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and remembers he loves you? What if it’s all some horrible misunderstanding and we have a chance to get back what we had on the island?’“
She shoved her plate away and looked down as she visibly tried to collect herself.
“But what if I was right?” she whispered. “What if me sticking around hoping makes me an even bigger fool than falling for your lies to begin with? I have a child to consider now.”
Before he could think twice about what he should say or do, he found himself reaching for her. It was impossible not to want to touch her, to offer her comfort. The pain in her expression was too real. Her eyes were clouded with moisture and hurt shimmered in their depths.
He pulled her into his arms and leaned back against the couch. For a moment she lay there stiffly, so still that he wondered if she held her breath.
He inhaled the scent of her hair and felt keen disappointment that it stirred nothing to life in his memories. Wasn’t smell supposed to be the most powerful memory trigger?
Gradually she relaxed against him, her fingers curling into his chest as her cheek rested on his shoulder.
He dropped his mouth to the top of her head and stopped himself a moment before brushing his lips across her hair. It seemed the most natural thing to do and yet he knew tenderness wasn’t a usual characteristic. It seemed too personal. Too intimate.
But the need to show her a more gentle side of himself was a physical ache.
“I’m sorry,” he said truthfully. He had no love for seeing this woman hurt. He didn’t like to see anyone needlessly suffer. The fact that he was the source of her pain made him extremely uncomfortable.
“Just let me stay here a minute and pretend,” she said. “Just don’t say … anything.”
He carefully laid his hand over her dark curls and did as she asked. He sat there, her head on his shoulder, one arm wrapped around her, his hand wrapped in her hair, and silence descended on them.
But the silence felt awkward to him, as if he should fill the gaps. Or ask questions. Something …
He glanced down at the soft curls splayed out over his chest. He could just feel the swell of her belly against his side.
Was this his reality? And if it was, why wasn’t he running as hard as he could in the other direction?
It wasn’t as if he was commitment-phobic. Okay, maybe a little, but it wasn’t as if he’d endured some trauma in the past that made him leery of women. Nor was he some patsy who was afraid of allowing a woman to hurt him.
He hadn’t ever committed because … Well, he wasn’t entirely certain. Men in relationships lacked a certain amount of control. They could no longer make solo decisions, and Rafael was used to making decisions in a split second—without conferring with someone else.
It wasn’t a fluke that he owned his own business, not to mention had a partnership with three of his friends. His work took a lot of time. Time he wouldn’t have if he had to worry about being home every night for dinner.
He liked being able to jet off at a moment’s notice. He looked forward to business meetings—considered them a challenge. While he didn’t have a lot of downtime, he did enjoy taking it at his leisure. He met Ryan, Devon and Cam at least once a year for golf, lots of alcohol and other pursuits only available to men who were not otherwise involved in a relationship.
Simply put, he’d never met a woman who made him want to give up all that. He damn sure couldn’t imagine meeting her and giving up his life in a matter of four weeks. That kind of decision would have to be made over the course of years. Maybe never.
But on the other hand.
There was always a but.
As he stared down at the woman curled trustingly in his arms, something pulled at him. Some desire he hadn’t ever acknowledged, one that would normally have horrified him—should horrify him.
He found himself wishing he could remember all the things she’d described to him, because all of a sudden, they sounded appealing.
And if that didn’t scare the hell out of him, he wasn’t sure what would.
“Rafael! Rafael! Wake up! Hurry!”
Rafael came awake with a start, his arms flying out as he pushed himself up from his bed. Bryony stood at his bedside, fully dressed, hopping around like her feet were on fire.
He threw his feet over the side and leaned forward. “What is it? Is it the baby? Are you hurt?”
She frowned a moment, shook her head and then grinned like a maniac. He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair.
“Then what the hell are you shouting about?” He glanced over at his bedside clock. “For God’s sake, it’s early!”
“It’s snowing!”
She grabbed at his hand and started to pull. The covers fell away from his hips and they both went still. Her gaze dropped about the time his did and it was then he remembered he hadn’t worn anything to bed, and worse, his penis was making its presence known in a not very subtle way.
He yanked the covers back over him as she stepped hastily back, pulling her sweater around her like a protective barrier. Hell, it wasn’t as if he was bursting into her room trying to maul her.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll just go down by myself.”
She turned and he scrambled out of bed, pulling the sheet with him.
“Wait a minute,” he ordered. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Her eyes came alive again, brimming with excitement. The sparkle was infectious.
“Outside, of course! It’s snowing!”
He glanced toward his window but he was too bleary-eyed to make sense of the weather. “Haven’t you ever seen snow before?”
She shook her head.
“Are you serious?”
She nodded this time. “I live on an island off the Texas coast. We don’t exactly get snow there, you know.”
“But you’ve been off the island. Haven’t you ever been anywhere it snowed before?”
She shrugged. “I don’t leave much. Mamaw needs me. I go to Galveston to do our shopping, but I do a lot of it online.”
He saw her cast sidelong glances at the window as if she were afraid the snow would disappear at any moment. Then he sighed. “Give me five minutes to get dressed and I’ll go down with you.”
Her smile lit up the entire room and he was left with the feeling that someone had just punched him in the stomach. She nearly danced from his bedroom and shut the door behind her.
Slowly he dropped the sheet to the floor and stared down at his groin. “Traitor,” he muttered.
He went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face and surveyed his unshaven jaw with a grimace. He never left his apartment without looking his best. There wasn’t time for even a shower. The lunatic was probably already outside dancing in the snow.
He brushed his teeth and then went to his closet to pull out a pair of slacks and a sweater. He realized that since she’d never seen snow, she’d hardly be dressed for it, so he pulled a scarf and a cap from the top shelf.
Any of his jackets or coats would swallow her whole so he’d simply have to limit her snow gazing to a short period of time.
After donning his overcoat, he walked out of his bedroom to find Bryony glued to the window in the living room. Big flakes