Mills and Boon Christmas Joy Collection. Liz Fielding

      The next morning, a world of birds’ calls dragged Bishop from a deep sleep. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes, but before he could piece together the previous day’s events, he recognized the room, the unmistakable crisp smell of mountain air. He also recognized the angelic form asleep beside him.

      Laura lay on her back, her silky hair splayed around her head like a halo. One thin black strap had fallen off her shoulder. Beneath the lace bodice, he saw the rosy tips of her breasts.

      Desire—thick, fierce and hot—plunged through his system, from the soles of his feet to the hair on his head and most definitely everywhere in between. On reflex, he reached to cup her flawless cheek but thankfully in time he set his jaw and forced his hand away. It was bad enough that they’d slept in the same bed last night. When he’d promised not to take her, Laura had no idea how serious he’d been. But when she’d curled into him, how could he stop her? Or the acute physical arousal that had kicked in.

      Clamping his eyes shut, he’d forced himself to think of anything other than her faint jasmine scent and the satin feel of her negligee…of her skin. He had no idea how long he’d lain awake, forcing himself not to stroke her back or brush his lips over hers.

      Now he was fighting the same merciless war. The urgent pulsing in his groin said to forget honor and let his palm slide over all those gorgeous contours. The arousal fueling his erection demanded that his mouth glide down and taste her breasts, her hips, the honey between her legs. He imagined her dreamy sigh as she woke slowly, then her fingers winding through his hair as her hips arced and the trapped pounding in his blood found its release. He thought of her climaxing once, twice, and the possibility of them spending all day in bed.

      Hardening more, Bishop swallowed a tortured groan. He’d better get out of this room before he convinced himself what he wanted was not only natural and necessary, but appropriate.

      Quietly, he eased up and pushed to his feet. He slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, which brought another problem to mind. What would he wear over the weekend? Perhaps a quick trip into Burniedale, the nearest township, was in order.

      He glanced at his watch.

      The shops were two hours from opening yet.

      Behind him, Laura stirred but when he turned to study her, she didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, the corners of her too-kissable mouth were curved into a heavenly smile. The doctor had suggested he wake her every few hours and ask routine questions, but she’d been fine four hours ago. She looked so peaceful now, perfectly healthy but for that small bandage above her temple. He wouldn’t disturb her. Besides, when she was asleep he wasn’t walking on eggshells, wondering when and how the memory pennies would begin to fall.

      A few minutes later, he stood in his office, collecting his BlackBerry off the desk. He checked his messages and found another from Willis.

      Where the hell are you?

      Bishop headed outside. Where was he? Living in a time warp where the woman he’d once loved—who had once loved him—couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him in this house, let alone in her bed. The bigger, far more dangerous issue was, as difficult as it was proving to be, he needed to remember that, too.

      Moving out onto the eastern porch, he siphoned in a lungful of the fresh morning air. The birds were deafening. Living in the city heart this past year he’d forgotten how loud they could be. But it was a relaxing and at the same time invigorating noise. Another thing he’d missed. Something else he’d tried to forget.

      He thumbed in Willis’s quick dial and, phone to ear, waited for the call to connect. He’d swung a hip over the wood railing, was watching a hand-size echidna and its porcupine quills trudge into the brush, when Willis picked up.

      “Are you in the office already?”

      Bishop’s gaze skimmed the dense forest of gum trees. “I’m nowhere near the office.”

      “Did you take care of whatever it was that dragged you away early yesterday?”

      “It’ll be sorted by Monday.”

      “Good, because I promised these potential buyers you’d speak with them then. I’ll get a confidentiality agreement then talk to Saed about putting together the documents they’ll want to see.”

      Bishop listened to Willis’s plans while he examined the weathered stump he’d once used to chop logs for the fire. When Willis finished, Bishop absently agreed. “Sounds good.”

      Two beats of silence echoed down the line. “You don’t sound as pumped as I thought you’d be.”

      “I’m pumped,” Bishop argued. “I just didn’t think we’d get any nibbles this soon.”

      “This isn’t a nibble, Sam. It’s a walloping great bite. The agent said the interested party is none other than Clancy Enterprises.”

      Bishop let out a long low whistle. “They own half the companies on the east coast.” Manufacturing as well as retail.

      “We’re talking serious money and, if we can go by their track record, we don’t have a whole lot of lead time. These guys move fast.”

      A family of wild ducks, two adults, four chicks, waddled out from behind a boulder. Bishop shifted his position on the rail. “How fast?”

      “Just sign the on the dotted line fast.”

      A touch on his shoulder sent Bishop’s heart lurching to his throat. Jumping off the railing, he spun around. Laura stood before him, wrapped up in that fluffy pink robe, the tip of her nose already red from the morning air’s cool kiss.

      Her gaze homed in on his phone and she stepped back, whispering, “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

      As if calling from another world, Bishop heard Willis’s voice coming down the line. “Sam? You there?”

      “That’s okay,” he said to Laura, thinking how young and fresh she looked, the same age she’d looked when they’d married. The bitterness he’d seen a year ago seemed to have left her face completely. “I was finishing up.” He set the phone back to his ear. “We’ll talk later.”

      Willis didn’t ask questions, which was part of the reason he was paid so well. Willis knew when to push. He also knew when to back off.

      Laura hunched and hugged herself, snuggling into her robe. It might be spring but up here the mornings still got mighty chilly.

      “Must have been something urgent to be calling at this time?” she asked.

      “Nothing for you to worry about.”

      But a line had formed between her brows and her gaze had gone from his face to his chest and lower. She shook her head slowly and Bishop braced himself. Something had clicked. Perhaps the fact she hadn’t seen him on this porch in over a year. Or something he’d said, or his tone, had set off a memory. If it all came flooding back, he could be gone in two minutes. He’d simply find his shoes and be on his way. He had no desire to hang around and argue, which seemed to be all he and Laura had done those last few months.

      Her head slanted to one side. “Why are you wearing yesterday’s shirt?” Her frown eased into a reproving grin. “Anyone would think you don’t have a change of clothes.”

      What could he say? He didn’t live here anymore. He wouldn’t find any clothes in what had once been his wardrobe. If he’d gotten to the shops in time and had bought a couple of shirts…

      But this kind of thing was bound to happen. He wouldn’t try to explain. He’d simply show her his empty wardrobe and let her memory take it from there.

      So they walked back inside the house, down the hall, back into the bedroom, and while she pulled up the sheets to make the bed, he stood before his former wardrobe doors. Holding himself firm, he eased out a long breath.

      Do it. Just do it.

      His fingers curled around the knob. And pulled.