitchen. At first, her mission was prosaic. She poured a glass of milk and consumed it with a chunk of cheddar cheese and a slice of bread.

When she was finished, she carefully washed her glass and saucer and placed them back in the cabinet. Gareth grinned. Did she think she was erasing any record of her nocturnal wanderings?

His amusement faded when she approached the laptop on the built-in desk. All important files were password protected, but a knowledgeable hacker could cause mischief even still. Gracie sat in the swivel chair, tucked her feet on the rungs and began to hit keys with a sure touch.

He worked his way around the adjoining room until he was able to approach her from behind. Her head was bent. She was focused intently on the computer screen.

Gareth’s temper surged. He stepped into the room, girded for battle. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Her gasp was audible. She whirled to face him, guilt etched on her face. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to poke your nose into my business… is that it?” He glanced down at the laptop and his jaw dropped. Hell. He hated being wrong.

She shrugged, her expression wry. “Apparently I remember how to play Solitaire.”

“So I see.”

She cocked her head and frowned. “Why would I be poking into your business? Do you think that’s the kind of woman I am?”

He refused to apologize for well-founded suspicion. “I don’t know what kind of woman you are. Therein lies the problem.”

She shut down the game and stood up. “I’ll go back to my room,” she said, every syllable drenched in offended dignity.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” he muttered. “Do whatever you want.” She wore his T-shirt like a centerfold model striking a pose, but he was a hundred percent certain her seductive invitation was unintentional.

As he turned to leave, running from temptation if the truth were told, she stopped him with a beseeching look. “Please tell me about your family… this place. Maybe something you say will trigger a memory.”

“That’s a convenient excuse.” He still wasn’t convinced that Gracie wasn’t a reporter looking for a story. His family had suffered terribly at the hands of the press, the Wolff tragedy and grief offered up for public consumption without remorse. Never again.

Dark smudges beneath her eyes emphasized her pallor. “Please,” she said quietly. “Anything. Tell me anything. I’ve combed my cell phone and I did a Google search on myself and my father. But I didn’t find out much except that we own a gallery.”

In spite of himself, compassion surfaced. “You’re on top of a mountain in the Blue Ridge. My family moved here in the eighties. My uncle and my father live in a huge house at the very peak. My siblings and cousins and I are in varying stages of building homes here as well.”

She frowned. “You all live here together? Like a commune?”

“Not a commune,” he grated. “It’s over a thousand acres. We’re hardly in each other’s pockets.”

“So, more like the Kennedys at Hyannis Port.”

“I suppose. But none of us are in politics, thank God.”

“You’re wealthy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You could say that.” It was damned hard to carry on a conversation when he kept getting distracted by the way her nipples pressed against the soft knit fabric. All he had to do was reach for her arm and pull her against him. The knowledge dried his mouth. He didn’t think she would stop him. Though not any more vain than the next man, he had seen interest in her unguarded gaze earlier in the day.

But he was an honorable man. Damn it.

She frowned. “If I hiked through the woods, how did I know which house was yours?”

“You had an aerial photograph in your bag.” He shrugged. “My place is circled in black marker.”

Now, every last shred of color leached from her face. “So all we know for sure is that I was trespassing and that I wanted something from you.”

“That’s it in a nutshell. And based on the conversation you had with your father, he knows why you came and thinks you’re faking amnesia to get what you want.”

Her lips twisted. “Maybe I don’t want to remember. It sounds like I’m not a very nice person.” She paused. “Why didn’t I simply drive up the road?”

“It’s private. You wouldn’t have gotten past the guard gate without an appointment.”

“Hence my ill-advised hike.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” she said simply.

“For what?”

“For whatever I was going to do. I wish I could remember.”

“When you came to my door, you said you needed to talk to me about something.”

“And then what happened?”

He felt his neck redden. “I may have been a trifle unwelcoming.”

Her mouth fell open, and a flicker of emotion akin to fear flashed in her eyes. “You pushed me off your porch?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. No. Of course not. All I did was tell you to leave. Forcefully. You backed away from me, and…”

“I fell.”