“Every single one, bless ’em.”

“Chris.” This time Brie reached out. “I’m glad you came.”

Chris leaned over and brushed her cheek. “Me, too. Now why don’t you come to my room and help me pick out something devastating for dinner tonight?”

* * *

When Reeve came to her rooms, she wasn’t there. He saw the depleted tray of cookies, the cooling tea. And the empty brandy snifters. Interesting, he thought. He knew Brie drank little, and almost never during the day. He thought she had either been relaxed or upset.

He’d been told Brie was entertaining Christina Hamilton, of the Houston Hamiltons. Rocking back on his heels, he studied the remains of the little tea party. He’d done some careful research on Brie’s old college friend. They had passed the point where he’d take any chances. A call to a friend in D.C. who owed him a favor, and Reeve had everything from Christina Hamilton’s birthday to her bank balance. He’d turned up nothing that shouldn’t have been there. Yet he felt uneasy.

Not uneasy, he admitted as he wandered around Brie’s sitting room. Jealous. Jealous because she was spending time with someone else. It was laughable. He hated to think himself so tied to a woman that they couldn’t spend an afternoon apart. He hated to think himself that unreasonable—or that sunk.

It was her safety, Reeve reminded himself. His feelings for her were tangled in concern. It was natural—but it wasn’t comfortable. When there wasn’t any more reason for concern, perhaps his feelings could change. It was logical. It would probably be for the best. It was, he thought ruefully, extremely unlikely.

He could smell her even now, though the room was delicate with the scent of the flowers that were always in vases here and there. It was here, that very feminine, very sexy, very French fragrance that habitually clung to her. He could picture her sitting on the love seat, sipping a cup of tea, nibbling at a cookie, perhaps, but without any real interest. She ate too little.

There had been strain. He knew it—hated it. She would feel dishonest talking with her old friend who was a stranger now.

Is that why he felt so strongly? he wondered. He was, of all the people in her life, the only one who had no strong ties from the past she couldn’t remember. There weren’t years of memories between them, drawing them together, pulling them apart. There was only now.

And that one night years before when he’d waltzed with her in the moonlight.

Idiot. He dragged a hand through his hair. He was an idiot to think that even without the amnesia she would have remembered a few dances with a man on her sixteenth birthday. Just because he’d never forgotten. Had never been able to forget. Had he been in love with her all this time? With the image of her?

Reeve picked up an earring she’d taken off and set carelessly on a table. It was an elegant design of gold and diamonds. Complex and simple, it changed as he turned it—like a woman. Like the woman. He twisted it in his fingers for a moment and wondered if it was still the image that captivated him.