A Husband To Remember

“Good morning,” he drawled with a sexy smile.

She glanced at the windows. “It’s afternoon.” Her dry mouth tasted horrible.

“Well, at least you can still tell time.”

“Very funny,” she said, wishing her tongue didn’t feel so thick. She moved her arm and was surprised that there wasn’t much pain. Either she was healing, or the medication hadn’t worn off.

“Feeling better?”

“I feel like hell.”

He chuckled. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sunny personality.”

“Never.” Forcing her gaze to his, she said,“Who are you? And don’t—” she lifted her sore right arm, holding out her palm so that he wouldn’t immediately start giving her pat, hospital-approved answers “—don’t give me any bull about being my husband.”

His lips twitched and showed a hint of white teeth against his dark jaw, but he didn’t argue with her.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I work for an insurance company.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “You—a suit? No way.” She would have bought a lumberjack, or a cowboy, or a race-car driver, but an insurance agent?

“Why not?”

“Give me some credit, will you? I may not be able to remember much, but I’m not a total moron.”

“Believe what you want.” His grin was smug and mocking and she would have given anything to be able to wipe it off his face.

“Oh, now I get it,” she said, unable to stop baiting him. “You’ve spent the better part of the last week camped out here on the off chance I’d wake up and buy term life insurance or accident insurance—”

“I’m an investigator.”

“That’s more like it.”

“For an insurance company. Fraudulent claims. Arson, suicide, that sort of thing.” Cocking his head to one side, he said, “But the company would probably appreciate it if I could sell you some term—”

“Enough already. I believe you.” She tried to sit up, couldn’t and motioned toward the crank at the end of the bed. “Would you—”

Trent, dropping his feet, reached over. Within a minute she was nearly sitting upright. “Better?”

She rubbed the back of her hand where the needle marks from her recent IV were turning black and blue—to match the rest of her body. “Yes. Thanks.”

He seemed less hostile today, and the restlessness which usually accompanied him had nearly disappeared. As he propped his boots on the mattress again, settling low on his back, he actually seemed harmless, just a concerned husband waiting for his bride to recover. She decided to take advantage of his good mood because she couldn’t believe it would last very long.

“How did we meet?”

“I was working for the insurance company on a claim from someone who worked with you. Connie Benson.”

“Connie?” she repeated, shaking her head when no memory surfaced. But the name seemed right. “Connie Benson?”

“You were both reporters at the Observer.”

“I don’t—”

“The Seattle Observer. You told me you’ve worked there for about six years.”

A sharp pain touched her brain. The Observer. She’d heard of it. Now she remembered. Yes, yes! She’d read that particular Seattle daily newspaper all her life.... She remembered sitting at a table...sun streaming through the bay windows of the nook...with...oh, God, with whom? Her head snapped up.

“You remember.”

“Just reading the paper. With someone.”

He held up his hands. “Not me, I’m afraid.”

She felt a niggle of disappointment. For some reason she’d hoped that his story could be proved or disproved by this one little facet of information.

“We met just about five weeks ago.”

“Five weeks?” she repeated, astounded.

“Kind of a whirlwind thing.”

“More like a hurricane. Five weeks? Thirty-five days and we got married?”

“That’s about right.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, and his eyes grew dark. “I don’t think I’d—”

“You did, damn it, Nikki! We hung out together as much as possible, decided to get married, found a local justice of the peace, tied the knot and came down here for our honeymoon.”

She was still shaking her head. “No, I’m sure—”

His feet clattered to the floor and suddenly he was looming over her, his hands flat on the sheets on either side of her head, his face pressed close to hers. “Look, lady, I’m sorry if I destroyed all your romantic fantasies. But the truth of the matter is that we didn’t have a long engagement or a big, fancy wedding.”

“Why not?”

His sensual grin was positively wicked, and she wondered how she could have felt so comfortable with him only a few minutes before. With one finger, he traced the circle of bones at her throat in a slow sexy motion that caused her blood to flow wildly through her veins. “Because we couldn’t wait, darlin’,” he drawled. “We were just too damned hot.”

“Liar.” She shoved his hand away, but her pulse was jumping crazily, betraying her.

“That’s the way it was. You can try to romanticize it if you want to, put me up on some white charger, give me a suit of shining armor, but it really doesn’t wash, Nikki. I’m no hero.”

Her heart was hammering, her breathing coming in short, quick gulps of air. Oh, dear God! Had she really married this...this sexy, arrogant bastard?

His glance slid insolently down her body. “I could lie to you. Hey, what the hell, you don’t remember anyway, do you? So, if you want to believe it was all hearts and flowers, moonlight and champagne, holding hands as we walked along a beach, well, go right ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” she said through clenched teeth.

“I just don’t want you to have any illusions about me. That’s all.”

“What about the roses?”

“The what?”

She moved her hand, motioning toward the stand near the bed. In the process, her fingertips scraped against his shirt, grazing the muscles hidden behind the soft blue denim. He sucked in a swift breath, his gaze locking with hers for a heartbeat. Her throat turned to sand and she imagined him on another bed, positioned above her, his body straining and sweating. Slamming her eyes closed, she blocked out the erotic image. He couldn’t be telling the truth! He couldn’t!

“Oh, the flowers. Nice touch, don’t you think?” he said without masking any sarcasm.

“What do you mean? Are you saying they’re just some kind of joke?”

“I thought you’d like them. That’s all.”

Her heart sank as he settled back in his chair again. Recrossing his ankles on the end of the bed, he asked, “Anything else you want to know?”

“Just one thing,” she said, bracing herself. “Why did you marry me if you hate me so much?”

His lips flattened. “I don’t hate you, Nikki.”

“You’ve made a point to ridicule me.”

“Because you can’t or won’t remember me.”

Her heart ached, and she forced the words over her tongue. “Do you love me?”

He hesitated, his eyes shadowing for just a second, his emotions unreadable. Plowing a hand through his hair, he grimaced. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Would you—would you call it love?”

Ignoring her question and the pain that had to be obvious in her gaze, he stood and stretched lazily, his muscles lengthening, his body seeming more starkly male and dangerous than ever.

“Do you love me?” she said again, more forcefully this time.

A sad smile touched his face. “As much as I can, Nik. You can’t remember this, but I may as well lay it out to you. I never much believed in love.”

“Then why did you marry me?”

His jaw tightened and he hesitated for a heartbeat. “It seemed like the thing to do.”

“Why?”

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and walked to the door. Pausing, he sent her a look that cut right to her soul. “I married you ’cause you wanted it so damned much.”

“Noble of you.”

“You really don’t remember me, do you? ’Cause if you did, you’d know I was anything but noble.” He sauntered away, leaving her feeling raw and wounded as his footsteps faded down the hallway.

She let out a long, heartrending sigh. Everything was such a jumble. Nothing made any sense. Think, Nikki, think! Trent McKenzie is not your husband. He can’t be. Then who the hell is he and what does he want? Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced her mind to roll backward. He’d told her she lived in Seattle, and that felt right. He’d mentioned she’d worked for a newspaper—the Seattle Observer—and that, too, seemed to fit. But nothing else—not the whirlwind romance, not the quick civil ceremony for a wedding, not the hostile man himself—seemed like it would be a part of her life.

So who was he and why was he insisting that they were married? She tried to force her memory, her fists curling in frustration, her mind as blank and stark as the sheets that covered her.

In frustration, she gave up and stared out the window to the blue sky and leaves that moved in the breeze. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she should take the doctor’s advice and let her memory return slowly, bit by bit.

And what about Trent?

Oh, Lord!

“Señorita Carrothers!”

The woman’s voice startled her. She turned her head toward the doorway and found a pretty girl with round cheeks and short black hair. Her smile faded slightly as she noticed the wounds on Nikki’s face.

“¡Dios! Are you all right? We, at the hotel, were so worried—”

“Do I know you?”

“Sí, when you register—”

“Wait a minute.” Nikki held up a hand but was restrained by her IV. She tried to think, to remember. “You’re saying I registered as Carrothers. Señorita Carrothers?” Nikki asked, her heartbeat quickening. This was the first proof that Trent had lied.

“Sí.”

“Was I alone or was my husband with me?”

“Your husband?” A perplexed look crossed the girl’s face.

From somewhere down the hallway, rapid-fire Spanish was directed at the girl in the doorway, and Nurse Vásquez, her guardian feathers obviously ruffled, appeared. Nikki couldn’t understand the conversation but could tell that the nurse was dressing the girl down.

“Wait,” Nikki said when she realized that Vásquez was sending away her one link to the past. “What’s your name? Where do you work?” But already the girl was out of sight, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. “Please, call her back!” she begged, desperate for more information about herself.

“I’m sorry, Señora McKenzie. Strict orders from the doctor. You are to see no one but family members.”

Nikki started to climb out of the bed. “But—”

“Oh, señora, please. You must rest.... Do not move.”

“Don’t let her leave!” Nikki ordered, but it was too late. The girl was gone and Nikki was left with a more defined mistrust of the man posing as her husband. As the nurse took her blood pressure, Nikki said, “Can’t you at least give me her name?”

“I do not know it.”

“Why was she here?”

“A visitor to Señorita Martínez, I believe.”

“Please, ask Señorita her name and where she works.” The nurse seemed about to decline, but Nikki grabbed her sleeve, her fingers desperate. “Please, Nurse Vásquez. It’s important.”

“Dios,” Nurse Vásquez muttered under her breath. “I will see what I can do.”

“Gracias,” Nikki said, crossing her fingers that Trent wouldn’t get wind of her request. For the moment, she would keep her conversation with the woman to herself.

* * *

Within the hour, she heard his footsteps and braced herself for another confrontation. He appeared in the doorway with two cups of coffee. “Peace offering,” he said, setting a cup on the stand near the bed. Then he resumed his position near the window. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’d like to lie and tell you I’m fine, but I’m not.”

He lifted a shoulder and took a long swallow. “I know. I wish I could change that.”

“You don’t have to spend day and night here.”

“Sure I do.”

“I’ll be all right—”

“Wouldn’t want my bride to get lonely.” He offered her a sly grin, then sipped from his paper cup, letting the steam warm his face.

“I wouldn’t be.”

“I was hoping that being around me would jog your memory.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Don’t be offended, but...I don’t see how I would ever have wanted to marry you. True, I can’t remember, but you don’t really seem my type.”

“I wasn’t.” He curled one knee up on the ledge and stared through the glass. “You were used to dating buttondown types.”

“So why would I take up with you?” she asked.

“The challenge,” he said, his eyes twinkling seductively.

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His lips turned down at the corners. “You’ve always been a risk-taker, Nikki. A woman who wasn’t afraid to do whatever it was she felt she had to. Your job at the Observer is a case in point.”

“My job?” she asked.

“Mmm. You’re a reporter, and a damned good one.”

For some strange reason, she glowed under his compliment, but she told herself to be wary. Instinctively she knew McKenzie wasn’t the kind of man who praised someone without an ulterior motive. Her shoulder muscles bunched.

“You’ve been bucking for more difficult assignments since you signed on at the paper.”

“And was I given them?”

“Hell, no. A few people at the Observer, those in positions of power, like to keep things status quo. You know, women doing the entertainment news, helpful household hints, local information about schools and mayoral candidates and whose kid won the last spelling bee. That kind of thing.”

“That’s what I wrote?” she asked, her brows drawing together. It sounded right, but she wasn’t sure.

“Most of the time, but you were more interested in politics, the problems of gangs in the inner city, corruption in the police department, political stuff.” He watched her carefully as he sipped the thick coffee.

“Who was my boss at the paper?”

“A woman named Peggy Henderson...no—Hendricks, I think her name was.”

“You don’t know?” she asked, incredulous.

He lifted a muscular shoulder. “Never met her.” When she gazed at him skeptically, he snorted. “As I said, you and I, we haven’t known each other all that long.” Again, that soul-searing look.

“What about my family?” she asked, her fingers twisting in the sheets. He was giving her more information than she could handle.

“Your father’s based in Seattle, owns his own import/export business. But he’s out of town a lot. In the Orient. You have a sister back east and one in Montana somewhere, I think, and your mother lives in L.A.”

“My folks are divorced?” Lord, why wasn’t any of this registering? she wondered. Why couldn’t she conjure up her mother’s smile, her father’s face, the color of her sisters’ hair?

“Dr. Padillo didn’t want you to rush things,” Trent said evenly. “He thinks it’s best if your memory returns on your own.”

“And you disagree?”

“I don’t know what to think, but I’m sure the best thing for you would be to get you home, back to the States, where an American doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist or neurosurgeon, could look at you.”

Her throat closed. “Could my amnesia be permanent?” she asked, her heart nearly stopping. The thought of living the rest of her life with no recollection of her childhood, the homes she’d grown up in, the family she’d loved, was devastating. A black tide of desperation threatened to draw her into its inky depths.

A shadow crossed his eyes. “I don’t know. But the sooner we get home, the better.” This side of Trent was new, as if he were suddenly concerned for her emotional well-being. “Tomorrow Padillo’s springing you. I’ll pick up everything at the hotel, meet you here, and we’ll take the first flight back to Seattle.”

“I’d like to call someone.”

He froze. “Who?”

“My editor, for starters. Then my mother, I guess.” Was it her imagination or did his spine stiffen slightly?

“If the doctor agrees.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“As I said, I’m no medicine man. But I’ll see if I can get a portable phone down here. If not, you can use the pay booth at the end of the hall.”

“Now?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Well, I do.” She forced herself upright, ignored the dull ache in her hip and leg, and slid over the edge of the bed. As she set weight on her right ankle, she winced, but the pain wasn’t as intense as she’d expected. She didn’t know the layout of the hospital, but she hoped to find Mrs. Martínez’s room. If she couldn’t get the information about the girl from the hotel from Nurse Vásquez, she’d check with Mrs. Martínez. There were more ways than one to skin a cat.

“Get back in the bed,” Trent ordered.

“Not yet.”

“Nikki, please—”

“Help me to the bathroom,” she said, tossing her hair off her face and grabbing the light cotton robe that was thrown across the foot of the bed. It was hospital issue and not the least bit flattering, but at least it covered the gaps left by the hospital gown. Balancing most of her weight on her left foot, she shoved her hands down the sleeves and tied a knot in the loose belt. “Come on, husband.”

For a second he seemed about to refuse. “This is crazy.”

“The nurse told me that whenever I felt like getting out of bed, I should. And I feel like it now.”

Grumbling about hardheaded women without a lick of sense, Trent bent a little so that she could place her arm around his neck. He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and nearly supported all her weight himself. “Okay, let’s go.”

She was a little unsteady at first, but managed the few steps out of the room to the bathroom down the hall. She tried to ignore the warm impressions of Trent’s fingers at her waist and concentrated on taking each tenuous step. The walking got easier and she became more confident.

If only she could ignore the smell of him, male and musk and leather as they paused at the bathroom door.

“¡Señora McKenzie!” A petite nurse hurried down the hallway. Concern creased her forehead and caused her steps to hurry along the smooth tile floor. “¡Espere!” As she approached, she slid a furious glance at Trent. “¿Qué es esto?” Her black eyes snapped fire and her thin lips drew tight like a purse string.

“She wants to know what’s going on here,” Trent explained. There was an exchange of angry Spanish, and finally Nurse Lidia Sánchez shoved open the restroom door with her hip and helped Nikki inside. “I guess she didn’t like my bedside manner,” Trent offered as the door swung shut.

Nurse Sánchez was still muttering furiously in Spanish, but Nikki didn’t even try to understand her. Instead she stared at her reflection in the mirror mounted over the sink. Her heart dropped and all the tears she’d fought valiantly swam to the surface of her eyes. The swelling had gone down, but bruises and scrapes surrounded her eye sockets. Thick scabs covered the abrasions on her cheeks and chin. Her hair was dirty and limp and she barely recognized herself. She hadn’t expected to be beautiful, but she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. Beneath the bruises she could see traces of a woman who would be considered pretty and vivacious, with green eyes, an easy smile and high cheekbones. Her chin-length hair, a light brown streaked with strands of honey-blond, held the promise of thick waves, but today the dirty strands hung limp and lusterless.

Trent certainly wasn’t posing as her husband because he was taken with her beauty. She winced as she touched the corner of her eye where the scab had curdled.

“Pase,” Nurse Sánchez insisted as she held open the door to the lavatory. “Ahora.”

Nikki followed her orders, but on her way out paused at the mirror again and caught Nurse Sánchez in the mirror’s reflection as she attempted to wash her hands. “Do you know which room Mrs. Martínez is in?”

“Sí, room seven. You know her?” she asked skeptically.

“Just of her,” Nikki said, wiping her hands and following the nurse back to her empty room. Trent wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and she felt a mixture of emotions ranging from disappointment to relief. She had started to trust him, but the girl from the hotel had caused all her doubts to creep back into her mind. Somehow she had to find a way to talk to Mrs. Martínez in room seven.

Her bed had been changed, and she lay on the crisp sheets and closed her eyes. Her surface wounds were healing. Even her ankle was much better, but her memory was still a cloudy fog, ever-changing like the tide, allowing short little glimpses into the past life, but never completely rolling away.

She was certain she remembered a golden retriever named Shorty, and that she’d never gotten along with her sisters, who were several years older, but she couldn’t recall their names or their faces.

Instinctively she knew that she’d always been ambitious and that she’d never spent much time lying around idle—already the hospital walls were beginning to cave in on her—yet she couldn’t recall the simple fact that she was married to a man as unforgettable as Trent McKenzie.

She was in limbo. No past. No future. A person who didn’t really exist.

At the sound of the scrape of his boot, she opened her eyes and found Trent at the foot of her bed. His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen. “There’s good news and bad news,” he said, his fingers gripping the metal rail of the bed until his knuckles showed white. “The good news is that you get to leave this place. Padillo says that you can leave tomorrow.”

“And the bad news?”

“The airline we’re booked on, one of the few carriers that flies to this island, declared Chapter Eleven yesterday.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyebrows pulled together, forming a solid black line. “They’re in bankruptcy reorganization. Everyone who bought a seat on the plane is scrambling to get passage on the other carriers. The airport’s a madhouse, and my guess is that we won’t get out of here for at least two days.”

“Two days?” she repeated.

“Maybe longer.” His jaw was tight with frustration. “I booked us another room, and I was lucky to get one. I paid for a week. Just in case.” He kicked at an imaginary stone on the floor. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while, Mrs. McKenzie. Just you and me.”

CHAPTER THREE

“Here it is—home, sweet home.” Trent swung open the door of their hotel room and Nikki felt the cold hand of dread clamp over her heart. So she was here. Alone with her husband.

Swallowing hard, and still holding on to Trent’s arm for balance, Nikki carefully stepped over the threshold of the second-story room. It was furnished with a single queensize bed, a small round table with two chairs situated near the terrace and a single bureau. Matching night tables in an indiscriminate Mediterranean design were placed on either side of the bed.

“Come on. You’d better rest.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest for the past week,” she objected, though leaving the hospital, the bumpy cab ride and walking through the large hotel had been more difficult than she’d anticipated. Doctor Padillo had assured her that she would feel stronger with each passing day, and she certainly hoped so.

Trent hadn’t lied about the problems getting off the island. Never easy, now leaving Salvaje was nearly impossible with the major carrier to the island in a state of flux. “You haven’t found us another flight yet?” she asked, though she guessed from his silence in the cab that his attempts to fly home must have failed.

“I’ll work on it.”

A firm hand on her elbow, he guided her to one side of the bed, pulled down the covers and let her slide onto the clean sheets. She felt awkward and silly. If he were her husband, this was no big deal. If he weren’t...she couldn’t even imagine where being cooped up alone with him might lead.