Escape for New Year: Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

The last time they’d gone they’d had an argument. One of his more notable clients and his wife had witnessed the scene. Bishop wasn’t a fan of tutus and tights at the best of times. After that night he’d sworn never to sit through another Fouetté en tournant as long as he lived.

Sensing his reluctance, Laura let her toes drift down. “I know ballet’s not your thing …”

“No, it’s not. But it is yours,” he added.

Going to Sydney tomorrow evening would leave them with another twenty-four hours in this environment. If a few lightbulbs went off … if he were lucky … Hell, they might not get to the ballet at all.

Five

Before Bishop drove off to the nearest shops to get a few provisions, Laura had sussed out whether he needed condoms. She’d already checked the bedside drawer where he always kept them, and he didn’t need to stock up. There was plenty of contraception on hand.

That was okay. She’d only broached the subject of them falling pregnant yesterday. Getting her husband to come around to her way of thinking—the way that put faith ahead of doom and gloom—might take a little doing. She could wait. She and Bishop had too much going for them to let this difference get in the way.

She baked some pastries and had sat down at her laptop in her office when Bishop returned. She swung around in her high-backed chair as he moved up and lifted her face to him, waiting for a kiss hello. He searched her eyes for a long, heartfelt moment, then lowered his head and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek.

A band around her chest pulled tight. He’d avoided kissing yesterday, last night. But for that peck, he hadn’t kissed her at all today, and she wasn’t happy about it. Rather than sounding testy or upset, however, she thought she’d go for teasing.

“Hey, I didn’t hurt my lips when I fell.”

Before he could see it coming, she caught him around the neck and brought him back down. Her mouth zeroed in on his with the precision of a ballistic missile. His lips were slightly parted, and she made certain to take advantage of that, too.

She aimed to kiss him swiftly but thoroughly, and as her mouth moved over his, her fingers kneaded the back of his strong, hot neck. There was a second of resistance on his part when she thought he might jerk away. But then a growl rumbled from his chest up his throat. The vibration tingled over his lips, ran over her tongue, then he was kissing her back.

The connection didn’t last long enough. Just when she was thinking a trip to the bedroom might be in order, his hands found her shoulders and he pushed himself away. Before he could prattle on about doctor’s orders again, she spoke up.

“I had it wrong,” she told him.

An emotion she couldn’t name darkened his eyes as he slowly straightened and those broad shoulders rotated back. “What have you got wrong?”

“The Nutcracker’s not playing. It’s Swan Lake.”

That emotion flickered again and then his brow furrowed and his voice deepened more. “Swan Lake.”

Understanding his tone, she tilted her head. “We don’t have to go.” Frankly, after that kiss she’d be more than content to stay in. But he surprised her.

“No, we’ll go,” he said, his gaze shifting from hers to the computer screen. “I’ll never forget the last time we went.”

Laura cast her mind back. “We’ve only been together once. Just before we were married.”

“I could’ve sworn we’d gone again after that.”

He looked so earnest, she coughed out a laugh. “Was it that bad? Sounds like you had nightmares about men coming after you in tights.”

His gaze dipped to her lips and he smiled softly. “Yeah. Maybe that’s it.” He thrust his chin at her chair. “Shift and I’ll book.”

“What? My Amex card isn’t as good as yours?”

“Just trying to do the gentlemanly thing and pick up the tab.”

As if he ever let her pay for a thing.

Lifting out of the chair, she thought about kissing him again. But she’d let him book and then they could get back to … business.

“In that case, guess I’ll go occupy myself in the kitchen.”

Deciding on which outfit to wear to the ballet—her Lisa Ho cream wraparound or that new season black sequined jacket with a classic little black dress—Laura hummed as she made her way down the wide central hall and into the well-equipped kitchen.

She liked to cook—roasts, Thai, experimental appetizers, mouth-watering desserts. Her mother had always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Laura could vouch that her husband certainly enjoyed his home-cooked meals—almost as much as he enjoyed making love.

And after dinner she would remove the bandage from her head and persuade her husband that tonight the doctor didn’t know best. She’d rested long enough.

Entering the kitchen, she was a little taken aback at how many grocery bags lay on the counters. Seemed Bishop had stocked up. He usually left the major shopping to her. She stacked the fridge and the pantry then flicked on the oven to warm half a dozen bakery scones. Tomorrow she’d whip up a fresh batch herself.

She slid open the cake tin drawer, dug in to select a tray but, as she reached down, her mind went strangely blank. After a moment, she remembered what she was after and shuffled again through the pans. But where was her favorite heating tray? Straightening, she stuck her hands on her hips and glanced around the timber cupboard doors. Where on earth had she put it?

Of course it was no big deal. Definitely no need to worry Bishop with the fact that her memory was foggier than she’d first realized. Just little things, like wondering at the unfamiliar brand of toothpaste in the attached bath, or pondering over leftovers in the fridge that she had no recollection of cooking.

A rational explanation existed for it all, Laura surmised, wiggling out a different tray for the scones from under the hot plates. Things were a little jumbled, but they’d sort themselves out soon enough.

When she arrived back at her office, brandishing two cups of steaming coffee—one black, one white—Bishop had a different webpage open. She caught a glimpse of the images—bundles of fur with cute black noses and gorgeous take-me-home eyes. She gave a little excited jump and coffee splashed onto the tray.

“Puppies!” Eyes glued to the screen, she set down the tray on a corner of the desk and dragged in a chair. “I was thinking maybe a cocker spaniel.”

Elbow on the desk, he held his jaw while scanning a page displaying a selection of breeds. He grunted. “Aren’t they dopey?”

“They’re soft and gentle and a thousand times cuddly.”

“Maybe something bigger.”

“You mean tougher.”

He collected his mug and blew off the steam. “You haven’t got too many neighbors around here,” he said and then sipped.

“We haven’t got too many neighbors,” she corrected. What was with this you business?

He set down the mug, turned back to the screen and clicked a few more searches. “Maybe a Doberman.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely, but I can’t imagine snuggling up into a powerhouse of muscle and aggression.” She ran a hand down his arm. “Present company excluded.”

“They’re supposed to be very loyal,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed her compliment, and pictures of dogs with gleaming black coats, pointed ears and superkeen eyes blinked onto the screen. Laura’s mouth pulled to one side. Sorry. Just not her.

“Did you have a dog growing up?”

He clicked on a link and a list of breeders flashed up. “A golden retriever.”

“Guide dogs.”

“One of the breeds used, yes.”