Rachel Bailey: MILLION-DOLLAR AMNESIA SCANDAL

Dragging in choppy breaths, she didn’t move. Neither did he. As if from a distance, she heard the woman claiming to be her mother asking if she was all right, but she ignored the questions. It was all she could do to let Seth hold her while she tried to steady the world again.

The room gradually stilled and she became aware of the man whose arms were about her. With her nose pressed to his chest, she breathed in his scent. It reminded her of a forest-fresh, natural, a taste of the woods on the wind. A scent that made her feel safe and at the same time gave her a sense of being fully alive.

She took a deep breath, willed her body to be strong, and centered her weight back on her own legs. “Thank you. I’ll be fine to walk now.”

“I don’t think so.” He scooped her up in one smooth motion.

Surprised, and with no other option, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. She wanted to tell him to put her down, that she didn’t care what his point was anymore, she just wanted to lie back in the hospital bed. But before she could get the words out, he’d walked the few paces to the window.

He gestured with his chin. “Those people are here for you.”

April looked outside. There was a huge swarm of people gathered several floors down, around what was probably the entrance to the hospital. Most had cameras around their necks, others stood near television equipment.

All those people there for her? Her stomach hollowed and a strange coldness spread across her skin.

“I’m famous?” she whispered in disbelief.

“Very.” Seth said the word with a twisted smile. The look told her clearly what his words did not. He still didn’t believe her.

He was a stranger to her-why should it matter what he believed? But it did. She wanted those eyes of darkest blue to look at her with acknowledgment, respect. She wanted to say the words that would make him understand what was going on in her head.

Instead, she twisted in his arms to face her mother. “Why am I famous?”

The woman’s hands fluttered around her face. “Darling, I think you should go back to bed.”

Arching her neck back, she repeated the question to Seth. “Why am I famous?”

He hesitated, seemed to be weighing up whether to humor her further or not. Then he relaxed a fraction. “You’re a singer.”

A vision flashed in her mind-sitting at a piano, singing into a microphone on a stage before thousands of people. And for a moment the panic eased. “I play the piano, too.”

“Yes,” he said tightly, then carried her back to bed. He laid her down with infinite care, barely causing her head to jostle.

She adjusted herself against the pillows, then looked to Seth. “Are you in the music industry?”

“No, I’m in the hotel business.” He watched her sharply, as if that should mean something to her.

She suddenly knew he was very serious about why he’d come here. She just hoped they weren’t opponents, because-if his eyes were telling the truth-Seth Kentrell would be a force to be reckoned with.

She sucked in a deep breath. “So tell me why you’re here.”

“You have one of my hotels,” he said, eyes focused like a lion’s on its prey. “I don’t know how you got it, but I want it back.”

Seth watched April frown in apparent confusion. “How could I have one of your hotels?”

“It’s a good question, but at this point, irrelevant.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and retrieved the folded paperwork. “You signed a contract giving you ownership, and I need you to sign these papers to rescind that contract.”

Of course, if she really did have amnesia and he got her to sign the new contract under these conditions, there was a chance it could be thrown out of court. But it was better than doing nothing.

She held his gaze as she took the pages, but she didn’t open them. “If I’ve never met you before, how have I bought your hotel? Or was it done through lawyers, and you somehow accidentally signed approval?”

No, it had been done by somehow coercing his brother and keeping the deal secret. He’d only found out when he’d been handed Jesse’s possessions, which included the contract, at the hospital after he died.

He stuffed back the chaotic feelings from that day and locked them down tight. “You knew my brother.”

“Knew?” Her breath seemed to pause, waiting for his reply.

He braced himself and kept his voice neutral. “Jesse was killed in the same accident where you received your injuries.”

“Someone was killed?” Her words were strangled.

Her mother fussed with her hand, patting and stroking. “Darling, let’s not worry about this while you’re recovering.”

April ignored the woman and looked at him, her gaze steady. “Tell me what happened.”

Bringing the details to mind, Seth swallowed the emotion, refusing to let strangers see his private grief. “The two of you were at a lawyer’s office. You signed a contract about the Lighthouse Hotel. You left together. There was an accident.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Who was driving?”

“Jesse.”

Her mouth opened and closed again, then she swallowed hard. Her shock seemed real. Perhaps this was the first she’d heard of it. Though even people without amnesia often didn’t remember an accident that caused them to lose consciousness, so that didn’t shed any new light on the bigger dilemma.

He poured her a glass of water from the jug sitting on her side table and thrust it toward her. Wordlessly, she took it and sipped.

Then she looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “You’ve lost your brother. I’m so sorry.”

Seth clenched his jaw against the grief and her sympathy. “Thank you,” he rasped and looked away.

After several long seconds of silence, he heard the bedcovers rustle and glanced back to see April sitting a little straighter in the bed. “Where is the Lighthouse Hotel?” she asked.

She’d changed the subject, guiding it away for his sake. He might not trust her, but he instinctively knew she’d done this from kindness. He appreciated it, but it wouldn’t make him let his guard down an inch.

He cleared his throat. “In Queensport, on the Connecticut coast.”

“Did I have enough money to buy a hotel there?” She looked from him to her mother and back again. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“You didn’t pay cash,” he said, watching her for any indications of prior knowledge. For a mistake in her act. “The contract was for an exchange.”

Mrs. Fairchild swung around, hawklike eyes locked on him. “What did she exchange?”

“A recording studio and a recording label, including the rights to the works of several artists signed by that label.” Worthless. “I’m sure when you’re thinking clearly, you’ll want those assets back, so if you sign this contract, we can fix it all now.” He retrieved the papers from her fingers and unfolded them before placing them and a pen on the wheeled table that was high enough to swing over her bed.

“Yes, darling,” her mother said, with an overencouraging smile. “Sign the papers. You love that label. You’ve spent six years building it up. And your studio-you had it built to your own specifications. It’s exactly the way you wanted your work space to be, not to mention it’s underneath your house. Your own home. I’m not sure what this man’s brother said or did to make you sign away your home, your career, but let’s clear it all up now.” She picked up the pen and handed it purposefully to her daughter.

April refused to take the pen, and instead of speaking to her mother, she looked at him-captured his gaze as she cocked her head to the side. “But I must have had a reason for making that agreement.”