Dangerous Temptation Page 8

  Caitlin had tried to ring him before they left to tell him they were going back to England, but there'd been no reply. Either Jacob Wolfe wasn't at home, or he wasn't answering the telephone. Short of visiting him again, there was nothing more she could do.

  Besides, her conclusion that amnesia could affect other people as well as its immediate victim was relevant. Sometimes, when she was talking to Nathan herself, she'd had the feeling she was losing her own mind. It was hard to relate to someone who didn't share your memories—though some of those memories she'd have liked to lose herself.

  Naturally, there were things she hadn't chosen to tell him. Although he might very well suspect that their relationship was not all it should be, she hadn't actually told him they lived separate lives. Nor did she intend to do so for the present. Dr Harper had warned her not to say anything that might upset him; that his recovery could be a long and painful process, and controversy could only obstruct those ends.

  But there had been occasions when Caitlin had wondered who she was fooling. Whether it wasn't as much to her advantage as to Nathan's that she keep their troubled association to herself. It was pride, she thought, that made the choice so easy. But she sensed another reason that she preferred not to name.

  Why? she asked herself now, feeling him move beside her. It wasn't as if she wanted him back, husband or not. She didn't love him. She had never loved him, she assured herself firmly. And just because she was feeling sorry for him was no reason to confuse the issue now.

  But the awareness that he could disturb her emotions was hard to swallow. When she'd flown to New York, she'd been so sure she knew how she felt. Yet, seeing him again in that vulnerable state had jarred her defences. If she didn't know better, she'd have said the man she'd married was not the man in the hospital bed.

  But he was…

  Shifting again, Caitlin wished she could stop thinking; that she could put all her doubts and misgivings to the back of her mind. What she was going to do when they got back to England she had yet to consider. Nathan was going to need constant attention, and she couldn't see herself in the role of a nurse.

  The idea of giving up her job and looking after him herself was not an option. And she resented the feelings that had put the thought into her mind. What would Janie, her business partner, think if she suggested it? After the way Nathan had always treated her, she'd say she was mad.

  Besides, she enjoyed her work at the antique shop and she saw no reason why she should give it up. Let Lisa Abbott look after him, she thought maliciously. Except that he didn't remember the other woman, and she had no intention of telling him about her yet.

  The flickering glow of a video screen attracted her attention. Across the aisle, one of the other passengers was evidently finding it hard to sleep and had switched on his personal monitor. Caitlin wished she'd had the foresight to ask for a video. Anything to fill the empty hours before it was light.

  "Am I disturbing you?"

  Nathan's voice in her ear startled her. She hadn't been aware he was awake and she hoped he couldn't read her thoughts. It wouldn't do for him to know how much he disturbed her, or how easy it would be to deceive herself into thinking he wasn't the man he was.

  Trying to be objective, she was struck all at once by his accent. In the quiet surrounds of the aircraft, his lazy drawl was suddenly unfamiliar, too. Had it always had that softness, that almost Southern intonation? It must have had, but why hadn't she noticed it before?

  "Um—no," she responded at last, wishing it were true. Of course he disturbed her. Though perhaps not in that way he expected. She forced a smile. "I probably woke you. I haven't been to sleep."

  "Nor have I," he confessed, and to her dismay, he shifted onto his side to face her. "To be honest, I was thinking about the accident." He grimaced. "Fate can really fu— mess up your life."

  Caitlin bit her lip. "Yes, I was thinking about the accident, too," she said, not altogether untruthfully. "I should never have booked us on this flight. I'm sorry. It was totally thoughtless." She paused. "Would you like to talk about it? If you think it might help—"

  "There's nothing to talk about," replied Nathan flatly. The muted lights in the cabin cast most of his face into shadow, but they couldn't hide the sudden anguish in his eyes. "All I remember is lying at the edge of the runway. That, and the horror of hearing people screaming for help."

  Caitlin knew the increasingly familiar desire to comfort him. "There was nothing you could do," she said softly. "The emergency services were there almost at once. It's getting on the plane that's aroused all these apprehensions. As I said before, we should have taken the morning flight. Or even sailed home on the QE2."

  "The ship," murmured Nathan wryly, proving once again that his brain was still functioning normally when it came to external matters. Then, "No. It's better to face your fears, don't you think?"

  Caitlin shrugged a little ruefully. "At least you haven't forgotten everything. Dr Harper told me that some people have to learn to read and write all over again."

  "God!" Nathan was appalled. "And I was feeling pretty sorry for myself just now. Imagine being as helpless as a baby. I think my brain's like a cabbage, but at least I know my left foot from my right."

  "Your brain's not like a cabbage," Caitlin assured him firmly. "A person's memory can be selective even without losing your memory. I know that."

  "Do you?" He slanted a lazy glance her way, and she was uneasily aware of his attraction. "So, tell me, Mrs Wolfe, what have you forgotten? Or don't you remember?"

  "Me?" Caitlin's ungrammatical use of the personal pronoun owed as much to her own disconcerted state as to any surprise at the question. The realisation that this man was her husband suddenly had a deeper meaning. How might their relationship develop without the chains that had bound her to him in the past?

  "Oh—things," she replied at last, when it became obvious he was waiting for a response, and his dark brows quirked disbelievingly. "It's true," she went on doggedly, striving desperately for an illustration. "Like—when I fell in the stream at Fairings. I didn't remember that."

  "Fairings?"

  Nathan frowned, and Caitlin hastily explained that that was the name of her parents' house. "In Buckingham-shire," she added. "About forty miles from London. You'll see it, I expect, when we get back."

  Nathan inclined his head. "And how old were you when you fell in the stream?" he inquired sceptically.

  Caitlin hesitated. "Four—I think."

  "Four?" He gave her a retiring look. "Oh, yeah, right. That makes me feel a whole lot better. I don't know why I've been so worried. It's obvious it's just a childish prank."

  Caitlin pursed her lips. "Don't be so cynical. Shock can cause all kinds of problems. You have to work it through. That's what Dr Harper said anyway."

  "Mmm." He didn't sound convinced. "Do you really think telling me about some ducking you took when you were four—and which, incidentally, you'd forgotten—is a positive thing to do?"

  "I thought so." Caitlin looked dejected. "I suppose I didn't—didn't—"

  "Think?" he prompted drily. "Yeah, that about covers it. Oh, Kate, you're not the most tactful counsellor I've known."

  Caitlin shifted a little uncomfortably at his words. It was the first time he had called her Kate, and it troubled her more than she wanted to admit. If Nathan had ever shortened her name, he'd made it Cat, not Kate. A word he'd used with malevolent pleasure on occasion.

  Nathan's warm breath was on her temple, and she could smell the faint aroma of the wine he'd drunk earlier. She'd been doubtful about him drinking it all, but she hadn't voiced her objections. And at this moment, she could have done with a little Dutch courage herself.

  She was uneasily reminded of the problems she still had to face when they got back to England. How would he react when he discovered they slept in different rooms? His attitude towards her was so unguarded at the moment. For all her reticence at the hospital, he'd made it clear he had no problem with regar
ding her as his wife.

  Needing to say something, anything, to dispel the sudden intimacy that had developed between them, Caitlin chose the first words that came into her head. "It's probably because I wasn't trained to be a counsellor. My father wanted an obedient daughter, but I'm afraid I disappointed him, as well."

  "Did I say you'd disappointed me?" Nathan asked, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it, and she felt the wave of heat that swept up her throat. "From where I'm sitting, I've got no complaints about your upbringing. I just wish I could remember where we met."

  "It was at a party, my birthday party, I told you," said Caitlin hurriedly, feeling the need to loosen the collar of her shirt to get some air. "How—how about you? Don't you remember anything about your childhood? What kind of school you went to? What you did?"

  "Mmm…"

  He seemed to be considering the question, and she was grateful that his eyes had dropped from her face. But the coolness that brushed her throat alerted her to another explanation. In her haste to cool her face, she'd gone too far.

  The realisation that, instead of thinking of an answer, he was seemingly entranced by the swell of her small breasts above the satin camisole horrified her. With shaking fingers, she dragged the two sides of her shirt together and re-fastened the buttons. But not before he had glimpsed her unwilling arousal and the pertness of her nipples against the cloth.

  Instead of cooling down, she was now burning with embarrassment. She just hoped Nathan didn't think it had been a deliberate attempt to tease. Dear God, this was proving to be far more arduous than she'd imagined. She must get her emotions under control.

  "Don't worry," he said, his words achieving exactly the opposite effect. "No one else could see what I could see. And, believe me, I enjoyed the view."

  Which was precisely what she was afraid of, she thought anxiously. He may once have had the right to touch her, but no more. And just because he had aroused her sympathy was no reason to humiliate herself again.

  "You were asking about my childhood," he said eventually, perhaps sensing her discomfort, and Caitlin breathed an unsteady sigh of relief. All she needed to do was get things into perspective. She was overreacting and reading things into his behaviour that probably weren't even there.

  "Yes," she murmured, grateful for the diversion, and he sighed.

  "Unfortunately, I don't remember anything. Except…" He frowned. "You know, I do seem to recall getting a beating. Yeah, my pa used to beat me." He gasped. "How about that?"

  His voice had risen as he spoke, and Caitlin put a warning finger to her lips, regarding him with wary eyes. He seemed delighted with his success, but she had the suspicion he wasn't being totally honest. How could he remember a beating and nothing else?

  Besides, from what little she knew of Jacob Wolfe, she couldn't imagine him beating his son. He hadn't struck her as being a violent man. He'd seemed far too gentle for that.

  "You don't believe me," he said flatly before she could put her thoughts into words, and Caitlin made an awkward gesture.

  "I don't disbelieve you," she said, which wasn't what he wanted to hear, and his lips twisted.

  "Well, we know where my father is. Why don't we ask him? Better that than you think me a liar. I assure you, I'm not making it up. I distinctly remember him taking his belt to me—on more than one occasion."

  "If you say so." Caitlin was noncommittal. "But how can you be so sure? It could be a memory of something you once read about—or saw. Why are you so convinced? Do you have any proof?"

  "Not unless I've still got the stripes across my butt," responded Nathan tersely. "Hey, can I help it if you don't like what you hear?"

  Caitlin sighed. "But your father seemed such a—a gentle man. He didn't strike me as someone who'd abuse his son."

  Nathan shrugged. "And that's proof that he didn't?"

  "No. No—but, for heaven's sake! When he found out you'd been injured, he had to come and see that you were all right."

  "Correction," retorted Nathan sourly. "The old guy's half-senile. You've got no idea what he used to be like when he was my age."

  Caitlin pressed her lips together. "I admit—he did seem confused."

  "Didn't he just?"

  Caitlin frowned. "I don't really know him well enough to judge."

  "Why not?"

  "Why not?" Caitlin looked perplexed for a moment, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh—well, because that was the first time I'd met him."

  Nathan stared at her. "Run that by me again."

  "What?"

  "That bit about your not knowing my father." He scowled. "Are you kidding me?"

  "No." Caitlin sighed. "He—didn't come to our wedding because he wasn't well. Or so you said," she added a little resentfully. "In any case, we never met until I saw him the other day."

  "And we've been married how long?"

  Caitlin swallowed. "Three years."

  "Three years?" He was evidently amazed. "Are you sure about this?" He shook his head. "Are you sure you're my wife?"

  Caitlin flushed. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Well, hell…" Nathan made a frustrated gesture. "You must admit this gets more and more bizarre. I've only your word you are who you say you are, and now you tell me you never even met my family. Why didn't we go to see him after we were married?"

  "I don't know." Caitlin had no intention of going into that. "We—just didn't, that's all."

  "Any minute now, you're going to tell me that Prescott is a long way from London."

  "Well, it is."

  "But you didn't think twice about getting on a plane when you found out I'd been injured, did you?"

  "No…"

  "So, you have to admit, it's pretty strange that you didn't ever meet my father, isn't it?"

  "All right." Caitlin spread her hands. "I—I've been negligent, okay? Does it matter?"

  Nathan shook his head. "It might. We've only this old guy's word that he was my father, haven't we?"

  "No." Caitlin frowned. "I told you. I went to Prescott. I visited his house. The house you grew up in. He—he has pictures of you all over the place."

  "Huh." Nathan grunted, but it seemed her explanation had gone some way to reassuring him on that score at least.

  However, his next words proved he hadn't totally abandoned the topic. "And, based on what, less than twenty-four hours experience, you're telling me my old man wasn't the kind of man to take his belt to his son?"

  "I—I think so."

  "So where does that leave me?" She was alarmed to see how drawn his face had become. "Something's not right about this, Kate. I can feel it. I just wish to hell I knew what it was."

  He moved then, shifting onto his back again and staring at the roof of the cabin as if he hoped he might find some inspiration there. It was obvious her insistence that Jacob Wolfe was not as he remembered him had driven a rift between them, and conversely now, Caitlin regretted her recalcitrance. After all, as he'd said, what did she really know about his father? Her half-formed impressions were hardly reliable. The whole situation was far too uncertain for that. - And she'd never expected he might question her identity. Yet, when she thought about it, it was exactly the kind of thing he would do. Nothing made sense to him: not her ignorance as to why he should have been visiting the United States without her, nor her reluctance to allow him to get close to her. He wanted answers she either couldn't—or wouldn't—give him, and the future had never looked as bleak as it did at that moment.

  6

  The apartment was in Knightsbridge, which he knew—with one of those strange quirks of his condition—was a rather select part of London. It was quite spacious—comfortable, without being overly luxurious. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large living room, with a tiny dining alcove overlooking the square below. The kitchen was high-tech and spotlessly clean, which indicated that Caitlin employed someone to keep it that way. It was on the top floor of the building, ten levels up from the street, so that any traffic noise was
negligible.

  He had hoped he would remember their apartment. Caitlin had described it to him during one of their stiff conversations in the hospital, and although he was fairly sure he'd never seen it before, he did know his way around.

  But Caitlin had told him a lot of things while he was still confined to bed, none of them arousing any element of recognition in his memory. She might have been a complete stranger were it not for that instantaneous attraction he'd felt towards her. That, he knew, was not imagined, and her insistence in talking about impersonal things had only heightened his desire to breach the very definite barriers she had erected between them.

  Well, he reflected somewhat wearily, he was a comparative stranger to her, as well. For all his disturbing attraction to her, he didn't remember her at all. Sometimes, when he was lying sleepless in his bed, he'd tried to remember making love to her. But, although he'd usually gotten hard and frustrated, he had no memory of their lovemaking, either.

  He'd blamed it on the fact that she'd remained so aloof from him. Although she'd kissed his cheek when she was leaving, she'd never ever kissed his mouth. It was as if she was afraid of getting too close to him. But, whatever his mental state, he knew his body craved hers.

  What had he done to turn her against him? Because he sensed he had done something, no matter what she said. And if she didn't love him, if she wished she hadn't married him, why hadn't they divorced? If it seemed that simple to him, why didn't it seem so to her?

  Yet, that thought, coming on top of the conversation they had had on the plane, was definitely depressing. He had thought they were making some progress until she'd told him about his father. It was obvious there was a problem, but she didn't want to discuss it with him. Just as he seemed to be reaching the real Caitlin Wolfe, she pulled away.

  And he needed her, he thought, looking bleakly around the strange apartment. He needed her friendship; he needed her trust; he needed her support. If only she'd let him get near her, he felt sure he'd find what he was seeking. She couldn't mean to keep him at arm's length until he remembered who he was, could she?