Forgotten Lullaby (16 page)

She gritted her teeth and slipped the dress over her
head, determination filling her. She was not going to let this crazy person destroy her life. At least not without a fight. She surveyed her reflection in the mirror, touched up her hair and went to find her husband. Even if he wasn't in the mood for dinner, she'd insist they go out. Then she would make him forget the horror of their situation and focus on the bright side. She was still alive and getting stronger every day, and memory or not, they still had each other. That is, if he still wanted her when he learned her memory loss was permanent.

 

O
N THE WAY
to the restaurant Grant tried to shake his black mood. But Warner's words kept haunting him, and he needed to be honest with Emma. “Warner took the box and dress to check for fingerprints,” he said. “He thinks if he can trace the dress to where it was bought, it might lead us somewhere. The salesperson might even remember who bought it, then this whole mess could be over.”

“I hope so.” Emma wound her purse strap around her hand.

“He also agrees with me that whoever's doing this must have known Faye Simmons.” Grant ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Maybe someone who blames me for her death and is trying to punish me by hurting you.”

“But you didn't have anything to do with her death,” Emma argued. She reached for his hand and covered it with hers, making Grant's heart pump with renewed fervor. This was the second time tonight she'd actually made a move to touch him; she wasn't shrinking away from him anymore. “And I still don't see a connection,” she said, her voice low. “Like you said, it's been
over five years since she died. Why come after you now?”

“I don't know,” Grant said, stumped. “I really don't, Emma. But Warner's going to cross-check all the people I knew in college, including the kids at the party that night with the people we know now. Maybe something will click.”

Emma nodded, growing quiet. He put their favorite Bob Seger CD in the player and tried to relax as Seger's husky voice began to sing Emma's favorite, “We've Got Tonight.” As the music played, Emma's tension seemed to dissipate slightly. And when they reached the restaurant, she graced him with one of her heart-stopping smiles as he offered her his arm and led her inside.

“When did you make the reservation?” Grant asked as a waiter escorted them to a candlelit lace-draped table in a corner facing a cozy fireplace.

“Earlier today,” Emma replied.

The soft flowery scent of Emma's bath oil sent his senses sizzling. “J. Bones was our favorite place,” Grant said, a twinge of hope resurging. “We came here for our anniversary. We even spent the night in the hotel here.”

Emma smiled and took her seat. “It's beautiful. I've been thinking about a filet all afternoon.”

She always ordered the filet.
He grinned, trying to forget about the earlier incident. Maybe this place, this luxurious restaurant and upscale hotel where they had spent a titillating anniversary night, would be the place that would bring back her memory.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze scanning the dress she'd changed into. “That's one of my favorite
dresses. You said you bought it because it reminded you of my eyes. You were wearing it the night I proposed.”

He thought he heard Emma's breath hitch, and he wondered if his obsession with their past history was going to upset her again. “I'm sorry, Emma, I know you don't want to hear—”

“Shh, it's okay,” she said softly. “We have a past together, Grant, and it's not fair to not allow you to talk about it. I want you to relax tonight. We both need a break from all the tension lately.”

He smiled with relief. “I want that, too, more than you know.”

Her eyelashes fluttered almost flirtatiously, and his senses came alive, awareness, need, hunger ignited, all strumming through the air, reminding him again of the Bog Seger melody they'd heard in the car. They ordered wine and steaks and let the conversation drift to inane things—music and movies and things they'd talked about when they'd dated.

In a way it was like their first date, Grant thought, wishing he'd brought her flowers or candy or something romantic.

“Elton John's coming to Atlanta in May,” he said. “I was thinking of getting us tickets if you'd like.”

“I'd love to see Elton John,” Emma said. “I know he doesn't dress as wildly as he used to, but his music is still great.”

Grant hesitated, not wanting to spoil the moment, but he had to be honest with her. “We saw him at UNC when you came up one weekend. It was our first date.”

Her smile faded slightly, but he threaded his fingers through hers. “We'll go and pretend it's our first date again, okay.”

She smiled at his effort and the ice seemed to be
broken. They sipped their wine and enjoyed the perfectly prepared steaks, their conversation less of a struggle as the evening wore on. “How about cherries jubilee for dessert,” he suggested. “It's steeped in rum and they serve it flambé.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Emma glanced at the dance floor as the band began to play a litany of soft classic rock.

“I can see why we came here,” Emma said. “This place has a wonderful atmosphere.”

A woman carrying a basket of flowers wove through the tables, and Grant motioned for her to stop. He pulled out a couple of bills. “I'd like a white carnation.”

He handed it to Emma, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I know these past few weeks have been difficult for you, Grant. And I appreciate how wonderful you've been.”

He swallowed, the guilt thick in his throat. “God, Emma, don't thank me. You wouldn't have been hurt in the first place if it wasn't for me.” He tucked the flower in her hair and caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Emma leaned into his hand.

“Don't blame yourself,” she said softly. “It isn't your fault, Grant.”

He shook his head, his voice lost in the turmoil in his head. After the last incident he couldn't escape the truth. He knew it
was
his fault, but Emma squeezed his hand and he remembered they'd decided to enjoy the night, so he sipped his wine, then brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“You look lovely tonight, Emma. I appreciate the fact that you made the reservations here.”

“I told you I wanted to be with you.” Her gaze of approval flicked over him, sending shards of wicked
sensations through his body. It had been so long since he'd been with her, since he'd held and poured his love into her body, that he wondered if he was mistaking the gleam of sexual interest in her eyes for love. Maybe she was starting to have feelings for him. Or remembering the old ones…

The waiter came with their dessert, a showcase of flaming cherries in a syrupy rich sauce with whipped cream. He placed it between them, making a show of extinguishing the flame. The dessert was meant to be shared. Grant dug into the whipped cream with his spoon, then lifted it to her mouth, teasing her with the pillowy white concoction. Then she treated him to cherries covered in tangy rum sauce, licking her lips as she watched him savor the sweet heady flavors.

Her eyes glowed with appreciation for the dessert, and his were mesmerized by the soft tilt of her chin, the slight curve of her button nose, the glowing cheeks that dimpled every time she smiled. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to see her happy and free of worry. When the last bite of cherries sat temptingly on the plate, she scooped it up and he bit off the end, his tongue lapping at the syrup. He imagined dribbling the cherry juice over her naked body and licking it off. Her breath hitched as if she'd read his mind, then a tiny subtle moan of desire erupted from her throat that flamed his body with raw desire. He turned the spoon and she licked the syrup off after him, her slitted dark gaze pinned to his mouth. Heat raced through him, and her brown eyes darkened to black pools he felt himself drowning in.

A soothing love song drifted from the piano and he held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She hesitated and he remembered her injured leg.

“You can lean on me, Emma,” he said quietly.

The vulnerability shadowing her eyes eased slightly and she nodded. He led her to the dance floor and she practically glided into his arms, as if she'd always been there, as if she always would be. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, sucking in a breath of her jasmine fragrance, elated at the way she fit perfectly into his hungry embrace. He guided her around the dance floor, their bodies swaying slowly in perfect time to the piano, the heat between them swirling into a fire. She lay her head against his chest, and he was sure she heard his heart pounding with hunger, his blood sizzling through his veins. When she nuzzled into his embrace, he thought he was going to explode with want.

But he held his libido in check and simply stroked her back, the curve of her waist. He whispered sweet nonsense words at the nape of her neck, reveling in the tiny shiver that rippled through her when he kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her body brushed against his, her hands massaged his arms, found their way to his hairline, where she toyed with the strands, her tentative touches like scorching coals to his cold and lonely soul.

By the time the song mellowed and the next one began, he was so tormented with lust and want he thought he wasn't going to be able to walk back to the table. Then Emma leaned up and kissed his cheek, and after all they'd been through, the sweetness of her trust nearly brought him to his knees.

The music drifted into an instrumental, and he felt her pull slightly away and look into his eyes. “I…I booked us a room,” she said so low he almost didn't hear her.

“You what?” He searched her face.

“I want us to be together tonight, Grant, but—”

He heard the slight quaver in her voice and his heart pounded. “But what?” Her chin trembled just the tiniest bit and his gut clenched. He wanted her so badly he thought he'd explode. “I'm not pushing you, sweetheart. I can wait—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “I know you're not pushing me, but I want to be with you.” Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “But I have scars now, Grant.” She lowered her head. “I'm not the same. My leg—”

He crushed her to him and closed his eyes, the sound of her uncertainty slicing into him like a razor. “Don't you know it doesn't matter?” he said in a voice so rough with emotion he was afraid she didn't catch the words.

But she must have because he saw tears fill her eyes. “It's the reason…I stopped you the last time,” she whispered. “It's not pretty, Grant, the skin is red and—”

He silenced her with a gentle kiss, shame hitting him hard for not realizing before the reason for her reservations. He cupped her face in his hands, vaguely aware the music had stopped playing and they were still in the middle of the dance floor, swaying and hugging one another, their bodies mating in the rhythm of a seductive slow dance. “You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known, Emma, and you always will be. You're my wife, and I love you. Don't you know by now how much you mean to me?”

A tear slid down her cheek and he caught it with his lips. “Don't cry, sweetheart. I love you and nothing, I mean
nothing,
can change that. Especially not a scar.”

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I don't want to disappoint you, Grant.”

He chuckled, a husky sound filled with desire. “Honey, I know you don't want me to tell you about the past, but if you could remember how shamelessly I chased you, you'd know you couldn't disappoint me. Not ever.”

“But it's different now,” Emma murmured. “I'm different.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “No, you're the same woman I begged to go out with me, the same one I actually serenaded in front of the dorm…”

“You serenaded me?” she asked, her lips quirking into a tentative smile.

He nodded. “I sang that Seger song to you. The guys in the dorm laughed their heads off.”

“Tell me what else you did,” she said, the dim light softening the shadows beneath her eyes.

“I used to play soccer on an intramural team.” He ran his hand down to her waist, pulling her into him as they swayed to the strains of an Eric Clapton melody. “Later you came to spend the weekend with Kate. It was my big chance to impress you, only I sprained my ankle at the beginning of the game—”

“And you didn't get to play?”

He chuckled again. “No, I played all right. You'd just gotten there, so I wouldn't let them take me out.”

“You played the game knowing you had a sprained ankle to impress me?”

“Actually I found out later it was fractured. I was on crutches for three weeks.”

Emma threaded her fingers into the tips of his thick hair. “That's really romantic, Grant.”

“It was really dumb, but it should tell you how much I wanted you then.”

She grew silent, her expression once again worried, but she held him more tightly. He felt a sense of longing so deep it hurt.

“But it was nothing compared to how much I want you now, Emma. Or how much I love you.” He brought her hands to his chest as he'd done before. “At the hospital I told you that you might not remember me in your head, but you'd always be in my heart, didn't I?”

She nodded, smiling slowly, then he curved his arm around her and she leaned into him as they walked slowly back to the table. He signed for the check, she retrieved her purse, and they barely made it to the hotel room before he lowered his head and took her mouth with all the urgency he had penned up inside. Before the night ended, she was going to know how strong his love was, and she would be his wife again, in every sense of the word.