Secrets (13 page)

He didn't hear her. “But would it be so bad? You'd be the mistress of all of this. You'd be the mistress of one of God's most spectacular creations. You were going to be
the mistress of all of this anyway. You'll be the mistress of Miramar.” His gaze was scorching. “The mistress of Miramar.”

He still held her hands, tightly, but she knew he wasn't aware of it. He was consumed with Miramar, not her. “But I can't remember,” she whispered, her last protest. “I have no memory.” And she left it to him to see how illogical and unthinkable such a proposition was.

“And maybe you never will get your memory back,” Slade said bluntly. “But you'll always have this. You'll always have your place here, you'll always belong here. Miramar is forever. Don't you see?”

She saw; she saw everything, she saw too much. She tried to pull her hands free, and he suddenly realized what he'd been doing, because he let her. She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“It wouldn't be so bad,” Slade said intensely. “How could you say no to all of this?”

Regina wet her lips. How could she say no to this man?

Suddenly he cupped her chin in one large palm. Their gazes locked. In that fleeting second, Regina thought she knew all the secrets of his soul, thought she knew all of the raw desperate need filling his heart.

“You're our only hope,” Slade said. “You're my only hope.”

It had been an illusion, of course, and the feeling of knowing him more intimately than she knew herself passed. Regina pulled her face free of his palms, then regretted the loss. “You're not being fair,” she whispered.

But she already knew her answer. And she knew she was more than stupid, more than a fool. She didn't know who she was, couldn't remember her past, or her fiancé, but she was going to marry Slade. And she wasn't doing it for Miramar, she was doing it for him. And maybe—probably—she was doing it for herself.

T
hey walked past the house toward the beach. The hillside sloped gently down to the ocean where the waves beat the sandy shore. When they reached its edge, they were standing on top of an immaculately clean, cream-colored dune. A path wound on down to the beach where a small inlet faced them. On both sides of the cove the dunes gave way to tawny-hued rock and finally to soaring, pine-ridden cliffs.

They paused, staring out at the vista. The sun dappled the ocean, gulls glided above them, cawing, and the surf was snowy-white against the pearl-hued sand. They were the only people in sight; it felt as if they were the only ones in existence. Regina felt her breath catch at the majesty of it all.

Slade said nothing. He had not said a word since she had agreed to marry him. The impending marriage should have created a degree of intimacy between them, but instead it seemed to have created awkwardness and tension. Regina wondered at his thoughts, but did not dare ask him what they might be. In truth, she was afraid to know. She hoped he was not regretting their decision. It seemed, still, monumentally foolish. Yet she was not regretting accepting him. How could she? He
had rescued her, offered to protect her, and now, his passionate proposal haunted her.

She sought to break the silence and the tension. “Is this where you swim?”

“Yes, but it's not as calm as it appears. It's rough. Don't you try to swim here.”

She stole a glance at him. She hoped he was concerned about her welfare. And if he wasn't quite concerned about her yet, she was determined that one day he would be. He was staring out at the sea, unwilling or unable to look at her; maybe he was staring out at China. His profile was hard and perfect and too handsome for words.

“And the whales?” she asked, not seeing any sign of the big mammals.

He pointed toward the northern point of the cove. “They're gone,” he said, and he could not quite keep the disappointment from his tone. “But they were out there earlier.”

“Oh,” Regina said, disappointed as well.

Slade still didn't look at her. “But they'll be back. They always come back. They can't stay away from here.”

“Like you?” Regina whispered.

He finally turned to her. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Like me. Let's go. There's no point in staying now. They won't be back today or even tomorrow. They won't be back again until next year.”

Regina reached out and restrained him. “And if you were leaving, you wouldn't be back for another year either, would you? Or even two?”

“You seem to have learned a hell of a lot about me in the few days you've been here.”

“How could I not hear some of the things Victoria has said?”

“Victoria is one person not worth listening to.”

“Why, Slade? Why did you leave home to begin with?”

He stiffened.

Regina realized the extent of her audacity. “You are going to be my husband,” she whispered.

In answer, he began walking down the path, and Regina hurried to follow. The sand was deep and soft, making it difficult for her to keep up with him. Finally he spoke, not looking at her. “Rick. I got tired of being told how rotten I was.”

Regina's heart twisted. “I don't believe that. A father couldn't possibly tell his son that he is rotten.”

“Not in so many words,” Slade admitted. “But he was always on my back. It was clear he thought me a loser, while James was perfect.”

“Rick loves you.” The words popped out before she could stop them.

He whirled. He was livid. “What the hell do
you
know?”

She trembled but stood her ground. “I know what I see and hear.”

He cursed. “You've been here, what? Three, four days? You don't know anything!”

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. She had known from the first that Slade would not be receptive to her opinion of his relationship with his father, and now she knew when to retreat.

He began walking again, faster now, as the path spilled onto the beach. Regina hesitated. He was working off his anger, she saw it in his long hard strides. She was afraid that he was not just angry with Rick, but with her. She kept her distance, staying behind him, letting him walk off the tension. She was certain that angering him at this new and fragile stage of their relationship was not a good idea.

She breathed deeply, sucking in the fresh salty air, trying to soothe her taut nerves, letting him outdistance her. She would be more careful in the future. Alienating him had not been her intention. They had their whole lives to learn about each other, to share deep—and painful—secrets. Then she realized that unless she regained her memory, he would be doing all the sharing, and she would be doing the listening. She tensed a little at the thought. Yet regaining her memory now would definitely cause more problems than it solved.

Forcing her mind elsewhere, she gazed around her. The slate-blue ocean appeared to be endless, seamlessly blending into the faded-blue horizon. Above the cliffs on her right, two hawks were gliding, etching circles into the sky around one another. It was an effortless and spectacular ballet. On both sides of her, the beach rolled away, glinting almost white with the iridescence of pearls. She inhaled deeply again, a feeling of contentment suddenly washing over her. She would never grow tired of this beach, of Miramar. Her heart told her that.

Slade had paused near the point where the whales had played that morning. Wistful, she wished she had seen them. She watched him turn, gazing toward her, a dark silhouette against the soft pale sand. Slowly he began to make his way back to her. She smiled. There was no anger in his leisurely strides. Still smiling, she walked down to the water's edge, making sure to stay just out of reach of the breaking waves. It was a fine moment to share with a man like Slade, with the man who would one day be her husband.

Careless of her pretty shoes, she dipped her toes in the rivulets of water. He was a complicated man. But she did not mind. She found him fascinating and now, engaged, she could freely admit it. Perhaps he was a dark man, but she did not really think so. She had seen his soft, sunny side once too often. She thought that she could be a good helpmate to him. She intended to be. She would make sure there was more sunshine in his life than shadows. She greeted him with a smile. “It's lovely here! The tide doesn't appear rough now, the breakers are so far from shore. What about wading?”

His glance was not quite closed. “Wading's okay.”

Regina wondered if she dared. Then she grinned, sat down in the sand, and pulled off her shoes and stockings.

He glanced at her bare feet and ankles. Regina knew she was behaving shamelessly, but they were engaged, and his interested regard thrilled her. She smiled up at him.

His mouth almost quirked. “Is this what they teach ladies about deportment in fancy private schools?”

She laughed, the sound as clear as a bell. “You do have a sense of humor! Unfortunately, sir, I do not remember, but I do not think so!”

The corners of his mouth finally lifted. “Proper deportment is boring, anyway.”

Regina was about to get up when he held out his hand. Her heart careened. She took it, allowing him to lift her to her feet. The warmth and strength of his hand did funny things to her pulse. Recovering, she gave him a look, then skipped past him to the surf. “How would you know?” she teased.

He grinned. “You're right. How in hell would I know?”

Regina paused, her skirts clenched in her fists, her feet buried in soft, wet sand, water trickling over her toes. Slade's smile was devastating. “You are very handsome when you smile, sir,” she said. It was an understatement. She tried to keep her tone light and flirtatious, and she thought she succeeded. But she was reeling, not just from the impact of his good looks, but with the powerful desire to shower him with sunshine so he could smile freely and more often.

Slade's smile died swiftly. He stared at her.

Regina felt heat suffusing her face and she quickly stepped into the bubbling foam of a small, retreating wave. She felt Slade's eyes boring holes in her back. She had meant what she said, but she had never intended for him to take her flirtation so seriously. She wondered if he would wade with her.

Lifting her skirts, she ventured out further, the water lapping her calves, but not far enough to come close to the breakers. She dared to glance back over her shoulder. Slade had been watching her; he quickly eyed the sand at his feet.

Slade was obviously not going to play in the water with her. Instantly, a very calculating notion came to her mind. She tried to dismiss it. But it just refused to go away. Could she really be so deviously feminine?

“You're going out too far,” Slade called.

Regina turned with a smile and a wave. The water was knee-high now, and the hem of her skirts, even though she lifted them, was soaked. “It's not deep,” she responded, flashing him a smile. And then she gasped, eyes widening, and plunked into the water with a splash. “Oh!”

Even as she floundered, beating the water with her arms, she heard Slade thrashing through it at a run. A bare instant passed. His strong hands gripped her beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet. She clung to him, soaked from head to toe.

“Are you all right?”

She coughed, exchanging folds of his shirt for a death-grip around his neck. “S-something bit me!” she gasped. Her little lie was already worth its weight in gold.

“Probably a crab,” he said, his hands splaying out on her hips.

Regina was not listening. How could she? She could barely think. She was in Slade's embrace, clinging shamelessly to him, and she could feel every thrilling inch of him. “Slade,” she murmured, raising her face to his.

She watched his gaze darkening, felt his hands tightening on her body. Triumph claimed her. This man was going to be her husband, this man was her fiancé, and she was thrilled. Passion, sweet and heavy, flowed through her body.

“Damn,” Slade said very softly. He started to push her away from him.

Regina reacted immediately. She shrieked, falling down again. Slade was taken by surprise and he went tumbling down with her—helped by the fact that she did not relinquish her grip on his neck for a single second.

For an instant the water claimed them, washing over them both. When Regina's head broke the surface she was in Slade's arms and between his legs, bobbing in the shallow water. She still had her hands looped about his neck, and their faces were very close.

His hands slid down to her bottom, pulling her even
closer. As another breaking wave raced toward them, petering out, his hands tightened. The waved eddied around them. “Are you all right?” Slade asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” Regina whispered.

He didn't speak again. His eyes moved to her mouth, settling there enviously. Regina was not adverse to being brazen. She twisted until she was practically lying on top of him, the water supporting them both. If he'd needed a hint, he got it now—either that, or he'd lost the last of his willpower. His lips covered hers. Regina was both surprised and pleased to find that his mouth was open, wet, and warm, salty from the sea, and demanding. Never had she dreamed a kiss could be so intimate, so powerful. His tongue stroked hers. Their mouths fused. Her breasts strained against his chest, while he kept her pressed firmly against his loins. The feel of him there was hot, hard, and electric.

A renegade wave, bigger and bolder than the rest, broke close to them and swept over them in a froth of whitecaps. Slade lunged to his feet, taking her with him, breaking the kiss. Regina could not stand. Her pounding heart was thundering in her ears. Slade lifted her effortlessly into his arms, plowing through the surf and to the shore.

Regina stole glances at him, breathless and dazed. Reality crashed hard over her when he finally slipped her to her feet in the warm sand. She staggered against him and he steadied her, but with one hand, careful to keep her at a distance. She gazed at him hopefully but his face was inscrutable. There was no sign of the passion they had just shared.

“Slade?”

His jaw flexed. His eyes sped from her anxious expression down her wet, clinging clothes to her naked toes. “We'd better go back and change.”

“Of course.” She plucked at his sleeve. “I don't mind,” she said, very bravely, “I don't mind that you kissed me.”

He gave her a long grim look. His obvious displeas
ure stunned her. Abruptly he took her hand, but there was nothing personal about the gesture. It was exceedingly difficult to walk in her wet, heavy skirts and he was only supporting her. He led her up the beach toward the path, not speaking again. Regina was dismayed, unable to think of anything other than the wonderful intimacy they had shared, which had somehow escaped them as swiftly as it had embraced them.

 

Just before supper Slade came to her doors. They were closed for privacy, although she would have preferred leaving them ajar in order to enjoy the evening's sea breeze. She had been reading and now she set the magazine aside, her palms growing damp at the sound of his voice. Quickly she patted her hair into place, smoothing down her skirts, going to the door.

“We're sitting down to eat,” he said. “I thought I'd come and get you.”

For a moment she didn't move. His presence emitted a restless, forceful energy that filled up the space around her, that she could actually feel. She wondered if he had been half as preoccupied that afternoon with thoughts of her as she had been with him. She doubted it. The screen doors, closed between them, obscured his expression from her view, but even if they hadn't, she was sure that she wouldn't see what she wanted to see in his gaze.

He moved impatiently. Regina slipped outside. She could see Slade clearly now and his expression was guarded. What she wouldn't give for another earnest smile! She guessed that it was an old habit for him to hide his thoughts and emotions from everyone; she also thought that he tried even harder to disguise them from her. But the day would come, she hoped, when Slade would eagerly share his feelings with her. She felt determined to make that day happen.