the condos inside were not of the traditional postage-stamp variety.
Gage waited, one strong arm holding open the elevator door for her. The elevator was surrounded by glass windows, providing a breathtaking view of the city lights. Yet she couldn’t help feeling exposed, knowing that anyone outside could easily see them standing inside.
She tried to ignore the increasing paranoia. Was that a common reaction for people who had amnesia? Maybe.
When Gage reached over and pushed the button for the fifteenth floor, she was hit by a sense of familiarity. As if she’d done the same thing herself.
Her head ached with the strain of trying to remember. The sense of urgency grew stronger, and she tapped her foot as the elevator slid upward. The flashes of familiarity were encouraging. Maybe her memory would return after she’d gotten into more familiar surroundings. When the elevator doors opened on the fifteenth floor, she eagerly stepped out.
Oddly enough, there was only one door. Did she live in some sort of penthouse? Silently he used her key to gain access. Warily she stepped inside. The condo was huge, decorated with red furniture, black and red kitchen cabinets and white walls. Large windows lined one entire wall, giving her a breathtaking view of Lake Michigan.
“Wow.” Drawn by the cool, calm water, where the sun was just beginning to creep up the horizon, she hobbled to the window. The lake was a balm to her frayed nerves. “I have spectacular taste,” she murmured, impressed with the view.
Gage grunted, hovering in the entrance, as if uncomfortable in her private space. “You obviously like a lot of bold colors.”
Bold colors were an understatement. She wasn’t about to admit that the deep red, blue and black interior had almost made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. She must have liked the furnishings at some point in time. She swept a gaze over the room, noting a short hallway off to the left where she assumed her bedroom and bathroom were located.
“Have anything to drink around here?” Gage asked.
She glanced at him, raising a brow. “How would I know? I’ll have to look.”
When she limped in the direction of her kitchen, he frowned and glanced at her swollen ankle as if he could tell the pain was getting worse with each step. “Stay put, you should rest that ankle. I’ll do it.” He walked toward the fridge and opened the door. She paused, nearly shedding her jacket but then swiftly reconsidering, remembering the midriff-baring T-shirt. Better to stay covered up.
Feeling awkward in her own surroundings, she watched as Gage rummaged around and finally withdrew a jug of orange juice.
“Want some?” He held the container and two glasses. The expression on his face was carefully polite. His cinnamon-colored eyes looked directly into hers.
She dragged her gaze away with an effort. “Sure. I need to take the anti-inflammatory that the doctor prescribed.” She pulled the pill bottle out of her purse. “He assured me it’s only a sprain, but my ankle really hurts.”
The inane conversation didn’t bring the normalcy she desired. She was home, but something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. There was nothing homey about this condo. Frankly, she couldn’t imagine living there.
He poured her a glass of juice and she stepped closer, wary of invading his space. Silly, considering they were in her condo. She tossed the pills back and quickly took a sip of juice. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat.
“Anything look familiar?” Gage cocked an eyebrow over the rim of his glass.
“No.” She downed the rest of the juice in a big gulp then set the glass down with a thud. The condo should be a safe haven, but a strong sense of disquiet kept her off balance. She fingered the bloodstains on her jeans and then wrapped her arms around her body, warding off a chill.
What would Gage say if she wrapped her arms around his lean waist, asking him to hold her? He was a stranger, but so far he was the only person who made her feel safe. The condo wasn’t much better than the hospital. Would she ever feel safe again? She glanced at Gage, noted the restlessness in his eyes. She didn’t want him to leave, yet he just as clearly didn’t want to stick around.
For a moment panic surged at the thought of being left here alone. She reached out to touch his arm, a solid anchor for her shaky, trembling foundation. “Gage—”
A sizzle of awareness leaped between them. Gage jerked from her touch, sending a wave of juice sloshing to the floor.
Mallory snatched her hand away, her fingers tingling from the solid warmth of his skin.
“I have to go. I’ll check on you later.” Gage hastily set his half-full glass down on the counter. Stepping over the mess, he gave her a wide berth as he headed for the door.
Mallory couldn’t think of a single thing to say as he left the condo. She didn’t understand the urge to beg him not to go. He might be a close friend of her twin, but he was still a stranger. Her knees gave way as she sank onto the nearest chair. Loneliness surrounded her, magnifying her dread.
She didn’t want to stay here, but where could she go? What could she do? Run after Gage? Beg him to take her home with him? Throw herself into his arms?
She buried her face in her hands, full of self-loathing. What kind of person was she? And what sort of mess had she gotten herself into?
* * *
Gage’s hands shook, making it difficult to slide the truck key into the ignition. Finally he jammed the metal home and started the truck with a twist of his wrist. He floored the accelerator, speeding away from Mallory’s high-rise condo as if his life depended on putting distance between them.
His heart nearly hammered its way out of his chest. What was wrong with him? He must have accidently touched Mallory a dozen times in passing and never once experienced the jolt of electricity like the one that just zapped him. He rubbed a shaky hand over the stubble on his chin. He must be losing his mind. Alyssa was the twin he was attracted to. Not Mallory.
Calmer now, he realized he’d reacted that way only because he missed Alyssa. She’d broken things off, but he wanted to win her back. Somehow he’d transposed his feelings for Alyssa onto Mallory. Because Mallory with amnesia wasn’t acting like Mallory. Twisted logic? Maybe. But he couldn’t come up with anything else that made sense.
For a moment he wondered if Alyssa and Mallory had switched places. Was it possible the woman he’d just dropped off was really Alyssa? His chest filled with hope, but then he slowly shook his head. No way. He refused to believe it. Alyssa told him she and Mallory had vowed to never switch identities. And Alyssa always told the truth.
He couldn’t imagine any circumstance where Alyssa would agree to take Mallory’s place. More likely, Mallory’s strange actions arose from some identity crisis, a direct result of her amnesia. And why did he care? Mallory’s amnesia wasn’t his problem anymore. His good deed was finished.
She was Alyssa’s problem now. He didn’t head home but hooked a left turn toward Alyssa’s town house. It was early, five-thirty in the morning, but that didn’t stop him.
Shortly after their engagement, she’d given him a key to keep as a spare and he’d been remiss in returning it, hoping they’d get back together so he wouldn’t need to. Since their split
