Fall Into Me (Heart of Stone) (3 page)

So
much for memories of love.

I
turned to point at her painting hanging on the wall. "That's yours. You
painted that for me, and I loved it so much I had it hung there so I can see it
every night before I fall asleep and every morning when I wake."

She
looked at the painting and tears welled in her eyes. "I painted that for
you?"

Nodding,
I smiled. "You did. Do you want to know what you said the colors
represented?"

Nina
got up from her chair and walked over to stand in front of the painting. She
stared at it for a long moment and looked back at me. "Those are your
eyes. I've never seen eyes like yours—that color brown. There's no way I
would've painted those two brown areas without wanting them to represent your
eyes."

"That's
right."

Turning
back to face the painting, she asked, "What do the blues and reds
symbolize?"

"You
said they represented the emotions I made you feel."

She
looked at me and a look of pain crossed her face. "Like hot and
cold?"

"Sort
of. I guess I can be difficult to be around sometimes."

Wiping
a tear on her cheek, she shook her head and came back to sit in front of me.
"I never paint for anyone I'm dating. The only man I've ever painted for
was my father. If I painted this for you, I must have..."

She
tried to choke back the tears, but she couldn't stop them and as they began to
stream down her face, she ran out before I could do anything to make her feel
better. I knew how she felt. The frustration. The loss. I didn't know if I
should run after her since the doctors had repeatedly told me to give her time,
but I couldn't let her sit over in that room alone crying about us when I was
feeling as bad as she was at what we'd lost.

When
I got to her room, she was sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her
hands, her body heaving from her sobs. Watching her like this broke my heart,
and I couldn't stand there and do nothing. Whatever her doctors thought they
knew, they didn't understand what it was like to watch the woman you love fall
apart.

I
sat down next to her and pulled her close to me. She didn't fight me and buried
her head in my chest as she continued to cry. Trailing my fingers over her soft
hair, I moved my hands to her back and held her to me, never wanting to let her
go. She was my Nina.

"I
hate this. You don't know what that painting means, Tristan," she sobbed
into my shirt. "I never paint for others. I've always been too afraid to.
This means I did feel everything Jordan says I did."

Pressing
my lips to the top of her head, I kissed her softly and whispered, "Then
that's a good thing, isn't it?"

Leaning
back away from me, she shook her head. "No, it isn't! We were in love and
now it's gone. I can't remember you or anything about this house or what we felt
for each other. It's like it's a dark space where so much good is sitting there
waiting for me and I can't find it."

"The
doctors said it might take a little while."

"I
don't want to wait a while! I had a life and now I have nothing. I sit over in
this room and feel like I have nobody and nothing to hold on to."

I
cupped her chin and smiled down into that beautiful sad face. "You have
me. Hold on to me."

"I'm
no fool, Tristan. I may not remember things, but I'm not an idiot. I know who
you are. I looked it up. You're a bajillionaire. What would you want with
someone like me?"

"Bajillionaire?"
I asked, unable to stifle a smile.

"It's
a word. It means you have more money than I could ever make in twenty lifetimes
and I have no business believing you'd ever want me, a wannabe artist and
curator."

"It's
not a word, and as for me wanting you, you have every business believing it.
People don't fall in love in spite of money, Nina. I can tell you I have
absolute proof that money can make people very attractive, even when they
aren't."

"You're
intentionally twisting my words. You know what I meant."

"So
because I have money, I can't fall in love? Is that what you meant?"

Nina
wiped her eyes and shot me a look of reproach. "What would you want with
someone like me?"

"Yeah.
What would I want with a gorgeous woman who makes me crazy every time she's
anywhere near me? Who'd want that?"

"Hmmph.
Gorgeous. I probably look like a deranged raccoon right now, and even if I
didn't, I don't look like any of those women you go to those parties with. I
saw them, Tristan. They look like supermodels."

"And
they're as boring as that dresser. They think I'm pretty boring too."

"They
don't look bored. They look like they adore you."

"Good.
At least I know that's money well spent."

She
wrinkled her nose at me, letting me know I was going to have to be more
convincing. "Nina, I pay those women very nicely to look happy with me.
They want to be seen at influential parties and the board of directors of Stone
Worldwide thinks a man should have a woman on his arm at all times. So I do. If
it means anything, I had basically stopped going to those events before your
accident because I didn't want to go with the actresses anymore."

"I
don't understand. If you loved me so much, why didn't you take me? Is it
because I don't look like those women?" she asked with hurt in her eyes.

Shaking
my head, I couldn't help but smile. This was definitely the same old Nina.
"I know you don't remember this, but you asked me the same thing once, so
I'll tell you again what I told you that night. You're gorgeous, and I'd be
happy to be seen anywhere on this Earth with you. But being in the spotlight
like that has never been good for relationships. I didn't want that to damage
what we had together. In my defense, I did ask you to come with me once and you
didn't want to. I had to convince you."

Nina
hung her head and sighed. "This is so hard, Tristan. What if I never
remember all of that time you remember?"

"Then
we make new memories together."

The
look she gave me was filled with fear. "Do you still love me? Am I the
person you fell in love with?"

I
didn't have to think about my answer. I knew it in my heart. "Yes. I love
you, even though you don't remember me or feel the same. And it wouldn't matter
if you changed. I'd still love you as much as I did the first time I realized
I'd found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

Wiping
the tears from her cheeks, she smiled. "I think I know why I fell in love
with you."

Her
shy smile made me want to take her in my arms and never let her go. "Yeah?
Let me guess. It's the way I wear a suit."

"No,
but now that you mention it, you do look good in your clothes."

"My
great house and the stoic butler that comes along with it?" I joked.

"No,
but the house is great."

For
the first time she touched me intentionally, sending a shot of excitement
racing up my arm. Every clever comment left my head and I stared down at her
wanting to press my lips to hers in a kiss that would take her breath away.

"I
bet I fell in love with you because of the way you say what's in your
heart."

Nothing
could have been further from the truth. Shaking my head, I looked away, unable
to face her. I couldn't handle feeling like a fraud at that moment.

"Tristan,
did I say something wrong?"

I
turned back to look at her and forced a smile. "No. How about we say
you'll start work tomorrow morning? Nine sharp sound good?"

"Aren't
you the boss? Shouldn't you be telling me instead of asking me?" she asked
with a sexy grin that made me want to throw her down on the bed and show her
exactly who was boss.

Standing,
I looked down at her. "You're right. Be in my office at nine and be ready
to work. If you need anything tonight, you know where I am."

I'd
been right after all. Whether she knew it or not, she wanted the man I'd been
all along. Starting tomorrow, I'd be that man again.

Chapter Three

Nina

Tristan
left me sitting on my bed wishing that I'd had the nerve to lean in and kiss
him when he told me he loved me. I may not have remembered being with him, but
my body reacted every time he was nearby, every inch of me wanting to feel his
touch, and just hearing him profess his love for me had made my body launch
into overdrive.

Jordan
had told me all about him—how much he was worth, how crazy he was about me, how
sexy he was—but she'd definitely understated that last part because this guy
was off the charts hot. Always dressed in a shirt and tie, he appeared stiff
and stuffy, but it hadn't taken me long to fall under his spell, as I guessed
many women did. Those milk chocolate brown eyes that always seemed to be
watching me made my legs go weak when he stared at me, even if he was looking
for something in me that I may never remember.

The
thought that he and I had been so in love that we'd planned to get married and
now none of that existed anymore made my heart hurt. Every time he was near me
I felt his loss. It was like a heaviness that emanated from him. He tried so
hard to hide it, but it was no use. It covered every inch of him like a cloak
of sadness he couldn't shake.

He
was a stranger to me in many ways, but even without a memory of everything we'd
been, something inside me yearned to be next to him, to touch him. Maybe there
was some memory of him deep in my mind that I hadn't found yet but still knew
what he'd meant to me.

I
looked around my room and couldn't help admit it was beautiful. Designed with
the finest fabrics and furnishings, he'd spared no cost with this room, much
the same as with the rest of the house. I'd noticed that my bedroom was nearly
a replica of his on the other side of the house. Was this intentional? Had he
had this room redone while I was in the hospital or had this room always looked
like his?

I
padded over to the desk to smell the enormous bouquet of pink roses that filled
the room with the most delicious fragrance. Pink flowers had always been my
favorite ever since I was a child, and the mere fact that I remembered that
made me happy. That I seemed to not be able to remember anything of the last
four years was still incredibly depressing, but remembering my love of pink
roses was something.

Tristan's
remembering made me even happier. I couldn't explain why, but I already felt
drawn to him. Was it because I knew he loved me, even though I couldn't say the
same? I didn't know, but his thoughtfulness with the flowers made me feel
cherished for the first time in a long time.

I
hadn't noticed before, but there was a small envelope attached to the white
silk bow around the flower stems. Slipping the card out, I read Tristan's note.

                                                     All
my love,

                                                     Tristan

As
I stood there holding that card, I had the strongest sense of déjà vu. I closed
my eyes and struggled to grasp at a shred of an idea of what it meant, but
after a few minutes, I gave up in frustration. It felt like there was
something, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Inhaling
the sweet scent of roses one last time, I took the card with me and placed it
on the night table, reading it once more before I turned out the light. All my
love, Tristan. Rolling onto my back, I stared up in the darkness at the ceiling
and thought about how many times I'd wished some great guy would feel just this
kind of love for me and nothing had happened. He'd either never noticed I even
existed or like others, had taken what they could until they grew tired of me.

Them
I remembered. The ones who cared nothing were as clear in my mind as my own name.
Tristan left roses and cards professing his love, and he was a total stranger.

Sometimes
life sucked.

Reaching
over to my night stand, I picked up the card with Tristan's handwritten note
and pressed it to my lips. If only I could remember...

Then
a thought came to me. Maybe he would know why I'd had that feeling of déjà vu
when I'd read his card. I walked over to his side of the house and nervously
knocked on his bedroom door. He had said if I needed anything I should find
him, so I hoped maybe he wouldn't have a problem with me knocking on his door
at night.

Idiot,
the man says he loves you. He's not going to mind you coming by.

The
door opened and there he stood in nothing but black silk pajama bottoms. I
nearly passed out from the sight, and every word I would have wanted to say
evaporated from my mind to make room for every sexual thought that could fit.
God, he looked incredible!

As
my eyes roamed up and down his toned, muscular body, I saw the tribal tattoo
that sat above his left pec and traveled down his gorgeous left bicep to his
elbow. That someone like him had a tattoo at all surprised me, but with a body
like his, he should have had tattoos over every last inch of him.

And
then the truth dawned on me: I'd slept with this man. I'd touched that body.
There was no way in a just world I'd have forgotten that. No way. God, life
really did suck sometimes.

"Nina,
is everything okay?" he asked as if he were standing there like he
normally did, all dressed and covered and exuding just his normal level of
sexy, not the so-sexy-I-wanted-to-jump-him level he had going on at that moment.

My
mind was filled with ideas about six-packs, whatever they called that cut near
a well-built man's hipbones and how incredible Tristan's pants looked as they
sat just under those cuts, and every indecent idea I'd ever had about what I would
do with my tongue if I had the chance to touch a body like Tristan's. I
couldn't talk. Suddenly, my mouth felt parched, and I licked my lips just to
enable me to try to form words. It wasn't going to be easy with him standing
there like that.

"I...you...I
thought I remembered something," I stammered out.

Smooth.
This was why hot guys never wanted me, I suspected.

Through
all that super hot sexiness came excitement like a child on Christmas morning.
His deep brown eyes lit up at the sound of my words and a genuine smile broke
out on his face. "You remembered something?"

Nodding,
I lifted up his card. "I think so. When I read your note, I had the
clearest case of déjà vu."

He
stepped back to let me past, and I walked in to stand in the middle of the
room, unsure if I should sit on the bed or on the chair near the window.
Tristan stood behind me for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to do either,
and then sat down on the bed in front of me.

"Would
you like to sit down?" he asked as he looked up at me with an almost
innocent look. Almost.

This
wasn't going to be easy. I nodded and sat down beside him, all the while
attempting to keep my gaze focused on his face instead of everywhere else on
his body. Talk about an impossible task!

"Something
in my note made you remember something?" he asked as he took the card from
me, his fingers grazing mine and making my skin dance with excitement.

"Yeah.
I can't put my finger on it, but I felt like there was something."

Without
saying a thing, he stood from the bed and walked over to the dresser to open a
drawer. He pulled something out, and I saw as he returned to sit next to me
that he had a small stack of papers in his hand.

"These
are letters and notes I wrote you."

I
took them and opened the one that sat on top of the pile. They weren't in chronological
order because the first one talked of my moving into his room. The next one was
far more businesslike and talked of my job. Right there on his bed, I sat and
read through our past together, not remembering anything more but so wishing I
would.

More
than anything else, Tristan's notes and letters told me we were happy. Two
people in love and happy. His handwritten words touched me. Never as flowery as
some women might want, they were very much him telling me he cared.

Finally,
when I'd read each letter, some more than once, I looked up and saw him
watching me intently. He looked so interested in me and how his letters made me
feel. I couldn't figure out if I wanted to smile or cry. They were beautiful
and sexy and unlike anything any man had ever given me. So simple yet so
personal.

"Did
I write you any letters, Tristan?"

He
grinned a sexy smile. "No. You preferred to speak instead of write."

"And
you didn't? Strong silent type, I guess?"

"I
prefer to express myself in ways I can control."

His
answers intrigued me, so I pressed further. "And you can't control your
mouth?"

His
eyes darkened, and he slid his tongue over his bottom lip. "It's not my
mouth I can't control."

I
had no doubt about that. Even more, I had no doubt that I wanted to know more
about his mouth. And every other part of him.

"Oh.
So what can't you control?"

"Let's
just say you do things that make me not have the control I prefer."

His
voice was deep and made me want to hear him speak more. "Tell me about
what I was like with you."

My
words sounded almost like they were begging. Maybe I was. I wanted to know the
person he'd fallen in love with—the woman who had made such an incredible man
fall for her. Was I still that woman? Or had she been replaced by some cipher
who clung to any shred of thought that could attach her to the present in the
hopes that it would help her remember the past four years?

"Honest.
I never had to guess how you felt."

That
was definitely me. I probably told him I loved him before he told me. Honest
wasn't terribly sexy, though, usually.

"Did
you like that? I can be incredibly difficult with my honesty, if I remember
correctly."

He
looked away and then back at me with a changed look in his eyes. "I loved
it."

"Don't
get too many people telling you the truth, huh? Most people don't like hearing
it."

"Most
people don't tell me anything."

"What
do you mean?"

He
seemed to think about how he wanted to answer before he finally said, "My
work life is one in which very few people speak to me during the day. Most
people who want to get to me instead deal with assistants and managers."

"So
there's no one above you at your company?"

"Stone
Worldwide has a board of directors, which I must deal with, but other than
that, no."

God,
that sounded lonely. "What about in your personal life? You have to speak
to people then."

"I
have Rogers to speak to everyone in my personal life. He handles the cook and
all the household help, except for Jensen, my driver."

"So
you only speak to your butler, your driver, and a few people at work?
Why?"

"I
speak to you," he said, sidestepping my question and making me feel his
life was even lonelier than I'd first thought.

"Yeah,
about that. Why would someone who prefers to speak to so few people not only
take the time to speak to me but hire me himself instead of making me go
through your human resources department?"

"I
liked you. I wanted to be around you. I hadn't planned on..."

He
abruptly stopped talking and looked away again. What hadn't he planned on?

I
reached out and touched his hand as it sat on his thigh. "Don't stop. I
like hearing about us then."

"I
hadn't planned on meeting anyone that night at the art gallery."

Tristan
seemed so reluctant to talk about anything concerning how we met. I'd asked him
a few times in the hospital and he'd glossed over our meeting as if it were
commonplace, but something in the way he spoke now told me it was very
important to him.

"Tell
me about what I was like there."

He
shrugged and seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Please.
I'd love to know about that time in my life. I'd planned on trying to find a
gallery position when I was in college, so that I did is pretty
important."

He
looked at me and shook his head. "I don't know a lot about that part of
your life. I only saw you once in your job at the gallery."

"What
was I like?"

"Beautiful."

"That's
it? Beautiful?"

"That's
all I saw. And those little cocktail franks."

"Little
cocktail franks?" I couldn't help but giggle. He had the oddest way of
describing things. Beautiful and cocktail weenies. "You sure do know how
to tell a story. Remind me to begin writing a journal so if one of us loses our
memory again at least we have something to look back on," I teased, hoping
to see one of his gentle smiles again.

For
a second, I worried I had offended him because his expression hardened ever so
slightly, but then he gave me one of those smiles that I was sure could melt
the iciest heart and quietly said, "I remember the important things."

"Like?"
I wanted to know those important things. I wanted to hear him talk about every single
thing that meant something to him.

"Like
the first time I kissed you. The first time you begged me not to tease you and
how much I wanted to be inside you at that moment. What you look like when you
sleep, all curled up next to me. How jealous you get. The feel of your hair
against my fingers when I wrap it around them while we lay in bed
talking."

As
he spoke, I watched that beautiful mouth say words that nearly took my breath
away. He said so little that when he finally spoke freely, it was like a dam
breaking. He never took his eyes off my face, watching for my reaction, I
suspected, even as his expression remained calm.

This
was the reality of us. He remembered everything and so much of that revolved
around me, while I remembered nothing but wanted so much to experience those
moments that were so deeply etched in his mind.