don’t remember you, Bryony. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s a fact. I have only your word that we were ever anything to each other.”
Her lips twisted. “Yeah, we can’t forget I’m not your type.”
He winced. Trust her to remember that remark.
“I’d like for you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning. Tell me when and where we met. Maybe something you say will jog my memory.”
A knock sounded at the door and he scowled. “Are you expecting someone at this hour?” he asked when she rose to answer it.
“Room service. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“That can’t be good for the baby.”
She didn’t look as though she appreciated the remark. Gathering her robe tighter around her, she went to the door and a few seconds later, a room service attendant wheeled in a cart bearing covered plates. She signed the bill and offered a halfhearted smile of thanks to the man.
When Rafael and Bryony were alone again she pushed the cart the rest of the way to the bed. “Sorry. Obviously I wasn’t counting on company. I only ordered enough food for one.”
He lifted a brow as she began uncovering the dishes. There was enough food to feed a small convention.
“Sit down and relax. We can talk while you’re eating.”
She settled in the armchair catty-corner to the bed and curled her feet underneath her. As she reached for one of the plates, he studied the face of the woman he’d forgotten.
She was beautiful. No denying that. Not the kind of woman he usually gravitated toward. She was entirely too outspoken for his liking. He preferred women who were gentle and, according to his close friends, submissive.
Quite frankly it made him sound like a jackass. But he couldn’t deny he did like his women a bit more biddable. He found it fascinating that he’d supposedly met and fallen in love with Bryony Morgan, the antithesis of every woman he’d dated for the past five years.
Okay, so he bought that he’d been attracted to her. And yeah, he could buy sleeping with her. But falling in love? In a span of a few weeks?
That was a giant hole in the fairy tale she’d spun.
But she was also a woman, and women tended to be emotional creatures. It was possible she thought he was in love with her. Her hurt and betrayal certainly didn’t seem feigned.
And then there was the fact she was pregnant with his child. It would probably make him seem even more of a bastard, but it would be stupid not to insist on paternity testing. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she’d made the entire thing up after learning of his memory loss.
He had the sudden urge to call his lawyer and have him tell him whose signature was on the real estate contract for the land he’d purchased sometime during the weeks he’d lost. He hadn’t seen the paperwork since before his accident. He paid people to keep his business running and his affairs in order. Once he scored the deal, there was no reason to look back.
Until now.
Damn but this was a mess. And yeah, he was definitely calling his lawyer first thing in the morning.
“What are you thinking?” she asked bluntly.
“That this is a huge cluster f—”
“You’re telling me,” she muttered. “Only I don’t see what’s so bad from your perspective. You’ve got more money than God. You’re not pregnant, and you didn’t just sign away land that’s been in your family for generations to a man who’s going to destroy it to build some tourist trap.”
The pain in her voice sent an uncomfortable sensation through his chest. Something remarkably like guilt ate at him, but what did he have to feel guilty about? None of this was his fault.
“How did we meet?” he asked. “I need to know everything.”
She toyed with her fork, and her lips turned down into an unhappy frown.
“The first time I saw you, you were wearing an uptight suit, shoes that cost more than my house and you had on sunglasses. It annoyed me that I couldn’t see your eyes, so I refused to speak to you until you took them off.”
“And where was this?”
“Moon Island. You were asking about a stretch of beachfront property and who owned it. I, of course, was the owner, and I figured you were some guy from the city with big plans to develop the island and save all the locals from a life of poverty.”
He frowned. “It wasn’t for sale? I remember it being for sale before I ever went down there. I wouldn’t have known about it otherwise.”
She nodded. “It was. I…I needed to sell it. My grandmother and I could no longer afford the property taxes. But we agreed we wouldn’t sell to a developer. It was bad enough that I was forced to sell land that’s been in my family for generations.”
She broke off, clearly uncomfortable with all she’d shared.
“Anyway, I figured you for another stiff suit, and so I sent you across the island on a wild-goose chase.”
He sent a glare in her direction. For the first time, a smile flirted on the edge of her lips.
“You were so angry with me. You stormed back to my cottage and banged on my door. You demanded to know what the hell I was doing and said I didn’t act like someone who desperately needed to sell a piece of land.”
“That sounds like me,” he acknowledged.
“I informed you that I wasn’t interested in selling to you and you demanded to know why. When I told you of my promise to my grandmother that we’d only sell to someone willing to sign a guarantee that they wouldn’t commercially develop the stretch of beach, you asked to meet her.”
An uncomfortable prickle went up his nape. That didn’t sound like him. He wasn’t one to get personal. Everyone had their price. He would have simply upped his offer until he found theirs.
“The rest is pretty embarrassing,” she said lightly. “I took you to meet Mamaw. The two of you got along famously. She invited you to stay for supper. Afterward we took a walk on the beach. You kissed me. I kissed you back. You walked me back to my cottage and told me you’d see me the next day.”
“And did I?”
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “And the day after, and the day after. It took me three days to talk you out of that suit.”
He lifted a brow and stared.
Her cheeks turned red and she clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean it like that. You wore that suit everywhere on the beach. You stuck out like a sore thumb. So I took you shopping. We bought you beachwear.”
This was starting to sound like a nightmare. “Beachwear?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Shorts. T-shirts. Flip-flops.”
Maybe the doctor had been right. He lost his memory because he wanted to forget. Flip-flops? It was all he could do not to stare down at his very expensive leather loafers and imagine wearing flip-flops.
“And I wore this…beachwear.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You did. We bought swim trunks, too. I don’t know of anyone who goes to an island and doesn’t pack something to swim in, so we got you some trunks and I took you to my favorite stretch of the beach.”
So far her version of the weeks missing from his memory was so divergent from everything he knew of himself that it was like listening to a story about someone else. What could have possessed him to act so out of character?
“How long did this relationship you say we had go on?” he croaked.
“Four weeks,”