Unforgettable: Enticed by His Forgotten Lover / Wanted by Her Lost Love

She’d lifted her gaze and was now studying him so intently that he found her scrutiny uncomfortable. He studied her in return, finding himself mesmerized by her dark eyes. The delicate lines of her face called to him. He wanted to trace his fingers over her cheekbone and down to her jaw and then over the softness of her lips.

Had this been the way he’d felt when he’d first seen her? Logic told him it had to have been. How could his reaction now have been any different than the first time he’d laid eyes on her?

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked in a low voice.

“Maybe I find you beautiful.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he expected. She lifted her nose in scorn and shook her head.

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“What I said was that you aren’t my normal type.”

Her lips twisted. “That isn’t what you said. To quote you exactly, you said, ‘You aren’t my type.’ That pretty much tells me you don’t find me remotely appealing.”

“I don’t care what I said,” he growled. “What I meant was that you aren’t the type of woman I normally…date.”

“Have sex with?” she asked mockingly. “Because we did, you know. We had lots and lots of sex. You were insatiable. In fact, unless you are the best damn actor in the world and can fake, not only an erection, but an orgasm as well, I’d say you’re either lying now about me not being your type, or you’re not terribly discerning when it comes to the women you sleep with.”

He’d just been insulted but he was so distracted by the sparks shooting from her eyes and how damn gorgeous she looked when she got sassy that he couldn’t formulate a response.

“See, the problem is, a woman can get away with faking sexual attraction,” she continued. “We can pretend all manner of things. Men? It’s kind of hard to pretend attraction to a woman if your penis isn’t cooperating.”

“Holy hell,” he muttered. “I think we’ve established that it’s pretty damn obvious I’m sexually attracted to you. Whatever I may have thought in the past about my preferences in women obviously doesn’t apply to you.”

“So then you’re willing to concede that you slept with me and that the child I’m carrying is yours?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m willing to concede it’s possible, but I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s absolutely true until either I regain my memory, or we have DNA testing done.”

Her top lip curled a moment and it looked as if she wanted to light into him again, but instead, she took a calming breath. “As long as you’re willing to accept the possibility, I can work with that,” she muttered.

“Were you always this…charming with me when we spent all this time together?”

She lifted one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I tend to like my women a little more…”

“Stupid?” she challenged.

He scowled.

“Weak? Mousy? Unchallenging?” she continued. “Or maybe you prefer them to simply nod and say ‘yes, sir’ to your every whim.”

She broke off in disgust and regarded him as if he were some annoying bug she was about to squash.

He finally decided remaining silent was his best option so he didn’t dig his hole any deeper.

She laid down her fork and raised her haunted gaze to his. He was surprised to see tears shimmering in her eyes, and his throat knotted. Damn. He hadn’t wanted to upset her again. He wasn’t that big of a jerk.

“Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?” she asked in a quiet, strained voice. “Do you know how difficult it is for me to see you again and not touch you or hug you or kiss you? I came here expecting to confront a man who scammed me in the worst possible way. I had resigned myself to it and there was nothing I wanted more than to wash my hands of you. But then you tell me this story about losing your memory and what am I supposed to do then? Now I have to consider that maybe you didn’t lie to me, but I’m scared to death of believing that and then being wrong. Again. I have to put everything on hold until you regain your memory, and that sucks because I just don’t know how to feel anymore.”

He stared at her, frozen, an uncomfortable sensation coiling in his chest.

“I can’t exactly walk away. It’s what I accused you of and there’s a part of me that thinks, ‘What if he’s telling the truth? What if he regains his memory tomorrow and remembers he loves you? What if it’s all some horrible misunderstanding and we have a chance to get back what we had on the island?’”

She shoved her plate away and looked down as she visibly tried to collect herself.

“But what if I was right?” she whispered. “What if me sticking around hoping makes me an even bigger fool than falling for your lies to begin with? I have a child to consider now.”

Before he could think twice about what he should say or do, he found himself reaching for her. It was impossible not to want to touch her, to offer her comfort. The pain in her expression was too real. Her eyes were clouded with moisture and hurt shimmered in their depths.

He pulled her into his arms and leaned back against the couch. For a moment she lay there stiffly, so still that he wondered if she held her breath.

He inhaled the scent of her hair and felt keen disappointment that it stirred nothing to life in his memories. Wasn’t smell supposed to be the most powerful memory trigger?

Gradually she relaxed against him, her fingers curling into his chest as her cheek rested on his shoulder.

He dropped his mouth to the top of her head and stopped himself a moment before brushing his lips across her hair. It seemed the most natural thing to do and yet he knew tenderness wasn’t a usual characteristic. It seemed too personal. Too intimate.

But the need to show her a more gentle side of himself was a physical ache.

“I’m sorry,” he said truthfully. He had no love for seeing this woman hurt. He didn’t like to see anyone needlessly suffer. The fact that he was the source of her pain made him extremely uncomfortable.

“Just let me stay here a minute and pretend,” she said. “Just don’t say…anything.”

He carefully laid his hand over her dark curls and did as she asked. He sat there, her head on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her, his hand wrapped in her hair, and silence descended on them.

But the silence felt awkward to him, as if he should fill the gaps. Or ask questions. Something…

He glanced down at the soft curls splayed out over his chest. He could just feel the swell of her belly against his side.

Was this his reality? And if it was, why wasn’t he running as hard as he could in the other direction?

It wasn’t as if he was commitment-phobic. Okay, maybe a little, but it wasn’t as if he’d endured some trauma in the past that made him leery of women. Nor was he some patsy who was afraid of allowing a woman to hurt him.

He hadn’t ever committed because…Well, he wasn’t entirely certain. Men in relationships lacked a certain amount of control. They could no longer make solo decisions, and Rafael was used to making decisions in a split second—without conferring with someone else.

It wasn’t a fluke that he owned his own business, not to mention had a partnership with three of his friends. His work took a lot of time. Time he wouldn’t have if he had to worry about being home every night for dinner.

He liked being able to jet off at a moment’s notice. He looked forward to business meetings—considered them a challenge. While he didn’t have a lot of downtime, he did enjoy taking it at his leisure. He met Ryan, Devon and Cam at least once a year for golf, lots of alcohol and other pursuits only available to men who were not otherwise involved in a relationship.

Simply put, he’d never met a woman who made him want to give up all that. He damn sure couldn’t imagine meeting her and giving up his life in a matter of four weeks. That kind of decision would have to be made over the course of years. Maybe never.

But on the other hand.

There was always a but.

As he stared down at the woman curled trustingly in his arms, something pulled at him. Some desire he hadn’t ever acknowledged, one that would normally have horrified him—should horrify him.