Million-Dollar Amnesia Scandal by Rachel Bailey Read Free Book Online Page A

perhaps unused to accepting help from others, despite being surrounded by assistants for fifteen years. “Thank you,” she said.
    He guided her to the lighthouse and she stopped at its base to look up at the wide, round structure. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
    He followed her line of sight, up the roughly cut stones of its structure to the glassed-in room at the top, under a white dome. “I’ve always thought so,” he agreed. “It hasn’t been an active lighthouse for years, but it’s popular with the guests.”
    â€œCan we go up?” Her chestnut-brown eyes were bright with enthusiasm.
    â€œWe can, but I don’t think your legs would be up to it.” It might only be the equivalent of three stories, but that would be too far for her today.
    She cast another look up, then met his gaze. “I’m prepared to give it a go.”
    Seth reluctantly considered the idea. The medical staff had made him promise not to let her overdo it. But how to decide what constituted “overdoing it”? If he were in her shoes he’d want to explore further.
    He set his hands on his hips, feet shoulder-width apart. “On one condition. If I think you’ve pushed yourself far enough, you let me carry you the rest of the way.”
    She lifted her chin, obviously considering resisting, then she blew out a breath and nodded.
    â€œYou don’t like relying on people, do you?”
    She paused then smiled ruefully. “The strange thing is, I don’t remember anything about myself, but I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that’s true.” She turned to the stone entranceway and spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you for the offer to carry me. It’s considerate, but I won’t need it.”
    He held back a smile—her mouth was making promises he didn’t think her legs were able to fulfill, but he left it at that.
    As they walked slowly up the winding concrete stairs, he had to admire her determination. Regardless of the memory issue, she’d been hospitalized for thirteen days, some of the time she’d been unconscious, and that had to be hell on her body. They’d told him on her discharge that she’d been doing physiotherapy to gain back the muscle condition that being bedridden for almost two weeks had lost, but she wouldn’t be near the condition she would have beenin before the accident. And still she pushed herself on to climb the stairs.
    He also admired the view of her body as she walked two steps ahead of him. The sway of her rounded hips, the shape of her back under the sky-blue blouse, the jut of a buttock as she lifted a leg for the next step.
    Just before halfway, April’s steps became labored, slower.
    He wanted to scoop her up and take her to the top, save her the struggle. But she wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, he offered her the choice. “Will I carry you?”
    â€œNo, I’ll be fine.” But her voice sounded a little breathless.
    He followed, now noticing her body less, and instead listening to the sound of her breath. They were almost two thirds of the way up when he couldn’t remain inactive any longer.
    â€œI’ll carry you.”
    â€œNo,” she said turning. “I’ll be able to do it on my own, I promise.” She turned back and on the next step, she stumbled and fell back against him. He grasped her tight against his body, steadying her, taking her weight.
    She held herself still for long moments, until he said, “You’ve been unwell, April. Let someone help. Lean on me.”
    And then she did, letting the hips and back and the rounded buttocks he’d been watching melt into his body. His pulse spiked, and it had nothing to do with the exercise of the lighthouse stairs and everything to do with the luscious body molded to his. His skin heated at each point they contacted, and everywhere else besides. This slow burn that had started the