“Dumb and blonde.” Dane smiled slightly. “Just my type.”
Shane shook his head. “Never mind. I’m leaving now.”
“If you’re smart you’ll take my advice. Just let Ginger have some time to herself while you see the specialist I arranged for you. If you really want to know about your past, you’ll have to do it yourself instead of relying on others to fill in the blanks. People are notoriously unreliable and self-serving. And until you can resolve the past issue that had you disappearing, there’s always a chance it could come back to bite you in the ass later. What are you going to do then, when you might be married with kids?”
No way. Shane knew he’d never abandon Ginger and their children. God, just the idea of raising children with her made his heart tight with emotions.
But the part of him that had been shaken by the nightmare wondered if it was wise to ignore Dane’s advice. Even if the dream hadn’t been his lost memory, it might be related to his fears or something.
“Who’s the specialist again?” he asked.
“Dr. Jamie Marsh. I’ll have my secretary send you the info and the scotch you didn’t get at Éternité.”
* * *
Shane hadn’t called or contacted her in any way in the past week. Ginger didn’t know what to think of that. He’d seemed so sincere about them being together at the farm, so she’d been certain he’d pressure her to move in with him immediately. Even though a small part of her was glad he wasn’t calling every day, another part of her ached. She poured herself the last of the ridiculously expensive scotch Shane had bought her and downed it. Once upon a time she’d hated the stuff, but somewhere along the line she’d grown to like it…because he liked it.
Did he feel as empty as she did? Could he?
The investigator also hadn’t reported any progress. She gnawed on her nails. It’d only been a week. Even if he was one of the best—and Debbie’s dad wouldn’t hire somebody less than the best—it would take him some time. He also had o
ther clients, most of them his regulars probably.
At least her freelance business was still doing well despite all the cancellations. Several of the clients who’d canceled at the last minute sent her referral business, their way of apologizing for what had happened. Ginger also spent her free time getting caught up on paperwork.
When she was alone at night, she stared at the photos while drinking scotch. She’d begun studying the people around her every time she went outside, wondering if one of them hated her enough to pull something like this.
Damn it. She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. She didn’t want to be paranoid or suspicious of people like that. Good people far outweighed the bad. Why let this one jerk ruin it for her?
There was a knock on her door, and she glanced at the wall clock, frowning. It was already after ten.
She shoved the pictures back into the envelope and opened the door. Shane stood there with a bouquet of Thai orchids. He looked good, his shirt and pants straining in all the right places to remind her of his awesome, chiseled body underneath. He also had gotten a neat haircut, although the five o’clock shadow along his jaw lent a certain roguish charm.
“Hi,” she said almost stupidly, suddenly aware of how badly she was dressed. She’d thrown on a ratty old tee-shirt and cotton boxers earlier after her shower.
“Hi yourself.”
“What are you doing here?”
He shrugged and gave her a cockeyed smile. “I was in the neighborhood.”
The alcohol felt all too warm in her belly, and she swallowed. She tightened her hand around the doorknob, trying to rein herself in before she launched himself at him. There is no future between us without trust. “How did you get my address?”
“Dane had it.”
“Did you tell him I owed you money or something?” she joked. She couldn’t imagine why else Dane would’ve been helpful.
He shook his head. “I told him I needed to see you. Can I come in?”
She stood there, her mouth suddenly dry. Why was he here all of a sudden? “It’s not a good ide—”
A small frown creased his forehead, then he stepped around her and was inside before she could stop him.
Her already small apartment seemed to shrink a bit. Shane took in the messy living room. Nobody had vacuumed the place while she’d been out of the country, a layer of dust was on everything…and she hadn’t fully unpacked yet either. Her IKEA couch had a pile of clothes on the back, and her small dining table held a mountain of loosely arranged papers. She cringed when she noticed dirty plates in the sink. Oh well, she thought. Shane might as well learn—again—that she wasn’t the best housekeeper.
“If you need help packing, I can hire movers,” he offered.
“What?” she said.