A Husband To Remember

“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?”