Lisa Jackson - A Husband To Remember

Trent rubbed his shoulder muscles, as if he ached from his vigil. She watched the movement of his hands along his neck and wondered if those very hands—tanned and callused—had touched her in intimate places. Had they scaled her ribs, slid possessively along her thigh, cupped her nape and drawn her to him in a passion as hot as a volcano? And had she, in return, touched him, kissed him, made love to him? Had she fingered the thick black strands of his hair where it brushed his nape? Had she boldly slid her hand beneath the waistband of his worn jeans? She bit her lip in frustration. True, Trent was sexy and male and dangerous, and yet...if she’d made love to him, if her naked body had twined with his, wouldn’t she remember?

He turned to face her, catching her staring at his back, and for a second his hard shell faded and a spark of regret flashed in his eyes. Nikki’s lungs tightened and she could barely breathe, for beneath the regret, she also saw the hint of physical desire. He glanced quickly away, as if the emotions registering in his eyes betrayed him.

“Who are you, really?” she asked.

His jaw slid to the side. “You honestly don’t remember me?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Why would I?”

She lifted the fingers of her left hand just a little, wiggling her ringless fingers.

His lips thinned. “Hospital rules. Your jewelry, including your wedding ring, is in the safe.”

“No tan line.”

“No time for a tan. We just got here when you fell.”

“I fell?”

“On the cliffs by the old mission. You’re lucky to be alive, Nikki. I thought...you could have been killed.”

Fear took a stranglehold of her throat. “I don’t remember,” she lied, not wanting to hear any confirmation that her nightmare had been real, that the terror-riddled dream that had chased her in her sleep wasn’t a figment of her overactive imagination.

The back of her throat tasted acrid. “Were you chasing me up on the ridge?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “You were alone, Nikki,” he said, and she knew he was lying through his beautiful white teeth. “There was no one else.”

“Where were you?”

“Waiting. At the mission. I saw you fall.” His face went chalk-white, as if he relived a horrid memory. “I think it would be best...for you...to go home. You’d feel safer and forget the accident.”

Accident? The breath of fear blew through her insides, and she wished she could run again, that her body would support her and she could get away...to...where?

“I don’t think I’d feel safer—”

“But you would be. With me.”

“I don’t even know you,” she said, stark terror beginning to seize her throat.

Sighing, he shoved a hand through his unruly mane. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this. The doctor doesn’t want you getting upset.”

Her patience snapped and she threw caution to the wind. “I can’t remember anything! I don’t remember my life, my job, my parents, my family, and I certainly don’t remember you! I’m already way past upset!”

His mouth twisted heartlessly as his cruel mask slipped easily back into place. “I think we’d better wait for Padillo. See what he has to say.”

There was an edge to his voice that caused sweat to gather at her nape. She couldn’t remember the men she’d dated, but she would swear on her very life that none of those men would look like a rough-and-tumble backwoodsman with hawk-sharp eyes, angular features and scuffed boots. She noticed the beat-up leather jacket tossed carelessly over the back of his chair and the worn heels of his boots. He moved restlessly as if he were a man used to looking over his shoulder. Her throat went dry with fear. He was a con man? Someone sent to kidnap her? Or was he really her husband?

Her mind raced with a thousand reasons why she might be kidnapped, but she didn’t think she was rich or famous or the daughter of some tycoon. She didn’t feel like a political radical or a criminal or anything.... But for some reason this man wanted her, or the people in the hospital, to think that they were married.

She couldn’t remember much, but she was convinced this impostor was not her husband.

But who would believe her on this island? Certainly not Nurse Vásquez, who obviously thought that Trent was besotted with her. But maybe the doctor. If she could talk to Dr. Padillo alone, perhaps she could convince him that something was very wrong.

Trent peered out the window, as if he were searching for someone in the parking lot below.

“I think if I really was married to you, I’d know it,” she said.

“You’ll remember,” he predicted, though no warmth came over his face. He rested his hips on the sill, his gaze shifting from her to the crucifix mounted on the wall, the only decoration in the otherwise stark room. “As soon as I get you out of here.”

“But you can’t,” she said, desperation creeping into her soul. Alone with this man—with no recollections of the past?

He smiled with cold patience. “I’m your husband, Nikki, and now that you’re awake, I’m going to ask the doctor to release you as soon as you’re well enough to go home.”

“So she wakes up!” the doctor said, poking his head into Nikki’s hospital room. Short and round, with a wide smile, dark eyes and a horseshoe of gray hair, he strode into the room with the air of a man in charge. “ Buenos días, you are the sleeping beauty, sí? ”

Nikki felt anything but beautiful. Her entire body ached and she knew her face was scratched and bruised. “ Buenos días, ” she murmured, glad to finally see someone who might be able to help her.

The doctor picked up her chart from its cradle at the foot of the bed and scanned the page. His lab coat, a size too small, strained around his belly, and when he looked up and grinned a glimmer of gold surrounded a few of his teeth. Small, wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his flat nose. “I’m Dr. Padillo,” he said as he dropped the chart and moved in close with his penlight, carefully peeling back Nikki’s eyelid and shining the tiny beam in her eye. “¿Qué tal se siente hoy?”

“Pardon?”

“She doesn’t speak Spanish.” Trent’s voice caused her to stiffen slightly.

With the small beam blinding her, Nikki couldn’t see Trent, but she sensed that he hadn’t moved from his post near the window. He’d spent hours sitting on the ledge or restlessly pacing near the foot of the bed.

“Dr. Padillo asked how you were feeling today.” As the penlight snapped off she caught a glimpse of him, leaning against the sill, one hip thrown out at a sexy angle.

“The truth?” Nikki asked, blinking.

“Nothing but,” Trent said.

“Like I was ground up into hamburger.”

Padillo’s eyebrows shot up and he removed his glasses. “¿Cómo?”

Trent said something in quick Spanish and the doctor smiled as he polished the lenses of his wire-rims with the corner of his lab coat. He slid his spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose. “So you have not lost your sense of humor, eh?”

“Just my memory.”

“Is this right?” he asked Trent and Nikki was more than a little rankled. It wasn’t Trent’s memory that was missing, it was hers, and she resented the two men discussing her.

“Yes, it’s right,” she said a little angrily.

Scowling, Padillo checked her other eye, clicked off his light and glanced at Trent, who had shoved himself upright and was standing in her line of vision. His features were stern and the air of impatience about him hadn’t disappeared. Dr. Padillo rubbed his chin. “You are a very lucky woman, Señora McKenzie. We were all worried about you. Especially your husband.”