Forgotten Lullaby (12 page)

Unable to stand the torture, he lowered his head and nibbled at her breasts through her sweater. Slowly he pushed up the fabric and sought her with his mouth. Easing the edge of her lacy bra away with his teeth, his tongue flicked over her nipple, and she groaned, dropping her head forward and hugging him to her.

“Grant, no…” she whispered.

He suckled the rosy tip, then nipped at her other breast. His groin surged with desire, his lips gorging themselves on her warm delicate flesh.

Emma's hands wrestled in his hair. “No, Grant, please, we have to stop.”

Her soft plea invaded his urgency, and he paused, his hand gripping her sweater with trembling fingers, then smoothing it back in place. God, what was he doing? Acting like a sex maniac.

Or like a husband who wanted his wife. Emma had once welcomed his hungry sexual advances, but now…now she wanted him to stop.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a tear-filled voice. But in
stead of pushing him away, she hugged him to her breasts. “I'm so sorry, Grant. I need more time.”

He let his hands linger at her waist, then lifted them to stroke her arms, his face buried against her. “Shh, it's okay. I shouldn't have rushed you.” Then he lifted his head and saw the misery in her eyes, the confusion, and his heart nearly broke. She needed more time. He'd have to give it to her. He'd do anything not to make her cry. So he raised his finger and wiped at her tears, then said good-night.

 

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS
, tension hung in the air, blanketing Emma with a weariness she couldn't escape. Grant wanted more. She could see the yearning in his eyes every time they passed in the hallway, shared a meal or simply cared for Carly. When their hands brushed or he kissed her good-night, sensations stirred within her, making her want more, but a dull ache settled in her chest when she thought about the threats to her life. The calls had continued to come, more of the same, never long enough to trace, never offering more information, just menacing enough to keep her on edge. Each time she told Grant about one of them, his jaw tightened and his blue eyes flickered angrily.

But Grant didn't press her for sex, and she grew more anxious about her memory loss, frustrated that she hadn't even had a small glimpse of her former life. Kate came daily and drove her to therapy. Martha baby-sat Carly so Grant could work at the office a few hours a day. She wondered if he spent more time working simply to avoid her.

Her physical progress had been steady. She had finally graduated from crutches to a cane, and the doctor had said she could drive again when she was ready. To
an outsider her family routine might appear normal. She and Grant shared a home, a child, and were cordial with one another. But Emma sensed their relationship was a time bomb, ready to explode at any second. Emma patted Carly's back, humming the lullaby Grant had said was Carly's favorite. She loved her baby. Whether she remembered her or not, the sweet precious child in her arms had stolen her heart. But Grant?

She wasn't sure how she felt about him, she thought, as she carried Carly to her crib and tucked her in. She wanted to be the woman Grant loved. But she still couldn't remember him or their relationship, and her physical therapy served as a definite reminder that she wasn't the same woman he'd loved before the accident. With each passing day her doubts escalated. She watched the videos of their wedding and a few of their family excursions over and over, hoping to trigger her memory. Each time she was touched by the scenes, but nothing clicked in her mind. She'd looked naive and young and sweet in the pictures. She wasn't that innocent young woman now. She had scars, both inside and out, and she was afraid she would never be the same.

At times she saw pain lingering in Grant's eyes, and she wondered if it was fair to stay here in this house with him as his wife when she couldn't truly be a wife to him. Was he simply staying with her out of loyalty?

The telephone rang and she started, then stared at the machine, her heart thumping. Was it the threatening caller?

Angry with herself for letting the calls upset her, she reached for the phone, preparing to tell whoever it was to bug off. But a woman's lilting voice sounded on the line.

“Hello, Emma?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“This is Priscilla—I work with Grant.”

Emma wound the phone cord around her fingers. “Yes, he's mentioned you.”

“He has?” Priscilla sounded surprised.

“Yes, he told me about you and Pete Landers and the trip to Paris.”

“Oh, yes. The trip went great. We missed having Grant along, but the company loved his work.” Priscilla paused. “Is Grant there?”

Emma frowned in confusion. “No, I thought he was at work.”

“He was,” Priscilla quickly said. “But after lunch I had another appointment and when I returned to the office, he was gone.”

“I see.” Emma shifted onto her uninjured leg, keeping the weight off her sore ankle. “Do you want to leave a message?”

“Yes, if you see him, tell him we're meeting with Mr. Bronson this afternoon. He wants to discuss the designs Grant drew up for him.”

Emma twisted her mouth in thought. “I'll tell him, but he'll probably go to the office first. He isn't driving me to the doctor until three.”

Priscilla's loud sigh wreaked with agitation. “Can you arrange for someone else to drive you? This is a very important meeting, Emma.”

Emma stiffened at Priscilla's condescending tone. She knew Kate would drop her at the doctor's office, but Kate had an appointment later and couldn't stay.

“I realize you've had a hard time lately, Emma, but you really need to be supportive of Grant,” Priscilla chided. “He's worked so hard to make a name for himself, and right now he needs to put everything he has
into the company. He might be promoted. That would mean major money and status with the firm.”

“I understand,” Emma said, rubbing her hand along her thigh. “When he comes in, tell him Kate will take me to the doctor, but he'll need to pick me up at five.” Priscilla agreed and hung up. Emma's leg was aching, so she hobbled over to the couch and propped it on the ottoman, then lay her head back and sighed. She was letting Grant down by not remembering her marriage. After talking to Priscilla, she wondered if she'd failed him in the past, as well, by not supporting his career.

Too tired to think, she closed her eyes and drifted off. But several minutes later she woke up with a start. Even in her sleep, questions plagued her. She was a burden to Grant, she was sure. And she had to do something about it.

She pushed herself up, grabbed her cane and went to the bathroom to freshen up before her session. She was going to talk to the doctor about running some more tests. She needed to find out if her memory loss was due to physical trauma or emotional stress. And if the results showed emotional stress, she'd arrange for the hypnosis. And if the tests showed permanent physical damage, she needed to know that, too. Then she and Grant could move on with their lives, one way or another.

 

G
RANT HURRIED BACK
into his office to retrieve the files he'd left behind, anxious to get home to Emma and Carly. Each day he told himself to be patient, that one day Emma would wake up and remember him. But each time he saw the listless look in Emma's eyes, he knew she hadn't. It was eating at her, as well. He recognized the tension radiating between them.

“I can't believe you, Wadsworth,” Pete said, almost accosting him in the hallway.

“What is it now, Landers?” Grant asked, mentally counting the number of times Pete had chastised him for coming in to work and leaving his wife. “Going to lecture me again about how I should go home?”

Pete's nostrils flared with anger. “I decided that wouldn't do any good, you're so hardheaded. But how dare you insinuate to the police that I might have hurt your wife!”

“What?” Grant paused over the papers on his desk.

Pete exploded. “They came to my office and questioned me about my Jeep. Just because it was in the damn body shop, they accused me of running your wife off the road!”

Grant exhaled noisily. “Look, Pete, I had nothing to do with that.”

Pete folded his arms, his expression furious. “Really? They said you gave them my name.”

“I did,” Grant said, forcing a calm into his voice before they had the entire firm wandering in to witness their confrontation. “I had to give them a list of everyone Emma and I knew, all our friends and family, and the people we both worked with. It was a formality.”

The angry splash on Pete's neck faded slightly. “I know you don't like me, Wadsworth, but I can't believe you think I'd hurt your wife. What reason could I possibly have?” Grant's silence seemed to fuel Pete's temper again. “The job?” Pete asked in disbelief.

“I never accused you of anything,” Grant said.

“You think I'd stoop to murder to beat you out of a promotion?”

“I didn't say that,” Grant replied quietly. “And I'm sorry if the cops bothered you. They're only doing their
jobs.”
They even questioned me,
he thought, remembering how angry he'd been with the detective's insinuations.

Pete's voice dropped an octave. “You just don't get it, Grant. Some things are more important than your job.” Then he spun around and exited the office in a gust of anger.

Priscilla nearly bumped into Pete as she entered. She arched an auburn eyebrow. “What's going on with him?”

Grant relayed the argument. Priscilla simply clucked, dismissing Pete's problems with a wave of her hand. “Don't worry about him, Grant. You have enough on your mind.”

A muscle twitched in his neck and Grant rubbed it, rolling his shoulders to relieve the strain. Before he realized it, Priscilla had slipped behind him and pressed her fingertips to his sore neck and begun to massage. He dropped his head forward, unable to resist the tension release as she kneaded his aching muscles.

“I know you're having a rough time at home. Pete should cut you some slack.”

“I don't blame him for being angry,” Grant said. “But he never did say what happened to his Jeep.”

“He told me somebody hit him in the parking lot. Didn't even leave a note.”

“It's possible,” Grant agreed, rotating his shoulders in the opposite direction.

“You need to concentrate on the Bronson account right now,” Priscilla said. “Not Pete. Bronson called and wants us for cocktails at four, then an early dinner.”

Grant sighed. “I can't, Priscilla. I have to take Emma to therapy.”

“It's all right—I talked to Emma. She said to tell you her sister's taking her.”

“Oh,” Grant said, feeling as if Emma had once again chosen Kate over him.

Priscilla leaned over his shoulder, her perfume wafting around him. “Bronson wants you to build a scale model of the city within the city.”

“Great,” Grant said, slightly uneasy when Priscilla's hair brushed against his collar. He leaned forward, expecting her to release his shoulders, but she ran her hand over his arm and squeezed his bicep.

“Are you feeling more relaxed, darling?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He straightened his tie and turned to face her, surprised she hadn't moved.

She brushed a piece of lint from his jacket, her hand lingering at his collar. “I really am worried about you, Grant,” Priscilla said softly, her ruby lips curving into a sensuous smile. “You've been under a lot of stress lately. If you ever need to talk or…anything else, let me know.”

Grant swallowed. With Kate's undermining him with Emma, Emma's reluctance to let him touch her and Pete's antagonistic attitude, he should be flattered to have someone think about him for a change, but Priscilla's catlike eyes seemed to be suggesting more than comfort.

Or maybe he was so desperate for physical attention he was reading more into her gesture than she meant. Whatever her motive and no matter how tempting the idea of leaning on her, he couldn't possibly have a personal relationship with Priscilla without seeing Emma in his mind. Only Emma didn't want him.

Priscilla's hand feathered over his arm, her touch
light, almost provocative. “You will let me know if you need anything, won't you, Grant?”

He caught her hand in his and squeezed it, then angled his head toward the phone. “Yes, thanks.”

Priscilla's smile widened. “Good. I'll make the reservations and confirm with Bronson.” She sashayed toward the door, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “We make a great team, Grant, don't you think?”

His fingers tightened around the phone as he nodded.
Yeah, but it's only business,
he thought, stifling images of what she'd seemingly offered. The diamond chips in his wedding ring sparkled as they caught in the light, and he forced his mind back to business.

 

“I
'LL LET YOU KNOW
the results of the test next week,” Dr. Jacobs said. “Until then, go home and rest. You look exhausted, Mrs. Wadsworth.”

“It was a long therapy session,” Emma said. “But I'm feeling stronger every day.” She settled her cane on the carpeting and stood, steadying herself. “Thanks for working me in for those tests.”

Jacobs checked her chart. “Most of the swelling around your brain tissue has gone down. We should get a better indication of your condition from these tests.”

“I want to try hypnosis if we find out my amnesia's due to emotional stress,” Emma said.

Jacobs nodded. “Let's take it one step at a time, Emma. For now, that means go home to your family and rest. And try not to worry.” Jacobs opened the door for her to leave.

“I'll try. Now I'd better get going. My husband's supposed to be picking me up.”

Emma was surprised to see that Grant wasn't in the waiting room. She made her way down the hallway and
into the elevator, her muscles aching from her therapy session. Although her gait was still awkward, she
was
getting stronger every day, she reminded herself. And the threatening phone calls had petered off; she hadn't received one all day. Of course, Grant had changed the phone number to an unlisted one, so perhaps they would end entirely.