Page 5 of Loving Lies (Granton University 3)

The ache was welcome. It let him know he was still alive.

God, he hated this. Hated the helplessness, the fear, the confusion. Slippery sweat dripped down his temple as the sterile scent of the infirmary burned his nostrils.

He wanted out of here so bad. He wished he had another plate of food to throw, helping him vent some of his frustrations. Fisting his hands at his sides, he gritted his teeth and jerked his good leg as if he could shake his bed enough to shimmy himself free. But the sudden movement only brought pain. He nearly howled aloud from the white-hot waves that sluiced through him.

Concentrating on working his lungs until the needlepoints of agony abated, he blinked away his spotty vision when something filled his doorway. Long past the point of expecting visitors, he glanced over and blinked some more. But it didn’t matter how sharply he tried to bring her into focus, a girl remained standing in his doorway. A real, live redheaded girl.

She couldn’t be a nurse; she wasn’t wearing scrubs. And she wasn’t a volunteer either; she didn’t have on one of those stupid red and white striped prison aprons.

Jonah gawked openly.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, startled to hear the deep baritone coming from his throat. It killed him that he didn’t even recognize his own voice.

“I—” She was a tiny thing, with wide blue eyes that made his gut clench with something he couldn’t distinguish. Looking scared out of her mind, she finally rushed out the words, “I’m your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” A jolt ricocheted through him, and he gnashed his teeth from the resulting flood of pain. But even as he winced, his heartbeat clanged in his chest with hope.

Finally. Someone had come for him. He wasn’t alone after all. But the bitter resentment that had been clinging to him for the past week roared its ugly head.

Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t know you.”

“I—I know.” Her eyes watered as she blinked repeatedly. “They told me you had amnesia. That’s so…awful.”

She had a unique look. Huge bubbling red curls sprouted out around her head, bouncing as if excited.

Wait. Excited hair?

He frowned. His mind must be wigging out on him again.

When she stepped hesitantly into the room, another jolt of adrenaline skipped along his veins. He might not remember her, but the idea of her coming close gave him a strange kind of high. Was someone really here to see him? Was she honestly his girlfriend?

It didn’t seem possible. He didn’t want to hope it was true.

He remembered pretty much nothing, but a gut instinct told him curvy, short redheads with wild hair weren’t his type. Not that she didn’t appeal to him. She totally did. An inherent need rose within him, wanting her to move close enough that he could touch her and find out if her skin was as soft as it looked. But still…this just felt…off. Deep in his being, he sensed this pretty, ethereal creature simply couldn’t belong to him.

Which was too bad. Her blue eyes were so full of concern, like she really did care.

“Are…are you okay?” Reaching out, her fingers went for his hair. “I’ve been so worried.”

He hated how much he wanted her to touch him and soothe his scattered fears, so he shied his face away, unable to trust it…to trust anything.

She immediately flinched back and sent him an apologetic cringe, tucking her hands together against her chest. “Sorry. I forgot. You don’t…know me.”

Squinting, he studied her hard. Why couldn’t he recognize her? Why couldn’t he recognize anything?

“What’s your name?” Maybe a name would spark something inside him.

“Oh, right. Of course, you don’t—sorry. Tess. I’m Tess. Well, Contessa Anabelle Simpson, actually. But everyone just calls me Tess.”

When she gave a nervous laugh and fluttered her hand in the air around her like the beating of hummingbird wings, Jonah found himself focusing on her slim fingers. How many times had he touched those fingers? How many times had they touched him?

Could she really be his?

“What do I call you?” He had to know.

Her laughter died, and she went suddenly sober. “Tess,” she whispered as her slim little hand crept up to rest at the base of her throat. “You call me Tess.”

He shook his head. “I don’t…I don’t remember. I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

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