little. What I do recall comes in snippets that often seem out of order.”
“You suffer from a memory loss?” he asked, incredulity ringing loud and clear in his voice.
“Yes, a form of amnesia,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Loring explain?”
His dark brows slammed into a vee over the aristocratic blade of his nose. “Not one word.”
Allegra didn’t know what to make of that. If Miguel was to be believed, her uncle had lied to him about her condition and her whereabouts. Why would he do such a thing?
“How often do you have these flashbacks?” he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice now.
Most nights, or any of the other triggers she hadn’t anticipatedthat caught her off guard. “Often enough, though of late the same snippets have played over and over.” She looked into his eyes then and said simply, “The accident and two weeks following it are a mystery to me.”
His dark eyes flared with surprise, but the strong hand that closed protectively over hers was her undoing. For he didn’t merely touch her. His thumb stroked her hand, and the warm vital connection between them brought back vibrant memories of the time when they’d merely sit close and hold hands.
She’d mourned that link with Miguel nearly as much as she grieved over her daughter’s death. But too soon he released her and scowled out the windshield, and the darkening of his tanned cheeks hinted he disliked revealing that much of his feelings to her.
“How long do they think this block will last?” he asked.
“The doctor said it could last a day or forever,” she said, which was the reason she’d decided to leave Bartholomew Fields.
She was suffocating under the doctor’s watchful eye. She hadn’t wanted to be dependent on others for the rest of her life, so she dug deep for the gumption to take matters into her own hands.
It was clear nobody else was coming to her defense. Not her uncle. Certainly not her husband.
“I believed what I was told,” she said. “Just like you did.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You gave up on us, Miguel,” she said. “If you’d really wanted to find me, I wouldn’t have been a virtual prisoner in Bartholomew Fields.”
Her charge rose as a wall between them, for she knew he could move mountains if he chose to. He hadn’t tried hard enough to find her. He’d given up on her.
He swore under his breath and jerked back behind the wheel, but instead of throwing the car into gear, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile. “I will call Señor McClendon and give our regrets for tonight.”
“Don’t.”
She laid a hand atop his and jolted when a intense bolt of emotion shot from him into her. Anger. Confusion. Empathy.
“You need to rest,” he said. “The trip taxed you.”
“I’m all right.” She’d done nothing but rest for months. “There is no reason to postpone your dinner.”
He tipped his head to the side and studied her, as if he was gauging if he could trust her to pull this off. He likely suspected she’d flake-out and embarrass him in front of the paparazzi that were sure to be present.
“If you are feeling—” he paused, as if searching for the right word to describe her spell “—unnerved, then we should postpone this evening until you are more in control of your emotions.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “There’s no need to alter your plans for tonight.”
His critical assessment of her screamed disagreement. “You are certain of this?”
“Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure of anything.
She’d let her uncle handle things when she was hospitalized. Now it seemed that he’d lied to her, and he’d lied to Miguel.
Why would Uncle Loring keep her from Miguel? She could only guess that he’d sought to protect her from an uncaring husband.
She curled her fingers into her palms, angry over the lost time apart, the lost memories she may never recover. Most of all, it angered her that they’d lost the chance to cling to each other in the face of tragedy.
She glanced at Miguel. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and scowled out the windshield. She knew he was on the verge of taking her back to the beach house because he doubted her stamina.
She refused to be locked away from life or cower before the paparazzi. She’d come back to the Yucatán for closure, but now she wanted answers as well.
“Do you intend to sit here all night staring out the window, or are we going to Playa del Carmen for dinner?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to hers, and the hot challenge simmering there made her breath catch.
“We join the Tejanos as planned. Hold on.” He’d jutted out into traffic as he spoke, as if testing her to see if she’d lose her grip on reality again.
She dug her fingernails into the leather seat and cast him a sideways look. A muscle ticked madly in his lean cheek. Some perceived that tic as anger, but she knew better. It was the only visible sign she’d seen that belied he was nervous.
She suspected a good deal of it was his aversion toward the paparazzi he’d decided to court this night. But had her barb truly hit a nerve? Could he possibly feel guilty for not finding her?
More likely she’d tweaked his formidable pride by tossing the truth back in his face. He’d not wanted her anymore.
She’d known that when she’d come back here. Still, she’d left the safe haven her doctor offered to confront the most exciting man she’d ever met.
Time would tell if it was a choice she’d live to regret.
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