Stranger In His Bed

He appeared amused. Amused was good. Better than the deadpan stare that was all she’d seen so far.

“You made...an unforgettable impression. As you are now.”

That shot the nurse had given her this morning must have been the cause of her runaway mouth. She wanted to giggle for no apparent reason. But maybe that was normal in her circumstances? She took a deep breath and tried for sincerity.

“How long have we been married?”

“Almost eight months.”

“Practically newlyweds. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember you.”

“Possibly, but not likely.”

She had to agree. Short of an injury like hers, how could she ever forget loving and being loved by a man like Wade Masters? “What do you do? Like, for a living?”

“I have a business. Actually, it’s a family business.”

“Let me guess.” She gave a tiny snort. “You make pizza, and this is the delivery van?”

Again those eyebrows shot up, and the tiny smile returned.

“Close. Avionics, electronics, ranching, Masco Laboratories... I’m sure there must be a Domino’s Pizza in there somewhere.” The gleam was back in his eyes as he tilted his head. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. No. Depends on what you’ve got.”

Again he turned toward her, giving her a look of surprise. She hadn’t meant it the way he might have taken it, but she couldn’t stop the blush that crawled up her neck. She was hungry, all right. Hungry for knowledge; starving for memories, good or bad. And if he didn’t curb that sexy hint of a smile, she would be well on her way to hungry for him. Who was this guy? How in the hell had she met and married a man like Wade Masters? It didn’t feel right. But at the moment it didn’t feel all that wrong.

“There will be a wide selection when we arrive at the house. You can eat at your leisure.” His voice rolled over her, deep and solemn as he readjusted in his seat. “I’m certain we can meet any needs you might have.”

“Anything?”

He smiled a wide, unpretentious smile. “I’m fairly certain we can keep you well satisfied.”

What needs would she have? More important, what needs would he have, and what expectations would he have of her? She could see him pulling her into his arms and carrying her to a large bed in a master suite for a night of... Oh, God. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. What was it about this guy that made her thoughts run straight to the gutter? One quick sideways glance and she saw him smirking. Did he read minds? At least he had a sense of humor. While she couldn’t explain it, she couldn’t see herself marrying someone who didn’t. That was the most important thing. It was what got you through everything else in life.

Gathering herself, she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Do I have any brothers or sisters?” A safe topic.

“No. As far as I know, only your mother and father.” He pulled a cell from his inner suit pocket, glanced at the screen, then put it back. “I have spoken to Corinne daily since the accident. I’m sure she would like to hear your voice. You might want to give her a call.”

“Corinne? Is that my mother’s name?”

“It is.”

“Sounds like some sort of bleach.”

Wade ran a hand over his mouth and jaw as though he didn’t know what to make of that one.

A mother. And a father. Add two more people to the list of folks she just didn’t remember.

A memory suddenly surged through her mind accompanied by dull pain. She was standing just outside the front door of a redbrick house, a blonde woman hugging her. They were both crying. But it didn’t feel like it was her mother.

This memory loss was absolutely the worst thing she’d ever been through. At least that she could remember. The other injuries from the collision took a back seat by comparison.

The rest of the drive passed in quiet contemplation. Who was Wade Masters? Where were they going? She didn’t sense anything sinister about him except maybe a wicked sense of humor. In spite of him being well above normal in the looks department, he was well mannered and courteous, not snobbish, at least not that she’d picked up on. Granted, she’d seen him only two times—that she could recall—but, while he was apparently wealthy, he didn’t give the impression he held himself in higher esteem than anyone else. Neither did he seem like a happily married man. She would have expected him to hold her, kiss her or give reassurances. Something. But he remained aloof. Polite to a fault, but distant.

Eventually the limo turned into a driveway, coming to a stop in front of tall black wrought-iron gates. They opened immediately and the car proceeded up the hill and to the right where a circular drive dipped under a high portico. She had a strong suspicion it was the largest house she’d ever seen. A mansion complete with turrets that made it look more like a castle than a house.

“Is this where you live?” The sheer colossal size of it required confirmation.

He nodded as the driver opened his door. “This is where we live.”

She leaned toward the window and glanced up at the top of one of the towers, then back to her husband. “I guess the ghosts don’t come out until night.”

He looked at her with surprise. One eyebrow lifted higher than the other, and then he once again pursed his lips as though hiding a smile. “I guarantee it. And if you become frightened, I’ll be close by.”

She didn’t think she was a negative person, but if the good doctor hoped coming to live in this place was going to stir any memories, he was sadly mistaken. She might not remember a ride in a limo, but no way would she forget living in a castle.

Yet apparently that was exactly what she’d done.

Her door opened, and a man held out his hand to help her out of the car and into a waiting wheelchair. “Welcome home, madam,” the man said and attempted a smile. Two other men, clearly security, waited on either side of the front door.

The ground floor of the mansion, at least what she could see en route to the elevator, was amazing. Pure elegance even a visiting royal would appreciate. They wheeled through the marble and glass foyer, then slipped by the huge living room to the right and a dining room that could easily seat four dozen people on the left. Beyond was the kitchen. She smiled and waved at the staff who had come out to welcome her home. They looked at each other in surprise. One hesitantly waved back. Before she could ponder that odd reaction, she, Wade and the attendant who pushed her wheelchair were inside of a small elevator, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls.

There were few words that could describe the reflected image. Horrible was one. Appalling was another. It was so not her. Her hair hung in long, limp tendrils. Her face was still pretty banged up, although the bruises were fading to a relatively nondescript yellow. Her left eye was bloodshot, and she could see a slight, almost healed cut on her bottom lip. The swelling was going down. She patted her face. Overall, she looked like she’d been in one whale of a fight and had not been on the winning side.

There was a soft ding, and the doors opened onto a wide corridor, the floor inlaid with beautiful white and gold-embossed marble tiles. The attendant wheeled the chair to the right and followed the hallway almost to the end, finally turning into a large bedroom. It was done in pastels, primarily in varying shades of green. Very nice. Very soothing. Very bland.

“Does this suite suit your needs?” Wade asked from the open doorway.

“Yes. It’s great,” she replied. “It’s...big.” The spacious room had a separate sitting area on the far end, with comfy-looking chairs surrounding a fireplace. French doors opened onto a huge terrace. There was even a bar with a small fridge. A luxurious bed with silk wrappings completed the effect.

“Do...you...stay in here as well?”

He watched her almost as though he was measuring the question, and she thought she saw a spark of devious temptation flash in his eyes. “No. My suite is next door.”

A feeling of relief rolled through her. At the same time, it struck her as odd that a newly wedded couple would have separate bedrooms. More than likely he was letting her have her own room, thus giving her space and time to readjust rather than push her to move directly into the master suite. And she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to share a bed with a strange man despite her attraction. And regardless of any marriage certificate that might say otherwise, he was a stranger.

Standing up from the wheelchair, she walked around the room, looking at the paintings and art objects decorating the space. Most of the paintings were by renowned artists, some of which she recognized. There were pictures of flower gardens and old ivy-covered stone walls and gates.

“Either you or your designer has very good taste.”

“You know art?”

She shrugged. “I recognize Monet and Barber. And I guess I know what I like.”

“Do you?”

She pivoted around to face him. Her heart skipped a beat at the look of sensuous suggestion on his face, in his voice. She had the distinct impression he wasn’t talking about fine art. Was he flirting with her? Establishing his claim? Or had her imagination overtaken her common sense? Still...he was her husband. Maybe he was reminding her of that fact.

Not sure how to respond, she turned to look at the painting hanging over the mantel. A little girl with long reddish-blond curls stood in the corner of her room, presumably being punished for something she’d done. Her dog, a little brown terrier, stood guard against anyone who would come near his child. A name flashed through her mind. Murphy. She turned to Wade. “Is...Murphy here?”

A sharp frown met her question. “Who?”

“Murphy.”

The gracious warmth of his welcome instantly turned to icy cold foreboding. “There is no one named Murphy in this house.”

His clipped reply indicated she’d struck a nerve. But why? Who was Murphy? Why did she remember that name when there was no face to go with it?

“I have work I need to take care of. Henry, our chef, put a menu next to the phone. I have taken the liberty of arranging your first meal based on the foods you generally like. If it isn’t acceptable to you, feel free to order something else. Call the number on the bottom of the menu once you’ve made your selection.”

“That was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Your mother’s phone number is on your bedside table in case you don’t remember it.” With a sharp nod, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

What was that all about? She had no idea why simply asking about a name would cause such a change in behavior. His sudden hostility caused regret to surge through her. Apparently there was someone named Murphy who stood between them. It wasn’t a good feeling. How could she remember that name and not remember her own husband? A numbing chill slid over her. Was another man the reason Wade had acted so distant?

A soft knock on her door brought her out of her worried contemplation.

“Yes? Come in.”

The door opened to a stout young woman in a nondescript black dress and shoes.

“Excuse me? Mrs. Masters? I’m not sure if you will remember me. I am Rowena. Roe. Mr. Masters asked me to assist you with anything you need.”

“Oh. That’s very thoughtful. Thank you, but I’m fine.”

The maid hesitated before saying, “I hope you feel better very soon.” Then she backed out of the door.

“Roe?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I think... Could I change my mind? Would you mind helping me draw a bath?”

“Yes, of course, ma’am. I’d be happy to.” She hurried past Victoria and disappeared into the bathroom.

Victoria ventured into the huge closet while Roe started the bath. It was lined with clothing for every occasion. Many garments still had the price tag attached; others were still in the designer’s bag. Shoes filled one wall, and in the built-in bureau, there was lingerie in every style and color.

She was a clothes hog. It looked like she’d bought more clothing than she would need in a year. Maybe two.

“Your bath is ready, Mrs. Masters.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at Roe. “You’re very kind.”

That earned her a surprised, wide-eyed stare from the housekeeper. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Grabbing a robe, she ventured toward the elegant powder room, then on to the beautiful marbled bathroom. The oversize jetted tub couldn’t have been more appealing if it had been edged in twenty-four-carat gold. Across the room, a glass shower large enough to hold five looked equally tempting. But right now, she wanted to soak away the hospital smell. The dull ache in her head persisted, but hopefully the warm water would take care of it. Soon she was lying back, eyes closed, as the hot jets of water massaged away the soreness from her bruised body. She grabbed the liquid soap she’d selected from a wide array of bath salts, soaps and shampoos in a cabinet. Soon she was inhaling the wonderful exotic scent and enjoying the sense of cleanliness it offered.

When her fingers began to get pruny, she knew it was time to get out. After toweling dry, she slipped on the fluffy white robe. She found both a comb and a brush, plus a new toothbrush and some toothpaste in one of the drawers. Standing in front of the large mirror, she combed the tangles from her long dark hair.

As she looked at her reflection, a feeling of unease passed through her. Something was off. It was probably just the bruises and cut lip. She turned her face to the side. Maybe some swelling remained. “Stop it!” she muttered to her reflection. She had enough to worry about without adding to it.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Masters?” Roe called from the bedroom.

Excellent question. Placing the comb back in the drawer, Victoria headed to the bedroom. With the succulent smell of the food being wheeled into the room, she let the internal quandary go for now.

As good as the food looked and tasted, she did little more than sample a couple of the dishes. Her appetite had disappeared along with any positive hopes that coming here—coming home—would rekindle her memory. So far, all it had served to do was add more unknowns to the growing list. She felt tired and melancholy. Her husband’s earlier reaction to her inquiry about the name stirred apprehension. Everything she thought she would find here was still missing. In fact, she had an overwhelming sensation that she didn’t belong here. In this house. She couldn’t explain it, but the feeling was strong.

After the food cart had been removed, she found a clean nightgown, pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed. She really should call her mother. Even though she didn’t remember her.

Finding the number written on a sticky note, she placed the call.

“Hello?” a woman answered.

“Hi, Mom. Mother.” What did she call her? “It’s me, Victoria.” There was an obvious pause on the other end.

“Oh, my dear. You don’t sound at all like yourself. Are you still in the hospital?”

“No. No, I’m at home.”

Another pause. “Are you telling me that man dumped you off at his house and left? That might be a cause of action for abandonment or mental distress. You really should speak with Burt as soon as possible.”

What was she talking about? “Uh...Wade has been with me the entire time. He’s still here.”

“Oh. Well, we will just have to think of something else. Sooner or later Wade Masters will screw up and he’ll pay for it dearly, if you get my drift. If you can find a private moment, it wouldn’t hurt to call Burt anyway. Maybe he can think of another angle.”

An angle? For what? “Who’s Burt?”

“Why, your attorney. How could you not remember him? Do you really have amnesia? Wade said you couldn’t remember anything. You’re making me nervous, Victoria. You need to get over this memory thing before you say or do something that Wade will use to boot you out the door. Call Burt’s office. He needs the information on the driver who hit you, his insurance and such. Look, sweetheart, I really must go. We’ll talk again soon.”

“Uh...okay.” And before Victoria could make sense of any part of the conversation, the line went dead. How odd. Not once had her mother inquired as to how she was feeling. And all that about calling an attorney. What was that? She had no info about the accident and had assumed Wade would take care of it.

She hung up and eased into bed. It felt good to lie down. The silk sheets were amazing, the mattress and pillows so soft, especially compared to the bed at the hospital. Her vision again fell on the painting above the mantel. What was it about the painting that called to her? Surely Wade would know. But was it somehow related to what had caused his hostile reaction earlier?

She still had the dull throbbing in her head, though it wasn’t bad enough to get up and take one of the pills Dr. Meadows had prescribed. She didn’t know if it was caused by the accident, being in this strange unwelcoming monstrosity of a house, or Wade’s show of anger and the anxiety she’d felt at his reaction. But neither the bath nor putting some food in her stomach had eased the pain totally. Maybe when she woke up everything would be back to normal.

Whatever normal was.

Three

Wadding another piece of printer paper into a tight ball, Wade tossed it against the far wall with the idea of bouncing it into the trash can below. There were significantly more small white balls on the floor than in the basket. He didn’t care.

She could bloody well remember the name of one of her lovers but not her husband? That was a hell of a thing to admit. His irrational irritation continued to mount as he sat at his desk, trying to drum up sufficient enthusiasm to concentrate on the work in front of him.

Of course, she wasn’t really his wife in the biblical sense. And considering their history, he really shouldn’t be surprised or affected either way. But she had drawn him in with the sweet, innocent act, then waylaid him when he wasn’t expecting it. One minute she seemed so innocuous...so...not Victoria. Those lilac-blue eyes—which had never seemed so blue—radiated such warmth, need and an almost childlike innocence. She’d silently implored him to help her. Then in the blink of an eye she was dredging up memories of some man. It was Victoria at her best. He snatched another sheet of paper from the printer tray. If ex-lovers were what it took to help her memory return, they definitely had a problem. He didn’t know all their names, and he didn’t care. But they were not going to visit her here. Just the thought of it had him again gritting his teeth. Another ball sailed through the air. Another miss.

He ran a hand over his mouth, sat back in the chair and took a deep breath. This entire situation had begun as one of those Why didn’t I think of this before? ridiculously brilliant ideas. Or so it had seemed at the time. Victoria’s father had given her a taste of high society before he lost everything by making foolish moves in commodities trading. Even when she had been poor as a church mouse, she had continued to maintain the facade of wealth and privilege, which was exactly what Wade had needed: a beautiful woman who knew how to dress and function skillfully at social gatherings, and who epitomized a billionaire’s wife. In that regard, Victoria was exceptional. She could even do happy if he pressed her on it. What she couldn’t do was discretion. He’d soon discovered Victoria didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Wade had long ago stopped longing for a wife, someone he could love, trust and raise a family with. Twice he’d fallen for a woman who had seemed so sincere, so earnest, only to learn it was all a ploy to gain money. After the last time, he’d called an end to it all. Bitter and discouraged, he refused to again put his heart on the chopping block.

Now, because of the accident, it was as though Victoria had a complete change of personality. And apparently that change had a far-reaching effect, because he’d sure been snagged and reeled in. It seemed that, in the blink of an eye, she’d gone from a wife-in-name-only with a cardboard persona to a three-dimensional woman he found extremely hard to resist. He knew an illogical desire to be near her, to be with her and protect her. His mind raced to curb visions of him holding her close through the night. It was crazy. A mere three weeks ago, the last time he’d been in Dallas, he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

How could he never have noticed how slender she was, how tiny her waist? How perfectly her breasts suited the other contours of her body? When she’d walked around her suite, her hips swayed enticingly, something he should have noted long ago. Had her lips always been so full and luscious? He’d never been physically attracted to her in the past. Yet the thought of her lying in his bed gave him insane ideas of forgetting all about the parameters of their previous relationship and making love to her with such wild abandon it would cause her to forget the names of her lovers and cry out his name instead. Such notions had never entered his mind in the almost five years he’d known her. Why now? Hell, maybe he was the one who needed to see a doctor. He crinkled another sheet of paper in his hand before it joined the others on the floor.

He had to get a grip. Such thoughts were completely ridiculous—outrageous and totally inappropriate under the circumstances. She’d just come from the hospital. Still, when their eyes had met in the private hospital room, for the first time he’d seen honest emotion there, something he hadn’t thought the woman capable of. And against all reason, his body had responded. Then today, in the limo, he’d encountered her sense of humor. Who knew hidden away under all the glamour and glibness Victoria Wellington Masters actually had a sense of humor?

He couldn’t explain why he suddenly wanted to be close to her. He couldn’t rationalize it, but he had to accept the reality of it. That was half the battle. A man couldn’t fight something until he acknowledged its existence. So, okay. Fine. He now found something about her appealing. Quite a few things, in fact. Heaven help him. But he would not give in to this insanity or be suckered into her little games. Despite the way his body reacted every time they came close enough for him to inhale her scent, in spite of his eyes being drawn to her full, enticing lips and the delicate features of her face, he would bide his time, keep those lunatic feelings to himself until she was fully healed, at which time she would be escorted out the door. And all this would be nothing but a bizarre memory.

He wouldn’t ask her to leave, certainly not until she’d fully recovered, even at the cost of his sanity. But he damn sure wouldn’t lay himself open to becoming involved with Victoria. His face was already hitting the front page of the tabloids, the kind that exploited the secrets of the rich and famous. Headlines like Does Her Husband Know About the Other Men? or Who’s Been Sleeping in Victoria’s Bed—Lately? were a dime a dozen. Victoria had sworn she was dating only one man. She had been making an earnest attempt to keep their affair under wraps. Perhaps the tabloids were pulling from old photos. Though it was hard, maybe he should give her the benefit of the doubt.

She kept an apartment in North Dallas. He didn’t know the location but imagined it would be easy enough to find. If returning to familiar surroundings would help her memory, they would definitely make a trip there. Add it to the top of the list. She’d never stayed in this house more than it was necessary to keep up appearances. She’d never shared his bed. There had never been anything about her that had tempted him to want to get closer. Until the damn accident. The sooner she regained her memory and signed those divorce papers, the better.

Pushing the work aside, Wade grabbed the phone, dialing his attorney’s private line before settling back in the black leather chair.