Rachel Bailey: MILLION-DOLLAR AMNESIA SCANDAL

He shook his head. “Guests don’t have access to the kitchen. And I double-checked with Oscar in case Jesse brought you here to inspect the property before you signed the document-he would have been notified if a celebrity had been here, regardless of whether he was on shift or not. He assures me you haven’t entered the building during his eight years as manager.”

“There has to be some connection.” She rolled her full bottom lip between her teeth and he felt an almost irresistible urge to capture that lip between his own teeth.

He swallowed hard and focused on her question. “It could just be photos and Jesse’s descriptions.”

“What if I worked here?”

The corners of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. “You’ve been a star since you were thirteen. I hardly think you’ve have time to bus tables for us.”

“Could I have performed here?”

“We’re not big enough for someone of your caliber. You pretty much burst onto the scene overnight and have been playing big venues since.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why is this place more familiar than anything else about my life? Even if I’ve been a guest and somehow sneaked into the kitchen, that doesn’t explain why it has more impact than photos of my own home.”

Her forehead frowned in confusion bordering on distress, and he wanted to draw her into his arms, to soothe her. He rubbed a hand across his chin. Could she be this good an actress?

He let out a long breath. “I don’t know. Let’s keep going. Maybe something will click.”

She nodded absently as Seth led her out of the main building and through the grounds. He paused for a moment to smell the fresh, salty air. The grass beneath their shoes was neatly trimmed, but the grasses along the rugged shoreline were longer and they swayed gently in the sea breeze.

He loved the Lighthouse Hotel. Most of the hotels the company owned were in cities, in the midst of the hustle and bustle of life. Others were on perfect white beaches, filled with tourists sun baking and playing in the surf. But this hotel had its own vibe-secret, mysterious, wild.

The ground was a little uneven, so, knowing she’d barely been able to walk a week ago, he slipped an arm around her waist to steady her. April looked up quizzically, assessing his intent. “You’re still not steady on your feet.”

She nodded, looking down as she walked, perhaps unused to accepting help from others, despite being surrounded by assistants for fifteen years. “Thank you,” she said.

He guided her to the lighthouse and she stopped at its base to look up at the wide, round structure. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He followed her line of sight, up the roughly cut stones of its structure to the glassed-in room at the top, under a white dome. “I’ve always thought so,” he agreed. “It hasn’t been an active lighthouse for years, but it’s popular with the guests.”

“Can we go up?” Her chestnut-brown eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

“We can, but I don’t think your legs would be up to it.” It might only be the equivalent of three stories, but that would be too far for her today.

She cast another look up, then met his gaze. “I’m prepared to give it a go.”

Seth reluctantly considered the idea. The medical staff had made him promise not to let her overdo it. But how to decide what constituted “overdoing it”? If he were in her shoes he’d want to explore further.

He set his hands on his hips, feet shoulder-width apart. “On one condition. If I think you’ve pushed yourself far enough, you let me carry you the rest of the way.”

She lifted her chin, obviously considering resisting, then she blew out a breath and nodded.

“You don’t like relying on people, do you?”

She paused then smiled ruefully. “The strange thing is, I don’t remember anything about myself, but I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that’s true.” She turned to the stone entranceway and spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you for the offer to carry me. It’s considerate, but I won’t need it.”

He held back a smile-her mouth was making promises he didn’t think her legs were able to fulfill, but he left it at that.

As they walked slowly up the winding concrete stairs, he had to admire her determination. Regardless of the memory issue, she’d been hospitalized for thirteen days, some of the time she’d been unconscious, and that had to be hell on her body. They’d told him on her discharge that she’d been doing physiotherapy to gain back the muscle condition that being bedridden for almost two weeks had lost, but she wouldn’t be near the condition she would have been in before the accident. And still she pushed herself on to climb the stairs.

He also admired the view of her body as she walked two steps ahead of him. The sway of her rounded hips, the shape of her back under the sky-blue blouse, the jut of a buttock as she lifted a leg for the next step.

Just before halfway, April’s steps became labored, slower.

He wanted to scoop her up and take her to the top, save her the struggle. But she wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, he offered her the choice. “Will I carry you?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” But her voice sounded a little breathless.

He followed, now noticing her body less, and instead listening to the sound of her breath. They were almost two thirds of the way up when he couldn’t remain inactive any longer.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No,” she said turning. “I’ll be able to do it on my own, I promise.” She turned back and on the next step, she stumbled and fell back against him. He grasped her tight against his body, steadying her, taking her weight.

She held herself still for long moments, until he said, “You’ve been unwell, April. Let someone help. Lean on me.”

And then she did, letting the hips and back and the rounded buttocks he’d been watching melt into his body. His pulse spiked, and it had nothing to do with the exercise of the lighthouse stairs and everything to do with the luscious body molded to his. His skin heated at each point they contacted, and everywhere else besides. This slow burn that had started the moment he’d seen her in the flesh had been growing too fast, too high. He wanted nothing more than to lift her in his arms and kiss that full bottom lip, to coax her into kissing him back.

Would she kiss him despite finding her attraction to him “problematic”?

He closed his eyes and bit back a groan. This woman could jeopardize his entire inheritance. He had to keep the fragile alliances he’d built on Bramson Holdings’ board of directors, and if Ms. April Fairchild had her way and he lost the Lighthouse Hotel, he’d lose their faith. He wasn’t sure he had enough votes to become the next chairman, even if he retained the hotel, but he would give it everything he had.

And as far as he knew, she could be playing him. There wasn’t much he hated more than being made a fool of the way Jesse had been by women. The way his mother had been by his father, a man who loved her. April could have awoken in that hospital bed and seen an opportunity to delay things and buy time for her legal team.

The reasoning sounded weak. And the feel of her body pressed against his was still so overwhelming-the smell of fresh apple in her hair, the weight of her, as if she lay above him in bed…

He’d make himself crazy if he waited another instant. Gritting his teeth, he swept her into his arms and continued up the stairs.

She opened her mouth to object, but must have seen the set of his face, because she fell silent.

The sooner Ms. Fairchild regained her memory-or admitted to having it-the better. The minute that happened he’d negotiate his hotel back, and then he was either walking away with his sanity intact…or taking her to his bed.