The Amnesiac Bride
“What is it about us, Zane?” Wbitney looked at bim accusingly. “What is it about us that doesn’t add up?
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Marie Ferrarella
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Copyright
“What is it about us, Zane?”Wbitney looked at bim accusingly. “What is it about us that doesn’t add up?
“You kiss me in public, make it look like we’re two people in love, and yet, when you’re alone with me, when you could do something about it, you don’t. You say all the right words, but your actions make a liar out of you.
“It’s been two days since I woke up, Zane. And in that time, all I’ve learned is that I want you and you don’t want me.”
“That’s not true. I want you. God help me, I want you more than I want to breathe.” He shook his head. It was as if the words had erupted before he could hold them back. “You’re messing with my head, Whitney. I can’t think straight.”
She almost believed him. Almost. “That makes two of us....” she murmured.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to another month of great reading here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Favorite author Marie Ferrarella gets things off to a rousing start with The Amnesiac Bride. Imagine waking up in a beautiful bridal suite, a ring on your finger and a gorgeous guy by your side—and no memory at all of who he is or how you got there! That’s Whitney Bradshaw’s dilemma in a nutshell, and wait ’til you see where things go from there.
Maggie Shayne brings you the next installment in her exciting miniseries, THE TEXAS BRAND, with The Baddest Virgin in Texas. If ever a title said it all, that’s the one. I guarantee you’re going to love this book. Nikki Benjamin’s Daddy by Default is a lesson in what can happen when you hang on to a secret from your past. Luckily, what happeris in this case ends up being very, very good. Beverly Bird begins a new miniseries, THE WEDDING RING, with Loving Mariah. It takes a missing child to bring Adam Wallace and Mariah Fisher together, but nothing will tear them apart. Kate Hathaway’s back with Bad For Each Other, a secret-baby story that’s chock-full of emotion. And finally, welcome new author Stephanie Doyle, whose Undiscovered Hero will have you eagerly turning the pages.
This month and every month, if you’re looking for romantic reading at its best, come to Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Enjoy!
Leslie Winger
Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator
* * *
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* * *
MARIE FERRARELLA
THE AMNESIAC BRIDE
Books by Marie Ferrarella
Silhouette Intimate Moments
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*Christmas Every Day #S38
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The Amnesiac Bride #787
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Brooding Angel #963
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Christmas Bride #1069
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Borrowed Baby #730
Her Special Angel #744
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The Taming of the Teen #839
Father Goose #869
Bables on His Mind #920
The Right Man #932
In Her Own Backyard #947
Her Man Friday #939
Aunt Connie’s Wedding #984
†Caution: Baby Ahead #1007
†Mother on the Wing #1026
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‡Do You Take This Child? #1145
The Man Who Would Be Daddy #1175
Your Baby or Mine? #1216
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Silhouette Christmas Stories 1992
“The Night Santa Claus Returned”
Books by Marie Ferrarella writing as Marie Nicole
Silhouette Desire
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Buyer Beware #142
Through Laughter and Tears #161
Grand Theft: Heart #182
A Woman of Integrity #197
Country Blue #224
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Foxy Lady #315
Chocolate Dreams #346
No Laughing Matter #382
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MARIE FERRARELLA lives in Southern California. She describes herself as the tired mother of two overenergetic children and the contented wife of one wonderful man. This RITA Award-winning author is thrilled to be following her dream of writing full-time.
To
all the readers of
romantic fiction,
with love,
for making wonderful things
happen.
Chapter 1
She opened her eyes and slowly became aware of a void. A huge, shimmering, all-consuming void that threatened to swallow her up whole and send her tumbling, head over heels, into a gaping abyss that had no end.
The void wasn’t outside her, it was within. She was the void.
She blinked, attempting not so much to clear her mind but to summon an image, any image, to it.
Nothing.
There was nothing.
With furtive movements, she focused on various items in the large, sun-splashed bedroom, searching. Desperately hoping to see something that would trigger a reaction, a thought. Panic engulfed her.
There wasn’t a single familiar thing in it. Not the flower arrangements that seemed to litter every flat surface in the room, not the room itself, or even the half-naked man lying beside her.
The sudden realization that she wasn’t alone made her bolt upright in bed, her body rigidly alert. The gasp that rose in her throat was stifled by a will that wasn’t quite her own. Instinct, for lack of a better word, seemed to be taking hold. She allowed it to govern her. It was all she had.
Lips pressed together, sh
e stared at the sleeping man. Again there was nothing. He triggered no memories. How was that possible? How could she not remember who this man lying in bed next to her was?
At that moment, a horrible realization encompassed her. She didn’t know who she was.
She didn’t know her own name.
There was no name to grasp, no murky syllables to try to piece together into a whole. There was nothing. Only the void. And this room, this man.
She was more stunned than afraid. Real fear hadn’t had time to register yet. It hovered just on the rim, waiting to embrace her with its icy arms.
Who was he? And why was he sleeping on top of the covers instead of beneath them?
Quickly, she leaned forward to look at him more carefully before he woke up and perhaps asked questions of his own. Questions she couldn’t answer.
He was wearing faded jeans that, even in sleep, adhered to him like a second skin. The snap was open just below his navel, resting against a taut, flat stomach. He looked to be tall and he was lean and well muscled. There was a definition to his biceps that even his relaxed state couldn’t erase. They matched the sharp contours of his face, what she could see of it. One arm was thrown back against his forehead, obscuring a clear view. His hair was dark, almost black, and appeared to extend down to his shoulders in this pose.
He was a complete stranger.
Smothering a frustrated, uneasy sigh, she eased her legs out from beneath the covers. Still watching his face, she rose. He didn’t move.
But the room did. It tilted abruptly as a searing pain speared her temple. Caught off guard, she almost crumpled to the floor. She grasped for the bedpost. Snagging it like a pop fly, she wrapped her fingers around the wood and steadied herself. The room righted again. Within a moment, her knees felt stronger.
Afraid she’d woken him, she looked quickly at the man on the bed. He was still asleep. Relief trickled through her veins. She didn’t want to deal with the man yet. Not until she had some sort of handle on all this.
Some sort of name to attach to herself.
Cautiously, she moved toward the mirrored closet. The reflection looking back at her was that of another stranger. A stranger with wide, lost blue eyes and long blond hair that fell razor straight against her bare shoulders. The ends flirted with the edge of a turquoise nightgown that was short on material and long on dreams. The woman in the mirror was almost hauntingly pretty. She didn’t remember being pretty.
For a moment, she could only stare at the reflection, wondering who the woman was. Wondering how she got here, to this state.
A breeze from the partially opened window ruffled the gauzy material. It fluttered and moved about her. She felt cold. There had to be a robe around somewhere.
With hands she fought to keep from shaking, she slowly opened the closet door. Maybe she could find a robe inside.
Her hand tightened on the door.
There was a robe in there, all right. It was hanging beside a wedding gown. Not a dress, but a gown in the full sense of the word. An exquisite gown with appliqué and beading that suggested the outrageously huge price tag that had once been attached to it. A few grains of rice were on the carpet just below the hem.
A sense of awe fluttered through her as she reached out to touch the gown. Was it hers?
She looked over her shoulder toward the bed. And did he go with it?
Her heart began to hammer wildly as the full impact of the situation took root.
She pulled the white robe from its hanger and quickly put it on. Just as quickly, she searched each pocket, hoping for a clue. Her fingers curled around something glossy in the left pocket.
She was conscious of holding her breath as she pulled her hand out.
It was a photograph, a Polaroid taken of her and the man in the bed. Except that he didn’t have jeans.on. He was wearing a tuxedo. The kind men wore when they married women in gowns with high price tags. Gowns like the one she was wearing in the photograph.
Panic began to nibble away at her. If she knew all that, if she knew about gowns and tuxedos and Polaroid photographs, the question echoed in her lonely brain, why didn’t she know who she was? And why couldn’t she remember posing for this picture?
Tears began to moisten her lashes as she stared down at the photograph in her hand.
“Hey, you’re up.”
The unexpected greeting startled her. She swung around toward the source, something defensive snapping into place and galvanizing her spine. It was all automatic, done without conscious thought.
Something told her she didn’t trust strangers and despite the photograph in her hands, he was a stranger. At least for now.
“Looks that way,” she replied guardedly.
Zane Russell pulled his body upright on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He had sat up most of the night, watching her, because he’d been concerned. It had been a hell of a night.
Body aching, he rotated his shoulders, stretching them subtly, like a tiger waking from a half sleep. How had it gotten to be morning so soon?
Making the best of it, he dragged one hand through his hair, then rubbed it across his face, brushing sleep aside. He could snap into action at a moment’s notice but enjoyed the luxury of not having to do that now. He could relax around Whitney the way he couldn’t afford to around too many people.
He glanced toward her now. Was it his imagination, or was she looking at him oddly? She’d certainly had him worried for a while there, but it looked as if everything was all right.
The itch at the back of his neck warned him that maybe he was being too optimistic too soon. It wasn’t something he was in the habit of doing very often.
Zane looked at her again. Her expression puzzled him. Her body language only compounded it. She seemed tense, like a diver on the edge of the board before a major dive. A diver who wasn’t sure the pool had been filled with water.
“How do you feel?”
When he rose and moved toward her, she took a step back, her eyes on his face. It wasn’t a face that a woman would easily forget. Yet she had. Completely. Why? What had happened to her?
The words in response to his question came out slowly, rolling toward him one at a time. “How am I supposed to feel?”
Zane’s brows almost touched as they drew together. She was being unusually cagey this morning. And it wasn’t his imagination. She was looking at him oddly. What was going on?
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You tell me.” How had this turned into a debate? And was she trying to maintain a distance between them?
Subconsciously testing his theory, he reached out for her arm. Whitney backed away. The look on her face said she didn’t know if he was going to touch her or strike her. What the hell was wrong with her? He thought of last night. Maybe they weren’t out of the woods yet.
His eyes daring her to move, he took another step toward her. “That was a pretty nasty bump you got last night.”
“Bump?”
She echoed the word, letting it play across her mind. It meant nothing to her, brought back no scene, no sensation. She held perfectly still, afraid to breathe, as his tentative fingers felt around her forehead. Only when the man brushed against the bump did she wince and pull her head back.
Zane dropped his hand to his side, staring at her. The swelling had gone down, just as the doctor had told them it would. Everything was supposed to be all right now.
“Yeah, bump.” He studied her face. “The one you got—hey, what’s with you this morning, Half-Whit?”
He’d once seen a look that had passed through .a child’s eyes as she tried to grasp the string of a balloon that the wind had ripped from her hands, only to miss. Whitney had that same look in her eyes now. His uneasiness grew.
“What?” he pressed.
Disappointment filled the void, choking her, then disappeared without a trace. She was empty again.
She shook her head. She could almost hear it rattling. “Nothing. Only for a minute, I thought th
at sounded familiar.”
What the hell was she talking about? “Of course it sounded familiar. I’ve been calling you that for...”
His voice trailed off as he took a closer look at her. Impatience dropped from him like a snake’s outer skin. She didn’t look like herself at all. The jaunty, devil-may-care confidence was gone. And he couldn’t put a name to what was in its place. He only knew he didn’t like what he saw.
Something in his gut turned over.
Zane took hold of her shoulders. She was trembling. It wasn’t cold in the room. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing except a tiny spark of fear. The woman he knew was gone.
His voice was low and deadly calm as he asked, “What’s the matter?”
Somehow it seemed cowardly to admit it. She had a vague feeling that she wasn’t a coward. That made her feel a little better, though why it should, she couldn’t say. She couldn’t say a lot of things.
She had the oddest feeling that she had leaped into this body from nowhere. Leaped into it like...like that scientist in the TV show.
Hysteria bubbled and receded, held back by a steely lid she clamped down on it My God, she had no idea who she was, or where she was, and yet she remembered a TV program. It made no sense.
Nothing made any sense.
She raised her eyes to the man in front of her. Could she trust him? Trust was important to her. She knew that, too. And knew that she had no other choice. She had to trust him. She had to let someone into this solitary world she found herself in.
Hesitating, she wet her lips and took a chance. “I don’t know who I am.”
“What?” Zane released her and backed away, shaking his head.
Whatever she thought his reaction would be, annoyance hadn’t headed the list. But he obviously was annoyed. Very annoyed.
“This is a hell of a time to try to spring a practical joke.”
She grasped at the straw he’d unintentionally offered her. “Do I do that? Do I play practical jokes?”