A Man She Couldn’t Forget (13 page)

C
LARE ON THE PHONE
. Dressed for taping a show where she would make beef burgundy. She was tapping her toe on the floor impatiently. “Then leave the bastard. No, Cathy, don’t cry. Look, I’m sorry to be so blunt, but he’s never been nice enough to you. Yes, I did like him once…”

From the phone came Cathy’s voice: “You’re cruel sometimes, Clare. You never have time for me or any of your—”

“I’ll tell you what I don’t have time for—this whining. For God’s sake, it isn’t the first time he cheated on you. I’d never take that from any man.”

“No, of course not, not the great Clarissa Boneli…”

“C
LARE
?”

She found herself doubled over at the sink, clutching her stomach, unable to bear what she’d just remembered.

“Clare!”

Cathy was at her side. “Come on, sweetie. Oh, God, you’re crying. Did you burn yourself?”

Clare couldn’t stop the tears. Cathy just held her until finally she quieted. Her sister led her to a chair, then crossed to the sink, got her a glass of water and set it on the table. “What happened?”

“I was cooking the beef burgundy. And I had a horrible, horrible memory.”

“Of what?”

“Of talking to you on the phone. You were weeping over…” She thought hard. “Derek.”

Cathy’s face drained of color. She didn’t say anything.

More memories flooded Clare. Cathy’s wedding, honeymoon pictures, Clare spending time with them at their apartment in Arizona. And Derek’s philandering ways.

“What did you remember?”

“When I told you to leave him. I was impatient and mean to you on the phone. Cath, I was an awful person.”

“No, no, sweetie, don’t think about it.”

“I have to. What I did was unconscionable. How long was I…like that?”

“Things were good until about two years ago. We were close before that.”

Again, Clare saw images. Of her and Cathy riding bikes together, holding hands at funerals, cooking with Grandma Boneli, calling each other from college, shopping in New York.

“I remember those times, too.” She shook her head. “But I can’t believe what kind of person I was.”

Cathy seemed much older as she sat down at the table and clasped Clare’s hands in hers. “You know what, Clare? I think you’ve been given a second chance. If you want to be different from the person you became in the last few years, do it.”

“What happens when I get my memory back?”

“Then you’ve got a choice of who to be, I guess.” She nodded to the stove. “Want me to make supper? Or we can order out?”

Clare shook her head. “I’d like to make your favorite meal. I think the ghosts are gone now.”

“Oh, good.”

The food was terrific, and they both indulged in some cabernet sauvignon to go with it. Cathy told her all about taking fifteen kids to France and had Clare laughing as hard as she’d cried earlier at stories of the kids playing hide-and-seek on the Eiffel Tower, nearly falling into the Seine on the boat tour and mimicking the mimes on the streets of Montmartre. More memories came back, too, the good ones, of her and her sister sitting like this on other couches, sharing their adult lives like sisters should.

Then, as Clare had promised, they put on their pajamas and watched a Lifetime TV show about twins separated at birth. At ten, Cathy yawned.

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah, the flight tired me out.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought of that earlier.”

They said good-night and Clare approached her bedroom with trepidation. She
so
did not want to sleep in that bed. Just seeing it conjured images of her and Brady there in the dream, the chemistry sizzling between them, and the guilt she felt over it. Then she thought of Jonathan. And once again, Clare vowed to be kind to him, to give herself time to discover what they’d had together. Though she was feeling these crazy things for Brady, Clare wasn’t going to write off the man she’d been on the verge of moving in with—like the old Clare would have. If she could only remember being close to him, perhaps she’d forestall dreams like she’d had last night.

She saw the lights go out in the office. Another memory came of her and Cathy sleeping in the same bed after their parents died. Grandma let it go on as long as they needed to be together. Feeling foolish, she nonetheless approached her sister’s doorway, longing for something, some closeness that she remembered on a visceral level, too.

Cathy’s voice came from the bed. “Clare, is something wrong?”

“Um, that’s a queen-size bed, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Now she was embarrassed.

But in the moonlight coming in from the window, she saw Cathy lift up the covers on the other side. Clare rushed to the bed and climbed into it.

“You’re still scared, aren’t you, at night?”

“Of a lot of things.”

“Tell me what else.”

“I will. Tomorrow. Go to sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”

“Good night, Clare.”

“Good night.”

But Clare didn’t fall asleep right away. Not until Cathy reached over and took her hand. Fingers clasped, Clare heard her sister’s breathing even out, and then her own eyes closed.

“W
ELL
,
IF YOU AREN’T ONE OF
the most charming men I’ve ever met.” Cathy smiled over at Jonathan. She was a beautiful, ethereal woman, but Jonathan preferred Clarissa’s more vibrant looks. “Flowers and wine.” He’d brought them each a different bouquet.

“I’m glad you could come to Rockford, Cathy. Clarissa needs family around.”

Family was a hell of a lot better than her friends’ constant interference, Jonathan thought. At least Delia Kramer had gone to fetch her son and Mason was on a trip with his daughter. As usual, it was just Langston’s threatening presence that Jonathan had to deal with. He thought he and Clarissa were past all this, and then the accident had happened, and she’d forgotten how good they were together. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t try to make her remember.

He turned his attention to the present. They were seated at Clarissa’s teak dining table, set exquisitely, of course, with fine bone china and sterling. She entered the room smiling as she hadn’t smiled at him in weeks, and the grip on his heart eased some. He could tell she was trying harder tonight, and that made him feel better.

“Here she is. Hmm, the food smells good.”

“I found the recipe under ‘TV station owner’s choice.’” She touched his shoulder like she used to.

“There was a lot of fan mail from that one.”

“Fan mail?” Cathy asked.

“The show gets a great deal.”

“And your being named Rockford’s most eligible bachelor helped,” Clarissa said.

Cathy looked impressed. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Apparently I did.”

“I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

When they began to eat, he said to Cathy, “Did you know your sister will soon be nationally known?”

He’d already decided he was going to address this. He couldn’t do anything about Lillian Langston getting sick, but he could keep mentioning the golden opportunity that loomed over Clarissa’s golden head. Cheerfully, he explained the Cooking Channel opportunity to Cathy, but instead of being delighted for her sister, she frowned. He wondered why.

The cheesy chicken and ham was cooked to perfection. Clarissa served it with wild rice and beans, his favorites, too. His wine complemented the meal. After they finished, he stood and nodded to the living room. “Go sit in there and talk, you two. I’m doing KP.”

Both women protested.

“No, I’m putting my foot down. I even wore my jeans so I could do this.”

Cathy gushed. “Clare, you better hold on to this one. He’s a gem.”

Jonathan winked. “Keep telling her that.”

After he cleaned up, he made decaf coffee and served it with the finger food desserts Clarissa had already set out on a tray. She and Cathy were curled up on a couch in the living room, perusing his photo album. Clarissa glanced at him. “You brought this for me?”

“Yes, I thought it might spark memories.” He smiled down at the leather-bound album he’d been keeping for a year. “I hope it’s okay.”

“More than,” Cathy said. She scooted over. “Come sit between us, and tell us about the pictures.”

“My pleasure.”

The album included his and Clarissa’s trips together.

“This is the first time we went to New York. You had a book signing and were thrilled to be asked.”

“Did Brady come?” Clarissa wanted to know. “The illustrations are so key to the books.”

“No.” And he’d made a lot of noise about it. “You were invited because of the popularity of the show.”

The pictures covered their summer vacation in Cape Cod, a trip to St. Lucia and a brief excursion to Florida when she was a guest chef on another cooking show. Clarissa leaned into him as the pages progressed: there were photos taken on the set, of her and Jonathan at events around town, some casual ones at his place. She did a double take at his house—his living room, especially. Swallowing hard, she put her hand to her throat.

And he panicked for a moment. There was a memory he didn’t want to come back. Not yet, at least. He flipped the page fast.

Cathy commented on how happy she looked,
they
looked, and asked a million questions. More flashes came to Clarissa…

“Oh, I remember that bikini…I never wore it again.”

It was skimpy, revealing, and he’d had to coerce her into buying it. “You better not have.”

She chuckled at his response, like the old Clarissa.

“Snorkeling? Yes, the fish were so colorful in the Caribbean.” They’d had fun that day, and she’d gotten sunburned. He remembered putting the cooling gel on her back.

He longed to tell her they’d made exquisite love in their suite at night, but Cathy was with them, so of course it was inappropriate. But by the time they finished, Jonathan had achieved his goal. Surrounded by so many good memories, Clarissa stayed close to him, their knees touching. It was as if she’d forgotten their estrangement.

At ten, Cathy went to bed, leaving Clarissa all to Jonathan.

She squeezed his arm where the sleeve of his red shirt was pushed up. “Those are lovely memories, Jonathan. I can see we had fun.” She sighed. “This was just what I needed.”

“What happened in the pictures isn’t the only fun we had, honey.”

She stiffened a bit, but didn’t pull away. “You mean in bed.”

“Uh, huh.” He leaned over and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “Tell me you remember us together like that,” he whispered against her lips.

It was subtle, but she inched back. “I wish I could, Jonathan. I’m sure it was nice.”

“It was more than nice.” He could hear the hurt in his own voice.

“I’m sorry my not remembering our being close hurts you. I just don’t know what to do about it.” She put her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for a while, then she yawned.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Yes. I still haven’t gotten back my stamina. Would you mind going now?”

Yes, he minded. He wanted more, damn it. But he said, “No, of course not.” They stood, and he picked up a sweater she’d left on the couch. “Put this on and walk me out.”

She donned the sweater and took his outstretched hand. He held it all the way downstairs. When they reached the porch, he pulled her to him without asking for permission. His lips touched hers, gently at first. She went still. When he deepened the kiss, though, he felt her stiffen and pull back. “Jonathan, I—”

She was interrupted by a voice from down below. “Pardon the cliché, but get a room, you two.”

Purposely, Jonathan held Clarissa close and smiled. Why not? At the bottom of the steps was Brady Langston, looking as if he wanted to smash somebody’s face in.

B
ARELY ABLE TO CONTAIN
what was seething inside him, Brady stalked up the steps to his condo and, without even changing into workout clothes, headed to the attic to let off some steam. He’d returned home to sleep in his own bed and check on Clare, and found her making out on the porch with Harris. Oh, God, had she slept with the guy while Brady was at his mother’s?

He let out an obscenity, then kicked the weight bench. What the hell had he been thinking? Why the hell was he surprised? He should have learned his lesson five weeks ago after…after the biggest mistake of his goddamned life!

He banged the weights around some, then piled as many pounds as he could lift onto the barbell. He was ready to go for the burn when she came into the room. Sensing her presence, he cursed himself for being so attuned to her when she’d let another man grope her minutes ago.

“What’s going on up here?” she asked from right behind him. “It sounded like the ceiling was going to cave in.”

“Sorry if I disturbed your beauty sleep. You probably need it after…” He let out another curse.

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. I’ll be quieter. Go back to bed.” Under his breath he murmured, “
Back
being the operative word.”

Nothing. He thought maybe she’d just leave him alone if he ignored her, so he stretched out, lifted the weights from their holder and began the excruciating bench press. But after a few seconds, she appeared in his sight, stared down at him for a moment, then dropped onto the floor. She watched him do ten reps; his muscles were screaming, so he replaced the barbell and sat up.

“What’s going on, Brade?”

The green blouse she wore gaped, and at this angle he could see the swell of her breasts. It sent desire shooting through him. Still, he tried not to snap. “I’m bummed. Aftermath of a crisis, I guess. Sammy and Lizzy came to stay with my mother. I thought I’d sleep here tonight, maybe see Cathy.”

“She went to bed early.”

“How convenient.” So much for not snapping. He gritted his teeth, picked up a smaller barbell and began to do arm curls.

Scooting closer, she touched his bare knee. His skin was so sensitized he had to force himself not to moan. “Brady, tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”

“I did.”

“No, you’re angry at me.”

“Clare, now isn’t a good time to talk about this.” He wasn’t sure what he would say and do. The images of her with Harris kept flashing through his mind, and instead of depressing him, they were stirring up all kinds of primitive emotions that he didn’t want to feel in Clare’s presence.

She knelt before him so they were eye level and put both her hands on his knees. His skin prickled at her touch. “I don’t care. I want you to tell me what this is all about.”

“I…can’t.” He held her gaze. “You’re not ready.”

“Brady, please, I’ve hurt you, and I don’t even know why.”

His fists curled around the weight. The thought that she didn’t remember enraged him. He was a pressure cooker about to erupt. To head off the explosion he stood abruptly, dropped the weight, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up. “Just go, Clare,” he gritted out.
“Just go.”

She raised her chin and, damn it, moved in closer. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Every muscle in his body leapt at her nearness. “Not until you tell me what this—” she motioned to the room “—and downstairs on the porch was all about.”

“You want to know what it’s about?” His grip tightened. “It’s about this, Clare. It’s about
this.
”

He yanked her against his chest. His mouth came down hard and he took hers possessively. Without waiting to see if he got a response, he pressed harder, then prodded her lips open with his tongue. He explored her, all but devoured her. Drawing back only to bite her lip, he soothed it with his tongue, then took her mouth again. He was so caught up in what was happening, he didn’t realize she was crying until he felt moisture on her jaw when he kissed it. He stopped. “Damn, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Don’t—”

“Stop,” she said, almost on a hiccup. “Don’t stop.”

“What?”

“I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.” She wrapped herself around him. “Please, Brady, don’t stop.”

At Clare’s words, her plea, Brady dragged her to the floor. The rug cushioned her back and his weight on her eclipsed everything, even the lights above. Cast in shadows, all she could see were his taut features. But it felt right to have his bare legs tangle with hers, his chest crush into her, his mouth ravage hers. Just like in the dream.

“Clare, oh, man, Clare.” His absorption in her spurred her desire—every muscle, every nerve in her body responded. Had anyone ever loved her like this?

Yes, someone had, once.

But her mind got muddled when he ripped open her shirt and sent her buttons flying. The clasp on her leopard print bra snapped, and her breasts spilled into his hands. She gasped as he took a nipple in his mouth. His hand trailed down her rib cage to her shorts; he yanked open the zipper, and cupped her. Rubbed.

“Brady, yes, yes, Brady…” She exploded into a burst of color and light and feelings so intense she started to cry again. Steeped in the mind-numbing pleasure, all she could say was, “Yes, yes, yes.”

When she came back to reality, Brady was braced over her, his forearms on either side of her head. His face was a mask of pain. “Oh, baby, I’m…”

Intuitively she knew he was going to apologize, which was the last thing she wanted. “Next.”

“What?”

“You’re next.”

She could tell she surprised him by pushing on his chest, unbalancing him, and climbing on top of him before he could say more. After she straddled him, she yanked his T-shirt over his head, revealing dark springy hair. She kissed her way across it, around his pecs. Not only did she remember his scent but also his texture, and the contour of his muscles. Something niggled at her, something about the familiarity of his body, a déjà vu of some kind, but she was distracted by her own movements. She left no part of his torso untouched—his abs, his ribs, his waist. She made quick work of his belt and his zipper. When she freed him of the clothes, she took his penis in her hands and massaged him.

With the last, Brady jackknifed up and grabbed her shoulders, the reaction unconscious, spontaneous. “That feels good.” He held her so tight he knew he’d leave bruises, but he’d lost control. “Cla-re,” he gasped as she scooted lower, bent over and touched the tip of him with her mouth.

He flipped her fast and dragged off her shorts and her leopard bikinis. He tore at the rest of his clothes, too, and with one last burst of sanity, he fumbled for a condom in his wallet and sheathed himself. She stretched out before him, opened to him and he plunged inside her.

Nothing,
nothing
had ever felt so right. He pushed hard, uncontrollably. She spiraled again and he waited until she peaked, filling her with thrust after thrust after thrust. Then he came in one blinding flash.

Brady knew the instant that awareness dawned for her. He was still inside her, staring down into her face, which was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. There was recognition in those eyes, too. She just watched him a minute. Then she whispered, “We did this before.”

He nodded, his heart beating faster than when he’d orgasmed. Thinking how cruel it was to have her like this again, only for her to remember exactly what would take her away from him, he waited.

“The night of the accident. We made love. I remember it, but not much else.”

“I’ll tell you all of it.”

Suddenly she grabbed his shoulders. “Not yet. Stay with me a little longer.”

Thankful for the reprieve, he rolled them to their sides and held her close. When she shivered, he reached for a yoga blanket she’d left on the floor a lifetime ago and covered them. She seemed content to let him stroke her bare arm, occasionally kiss her hair.

A good ten minutes passed before she said, “All right. Tell me what happened.”

“Just that night?”

“No, what led up to it.” Her hair brushed his chest as she shook her head. “You said we were friends. And then we grew apart.”

“We were friends, for a while. When I moved here, my father had recently died so I was in no shape for a relationship, but I needed friends. And for a long time, I was strung out from my divorce. You were dating casually, then I did. But we really liked each other, Clare, connected over the losses we’d experienced. And we had similar outlooks on life. Our personalities just clicked. We were soul mates. When we began to work together on the books, I started having different kinds of feelings for you, but I didn’t want things to change because they were going so great for us. Eventually, though, I fell in love with you.”

She buried her nose in his chest. “Oh, Brady. Did you tell me? I can’t believe I’d forget that.”

“No, I didn’t. I let it go for a year, afraid I’d upset the balance of all our lives. And I knew you didn’t feel the same.”

“How could you know?”

“I just could.”

She snorted, of all things. “Anna said she thinks I’ve been attracted to you…like this…for a long time.”

“Why would you be talking to Anna about that?”

“Um, I’ve been having dreams about you, Brady. Sexual dreams.”

“Oh, man, that’s great. Tell me about them.”

“Finish your story first. Why didn’t you do anything, say anything, when your feelings changed?”

“Harris beat me to the punch. He came into your life like a whirlwind and swept you away from me. Away from Delia and Max, too.”

“
That
I know because everybody’s told me. I can’t express how bad I feel for abandoning all of you.”

“We all grew apart, especially me and you. I was jealous as hell but didn’t know what to do. When you started sleeping with him, I thought I’d die.”

“Oh, Brady, I’m so sorry.” He didn’t say anything. “What happened to bring us to making love?”

His grip on her tightened. “I told you before that he was close to talking you into moving out. He wanted you away from us. I panicked. The night of the accident I got you alone and we did argue, like I said. But I also confessed that I loved you. That I’d loved you for a long time.”

Clare gasped. “I remember…”

“W
HY ARE YOU BRINGING
me up here?” she asked when he dragged her to their attic. “Jonathan’s expecting me at his place, and I’m already late.”

“I know. I have to tell you something.”

She saw the pain in his face and calmed down. “I know things have been strained between us lately. I’m sorry about that. And that you’re angry about my moving out.”

“Try devastated.”

“Really?” She moved in close to hug him. “I—”

He thrust her away. “No, don’t. Don’t apologize, and don’t touch me.”

“Why?”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

She shook her head.

He looked to the ceiling. “How humbling.”

“What, Brady? Tell me.”

“I love you, damn it! I have for a long time. And not as a friend.”

“
What?
”

He watched her. Finally, he came toward her, said, “What the hell?” and kissed her.

S
HE’D LET HIM
,
FOUND
herself kissing him back.

And they’d made love like they had just minutes ago…

Clare had to make a conscious effort to breathe. At last, she was able to talk. “I was a willing participant, Brady. I remember now.”

He drew in a deep breath, too, and kissed her forehead. “Yeah, you were.” A sad chuckle. “Twice.”

“What happened afterward?”

“Sanity returned. You started to feel guilty about Harris.”

“I was in a committed relationship, and I cheated on him.”

“I know.” The words were wrenched from him. “You got up and moved away. Covered yourself, which drove me crazy. You asked me why I seduced you when I knew you were with Jonathan. I got angry and said it took two.”

“It does. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Guilt is my guess. We started yelling at each other, and the last thing you said was that making love with me was a mistake.”

“That must have hurt.”

“It just about killed me. You left angry and upset. So angry and upset, Clare, that you were out on the road alone and had the accident.” He drew in a heavy breath. “Making love with me caused your amnesia.”

“Usually amnesia’s caused by something bad, something traumatic.”

“Maybe it was traumatic for you to make love with one man and be in a serious relationship with another.”

“Forgetting my entire past out of guilt for making love with you seems extreme to me. Especially if I wanted it as much as you did.”

“Then maybe yours isn’t a case of psychological amnesia and was caused by the blow to your head.”

“Maybe.” She thought for a second. “What time did this happen?”

“We came up here about ten. You left around midnight.”

“Two hours before the accident?” She sat up now. “Where was I all that time?”

“I don’t know.”

Clare tried hard to visualize the series of events that night. Maybe she
was
working out her guilt on that road and had the accident. Or maybe…“Maybe I went to Jonathan’s.”

“I thought that at first. But, Clare, as much as I dislike the guy, he does love you and he would have come forward with that information in order to help you remember.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I had reason to keep it from you. At first I didn’t want to push you too much, like the doctors warned us not to do. Then I couldn’t stand keeping the argument a secret, so I confessed on movie night. I guess I couldn’t bear to bring up the rest.”

“I can understand that.”

“In any case, we need to find out if you went to Harris’s house after you and I made love.”

“I can’t ask him. What if he doesn’t know about us?” She shivered, and he tucked the blanket around her nakedness. “He probably
doesn’t
know, given the way he’s been trying to rush our physical relationship.”