Authors: Colleen Gleason
“Jesus, God,” he breathed, hands in her hair, gentle against her scalp.
She pulled her knees up under her so she could touch him everywhere. His breath came in deep, harsh draws. His hips came up off the bed, flexing at her erotic torture. Finally, he cursed softly and pulled her up to straddle him. She held him and lowered her body until he was seated as deep as he could go.
Neither one of them were breathing. Maggie wasn’t even sure she ever would again.
“Okay?” he asked, one hand flat on her belly, the other an anchor at her hip.
“Yeah,” she answered.
They moved like dancers, rocking to a rhythm they felt inside. She fit him like a glove—she always had. But the way he moved, his eyes on hers, watching for clues to what she liked, what she needed ... that was disconcertingly new. His thumb slipped over her mons and circled the tight ball of nerves that needed his attention.
He pumped hard and fast, slow and languid. She was so into him that each shift of muscle felt like music. Her knees stretched wider and he grasped her hips, helping her up as he thrust deep and long.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the crude word dark on his tongue. “I didn’t ...”
She’d never know what he didn’t, because thinking, speaking became impossible endeavors. All she knew was his body, his touch and the heat of him inside her. He sat up, rolling her beneath him as he made love to her like it was the first time. Like every time with her would be a first.
Arm braced over her head, free hand at work between their bodies, he drove her to a point beyond herself, to another version of who she could be. He lowered his face, his nose beside hers, mouth open. Hers, too. Their breath pooled between them, an aphrodisiac that she mainlined.
The tension built inside her, inside him. She felt his muscles harden, his thighs flex. His fingers moved faster and Maggie came with a soft cry as he rode her hard, while her muscles clenched and waves of hot release went through her. A moment later, he shouted her name and came with her, wreaking havoc on her senses, destroying the last vestiges of her will to ever resist him.
It was hard to pretend that she hadn’t spent the day in bed with Sam ... her husband, but Maggie wasn’t ready for the kids to know about the shift in her relationship with Sam. She wasn’t sure what the shift even meant for them. Once Sam’s memory returned, everything might reset. Deep down, she expected it. Waited for it. Dreaded it.
Yet he seemed so certain that wouldn’t happen, and Maggie wanted it to be true so badly.
But that had been the problem all along, hadn’t it? She’d always tried to make Sam into what she wanted, which wasn’t the same thing as what he was.
The kids had already had their world turned upside down, though. It wouldn’t hurt to keep things quiet for a little while, at least until Sam was fully healed. There was a good chance his memory would never return—that’s what the doctors said. Maggie didn’t know which outcome she hoped for. If he got his memory back, he might remember why he’d left and do it again. If he didn’t, she’d be waiting, never able to trust what she had.
Sighing, she went back to cleaning up from dinner. Sam wiped down the table, making room for the kids to do their homework. From the outside in, they looked like the perfect American family. Something she wanted desperately.
After he finished, he leaned against the counter, watching her with those heartbreaker eyes, starting a slide show of their afternoon in her head. How she still could be turned on and wanting him when they’d spent so many hours in bed was beyond her.
The kids took their seats at the table and started their homework, talking occasionally. That was novelty enough—Lexi usually confined herself to her room except for the few minutes required to eat, clear her dishes, and leave again. That she’d voluntarily stayed after the meal was over and now actually spoke to her brother, was startling. Maybe Sam wouldn’t have such a long road in winning over his daughter. Maybe the fairy tale could come true.
She had a bottle of wine on the bottom shelf of the fridge. She took it out and stood with the bottle in her hand while her thoughts hijacked her motor functions. Silently, Sam took it from her.
“Would you like me to open this?”
She wasn’t used to anyone
doing
for her, but mutely she nodded.
Both kids looked up. Without a word, Lexi went to a drawer and pulled out the opener. Justin did an adorable mime of how Sam should proceed, just in case his memory failed him there, too.
In the dark months before Sam had moved out, moved on, he and his son hadn’t really resembled one another. That had changed, too. Maggie wasn’t certain if Justin had matured or if Sam had softened, but now the two looked so much alike that it made her heart hurt.
The doorbell rang just as Sam handed her a glass of cold Pinot Grigio. All four of them looked up, as if doorbells were portents of doom. Sam set the bottle down and went to answer it. She and the kids gathered in the arched doorway so they could see.
His big body and broad shoulders blocked their view at first, but when he stepped back they all saw the two men on the porch. Maggie recognized the detectives who’d questioned him in the hospital and dread filled her stomach. Grim, Sam invited them in, and they took seats in the living room. Like small moons, the children followed. A moment later, so did Maggie.
Justin perched on the arm of Sam’s chair and Sam’s hand went to the boy’s waist, keeping him balanced. She and Lexi exchanged a glance before they settled on the loveseat to Sam’s right.
The officers seemed uncomfortable with their audience. Both were older men, obviously veterans who’d seen it all. They shared a look around their eyes that labeled them law, but one was slight and sharp-featured, while the other had a bulldog appearance, right down to his paunch.
“Sorry to disturb you at dinner time,” the smaller of the two—Detective Hartman—said. “We have some new information that’s led to more questions.”
Sam nodded as the bigger man—she couldn’t remember his name—opened a leather notebook he’d brought in. Once again, they looked at the children and Maggie.
“Is there somewhere we can speak alone?” Bulldog asked Sam.
“Why?” Maggie wanted to know.
“We don’t want to upset the children,” Hartman answered.
Lexi snorted disrespectfully. When all eyes turned her way, she blushed. “Come on, Jus. Let’s finish our homework.”
Surprised by her compliance, Maggie watched them return to the kitchen table. They’d still be able to hear everything, but the distance seemed to satisfy the detectives. Sam caught her eye as she turned around. He looked worried. He’d worn that expression when the detectives had come to the hospital, too, but she wasn’t sure if it was rooted in his amnesia or just the opposite.
“When was the last time you saw your ex-wife, Sam?” Hartman asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered flatly.
Both detectives gave him an unwavering look. Waiting him out. That’s what they did on CSI, and it usually worked. But Sam only answered their silence with more.
“We have a witness that places you at her house two days before you were shot,” Bulldog said.
Sam swallowed hard and shook his head. His brows had pulled tight with frustration.
“Why are you asking about Janet?” Maggie said.
“Because no one’s seen her since. A neighbor called in when her dog wouldn’t shut up. Animal control found the dog chained up and the house ransacked. They notified us.”
The quiet following that declaration seemed to echo all around them. Maggie felt sick to her stomach. Worried, she glanced over her shoulder. Lexi and Justin had moved to the archway. They stared back with bleak expressions.
“Is the dog okay?” Justin asked.
Detective Bulldog nodded and his expression softened. “The dog’s fine. Your mom’s neighbor took it in.”
“She’s not my mom,” Justin said in a low, vehement voice.
The detective blinked, before turning suspicious eyes back on Sam. “Who shot you, Sam?” he asked abruptly.
Sam wore the distant expression he got when he was scanning his inner thoughts. Finally, he shook his head again. “I still don’t remember.” He covered his face with his open hands, frustration in every line of his body. “I can’t remember a damned thing before the hospital. I mean, I can remember growing up. My sister’s funeral. After that ... nothing except meeting Maggie.”
“That was after your divorce to Janet Sloan?” Bulldog asked, a sharp note of interrogation in the query.
“Yes.”
“You remember that?”
“No. Maggie told me.”
She had, earlier when he’d asked more questions about their past.
“Any idea why you might have been visiting your ex two weeks ago?”
“No, but every time I think of her, I get a knot in my gut. From what I hear, there’s a reason for that.”
“She’s crazy,” Lexi said.
Hartman nodded. “We know that she was institutionalized for a time. We’re trying to get access to those records.”
“She set our house on fire,” Justin declared.
“You don’t even remember,” Lexi said.
“I do, too.”
Lexi rolled her eyes. “He was just a baby.”
“Does your mother stay in touch?” Hartman asked. Apparently, they’d given up on isolating the children from the conversation.
“She’s not our mother,” Justin repeated, angry.
“Egg donor,” Lexi clarified. “And no.”
Both detectives looked at Maggie. “You’ve been married to Sam for about a year?”
Maggie nodded. Her mouth was dry.
“Did you ever meet his ex-wife?”
“Just once, right after Sam and I got married.”
“She never came to the house to see her children? Never visited?”
Maggie shook her head. “My understanding is that the courts found her a danger, and she’s only allowed to see the kids under supervision. She’s never made the effort.”
“What about you?” Bulldog asked.
“What about her?” Sam asked, bristling.
“I only wondered if she’d ever tried to arrange a meeting. Children need to know their parents, good or bad.”
“Do you have kids, Detective?” Maggie asked.
He shook his head. “But I have parents.”
“And did either of them ever set your house on fire with you inside?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Where were you when you were shot, Sam?” he asked, throwing them all off balance.
“The parking lot of my apartment,” Sam answered automatically.
“You remember?”
Sam blinked, hope and dread battling in his expression. After a moment, he shook his head. “You told me, the first time you questioned me. I was shot somewhere between nine and eleven p.m. when I was getting into my car.”
“Why do you live in an apartment, Sam?” Hartman asked. “You have a lovely family that obviously cares about you.”
He gave the detective a cold look. “My relationship with my family is not your business.”
“It is when murder is involved.”
“Murder?” Sam repeated. “Whose murder?”
“Possibly Janet Sloan’s.”
“Possibly? A moment ago, you said she was missing. You don’t know that there’s even been a murder, do you?” Sam said.
“This isn’t my first rodeo. I may not have the facts to back it up, but I’ll get them.”
“Sam,” Maggie murmured, touching his arm. “You don’t have to answer their questions. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
He looked at her where her fingers rested on his arm and covered them with his own. His hand was warm, his touch so familiar and, at the same time, so completely foreign.
“I’d answer them if I could,” he said to her. Then, to the detectives. “I’ll cooperate and answer any questions you have. Believe me, I’d like to know who put a bullet in my head, too. I want to make sure my family is safe.”
Both detectives had squinty eyes as they assessed this statement. Did it ping against their lie meters? She had no way of knowing.
Lexi and Justin came in the room again. Justin resumed his place on the arm of the chair and Lexi came to stand on Sam’s other side. They presented a unified face that brought a lump to Maggie’s throat. With a deep breath, she moved behind Sam’s chair, between the children. She put a hand on each of their shoulders. Lexi glanced up and met her eyes for a brief second. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move away.
The detectives noted it all. After a moment, they stood. Hartman handed Sam a card. “If you hear from your ex-wife, we’d like to know.”
“Or if you remember anything at all,” Bulldog tacked on. “Call us.”
“I will,” Sam said, standing as well. He shook their hands and escorted them out the door.
Maggie and the children remained where they were, listening, but the men spoke softly and they couldn’t make out the words.
She wondered what the detectives were thinking. She wondered what she and the kids were thinking. Two weeks ago, they would have thought the worst, but in a very short time, Sam had turned the tables. Desperately, Maggie prayed for the best.
Maggie had always enjoyed the moments before bedtime when Lexi occasionally shared some piece of her day and Justin would climb between the covers, excited for his story. Tonight it took too long and her awareness of Sam behind her was too overwhelming. How quickly he’d become the center of her world again.
He seemed distracted. Worried. After she turned on Justin’s nightlight, she led him into her room and closed the door.
“Talk,” she said.
He shot her a wary look. “Where do I start? It’s like there’s a wall in my head. I don’t remember Janet—not even what she looks like.”
“Would a picture help?” she asked, her stomach knotted. There had to be a reason why he didn’t remember her, but that reason wouldn’t be good and she feared it as much as she needed to hear it.
“Do you have one?” he said.
“No, but I think Lexi does. I’ll ask her.”
“Don’t. Not tonight. She’s already upset enough. I don’t want to make it worse.”
She stared at him, eyes misting. “I must be crazy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m starting to believe you, Sam. Believe
in you
. And I know that sooner or later you’re going to make me regret it.”