That laughter had turned into borderline hysterical giggles when Rebecca had discovered Miranda’s fatal weakness: ticklish feet. Tony had gotten in the middle of it somehow, and they’d ended up in a tangle on the floor, gasping and grinning and trying to catch their breaths.
They’d been just like a real family—and now here Miranda was, wanting to make that illusion real. Once Rebecca regained her memory, this would all fall apart.
“Miranda…”
He looked at his daughter helplessly. How could he explain? How could he tell Miranda that they weren’t supposed to want Rebecca, to love her, when he couldn’t even keep himself under control? That kiss—Christ, that had been a mistake. He’d just…snapped. He’d been so careful not to cross the line, but when she’d looked up at him, so lost and lonely, his control had snapped.
He couldn’t do that again. Not if he wanted her to be happy.
What kind of happiness was really waiting for her, as an angel? She seemed to be trying so hard, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Tell yourself the truth, Tony. You’re seeing what you want to see because you want her heart to be with you.
Why? Why did he want Rebecca so badly? He’d think he was acting on the rush of emotion after she’d saved Miranda, but this had been creeping up on him even before that terrible day. No matter the reason, this would end badly. Even if he tried to win her heart, once she regained her memory she wouldn’t choose him.
No one would choose a man like Tony over heaven itself.
“Daddy?” Miranda bit her lip.
Tony shook himself and returned his gaze to his daughter. Shit, that sad, hopeful look wrenched at him something f**king awful. “No, honey.” He wished with all his heart he had a different answer. “She’ll be leaving soon.”
“Oh.” Miranda lowered her eyes to her blanket. “Will I ever have a mommy?”
“Maybe someday, love.” He covered her little hand with his and squeezed. He wanted to hate Jane all over again, but it wasn’t Jane’s fault that Tony just…wasn’t enough. He’d tried so, so hard. He’d always try, would always give everything he could for his daughter, but he couldn’t help remembering the recitals he’d missed and the pre-school field trips she’d skipped because he had to work, because they couldn’t afford it, because Tony couldn’t make time for the PTA.
He’d always thought those were just the sacrifices a single parent had to make. He couldn’t trust just anyone with his heart.
Nor would he trust just anyone with his daughter.
Damn him for hoping, for praying he could trust Rebecca.
He touched Miranda’s cheek, and tipped her grave little face up to his. “You never know what will happen, baby. But no matter what…you’ll always have a daddy. And Daddy loves you, okay?”
Miranda smiled. “Okay, Daddy.”
Tony gathered Miranda into his lap and settled against the headboard with the book propped on one thigh. Yet as he kissed Miranda’s hair and let her turn the pages with clumsy fingers, his thoughts drifted back to Rebecca. When she’d fallen on the living room floor, laughing and shrieking as Miranda tickled her stomach, Tony had never wanted to kiss her more. Kiss her, and never let go.
But he could only be her friend.
That, and nothing more.
…
Rebecca stood motionless under the hot water. Stinging spray struck her, ran down her body, and rose in coils of steam around her. The warmth heated and softened her muscles, soothing her until she nearly collapsed in a puddle on the tile. It had taken twenty minutes of fiddling to finally get the temperature right. She’d never thought the little things would be the most difficult part of amnesia. It was hard enough not to remember who she was, where she came from—but something as simple as forgetting how hot she liked her showers frustrated her to the point of tears.
Yet she hadn’t lost everything. She’d managed dinner well enough, remembering cooking times and temperatures, ingredients, everything with a natural instinct. The food had been fine. How was it she could remember how much pepper went into scrambled eggs, but she couldn’t remember her first kiss with Tony?
The one memory she did have was seared into her, mind and body. She closed her eyes and remembered the firm heat of his lips. Her fingers slid over her shoulder, gliding over water-slicked skin, and she imagined it was his touch, his rough fingers. But it wasn’t the same. She sighed and dropped her hand. She wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same Rebecca she’d been before the accident.
Maybe that was why he’d pulled away from her with such revulsion.
But he’d been so warm, after dinner. The way they’d laughed and relaxed…she’d kept waiting for some spark of familiarity to tell her this was her life, safe and comfortable. She’d been so happy with both Tony and Miranda. She’d felt like they were people she could really love, people she belonged with. She ached to truly belong to Tony—to be with him behind closed doors, and maybe rediscover herself in his embrace.
Her body quickened, a taut spark of desire burning through her. She turned off the water, grabbed a fluffy blue towel, and dried off. He was probably out there now, waiting for her. She took her time getting dressed. Anything to settle her nerves. Would he even want her, now?
Don’t be silly.
They’d made love many times before. She just couldn’t remember. Why would tonight be any different?
Rebecca slipped out into the hallway and made her way to the living room. Tony sat on the couch, holding a wine glass in each hand. She stopped in her tracks. He studied her through dark eyelashes, his gaze heated, unreadable, and tempting her to flee back to the relative safety of the bathroom. She took a steadying breath and drew closer to sink down on the couch at his side.
He offered her a wine glass. She took it with a hand that shook so badly she came close to spilling in his lap. Stupid, stupid klutz. His hand covered hers, steadying her grip, and her stomach knotted. Her eyes rose to his and held, transfixed. He leaned closer—and Rebecca caught a breath and made herself draw away, averting her eyes with a blush.
She could handle this. This was normal. She just had to get used to it again.
She could feel the weight of Tony’s gaze on her. His shirt rasped against the couch cushions as he drew away again. “To coming home,” he said.
Rebecca raised her glass. “To coming home to you.”
He stilled. His eyes sought hers again, and tension filled the air, so thick it was crushing, unbearable. Just as quickly, he looked away, gulped down his wine, and poured himself a second glass with an unsteady hand. Rebecca took a sip of her own and just wished she had the guts to down it like a cherry bomb on three dollar shot night at the juke joint.