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  “Oh, sure,” the doctor replied with a casualness that had her widening her eyes. “I had a few after the war. Then there was old George Hayden,” he chuckled. “Remember him, Gertie?”

  She nodded her head and chuckled right along with the doc.

  “He fell head first out of a tractor and woke up thinking he was a bronco rider. But he got his memory back after a few weeks. Most of them do.”

  “But not all?”

  “Don’t fuss, honey.” Dr. Greenfield patted her hand. “Time is the best healer. Time, bed rest, good food, and fresh air. He can’t do better than stay right here.”

  “But he’s part of that motorcycle gang. Shouldn’t they be looking after him?”

  “Are you going to waltz on down there and return him? Explain how he fell on the straight road outside your property and now he doesn’t know who he is?” The doctor’s faded blue eyes shifted from her to Gertie and back again. He hadn’t asked for the particulars of the accident, but it was obvious he had some suspicions.

  Nell chewed her lip, knowing she couldn’t send the injured man to a bunch of bikers for TLC. Not when she knew how he’d been hurt. She shook her head.

  “My guess is, he’ll be up and around in a few days and anxious to be on his way.”

  There was one item that rankled. “But he thinks I’m his girlfriend.”

  The old man nodded, a twinkle lurking. “Best to let him go on thinking it. Like we did with old George and the rodeo. For some reason, you’re familiar to him. It’s something for his mind to hang on to while it’s healing.”

  “But … but…” She was familiar to the biker because he’d woken with the assumption they were getting their rocks off out among the string beans when all she’d been doing was saving his miserable life.

  “You don’t have to worry about somebody else getting jealous do you?”

  “That’s not the point.” But it was. In fact, that was why she was here in the first place. After breaking up with Peter, she’d pulled the plug on her old lifestyle, quitting her job and getting right out of Los Angeles. She’d run home to Gertie to lick her wounds and plan her future. She needed a calm, quiet routine. A chance to think about her life and what she wanted to do next. Having an amnesiac criminal in the house didn’t seem all that conducive to peace and quiet.

  She sighed and sipped coffee. But what, really, were her options? She and Gertie couldn’t afford hospital treatment and the doctor was right. They couldn’t simply dump the guy back in the arms of his gang members without an explanation.

  A dull headache throbbed behind her eyeballs. “All right,” she said. “But if he starts pawing me he’ll be dead again, real quick.”

  * * *

  He woke with a groan, certain the jackhammer in his head had hauled him from sleep. Instinctively, he tried to put a hand to his head and then winced again at the pain in his arm. What the hell?

  Slowly it came back to him. Not that there was a lot of it to come back. He recalled this room, the green-eyed hottie, and that he’d been tormented by nightmares, none of which made a damn bit of sense. The part that he hadn’t dreamt was the fact that he didn’t know who, what, or where he was, which frustrated him as much as his pounding head and aching body.

  Then his sexy angel entered the room carrying a tray of things that smelled good and his day perked up. At least she was real, a connection to the identity and past that eluded him.

  “Good morning,” she said with a searching look.

  He answered the unspoken question at once. “I can’t even remember my own name.”

  She smiled lightly, but the furrow didn’t disappear from between her eyes. “It’s Wes.”

  “Wes.” He digested that, rolled it around and decided it felt right. “And you’re…?”

  For some reason she looked as though she didn’t want to tell him. Since his only memories were of the feel of her body pressed intimately against his and the taste of her on his tongue, he found her hesitation amusing. “Did we have a fight or something?”

  “No. We didn’t fight. My name’s Nell. I was hoping you’d have your memory back this morning.”

  “You and me both.” He couldn’t rid himself of the notion that there was something important he needed to do. Something urgent, but what it was, he hadn’t a clue.

  He hauled himself up to sitting, trying not to cry like a baby as aches and pains stabbed him, and she settled the fragrant tray over his lap. Steaming coffee, a pitcher of cream, a sugar pot, a glass of orange juice so pulpy it had to be fresh squeezed, and a bowl of oatmeal.

  Oatmeal? Beside that was a small plate with a couple of white pills. He took a life-restoring slug of coffee and picked up the pills, raising his brows as he did so. “Painkillers. Doc left them for you.”

  With a silent thanks to the doc he popped them in his mouth and washed them down with hot coffee. Then he glanced at the rest of the tray and back at her. “What are you trying to pull?”

  “Me?” She started and looked guilty as hell.

  “I may not know my name, but I know for damn sure that I hate oatmeal.”

  “Eat it. It’s good for you,” she said and started backing out of the room.

  “I’ll eat it on one condition.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

  “Stay and talk to me.”

  She didn’t move for a second, then eyed the tray. “You have to drink the orange juice, too.”

  “Every drop,” he promised. She headed for the wicker chair in the corner but he wasn’t having that. “Uh-uh. Sit on the bed.”

  It seemed she struggled with herself, then came and perched down by the foot rail. They must have had a humdinger of a fight, he decided. “Did I drive off mad at you? Is that how I got in the accident?”

  She blushed and wouldn’t meet his eye. “Not exactly. You were driving too fast, that’s all.”

  “I looked out the window. That road’s straighter than the path to hell. Doesn’t look like it’s rained or snowed recently either,” he said, thinking that was the only possible way he could have lost control unless he’d been driving stupid because he’d had a fight with his girl.

  Still, she didn’t say a word, simply plucked at the bedspread with delicate, manicured fingers.

  Time ticked by and he felt as though he’d gone back in time watching her, so prim in the old-fashioned surroundings. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

  Her head shot up at that. “What for?”

  “For whatever we fought about.” He stared at her lush pink lips until she blushed deeper and ran her tongue over them. “I’m sorry for something else, too.”

  “What?” Her lips were wet and luscious where she’d licked them.

  “You’re so mad at me, I didn’t even get a good morning kiss.”

  “Oh, well … you’re not really well enough…” She ran a hand through her hair making a mess of it. He bet she looked exactly like that when they made love. Damn, he was a lucky man.

  He spooned into the oatmeal, so she’d stay, trying not to gag. He gulped orange juice to help it down. “Talk to me,” he said. “Take my mind off this stuff.”

  “Talk to you…”

  “What do I do? What do you do? How did we meet? Basic stuff. I’m trying to figure out who I am.”

  “Oh. I keep forgetting I know more about you than you know about yourself. Well, let’s see. You’re a member of the Hog Squad.”

  The spoon hit the oatmeal with a wet slap. “The what?”

  “It’s a motorcycle, um, club.”

  He was getting a bad feeling in his gut. “You mean a gang?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m a gang member?”

  “Yes.”

  It didn’t sit well, but he’d think about that later. “What do you do?”

  “I’m unemployed. I’m spending the summer with my great-aunt until I decide what I want to do. I was working as a publicist in LA but I … got tired of it.”

  There was a
story there, but he’d pursue that later as well. Right now he wanted to know what a woman like her was doing with a loser like him, though he was pretty certain it was the animal attraction thrumming between them that was responsible. He didn’t care who or what she was. He wanted her. No wonder images of their love life were the single thing his mind had brought with him from the accident.

  Having scraped his bowl clean and swallowed the last of the juice, he pushed the tray away and grinned at her. “Doesn’t sound like we have a thing in common.”

  She rose and came toward him, presumably for the tray. “Not really.”

  “The sex must sure be hot, then.”

  She looked at him and her mouth opened and closed once, then twice. “You’d be better off using your energy getting your health back.” She reached for the tray, then paused, head lifted, and turned to the window. He heard it too. The ominous sound of a herd of small engines getting louder by the second.

  Motorcycles.

  A gang of them.

  He kept his ears cocked. Nell had her face pressed to the window. As he’d feared and dreaded, the engines changed timbre and one by one fell quiet outside. Nell glanced at him, a worried frown in her eyes. “I don’t want your … associates here bothering Gertie.”

  He nodded, thinking he didn’t want them here either. “They know about us?”

  “No.”

  In spite of the knot in his stomach, he forced himself to remain calm. A fist banged on the front door and Nell flinched then moved toward the bedroom door.

  “Let Gertie answer it,” he ordered. “You stay here.”

  She seemed about to argue, but he knew his instincts were right. “Trust me,” he said.

  After a strained moment, she nodded and moved back to the bedside. He had an odd feeling she was standing between him and the door in a bid to protect him, which made him smile and reach out to pull her close.

  They heard Gertie’s voice, and it was none too polite, then the thud of boots coming up the stairs. Nell shuddered and, without thinking why, he pulled her off balance so she sprawled on the bed beside him.

  “What are you—” Her furious words were cut off by a louder voice.

  “Wes, buddy. What’s happening, dude?”

  A massive bald man in a leather vest, chaps, and boots clomped into the room. With him were three others. They shuffled in and said, “Hey, man,” then left the talking to baldy, who was clearly the leader.

  “Hey,” said Wes, his arm tightening around Nell as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

  “You didn’t call home,” Baldy said with a grin that did nothing to hide the cold anger in his pale blue eyes.

  “He’s got amnesia. He doesn’t know who he is,” Nell explained in a firm tone at odds with the trembling he felt running through her.

  “Looks like he knows who you are fine,” the massive man ran his eyes up and down Nell’s body as though they were his filthy hands.

  Anger simmered in the pit of Wes’s belly. “Nell’s my lady,” he said, putting a slight emphasis on “my” just to make his position clear.

  “Thought you had amnesia.”

  “Some things you don’t forget.”

  After a tense moment, Baldy laughed. “Gals down at the roadhouse are going to be disappointed to hear you got a regular squeeze. Kept her real quiet, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. I don’t like sharing.” To make his proprietary claim clear, he slipped a hand under her shirt, holding her so his thumb rubbed the underside of her breast. Warm and firm, her flesh delighted him. He caressed her both to reassure Nell and to place a KEEP OFF sign on her body, just so his buddies didn’t get any ideas.

  She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, snuggling up against him. He stared into her green eyes and felt the warmth build. “I was just reminding Nell she forgot to give me a good morning kiss,” he said, then dipped his head and took her mouth.

  His hair fell forward to provide a scanty privacy screen while his lips played over hers. Desire punched through his system as he tasted her, his arms tightening to bring her in closer. He wanted to delve in and continue the love play, but he never forgot his audience. He intended to stake his claim, not get them so turned on they gave these losers a peep show, so he dragged his mouth away from hers, winking down into her desire-clouded gaze then turning back to his visitors.

  “Haven’t forgotten old Louie, have you?” the bald man asked.

  “Who’s Louie?”

  There was a short burst of laughter, quickly stifled, from the henchmen. “I’m Louie. I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  He didn’t like the way Nell was being eyed by the other bikers so he shook his head. “She stays.”

  Louie came forward. “You have something that’s mine. You better get your memory back, fast. I’ll be watching you.”

  He strode for the door and Wes stopped him. “How did you know I was here?”

  Louie snorted. “It’s a small town. News travels fast. I’ll be back in a week. You better have my stuff.”

  Chapter Three

  Nell scooted out of his arms and off the bed the second the front door slammed. She went to the window and he watched her watch their unwelcome visitors leave in a roar of engines.

  “Do you have any idea what stuff Louie was talking about?” he asked her.

  She shook her head.

  So far the knowledge he had about himself wasn’t immensely reassuring. He was a biker in a gang and he didn’t think the “stuff” Louie referred to was cotton candy.

  Damn. How did a guy like him ever get an uptown girl like Nell to look at him twice? “How did we meet?” he asked her.

  She smiled faintly. “You dropped by one day while I was in the garden and … one thing led to another.”

  He let his gaze roam her body, wishing his memory would give him a picture of her naked. What color were her nipples? Did they crinkle when she was aroused? The milky skin of her throat and collarbone had intrigued him while he was kissing her. Was her skin as pale all over?

  He wanted to remember with a fierceness that made him flinch.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m trying to remember how you look naked.”

  She rolled her eyes but her pebbling nipples gave her away. “You must be feeling better.”

  “Well enough to get out of bed,” he insisted even as she protested. He couldn’t laze around while big guys in leather were threatening him and eyeing his girl.

  He made it to his feet and swayed. She rushed forward and, even though his head had cleared, he let throw her arms around him and prop him up. He was naked but for cotton briefs so he felt the rub of her silky shirt against his naked torso. Her hands were small but strong as she clutched at his back. Her breath stirred the hair on his chest and where her legs were bare below her shorts, they rubbed against his own.

  He rested his chin on her head, wondering if an artistic tumble back into the bed, taking Nell with him, wouldn’t be a better start to the day. Except he had a feeling he was going to have to find out what he had that belonged to Louie and where the hell it was.

  Still, he indulged in another moment snuggled up to Nell enjoying the contact and the almond smell of her shampoo. It reminded him that he didn’t smell nearly as good. “I need a shower.”

  “You could hurt yourself.”

  “Not if you come in with me.”

  She glared up at him and he grinned down into her gorgeous face. “Just to hold me up.”

  “Gertie doesn’t have a shower. You can take a bath. I went out this morning and got you a few things.”

  “Thanks. I still probably need you in there with me.”

  She tried to look stern but he saw her lips twitch. “To hold you upright?”

  “No. To wash my back.” He did his best to look innocent but he had a sneaking feeling it had been a lot of years since he’d pulled that off. “Very hard to reach back there because of my injuries.”

  * * *


  “You’re just in time for lunch,” Gertie remarked as Wes came through the door, hair still damp from the bath. Now that his hair was clean it hung thick and dark, forming loose waves as it dried.

  Nell couldn’t say anything at all. She felt as though her darkest fantasy had come to life before her eyes.

  Without the stubble and grime, his face was lean and hard, all angles and planes except where his chin was softened by a dimple. His eyes were the hazel of a forest at sunset, full of secrets and mystery. His body was solid, long limbed, and muscular beneath the soft gray T-shirt she’d bought this morning and his own freshly washed jeans.

  His gaze caught hers and she recalled how he felt when she grabbed him that morning, strong and hard, every inch of him potent, sexual male. She felt as though he saw right through to her secret self, the part of her no one knew existed. The part that was lured helplessly. For the first time she understood the term “animal magnetism.” In his presence she became the zoological equivalent to an iron filing.

  “You shaved,” she finally managed to blurt.

  His hand rubbed his strong jaw line. “Yeah. I found a pink plastic razor on the side of the tub.”

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to buy you a razor.” Her pulse was leaping about shamelessly, which annoyed Nell, but how could she have known a member of the Hog Squad would clean up so well or gaze at her in that devastatingly intimate way? As though he planned to devote himself to discovering all her secrets.

  The way he gazed at her, so still and serious, had her heart hammering in her chest and her mind flooding with memories of how she’d felt tucked against his body, his thumb teasing her breast, his lips taunting her, while his buddies had stared at them.

  She should have been outraged, but she hadn’t been. She’d liked being kissed by Wes. She’d liked it the way she liked a drink before dinner to whet her appetite for a gourmet meal. Except she had a strong feeling she ought to be resisting this particular meal. Still, she could look couldn’t she?

  He surprised her by showing perfectly good table manners while they ate lunch, and then she was ashamed of herself for assuming that a motorcycle gang member must be an uncouth thug. Thug he most certainly was, though, and she had to remember that. She’d found a knife tucked into his boot.