Passionate Pregnancies. Maya Banks

       Two

      Rafael watched as all the color leeched from her face and she swayed unsteadily. With a curse, he reached to grasp her arms. This time she didn’t fight him. She was limp in his hands and he felt the slight tremble beneath his fingers.

      “Come, sit down, before you fall,” he said grimly.

      He led her to the bed and she sat, her hands going to the edge to brace herself.

      She glanced up at him, her eyes haunted. “You expect me to believe you have amnesia? Is that the best you could come up with?”

      He winced because he felt much the same about the idea of amnesia. If all she’d said was true and their positions were reversed, he’d laugh her out of the room.

      “I don’t ask this to make you angry, but what is your name? I feel at quite a disadvantage here.”

      She sighed and rubbed a hand wearily through her thick hair. “You’re serious about this.”

      He made a sound of impatience and she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

      “My name is Bryony Morgan,” she said quietly.

      She bowed her head and black curls fell forward, hiding her profile. Unable to resist, he ran his finger over her cheek and then pushed the hair back behind her ear.

      “Well, Bryony, it would seem you and I have a lot to discuss. I have many, many questions as you can well imagine.”

      She turned her head to stare up at him. “Amnesia. You’re seriously going to stick to this insane story?”

      He tried to remember how skeptical he’d be in her shoes, but her outright disbelief was ticking him off. He wasn’t used to having his word questioned by anyone.

      “Do you think I like being punched in the face at a public gathering by a woman claiming to be pregnant with my child when to my knowledge it’s the first time we’ve met? Put yourself in my shoes for a moment. If a man you’d never seen before or had no memory of walked up to you and said the things to you that you’re saying to me, don’t you think you’d be a little suspicious? Hell, you’d probably have already called the cops you keep threatening me with.”

      “This is crazy,” she muttered.

      “Look, I can prove what happened to me. I can show you my medical records and the doctor’s diagnosis. I don’t remember you, Bryony. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s a fact. I have only your word that we were ever anything to each other.”

      Her lips twisted. “Yeah, we can’t forget I’m not your type.”

      He winced. Trust her to remember that remark.

      “I’d like for you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning. Tell me when and where we met. Maybe something you say will jog my memory.”

      A knock sounded at the door and he scowled. “Are you expecting someone at this hour?” he asked when she rose to answer it.

      “Room service. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”

      “That can’t be good for the baby.”

      She didn’t look as though she appreciated the remark. Gathering her robe tighter around her, she went to the door and a few seconds later, a room service attendant wheeled in a cart bearing covered plates. She signed the bill and offered a halfhearted smile of thanks to the man.

      When Rafael and Bryony were alone again she pushed the cart the rest of the way to the bed. “Sorry. Obviously I wasn’t counting on company. I only ordered enough food for one.”

      He lifted a brow as she began uncovering the dishes. There was enough food to feed a small convention.

      “Sit down and relax. We can talk while you’re eating.”

      She settled in the armchair catty-corner to the bed and curled her feet underneath her. As she reached for one of the plates, he studied the face of the woman he’d forgotten.

      She was beautiful. No denying that. Not the kind of woman he usually gravitated toward. She was entirely too outspoken for his liking. He preferred women who were gentle and, according to his close friends, submissive.

      Quite frankly it made him sound like a jackass. But he couldn’t deny he did like his women a bit more biddable. He found it fascinating that he’d supposedly met and fallen in love with Bryony Morgan, the antithesis of every woman he’d dated for the past five years.

      Okay, so he bought that he’d been attracted to her. And yeah, he could buy sleeping with her. But falling in love? In a span of a few weeks?

      That was a giant hole in the fairy tale she’d spun.

      But she was also a woman, and women tended to be emotional creatures. It was possible she thought he was in love with her. Her hurt and betrayal certainly didn’t seem feigned.

      And then there was the fact she was pregnant with his child. It would probably make him seem even more of a bastard, but it would be stupid not to insist on paternity testing. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she’d made the entire thing up after learning of his memory loss.

      He had the sudden urge to call his lawyer and have him tell him whose signature was on the real estate contract for the land he’d purchased sometime during the weeks he’d lost. He hadn’t seen the paperwork since before his accident. He paid people to keep his business running and his affairs in order. Once he scored the deal, there was no reason to look back.

      Until now.

      Damn but this was a mess. And yeah, he was definitely calling his lawyer first thing in the morning.

      “What are you thinking?” she asked bluntly.

      “That this is a huge cluster f—”

      “You’re telling me,” she muttered. “Only I don’t see what’s so bad from your perspective. You’ve got more money than God. You’re not pregnant, and you didn’t just sign away land that’s been in your family for generations to a man who’s going to destroy it to build some tourist trap.”

      The pain in her voice sent an uncomfortable sensation through his chest. Something remarkably like guilt ate at him, but what did he have to feel guilty about? None of this was his fault.

      “How did we meet?” he asked. “I need to know everything.”

      She toyed with her fork, and her lips turned down into an unhappy frown.

      “The first time I saw you, you were wearing an uptight suit, shoes that cost more than my house and you had on sunglasses. It annoyed me that I couldn’t see your eyes, so I refused to speak to you until you took them off.”

      “And where was this?”

      “Moon Island. You were asking about a stretch of beachfront property and who owned it. I, of course, was the owner, and I figured you were some guy from the city with big plans to develop the island and save all the locals from a life of poverty.”

      He frowned. “It wasn’t for sale? I remember it being for sale before I ever went down there. I wouldn’t have known about it otherwise.”

      She nodded. “It was. I … I needed to sell it. My grandmother and I could no longer afford the property taxes. But we agreed we wouldn’t sell to a developer. It was bad enough that I was forced to sell land that’s been in my family for generations.”

      She broke off, clearly uncomfortable with all she’d shared.

      “Anyway,