Escape for New Year: Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish. Shirley Jump
he fought the urge to force her to act in her own best interests and do as she was told. But that was out of the question, for more reasons than one. She was still a beautiful woman … more beautiful than he even remembered. As much as his brain knew they couldn’t live together, his physiology understood only that she was uniquely, tormentingly desirable.
How easy it would be even now to sweep her up, whisk her away and take shameful advantage of this situation. So easy … And more destructive than any act that had ever come before.
He loosened the knot at his throat. He’d try to reason with her one more time.
“You might think you’re all right, but—”
“I thought we were pregnant.”
The back of his knees caved in. Tipping sideways, Bishop propped his shoulder against the wall then, mind spinning, slid to sit on the bed. His ears were ringing. He felt as if a bomb had exploded inches from his face. Holding his brow, he waited for the stars to fade then finally found the wherewithal to question his ex-wife.
His voice was a croak.
“You thought … what?”
She folded down beside him and held his hand as she beseeched him with her eyes. “I was so happy. And worried. Worried about what you would say.”
His chest squeezed around a deep ache at the same time a horrible emptiness welled up inside of him. He felt ransacked. As if his insides had been ripped out and thrown on the floor. He couldn’t go through this again, not for anything. Not even that trusting, desperate look on Laura’s face.
He turned more toward her, willed the truth to show in his eyes. “Listen to me … you couldn’t be.”
“I know we use protection,” she countered, “but nothing’s a hundred percent.”
The breath Bishop held burned in his chest. This was worse than he’d thought. Was now the time to serve it to her cold? If he were in her shoes, he’d prefer it that way. He wouldn’t want to feel like a fool later on. Laura wouldn’t, either. They weren’t married anymore, much less pregnant.
Her green eyes glistened over at him and as her fingers kneaded his, unbidden brush fires began to heat and lick familiar pathways through his veins. Closing his eyes, he worked to kill the desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as a devoted husband would. So vivid, so hauntingly clear … it all might have happened yesterday. Their meeting, the wedding, the honeymoon, that fall from the northern footbridge, then the slow agonizing death of “them.”
“You are not pregnant.” His words were strained, controlled. Or, if you are, I’m not the father.
Her slim nostrils flared with quiet courage and she nodded. “The doctor told me. I was mistaken.” That hope-filled light came back up in her eyes. “But when I thought I had a baby growing inside of me, a tiny new life that we’d created, it made me realize …”
Her gaze grew strangely distant and yet somehow stronger. Then her shoulders rolled back and a fire lit her cheeks.
“My illness won’t make a difference to how I feel,” she told him. “I know there’s a risk, but I want a baby, Bishop. Our baby.” She held his hand tighter, angled her head and brought his fingers to her hot cheek. “We just need to have faith.”
Bishop closed his eyes as a scolding, prickling sensation crawled up his spine. They’d already had this conversation.
Going on two years ago. It had been the beginning of the end … a long, drawn out, bitter affair.
Laura’s broken voice cut through the haze.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”
Again Bishop tugged the Windsor knot at his throat and, finding it increasingly difficult to breathe, lengthened his neck. Other than Laura’s light floral scent, the air in here seemed stale. He needed some space to try and work out how to diffuse this crazy situation before it got any worse.
Winding his hand out of hers, he found his feet and an impassive voice.
“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you need?” Three fingers of scotch sat at the top of his wish list.
“There is one thing.” She stood, too, leaned closer and placed a warm palm on his chest. Unbidden flames ignited in his sternum as her slightly parted mouth came near. “I need for you to kiss me.”
Two
In her eyes—in his heart—Bishop understood that today Laura loved him. He also understood she was far from her true state of mind. Fighting the raw ache in his throat, he found his ex-wife’s arms and urged her gently away.
Refusing her affection was one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do; toward the end of their marriage he’d have given anything to have had her show him love again. But while his hardening body whispered for him to accept what she offered now, his conscience said a resounding no. Laura was far from well, and no man for any reason needed to take advantage of that.
But he had to be careful how he handled this problem. He didn’t want to tip her over whatever mental precipice she so obviously teetered on.
He put a calming note into his voice. “Laura, this isn’t the time.”
“Not the time?” Her face pinched. Then she blinked several times. “I don’t understand. We’re husband and wife. We always kiss.”
His heart lurched but he wouldn’t let that twist of emotion show. How in God’s name would he ever navigate through this mess? He felt as if he’d been thrown into the mouth of an active volcano. Everywhere he stepped he got burned. A lot like their marriage, really.
But information was power. He’d get the facts, a professional’s opinion and see what was what.
Laura was still looking at him, confusion and hurt brimming in her eyes. In the first three months of their marriage, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, and vice versa.
Even now …
Needing to reassure her, he relented and let one palm slide down her arm. Immediately, that minimal contact sent up a flare and a throb that echoed like a warning bell through his blood. Setting his jaw, he put up both his hands and took a resolute step back.
“I’ll go speak to a doctor.”
“About the pregnancy test.”
His gut knotted and jaw tightened more.
“Yes. About that.”
He left her standing in a white hospital gown, uncertain, beside the bed. In the corridor, he took a moment to orient himself and order his blood pressure to drop. Laura might be the one who’d had a fall and lost her memory but he was the one feeling off balance. Still, there must be a rational, safe way to maneuver through this hopscotch of emotional landmines. And damned if he wouldn’t find it, and find it fast.
At the nurses’ station, Bishop made an inquiry and a man in a white coat studying a file down the hall was pointed out. He sped off.
“Doctor—” Bishop glanced at the name tag as he came to a stop “—Stokes, I’m Samuel Bishop. I was told you examined Laura Bishop earlier.”
The middle-aged doctor peered over his bifocals and set aside the folder. “You’re Mrs. Bishop’s husband?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The doctor gave a knowing grin and they crossed the room, away from others’ earshot.
“Head trauma,” Doctor Stokes summed up. “Retrograde memory loss.”
Bishop nodded. “How long will it last?”
“Usually in these cases, memory returns gradually over the following days. It can take longer. In some rare instances