The Amnesiac Bride Read online

  Quinton had carved out a small space on the dance floor for himself and Whitney by using his elbow and the sheer presence of their bodies. There hardly seemed enough room for one, much less two. Quinton took advantage of that.

  Revulsion filled Whitney. Quinton was pressed against her, using the crowded floor as an excuse. His feet never moved. But his body did.

  She summoned a smile as she looked up at him. “Mr. Quinton, it’s not a slow dance.”

  Amusement highlighted his eyes. He made no attempt to give her any room. Instead, he pressed his hand along the small of her back.

  “It should be.” Women were generally more willing than this one, once he showed an interest in them. He took it as his due. “You are a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Russell.” As he said it, he pictured watching her slowly remove the green wraparound dress for him. He could feel his body reacting. “So, tell me, how is the honeymoon progressing?”

  That wasn’t any of his business. She curbed the impulse to tell him so. Zane wouldn’t have wanted her to tell Quinton to back off. After a moment, she replied tersely, “Very well, thank you.”

  No, he didn’t think so, Quinton thought. Despite all the kissing and hugging he’d witnessed, something was wrong between these two. She was too tense. Zane undoubtedly wasn’t man enough for her. That could be easily remedied. Quinton raised a brow, ready to give her a shoulder to cry on. And a warm body in bed beside her. “Is he showing you a proper time?”

  Defiance and loyalty had her raising her eyes to his. “Yes.”

  Perhaps, perhaps not. But Quinton was confident of one thing. He could show her a better one. “Should you, perhaps, want to have something to compare, I am at your disposal.”

  The pompous ass. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss possibilities, if I were you.”

  Quinton looked deep into her eyes. The laugh that rumbled from within his chest made her skin crawl.

  “Just remember, during my stay here, my door’s open to you anytime.”

  Whitney suppressed the urge to shove Quinton away from her. “Even if I were so inclined, wouldn’t Sally have something to say about this?”

  Quinton raised and lowered his shoulders as he turned her around in the small circle. “Sally has something to say about everything. If I listened to it all, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.” His eyes rested on the swell of her breasts. “Business or pleasure.”

  “I thought Sally was your pleasure.” And right now, Whitney sincerely pitied the woman. Polish or no polish, the man was a monster.

  Quinton laughed again, entertained. “I like you, Mrs. Russell.” Then his eyes darkened just a little with a warning. “I would keep it that way if I were you.”

  Fear jabbed at her, stinging. Just what was he telling her?

  Whitney looked toward the band. The drummer was laying down his sticks. “The music’s stopped.”

  Quinton’s hand tightened around hers. “I’m sure that it will begin again.”

  Was she going to have to dance with him all night if she didn’t want to cause a scene? Relief washed over Whitney when she saw Zane approaching. Finally, the cavalry had arrived.

  Zane laid a hand on Quinton’s shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

  Quinton released Whitney’s hand. There was no room to step away, but he moved his body from hers. “There’s no music,” he informed Zane darkly. “You don’t want to look like a fool, do you, Russell?”

  Turning, Quinton moved people aside as he made his way back to the table. Zane slipped his arm around Whitney’s shoulders. He couldn’t put into words what he’d felt, watching them, watching Quinton hold her against his body.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered against her ear. “You look a little pale.”

  Whitney didn’t look at him. Now that she’d been rescued, her anger had an opportunity to boil over. “I always look a little pale when someone tries to maul me.”

  They reached the table, but rather than sit down, she picked up her purse. She wanted to be alone, to get some air that wasn’t filled with the scent of smoke, alcohol and lust.

  “I think I’ll go upstairs to our room.” She addressed her words to no one in particular. Right now she didn’t trust herself to look at any one of them. The disgust and anger she felt might come spilling out. Most of all, she avoided looking at Zane. He’d been the one who’d put her in this position. “You can stay if you want to, Zane, but I’m very tired.”

  “Are you sure, Mrs. Russell? The evening is still very young,” Quinton protested.

  Whitney drew herself up. She spared Quinton a fleeting glance. “Maybe, but I’m accustomed to different hours. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Without another word, she turned and walked away. The crowd swallowed her up within a moment.

  Zane hesitated. He couldn’t just let her go like that. What if she didn’t return to the room? What if she went wandering off? She still didn’t know who she was. Tom between what he wanted to do and what he needed to do, Zane made his choice. It didn’t take him more than a moment.

  Wallet in hand, he peeled off several bills. “Maybe I’d better call it a night, too.” He tossed the money on the table. “Is brunch still on tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely. I look forward to seeing you in my suite.” Quinton pushed the bills back toward Zane. They remained on the table. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go after her. I wouldn’t be wasting my time talking if I had a woman like that waiting for me upstairs. Go show her what you’re made of.” Laughing at some secret joke, Quinton waved Zane on his way.

  With very little encouragement, Zane would have physically registered his contempt for the man. Quinton sorely needed that smile removed.

  Later, Zane promised himself. Right now, he had some damage control to do. Heavy damage control, from the looks of it.

  Zane took his leave. “Good night.” His words were absorbed by the wall of noise.

  Pushing people aside, he hurried to reach the door. Zane managed to finally catch up to Whitney just as the doors of the elevator car she was in were closing.

  She was staring straight ahead and made no effort to push the button that would hold the doors ajar. Zane shoved his arm in and lowered it quickly, blocking the sensor lights. The silver doors opened again, then yawned closed.

  Whitney continued staring at the triple row of buttons on the wall. “You could lose an arm like that.”

  She sounded as if she wouldn’t have cared if his entire body had been sliced in half. Maybe he couldn’t blame her. “All right, talk to me, Whitney. What’s the matter?”

  She couldn’t believe he actually had the audacity to ask. Her eyes were cold when she turned them on him. But they heated almost instantly.

  “What’s the matter?” she echoed. “You mean other than the fact that I’m on my honeymoon and my husband doesn’t want to touch me? But he’s willing to hand me over to a man he hopes is going to be his new business partner?”

  The doors opened on the ninth floor. There were several people waiting to get on. Zane stood in the way, barring access as he jabbed the Close button.

  “Sorry,” he told them, “it’s full.” Zane turned to look at Whitney once the doors had closed again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Playing the innocent didn’t become him. And it wasn’t convincing.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Offering a man your wife in exchange for favors.” It was hard not to shiver when she thought about dancing with Quinton. “Quinton was trying to make an impression on me. With his body.” The doors opened on twenty and she hurried out without a backward glance. “He’s scum of the earth and he makes my skin crawl.”

  Her hand was shaking as she tried to open the door.

  Very quietly, Zane took the card she was unsuccessfully trying to jam into the slot. Sliding it in, he turned the handle, then pushed the door open for her.

  “Yeah. Mine too.”
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  Did he expect her to believe that? She whirled on her heel, her eyes daring Zane to lie. “Then why are you throwing me at him?”

  It had seemed that way, Zane realized. He’d asked her to be nice to Quinton, to look as if she was enjoying his company. How the hell else could she have interpreted his request? But he hadn’t meant what she was saying. He wouldn’t have asked anyone to do that. least of all her.

  Zane rubbed his face in frustration, at a loss how to make this right while his hands were still tied.

  “I wasn’t throwing you at him.” Helpless and hating the feeling, he took hold of her arms and looked into her eyes. He had to make her believe him, even if he couldn’t give her reasons. “Don’t you know why I cut in? Because I couldn’t stand to see him put his hands on you anymore.”

  The look on his face, more than his words, melted the anger she felt. “That’s why you cut in? Because you were jealous?”

  “That’s why I cut in.” Jealous. Maybe he was. “Look, Whitney, I don’t expect you to understand, but I really need this deal to go through.”

  Maybe she would have been more forgiving if he could make her understand. If he trusted her with reasons she knew he was holding back. She had no knowledge of finances, but somehow, this seemed to be too much for just a simple land deal.

  “Why, don’t you have enough money?” She realized that she only had his word for the way things were. “Or is that a lie, too?”

  His face was impassive but tension skewered him. Had she stumbled onto something? Had Quinton told her something while he was attempting to grind against her? “What do you mean ‘too’?”

  She pulled free of his arms. Three days ago, she wouldn’t have believed that she’d want distance between them. But three days ago, she’d thought he loved her. Now she didn’t know.

  “A lot of things aren’t adding up, Zane. Some of the things you do, the things you tell Quinton.” She looked at him accusingly. “Us.”

  He couldn’t begin to. explain things to her. But he was going to have to do something to partially clear the air. “What about us?”

  That’s just it. What about us, Zane? What about us doesn’t add up? The pieces aren’t fitting.

  “There’s something dancing between us, Zane. Something tense, electric. Yet every time I reach out to you, you move away.” She thought of the show they had put on during the past three days for Quinton’s benefit. That was all she could call it—a show. Because once they were alone, the performance ended. “You kiss me in public, make it look like we’re two people in love, and yet when you’re alone with me, when you could do something about it, you don’t. You say all the right words, but your actions make a liar out of you.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. He was being a liar, he thought, but it was against his will when it came to her.

  “I told you—”

  “Yes, and told me, and told me.” And she was weary of the excuse, of the lie. “I’m all right now. Except that I can’t remember. It’s been three days, Zane. Three days during which time I’ve been trying to figure out which end up is. And all I’ve been able to determine is that I want you and you don’t want me.”

  “That’s not true. I want you. God help me, I want you more than I want to breathe.” He shook his head. The words had erupted before he could hold them back. Before he could weigh them. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t help himself. “You’re messing with my head, Whitney. I can’t think straight.”

  She almost believed him. Almost. “Makes two of us,” she murmured.

  There was anguish in his eyes when he looked at her. “But I can’t...we can’t...”

  That was bull. If it wasn’t, then he had to make her understand. She wanted desperately to understand. “Why? Why can’t we?”

  He grabbed her, wanting to shake sense into her, wanting to shake her until she was the old Whitney. Until her memory returned and she stopped torturing him like this.

  “Because—”

  His voice trailed off as he suddenly became aware of what he was doing. Zane dropped his hands. There were marks on her arms. From him. He’d held her too tightly.

  “Because?” She whispered the word, her breath gliding along his skin. Whitney turned up her face to his, waiting.

  And then he didn’t know anything anymore. Didn’t know anything except that if he didn’t kiss her this moment, didn’t have her, he was going to die right here, on the twentieth floor of the Zanadu Hotel. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

  Struggling, angry, helpless, he surrendered. “I always said you were the most infuriating woman.” Zane pulled her to him, his mouth covering hers.

  Always.

  It was a good word, a wonderful word. Whitney knew it would continue to ring in her mind long after all others had escaped.

  Always.

  She wanted nothing more than to always be with him. Like this, locked in an embrace, sealed in a kiss. Lost in the scent and taste of him.

  Always.

  His mouth slanted over hers, kissing her over and over again. Her head was beginning to spin, but not the way it had when she first woke up to find herself lost. She wasn’t lost anymore. She was found. Whatever else she was to learn later would be secondary. She knew she had found herself and her soul, right here, with Zane.

  Warning flags went up all through his body. He didn’t heed them. He didn’t have time. They were all disintegrating, burning up in the heat of the fire he felt coursing through his veins.

  Zane ran his hands along her body, absorbing every curve, every sensation. Wanting her more than he wanted to live.

  It might come down to that.

  It wasn’t right. He knew that. But right and wrong had been left outside the door, beggars who had to go looking elsewhere for their sustenance. All he knew was that he wanted her. Had wanted her from the very beginning.

  And he was too weak not to take what she was offering.

  Yes! Her body was singing as she felt his touch roughly possess her. Everywhere his palms passed ignited, sending the flame within her higher.

  “Whitney.” In a last-ditch effort, Zane struggled for the remaining bit of control he still had. “You’re not well.”

  “Then cure me. Make me rise from the dead. I want you Zane. I have no memory. Give me something to remember. Be my first. And then you’ll be my last.”

  He found the whispered promise irresistible. But Whitney wouldn’t. Not once she knew. The ache within him grew.

  “Whitney, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes I do. I can feel it. I want you, and somehow I know that I’ve always wanted you. Don’t make me beg. Leave me some pride.”

  Pride. He wouldn’t be leaving her any pride if he took her; he’d be robbing her of it. And someday she would know that.

  But someday was not now. Now there was only her, only this desire consuming him. And he couldn’t stand up against it any longer.

  With hands that were amazingly steady, he tugged at the sash at her waist. The material loosened around her body. Then, as he urged the straps from her shoulders, the dress floated from her, landing like a butterfly on the floor. With worshipful hands, he touched. Touched her the way he’d yearned to ever since she’d first kissed him.

  And before.

  She was wearing only the smallest scrap of silk. Her breasts were ripe and full. He almost swallowed his tongue.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  He said it as if he’d never said the words before, looked at her as if he’d never seen her like this before. She knew it was only because she couldn’t. remember, but she cherished it nonetheless, grateful that she. could store this feeling.

  Heart hammering wildly against her rib cage, she lifted her arms to him.

  Chapter 8

  This wasn’t supposed to be happening. The single thought beat in his brain like the last, dying strains of a song, refusing to melt away. He was supposed to be stronger t
han this.

  And yet, if it weren’t happening, if she somehow disappeared from the room right now, Zane knew he wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

  He moved toward her slowly, like a man walking along the ocean floor, even though there was an urgency in his eyes. Whitney held her breath, waiting for him to take her into his arms, waiting for the touch she’d been dreaming of the past two nights. And probably, she knew, for all of her life.

  She looked completely vulnerable, soft. Stripped of the independent, flippant layer that he was accustomed to associating with her. He’d never thought of her as delicate before. But she was. Delicate and fragile and his to protect.

  Look what a job he was doing. The reproach drummed through his brain.

  But he had no defenses against this,.against the need in her eyes, against the need he felt in his own body. In his soul. Doors were opening within him he could have sworn had been sealed shut forever. Doors that, once opened, couldn’t be shut again.

  He’d thought that he was incapable of feeling anything. He’d thought wrong.

  Zane came forward. Came forward and met his destiny in her arms. Because, despite everything, this was Whitney.

  There was no place else he would have been. Could have been. He no longer had a choice.

  But he could give her one. Fair play demanded it, even now. Even if it tore him up into little shreds to offer. “You’re going to be sorry.”

  He felt her breasts rise and fall as she formed the single word, rimmed in confusion. “Why?”

  With superhuman restraint, he slowly combed his fingers through her hair, touching nothing else, though he sorely wanted to.

  “You just are.”

  How? How could she be sorry when everything within her was crying out for this? When everything within her was moving toward him like the inevitable tide that longed to hug the shore?

  “I’ll never be sorry,” Whitney swore vehemently. “Never.”

  There was a pull here far greater than anything she could have imagined. Far greater than her strength. Had she wanted to resist, she couldn’t have. It was impossible.

  He was her fate.