Dangerous Temptation by Anne Mather Page A

tongue. It eased the awful dryness that was almost choking him, and although his head was still throbbing, the woman's appearance had distracted him from his woes.
    When she lowered him back to the pillow, he groped blindly for her hand. "Who are you?" he demanded, hearing his voice, hoarse and anxious in his panic. He gripped her wrist, feeling the narrow bones taut, and somehow fragile, beneath his fingers. "You're not a nurse," he stated with more conviction. "Nurses don't dress—or smell—the way you do."
    She hesitated. "Don't they?"
    "No." He frowned. "I guess I should know you, right? We have—we have met before?"
    "You don't remember?"
    "If I did, I wouldn't be asking."
    He sighed. That was stupid. He had to calm down. Getting angry with her wasn't going to achieve anything. She was here because she was concerned about him, not to listen to his griping. It wasn't her fault that the damn plane had crashed.
    "If—if they let you in to see me, you must be a relation," he ventured steadily. He expelled his breath in frustration. "I can't remember."
    She licked her lips now, her tongue appearing almost hypnotically to lave her upper lip. Its tip, pink and provocative, was mesmerising. It reminded him that his emotions hadn't been paralysed by the crash, and he let go of her wrist, not wanting her to recognise his reaction. For God's sake, the woman could be his sister, though he sensed with a kind of gut feeling that she wasn't.
    "You don't remember—anything?" she asked at last, clearly as dismayed by the circumstances as he was himself. And, although he had no reason to think so, he sensed that it alarmed her. So their relationship was not as simple as he'd like to think.
    Yet why wouldn't she be alarmed to hear he was virtually a stranger? He was someone who couldn't even tell her why she was here. It must have been a shock. Hell! It was something more than that to him. But he still had the feeling there was something she was trying to hide.
    "Nothing—personal," he replied at last, his headache rapidly overtaking his will to speak to her. He was too weak to play word games, and he half wished she would go. That surge of sexual attraction had all but dissipated, and he just felt tired. Deathly tired, actually. He could hardly keep his eyes open.
    She was still watching him, warily, he thought, his imagination refusing to give in. He guessed she was trying to decide whether she believed him or not, and that was strange. Why would she think he might lie? What might he have done to make his answer seem so untenable? In the present circumstances, she must surely realise his limitations. For Christ's sake, he was lucky to be alive.
    Or not…
    "You don't remember going to see your father?" she ventured, and it was a great temptation to yell that he didn't know who the hell his father was. But at least she'd supplied another piece of the jigsaw. He had a father, if no one else. He wasn't completely alone.
    "No," he sighed, finding the strength to answer her somehow. "Believe it or not, I didn't know I had a father until you said so. Or—a girlfriend, either," he added weakly. "Perhaps if you told me your name… ?"
    Her lips parted. "I'm not your girlfriend!"
    Her denial was absolute, and his hands curled helplessly into fists. For God's sake, she couldn't be his sister! He recoiled from that solution with a tortured breath.
    "Then who… ?" he began, but the effort defeated him. Behind his eyes, the darkness was rising, albeit against his will. With a sense of shame, he felt his senses slipping. The woman, whoever she was, dissolved.

    When he opened his eyes again, it was evening. He knew it was evening because the long blinds had been lowered over the windows in the wall opposite, and there were lamps glowing all about the ward. It was strange how in such a short time the place had become familiar. But—God!—it was the only point of contact that he had.
    His head wasn't aching quite so badly now. Even when he