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“Husband?” Nick muttered. “Whose husband? Cripes, my head hurts.”
“Take it easy, mister. Your wife is right here,” the leader of the rescue team assured.
Emily chafed impatiently when they insisted on taking her blood pressure and pulse before starting for the hospital. “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.” As the sirens wailed again she dropped her head back and took several long, deep, calming breaths. So much for a quiet summer weekend.
Ouch.
His first truly coherent thought was that every molecule in his body hurt. And the rocking and jolting beneath him didn’t help a bit.
After a while most of the rocking stopped and a pencil-thin beam of light stabbed into his eyes. “Damn,” he said aloud.
“Good, he’s conscious. Nick? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Nick? Who the hell was Nick, he wondered. Was it him? Somewhere in his pain-fogged head he remembered seeing a blue-eyed angel who was supposed to be his wife, but the details seemed too much to grasp. Angels didn’t get married, they sat on clouds playing harps. So maybe that meant he was dead.
“Nick,” the voice repeated, “do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, hoping they’d just be quiet.
“Good. We’re taking you in for some X rays,” the voice informed him. “I don’t think anything is broken, but I want to be sure.”
Hell.
They weren’t going to leave him alone. But apparently he wasn’t dead, though it might be a pleasant alternative to his present state. He endured another bit of jolting, then some idiot told him to hold still. Very funny. He wasn’t a masochist. He didn’t have any intention of moving…not for about a million years.
The lights flashing overhead hurt his eyes, so he closed them tightly. A warm fog slid around him, soothing the pain, blocking out the demanding voices and pushy hands. He wished the angel was back. Her voice had been soft and melodic. Much nicer than these sadists.
After a while he grew annoyed with the poking and prodding and quietly insistent demands from unfamiliar voices. But when he finally pried his eyes open he found the pain had settled to a dull throb.
A door opened in the background, then a white-coated woman leaned over him.
“Where am I?” he asked, his throat raspy.
“In the hospital. You should learn not to jump off the roof—it’s too hard on the body. You’re not exactly Superman, you know.”
“Very funny.” He glared at the doctor, who obviously had learned her bedside manner from the Marx brothers. “Who are you?”
“Hmm…I’m Dr. Wescott. You don’t recognize me?”
A vague alarm clamored through him. “Uh, well, not really. Should I?”
The attractive redhead tapped her fingers on her stethoscope. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked, instead of answering his question.
“Sure, I’m…” The room spun lazily while he fought a growing panic. “I’m…”
Nick.
Husband.
Wife.
They were just words out of the fog, with nothing solid to attach them to. “Uh…my wife, where’s my wife?” He stalled, fighting the mad rush of his heart. Surely he would remember in a minute. He’d remember his identity…his wife.
“You mean Emily?”
“Yeah…Emily.” He grasped at the name, though it didn’t seem any more familiar than Nick had sounded. “Where’s Emily?”
“Waiting outside. She’s been pretty worried about you.”
For some reason that comforted him. Things couldn’t be so bad if the angel was waiting, worried about him. Maybe when he saw her, he’d remember everything.
The doctor put down the side railing of the bed, then lifted his arm and touched the pulse point at his wrist. “We admitted you three hours ago, but you only completely lost consciousness for a couple of minutes right after the accident. That’s good. You’re going to be fine, aside from a few bruises and a mild concussion. I’ll order more tests, but nothing is broken,” she explained.
Nothing but my memory.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked again.
He sighed. “I think it’s Nick.”
“Good. Now what else do you remember?”
“I don’t even remember that,” he said dismally. “But I heard someone call me Nick.”
“That’s a start. Your name is Nick…Nicholas Carleton. Now, you asked about your wife…?”
His head throbbed worse as he pieced together the brief memories scattered in his brain. “I woke up and a woman was there—some guy said she was my wife. That’s all I know. But hell, at least I’ve got a family. That’s something to be grateful for, right?” Damn. He hated the edge in his voice, the need for reassurance.
“Yes.” The physician nodded. “Okay, let’s try some easy stuff. Do you know who’s president?”
He looked at her in disbelief. “President? I may have amnesia, but even I know that’s a little corny,” he said before answering.
The woman laughed. “I see your personality is intact. We’ll try something else. Do you know what planet you’ on?”
He snorted. “Unless I’ve been abducted by extremely clever aliens, I’m on earth.” Before she could ask anything else, he volunteered a series of impersonal facts. It was strange to realize he could remember who was president of the United States, and the number of innings in a standard baseball game, but couldn’t recall the most basic details of his life.
Dr. Wescott fiddled for another couple of minutes, checking his eyesight and reflexes and asking questions before giving him a reassuring smile. “You have amnesia, Nick. But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s only temporary. It’s not unusual to have some memory loss after a blow to the head.”
Temporary amnesia? He swallowed. Yeah, that sounded possible. He hoped. “Is Emily…can I see her now?”
She patted his shoulder. “Of course, it’ll just be a minute. I need to explain what’s happened.” She walked to the door, and he caught a brief glimpse of the angel on the other side before the door closed again. Not much of a glimpse—just enough to see a pair of slim legs, topped by a trim rear end.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
There were some muffled exclamations from the hall and he stared up at the ceiling, envisioning the conversation going on between the doctor and “Emily.” What a shock to learn your husband doesn’t remember you— it would probably be as hard for her as it was for him. The animated discussion went on for some time, but he only caught a few stray words before it ended abruptly.
When the door opened again he swallowed. A second later his eyes opened wide and he grinned with delight.
Wow!
Emily was pure dynamite, with the eyes of an angel and a body that could send him to heaven. Gold hair hung almost to her waist and she wore skimpy shorts and a close-fitting knit top. His gaze settled on her waist. While she was petite otherwise, her tummy was definitely rounded.
A baby? He felt a surge of possessive pride, though his memory remained as blank as before.
“Hi,” he said happily, certain there were worse ways to wake up with amnesia.
“Er…Dr. Wescott told me you…uh…can’t…”
At the uneasiness in her face he winced. This whole thing was terrible timing. Pregnant women should be treated gently, they didn’t need nasty shocks like hearing their husband had amnesia. No matter how shaky things were for him, he wanted to reassure her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. But the doctor says it’s only temporary.” He held out his hand. “Come and give me a kiss. It’ll probably come right back.”
Emily jumped visibly. “Uh…Nick, are you sure you’ not…well…just kidding around?”
He froze. “What?”
“Well, you do like a good joke.”
For an instant he felt a flash of dislike for his former self. If his wife thought he’d play a practical joke at such a crucial time for her, then he must have been a jerk. “I’m not kidding,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine doing anything so horrible when you’ pregnant.”
Emily hesitated, stroking her palm over her stomach in a restless gesture that spoke volumes. She probably did that a lot when she was anxious or unhappy, trying to reassure herself that the baby was all right. A soft warmth invaded his heart.
“I mean it. Please kiss me,” he whispered.
She edged toward him, obviously nervous. “Nick, you aren’t yourself. We should wait till you feel better.”
At the moment he felt fine. In fact, he felt like beating on his chest and yelling like Tarzan. Whatever faults his unremembered self suffered from, poor taste in women wasn’t one of them. “I just want a kiss,” he chided gently. “I didn’t ask you to make love to me.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. “I know, I just thought…” She shrugged diffidently.
A stab of frustration turned the corner of his mouth down. He needed Emily to be herself, not so quiet and uneasy. Or was it him? Was he a good husband, or was he terrible? Looking at her, he could well imagine they spent plenty of time in bed, but after that there was a lot of open territory.
Jeez.
He stirred restlessly, kicking at the blanket over his legs, then changed his mind; he didn’t have to advertise his physical response to Emily, even if she was his wife. And she’d certainly notice…hospital garments didn’t offer much camouflage. He’d have to get something else to wear if he hoped to have some privacy.
“Come here, Angel,” he murmured.
Emily stepped to the edge of the bed. Close up she looked even better than across the room. Naturally dark lashes fringed her clear blue eyes, and her skin was smooth and only lightly touched by the sun. The hair he’d thought was gold was more than that—a shimmering array of darks and lights; gold and fiery glints of chestnut. He could already imagine how it would feel, fragrant and cool, sliding against them…between them.
It was rather exciting, the thought of rediscovering lost sensations. Of rediscovering his life. If he didn’t remember, it wouldn’t be so bad. Everything would be new. Different.
No.
Alarm jolted through him, even worse than when he’d first realized he didn’t remember his own name. He was rationalizing, trying to find a good reason not to panic at the thought of never regaining his memory.
Nick.
My name is Nick, he mouthed silently. And this was his wife, Emily. He had a home and family. A baby was on the way. In an hour…or maybe a few days, he’d get things straight in his head and then everything would be fine. It had to be.
“Are you all right?” he asked. The expression in her big, worried eyes troubled him. “Everything’s okay with the baby, isn’t it? I know this has been a shock.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured him quickly. “My obstetrician is out of town, but Paige…Dr. Wescott gave me a complete examination. I may be little, but I’m tough.”
Tough? He fought a ridiculous impulse to smile. “Angel, you look about as tough as a rose petal.”
The tip of her tongue flicked over her lips. “Er…you always call me Emily. I don’t have any nicknames.”
“I like ‘Angel,’ don’t you? It fits. You look like an angel, all pink and gold. You’ so beautiful.”
“Oh.” A look of surprised pleasure erased the worry in her face, yet it increased his own uneasiness. Emily didn’t seem accustomed to receiving compliments from him, which meant he must have been blind or insensitive—or both—before the accident. “That’s nice…I mean, thank you,” she said softly.
He caught her wrist and threaded their fingers together. For the first time he realized there were hard calluses on his hands, which contrasted with the softness of her skin. The small discovery pleased him for some reason.
“What do I do?” he asked. “For a living?”
“You’ a civil engineer.”
Hmm. It sounded interesting. “Roads, bridges, dams? That kind of thing?”
“Yes. You’ out of town a lot, but you’ on vacation right now,” she explained.
That was a relief. At least he wouldn’t have to start evaluating stress tests or any other formula in the im” mediate future. Stress tests? He thought for a moment and realized there was a lot of highly technical knowledge jumbled in his head. But why was his personal life eluding him?
He pulled on Emily’s hand, drawing his reluctant wife closer. He had to get his memory back, and if kissing this luscious bundle of femininity would help…Well, it was all for the cause.
Emily looked at Nick, and her toes curled. She’d never seen that particular expression on his face before… a kind of sensual appraisal. For her. Awareness flooded her body with startling speed.
Nick thought they were married. Really married—not the convenient sort of marriage it actually was. And the doctor said she couldn’t tell him, not when the truth was so complicated. It would be too traumatic, especially since he’d heard the medics from the ambulance talking about his wife. For the time being she’d have to pretend they were the perfect, loving couple.
“Come here, Angel,” he murmured again, smiling wickedly.
Emily resisted for just a moment. A part of her still believed Nick was playing some sort of elaborate joke and he’d start laughing the minute she came close to kissing him. Marriage or not, they were buddies, not lovers. All her life he’d been like another brother, teasing her in one breath, then tackling the neighborhood bully for calling her a bad name in the next.
Friends.
But there was nothing friendly in the sexy way he kept looking at her…like an ice cream treat on a hot day. With her free hand Emily tugged surreptitiously at her T-shirt, suddenly wishing it was bigger, or that she was wearing some safe, roomy maternity blouse. What was wrong with her? Nick had seen her in a lot less over the years. He’d even seen her in the raw when she was ten— the result of a prank by her obnoxious practical-joke-playing eldest brother.
“Nick,” she protested as he drew her down on the hospital bed. “I really don’t think this is the… ah…place.”
Nick. It sounded a little better now, he decided. He could get used to being called Nick, especially with that breathless way she had of talking. Lifting his arm, he traced the delicate lines of her face, trying to absorb everything as rapidly as possible. Tactile sensations. Physical response. Anything to get his memory back.
Emily’s skin was soft…he knew that. Like the finest silk. And her lips were moist and velvety. He’d bet they tasted every bit as good as they looked. She had a faintly stubborn line to her jaw, which contrasted adorably with her angelic sweetness.
This was awful.
He couldn’t remember being in love with his wife, but he’d immediately fallen into lust. His finger trailed down her throat to the first swell of her breasts, but he hesitated when she trembled.
No, maybe he shouldn’t touch her so intimately. Frustration edged along his nerves. Why couldn’t he remember? For heaven’s sake, he felt guilty for touching his own wife. He’d become a stranger. To her. To himself. He didn’t know the right touches, the right words, he didn’t even know if he was a total, unfeeling, rotten jerk.
