“Did you recently move in?”
Leighton stood in the middle of a living room with very little furniture, though it was exquisitely adorned with crown molding, a fireplace and an intricately carved ceiling medallion.
Jonathan paused in the act of sorting through his mail. “No.”
Not even his affronted scowl could detract from the masculine beauty of his features. Was there any expression that could achieve that feat?
Hugging herself, she dragged her gaze away from his profile and directed it out the bay window, the actual scenery conflicting with her recollections.
The neighborhood featured historic Victorian row homes bordered by park benches occupied by older black men feeding pigeons, and sidewalks teeming with millennials toting yoga mats and messenger bags. It bore little resemblance to what she remembered, an up-and-coming area still struggling under the “unsafe” label due to overt drug use, prostitution and homelessness. She’d blinked and Logan Circle had evolved from a sketchy community to one of the trendiest sections in Northwest DC.
She turned from the view and found him watching her, his dark eyes intense and unblinking. Focused. Heat pooled between her thighs and her nipples pebbled against her arm. Leighton knew that look. It’d been directed her way numerous times before and was usually followed by the grip of strong hands pulling her close for a kiss.
Except Jonathan stayed where he was, positioned next to the antique credenza in the hallway, at least fifteen feet away from her.
Why?
He blinked and the heat disappeared from his gaze, as if it had never existed.
Dammit!
Why did she feel like her life was a long-running, award-winning Broadway play and she was some random woman plucked off the street and shoved onto the stage without a script? Everyone knew what they were doing except her.
She cleared her throat. “How long have you lived here?”
He returned his attention to the envelopes in his hand. “About a year.”
She motioned to the sectional couch and large flat screen TV, the only items in the room. “But it’s so empty!”
“I’m barely here. I spend most of my time at Sedici.”
That explains it, I guess.
Still—
“Is that why we don’t live together?”
He dropped the mail into the wooden decorative bowl placed on the credenza for that specific purpose, judging by the envelopes already there.
“Why would you think that’s the reason? Maybe you decided to wait to move in until after the wedding?”
“Did you keep leaving the toilet seat up? Or are you one of those cap-off-the-toothpaste men?”
“Maybe it was you? You could be a secret slob.” A tiny smile hovered at the corners of his mouth.
“Nope. Try again.”
“What if we decided to wait until after the wedding for . . . other things, too?”
The way his tongue darted out to touch his lower lip when he said other things . . .
Is that why he was keeping his distance? Had they decided to wait and have sex after they were married?
If so, what in the hell had she been thinking?
She rolled her eyes. “Even if I can’t account for the past six years, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t concerned about protecting my virtue from you.”
“No, I guess not.” His smile wavered. “We’re both busy people. Our careers are very important to us.”
“My vulnerable virtue notwithstanding, I appreciate you letting me stay here.”
Their eyes did that meet-and-bond thing again and this time, her heart skipped a beat. The connection between them was palpable.
“Of course.” He severed their connection and scratched his cheek. “I went to your apartment and brought some of your things back here.”
She gestured down to the slim black pant and blush pink sleeveless top she wore. “Is that where you got these clothes?”
His jaw tightened but he nodded.
He’d made the right call. The dress she’d worn the night she’d been admitted to the hospital was gorgeous, but dirt and blood had rendered it beyond salvageable.
Another thought occurred to her. “Do I still live on Capitol Hill?”
“No. In Foggy Bottom. A condo on Virginia Avenue with great views of the Potomac River.”
Her stomach clenched in disappointment. She loved her apartment. She and her mother had gone house hunting for six months before she found that place. It was the first time she’d lived on her own.
“If you’d rather stay there, we could make the appropriate arrangements. Hire a nurse.”
No!
Dr. Faber had informed them both that memory couldn’t be recovered from being told personal experiences or from being in a familiar environment surrounded by personal belongings. Being in her apartment now would be akin to staying at a hotel. Except if she stayed at her place, she’d ignore her doctor’s advice. She’d be compelled to roam around the rooms, touching various tchotchkes like they were supernatural talismans, waiting for the memories to flood over her.
Not to mention the pocket-sized part of her that feared recalling her missing years might bring some unexpected and unwelcome revelations.
“No, I want to be here.” With you. “Staring at objects I don’t recognize and hoping for a eureka moment seems depressing.” She gestured to their sparse surroundings. “From the look of things here, that won’t be a problem.”
“Alright, I get it. You’re not impressed with my decorating skills.” His dark brown eyes sparkled.
God, he was gorgeous. And so damned sexy. It wasn’t fair what he did to a simple t-shirt—white this time—and a pair of jeans. And his tattoo? She wanted to trace the pattern with her finger. Or her tongue. See if it only curled around his bicep or spiraled farther . . .
She swallowed.
Had she discovered a way to navigate the unmistakable tension between them? Some mental waders to don when longing thickened the space between them? Or had time and proximity lessened its effect? She couldn’t imagine an occasion when she wasn’t hyper aware of him, but there had to be more to their relationship. And since she didn’t plan on sitting around and playing “Marco Polo” with her old memories, she needed to ascertain what that was.
The day after she’d awakened, she’d gone all existential. If memories helped a person understand who they were, without them, who was she? It’d been a weird period of time and had jumpstarted her determination to use the therapy available to her, but that depression had stuck with her and she didn’t intend to revisit it. Jonathan was living, breathing proof of her existence during the time she couldn’t remember, and the way he made her feel was the only tangible thing tethering her to sanity.
“How are things going at the restaurant?”
“A million things on my checklist and only time to complete about half.”
Her stomach knotted. His visits to the hospital probably hadn’t helped.
Dipping her chin, she clasped her hands together and sat down on one end of the couch. “What made you decide to come east?”
His brows met like long lost lovers. “What?”
“Our conversation in the hospital. You’d been living in San Francisco and running your restaurant there when you decided to move back to DC. I asked if you came back to open Sedici and you said ‘among other reasons.’ I just . . . wondered what they were.”
“Oh.” He shifted his stance, pulling his head back and pushing his shoulders forward. “I wanted to re-connect with my family. I spent a lot of years in San Francisco and I missed them.”
“Is your family still here?”
“My parents live in Florida now.”
“Are you an only child?”
He shoved his hands in the back pocket of his jeans and the motion pulled his shirt tight across his chest. “No. I have an older brother.”
Why did he suddenly look on edge?
“I always wanted a sibling,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked having my parents’ undivided attention but, when they were working, it could get pretty lonely. It would’ve been nice to have a brother or sister to spend time with.”
“That’s the idea.” His expression hardened. “But the reality doesn’t always live up to that promise.”
Oh. So the brothers didn’t get along. She wondered why.
“What about me? Does your family like me?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
His dismissive snort didn’t engender confidence and his posture screamed “Proceed at your own risk.” Nothing good would come from prying deeper. At this time.
“You said you grew up here?”
He relaxed a fraction. “I did. Across the river, in Alexandria.”
“My parents took me to Old Town quite a few times when I was a kid. When I got older, and my friends and I grew tired of Georgetown, we’d pile in a car and head over to walk down King Street, shop in those cute boutiques.” She smiled up at him. “I wonder how many times we may have crossed paths as we were growing up?”
He laughed and the sound uncorked bubbles of happiness inside of her. “Somehow, I can’t imagine we ran in the same circles. If we had, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day. You probably would’ve looked right past me.”
She pictured a young Jonathan, all unruly hair, gangly limbs, beautiful eyes.
Not notice him? Not a chance.
“You’re right. We probably never met. Recent experience has proved that I would’ve remembered you.”
His nostrils flared, and his hands clenched into fists then uncurled and flexed. The potency of his heated look scorched her skin and threatened to liquefy her insides. He wanted her. Why wouldn’t he act on it? He didn’t have to tongue her down, but a hug, a touch, something.
He shook his head, as if extricating himself from a trance. “Come on. Let me show you to your room.”
He gestured for her to precede him up the dignified staircase. Her fingers trailed along the burnished mahogany balustrade that gleamed against the pale gray color of the bare wall. A wall that called out for artwork, decor or family pictures.
“Are you a control freak?”
He laughed. “In the kitchen, definitely, but I haven’t been accused of it elsewhere. Why?”
“I chose not to add any finishing touches? I assume we didn’t live together, but I spent time here, right? Where are the lamps and side tables? The throw rugs and ugly ceramic vases?”
“I thought we’d moved beyond my lack of decorating prowess.”
“We have, but now I’m starting to question mine. If I was going to live here, I’d get some plants, hang some pictures. There would be pillows on the couch, treatments on the windows—”
“Like I said, we’re both very busy.”
Apparently. “You with opening your restaurant and me at my job?”
“That’s right.”
No, something wasn’t right at all.
“What about when I spent the night?”
At the top of the stairs, his hand warmed the small of her back when he applied pressure to indicate she should turn right. “This way.”
Aware that he hadn’t answered her question, but not sure why, she walked into a large light-filled room boasting the same view as downstairs.
Her pulse instantly steadied.
Unlike the rest of the house, this space was beautifully appointed. The wardrobe, nightstand, desk and chaise lounge played supporting roles next to the simple and delicate white four poster bed, a natural focal point in its place against the exposed brick wall. A suitcase and an overnight bag sat nearby.
Her steps echoed against the hardwood floor only to be silenced when they met the patterned trellis area rug. It was gorgeous, but—
“I had my own room?”
“I had this done while you were in the hospital. I thought you’d appreciate your own space.”
Lightness radiated through her. Not pausing to think or worry about the consequences, she closed the distance between them and slid her arms around his waist. “Thank you.”
His body was hard and muscled and it burned hot beneath her touch. She burrowed her nose into the crook of his neck and inhaled. He smelled incredible, crisp, spicy, heady. She couldn’t name his fragrance but she knew she’d always associate the scent with him.
He stiffened and her pulse stuttered.
Please don’t pull away from me.
She closed her eyes and clutched the fabric of his shirt.
Maybe her accident changed things. Maybe he was no longer interested in her because she no longer resembled the woman he’d wanted to marry. That could explain his cool behavior toward her.
The duration between one second and the next stretched eternally, and just when her brittle nerves threatened to snap, a tremor ripped through his body and his arms closed tightly around her, one hand on her lower back, the other cupping the nape of her neck.
Thank God!
She sagged against him in relief, realizing only in that moment the sheer terror she’d been harboring of his rejection. The longer they stood there, the calmer she felt. Her life was the very definition of chaos, but his arms were the eye of the hurricane.
She could’ve stayed enclosed within them forever, but he detangled himself from her embrace. “I need to go over to the restaurant.”
Her breath caught in her chest. “I thought we were staying home.”
“You are staying here, but I need to check in.”
Panic clawed her insides, shredding her prior composure to pieces. “Can’t you check in tomorrow? I just got home. I thought we could spend some time together.”
He flinched and the chill returned. “I won’t be gone long. The restaurant is only a few blocks from here and I programmed my number into your phone. If you need anything, call.”
“I need you.”
The words were hard for her to say, the idea of making herself even more vulnerable not something she relished.
“I’m sorry, Leighton. My restaurant is opening in two weeks and—”
“I’m keeping you from it,” she finished softly, wrapping her arms around her waist.
He had a restaurant to open and he needed to get it done without worrying about her. Plus, she didn’t want to give him a reason to regret sticking by her side. She strode over to the window, intending to save herself the anguish of watching him walk away from her.
“Fuck.” The curse was a barely whispered utterance. A moment later, he rested his hands on her upper arms.
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
She hadn’t expected to feel so needy. She’d gone from wanting to figure out what he was keeping from her to just wanting him. Her independent spirit had deserted her, leaving someone more fragile in its place.
“I’ll only be a few hours, I promise. There’s food in the fridge. All you have to do is heat it up.” He hesitated. “You know how to heat up food, right?”
One corner of her mouth tilted upward. “Yes. That’s procedural memory, like riding a bike and brushing my teeth.”
“Good. Leighton, I . . . I’m glad you’re okay and that you’re here.” In that moment, his concern for her was obvious as was his reluctance to admit it.
What aren’t you telling me, Jonathan?
She’d have to wait for his response. He pressed a whisper-soft kiss against her hair, and then he was gone.