IT STRUCK IMOGEN as she prepared for dinner two short hours later that it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d found Zeph.
It felt as if she’d lived a whole year and been on several emotional roller coasters since she’d stepped into that church. So she wasn’t surprised when her hands trembled a little as she secured the gold hoops in her lobes. The turquoise and gold paisley bohemian sundress she’d chosen was light, flared and airy enough to swish about her mid-thigh as she examined herself in the mirror.
Dinner was being served on the aft deck on level three and she recalled the breeze was cooler there at night. Enough for her to leave her hair down after brushing. Spritzing her favourite perfume at her pulse points, she assured herself she wasn’t nervous. That the butterflies cavorting giddily in her belly were to be expected.
A set of gold bangles and bone-coloured wedge shoes completed the outfit, then she had no more reason to linger.
Heading up from her stateroom, she furiously debated how to get through dinner with Zeph without falling under the magnetic spell he seemed to have cast around her.
Only to realise halfway through their first course that she might not need to go on the offensive.
The Zeph who’d arrived within a minute of her reaching the designated deck had been withdrawn, the lines around his mouth pinched. Even the gaze that had slanted over her, although missing nothing, had held a faint shadow of bleakness.
His voice had been a low, deep rumble as he’d greeted her and held out her chair.
Then he’d lapsed into brooding silence.
For alarming minutes, Imogen had wondered whether she was witnessing yet another facet of him. One she realised she didn’t particularly know how to deal with. Not that she was particularly adept at handling the other two.
Then, as the staff approached with their after-dinner drinks, she realised what was happening when she caught his wince at the sharp footsteps.
‘Are you feeling unwell?’ She kept her voice soft and low.
He flicked her a hard little glance, his lips tightening a touch before he answered. ‘Headache. I get them sometimes.’
That startling softening inside made her clench her gut. But like before, empathy slipped out before she could contain it. ‘Did the doctor give you anything for it?’
‘Nothing that has made a meaningful difference.’
His gaze rested on her for a few more seconds. ‘Did I get them before?’
She shook her head. ‘Not to my knowledge. You were always as healthy as a horse.’
His mouth twitched with wry amusement. ‘Far better than feeling as if I’ve been kicked in the head by one.’
That softening arrived again, more insistent than before. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from uttering the words that wanted to emerge. She couldn’t do this. It made no sense for her to feel this way towards the man who was hell-bent on retribution against her and her family.
But that man didn’t feel like the one sitting in front of her. The man who was clutching his espresso cup with white knuckles, stoically enduring the pain he was in.
‘Can I help?’ Something eased and settled inside her the moment she said those words.
He looked at her, his gaze resting on her face in that probing manner as if he was trying to decipher her thoughts. After an age, his lips twisted. ‘Thank you, but there is nothing you can do that hasn’t already been tried.’
Imogen swallowed her next retort. It was better this way, she told herself. Better to keep everything at arm’s length the way it was before.
She glanced down at her half-eaten dessert, unwilling to consider where her appetite had suddenly fled. Why there was a faintly hollow space in her stomach. Surely she wasn’t feeling dejected because he had rejected her offer of help?
Because that would mean...
No, she wasn’t even going to consider that. Caring in any way for this man would only lead to a dangerous imbalance that would weaken her position in the end.
She started when he stood abruptly. ‘Walk the deck with me,’ he said.
She frowned. Opened her mouth and then shut it again. As much as she wanted this evening to be over so she could flee to the safety of her room, there was still the matter of the jeweller’s visit.
She glanced at her watch, a little perturbed to see it was nearly ten p.m. ‘Are you sure? It’s been a long day for you. Look, I can push the jeweller’s visit to tomorrow...?’
He was already shaking his head before she was halfway through her sentence, a determined set to his jaw that reminded her who she was dealing with. ‘No. It’s happening tonight.’
She frowned inwardly, wondering why this was so important to him. Then she gave up. From the moment she’d met him, she’d known that Zeph’s mind was a labyrinth that would stump most normal human beings. ‘We won’t be any less married tomorrow without the ring, you know.’
Wry humour twisted his lips again despite the pain most likely throbbing at his temples. ‘Who knows what will happen between now and tomorrow morning? I could tumble over the side again and go missing. At least when I wake up in a strange place again, I will know that I am a married man.’
She gave a small gasp. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? Because of some abstract identification purposes?’
For a long moment he remained silent, and then he shrugged. ‘If I had known that I was married, perhaps it would’ve lent a little urgency to my decisions.’
Imogen was caught between feeling wavelets of desolation and a dash overwhelmed at the response. The thought of Zeph fighting his way back to her shouldn’t have made her feel so elated. Because at the end of the day their marriage truly meant nothing emotionally. She would do well to remember that.
‘Well, the chances of you going over the side of the boat twice feels a little remote to me.’
His gaze remained on her, probing again. ‘Tell me about that night,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’m really supposed to. The doctor said—’
‘I don’t care what the doctor said.’ His face hardened, displeasure tautening his cheekbones. ‘And I don’t think leaving me in the dark is helpful to my state of mind.’
She swallowed. Hunted around but couldn’t find anything to counter that argument. Averting her gaze from him to stare at the path of the moon over the glistening waters, she tried to gather her thoughts.
‘You had just finished the Avalon deal. That is the big merger you had been working on for the better part of five years. To celebrate, you invited the CEO, Philip Avalon, and his family for a dinner party.’ She let out a small laugh. ‘The Avalon family is large. There were over fifty people on the boat that weekend, and I think at some point you were a little irritated by their exuberance. That last Sunday, they partied really hard. The crew said it was almost three a.m. before they eventually went to bed.’
Even without looking at him, she felt the power of his stare. ‘And where were you?’
‘I’d gone to bed about two hours before. You wanted to stay up and talk to Philip Avalon. The last time I saw you, you were on the upper deck. The head steward said he served you and Philip drinks at around one. Then Philip went to bed. The security camera filmed you standing at the aft railing after that with a drink in your hand.’
His eyes narrowed. Then his lips thinned. ‘Was I drunk?’ The question was rasped, filled with surprising self-loathing.
‘I don’t think so. You were never a heavy drinker,’ she found herself reassuring. ‘I think you just joined Philip because he was known to indulge on occasions like that, just like the rest of his family, and you wanted to be an accommodating host.’
He nodded, the tension easing a touch from his shoulders. ‘And then what happened?’ he pressed in a tight voice.
‘Then you fell over. We’d just left Santorini. Philip had expressed an interest in purchasing a private island so the captain was instructed to sail us and the Avalon family there by morning. No one knew where you were until the morning when we woke up.’
He remained silent, willing her to continue.
‘There had been a light rain during the evening. Normally the crew are quite good at making sure everything was taken care of. But with their hands full with the party and taking care of the guests, the patch of rain left on the deck hadn’t been cleaned up yet. You...stumbled a little as you turned away from the railing and you hit your head. We’re not sure whether a strong wave rocked the yacht but the next moment, you went overboard. Anyway, I called the police, they reviewed the security footage and started a search.’
She took in a long breath, the memory of those first few weeks, the frantic search for one of the world’s most powerful and influential men, and the sometimes thinly veiled suspicion aimed her way, all rushing to the fore once more. ‘The authorities didn’t have high hopes, even at the start. The current was quite fast and because we weren’t close to any land mass, they...didn’t think you’d survived...’
‘And yet you continued to search for me? Even when everyone else thought I had perished? Why?’ His piercing gaze drilled into her. As if seeking his own, deeper meaning for her actions. As if it mattered that she’d gone against everyone’s belief that he’d perished.
Although she shrugged it was heavy with her own emotions. Yes, it would’ve been easier to accept that he was gone and got on with her life. But regardless of how they’d come together, she hadn’t despised Zeph enough to readily accept that he’d died. And the searing abruptness of his disappearance had staggered her. Despite the video evidence, some immoveable stone of belief deep inside had rejected the idea that the formidable man whose name she reluctantly bore was gone.
‘Your iron will terrifies most people. It just...didn’t seem possible that you’d died just because you’d gone off the side of a boat. And if anyone could defy the impossible, it was you.’ Because the statement sounded much too emotionally weighted, she hurried to add, ‘Plus you were a very strong swimmer.’ Watching him use the pool at their Athens apartment every morning had shown her that.
Imogen didn’t realise she was wringing her hands until warm fingers crossed over hers. Startled she looked down.
‘I didn’t mean to distress you,’ he rasped, then raised her hands to his lips. ‘Your belief is why I’m here today, glikia mou. I will never forget that.’
She attempted an offhand shrug, which jerked a little, betraying her true, intensely ruffled feelings. ‘It wasn’t an easy situation. I can tell you that. Especially when unsavoury rumours started.’ Her small attempt at humour came away a little starched, filled with tension.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You were blamed for it?’
‘The circumstances of our marriage lent themselves to the perfect tale of a gold-digger doing away with her husband so she could inherit his billions. Nobody knew who I was before you sent out a press release about our marriage. I was the daughter of a man you had some dealings with that nobody in Greece had even heard of. The media had a field day. Without the security footage, I would’ve probably been in serious trouble.’
Displeasure flashed over his face, and Imogen felt something kick inside her at the thought that he didn’t immediately concur with what the authorities had heavily hinted at. That she was responsible for her husband’s disappearance.
‘Anyway, we searched for you for weeks. I hired a security firm that specialised in such matters three months later when it seemed the police were not getting anywhere. We’ve been scouring the globe for you ever since.’
Another smile ghosted over his lips, but it was the thumb trailing back and forth over her knuckles that made her emotions skitter all over the place. That made her own fingers itch to curl around his, draw his warmth into her. Because in that moment it struck Imogen that she didn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her like this in a simple gesture of human warmth.
She barely remembered the mother who’d passed away when she was still a toddler, and the parade of nannies her father had employed hadn’t felt inclined to coddle the child whose father had stated loudly that he wished her to be something she wasn’t.
‘Your tenacity paid off in the end. You have my thanks again.’
She breathed through the bite of guilt that scythed through the warmth.
As for the foreboding that tingled over her nape a second later, she had no remedy for it. But she would do what she had done since she was a child. She would battle whatever came and she would overcome it.
The sound of an approaching boat put paid to the difficult conversation and the unsettling sensations.
Imogen breathed a sigh of relief, then lost all her cool again when Zeph’s touch lingered for several long seconds before transferring to the small of her back to guide her towards their approaching guest.
It was mildly amusing to see the small, rotund jeweller do a double take when he spotted Zeph.
‘Mr Diamandis,’ he exclaimed. ‘I had no idea! No idea at all. Well, this is wonderful indeed,’ he added, his gaze swinging wildly between Imogen and Zeph.
‘Thank you, but I trust you will keep this news to yourself?’ Zeph insisted.
The man’s head bobbed several times. ‘Of course, of course!’
His gaze swung between them for another few seconds before, reminded of the purpose of his visit, he extended the large briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. ‘Is this a special occasion...? What am I saying? Of course it is! Would madam like to take a look at the selection?’
Zeph nudged Imogen towards the table where the jeweller had started to set out his collection but he answered, ‘This is for me. I require a wedding ring.’
The shorter man’s eyes widened, then a touch of regret darted over his face as he glanced up. ‘Had I known you were...’ He shook his head and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve brought a selection but I can make sure you see the fuller collection. Maybe I can arrange for that to be brought to you tomorrow?’
Zeph shook his head. ‘Show me what you have.’
The jeweller nodded enthusiastically and pulled out a black velvet tray studded with dozens of wedding rings. Zeph studied the array for a minute before midnight-blue eyes shifted to her. ‘Imogen? Which do you prefer?’
Her startled eyes flew to his. ‘Me? You want me to choose?’
His gaze dropped to her left hand. ‘Did I choose yours?’
‘Um...yes.’
‘Then you will choose mine,’ he said simply.
She wasn’t going to tell him that part of the decision for the stunning ring set that adorned her finger was simply statement-making. The other part had been expediency. The jeweller, who had been there for her selection the day before they married, smiled in a way that made her think that he was reading a far too romantic connotation behind Zeph’s request.
As to what her husband was thinking, she chose not to probe too deeply.
Staring down at the display, she dismissed the heavy gold bands and the super-thin titanium ones that were all the rage. She cast a discreet glance at Zeph’s hands, the long, slightly callused capable fingers with a thick broad palm.
Her gaze zeroed in on a brushed platinum band with a row of tiny black diamonds dissecting the middle and her heart skipped a beat. Even before she reached for it, Imogen knew that it was the one. Hoping he wouldn’t see the slight tremble in her hand as she reached for it, she drew it from its slot and held it out to him.
Zeph shook his head. Then slowly he extended his left hand to her, fingers outstretched. ‘You do it,’ he instructed thickly.
It was all so surreal.
As if she were caught up in a secret fantasy she couldn’t extricate herself from even while her rational mind knew that it was a scene that would never come true.
But once again she was faced with a situation she couldn’t refuse. So, sliding her fingers beneath his, Imogen slid the wedding ring onto her husband’s finger. It settled easily and snugly, as if it was meant to be, and her breath caught over again as she saw it there, resting against his tanned skin.
With a compulsion she couldn’t deny, she glanced up at him to find burnished flame heating his midnight-blue eyes. Eyes that seared hers for several moments, then dropped hungrily to her lips. And stayed.
The heavy sigh from the romantic jeweller was an effective sound that shattered the far too charged atmosphere. Dropping her hands, she aimed a smile at the short man. ‘Thank you so much for coming on such short notice.’
He shook his head and waved her away. ‘Anything for you, Mr and Mrs Diamandis. I’m only glad I was able to be of service.’
His hand dropping to his side, Zeph nodded at the hovering crew member. ‘Goodnight. You will be seen out.’
As the man was escorted off the deck, she turned to find Zeph examining the ring on his finger. Moments later he looked up at her, and pinned her with his gaze.
‘Now you have a means to find me should I ever stray from your side.’
They were matter-of-fact words, a practical solution to something that would probably never happen again. And yet her foolish heart leapt again. Unnerving her with the notion that a change was happening she shouldn’t want and yet couldn’t seem to stop herself from responding to.
She was still grappling with that growing problem when he placed his hand on the small of her back again and led her off the deck.
Realising that they were heading downstairs to the staterooms, Imogen scrambled to gird her loins for what was coming next.
Another debate about the sleeping arrangements? Or an interrogation about why they were sleeping apart in the first place.
But once again, he took the wind out of her sails by pausing in the hallway. ‘Which one is yours?’ he asked, indicating the stateroom doors.
She looked up, surprised, and he smiled. ‘I’m not going to push myself on you or assert my marital rights, if that is what you’re expecting.’
Because he had a headache or his instincts were reminding him that there had been no attraction between them before?
When one hand rose to clutch the back of his neck, Imogen abandoned trying to work it out. ‘Two doors down,’ she murmured.
With a curt nod, he led her to her door and turned the handle. After several seconds spent tracking every inch of her space, he turned to her. ‘Kalinychta, matia mou. Sleep well. Tomorrow is another day.’
She watched him walk away, the dull thudding of her heart taunting her with the notion that she had expected a different outcome. Shaking her head, she shut the door and slowly walked across the carpet to her dressing room.
Her senses were still darting all over the place as she disrobed and slipped on her silk dressing down. Eyeing her bed, she knew sleep would be out of reach, at least for the moment, so she turned on her laptop and tackled the many items on her perpetually full to-do list.
An hour later she stood and stretched her back, a little irritated with herself when she noted that sleep was still out of reach. Going to bed would only result in tossing and turning and getting more annoyed.
She toyed with calling for a cup of chamomile tea and discarded the idea, settling instead for a glass of cold water from the chilled cabinet that contained an assortment of drinks in her room.
The small private balcony attached to her stateroom beckoned with the promise of fresh air. Opening the door, she stepped out, sighing at the cool marble floor beneath her feet and the light breeze that soothed her heated skin.
It wasn’t so much a noise as it was a keen awareness that made her glance to the side. All notions of relaxation or quieting her thoughts enough to sleep evaporated when she spotted Zeph.
He was bent over at the waist, wearing nothing but dark silk pyjama bottoms, elbows on the railing while his thumbs dug into his temples. He hadn’t seen her yet, probably because long strands of his hair obstructed his view. Calling herself shameless and a few other derogatory names didn’t stop her from ogling his beautifully muscled torso. His trim waist. The perfect symmetry from head to toe.
Then worrying about his obvious distress.
Turn away. Go back to bed.
Resignedly, she wasn’t alarmed when her feet wouldn’t move. Nor was she surprised when his head swung towards her a second later, his hands falling away from his head when he saw her.
For several seconds, they stared at one another across the small expanse of dark, swirling water that separated their balconies.
‘You’re having trouble sleeping too.’ It wasn’t a question but an even observation.
She dragged her gaze from the wisps of silky hair that trailed down his chest and disappeared into his pyjama bottoms. Myriad excuses rose to her lips, but in the end she just shrugged. ‘Like you said, a lot has happened today. It’s a lot to process.’
He gave a solemn nod, his gaze taking her in from head to toe before reconnecting with her eyes again. The atmosphere thickened between them until her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
‘Is your headache still bothering you?’ she asked before she could bite her tongue.
The corner of his mouth crooked. ‘I don’t think it’s going anywhere any time soon.’
She didn’t realise her feet were moving until she was at the far end of her railing closest to his. He too had wandered close as he spoke. She only needed to stretch out her hand to touch him.
Not that she wanted to, she assured herself.
Her fingers tightened around her glass as she watched him massage his temples again.
Don’t do it. Don’t!
But her heart rate was rising and that soft part of her heart was loosening even further.
‘Let me help,’ she offered before she could change her mind. ‘My grandfather suffered from headaches. They were mostly migraines but if what you’re feeling is even close...’ Her voice trailed away as his eyes zeroed in on her in that ferociously specific way again. That way that alarmed her into believing he could read her every thought, decipher her every emotion.
Breath held, Imogen stood there suspended in strange expectation.
After an age, he nodded. Then he did something completely unexpected.
Reaching out, he touched a switch on the wall next to him. She gasped as the balcony slid smoothly sideways, a part of it seamlessly unfolding to latch on to and meld with his.
Zeph looked as surprised as she did.
‘Did you know that was there?’ she asked.
He shook his head, a little bemused. ‘Not consciously. I guess muscle memory just kicked in.’
Her heart stuttered. ‘That’s good, I guess?’ Her voice wobbled because in that moment she knew this might be the way his memories returned. Between one thought and the next. One unconscious gesture and another.
Staring thoughtfully at the button, he nodded, oblivious to her suddenly rioting emotions. ‘It can’t hurt.’
And then his gaze was returning to her, his left hand extending to help her across the short distance. Their gazes fell on his new ring at the same time and that peculiar sensation kicked hard inside her again.
The fantasy whipped up, teasing her with possibilities she had never let herself entertain in the almost two years she’d been Mrs Diamandis. Because it’d been useless.
They were enemies.
Her family had ruined his a long time ago and, to this day, Zeph suffered nightmares about it. Nightmares he had no clue how to decipher.
Pushing the guilty morsel of thought away, she followed him into his room.
Avoiding looking at his rumpled bed was impossible. Which triggered images of him lying between the sheets, his sleek limbs sprawled out in masculine splendour.
No, she wasn’t going to think that way. The day had been fraught with pitfalls already. She wasn’t going to invite more.
Then why are you here, offering assistance, when you could be in the safety of your room?
She told herself it was a good thing that she hadn’t lost her humanity. But the voice continued to tease her as she walked across the opulent space to the sprawling sofa sets on one side of his stateroom.
‘How do you want me?’ he drawled.
Every awakened cell in her body jumped. ‘Um...what?’
His lips quirked. ‘Where is this going to happen, Imogen?’ he amended, amusement trailing through his discomfort.
‘Oh. Um...’ She ignored the heat devouring her face and pointed to the largest sofa. ‘If you stretch out on there I can work on your neck.’
He nodded and immediately strode across the room to the seat.
Watching him lie face down, his torso bronzed and stretched in confident abandon, made her tongue swell in her mouth. Hunger like she’d never known before rippled through her belly, making her breath pant lightly.
Good God, what was wrong with her?
Shaking her head and feverishly praying the sensation would disappear, she set her glass down and approached him.
The sofa was large enough to accommodate a six-foot-three man and to allow her to perch alongside him without discomfort. Unfortunately, it didn’t allow too much of a separation between them and Imogen discovered the precarious position she had put herself in when her hip nudged his the moment she sat down.
She swallowed, determined not to be bothered by the heated proximity. She was here to ease his suffering, not indulge in the torrid images flashing across her brain.
Get yourself together, she berated herself.
Breathing out, she swept his long hair out of the way and planted her fingers at the base of his neck. Heat from his skin flowed into hers and, for the wildest moments, every thought in her head evaporated, save for the sensation she wanted to indulge in.
No.
She kneaded his flesh, studiously recalling how she had treated her grandfather when he’d suffered. The side of Zeph’s neck was knotted in tense muscles. She concentrated her efforts there, using firm circular motions that drew a muted grunt from him. Absurdly pleased with that sound, she worked harder, leaning in when he didn’t reject her firmer efforts. He groaned when she reached his hairline and Imogen hid a smile. Working from one side to the other and then concentrating on both sides in concert, she worked his muscles loose, then returned to his shoulders.
‘I was wrong,’ his voice rambled, his speech slightly slurred as he leaned into her touch. ‘I don’t believe in the occult, but I suspect yours are magical hands.’
This time she couldn’t suppress the wide smile that broke out. ‘I like winning. I especially relish proving you wrong.’
A sound rumbled out of him, a cross between a groan and laughter.
‘Well, I will admit all the wrongs in the world if you keep going,’ he promised.
Companionable silence filled the room as she concentrated on her efforts and was rewarded with several more sounds of appreciation. After half an hour, she sat back and rested her hands in her lap.
‘Now for the temples.’
He raised his head and looked at her over his shoulder. One eyebrow quirked, an expression that could’ve been interpreted as surprise pleasure on his face. ‘There’s more?’
Imogen ignored the leaping of her heart and the tightening in her pelvis and nodded. ‘It worked for Grandpa,’ she threw in, just to dilute what was happening to her.
Zeph shrugged. ‘If it was good enough for your grandfather...’
He turned over with lithe animal grace, and then simply watched her, waiting for instruction.
She gestured with her hand. ‘I need to be behind you.’
He nodded and rose to sit upright. This close, his scent was unavoidable. Sandalwood and warm, vibrant skin, it invited her to breathe him in long and deep. And because her senses were totally overwhelmed by a full day she still hadn’t fully taken in, Imogen gave up fighting it.
Positioning herself behind him, she waited until he leaned back, half on the seat and half against her. Charges shot up and down her body as his naked torso rested against her chest.
She had gone past the point of worrying whether this was a good idea or not. Right now, the only thing she needed to do was to help him, and then return to her room. As soon as possible.
But touching his shoulder when he was facing away from her was one thing. With their faces almost aligned, it was impossible to work on him without taking in the sheer perfection of Zeph’s features.
And when at her first touch, his eyes drifted shut, she did just that.
As he had done to her for every single moment today, she watched him with unashamed avidness as she drew circular motions on his temple and down to his jaw. In incremental degrees, the tightness in his face dissolved, his tension ebbing away and his breathing evening out.
When he muttered something under his breath in Greek, Imogen smiled.
‘I don’t know whether you’ve worked it out yet but I don’t speak Greek.’
A ghost of a smile whispered over his lips but his eyes remained shut. ‘Hmm, then I’ll have to teach you.’
After several moments ticked by, she opened her mouth to prompt him to translate what he had said before but then she saw that he’d fallen asleep.
Since his weight wasn’t fully on her, she wasn’t crushed. On the contrary, it felt...pleasant. Intimate. Despite it being only physical, it was a connection she hadn’t experienced...ever.
Her heart lurched with the craving that arose from that knowledge, the need to extend it, if only for a little while. Her hands continued to rub against his temples, soothing him even in sleep. And then she moved her fingers into his hair, pushing firmly against his scalp.
He groaned in his sleep, leaning harder into her touch.
Her heart lurched, emotion she couldn’t explain rising into her throat. Was she really doing this? Falling under whatever spell this was?
He was asleep now. She had done what she came to do. She should leave.
And yet she stayed, her fingers working away for long minutes, occasionally gliding through his silky hair.
When they began to cramp, she moved them to rest on his shoulders.
For another handful of minutes she contemplated how to extricate herself from him without waking him. His head was wedged firmly between her breasts and one arm thrown over her thighs.
Taking a breath, she slid a few inches. Then another few.
Then gave a short gasp as Zeph adjusted, turned sideways and threw both arms around her.
For several seconds Imogen stopped breathing. She glanced desperately at the door leading to the balcony. And then down at the man trapping her against him.
She was wide awake and she doubted sleep would come any time soon. So where was the harm in staying and letting him achieve a little bit of peace before moving?
Several warnings, mostly of the foolishness of her thought pattern, rushed into her brain. One by one she discarded them, her heart thumping wildly as she gave in and settled back against the sofa.
One hour, she promised herself. Another hour for the man she had relentlessly searched for for endless months. He deserved a good night’s sleep. Besides, if it helped him regain his memory that much quicker, wasn’t that a good thing?
Nodding solemnly to herself, she drew her fingers through his hair one last time and then dropped her own head against the fat cushions.
One hour.
Except when she opened her eyes, she was no longer on the sofa, and it wasn’t night-time any longer.
The sun was blazing past the half-opened shades in the room.
And she was in bed with her husband.
And not just in bed. She was wrapped tight in his arms, her face tucked into a warm, naked shoulder and one arm thrown over his waist.
Her lungs emptied, her whole body stiffening as she looked up. And up.
Into the face of a wide-awake Zeph, who was staring at her with unabashed interest.