AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Fine. I’m fine,” she lied. Why would she and her father argue about the senator? Connie had mentioned that Nikki was interested in some scam the senator might be pulling, but why would her father care? Was her father or his business involved? Did he think she was trying to smear the name of a good man, or did he think the senator was dangerous and he feared for Nikki’s safety, or was there something else…something hidden much deeper in the recesses of her mind?
“When are you coming home?” Her father’s voice was filled with concern.
“Tomorrow—unless the flight is canceled.”
“We’ll talk then.”
“Dad! Wait!” Fortunately he hadn’t hung up. “I…I bumped my head in the accident,” she admitted, hoping the truth might elicit more information now that she so desperately needed it. “So I don’t remember everything.”
“You don’t remember? For crying out loud, what’s going on down there?”
“I’ve got a slight case of amnesia,” she admitted, as rain sheeted against the French doors and wind began to rattle the panes. “Some things slip my mind. Like Crowley.”
Her father swore long and hard under his breath. “I don’t know whether to be worried out of my skull or relieved,” he admitted, adding to her confusion, “but you get yourself on the first plane off that damned island and come home. I’ll call Tom and—”
“Tom?”
“Tom Robertson. Dr. Robertson. The physician you’ve seen all your life. Hell, Nikki, now you’ve really got me worried.”
“I remember you, Dad,” she said, to alleviate his fears.
“Thank God for that!” His voice choked a little. “And when I meet that husband of yours, let me tell you, there’s going to be hell to pay. I don’t know what he’s thinking, letting you—”
“Dad, I’ll be all right,” she said quickly. “Dr. Padillo thinks the amnesia is only temporary, and I’m already remembering a lot more than I did right after the fall. I’ll be okay.”
“Well, I don’t know Dr. Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is from Adam, but I don’t trust him. Could be a damned quack. You come home, Nicole. We’ll take care of you.”
She felt suddenly on the verge of tears. Here, at last, was her rock. “All right, Dad.”
“Damned straight!”
He hung up still muttering oaths at doctors who had gotten their medical degrees by mail or worse! Nikki knew there wasn’t any use in explaining that she had absolute faith in Dr. Padillo. The friendly physician seemed knowledgeable, competent and concerned, and if he’d only spoken more English, she would have been completely at ease with him. As it was, his prognosis had proved right on the money. Her wounds were healing according to his timetable and her memory was returning, in sharp little bits and pieces.
The only wild card so far was Trent. Her husband. The man who, with one cocky smile, could cause her heart to race out of control. The man to whom she’d given herself eagerly in the middle of a downpour.
Tomorrow she’d have answers. Once she went to the camera shop, she’d know if Trent had been with her before the accident. And what if he wasn’t? a nagging part of her mind questioned. What then? Will you be able to sleep with him? Will you confront him? What? Without any answers to those questions, she considered her trip home to Seattle. Surely the familiar scenery would jog her memory.
But what would she do about Senator Crowley, and why did she feel that he was part of the reason she’d chosen Salvaje as a spot for her vacation…her honeymoon?
Her father’s conversation echoed in her brain, names he’d spoken swimming in the murk that was her mind. Dr. Robertson. Senator Crowley. She remembered a slight man with wire-rimmed glasses, an easy, gap-toothed smile and huge nose. Because she pictured him in a white jacket, she assumed he was the doctor. As for Crowley, she had no image of the man. Senator Jim—no, James—Crowley. How had she met him? Why did she care? What was the story that she thought surrounded him? Her skin crawled as she considered the fact that somehow Trent might be involved with the man. Maybe that was why he claimed they were married. Head beginning to pound, she stared down at her wedding ring, a gold band that was too big for her finger, and the circle of gold seemed to mock her.
Yet she’d made love to him. Abandoned herself to him as if he were indeed the man she loved. She couldn’t help blushing when she remembered the intensity of his lovemaking and the wanton, wild way she’d responded, with no thought of the future. She’d lived for the moment, given herself wholly to the man, and now, lying on the bed she shared with him, she closed her eyes and knew, with gutwrenching certainty, she’d make love with him again.
It was only a matter of time.
* * *
She must’ve dozed. Groggy, still lying on the bed, she heard the door of the veranda rattle. She rolled over, trying to ignore the sound, but the noise was persistent. As she stretched, she climbed off the bed and noticed the darkness outside. The storm was still blowing hard and Trent had been gone for hours. A pang of worry caused her to bite her lip, but she rationalized that Trent was a man who could take care of himself, probably better than any man she’d ever met. Of course, she thought wryly, she couldn’t remember most of the men she had met. Her stomach growled and she wondered if she should order room service or wait for Trent.
The rattle sounded again. Rubbing the kinks from her neck, she walked to the glass doors and reached for the knob, when her hand paused in midair. She froze. The hairs on the back of her neck raised. Her throat gave out a strangled scream as she saw him. Someone. A figure on the veranda. The light from inside the room and the pelting rain distorted her view, but she knew very clearly that a man was on her veranda, a man with dark hair and wet jeans and a slick jacket.
His features were blurred. He was about Trent’s height and build, but… He vaulted the rail, his jacket billowing as he threw himself against the building, probably to climb down the vines.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she whispered half in prayer as she backed up, fumbling for the interior door, then suddenly stopping. What was to prevent him from going into the lobby and waiting for her? She ran across the room, checked the lock on the veranda doors and quickly threw the drapes closed. She checked the hall door, found it locked as well, and with trembling fingers dialed the main desk.
“I want to report a stranger lurking outside on my veranda, a Peeping Tom or something—”
“Señora, por favor—”
