Passionate Pregnancies: Enticed by His Forgotten Lover / Wanted by Her Lost Love / Tempted by Her Innocent Kiss

She shrugged. “Quite frankly all I wanted was a comfortable place to sit and relax. Having all those people around me was making me crazy.”

He strode to the kitchen and rummaged in the fridge for orange juice. After checking the date on the carton, he poured a glass and went back into the living room.

This time he sat on the couch next to her and handed her the glass. She drank thirstily until half the contents were gone and then handed him back the glass.

“Thanks. That should do the trick.”

“Is this something that happens regularly or is it just the excitement of the day?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m borderline hypoglycemic. My blood sugar gets too low every once in a while. Pregnancy sort of messes with that and I have to be careful to eat regularly or I risk passing out.”

Rafael swore under his breath. “What if you were to pass out when you were alone?”

“Well, the point is to make sure I don’t pass out.”

He scowled and then checked his watch. Only five minutes had passed since he’d placed the order.

“I’ll be fine, Rafe,” she said softly. “My grandmother is a diabetic. I’m well acquainted with how to handle low or elevated blood sugar.”

The shortened version of his name, only used by his closest friends, slipped from her lips as if she’d used it a thousand times before. Coming from her, it sounded … right. As if he’d heard it before or maybe even encouraged her to use it.

He put a hand to his nape and looked away. Why couldn’t he remember? If he had truly been involved with this woman, and if, like she’d said, they’d formed some romantic attachment—he couldn’t quite bring himself to say love—then why would he shove her as far from his memory as he could?

She kicked off her shoes and then curled her feet underneath her on the couch before grabbing one of the cushions to snuggle into. It occurred to him that if they were a real couple he would have sat beside her and … cuddled. Or maybe offered her a foot rub. Weren’t pregnant women supposed to have swollen ankles or something?

Which further proved to him that the idea of him falling in love and spending four weeks wrapped up in one woman was just … ludicrous. He dated. He even had relationships, but they were on his terms, which meant that his female companions didn’t come to his penthouse. If they had sleepovers, it was done in one of his hotels. He certainly didn’t engage in cuddling or cutesy things that a man would do for the woman he loved.

But then she glanced up and their eyes met. There was something in her gaze that peeled back his skin and squeezed his chest in a manner he wasn’t familiar with. She looked … tired and vulnerable. She looked as if she needed … comfort.

Hell.

“Rafe, he got away with my purse,” she said quietly.

He nodded. The police had come to the hospital to take her statement but it was doubtful they’d find her attacker.

“I didn’t think … I mean everything happened so fast, and then at the hospital …” She lifted her hand in a helpless gesture that only made his desire to comfort her stronger.

“What is worrying you, Bryony?”

“I need to cancel my credit cards. My bankcard. God, he’s probably already emptied all my accounts. My driver’s license was in it. How am I supposed to get back home? I can’t fly without identification.”

The more she spoke, the more agitated she became. He slid onto the couch beside her and awkwardly put his arms around her.

“There’s no need to panic. Do you have the telephone numbers you need?”

She shook her head and then laid it on his shoulder, her hair brushing across his nose.

“I can look them up on the internet if you have a computer.”

He snorted. “Do I have a computer … I’m never without an internet connection of any kind.”

She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “You were when you were on the island.”

His brow crinkled. “That’s impossible. I wouldn’t have just dropped off the map like that. I have a business to run.”

“Oh, you kept in touch,” she said. “But you often made your calls or answered emails in the morning or late at night. During the day you left your BlackBerry at my house while we explored the island.”

He sighed. “See this is why I have such a hard time with the story you tell. I would never do something like that. It isn’t me.”

Her lips turned down in a frown and she leaned away from him.

To cover the sudden awkwardness, he stood and went to his briefcase to pull out his laptop. He stood for a long moment with his back to her just so he could compose himself and keep from turning and apologizing. He didn’t want to hurt her, damn it. But one of them was crazy, and he didn’t want it to be him.

He finally went back to the couch, opened the laptop and set it on a cushion next to her.

“If you have any problems canceling your cards or ordering new ones, let me know. I’ve typed up my address so you can have them overnighted here.”

“And my license?” she asked in a tight, frustrated voice. “How am I going to get home?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, which only drew attention to the dark bruise marring her creamy skin.

“I’ll get you home, Bryony. I don’t want you to worry. Can you call your grandmother to fax a copy of your birth certificate? It’s my understanding you can fly with the birth certificate but you’ll be subjected to closer scrutiny by security.”

“Couldn’t we take your jet? Oh, I guess … Sorry.” She broke off, seemingly embarrassed at her slip.

“I have more than one,” he said dryly.

She continued to stare at him. “Then why aren’t we taking it? Wouldn’t it be easier to fly without identification if we were on a private jet?”

He cleared his throat and then rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s just say I have a newly developed phobia of flying on small planes.”

She frowned. “I must sound so insensitive. I’m just … This has been a rotten trip all the way around.”

“Yes, I suppose it has been for you,” he murmured.

He eased back onto the couch beside her as she tapped intently on the keys. He hated how unsure of himself he was around her. But it was himself he was angry at. Not her.

If she was to be believed, her life had been completely upended. By him.

More and more he had an uneasy feeling that she was telling the truth. No matter how bizarre and unlikely such a scenario seemed. And if she was telling the truth, then he had to figure out what the hell he was going to do with the woman he supposedly loved and the child she carried. His child.

Six (#u0ccc63ae-2a28-5e16-ade3-25fbdd8473a6)

“This reminds me of the nights we spent at my house,” Bryony said as she forked another bite of the seafood into her mouth.

He paused, fork halfway to his own mouth, resigned to hearing more about his uncharacteristic behavior. But she said nothing and resumed eating, her gaze downcast, almost as if she knew how ill at ease he was.

But his curiosity was also piqued because, damn it, something had happened between them and she was the only key he had to recover the missing pieces of his memory.

He forced himself to sound only mildly inquisitive. “What did we do?”