to slow.
* * *
For the first time since bringing her home, Eric realized MW might have the power to completely disrupt his orderly existence. Something, some reaction or emotion he glimpsed in her light blue eyes, had practically brought him to his knees. Damned if he understood what it was about this woman, but she made him feel things he shouldn’t. For one thing, she didn’t seem to realize how extraordinarily beautiful she was, which might be totally due to her amnesia.
For another, if he had a type—and until now, he hadn’t—MW would be it. He liked her generous curves, her perfect proportions. And her hair. Those wavy, thick strands had him longing to tangle his fingers in them.
Then there was her mouth. If ever he’d seen a mouth made to be kissed, hers...
No. Stop. Dragging his hand across his chin, Eric stared at her closed door and walked back into the living room. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman with no memory. As a physician, he’d sworn to help, not hurt. Just because his libido had finally decided to wake up and take notice didn’t give him a valid excuse to act like a fool.
Maybe the hospital board was right. Perhaps he should consider taking a vacation. Possibly once all this was over.
Again his thoughts returned to MW. How long could one woman take to regain her memory? In all his years of study, plus his five-year surgical residency and one year of medical fellowship, he hadn’t seen a single actual case of true amnesia. Brain trauma, yes. Stroke, yes. But MW had only suffered a mild concussion, definitely not something bad enough to cause her to forget her entire existence.
Glancing at his watch, he saw he had thirty minutes before he needed to meet Ryan. Since getting to Red’s Ribs would require him to drive, he’d better get a move on.
His little sports car could use an outing. He’d made the wildly impractical purchase after careful consideration, weighing his love of speed with the steep cost of a Porsche. He’d gone to the dealership one weekend just to look and had ended up becoming the proud owner of a brand-new Porsche Cayman GTS.
Though he rarely drove, every time he did, he was glad he’d made the purchase. At 340 HP, his car could do zero to sixty in 4.5 seconds. He should know, he’d tested it a few times.
Once he reached the restaurant, he parked, noticing that Ryan had beaten him there. Eric recognized his police cruiser parked one row over. He practically bounded from his car, not an easy feat since the sleek sports car sat so low to the ground.
Inside, he spotted Ryan, his dark brown hair as short as Eric’s. Ryan was out of uniform since he was off duty, and he’d already snagged a table. Pulling out a chair, Eric straddled it, quickly filling his brother in on everything that had happened.
“Her memory still hasn’t come back?” Ryan sounded skeptical. Eric didn’t blame him.
“Not yet. I’m hopeful it will soon, especially since there have been two attempts to harm her.”
“Except you don’t know that the hit-and-run was on purpose,” Ryan pointed out.
“It was. I have no doubt. I was there. I saw the Town Car gunning for her. And since two men in a van tried to grab her when she was shopping with Greta...”
“Again, they could have just been pervs out to grab the first woman or women they saw. You don’t know for sure that she was their specific target.”
Eric shook his head. “Don’t you think that’s a bit coincidental?”
“In my line of work, I learned early on never to jump to conclusions.”
“Point taken.” Eric looked around for the waitress, but since the dining room appeared packed, and all the servers seemed busy, he figured she’d stop by eventually.
“So what are you going to do now?” Ryan asked.
“I’m hoping her memory comes back quickly. At least once we know what we’re up against, I can come up with a better plan to keep her safe.”
At Eric’s words, Ryan stared. “Keep her safe? I’d think you’d contact her family.”
“Depends on the situation. I’m not going to allow her to be placed in danger.”
“Not going to... What does this woman look like?”
Immediately understanding where his brother was going, Eric shrugged. “Brown, shoulder-length hair. Wavy with reddish highlights. Light blue eyes. She doesn’t look like a fashion model, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“No.” Taking another sip of his beer, Ryan grinned. “I’m asking if she’s pretty.”
Eric pretended to have to think about it. “Well, she’s not ugly. Why does that matter?”
“Because you are always so laser focused on your job, you barely have time for family, never mind some strange female who you don’t even know.”
Refusing to let his brother needle him, Eric finally managed to catch the attention of a waitress and ordered a diet cola. “I’m on call,” he explained. Which, as Ryan knew, meant he couldn’t drink in case he got called in for surgery.
He waited for Ryan to say something like he usually did about how badly he needed a vacation, but the other man only shrugged and took another pull on his beer.
When the waitress reappeared, they ordered their meals. While waiting for his barbecued ribs, Eric couldn’t understand why he felt so antsy. He couldn’t stop thinking about MW, all alone and probably frightened, and he realized he probably shouldn’t have left her by herself. He decided he’d eat as quickly as possible and hurry home.
Of course Ryan, with his detective’s powers of observation, noticed his fidgeting. Luckily, their food arrived, which distracted him, though Eric knew it wouldn’t last for long.
Digging in, he tried to shrug off his fascination with his temporary houseguest and focused on the delicious meal.
Ryan ate heartily as well, though he kept shooting Eric questioning looks while he ate. Finally, he shook his head. Putting down his ribs, he licked his fingers before wiping his mouth with his paper towel. “All right, spill. You’re superdistracted. What’s wrong?”
Since there was no way Eric wanted to give his brother more ammunition with which to tease him, he shrugged and said the one word that always made Ryan change the subject. “Work,” he lied, and went back to devouring his meal. When he could eat no more, he used the finger wipes and cleaned his hands.
“That was good.” He leaned back in the chair and gave a sigh of contentment. Even now, in the back of his mind, he could picture offering MW a plate of ribs and watching her eat. Then he remembered she’d asked for a sliced beef sandwich, and got lost again contemplating her charms.
“There you go again.” Ryan’s sharp comment brought Eric out of his reverie.
“Sorry,” Eric apologized, meaning it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Working too hard, probably.”
Because he had been and he hoped that was the reason for his unexplained preoccupation with his pretty houseguest, he nodded. “Probably.”
“You been home lately?” Ryan asked quietly, meaning the Lucky C ranch.
“No.” Eric refused to feel guilty. Both brothers had escaped the family ranch as quickly as they could—Eric because he’d never fit in, Ryan because of the never-ending drama. “How about you?”
Ryan sighed. “I’ve had to run out there a few times. I’m still investigating the attack on Mother. Since she’s unconscious, she can’t tell me anything. And there have been a couple other instances of vandalism, mostly minor.”
Eric grimaced. While he loved his mother, Abra Colton had always been one