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A Husband To Remember
Lisa Jackson
Nikki Carrothers wakes in an island hospital with no memory of her past, how she got there or of Trent McKenzie—the man claiming to be her husband. Though she's undeniably attracted to him, Nikki's not sure he can be trusted. Even as her memory returns, he's the one piece of the puzzle that remains a mystery.But when Trent finally reveals the shattering truth, the bond between them only deepens. Because Nikki's part of an ongoing investigation that's placed both of them in danger, and she'll have to keep Trent close if she wants to live to see tomorrow….


Memories may fade, but the heart never forgets…
Nikki Carrothers wakes in an island hospital with no memory of her past or how she got there—or of Trent McKenzie, the man claiming to be her husband. Though she's undeniably attracted to him, Nikki's not sure she can trust him. Even as her memory returns, he's the one piece of the puzzle that remains a mystery.
But when Trent finally reveals the shattering truth, the bond between them only deepens. Because Nikki is part of an ongoing investigation that has placed both of them in danger, and she'll have to keep Trent close if she wants to survive…
A contemporary romance.
Previously published.
A Husband to Remember
Lisa Jackson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
Cover (#u8f13ec13-87bd-502a-b3b7-3bb1de190538)
Back Cover Text (#u88baa2d0-b503-57f5-9db6-0ae8819b81f3)
Title Page (#u1733b521-0039-5dc0-8c36-1af6e47fcb5b)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_0341e60f-93f4-5623-a807-01fdb8018559)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_81d0f7e8-3375-5b67-8664-4c87805796db)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9cc9e20c-3a5c-5f5e-b03d-db6a851e68b5)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_efd51b06-4570-5318-a35b-e84617442530)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_b7975176-355e-5917-8c78-71775fe5af0b)
Steam rose from the jungle floor. The earth smelled damp though the tropical sun beat mercilessly through a canopy of thick leaves. Her lungs burned, her calf muscles ached, and she swallowed back the fear that drove her higher and higher through the hills of the island. Over her own labored breathing, she heard the surf pounding the shore far below the cliffs, but still she ran, ears straining for sounds of the man in pursuit.
Help me, God, please. Her legs were scratched from the vines and brambles and her sandaled feet tripped over exposed roots and rocks. She scrambled up the overgrown trail, hoping that at the ridge, high above the sea, there would be a place to hide, a fork in the path that would at least give her a way to escape.
“¡Pare!” a deep voice commanded. “Stop!”
He was close, much too close!
“¡Dama! ¡Por favor! ¡Pare!”
Panic ripped through her as the path broke free of the dense foliage and she found herself on the rocky cliffs. The sun was bright, nearly blinding as it reflected off the water. Staying near the shadows of the forest, she headed upward still, to the north, away from the town.
Terror, stark and deep, propelled her forward. Sweat streamed down her face and her breathing was loud—too loud. Heart thundering, she saw the grimy bricks of the old mission, its cross long disappeared, the walls beginning to crumble. Though deserted for years, the mission held her only hope. There was still a chance that someone was there, a tourist or local who could help her.
She started up the final hill. Biting her lip against the urge to cry out, she ran along the trail that rimmed the cliffs. Pebbles fell, dislodged by her feet to mingle with the angry white foam that swirled far below, pounding the rocky shore.
Just a few more yards.
Unless no one is there.
Unless the man chasing her already had someone there.
Behind her the man was scrambling up the trail, closing the distance. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!
Tears stung her eyes, but still she ran, hearing his loud breathing, hoping that he didn’t have a gun.
“Stop!” he yelled again. So close. So damned close.
A huge hand touched her shoulder and her footing gave way. Her ankle twisted and she cried out. Falling, she tried to clutch the tufts of dried grass and sharp rocks, but her fingers found only air. Her body pitched over the edge of the cliffs, soaring high above the rocky beach.
She tried to scream just as the blackness engulfed her.

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a828cf07-9ac4-596b-9128-ac84fb5fbd1e)
Voices, distant and jumbled, echoing from somewhere in the darkness, somewhere just out of reach, beckoned to her.
“You wake up now,” a woman said in thickly accented English. “Dios, it’s time for you to stop this sleeping. Señora, can you hear me?”
She tried to respond but couldn’t, though the voice had become familiar and kind, one of the voices that ebbed and flowed on the tide of her consciousness. She’d heard many voices often in the darkness and knew that they were friendly. They were voices she could count on, voices that would help—unlike the voices in her dreams, the voices that caused her to scream in silent horror as she replayed the chase through the jungle over and over.
If only she could open her eyes.
“Señora—can you hear me? ¿Señora?” The nurse was trying to talk to her again. “Your husband...he is here. Waiting for you to wake up.”
Husband. But I don’t have a husband...
She swallowed. Lord, was that sand in her throat? And the taste in her mouth—horrid and bitter. Metallic. Her stomach burned and her eyelids peeled back for an instant. Light streamed through the swollen slits, causing an explosion of pain in her brain. In an instant, she saw a huge woman leaning over her—a woman in white, with large breasts, worried expression, dark skin and black hair pulled into a tight bun covered with a stiff white nurse’s cap.
Intelligent brown eyes stared into hers, and the nurse began speaking in rapid-fire Spanish that she couldn’t begin to understand. Where was she? A hospital, she guessed, but where?
She couldn’t focus, couldn’t read the name on the pin clipped to the nurse’s huge bosom. “The doctor, he is on his way, and your husband, we have told him you are waking up.”
I’m not married, she tried to say, but the words wouldn’t form, and another wave of blackness engulfed her.
“Oh, no...she is sinking again...” More Spanish as the nurse barked orders.
The darkness was peaceful and calm and cool.
“We are losing her again!” the big nurse’s voice called from the darkness. “¡Señora! ¡Señora! You wake up. You just wake up again!” She felt strong fingers around her wrist, moving quickly, trying to edge her back to consciousness, but the sinking had begun and she floated steadily downward to the black void, grateful for the relief it brought.
“Nikki!” A man’s voice called to her, but it was too late.
Nikki?
“Your wife, she will wake up soon,” the nurse said.
I’m no one’s wife. I’m... Panic seized her as she searched for a name, a memory, anything she could recall. But there was nothing.
“Nikki, please. Wake up.” The husband again. Husband? Her eyes fluttered for a second and she focused on a hard face, a very male face. Severe, bladed features, thick brows and stormy blue eyes pierced through the fog in her mind. His lips were thin and sensual, his nose a little crooked, and she was certain that she’d never seen him before in her life.
“Nikki, come on. Wake up...”
But the darkness washed over her again, pulling her into its safe, silent vortex, to a place where she didn’t have to wonder about her past and she didn’t have to think why this man, this stranger, was claiming to be her husband.
* * *
The fragrance of carnations and roses drifted through the ever-present odor of antiseptic, and she heard music, a soft Spanish ballad interrupted by occasional bouts of static as the melody drifted through her sleep, dragging her awake. She tried to stretch, but her muscles rebelled and she felt as if she’d been lying in one spot forever. She ached all over and her head—Lord, her head—pounded with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes.
Slowly lifting a painful eyelid, she stared at a ceiling of white plaster. The lights were dim, but waning daylight streamed through a single window and kept the room from total darkness. She blinked and swept her gaze around the room—a hospital room, from the looks of it, with white stucco walls, tile floor and two single beds, one bare of bedding and unoccupied.
She felt, rather than saw, the man. Turning her head slightly and sucking in air against the pain, she faced a stranger who was slouched in the single chair. Unshaven, shirt wrinkled and rolled at the sleeves, jean-clad legs stretched in front of him, he was tall and swarthy, his features set and grim, his lips clamped shut in a harsh, thin line. His gaze was trained past her to the hallway door, and the sound of the music accompanied muted voices and the rattle of a cart being pushed through the corridor.
A tingle of foreboding touched all her nerve endings when she looked at him. There had to be a reason he was here—but what? And who was he? Mean-looking, with a square jaw that meant business and shoulders wide enough to hide the back of the chair, he appeared not to have slept for the past week. Aside from his rumpled clothes, his black hair was mussed and hung past his collar, and there was an air about him that seemed almost dangerous.
As if he suddenly sensed that she was staring at him, his gaze swung quickly back to the bed, and eyes as blue as the Caribbean focused on her with such unerring intensity that a shiver of dread chased up her spine. Don’t be silly, she told herself. He’s obviously a friend. And yet there was something disturbing about him, something she should remember, something important. Something desperate. She tried to remember, but pain screamed through her head.
She expected him to smile, but instead the corners of a blade-thin mouth tightened a bit when he saw that she was awake.
“Nikki.”
Was that her name? It seemed to fit, and yet... She tried to say something, ask him who he was, but her voice failed her and her mouth felt gritty and dry. She licked her lips and tried to sit up, but pain exploded in her head.
“Hey, wait a minute.” He was on his feet in an instant, big, callused palms pressing gently on her shoulders as he held her down. “Take it slow, Nikki. You’ll get your chance to talk, believe me.”
He knew her, but she was certain she’d never seen him before in her life.... No, there had been an instant of wakefulness when these same cold blue eyes had searched hers. She willed herself to remember, but the pain in her head caused her to wince and she felt like she might throw up. There was something she should know about him. Something important.
He offered her a sip of water from a glass on the table, bending a straw so that she could drink. The water was warm and tasted slightly metallic, and after a few swallows she shook her head and he set the glass back on the tray.
“Who...who are you?” she asked, her voice rough and squeaky, like a neglected instrument that needed tuning.
For just a second she thought his eyes slitted suspiciously. “You don’t know?”
“No... I...” Panic gripped her as she searched her memory, or what had been her memory. Nothing surfaced. Nothing. Not just about this man or this hospital or herself. “I...I don’t remember....” But how could that be? She tried to concentrate, but no single event of her past—no person, no place, no favorite pet or book—would swim to the surface of her memory. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, her heart hammering, her palms beginning to sweat. “I don’t remember....”
He shoved his hair from his eyes and seemed about to say something, but stopped himself short, and the sharp glance he shot her way said, without words, that he didn’t believe her.
“Who are you?” she demanded. She knew instinctively that she shouldn’t show any kind of weakness to this man.
“You’re serious about this amnesia?” he scoffed in a whisper.
“I don’t—”
Suddenly he leaned over the bed, took her face between his hands and pressed his lips upon hers with the intimacy of a kiss that bespoke of a thousand kisses before. His lips molded against hers with a warm possession, and her heart, already beating in fear, began a wild tempo that pulsed through her veins. He groaned softly into her mouth and whispered, “I’ve missed you, Nikki. Oh, God, I was scared.” His lips claimed hers again with a depth of passion that caused her to tremble and melt inside before she could collect her senses.
Stop this madness. Stop it now!
Even though his mouth and hands were persuasive, she couldn’t respond, because deep in her heart she knew the kiss wasn’t right—the passion and caring of this man were all wrong. There wasn’t any logic involved in her thinking, just a gut feeling that the man wasn’t being honest with her. She tried to struggle, but the IV tube in her arm restrained her and his mouth moved slowly, sensually against hers.
“Thank God you’re safe.” Again he kissed her.
A quiet cough from the doorway caused him to stand straight and flush up the back of his neck. Embarrassed, he managed a smile for the nurse who filled the doorway. “She’s awake,” he said, shrugging with the innocent guile of a child caught stealing a cookie from the jar. All trace of the coldness she’d sensed in him had been quickly hidden.
“Dios. We thank the Virgin.” The nurse, a big, buxom woman with copper-colored skin and eyes as black as obsidian, moved to Nikki’s bedside. Smothering a smile over the tender scene she just witnessed, she shooed the man back away from the bed where he suddenly hung like a lovesick puppy.
Nikki tried to explain. “I don’t know what’s going on, but—”
“Shh, Señora. Please.” With trained fingers, Nurse Consuela Vásquez, according to the nametag pinned to her ample bosom, took Nikki’s pulse, blood pressure and temperature. Nikki tried to protest, to ask questions, but she was told by the big woman to wait. “First we see how you are doing. Then you tell us everything. Okay?”
Impatiently Nikki waited, wanting to wiggle from beneath the stranger’s stare, for his eyes, as she was examined, never left her. Finally, when Nurse Vásquez had checked the IV bag and scratched Nikki’s vital information on her chart, she offered Nikki a sincere and relieved smile. “Well, Señora Makinzee, you wake up. ¿Qué tal se siente hoy?”
Nikki’s brows drew together and she shook her head. “I...I don’t understand. I don’t speak Spanish.”
“She wants to know how you feel,” the man interjected.
“Like I’ve been run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”
“¿Cómo?”
The corners of the stranger’s mouth curved upward just a little as he explained to the nurse, and Consuela Vásquez chuckled.
“Sí. You are lucky to be alive. Your husband...he save your life.”
Nikki’s gaze moved to the man leaning over the bed. He wasn’t smiling any longer and his gaze had suddenly become unreadable. Like a chameleon, always changing. “He did?” she whispered, her heart hammering and sweat collecting along her spine. She wanted to confide in the nurse, to explain about the frightening blackness that seemed to be in the spot that should have held her memory, but hesitated, wondering if it would be wise to admit as much while this man—this man who had kissed her so passionately while she was lying helplessly in the bed—was standing nearby. “My husband? But I’m not married.”
The nurse’s smile collapsed. “He is your husband, señora.”
Nikki shook her head, but a jagged streak of pain ripped through her brain and she was forced to draw in a sharp breath. “I’m not married,” she said again, her gaze locking with that of the stranger, the man claiming to have married her. Was it her imagination or did the skin around the corners of his mouth tighten a little?
“But, Señor Makinzee—”
“McKenzie. Trent McKenzie.” His eyes didn’t warm as he said, “You remember, we were married just before we came to Salvaje for our honeymoon.”
Dear God, was he telling the truth? Why would he lie? But certainly she would remember her own wedding.
“My name is—” She squinted against the blinding pain, trying to see through the door that was locked in her mind.
“Nikki Carrothers,” Trent supplied.
That sounded right. It fit, like a favorite pair of old slippers.
“Nikki Carrothers McKenzie.”
The slippers were suddenly too tight. “I don’t think so,” she said uncertainly. Could she possibly have been married to this man? Eyeing him, she mentally removed several days’ growth of beard, the tired lines of strain around his eyes, the unkempt hair. He could be considered handsome, she supposed. He was just shy of six feet with a thick chest that tapered to slim hips and muscles that were visible whenever he moved. Lean and mean. For there wasn’t a trace of kindness in his eyes and she knew that undying love wasn’t one of the reasons he’d had for staying at her bedside.
“No memory?” the nurse asked.
Try, Nikki, try. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, willing her memories—her life—to come back to her. “None. I...I...I just can’t,” she reluctantly admitted, her head throbbing.
Consuela’s worried expression deepened. “Dr. Padilla will be in soon. He will talk to you.” She turned questioning eyes to Trent and then, after promising a sponge bath and breakfast and a pill for pain, she hurried out the door with a rustle of her crisp uniform. Trent followed the nurse into the corridor, and though Nikki strained to listen, she heard only snatches of their conversation which was spoken in whispered Spanish. What was she doing here in this foreign country—in a hospital, for God’s sake—with no memory?
Her heart thudded and she tried to raise her arms. Her left was strapped to the bed, the IV taped to her wrist. Her right was free, but ached when she tried to move it. In fact, now that the pain in her head had eased to a dull throb, she realized that she hurt all over. Her legs and torso—everywhere—felt bruised and battered.
Your husband. He save your life.
Her throat tightened. What was she doing with Trent McKenzie?
She glanced around the room, to the thick stucco walls and single window. Fading sunlight was streaming through the fronds of a palm tree that moved in the wind just outside the glass, causing shadows to play on the wall at the foot of her bed. The window was partially opened and the scent of the sea wafted through the room, mingling with the fragrance of the roses, two dozen red buds interspersed with white carnations in a vase on the metal stand near the table.
The card had been opened. Pinned to a huge white bow, it read: “All my love, Trent.” These flowers were from that hard-edged man who claimed he was married to her? Nikki tried to imagine Trent McKenzie, in a florist’s shop, browsing over vases of cut lilies, bachelor’s buttons and orchids. She couldn’t. The man who’d camped out in her hospital room was tough and suspicious and had a cruel streak in his eyes. No way would he have sent flowers. And no way would she have married him.
But why would he lie?
If only she could remember. Her head began to throb again.
Somewhere down the hallway a patient moaned and a woman was softly weeping. Bells clanged and footsteps hurried through the hushed corridors. Several people passed by the doorway, all with black hair and dark skin, natives of this island off the coast of Venezuela. When Trent had mentioned Salvaje to her, Nikki had flashed upon a mental picture of the tropical island. The picture had been from a brochure that touted Salvaje as a garden paradise, a quaint tropical island. There had been pictures, small captioned photographs of white, sandy beaches, lush, dense foliage, happy natives and breathtakingly beautiful jagged cliffs that seemed to rise from the sea. Nikki’s pulse skyrocketed as she remembered a final photo in the brochure, a picture of an abandoned mission, built hundreds of years ago at the highest point of the island. The mission with the crumbling bell tower and weathered statue of the Madonna. The mission in her nightmare.
She convulsed, her heart hammering. What was she doing here on Salvaje, and why did this man, the only other American she’d seen, claim to be her husband? If only she could remember! She slammed her eyes shut, fighting against the bleak emptiness in her brain, and heard the steady click of boot heels against the tile.
He was back. Her body tensed in fear, but she forced her eyes open and told herself that he’d inadvertently given her a glimpse of her memory when he had mentioned Salvaje, the Wild Island, and if she could, she should try to get him to give her more information, hoping that any little piece might trigger other recollections.
He strode to her bed, towering over her with his cynical demeanor and lying eyes. Nikki, tied to the rails, forced to lie under a thin sheet and blanket, felt incredibly vulnerable, and she knew instinctively that she hadn’t felt this way before the fall. “Dr. Padillo has been called,” Trent said with a little less rancor. “He’ll be here within the hour. Then maybe we can get you out of here.”
“Where will we go?”
“Back to the hotel and pack our bags. Then we’ll grab the first flight to Seattle as soon as you’re well enough to travel.”
Seattle. Home was the Pacific Northwest. She almost believed him. “We have a house there?” she asked, and she noticed the hardening of his jaw, the slight hesitation in his gaze.
“I have a house. You have an apartment, but we planned that you’d move your things over to my place once we returned.”
“We...we got married in Seattle?”
His gaze, blue and hard, searched hers, as if he suspected that she was somehow trying to trip him up.
“By a justice of the peace. A quick ceremony before we came here for our honeymoon.”
No big wedding? An elopement? What about her family—her parents? Surely they were still alive. Her stomach knotted as she tried to concentrate on Seattle—the city on Puget Sound. In her mind’s eye she saw gray water, white ferries and sea gulls wheeling in a cloud-filled sky. Memories? Or a postcard she’d received from some acquaintance?
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.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c8c88788-b135-5fc7-b29c-3c80d4b55957)
“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.”
“Worried sick,” Trent added, and Nikki thought she heard a trace of mockery in his voice. His cool gaze flicked to her before returning to the doctor.
Shifting on the bed, she grimaced against a sudden pain in her leg. “I feel like I broke every bone in my body.”
Padillo smiled a bit, not certain that she was joking. “The bones—they are fine. And except for your—” he glanced at Trent “—tobillo.”
“Your ankle. It’s sprained but not broken,” Trent told her, though she would rather have heard the news from the doctor himself. The thought of Trent and Padillo discussing her injuries or anything else about her made her stomach begin to knot in dread.
“Sí. The ankle, it is swollen, but lucky not to be broken.”
She supposed she should believe him, but lying in the hospital bed, her body aching, Trent acting as her husband or jailer, she felt anything but lucky.
“Your muscles are sore and you have the cuts and scrapes—contusions. Lacerations. You will be—” he hesitated.
“Black and blue?” Trent supplied.
Doctor Padillo grinned. “Sí. Bruised. But you will live, I think.” His dark eyes twinkled as he touched her lightly on the arms and neck, lifting her hospital gown to expose more of her skin as he eyed the abrasions she could feel on her abdomen and back. “This must be kept clean and covered with antibiotic cream so that she heals and does not get the infection,” he told Trent. To underscore his meaning, he pointed at a scrape that ran beneath her right arm and the side of her ribs, and the air touched the side of her breast.
A tide of embarrassment washed up her face and neck, which was ridiculous if Trent really was her husband. Surely he’d seen her dressed in much less than the hospital gown. Her breasts weren’t something new to him. Yet she was grateful when the thin cotton dropped over her side and afforded her a little bit of modesty.
The headache that had been with her most of the time she was awake started thundering again and hurt all over. Her entire right side was sore and she was conscious of the throbbing in her ankle. Padillo listened to her heartbeat through a stethoscope and asked her to show him that she could make a fist and sit up. She did as she was bid, then hazarded a glance in Trent’s direction, hoping that he had the decency to stare out the window, but his eyes were trained on her as if he had every right to watch as the doctor examined her.
“Ooh!” she cried when Padillo touched her right foot.
The doctor frowned slightly. “Tiene dolor aquí.”
“What?”
“He says you have a pain there—in your foot.”
“Mucho pain,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Sí.” Padillo placed the sheet and woven blanket over her body again. “It will be...tender for a few days, but should be able to carry your weight by the end of the week.” Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat, he added, “We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”
“How long was I—?”
“You were in a coma for six days,” Trent said, and from the looks of his jaw he hadn’t shaved the entire time she’d been under. She supposed that it was testament to his undying love that he’d spent the better part of a week keeping his vigil, and yet there was something about him that seemed almost predatory.
Again she looked at his harsh features, trying to find some hint in her memory of the rugged planes of his face. Surely if she’d married him, loved him, slept in the same bed with him, she would recall something about him. She bit down on her lip as he returned her stare, his eyes an opaque blue that gave no hint of his emotions. Desperation put a stranglehold on her heart.
“The nurse will give you medication for the pain,” Dr. Padillo said, making notes on her chart before resting his hip on her bed. “Tell me about the—Dios,” he muttered, snapping his fingers.
“Amnesia,” Trent supplied.
“Sí. Have you any memory?”
Nikki glanced from the doctor to Trent and back again. She needed time alone with the doctor and yet Trent wasn’t about to leave. “Can we speak privately?” she asked, and Padillo’s brows drew together.
“We are alone....” He glanced up at Trent, his furrowed expression showing concern.
“Please.”
“But your husband—”
“Please, Doctor. It’s important!” She wrapped her fingers into the starched fabric of his white jacket.
“It’s probably a good idea,” Trent said with a nonchalant shrug. As if he had nothing to hide. “She’s a little confused right now. Maybe you can straighten things out for her and help her remember.”
I’m not confused about you, she thought, but bit hard on her tongue, because the truth was, she didn’t know a thing about herself.
Trent let his fingers slide along the bottom rail of the hospital bed. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.” As he left the room, his bootheels ringing softly, he closed the door behind him, and Nikki let out a long sigh.
“That man is not my husband,” she asserted as firmly as she could.
“He’s not?” The doctor’s eyebrows raised skeptically, and he eyed Nikki as if she’d truly lost her mind.
“I—I’m sure of it.”
“Your memory. It has come back?”
“No, but...” Oh, this was hopeless! She clenched a fist in frustration, and pain shot up her arm. “I would remember him. I know it!” Unbidden, hot, wet tears touched the back of her eyelids, but she refused to cry.
Dr. Padillo patted her shoulder. “These things, they take time.”
“But I would remember the man I married.”
“As you remember the rest of your family?”
She didn’t answer. The haze that was her past refused to crystallize and she was left with dark shadows and vague feelings, nothing solid.
“Your home? A pet? Your job? You remember any of these things?”
She closed her eyes and fought the tears building behind her swollen lids. She remembered so little and yet she felt like she was trapped, like an insect caught in the sticky web of a spider, vulnerable and weak. She stared at the IV tube draining into her arm, the iron sides of the bed, the gauze on her arm and the tiny room—her prison until she could walk again.
If only she could remember! Why was Trent posted like a wary guard in her room day and night? Surely he trusted the hospital staff to take care of her. Or was his concern of a different nature? Was he afraid she might escape?
She closed her eyes as the questions pounded at her brain. Why the devil was she on this little island off the coast of Venezuela? And why in God’s name wouldn’t this doctor believe her? There had to be a way to convince him!
“I’ve never set eyes on Trent McKenzie until I woke up a little while ago.”
“See! That is wrong. He is the one who brought you to the hospital.” Padillo smiled reassuringly. “Give it some time, Señora McKenzie. You Americans. Always so in a hurry.”
“Please, call me Nikki.”
“Nikki, then. Do not rush this,” Doctor Padillo said gently. “You have been...lucky. The accident could have been much worse.”
The tone of his voice caught her attention, and for the first time she wondered how she’d become so battered. “What happened to me?” she asked, looking up at him and trying to ignore the horrible feeling that the man to whom this doctor was going to release her was inherently dangerous.
“I’ve talked to your husband as well as the policía. They concur. You and Señor McKenzie were walking along the hills by the mission. These hills, they can be very...es-carpado... uh, sharp...no—”
“Steep,” she supplied, her nightmare becoming vivid again. The jagged cliffs. The roaring sea. The dizzying heights and the mission with its crumbling bell tower.
“Sí. Steep. The path you were on was narrow, near the cliffs, and you stumbled, lost your footing and fell over the edge. Fortunately, you landed on a...saliente—Dios... you call it a...”
“A ledge,” Trent supplied as he opened the door and heard the tail end of the discussion. His gaze was pinned to Nikki’s and his mouth was a thin grim line. “You slid over the side and landed on a ledge that jutted beneath the edge of the cliff. If you’d rolled another two feet, you would have fallen over a hundred feet into the sea.”
Her body jarred as she remembered pitching in the air. So the nightmare was real. Oh, God, help me! Her throat closed in fear, but she managed to whisper hoarsely, “And you saved me?”
His lips tightened a little. “I couldn’t save you from falling over the edge—I was already at the mission. But I heard you scream.” His jaw clenched. “I followed the sound and ran back to the spot where you’d fallen. Fortunately I could climb down and carry you back.”
Was he lying? “How did you get down to me?”
“It was tricky,” he admitted as he rolled up the sleeve of a cotton work shirt. “But I’ve climbed mountains.”
“So you didn’t see me fall?”
His eyes locked with hers, and he hesitated for a fraction of an instant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on ahead.”
Nikki wasn’t convinced he was telling the truth, but the pain in her body was intense and she knew arguing with these two men was useless. Could Trent possibly be her savior as he claimed, or had he been the man chasing her, the man who pushed her over the edge? But if so, why would he have brought her back for medical care? Oh, Lord, her brain hurt.
Shuddering, she thought about her nightmare, her feet losing their purchase on the rocky trail, her body pitching toward the rocky shore hundreds of feet below the ridge. Deep in her heart she’d expected that the horrid dream was real, but she shivered with a fear as cold as the bottom of the sea. She hadn’t fallen over the edge, she’d been pushed, chased by someone...someone darkly evil. Her gaze moved to Trent’s face, so severe and determined. It was hard to imagine that he had saved her from death.... She almost cried out, but forced the tremors in her body to subside. She couldn’t show any sign of weakness to this stranger who claimed to be her husband, and she had to come up with a plan, a way to escape the hospital and find out who she was. Oh, God, if her head didn’t ache so badly, if she could bear weight on her ankle, she’d find a way to uncover the truth.
A shadow crossed her face as Trent bent over the bed. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised, his breath fanning her face. He kissed her lightly on the lips and there was a warmth in the feel of his mouth against hers that caused her heart to trip. Was it possible that she’d fallen in love with this brash, uncompromising man? Nikki couldn’t remember anything about her past, but she didn’t believe for a second that she would marry a man so damned intimidating, a man who just by his mere presence seemed destined to dominate everyone he met. Certainly she would have chosen a kinder, wiser individual—a thinking man.
His lips moved against hers, and it was all Nikki could do to lay stiffly and unresponsively on the bed. Trent lifted his head and, straightening, smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt as he winked at her. The smile curving his lips was positively wicked—as if he and she shared some dark, indecent secret. He patted the edge of the bed, then walked with the doctor out of the room.
Silently fuming, Nikki thought of a million ways to strangle him. His little show for the doctor was just an act. Or was it? There was no passion in this kiss, not like the one before, and yet she’d felt a spark of emotion, a tenderness she couldn’t equate with Trent McKenzie or whoever the hell he was. She ground her teeth in frustration and willed her memory to surface, but only vague images drifted into her mind. She remembered a grassy field and riding a horse—no, a pony, a spotted pony. She’d been bareback. A dog had trailed after the chubby little horse, nearly hidden in the tall grass. There had been apple trees—an old orchard, perhaps—in the corner of the field and a copse of oak and fir trees on the other side of the fence line.
Had the pony been hers? She imagined cattle grazing on the stubble in the next field, but the image turned cloudy and she was left with an emptiness that she couldn’t fill. “Damn it all,” she muttered as she tried and failed to summon any other thoughts about her past.
What about Trent? Your husband? Any memory of him at all eluded her completely.
She shifted on the wrinkled sheets and sucked in her breath at the sharp pain at her ankle. From the hallway, she heard Trent and Dr. Padillo, talking softly in the flowing cadences of Spanish. Of course they were discussing her, but she couldn’t hear or understand them. Frustrated, she tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows. If only she could climb out of this bed, march down to the police station, or the airport, or the American embassy, if there was one on this godforsaken island, and demand to know who she was and how she got here.
Tears threatened, and she stared at the crucifix on the wall. “Give me strength,” she whispered as Nurse Vásquez returned with her medication. She thought of refusing the drugs, knowing she needed a clear mind, but the pain was too great and she was thankful for the tide of sleep the tiny pills would bring her. She swallowed the sedative eagerly, waiting for the pain to slowly erode and drowsiness to overcome her. Closing her eyes, an old commercial message wafted through her brain. Calgon, take me away...
When she woke up...then she’d try to remember.
* * *
“I want her released as soon as possible.” Trent eyed the little man who was the most highly recommended doctor on the island. However, there couldn’t have been more than three physicians on Salvaje, so Trent wasn’t going to linger here, hoping this man knew what he was doing. Too much was at stake.
“But you have time...you are on your honeymoon.” With a knowing grin, Padillo patted Trent’s arm. “Be patient.”
“We have to get back to the States.”
“Why must you leave so soon?”
“We’d only planned to stay a week,” Trent explained, trying to keep his temper in check. He was used to doing things his own way. Having Nikki in the local hospital was inconvenient. Damned inconvenient. Probably even dangerous. Don’t get paranoid, he told himself, but he hadn’t slept much in five nights and he was strung tighter than a bowstring. Right now, he wanted to shake some sense into the little doctor, to convince Padillo to release Nikki at that very moment, but he couldn’t tip his hand. Not yet.
“Salvaje is a beautiful place. You should stay here. Enjoy the climate,” Doctor Padillo was saying as a nurse at the lobby waved at him in an attempt to get his attention. “Your wife...she has not seen much of the island.”
“We can come back.”
“You Americans,” the doctor said, clucking his tongue. “Always in a rush.”
If you only knew.
“I can release her within three days,” Padillo said, though by the gathering of lines between his flat black brows it was obvious to Trent that the doctor wasn’t happy about his decision. “But there are only a few flights to America.”
“We’ll find one.”
“Doctor—” the nurse called, and Padillo waved her away, as if she were a bothersome insect.
“Then I’ll have the necessary papers ready to sign.”
“Good. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll need my wife’s purse and personal belongings.”
“Today?”
“Sí. I think she’d like to look through it before she goes home.”
“If it is lost, the hospital cannot be responsible—”
“Don’t worry,” Trent said, thinking of the pretty woman with the battered face as she lay in a hospital bed a few doors down the dark corridor. “Just give me her belongings. I’ll sign a release for everything.”
* * *
Nikki wasn’t sure of the time. She’d slept so much, she couldn’t keep track, but it seemed as if two or three days had passed, with Trent forever in the room with her, the doctors and nurses flitting in and out, feeding her, forcing fluids down her, fiddling with the IV, concerned that she eliminate, and assuring her she would be fine.
They seemed worried about infection, anxious about her temperature and her blood pressure, but no one showed the least bit of uneasiness about the fact that her memory had all but disappeared.
When Nikki had asked Padillo about her amnesia, he assured her that her memory would return and she would remember everything about her past, most likely in bits and pieces at first, but then, slowly, all the years of her life would blend together and she would know who she was, her family, what she did for a living. She’d even remember becoming Trent McKenzie’s bride.
She wasn’t so sure.
When she questioned him, Trent was reticent to talk to her about her amnesia. “Don’t worry,” he’d told her. “It’ll come. Take it easy.” She wondered if he’d been coached by the hospital staff or if there was a reason he didn’t want her to remember her past.
He never gave up his vigil. Sitting with her day and night, refusing the next bed, looking the worse for wear each time she awoke, he was in the room with her. He didn’t bother to shave, but did manage to change into a clean shirt one day. Was he devoted? She didn’t buy it for a minute, yet she was certain that there was something tying them together, something worth much more to him than a wedding ring.
Had he kidnapped her and brought her to this tiny island off the coast of South America?
No—for he wouldn’t have alerted the police to her accident, and Padillo himself had talked to the authorities. Unless the Policía de Salvaje were not sophisticated enough to know about crimes committed in the States. Why would they doubt him? He made all the outward signs of caring for her. She, on the other hand, couldn’t remember where she’d lived all her life. Of course they would believe him.
Her head began to throb, and Trent, sensing she was awake, shifted from his spot near the window to take a chair at the foot of the bed. He propped the worn heels of his boots against the mattress and folded his arms over his chest.
“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 (#ulink_53d067cc-e86c-5ec4-85a9-af20195185fc)
“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.
“There’s a phone here. Good luck getting an overseas line. Everyone who’s stranded here is trying to call out.”
“Great,” she muttered, though she hadn’t expected better. He’d tried to help her make a call to her mother from the pay phone at the hospital. She propped the second pillow behind her head while she scanned the room. It was airy and clean, with a paddle fan mounted from the ceiling and bright floral bedspreads that matched the curtains. The closet door was half-open, and she spied her clothes—at least, she assumed they were hers—hanging neatly. A yellow sundress, khaki-colored jacket and white skirt were visible. She’d hoped seeing some of her things would jog her memory, but she was disappointed again. It seemed as if she’d never put together the simple pieces of her life.
As if reading her thoughts, Trent opened a bureau drawer and withdrew a cowhide purse.
In a flash, she remembered the leather bag. “I bought this in New Mexico,” she said as he handed her the handbag and she rubbed the smooth, tooled leather. “From Native Americans. I was on a trip...with...” As quickly as the door to her memory opened, it closed again and she was left with an empty feeling of incredible loss. “Oh, God, I can’t remember.”
“A man or a woman?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp.
“I don’t know.” She turned her face up to his, hoping he could fill in the holes, but he lifted a shoulder.
“I wasn’t there. Before my time.” He walked to the door, shut it and snapped on a switch that started the paddle fan over the bed moving in slow, lazy circles.
Nikki wasn’t going to be thwarted. The keys to her life were in her hands and she was determined to find out everything she could about her past. Leaning back against the headboard, she tossed back the purse’s flap and dumped the contents on her lap. Brush. Comb. Wallet. Tissues. Sunglasses. A paperback edition of a Spanish-English dictionary. A pair of silver earrings. Several pens. Address book. Passport. Small camera.
“All the clues to who I am,” she said sarcastically.
“Not quite. I think I’ve got a few more.” Reaching into the pocket of his jeans he withdrew a sealed plastic bag. Inside were a pair of gold hoop earrings, a matching bracelet and a slim gold band.
Her throat seemed to close upon itself, and she had to hold back a strangled cry at the sight of her wedding ring. Proof of her marriage. With trembling fingers she withdrew the tiny circle of metal and slipped it over her finger. “You bought me this?” she asked, her eyes seeking his.
“At a jewelry shop near Pioneer Square.”
She licked her lips and stared at her hands. The ring was obviously a size too large.
“You wanted to keep it for the honeymoon, and we planned to have it sized back in the States.”
“Is that right?” she said under her breath. Why couldn’t she remember standing before a justice of the peace, her heart beating crazily, her smile wide and happy as the love of her life slipped this smooth ring over her finger. Because it didn’t happen!
“I don’t remem—”
“You will,” he told her, his gaze steady as he stared down at her.
She shook her head, mesmerized as she scrutinized the ring. Her head began to throb again. “I should remember this, Trent,” she said, her frustration mounting. “A wedding. No matter how simple. It’s not something anyone forgets.”
“Give it time.”
Give it time. Don’t rush things. It will all come back to you. But when? She felt as if she were going crazy and her patience snapped. “I’m sick of giving it time! Damn it, Trent, I want to remember. And not bits and pieces. I want the rest of my life back, and I want it back now!”
“I’d give it to you if I could.” Plowing his hands through his hair in frustration, he spied her wallet. “Here.” He tossed it into her hands. “Maybe this will help.”
“Maybe,” she said, though she didn’t believe it for a minute. Sending up a silent prayer, she opened the fat leather case and sifted through her credit cards and pieces of ID. Nothing seemed to pierce through the armor of her past, and she was about to give up in futility when she saw the first picture.
“Dad,” she whispered, her heart turning over as she recognized a photograph of a distinguished-looking man with a steel-gray mustache and jowly chin. For a second she remembered him in a velvet red suit and long white beard, tiny glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he dressed up as Santa Claus each year for his company party.... The memory faded and she tried vainly to call it up again.
“Hey...take it easy.” Suddenly Trent sat on the edge of the bed, his warm hand on her forehead. “It’ll come.”
If only she could believe it. “So everyone says. Everyone who can remember who they are.”
“It’s been less than a week since you woke from the coma.”
His harsh features seemed incredibly kind, and she felt hot tears fill her throat. She fought the urge to break down and cry because she couldn’t trust him—even his kindness might be an act. There were other pictures in her wallet, some old and faded, none that she recognized, until she saw the family portrait, taken years ago, before her parents had split up. Her father still had black hair back then; her mother, a thin woman with a thrusting jaw, was a blonde. Her older sisters—why couldn’t she remember their names?—looked about fourteen and twelve, and Nikki was no more than eight, her teeth much too large for her mouth.
“Janet,” Trent said, pointing to the oldest girl with the dark hair. “Carole.” The middle sister with braces. “Your mom’s name is Eloise. She and your dad—”
“Were divorced. I know,” she said, saddened that she couldn’t recall her mother’s voice or smile, couldn’t even remember a fight with her sisters. Had they shared a room? Had they ever been close? Why, even staring at pictures of her family, did she feel so incredibly alone? If only she could sew together the patchwork of her life, bring back those odd-shaped pieces of her memory.
“Look, why don’t you try calling your dad?” Trent suggested, though his eyes still held a wary spark. “He’s still in Seattle and you always have been pretty close to him. Maybe hearing his voice will help.” He snapped up the address book, opened it to the C’s and scanned the page. “It’s still early in Seattle, so you might catch him at home.”
He picked up the receiver and started dialing before she could protest.
“Have you talked with him?” she asked.
“No.”
“You didn’t call and tell him about the accident?”
“I figured he’d take the news better from you. I’ve never met him. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know we’re married, and since your life wasn’t in danger, I didn’t see a reason to worry him.”
“And my mother—”
He held up a hand. “¿La telefonista? Quiero llamar Seattle en los Estados Unidos. Comuníqueme, por favor, con el número de Ted Carrothers...” He rattled off her father’s number in Spanish, answered a few more questions, then, frowning slightly, handed her the receiver.
Nikki’s heart was thudding, her fingers sweaty around the phone. “Come on, Dad,” she whispered as the phone began to ring on the continent far away. She was about to give up when a groggy male voice answered.
“Carrothers here.”
“Dad?” Nikki said, her voice husky. Tears pressed hot behind her eyelids, and relief flooded through her. She felt like she might break down and sob.
“Hey, Nik, I wondered if I’d hear from you.”
“Oh, Dad.” She couldn’t keep her voice from cracking.
“Is something wrong, honey?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she assured him, shooting Trent a grateful glance. “But I did have an accident....” She told him everything she could remember or had been told of her trip, leaving out her amnesia so that her father wouldn’t worry. As she talked, bringing up the fact that Trent McKenzie had been the man who had rescued her, she let her gaze follow Trent, who, whether to give her some privacy or to get some air, left her and walked onto the veranda. The wind had kicked up, lifting his dark hair from his face and billowing his jacket away from his lean body.
“Nikki! You could have been killed!” her father exclaimed, all sounds of sleep gone from his voice.
“But I wasn’t.”
“Thank God. I knew going to Salvaje was a bad idea. I tried to warn you not to go.”
“You did?”
“Don’t you remember? I thought that was why you hadn’t called, because you were still angry with me for trying to talk you out of the trip.”
Now wasn’t the time to mention her loss of memory. “Well, things worked out. And I got married to Trent.”
“You what?” He swore under his breath. “But I’ve never heard you mention him. Nikki, is this some kind of joke? You could give me a heart attack—”
“It’s no joke, Dad. I’m really married.” At least, that’s what everyone tells me. She heard his swift intake of breath. “It...it was a quick decision,” she said, giving him the same spotty information she’d gleaned from Trent.
“To a guy named Trent McKenzie. A man I’ve never even heard of?” Here it comes—the lecture, she thought. “Holy Mary! I can’t believe it. What about Dave?”
“Dave?” A lock clicked open her mind.
“Dave Neumann. You know, the man you’ve been dating for about three years. I know you two had a spat and that you said it was over, but hell, Nikki, that was barely six months ago. Now you’ve gone and eloped with this...this stranger?” Anger, disapproval and astonishment radiated over the phone. “I know you’ve always been impulsive, but I gotta tell you, this takes the cake!”
“You’ll meet him as soon as we get home,” Nikki assured her father, though her stomach was tying itself into painful little knots.
“I’d damned well better. You know, Nikki, for the first eighteen years of your life I got you out of scrape after scrape—either with the law or school or your friends or whatever—but ever since you turned into an adult, you’ve been on this independence kick and nothing I tell you seems to sink in. I warned you not to go to Salvaje, didn’t I? I knew that it would be trouble. Maybe if you’d told me you were going on your honeymoon, or at the very least confided that you’d found a man you were going to marry, things would have turned out differently and you wouldn’t have ended up in some run-down, two-bit hospital!”
She felt her back stiffen involuntarily. “How would your knowing change anything?”
“Hell, I don’t know. But you’ve gotten so damned bullheaded and secretive! Lord, why would you try to hide the fact that you were getting married, unless you were ashamed of the guy?”
“It...it just seemed more romantic,” she said, trying to come up with a plausible excuse.
“Romantic, my eye. Since when have you, the investigative reporter, the champion of the underdog, the girl who fought every damned liberal crusade, been romantic? Don’t tell me he’s one of those long-haired left-wing idiots who chains himself to nuclear reactors or sets spikes in old-growth timber to keep loggers from cutting the stuff.”
“I don’t think so, Dad,” Nikki said, smiling to herself as she watched Trent lean against the railing, his broad shoulders straining the seams of his jacket. She couldn’t imagine him in a protest march.
“Good.” He sounded a little less wounded, as if the news had finally sunk in. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t bring up his name or have the guts to introduce me to him.”
“It’s...it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything when I get back.”
There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, then a quiet swearword muttered under her father’s breath. “There isn’t something more I should know, is there?”
She felt sweat collect between her shoulder blades.
“I mean, if there was a...problem...you’d come to me, wouldn’t you?”
She bit down on her lip. What was he saying?
“If you’re in any kind of trouble...”
Oh, Dad, if you only knew.
“These days you don’t have to get married. There are all sorts of options....” His voice trailed off, and she realized what he was implying.
“I’m not pregnant, Dad.”
A sigh of relief escaped him. “Well, I guess we can thank God for small favors.”
“I’ll call when I get home.”
“You’d better. Now, wait a minute. Let me get my calendar. Where is the damned thing?” he asked himself, his voice suddenly muffled. “Okay, here we go. So when will you be back home? I’m supposed to take off for Tokyo next week.”
“We’ll be back as soon as we can catch a flight. There’s a problem with the airline we flew on.”
“I read about it. But there are other flights. Try and make it home before I leave.”
“I will,” she promised. They talked a few minutes more and she finally hung up feeling more desperate than ever. She had wanted to confide in her father, tell him that she wasn’t sure of her past, couldn’t remember the man who’d become her self-appointed guardian—her husband for God’s sake—and yet she’d held her tongue. She was an adult now and responsible for herself, and she realized that the animosity she’d felt over the phone only scratched the surface of the rifts in her family.
Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bed and made her way to the veranda. The breeze, warm and smelling of the sea, lifted her hair and brushed against her bruised face. Thick vines crawled up the whitewashed walls of the hotel and fragrant blossoms moved with the wind. Poised on a hillside, the hotel offered a commanding view of the island. From the veranda, Nikki looked over red roofs and lush foliage toward the bay. Fishing vessels and pleasure craft dotted the horizon, and as she cast a glance northward, she saw the sharp cliffs rising from the ocean, the rugged terrain that wound upward to the highest point on Salvaje and the crumbling white walls of the mission tower.
Her heart seemed to stop for a minute and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Fear, like a black, faceless monster, curled her soul in its clawlike grasp, and suddenly she could barely breathe. She held on to the rail in a death grip and her knees threatened to buckle.
Trent had slid a pair of aviator glasses over his eyes and his expression was guarded. “Memory flash?” he asked, his jaw tense.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“Your father shake you up?”
She snorted and blinked against a sudden wash of tears. “A little. He’s not too keen on the fact that he didn’t meet you.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I wonder,” she said. Leaning forward on her elbows, she ignored the cliffs and forced her gaze to the sea, where sunlight glittered against the smooth waves.
“Look. I know you don’t remember me or trust me. That’s all right. I can be incredibly patient when I have to be.” That much she believed. Like a tiger stalking prey, Trent McKenzie knew when to wait and when to strike. That particular thought wasn’t the least bit comforting. His lips grew into a deep line. “But I want you to know that I’ll keep you safe.”
She wanted to believe him. Oh, God, if only she could trust him, but she remembered the girl in the hospital, Mrs. Martínez’s friend, and once again she doubted him. Her gaze flew to his and she trembled slightly. “I think I was the kind of person who took care of herself.”
A cynical smile slashed his jaw. “Then I’ll help.”
Her heart cracked a little, and she noticed the handsome lines of his face disguised by the scruffy beard and dark glasses. It would be too easy to fall for him, to trust him because she didn’t have much of a choice. But she was still her own woman, and though she’d grown to depend on him, she had to trust her own instincts, make up her own mind. “My father mentioned that I was going to Salvaje. I’d told him. But I hadn’t mentioned you.”
“Your choice.”
“Why wouldn’t I tell him?”
“Because you were afraid he might try and talk you out of it,” Trent said simply, turning his face to the horizon again. “You and your dad don’t always get along, Nikki, and he didn’t like you taking off to some small island so far from what he considers civilization.”
“So I snuck behind his back?” she asked, disbelieving.
“You just didn’t mention me.”
“Why not?”
He snorted and his eyes turned frigid as he assessed her. “Because you were afraid he wouldn’t approve of me.” He leaned an insolent hip against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest. “From what little I know of your old man, you were probably right. Ted Carrothers would probably hate me on sight.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he had someone else picked out for you.”
“Dave,” she said, without thinking.
“That’s right.” The corners of his mouth pinched in irritation and he shoved his sleeves over his elbows. “Remember him?” She shook her head, and he grinned that wicked smile. “Well, he was a real Joe College type. Big, blond, shoes always polished. Went to Washington State on a football scholarship and graduated at the top of his class. Ended up going to law school and joined a firm that specializes in corporate taxes. Drives a BMW and works out at the most prestigious athletic club in the city.”
“This was a guy I dated?”
“The guy you planned to marry,” he corrected.
“You know him?”
“I know of him.”
Was it her imagination or did he flinch a little?
“How?”
“I checked him out,” he said with more than a trace of irritation.
“When?”
“Before we left Seattle.”
She wanted to argue with him, but there was something in his cocksure manner that convinced her he had his facts straight, that she had, indeed, been the fiancée of the man he described. “I assume you know why we broke up?”
He lifted a shoulder. “He was too conventional for you. Your dad loved him. Even your mother thought he was a great catch, but he wanted you to give up your career and concentrate on his. You weren’t ready for that.”
“Thank God,” she whispered, then, realizing how that sounded, quickly shut her mouth. But it was too late. Trent’s eyes gleamed devilishly, and Nikki was left with the distinct impression that he’d been conning her.
She plucked a purple bloom from the bougainvillea and twirled the blossom in her fingers. Could she trust Trent? Probably not. Was he lying to her? No doubt. But what choice did she have?
He slapped the peeling wrought iron as if he’d finally made an important decision. “I’ve got to go out for a while. Check things at the airport. You want to come?”
She shook her head. “I’d like to clean up, I think.”
“Just keep the door locked behind me.”
“Afraid I might run off?” she asked, unable to hide the sarcasm in her words.
He glanced at her still-swollen ankle. “Run off? No. But hobble off—well, maybe. Though even at that I don’t think you’d get far. Besides, there’s really nowhere to run on this island.”
Her temperature dropped several degrees at the realization that she was trapped. Her mouth suddenly turned to dust.
Trent cocked his head toward the French doors. “Come on, I’ll help you into the bathroom.”
“I can manage,” she said stiffly, and to prove her point, she stepped unevenly off the veranda, walked into the bathroom and locked the door firmly behind her. Wasting no time, she turned on the taps of the tub and began stripping. As steam began to rise from the warm water, she glanced in the mirror, scowled at her reflection and noticed the greenish tinge to the bruises on her rump and back. The scabs were working themselves off, but beneath her skin, blood had pooled at the bottom of her foot and ankle. “Miss America you’re not, Carrothers,” she told herself, then stopped when she realized her name was now Mc-Kenzie.
“Nikki McKenzie. Nicole McKenzie. Nicole Louise Carrothers McKenzie.” The name just didn’t roll easily off her tongue. She settled into the tub and let the warm water soothe her aching muscles. As best she could, she washed her hair and body, then let the water turn tepid before she climbed out of the tub and rubbed a towel carefully over her skin and hair.
Wrapping the thick terry cloth around her torso, she walked into the bedroom, but stopped short when she found Trent lying on his side of the bed, boots kicked off, ankles crossed, eyes trained on the door.
His eyelids were at half-mast and his gaze was more than interested as it climbed from her feet, past her knees, up her front and finally rested on her face.
“I—I thought you’d left,” she sputtered, clasping the towel as tightly as if she were a virgin with a stranger.
“I decided to wait.”
“Why?”
“It didn’t make sense to leave you alone in the bathroom where you could slip and hit your head, or worse.”
“I’m not an invalid!”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“And I don’t need a keeper.”
He let that one slide. “I just wanted to be handy in case you got into any trouble.”
“The only trouble I’ve gotten into is you,” she said, willing her feet to propel her toward the bureau where she snatched clean panties, bra, shorts and T-shirt from one of the drawers. It crossed her mind that he’d unpacked her clothes, touched her most intimate pieces of apparel, but she ignored the stain of embarrassment that crawled steadily up her neck. After all, if she could believe him, they’d been intimate—made love eagerly. So who cared about the damned underwear?
She started for the bathroom. “Don’t leave on my account,” he remarked, and when she turned to face him, her wet hair whipping across her face, she saw a glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes, as if he enjoyed her discomfiture.
“You mean I should just let the towel fall and dress at my leisure?”
“Great idea.” He stacked his hands behind his head and watched her. Waiting. Like a lion waits patiently for the gazelle to ignore the warning in the air and begin grazing peacefully again.
Just to wipe the smirk off his face she wanted to let go of the damned towel, stand in front of him stark naked and call his bluff. Would he continue to tease her, playing word games, or would he avert his eyes, or, worse yet, would he, as he’d implied earlier, be unable to control himself and sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed? How would she respond? With heart-melting passion? Oh, for crying out loud!
She turned on her heel and with as much pride as her injuries would allow, marched rigidly into the bathroom.
“Don’t forget the antiseptic cream,” he ordered as she slammed the door shut. Wrinkling her nose, she mimicked him in the mirror, trying to look beyond her skinned face and scabs. Some of the smaller scrapes were beginning to heal and her eye wasn’t as discolored as it had been. “And stay inside,” he ordered from the other side of the door. “The doctor warned you about getting too much sun.”
“Yes, master,” she muttered under her breath. Her teeth ground together as she thought of him barking orders at her. It seemed as if all her life someone was continually ordering her around. Her parents, her older sisters, her teachers, her editor at the paper, and now Trent.... She froze, her heart hammering wildly. She remembered! Nothing solid, but teasing bits of memory that were jagged and rough had pierced the clouds in her mind. Little pieces of her personality seemed to be shaping. Suddenly she was certain that she’d always been stubborn, resented being the smallest sister, the youngest woman on the staff of the Observer!
She’d also resented the fact that her work had been looked upon with a wary eye, just because she was young and sometimes because she was a woman. She’d had pride in her work, a great passion for journalism and an incredible frustration at not being taken seriously.
She wanted to share the news with Trent, to tell him that it was truly happening, her memory was coming back, but she held her tongue. She still didn’t remember anything about him, about her trip to Salvaje, about the reasons she married him.
And what if she suddenly remembered that it had been he who had been chasing her, he who had pushed her over the cliff? She couldn’t really believe that he’d want to hurt her, as he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so since the accident, but there was something deep in her unconscious mind, something dark and demonlike and frightening, that warned her to tread softly with this man. If he were dangerous and her memory was the key to uncovering his deception, he might turn violent.
A shudder of fear ripped through her. Take it slow, Nikki, she told herself. You can’t trust him. Not yet. Until she had something more concrete, she’d keep her small discovery—that her memory was beginning to surface—to herself.
By the time she’d dressed, dried her hair and applied some salve to her face, he was gone, and she was grateful to be alone.
With the aid of her dictionary, she dialed room service and managed to order a pitcher of iced tea. She found some bills in her wallet and gave the waiter a healthy tip before locking the door behind him.
On the terrace, she poured herself some tea and looked through the pictures in her wallet again. There was one she’d missed earlier—a snapshot taken in the wilderness. A rushing river and steep mountains were the backdrop and two people were embracing before the camera. She recognized the woman as herself, but the man—blond and strapping with even features—wasn’t Trent. Dave, she mouthed, though she felt no trace of emotion as she touched his photograph with the tip of her finger. No love. No hate. No anger. As if he’d been erased from her mind and heart forever.
“What a mess,” she said, but decided not to dwell on her misfortune. She’d been feeling sorry for herself for nearly a week, but it was time to take charge of her life. She wasn’t laid up any longer. She could walk, though admittedly she wouldn’t win any races just yet, but she didn’t have to depend upon Trent or a bevy of doctors to take care of her. She was a grown woman, and, if everyone were to be believed, a strong-willed and independent person who could handle her own life. An investigative journalist, for crying out loud.
She should be able to figure out if Trent was who he claimed to be. She watched the lemon dance between the ice cubes in her glass and decided that it was time to find out if Trent was her husband or an impostor.

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