Catherine Mann - The Second Chance

“But I’m not the one whose spouse doesn’t remember me. I know that has to hurt, and I’m so sorry.”

She hugged her knees tighter, eyes locking with his. The heat rose between them in an undeniable connection, building like the crackling fire.

“I’m focused on what’s best for you.”

“Then what’s got you so worried? I don’t have to be a private detective to read the tension in you.”

He creaked back in the office chair, deciding to share. “We’ve been struggling with data leaks for a while, trying to follow the trails in email exchanges.”

“A mole in the company?” She uncrossed her legs and pushed herself off the couch. As she moved through the white room, her hands lingered on stray books on the coffee table. She walked to the fireplace and picked up a heavy crystal photo frame off the mantel—a picture of the two of them from a romantic train getaway, from Anchorage to the Arctic Circle. He’d been trying to cheer her up after a failed in vitro attempt.

“Seems so. We hired a new employee who, as it turns out, had a vendetta against us and the Steeles.”

“What does the spy have to say?” She set the frame down and drew closer. Lithe as ever. Hot as hell. She sank back into the sofa, curling up.

“She’s disappeared somewhere in Canada.” He righted his chair, then stood and walked toward her.

“And you’ve hired private investigators.”

“Of course.” He sat on the sofa, close enough that her toes grazed his thigh and the scent of her perfume tempted him to bury his face in her neck and inhale deeper. He recalled well how she always preferred floral scents in perfume, shampoo, even essential oils, all carrying through her love of flowers.

As much as he hated the unanswered questions at work, he welcomed the ease of being with Shana this way, without the anger of the past year that had torn their marriage apart.

“What do the investigators have to say about the data trails from her email exchanges?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?” She shook her head. “That’s strange.”

“And you think you could do better.”

“I surely couldn’t do any worse.”

He snorted on a laugh. “Fair enough. What are you proposing?”

“I don’t know how I used to spend my time while we were married, but I will go stir-crazy just sitting around. Let me do my part and take a stab at finding this woman.” She tapped his mouth before he could talk.

The feel of her fingers on him made him ache to clasp her wrist and pull her onto his lap. Seal his mouth to hers and lose themselves in the way they connected best.

But pushing too far, too fast would only harm his cause. So he simply took her arm and pressed a kiss to her palm before lowering her hand. Her throat moved in a long swallow that sent a surge of victory through him.

“So, Shana, how do you want to proceed?”

“Have the human resources department send me her application and any other information on her. I’ll start by digging around on the internet to see what I can find.”

He wanted to wrap her in a cocoon, keep her close to protect her. Shana was strong-willed, and her fire had attracted him to her from the first.

But her fire, her determination, also made things tough right now. If he wasn’t careful, she’d apply those investigative skills to their past.

Perhaps internet research would distract her from the amnesia, keep her from digging too deep into how things had been between them.

The last thing he wanted was for her to find out that on the day of her aneurysm, they’d decided to separate.

* * *

For the first time since waking up disoriented in the hospital room, Shana could finally breathe.

The warm shower sluicing down her back eased her tensed muscles. The stress came as much from her too-sexy husband as it did from any medical issues.

If only she could hide in the shower forever, just let the water wash away all tensions, all concerns. She would pretend for just a moment her life was simple and uncomplicated as the scent of her shampoo mingled with the aroma from the floral-scented candle she’d lit.

How could she have forgotten her marriage? Had the aneurysm wiped five years from her mind for life? Or was the loss stress-related, not coincidental that the memory loss started at the time she’d met her husband?

Trust was difficult enough for her under normal circumstances. She slid her hand over her stomach.

There was no room for error. The stakes were too high. And she needed to take care of her health, which included rest.

She turned off the shower and stepped out onto the heated floor. A sigh of pleasure slipped free. She definitely didn’t remember these, or any of the other luxuries from this life with Chuck Mega-Wealthy Mikkelson.

Except she was a Mikkelson now, too.

This was all too much to think about.

She should be relaxing. She tugged a towel free and dried off, then wrapped the fluffy cotton around her body. She squeezed water from her hair, making her way into the dressing area.

And slamming into a warm wall of hunky man.

Chuck.

Heat from the floor radiated up to send a flush of awareness through her body. Maybe it had been a bad idea moving in here with him as she waited for a cure for the amnesia. This kind of intimacy, the magnitude of their attraction, all of it so fast was...unsettling.

“Excuse me,” he said, clasping her shoulders, his broad hands launching a tingle of excitement through her breasts. “I was just coming in to get some clothes from our closet.”

Our closet.

She drew in a couple of steadying breaths. “I, uh...” Her mouth went dry. She clutched the towel in a fist between her breasts. She should step away.

Should .

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

His thumbs moved along her collarbone. “I thought you were still downstairs in the kitchen.”

The touch scrambled her thoughts and stole her breath.

“I feel bad kicking you out of your bedroom,” she said, her eyes drawn to the vibrant green of his. “I can sleep in the guest room. It’s not like I’ll miss this space since I don’t remember it being mine.”

Theirs. Together.

Her gaze slid past him into the bedroom. How had they spent their time here before she’d become ill?

She looked up to the tray ceiling and toward the black fan. She felt disoriented, spinning and spinning, like the blades circulating heated air. She wondered if she’d ever stop circling around this awareness, this nagging feeling at the back of her mind.

She hated how she looked at the plush bed, with its overstuffed white pillows pressed against a headboard that practically went to the ceiling, and remembered...nothing.

This place felt foreign.

Even the pieces of her life that she recognized—like the antique perfume bottle from her grandmother on the mirrored bedside table—felt out of place. Familiar but not enough to comfort her.

She realized Chuck hadn’t responded. His eyes had been tracking hers as she struggled to deal with this attraction to a man she barely knew.

“I feel bad that things are so awkward between us,” she said.

“There’s no instruction manual for how to deal with this.”

She closed her eyes. Breathed in a hint of his aftershave, which sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the chilly day. She opened her eyes. “I’ve turned your life upside down.”

“More like you’re turning me inside out in that towel.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Heat stung her face.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault.” His hands slid down her arms and then away from her body as he stepped back. “Good night, beautiful. Sleep well.”