Page 33 of Ice Cold Christmas

Victor glanced over his shoulder at her.

“I don’t remember either of you. Not really. I’ve had images. Like quick snapshots that come and go in my head, but hardly anything more. I’m sorry that I can remember Trish and her curly, blond hair and mean eyes, but I don’t remember your favorite color or your favorite food, Hatterson. I can remember the President, I can remember how to do multiplication and how to set a dinner table for twelve, but I can’t remember if I ever had any pets. I can’t remember any birthdays I celebrated.” She could hear her own frustration. “I don’t know why or how that I know some things and not others. It just is that way.” She squared her shoulders. “Hamilton, Ontario. That’s where I woke up in the hospital.”

Victor raised one brow. “Canada?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Canada.” She raked back her hair, and her fingers slid along the scar she worked so hard to keep hidden near her temple. “Don’t ask me how I got there because…you know, I can’t remember.”

“Hatterson.” Victor didn’t look at the other man. “Get the hell out of here, now.”

“Oh, right, I’m just supposed to do what you?—”

“I own the damn house. I pay your salary. Get the hell out or you’re fired.”

Wait, he owned the house? But…but she’d thought it belonged to Sebastian?—

“And don’t you say a single word to anyone else about what you just learned here, understand me?” Victor fired at Hatterson. “In case you missed it, someone tried to kill her hours ago. Melody’s life is on the line.”

Hatterson angled his body so he could see around Victor and lock his stare on her. That stare of his lingered a moment before it darted toward her left temple.

She smoothed the hair into place. Made sure it covered her scar.

“Of course, boss.” A deliberate emphasis. “Wouldn’t want to do anything to piss you off.” Hatterson spun on his heel and stomped for the door.

“Oh, trust me, I’m plenty pissed.” Victor’s curt response.

Hatterson hauled the door shut behind him.

Victor slowly turned to face her.

She felt frozen in place, and she should absolutely say something but…

“You had to know everyone was going to realize you were…different.”

Different. Yes, how about she was a blank slate? One who didn’t even know what kind of pancakes she liked. Future reference note—stay the heck away from blueberries. “Are the roads really blocked or was Hatterson playing mind games with me on that bit, too?”

“They’re blocked. But only for the time being. You won’t be here another night.”

“Where will I be?” Because she’d really wanted to search the estate, and she’d had zero success with that plan.

“You’re coming home. With me.”

He acted like that was a foregone conclusion. “And you’re really convinced that I’m not some fraud? Don’t you want to wait for the DNA test, too, before you go inviting me into your home? Or are you just all in because I have the scar on my throat?”

He closed in on her. Stopped when their bodies were nearly brushing. “Not your throat.” His hand rose, and, through the shirt she wore—a black blouse—he touched the scar that slid along her right shoulder. The exact spot, without being able to see the scar. “It’s right here, and it slants toward your collar bone.”

Warmth spread through her. That tempting, tormenting warmth she felt each time he touched her.

His hand dropped. Curled around her waist. Rose up. One inch. Two. “And your birthmark is right here. In the shape of a crescent moon.”

Uh, yeah, actually, she did have a faint birthmark right there. But he could have seen it when she took off her sweater to prove?—

“I know the birthmark is there because I’ve touched it a dozen times. Kissed it plenty.” His hands slid down, down as he bent before her.

His fingers slid between her thighs.

What is happening right now? Anyone could come in the kitchen. “Victor…”

“You have two freckles here. You also have a birthmark behind your left knee. I think that one looks like a heart.”