The Wife He Couldn't Forget. Yvonne Lindsay
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eyes raked his body. He’d lost definition, but he was still an incredibly fine figure of a man. There was a scar on his abdomen, pink and thin, where his spleen had been removed after the crash. The sight of it made something tug hard deep inside her. He could so easily have died in that accident and she wouldn’t have this chance with him. It was frightening. She already knew how fragile life could be. How quickly it could be stolen from you.
Her gaze lingered on his chest where she’d pillowed her head for most the night. Beneath her stare she saw his nipples tighten and felt a corresponding response in her own. She sighed softly. It had been so very long since they’d been intimate and yet her body still responded to him as if they’d never been apart. And his, too, by the looks of things.
“Why don’t you grab your shower and I’ll go get your clothes,” she suggested, pushing herself up to stand and heading for the spare room.
The sheer need that pulled at her right now was more than she could take. She had to put some distance between them before she did something crazy—like drag him back to bed and slake two years of hunger. As if he read her mind, he spoke.
“Why don’t you grab it with me?” Xander said with a smile that make her muscles tighten.
“I’m not sure you’ve been cleared for that just yet,” she said as lightly as she could.
Before he could respond, she headed into the hallway and hesitated, waiting until she heard the en suite door close and the shower start. Then she went to the narrow spiral wooden staircase that led to the attic. Her foot faltered on the first step, and she had to mentally gird herself to keep putting one foot on each step after another.
Somewhere along the line, the attic had become the repository for the things she didn’t want to face. But right now she had no choice. She closed her eyes before pushing open the narrow door that led into the storage area lit only by two small diamond-shaped multipaned windows set in at each end. Another deep breath and she stepped inside.
Keeping her line of sight directly where she had stored the large plastic box of clothing that Xander had left behind, she traversed the bare wooden floor and quickly unsnapped the lid, digging through the items until she found the jeans and sweatshirt he’d been talking about.
She dragged the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply, worried there might be a mustiness about them that would give away where they’d been stored, but it seemed the lavender she’d layered in with his clothing had done its job. There was just a faint drift of the scent of the dried flowers clinging to the clothing. With a satisfied nod, Olivia jammed the lid back on the storage box and fled down the stairs. She’d have to come back later and get the rest of Xander’s clothes. She certainly couldn’t just take a box down to their bedroom right now because she didn’t want to invent explanations for why his things were stored away, either.
In her bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself—Olivia laid the jeans and sweatshirt on the bed and was getting her own clothing together when Xander came out of the en suite wrapped in a towel, a bloom of steam following him.
“I see we got the hot water problems fixed,” he said, coming toward her.
“Yeah, we ended up installing a small hot water heater just for our bathroom.” Olivia nodded. “Did you leave any for me?”
“I invited you to share,” Xander said with a wink.
She huffed a small laugh, but even so her heart twinged just a little. He sounded so like his old self. The self he’d been before they realized they were expecting a baby and would be dropping to one income for a while. While they’d never been exactly poor, and her income as a high school art teacher had mostly been used to provide the extras they needed for the renovations, it had still been a daunting prospect. Of course, since then, Xander’s star had risen to dizzying heights with the investment banking firm he now was a partner in. And with that meteoric rise, his income had hit stratospheric levels, too.
“Hey,” Xander said as he walked over to the bed and picked up his clothes. “You expecting me to go commando?”
“Oh, heavens, I didn’t think. Hang on a sec.”
Olivia shot into the guest bedroom and grabbed a pair of the designer boxer briefs she’d brought back from his apartment. She tossed them at him as she came back in the door.
“There you are. I’ll grab my shower quickly. Then I’ll get some breakfast together for us, okay?”
* * *
Xander caught the briefs she’d thrown at him and nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”
The bathroom door closed behind her, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling weak again. Damn, but this was getting old, he thought in exasperation as he pulled on his boxers and stood up to slide on his jeans. They dropped an indecent distance on his hips.
He stepped over to the chest of drawers and opened the one where he kept his belts. He was surprised to find the drawer filled with Olivia’s lingerie instead. Maybe he’d misjudged, he thought, opening another drawer and then another—discovering that the entire bureau was filled with her things. That wasn’t right, was it? It was as if he didn’t share a room with her anymore. She said she’d moved his clothes to the guest room, but it seemed odd that she’d have moved everything. And shouldn’t there be empty spaces left behind where his things had been?
Xander spied the pair of trousers he’d worn yesterday, lying on the floor. He picked them up and tugged the belt free from its loops. As he fed the belt through his Levi’s he wondered what else he’d forgotten. What else was so completely out of sync in this world he’d woken up to? Even Olivia was different from how he remembered her. There was a wariness there he’d never known her to have before. As if she now guarded her words, not to mention herself, very carefully.
Olivia came through from the bathroom, and his nostrils flared as he picked up the gentle waft of scent that came through with her. A tingling began deep in his gut. She always had that effect on him. Had right from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. So how was it that he could remember that day as if it was yesterday, yet his brain had switched off an entire chunk of their life together?
They went downstairs—Olivia tucked under his shoulder with her arm around his back, he with one hand on the rail and taking one step at a time. His balance and coordination were still not quite there, and he fought to suppress his irritation at being so ridiculously helpless and having to depend on his wife to do such a simple thing. He normally flew down these stairs, didn’t he?
“What would you like for breakfast?” Olivia asked when they reached the kitchen.
“Anything but hospital food,” he replied with a smile. “How about your homemade muesli?”
She looked startled at his request. “I haven’t made that in years, but I have store-bought.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just have some toast. I can get that myself.”
Olivia gently pushed him onto a stool by the counter. “Oh no you won’t. Your first morning home, I’m making you a nice breakfast. How about scrambled eggs and smoked salmon?”
His mouth watered. “That sounds much better. Thanks.”
He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, envying how she knew where everything was. None of it was familiar to him. The kitchen was different to the poorly fitted cupboards and temperamental old stove that had been here when they’d bought the property in a deceased estate auction. The place had been like a time capsule. The same family had owned it since it had been built. The last of the family line, an elderly spinster, had lived only on the ground floor in her later years, and nothing had been done to modernize the property since the early 1960s.
The aroma of coffee began to fill the room. Feeling uncharacteristically useless, Xander rose to get a couple of mugs from the glass-fronted cupboard. At least he could see where they were kept, he thought grimly. Automatically he put a heaping spoon of sugar