The guest suite was smaller, with a queen-size bed, but decorated with a feminine touch in pink and pale gold. Shane’s sister Vanessa used the suite whenever she was in the area. The vintage four-poster bed was done in wrought iron, and a pale lace canopy hung over the frame. Ginger ran her hands along the pink sheets, enjoying the cool silk.
She perched on the edge of the mattress. Her heart had slowed now that she was away from Shane, and she felt like she could breathe normally again. She couldn’t believe how he could affect her like this even after everything that had happened between them the previous year. When he’d looked at her mouth with that scorching intensity, all the wicked things they used to do had flashed through her mind, and she’d wanted to pull him down for a kiss as her panties grew moist.
But she knew better than to give in to temptation. The Shane she used to know was gone. This new Shane was different…harder and more cynical. Besides, she still had no idea why he’d fled. Everyone around them said he’d “left”, but that wasn’t the right word.
When she’d come home after an out-of-town photo shoot, he’d been gone. Just…gone. No note, nothing. The walk-in closet they shared looked like it had been ransacked; piles of clothes were on the floor, and some of the dresses and jackets were hanging lopsided. His dressers had been in the same condition, and the bathroom had been missing all of Shane’s things.
She’d been so worried and concerned. But no matter how many emails and texts she’d sent, he never responded. She’d called him numerous times, but they’d all gone to his voicemail. Eventually she’d needed to talk to him, and it was his older brother Mark who’d told her Shane was in South Africa taking nature photos.
“Is he in a jungle or something?” she’d asked.
“What do you mean?”
“He isn’t responding to my emails or texts.”
“Huh.” Mark shifted his weight. “Well. I don’t know. I heard from him not too long ago.” He cleared his throat. “It sounded like he’s a little busy. I’m sure he’ll call you soon.”
Sure. If Mark had believed that, he wouldn’t have looked at her with such discomfort. She didn’t think he knew exactly what was going on with Shane, but he knew something was up. And the worst part of it was she couldn’t just wait until Shane worked out whatever problem he’d had.
When she’d flown to Johannesburg to see him, she’d found him with another woman. A tall, gorgeous blonde who looked like she should be on the cover of a fashion magazine. Ginger had been paralyzed, feeling by comparison like a drab mouse in her comfortable travel t-shirt and Capri pants. She’d been so stunned she hadn’t even been able to tell him the reason why she’d traveled all that distance to track him down, even as he pushed her out of the suite.
It had taken her over a month to bring herself back home, and more months before she’d started to feel normal again. She wasn’t going to let Shane shake her now. All she had to do was drag him home. The time for reconciliations was long past. She was never going to leave herself vulnerable again.
Chapter Two
One ring. Two. Three…
Shane muttered, pacing, as Dane didn’t answer. Finally there was a click.
“Dane Pryce. Leave a message.”
With an effort, Shane unclenched his jaw. “It’s not going to work the way you want. I’m not coming home like some damned puppy just because you snap your fingers.” He hung up and threw the phone on the couch.
Damn Dane and his interference.
Shane didn’t necessarily want to regain his memory as soon as possible. Sure, it was inconvenient when he couldn’t recollect something that people seemed to think he should. But that was a poor reason to rush back to a home he didn’t remember when something was telling him he didn’t want to go “home” and surround himself with his family. After having dealt with Dane for a while, he was beginning to think his subconscious was pretty smart.
He tossed himself on the couch and stared at the skylight in the vaulted ceiling. Fat clouds tinged with the palest gray glided like a group of blimps. One thing was clear. Despite his initial assumptions, he had to admit Ginger was his real fiancée after all.
When he’d left the hospital, he’d researched his family. Google had been incredibly helpful, giving him lots of interesting information about his parents and siblings. His father was a womanizer who slept with any female who was young and pretty. His mother bore all of it with a polite smile. That had made Shane shake his head. Nobody would’ve blamed her if she’d brained her husband.
Then there were his brothers. They all dated models, heiresses and actresses. Gorgeous, leggy women only, please. His sister dated…no one, apparently—probably living like a nun—and worked way too much while drinking copious amounts of alcohol if her career trajectory was to be believed. The Internet didn’t have much about Shane himself, though, maybe because he was the boring and sedate one, without any titillating gossip. The most significant mention of him was the fact that he was engaged to the high school sweetheart he’d been dating since his sophomore year.
Given the kind of pricey private schools his family had attended, he’d assumed his fiancée would be a wealthy heiress or something, not a woman like Ginger who obviously didn’t come from money. As a matter of fact, he was certain her family couldn’t have afforded to send her to the high school he’d gone to.
Women will always want you for your money. Enough money can make up for any flaw you have.
He didn’t remember who’d told him that, but he knew it was true. At the hospital in South Africa, he had his own private room with two dedicated nurses and a doctor who’d come by frequently to check up on his condition. After a day or so of being confined, he’d gotten restless and taken a walk through the hospital. Other patients were in shared rooms with only thin, gauzy curtains around their beds for privacy. Harried nurses took care of them, and doctors rarely spent more than a few moments with each patient before moving on.
What was the difference between him and them, except for the size of their bank accounts?
Not even his looks mattered. He knew he was young and attractive. Apparently he’d been blessed with the famous Pryce profile—a classic, clean line that made all the men in his family ridiculously handsome. But it was the money that really made the difference. People wouldn’t have scurried to please him otherwise.
And women were no different.
So when Ginger had shown up, claiming to be his fiancée, he hadn’t believed her. He’d assumed she was some sort of con artist, trying to take advantage of his memory loss. She’d tried to tell him things that she said were important, but he hadn’t had the patience to listen to a line of bullshit.
Of course, he would have acted differently if he’d known she was his real fiancée.
Peeraya brought in more Thai orchids, and he waved at her.
“Sawadee-ka,” she said, bowing. She didn’t put her hands together since she had two huge bouquets.
“Peeraya, have you prepped dinner already?”
“Not yet. You want for anything particular?” she asked.
“Phad kra praow seafood,” he said, as it popped into his head.
“It very spicy.”
“So?” Did he like spicy food? He shrugged. “I don’t care.”
“You want mild?”
He shook his head. “Just make it like you normally would.”
Peeraya nodded slowly. “All right, sir.”
* * *
The phad kra praow was disastrous. Not because there was anything wrong with the ingredients. The seafood was fresh, and everything, even the calamari, had the most perfect texture.
The problem was the chopped chili peppers. Peeraya had used both red and green. The red variety was already painful enough, but when he’d accidently bitten into a green one, thinking it was a piece of green bean, it felt like the back of his throat would explode.
Since Ginger was on the other side of the table, he surreptitiously spat out the chili pepper and drank some of the cold tamarind tea. The sweet and tangy brew helped, but it wasn’t enough.