He cursed the gaping hole in his memory. He remembered nothing of the weeks before his accident four months ago and had gaps in his memory preceding the weeks that he remembered nothing of. It was all so…random. Selective amnesia. It was complete and utter bull. No one got amnesia except hysterical women in bad soap operas. His physician suggested that there was a psychological reason for the missing pieces of his memory. Rafael hadn’t appreciated such a suggestion. He wasn’t crazy. Who the hell wanted to lose their memory?

He remembered Dev, Cam and Ryan. Every moment of the past decade. Their years in college. Their success in business. He remembered most of the people who worked for him. Most. But not all, which caused him no end of stress in his offices. Especially since he was trying to close a resort development deal that could make him and his partners millions.

Now he was stuck not remembering who half his investors were and he couldn’t afford to lose anyone at this stage of the game.

The woman was still staring at him, but she’d made no move to approach him. Her eyes had grown colder the longer their gazes held, and her hand tightened perceptibly on her small clutch.

“Excuse me,” he murmured to the Ramseys. With a smooth smile, he disengaged himself from the group who’d assembled around him and discreetly made his way in the direction of his mystery woman.

His security team followed at a short distance, but he ignored them. They didn’t shadow him for fear of his safety as much as his partners feared it getting out that he’d lost his memory. The security team was an annoyance he was unused to, but they kept people at arm’s length, which served him well at the moment.

The woman didn’t pretend to be coy. She stared straight at him and as he approached, her chin thrust upward in a gesture of defiance that intrigued him.

For a moment he stood in front of her, studying the delicate lines of her face and wondering if in fact this was their first meeting. Surely he would have remembered.

“Excuse me, but have we met?” he asked in his smoothest voice, one that he knew to be particularly effective on women.

Likely she’d titter and then deny such a meeting. Or she’d blatantly lie and try to convince him that they’d spent a wonderful night in bed. Which he knew couldn’t be true, because she wasn’t his type.

His gaze settled over the generous swell of her breasts pushed up by the empire waist of her black cocktail dress. The rest of the dress fell in a swirl to her knees and twitched with sudden impatience.