The Billionaire's Forgotten Fiancée

Shane Lawrence Arthur Pryce.

His full nam

e supposedly, although he didn’t remember. He snapped some more photos. Somebody—he couldn’t recall who—had told him pictures didn’t lie. They captured everything, and if he sifted through them later, he might see something about Shane Lawrence Arthur Pryce, something that might trigger his memory.

Had his parents considered the initials, or had they simply not cared?

His stomach twisted at the thought of his parents, and Shane grimaced. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall a thing about them. But his gut always had the same reaction. Maybe they’d been abusive. Had they beaten him? Were they high-functioning alcoholics or cocaine snorters?

Just because his family was rich didn’t mean they were nice or well-adjusted members of society. He glared at the men standing around the huge living room in the beach house in Thailand. They’d claimed Dane had sent them to take Shane home. They didn’t say it outright, but they’d hinted that Dane was worried. Yeah, right.

On Shane’s phone were several contact groups. One of them was labeled Assholes, and Dane was the only one in it.

The men wouldn’t go back without Shane, so he’d started to ignore them. Dane would give up soon enough. Or not. Shane frowned. Did assholes call it quits that easily?

A car rumbled outside, and Shane felt his eyebrows pull together. Who now?

The engine stopped. Doors slammed, and voices came, words indistinguishable from the house. A man’s voice and a woman’s.

Was it his mother?

Shane’s jaw muscles tightened automatically. Dane—apparently his brother—had threatened to sic her on him if he didn’t come home. Damn it. Shane turned his attention back to the camera he’d been holding in his hands and snapped a few more shots of the card. If he kept taking photos, she might let him be. He didn’t want to go back with his mother either. He didn’t want to go with anybody.

The door opened from behind him. He pretended not to hear it, clicking even faster. There was a massive memory on his camera, and the RAW files were uploaded to some online storage site automatically. Of course he had no idea what his login ID was supposed to be, but he felt no need to find out.

He heard the housekeeper Peeraya welcome the guest. “Sawadee-ka,” she said, her voice lilting, and he knew that the greeting had been delivered with a slight bow while her hands were held together in a prayer-like pose. That, he knew. “Let me take your bags, madam.”

Shane heard a woman’s footsteps come through the foyer, even as his stomach clenched harder.

“Shane?” came a soft voice.

He finally swiveled around. It wasn’t his mom, rather the blonde who’d barged into his hotel suite in Johannesburg. She was as gorgeous as he remembered, if a bit thinner. That bothered him, although he wasn’t sure why. The white t-shirt on her hung somewhat loosely, and her cropped denim shorts revealed slim legs. She’d probably been on a diet. All the women around him seemed to be on one, trying to shed every ounce of fat from their bodies. This one seemed to have been successful. He ought to congratulate her.

Her leanness accentuated delicately shaped facial bones. The sky-blue eyes that had looked at him with fury were guarded now, her full, rosy mouth set in an uncertain line. It was as though she was approaching a rabid dog. And he hated her for it. She was the one who’d brought out his temper in South Africa. No need for her to act like she was the victim.

“Ginger, right?” he said, keeping his voice light and mocking.

“Yes.”

Her voice washed over him like a silken dream from long ago, allusive and achingly sweet. He didn’t know why she had this effect on him. Ever since he’d lost his memory, he’d relied on his gut feelings, and right now, they were urging him to simultaneously wrap her in his arms and throttle her. Damn contradictions. She’d had the same effect on him in Johannesburg, which had been why he’d kicked her out of the suite. She’d told him they’d been engaged, but he wouldn’t have committed to a woman who gave him that nasty feeling, would he? Women fell to their knees at the sight of him, ready to do anything he wanted. Why wouldn’t he have chosen one of them?

Nothing clears the head like sex.

He blinked. Who’d said that? He couldn’t place the voice, but he’d heard it often enough. “Why are you here?”

“Dane sent me.”

That explained why Dane had the Asshole group all to himself. “You can’t stay.”

“Apparently, I can.”

He got up and deliberately moved closer to her, invading her space. She smelled like orchids and butter cream. He inhaled sharply, his body tightening. He wanted her with an intensity that stole his breath.

If she didn’t want to go, why not keep her and fuck her? See if she was the one who could help him shake off the sense of wrongness every time he’d tried to sleep with somebody in the past year.

He studied her mouth, the way her lower lip was slightly fuller than the upper one, and how rosy and delicious they both looked. They’d be sweet under his own lips…or wrapped around his cock. He didn’t even know if she was any good, given how angelic she looked, but he wanted something so dirty and hot it could incinerate all the annoying things on his mind.

“I don’t let women who aren’t warming my bed stay here.”