The Wife He Couldn't Forget

Gold. Spun gold. Jewels beyond compare.

How many achingly lonely nights had she lain here in this very bed since he left her? Made futile wish after wish that they could lie here together, just like this, again? Far, far too many. And now, here he was. All her dreams come true, on the surface at least.

They said you couldn’t turn back time, but isn’t that effectively what his accident had done?

She sighed and relaxed a little. The moment she did so her mind began to work overtime. If his memory came back, would he forgive her this deception? Could he? She’d basically kidnapped him from the life he’d been leading before the accident. Brought him here to resume a life he’d chosen to leave behind.

She’d never been a deceitful person, and now it felt as if a giant weight hovered above her, held back by nothing more than a slowly fraying thread. One wrong step and she would be crushed; she knew it. Doing this, bringing him home, acting as if nothing bad had ever happened to them? It was all a lie. She felt it was worth telling—would he feel the same way? Only time would tell.

Olivia drew in a deep breath through her nose, her senses responding to the familiar scent of the man she’d already lost once in her life. She wasn’t prepared to lose him again. She had to fight with all her might this time. Somehow she had to make this work.

She shifted a little and felt Xander’s arm close more tightly around her, as if now he had her in his arms he wouldn’t let her go, either. It gave her hope. Tentative, fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. If, in his subconscious mind, he could hold her like this, then maybe, just maybe, he could love her again, too.

* * *

Olivia woke to an empty bed in the morning and the sight of Xander standing naked in front of their wardrobe with the doors spread wide-open.

“Xander?” she asked sleepily. “You okay?”

“Where are my clothes?” he asked, still searching through the rails and the built-in drawers.

“I put them in the spare room when I thought you’d be convalescing there.”

He made a sound of disgust. “Convalescing is for invalids. I’m not an invalid.”

Olivia sat up and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you’re not,” she said patiently. “But you aren’t at full strength, either. What is it that you want? I’ll see if I can find it for you.”

At least she hoped she’d be able to find it for him. She hadn’t brought everything of his from the apartment. What if he had something he particularly wanted to wear and she’d left it behind? Now he was home it would be a lot harder to go back to his apartment and get more of his things. She castigated herself for not thinking about that sooner.

“I want my old uni sweatshirt and a pair of Levi’s,” Xander said, turning around.

Olivia’s eyes raked his body. He’d lost definition, but he was still an incredibly fine figure of a man. There was a scar on his abdomen, pink and thin, where his spleen had been removed after the crash. The sight of it made something tug hard deep inside her. He could so easily have died in that accident and she wouldn’t have this chance with him. It was frightening. She already knew how fragile life could be. How quickly it could be stolen from you.

Her gaze lingered on his chest where she’d pillowed her head for most the night. Beneath her stare she saw his nipples tighten and felt a corresponding response in her own. She sighed softly. It had been so very long since they’d been intimate and yet her body still responded to him as if they’d never been apart. And his, too, by the looks of things.

“Why don’t you grab your shower and I’ll go get your clothes,” she suggested, pushing herself up to stand and heading for the spare room.

The sheer need that pulled at her right now was more than she could take. She had to put some distance between them before she did something crazy—like drag him back to bed and slake two years of hunger. As if he read her mind, he spoke.

“Why don’t you grab it with me?” Xander said with a smile that make her muscles tighten.

“I’m not sure you’ve been cleared for that just yet,” she said as lightly as she could.

Before he could respond, she headed into the hallway and hesitated, waiting until she heard the en suite door close and the shower start. Then she went to the narrow spiral wooden staircase that led to the attic. Her foot faltered on the first step, and she had to mentally gird herself to keep putting one foot on each step after another.

Somewhere along the line, the attic had become the repository for the things she didn’t want to face. But right now she had no choice. She closed her eyes before pushing open the narrow door that led into the storage area lit only by two small diamond-shaped multipaned windows set in at each end. Another deep breath and she stepped inside.