Rachel Bailey: MILLION-DOLLAR AMNESIA SCANDAL

April turned back to the woman stroking her hand. “You’re my mother?”

“Yes.”

April looked at him, her gaze searching. “And who are you? My boyfriend?” He didn’t say anything, but his pulse spiked at the thought of being her lover. She swallowed hard. “Husband?”

Her mother leaned into her line of vision, severing the connection. “You’ve never met him before. He shouldn’t be here,” she said, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet with her free hand.

Seth casually stepped to the side, a counter to the block the mother had provided. “And yet, here I am.”

“I think it’s time you left. We can talk about that matter when-”

“Are you sure my name’s April?” She cut her mother off, anxiety again marring her features. “Surely my own name would be familiar.”

Her mother forced an overly bright smile. “You’re April Fairchild. I’m very sure, since I filled out your birth certificate.”

April sucked in her bottom lip and rolled it between her teeth as she turned to him. “Then who are you?”

The intensity of her gaze shot through his body, heated his blood.

He cleared his throat. “Seth Kentrell. We have an urgent business matter to discuss.”

“Urgent enough to come to my hospital bed?” She blinked up at him, all confused innocence, but Seth reminded himself that she was a performer. She’d been singing on stage since she was thirteen.

Her need for hospitalization after a major car accident wasn’t in question. Whether she was making the most of an opportunity to gain an expensive hotel from him was another matter entirely. “Yes.”

She frowned, then winced. Her hands gingerly touched her temples. “What happened to me?”

Her mother’s spider fingers gripped her hand again. “You were in a car accident.”

April drew in a long breath. “Do you think you could get me some aspirin?”

Seth leaned closer, careful not to jostle her, and pressed a button on the panel above her bed for the nurse. She leaned her head back into the pillow to look up at him as he did, her eyes clearly asking if he and her mother were lying to her. He paused, hand still resting on the bed head. Could she be telling the truth and really have lost her memory?

The nurse bustled in and disengaged the call button.

Regaining his equilibrium, Seth stepped back. “Ms. Fairchild needs pain medication.”

The nurse picked up the chart at the end of the bed and asked April several questions, took her temperature and pulse. And all the while, April watched him. She looked lost, clinging to his gaze like a life raft. The urge to protect her inexplicably reared in his chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment against the power of it. When he opened them again, he focused on the nurse.

She wrote something on April’s chart, seeming satisfied, then went to the trolley she’d brought in and shook two tablets from a bottle. “This will help with the headache. The doctor will be along in an hour or two and will answer your questions.”

“Again,” her mother said quietly.

On her way out the door, the nurse turned a sharp glance on April’s mother and then him. “Ten more minutes, and don’t upset her. She’s still healing.”

But-the million-dollar question-how much healing was there to do? She’d woken from the coma three days ago, plenty of time to cook up a strategy with Mommy Manager. They would want more time to counter the legal challenge to April’s ownership of the Lighthouse Hotel. Surely, April had been expecting a challenge once Jesse died. Faking amnesia would certainly give her that time.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Kentrell?” April’s soft voice broke through his thoughts.

He cleared his throat then told her the truth. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Why would I pretend?”

“To avoid dealing with me.” He shrugged one shoulder as he called her bluff. “Perhaps a publicity stunt.”

“Publicity? Who else would care?” She blinked slowly, her eyes large. There was intelligence behind those eyes. But was the intelligence calculating which words to use for manipulation, or was she honestly struggling to understand?

He ran through his options for playing the situation. For the moment, he needed to base his actions on the assumption she was faking. Which meant he could straight-out accuse her of lying, which would only garner him a denial. Or he could play along and wait for her to trip up.

He stalked to the window and drew back the curtains, letting sunlight flood the room once more.

“Can she walk?” he asked her mother.

“She was given clearance a few days ago when she first woke.”

“Does she have any body injuries?”

The mother appeared hesitant to divulge further information, so he graced her with a practiced smile. “I’m here to help. If everyone cooperates, I’ll be able to protect her from the scandal of a legal battle.”

Eyes widening in alarm, Mrs. Fairchild nodded. “It was mainly bruises, and they’ve pretty much healed. Though her balance has been affected, and she’s not supposed to get up without the physiotherapist here.”

Seth nodded, then walked to April. “I’ll carry you to the window. There’s something I need to show you.”

Carry her? April’s heart raced. Everything-the room, this woman holding her hand, her explanation-was surreal, like a dream; instinctively, she knew it was really happening. The lights were too bright to be a dream, the man too alive. He was a flesh-and-blood man, no question, pulsing with vitality and heat. And when she focused on that heat in his eyes, she knew she was alive, too.

He cast her a sidelong look as he stood there all tall and dark, and for a moment she was stunned by the intensity of his eyes. On the surface, he looked like a respectable businessman; but those eyes…they were navy blue, and filled with tightly leashed emotion. There was an edge of danger to this man, an edge-she would guess-he kept carefully controlled at all times. It took her breath away.

Stomach churning, she broke away from his gaze. This situation was spinning out of control. But then, had anything felt remotely like control since she’d woken? She’d only just been able to hold at bay the panic triggered by the woman’s assertion that she was her mother and her own name was April.

And now this man was suggesting he pick her up in his arms. If he was a stranger, as he said he was, she didn’t want him carrying her-she already felt he was too close, his looks too intimate for someone she’d never met before. She looked down at herself through the thick hospital bedspread. Besides a monster of a headache and the anxiety filling every limb and organ, her body at least felt in working order.

“I can walk.”

And then a thought struck. Was she decently dressed? She lifted the covers and found she wore a long, emerald-green nightdress that laced up the front. A nightdress was far from equal to his suit, but at least it adequately covered her from neck to ankles.

One hand pressed to her throbbing temple, she slowly swung one foot from under the covers to the floor. Seth moved to stand beside the bed, not close enough to crowd, but his presence was strangely reassuring, and she let out a breath. She slid the other foot out to join the first, wiggling her feet on the tiles to make sure they were stable, then she slowly rose from the bed.

The room slanted and spun and panic flared in her chest. She couldn’t do it; she felt herself sway and knew her muscles had no hope of catching her. But before she could fall, Seth was there holding her, and without a second thought she leaned into his strong frame, gripped his shirtfront tightly as his powerful arms banded around her, supporting her trembling legs.