Page 31 of Protected by the Sinner (The Sinner’s Touch #2)

I get up with the nurse’s help and take a shower.

I comb my hair and grab one of the outfits the bodyguards brought for me in a small suitcase.

I knew he was a bodyguard because my private nurse, Celia, told me the hallway is full of them.

The sweet lady said she thinks my boyfriend is a very powerful—and very rich—man.

I’ll have to take her word for it, since Beau hasn’t come to see me yet.

When I introduced myself to the bodyguard—accepting what the doctor told me, that my name is Amber Martin—he gave me a strange look but shook the hand I offered.

Still, he didn’t tell me his name, and I thought that was kind of rude, so I asked.

Roman. No last names.

Okay, maybe he was just in a bad mood.

Celia goes to lunch, and I walk around the room a dozen times trying to distract myself, but my mind keeps circling back to the man everyone says is my boyfriend.

Beau Carmouche-LeBlanc.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t even form a mental image of him.

Does he want our baby? Was he happy when he found out? Did we already know about the pregnancy before the accident?

So many unanswered questions—it’s enough to make me dizzy.

I hear a knock at the door, and somehow, I know it’s him.

The man everyone says is mine.

My heart starts racing, nerves filling every inch of me.

How am I supposed to act with someone I supposedly have enough intimacy with to make a baby but who, in my mind, is a complete stranger?

“You can come in,” I force myself to say.

And then he appears in front of me.

Even without remembering him, it’s easy to understand why I fell in love.

Yes, I’ve decided I’m in love. Why else would a couple have a baby if not out of love?

I try to convince myself of that, but the truth is...I’m intimidated by his presence. The man isn’t just tall—he radiates power.

I start examining him from head to toe, hoping some memory will surface.

I may have lost my memory, but I can see for myself that yes, he must be very wealthy. His dress shoes shine like mirrors.

The tailored pants can’t hide the strength of his legs, nor does the fitted blazer.

Finally, I reach his angular face, square jaw, and those full lips that make mine tingle the second I see them.

I run my tongue over my lower lip, wondering how many times he must’ve kissed me—and the thought makes my heart pound.

But when I get to his eyes, what I see there makes me take a step back.

He looks like he’s angry with me.

That’s not the gaze of a man in love—it’s the look someone gives an enemy.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my stomach.

He follows the movement with his eyes, and his expression softens.

Am I losing my mind? Did fear make me imagine anger where there wasn’t any?

I shake my head and decide, yes, it was just my imagination.

I walk toward him, stopping very close. “Hi.”

“Amber.”

God, I like the way he says my name. “Yes, that’s what the doctor called me.”

“It wasn’t a question. I know your name is Amber.”

I nod. “They told me you’re the father of my baby.”

“Yes. He’s mine.”

Something about the way he says that doesn’t sit right with me, so I feel the need to correct him.

“And mine too, which makes him ours .”

“Yes. He’s ours.”

“Were we happy about our baby, Beau? Can I call you that?”

“What else would you call me?”

Why isn’t he touching me? A man in love, whose pregnant girlfriend just survived an accident, should at least hug her, right?

“I don’t know. I thought that when we saw each other, things would become clearer, even if my memory didn’t come back. But I’m more confused than ever.”

“Why?” He remains stone cold, his voice coming out like shards of ice. And it breaks me.

I feel like I can’t breathe, and I walk to the window, turning my back to him. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I can’t hide how hurt I am by his distant behavior.

“Amber.”

“Just . . . give me a second. It’s just . . . this whole thing . . . the two of us . . .”

To my humiliation, I can’t even form a complete sentence. The emotions that have been playing with my head since I woke up leave me feeling fragile and exposed.

I hear his footsteps approaching and want to tell him to stay away, but I don’t say anything.

I can feel him standing behind me, but I don’t turn around. I’m too sad, and I don’t want this rich stranger to see how much power he has over me.

Then he surprises me—wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me from behind.

“You don’t have to comfort me.”

“I don’t want you to cry.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose. I just . . . I feel so unsure.”

“Look at me.”

I shake my head. “I must look awful when I cry.”

“That’s impossible. You’re beautiful no matter what.”

It’s the first kind thing he’s said since he walked in, and I turn in his arms. “I want to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

I don’t even care if I’m embarrassing myself.

I know I don’t remember anything, and as far as I know, I don’t have anyone else in my life but him.

But the doctor said I might be discharged today, and I won’t follow a man who—regardless of what anyone tells me—I don’t really know, unless he truly wants the two of us.

“Do you want us? Me and our baby? Because you don’t have to take care of me just because I don’t remember anything. The doctor said my memory could come back at any moment.”

“No. You’re not going anywhere. I want both of you.”

Even after he says that, I still don’t feel certain he actually likes me.

So I pull away from his arms.

“I think it’s best if we wait a few days before we talk about this again.”