conversations with Emma raced through his mind, especially the one the afternoon before her accident. I wanted us to have a special dinner tonight, she’d said. But what had he done? He’d gone to dinner with a client, then stayed for drinks to discuss business with Priscilla. Two days before that, Emma had asked him to meet her and Carly for lunch. Once again he’d been too busy.
But he’d been in meetings, not just dallying around. Emma knew that. She knew he’d been working his butt off to make a good life for both of them. For Carly, too.
“Grant—” Kate’s voice broke into his disturbing thoughts “—I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
He saw concern written on her usually smug face. “You think it was my fault, don’t you? You think she was unhappy with me and she doesn’t remember me because she doesn’t want to.” The idea shook him to the core.
“No,” Kate said hurriedly, “that’s not what I meant, Grant.” She walked toward him, holding out her arms for the baby. “The accident caused the amnesia. You heard what the doctor said.”
Grant barely registered her protests. “But she remembers you. And her parents. She probably even remembers her high-school boyfriends.” He hated the desperation in his voice. “But she can’t remember me,” he finished, feeling defeated.
“Give her time.” Kate placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put Carly down for a nap while you bring Emma home.” She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe you’re right, Grant. Emma loves you. Coming home is probably exactly what she needs.”
Grant kissed Carly on the forehead and nodded, his body wound like a tightly coiled spring. Emma loves me. At least, she used to; now she didn’t even know him. “I hope so,” he said. Once he’d gotten over the shock of the amnesia, he’d realized how frightening the ordeal must be for Emma. She’d not only awakened injured, but she’d lost part of her life.
A fresh stab of pain hit him. Of course, if she didn’t remember their marriage, he was going to lose a part of his life. The best part.
Chapter Three
Emma took a deep breath and glanced at Grant, hoping to gain strength from his steady calmness, but tension radiated from every pore of his body. Anxiety crawled along her own nerves. She would soon be home, a place she couldn’t even remember.
He’d combed his hair away from his forehead, accentuating the hard lines of his angular face. Thick dark eyebrows arched over his tormented blue eyes, and the white shirt he wore contrasted sharply with his olive skin. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his sideburns had been clipped high above his ears. She wondered if he had to shave twice a day. Something I should know, as his wife.
He glanced over and caught her staring. For a moment their gazes locked. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a sexy smile and her breath caught as she realized how devastatingly handsome he looked when he lost that tortured grim expression.
He’d been upset when he’d arrived to pick her up, and she’d sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. Had the police discovered what had caused her wreck? “Grant, did you talk to the police?”
Grant’s expression became guarded and he kept his gaze on the highway. “I talked to Detective Warner, but he said he hasn’t found anything yet.”
“I see.” So that wasn’t the problem.
She turned to gaze out the side window, realizing he must be upset about bringing her home. Her stomach drew itself into a tight knot of anxiety. For the past two days he’d been telling her about herself. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stifling the urge to scream in frustration. She’d lost the past four years of her life and had no idea how to get them back.
According to Grant, she’d married him three years ago and they lived in a small Victorian-style house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. But she couldn’t remember any of it. Not even her wedding day or giving birth—possibly the two most important events in a woman’s life.
Retrograde amnesia—the words reverberated over and over in her brain, grating on her already frayed nerves like an out-of-tune piano. Only time would tell if her memory would return. And if it didn’t…
“We’re almost home,” Grant said in the husky voice that made warmth rush through her. His blue eyes bore into hers, searching, probing, seeking something she might never give. She held his gaze for a brief moment before reality set in. He knew her intimately, but he could have been a stranger on the street to her. She desperately tried to remember some small detail of their life together, some emotion for the handsome stranger, but her mind remained an empty black hole.
“So you’re an architect?” she finally said in an attempt to fill the awkward silence.
“Yes. I’ve been with this company for three years.”
“Did you design our house?”
His jaw tightened slightly, then he seemed to force it to relax. “No. It was a resale. It actually needed some fixing up, but we…that is, I planned to do it myself.”
“Oh.” Emma didn’t know why that surprised her. He obviously knew about building houses—probably had redone everything to his own specifications. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” she said.
Grant rolled his shoulders and tension tightened his shoulders, evident in his rigid posture. “It’s nice. But I still haven’t gotten around to all those projects yet.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an almost apologetic one, she noted, then turned his attention to the road.
Glancing at him once again, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his big hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. What kind of a nightmare had they both fallen into? And what about their marriage—did they love each other?
Right now he looked as miserable as she felt. He’d tried to hide it; he’d told her not to worry, that he knew her memory would return once they arrived home. But she saw the fear lurking in his troubled eyes.
She was petrified. What if her memory never returned? Could she stay married to a stranger? Did he want to remain married to her?
“Our cleaning lady came by and straightened up,” Grant said, breaking the strained silence. “Her name is Martha. You met her at the jewelry store where you used to work.”
“I see,” Emma said, hating the formality in her tone.
“And Kate stayed with Carly this morning.”
Kate. Emma clung to her sister’s name like a lifeline. At least with Kate around, she wouldn’t have to face this ordeal alone. Perhaps she could live with Kate for a while. She’d mentioned it to Grant, but had felt his suppressed fury at the idea. Then he’d masked his anger and the doctor had reassured her Grant had a point. Going home might trigger bits and pieces of her memory.
Emma studied her surroundings while Grant steered the Acura down a street lined with ancient magnolias and azaleas. Neat manicured lawns and an array of pastel-colored wooden homes filled the block. Neighbors were out shoveling off the small patches of murky ice and snow from a recent snowstorm, and the trees looked bare and desolate without their leaves. An older woman wearing a blue jogging suit walked along the sidewalk, and two small children
