Dangerous Temptation by Anne Mather Page B

if he hoped he might find some inspiration there. It was obvious her insistence that Jacob Wolfe was not as he remembered him had driven a rift between them, and conversely now, Caitlin regretted her recalcitrance. After all, as he'd said, what did she really know about his father? Her half-formed impressions were hardly reliable. The whole situation was far too uncertain for that. - And she'd never expected he might question her identity. Yet, when she thought about it, it was exactly the kind of thing he would do. Nothing made sense to him: not her ignorance as to why he should have been visiting the United States without her, nor her reluctance to allow him to get close to her. He wanted answers she either couldn't—or wouldn't—give him, and the future had never looked as bleak as it did at that moment.

6

    The apartment was in Knightsbridge, which he knew—with one of those strange quirks of his condition—was a rather select part of London. It was quite spacious—comfortable, without being overly luxurious. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large living room, with a tiny dining alcove overlooking the square below. The kitchen was high-tech and spotlessly clean, which indicated that Caitlin employed someone to keep it that way. It was on the top floor of the building, ten levels up from the street, so that any traffic noise was negligible.
    He had hoped he would remember their apartment. Caitlin had described it to him during one of their stiff conversations in the hospital, and although he was fairly sure he'd never seen it before, he did know his way around.
    But Caitlin had told him a lot of things while he was still confined to bed, none of them arousing any element of recognition in his memory. She might have been a complete stranger were it not for that instantaneous attraction he'd felt towards her. That, he knew, was not imagined, and her insistence in talking about impersonal things had only heightened his desire to breach the very definite barriers she had erected between them.
    Well, he reflected somewhat wearily, he was a comparative stranger to her, as well. For all his disturbing attraction to her, he didn't remember her at all. Sometimes, when he was lying sleepless in his bed, he'd tried to remember making love to her. But, although he'd usually gotten hard and frustrated, he had no memory of their lovemaking, either.
    He'd blamed it on the fact that she'd remained so aloof from him. Although she'd kissed his cheek when she was leaving, she'd never ever kissed his mouth. It was as if she was afraid of getting too close to him. But, whatever his mental state, he knew his body craved hers.
    What had he done to turn her against him? Because he sensed he had done something, no matter what she said. And if she didn't love him, if she wished she hadn't married him, why hadn't they divorced? If it seemed that simple to him, why didn't it seem so to her?
    Yet, that thought, coming on top of the conversation they had had on the plane, was definitely depressing. He had thought they were making some progress until she'd told him about his father. It was obvious there was a problem, but she didn't want to discuss it with him. Just as he seemed to be reaching the real Caitlin Wolfe, she pulled away.
    And he needed her, he thought, looking bleakly around the strange apartment. He needed her friendship; he needed her trust; he needed her support. If only she'd let him get near her, he felt sure he'd find what he was seeking. She couldn't mean to keep him at arm's length until he remembered who he was, could she?
    Once, during their conversations at the hospital, he'd asked her if he could have gone to New York seeking employment. It had seemed to offer a legitimate reason why he might have gone alone. But Caitlin said he worked for her father, and once again he'd been baulked of any success.
    "D'you like it?"
    Caitlin breezed into the living room behind him with all the impersonal charm of a real-estate broker,