One second there was only air and the next, Venus’s lips were brushing against his.

Something seemed to crackle and hiss between them.

Trevor had no idea how this had mushroomed so quickly. Instead of offering comfort, he was taking it. He found himself cupping the back of her head as the friendly kiss morphed into a great deal more.

Pleasure streaked through him. And though his head spun, he was acutely aware of his surroundings.

He was aware of drawing her closer to him. Aware of the tantalising way her body touched his, setting the tranquil, cool morning on fire.

He was aware of deepening the kiss, slowly, so that she wouldn’t pull away.

Most of all, he was aware of wanting to do more than just kiss her.

He was aware of wanting her.

Marie Ferrarella has written more than one hundred and fifty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

The Bride with No Name
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To Chris, Kenny, Pat, Lori, Danny,

Edwin, Nick, Theo, Robbie, Mark, Carlos No.2

and all the other rats!!

And to Carlos Aguilar and Ricky Castro,

the leaders of the Rat Pack.

From Jessi’s mom

Chapter One

He was alone on the beach.

He’d hoped he would be. But despite the fact that it was almost midnight and officially one day into autumn, because this was Southern California, there was always a chance that a pair of lovers would be out, making use of the solitude.

Either a pair of lovers or a homeless person, seeking a little uninterrupted sleep on one of the benches that outlined a portion of Laguna Beach.

Half beach, half park, with a carefully crafted pseudo-Mediterranean backdrop in the distance, this particular section offered the best of both worlds, which was why, when he’d decided to finally take the plunge and open up his own restaurant, Trevor Marlowe had chosen this area for his locale.

The windows of his restaurant, Kate’s Kitchen, looked out onto the sea. There were times when he thought his patrons came as much for the view of the Pacific as they did for the cuisine, but Kate, his stepmother and the restaurant’s namesake, was quick to set him straight. She insisted that he cooked rings around anyone she knew. Considering he had acquired his love of cooking and learned to create culinary magic from her, Kate’s words were high praise indeed.

Not that Kate was actually capable of saying anything even remotely negative, he thought now with a smile. Hurting feelings just wasn’t in her nature; it never had been.

Kate Llewellyn Marlowe was kind. Kind, loving and nurturing, with just enough feistiness to prevent her from being sweetly dull. She kept things around her constantly moving. It was she who encouraged him to follow his dream, she who slipped him money on those occasions when he was short so that he could go on to that culinary academy in Italy. She’d supported him as he perfected skills that were already considerable.

Kate had turned out to be the best influence in all their lives—his, his three brothers’ and his father’s. He’d hate to think where all of them would be today if his harried father hadn’t stumbled across Kate, armed with puppets, working a children’s party. According to the story, his father had instantly sensed that this was the woman who could handle his overenergized brood.

He and his brothers had been a handful, acting out, mostly because of their bereavement over the recent death of their mother. There was no telling where he, Mike, Trent and Travis might have wound up had there been no Kate. Possibly juvenile hall.

But, thank God, Kate had come into their lives, bringing sunshine and patient understanding as well as her puppets.

Now Trevor believed that all of them would have been lost without her.

Had that really been twenty years ago? he marveled. It hardly seemed that long.

One long wave made it out farther than its brethren, soaking his bare feet before receding. He felt the sand eroding beneath his soles, the water symbolically trying to draw him as it retreated to the ocean.

He’d better start heading back, Trevor thought, though he made no immediate effort to turn around. He allotted himself a couple more minutes. He really did need to unwind. It had been a long, hard week and the weekend hadn’t even arrived yet.

From where he stood, tomorrow wasn’t overly promising. Without anyone calling in sick, he was already short one set of hands. That meant double duty for him until he could get a temp agency to send him a replacement for his salad girl. Thinking of the incident caused him to frown.

His previous salad girl, Ava, had quit, not because of any problems at work but because her boyfriend, a biker whose upper torso was all but covered with tattoos, wanted to go on a two-month road trip. Ava couldn’t bear the idea of being without him for so long. So, amid profuse apologies this afternoon, she’d removed her apron and then just taken off.

But he’d handle it, Trevor thought. Somehow, he always did. Kate’s influence had taught him that he could do anything if he set his mind to it.

He sighed. Sometimes the credo was harder to live by. Which was why he was out here now, after closing time, walking off some steam and maybe just a small amount of anxiety.

Trevor waited for the calm to come. It was obviously taking its time.

He realized that he’d stopped moving and stared out into the endless ocean. The full moon drew a long, almost white streak along the water. It trailed along like the tail of a kite. The night was so quiet, he could almost hear his thoughts forming.

The only thing that broke the sound of the crashing waves was the occasional cry of a passing seagull.

Here and there, he saw the gulls spreading their wings as they hurried to desert the beach, flying inland to seek shelter.

There was a storm coming.

How about that, the weatherman might actually be right for a change, Trevor mused.

He vaguely recalled hearing a prediction of rain hitting the coast by tomorrow. He’d believe it when he saw it. Granted, this could be regarded as the beginning of the region’s rainy season, but the last few years had come and gone with less rain than was needed to sustain an aquarium. Southern California was all but bone-dry. It would have taken very little to officially declare a drought.

At this point, the so-called rainy season was going the way of the unicorn and the dragon, myths for the very young.

Sunshine was good for business, Trevor thought, but not for the land. When it rained, people tended to stay in their homes, or call for takeout rather than drive down to the beach to dine in a restaurant. Still, Trevor wished it would rain, at least for a little while. Parched brown was far from his favorite color.

Continuing to stare off into the horizon, his eyes narrowed. Was that some kind of a vessel silhouetted against the sky?

He squinted. He could have sworn he saw something large and white in the water.

A yacht?

Or was that just his imagination? Not that he possessed much of one outside the boundaries of his kitchen. But stress could be making him see things that weren’t there.

“Get to bed, Trev, you’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow, remember?” he muttered. “Don’t go conjuring up things that aren’t there.” No one in their right mind would be sailing this time of night with a storm brewing. It had to be a trick of the light.

But even so, Trevor dawdled a minute longer, digging his bare feet into the sand, his shoes dangling from his fingertips. He supposed it was silly, but walking barefoot in the sand always made him feel like a kid again.

A kid with a hell of a lot of blessings to count, he reminded himself.

So why, with his life obviously so full, so busy that he didn’t have the time to draw in an unscheduled breath, with everything he ever wanted coming true, did he still feel as if something was missing from his life? As if there was supposed to be more, but wasn’t?

“Never satisfied, that’s your problem,” he murmured under his breath.

He had no doubt that that would have been Travis’s assessment of the situation if he’d said anything to his brother. Travis was one of the two people with whom he shared not only his blood but also his face. He, Travis and Trent were born only minutes apart. Triplets so identical that for the first few years, not even his parents or his older brother, Mike, could tell them apart if not for a few identifying tricks his father had employed. He’d heard that his father had actually written their names on the soles of their left feet with a laundry marker until his mother had vetoed that practice.

When they got older, he, Trent and Travis had taken full advantage of their communal looks, playing each other for the sole purpose of messing with everyone else’s minds.

The sight of triplets tended to do that to people, he thought with a nostalgic smile. It reduced the public at large to confused masses. Entertained, he and his brothers had made the most of their situation—until their mother died in a plane crash and their world caved in.

He didn’t want to think about that now.

Trevor shoved his free hand deep into his pocket. He didn’t want to think about anything, really, just make his mind a blank and recharge, that was the purpose behind this little Lawrence of Arabia trek across the cooling sand.

The boardwalk, newly refurbished and running parallel to the sidewalk some fifty feet away, was right behind him. The car he’d driven to come down here this morning wasn’t much beyond that, in the restaurant’s parking lot. Trevor began to turn toward it, thinking that he needed to put his shoes back on and get home already, when something caught his eye.

It was a great deal closer than the vessel, which got smaller by the moment, off to whatever destination it had charted.

Closer and a lot less imposing.

He didn’t know if it was the moon highlighting it—whatever “it” was—or if some stray beam of light had caught on an object bobbing out in the waves.

No, there was definitely something floating out there.

Probably driftwood or a giant hunk of seaweed, Trevor mocked himself.

Or a shark.

As a kid, he’d been terrified of the movie Jaws and all its sequels. So much so that even taking showers required preparatory silent pep talks on his part. For a whole year, he’d taken showers that lasted less than five minutes. His father had praised him for his efforts on behalf of conservation, but Kate knew the real cause. He’d been afraid that the water would attract the finny predator. Without saying anything to him directly, she’d made a point of taking him and his brothers on a field trip to the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach as well as Sea World. Eventually, his phobia faded.

Whatever was out there kept splashing.

Sharks didn’t splash like that, he thought. What if it was a person?

What the hell would a person be doing in the middle of the water at this time of night? It didn’t make any sense.

But sense or not, his gut told him he was right. Someone was out there. Someone in trouble.

Before he even completed the thought, Trevor found himself running to the edge of the water. He dropped his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket as he made his way into the waves.

“Hey!” he shouted as loud as he could. “You need help out there?” It was a stupid question, but he wanted the person in the water to know that they weren’t alone. That help was coming.

There was no answer, only the sound of the waves reaching the shore. That, and another piercing announcement from a seagull.

The closer Trevor got to the edge of the water, the more convinced he was that a human being was out there.

He didn’t hesitate.

Trevor dove into the water, fighting to keep his orientation foremost in his mind. He could easily lose his bearings out here in the water, especially in the dark. The water was warmer than he’d expected. Also rougher, but he was a strong swimmer, thanks to the lessons he and his brothers had taken. He could remember not wanting to, but Kate had insisted, saying he never knew when it might come in handy.

How right she was.

Trevor struggled to keep his mouth closed as a wave washed over him, trying to pull him down. His shoulders protested against the effort. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been swimming. His life left no room for things like that. He’d spent the last two years getting his restaurant on its feet and the five years before that either in college or the culinary academy.

He was the one they’d made the nursery rhyme about, the one bemoaning Jack being all work and no play. The closest he’d come to “play” was when he got together with his parents, and his brothers and sister. They insisted he kick back, and he did, as much as he was able. But in his head, he was always working, always planning the next menu, the next banquet. He’d been hired for a number of those and his reputation, mercifully, was spreading by word of mouth.

“Almost there!” he called out, trying not to gasp the words.

And then, bobbing up and down in the swirling dark waters, he’d reached the person.

It was a woman.

The moment he was close to her, he saw her eyelashes flutter and then her eyes roll upward. Damn it, she was passing out. Was she hurt? How did she get here in the first place? Had she fallen off the yacht he’d thought he’d seen a few minutes ago?

Dozens of questions flew in and out of his brain like a bolt of lightning, yielding no answers. He grabbed at her before she could sink.

Maybe it was better this way. If she was unconscious, at least she wouldn’t be flailing wildly with her arms or clutching at him to help keep her afloat. Either way she would have been a liability, endangering them both.

Trevor looked toward the shore. God, but it seemed like a long distance away. Turning the unconscious woman so that she was floating on her back, he tucked one arm around her waist as best he could and used the other to swim.

It was awkward at best and progress was slow. The waves seemed to be against him, pushing him back by half the distance he’d made.

It felt like an ongoing battle, one he couldn’t even begin to think about losing. No one knew he was out here. His family wouldn’t know what to think if all trace of him disappeared into the ocean.

He couldn’t do that to them.

Exhausted, he willed strength into his body, focusing on the shore and nothing else. He had to reach it. Nothing else was an option.

It seemed as if it was taking forever.

His lungs were burning and his quadriceps felt as if they were on fire. He pressed on, tightening his hold on the woman.

By the time he finally reached the shore, his heart was racing, his head throbbing. He felt as if he’d swallowed a third of the ocean. Dragging her out and collapsing, he just lay there beside the woman he’d rescued, gasping for air, searching for precious equilibrium.

As his breathing returned to a normal rhythm, he realized that the woman beside him wasn’t making any noise. She wasn’t gasping, wasn’t wheezing or coughing.

Wasn’t breathing at all.

Turning his head toward her, he noticed that her chest wasn’t rising and falling. She was as still as a dress-shop mannequin.

“Damn it!”

Scrambling to his knees, his own head spinning, Trevor struggled to remain upright as he began CPR. Again, he silently blessed Kate for her foresight because she had been the one to insist that they all—herself included—enroll in a class that taught CPR because “You never know when that kind of thing might come in handy.”

She’d gone on to tease that if any of their pranks—far more subdued now that she was in their lives—would cause her heart to stop, they would at least know what to do.

It wasn’t working. The woman wasn’t coming around, wasn’t breathing.

“C’mon, lady, I didn’t almost drown trying to save you just to have you die on me out here. Breathe, damn it, breathe!”

Rather than give up, Trevor went at the compressions more forcefully. Breathing into her tilted mouth proved to be harder, because he had very little air to spare, but he doggedly continued, doing what he could, refusing to give up.

She was going to breathe and that’s all there was to it.

He wasn’t sure just how long he was there, pressing her chest and then blowing air into her mouth. “Forever” echoed in his mind.

Just as his endurance splintered, the woman opened her eyes. The moment she did, a startled, wary look came into them.

Reflecting back later, Trevor realized he should have guessed she’d be confused and scared. The woman had opened her eyes to find a man pressing his hands against her chest, his mouth hovering above hers, still damp with the imprint of her lips.

Coughing and spurting, the woman bolted upright, pushing him away. She scrambled back from him at the same time as her feet struggled for some kind of traction against the sand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded hoarsely, her eyes wide with anger.

“Saving your life,” he told her simply. Still on his knees, Trevor bent over farther, pushing her dark red hair away from her face.

Incensed, afraid and completely disoriented, she slapped away his hand. “Looks more like you’re trying to maul me,” she accused.

Okay, he’d almost just drowned here, trying to save this woman’s life. He didn’t expect a ticker-tape parade, but a little civility would have been nice.

“Right,” he said, exhaling the word in exasperation. “I come out here every night, trolling for bodies riding on the waves, looking to cop a feel.” He rose to his feet, glaring at her. “You were drowning, lady. In case it escaped you, I just saved your life.” His voice grew colder, more sarcastic. “In lieu of a sizable donation to my favorite charity, a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

She frowned as she tried to get up to her feet. Her frown deepened when Trevor offered her his hand. She wanted to ignore it, but even she had to admit she was too wobbly to make it up on her own. Muttering, “Don’t try anything else,” she took the hand he extended.

But once on her feet, she began to sway again. Trevor caught her before she fell, automatically pulling her against him.

A displeased cry died on her lips as her eyes rolled back in her head for a second time.

She was unconscious again.

Trevor sighed and shook his head. “Second verse, same as the first.”

Picking her up into his arms, he walked toward the nearest wooden bench and laid the woman down as gently as possible. He began to rub her wrists and arms, trying to get a little circulation going.

Her dress was plastered to her body. Wet, it looked almost see-through. It obviously offered her very little protection against the escalating wind. It also left very little to his imagination.

She had one hell of a body.

Trevor left her for a moment, hurrying off to where he’d dropped his jacket and shoes. He picked up both, then returned and covered her with his jacket. He checked the cell phone that had been in his pants pocket for the duration of his deep-sea adventure. Soggy, it had died. There was no calling for help.

He began rubbing her arms again. It was several minutes before she opened her eyes for a second time. Trevor braced himself for another waspish confrontation, but this time, she seemed too weak. Instead, she put her hand to her head, as if it was hurting. Squinting at him, he heard her say, “Name?”

“Trevor Marlowe,” he told her. “I—”

“No—” impatience echoed in her frustrated, hoarse whisper “—mine.”

Chapter Two

Trevor sat back on his heels, eyeing the woman he’d just rescued. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“What do you mean ‘mine?’”

She struggled to sit up. This time, he gently but forcefully held her down. Anger flickered in her eyes, but he didn’t back away. His hands remained on her shoulders, pinning her down. There was no way she could move. She had no choice but to submit. It didn’t make her happy.

“I mean what’s my name?” she retorted.

Trevor quickly scanned her forehead, looking for a sign that she’d sustained a blow. But there was no gash, no telltale fresh abrasions or bump to indicate the possible cause of this dearth of information.

“You don’t know your name?” He looked at her skeptically.

The level of exasperation rose in her voice. What was he, an idiot? “I wouldn’t be asking you if I did.”

Trevor still wasn’t buying into this a hundred percent. Maybe she just had a macabre sense of humor. “This isn’t a joke?”

Fighting a wave of uneasy fear, the redhead spat out, “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I have no idea,” he told her honestly. “I don’t know you.”

Fear mushroomed within her. There was something about lying here, horizontal, under this man’s intense perusal that stripped her of her strength, not to mention her capacity to think. She grabbed the side of the bench and pulled herself upright.

He’d said something that offered her a glimmer of hope in the appalling darkness. At least he’d cleared up one thing for her.

“So, my not remembering you, that’s okay?” She saw his brows draw together. She knew she wasn’t being very clear, but everything was still hopelessly jumbled in her head, like puzzle pieces thrown haphazardly out of a box. “I mean, I don’t know you, right?”

Trevor shook his head. He would have remembered if a woman the likes of this one had passed his line of vision. “No, not from Adam.”

“Adam?”

She thought he meant an actual person, Trevor realized. It would have been funny—if the situation weren’t so real. “It’s just an expression. Never mind.” He blew out a frustrated breath, thinking. “What’s the last thing that you remember?”

She closed her eyes, as if that could help her focus. By the expression on her face when she opened them again, it hadn’t.

“Water.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. Obviously this was going to require a bit of patience on his part. “Before that.”

The woman took a deep breath. He watched her eyes. In the light from the streetlamp just to the right of the bench, they looked to be a deep, intense green. And troubled. Very troubled.

“Nothing,” she answered.

He saw that her eyes glistened. Oh, God, not tears. He had no idea what to do with tears. Ordinarily, he’d pretend they weren’t there, but he was looking at her face deadon. If those tears took shape and started to fall, no way could he act as if he didn’t see them.

He hadn’t a clue what to say.

“I don’t remember anything,” the woman told him. He heard the fear mounting in her voice.

She was really trying not to panic. Trevor could all but see the struggle going on within her. She clenched her hands into fists on either side of her body.

“No, that’s not true,” he contradicted in a calm, soothing voice.

But his words only seemed to fan the fires already threatening to go out of control.

“Look, you’re not inside this head—I am and there’s nothing. Not a damn thing.” She pressed her lips together to keep a wave of hysteria from bursting out.

Trevor went on as if she hadn’t said a word. “You remember how to talk. You speak English without an accent, international or regional, so most likely, you’re a native Californian, most likely from around here.”

“Terrific, that makes me one of what, forty million people?”

“You remembered that,” he pointed out. “Things are coming back to you, just waiting to be plucked out of the air.” Before she could utter another sarcastic contradiction, Trevor instructed, “Close your eyes again and think.”

“About what?” she demanded. “I don’t remember anything—except how many people there are in Southern California,” she qualified angrily before he could mention that extraneous bit of information again.

Trevor took the display of temper in stride. “I think we can safely rule out that you’re an anger-management counselor. Humor me,” he told her. “Close your eyes and see if anything comes to you.” Obviously annoyed, the woman did as she was told. “Anything?” he asked after she said nothing for several seconds.

“Yeah.” She opened her eyes. “I’m hungry. And cold.”

That wasn’t what he was hoping to hear. “Anything else?”

She pressed her lips together. “And I need to go to the bathroom.”

He would have laughed then if he didn’t feel almost as frustrated as she did. “There’s one right there,” he said, pointing to the public bathroom.

The bathroom was located less than fifty feet away from their bench. Directly in front of the square, stucco building were two outdoor showers, there specifically for people to wash the salt water off their bodies before going back into their cars. Occasionally, in the dead of summer nights, the showers were used by homeless people who longed to feel clean again.

As the woman got up, so did Trevor. There was unabashed suspicion in her eyes as she stopped walking and glared at him.

“You’re not going in with me, are you?”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he answered mildly. “Just want to make sure you’re steady on your feet. You already passed out once,” he reminded her. By the way she frowned, he surmised that somewhere within her now blank world was a woman who liked her independence. Possibly more than the average female, he judged.

“And then what?” she asked as she crossed over to the short, squat building. To her horror, there was no outer door.

“Excuse me?”

She turned around, blocking the building’s entrance. “After you walk me to the bathroom, then what?” She appeared uneasy as she asked, “Are you going home?”

That had been the plan, to go home and recharge for tomorrow. But now things had grown complicated. He couldn’t just abandon her, yet who was she to him? And she obviously resented his being around her. So, instead of answering her directly, he answered, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yes,” she admitted warily.

Trevor couldn’t help wondering if she as always this suspicious, or if her present situation had transformed her. “I’ll take you to Kate’s Kitchen and get you something to eat.”

“Kate’s Kitchen,” she repeated. The words meant nothing to her. “Is that like a homeless shelter, or someone’s house?”

“Neither. That’s my restaurant.”

Even within the context of this minor conversation, mentioning his restaurant filled him with pride. It always did. Having it, running it, had been his goal for a very long time.

She made what seemed to her a logical assumption. “You work in a restaurant?”

Trevor corrected her. “I own a restaurant.”

“Oh.” The single-syllable word was pregnant with meaning and respect—and she hadn’t a clue as to why.

Did she own anything? she wondered. It infuriated her that she didn’t know. This was going on too long, she silently raged. It was as if she were standing in front of a huge, white wall that was locking her out of everything. She couldn’t find the door, couldn’t find any way to enter. The worst was that she didn’t even know what was behind the wall, if anything.

Standing before the entrance to the public bathroom, she hesitated for a moment. She hated this vulnerable feeling. Hated giving in to it or even acknowledging its existence.

But a survival instinct told her that it was necessary. She turned to glance over her shoulder at the man who’d rescued her. The man she probably owed her life to. “You’ll be here when I come out?”

He nodded and she thought she saw a hint of a smile on his lips. Probably laughing at her, she thought. But she had no choice. She couldn’t just wander around on the beach at this time of night.

“I’ll be here,” he promised her.

She had no idea why, but she believed him.

Still, she hurried inside the building to one of the three stalls. None of the doors met and the floor was cold, with sand clinging to the stone here and there, rubbing off on her feet. Shivering as she entered the stall farthest from the doorway, she realized that she didn’t have any shoes on.

Had she lost them in the ocean? Or before?

Nothing came to her.

Within less than a minute, she was finished and standing before the sink closest to the door. She looked at her reflection in the badly cracked mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman with the plastered, chin-length red hair.

Oh, God, who was she? Was someone out there searching for her?

She looked down at her left hand. There was no ring, but she did notice a tan line encircling it. Had there been a ring there? Had she been mugged for that ring? Left for dead? Tossed overboard?

What? her mind screamed.

No answers came in response.

Blowing out a breath, she turned on the faucet. A rumbling noise preceded the emergence of lukewarm water. At least it was clear and not rust-colored. Cupping her hands together, she caught some and threw it on her face, wishing desperately that the simple action would be enough to make her remember.

It wasn’t.

“You okay in there?”

She jumped when she heard the man—Trevor, was it?—call out the question. Her heart hammered.

“Just peachy,” she heard herself respond.

Even to her own ears, it didn’t sound right. There was an angry edge in her voice, which shamed her. This guy, this restaurant owner, didn’t have to help her. Didn’t have to risk his life to rescue her from a watery grave. Why was she being so nasty to him?

“Sorry,” she called out. “I don’t mean to be taking this out on you. I just want to remember. I should remember,” she insisted.

Because she’d tendered a half apology, Trevor’s annoyance with her instantly abated. It took very little to get on his good side.

“You’re going through a lot,” he told her soothingly. She came out then, the expression on her flawless face just a shade contrite. It was all he needed. “C’mon,” he urged, “I’ll take you to the restaurant. It’s within walking distance.”

Rather than guide her toward the parking lot, he indicated that they were going to go in the opposite direction.

As he placed his hand to the small of her back, he felt her stiffen beneath his fingertips. Giving no indication that he’d noticed, he dropped his hand to his side.

“The restaurant’s right over here.”

She stopped and looked at the blue-and-gray stucco single-story building. Navy-blue trim outlined the door and windows. The building went on for half a city block. A terrace ran along the length of the back of the restaurant. The tables and chairs that usually occupied it during working hours were tucked just inside a wall of glass for the night.

It looked nice. Inviting, even in the darkness. “This is yours?”

Taking his key out, he unlocked the door and then held it open for her. “Mine and the bank’s.”

She walked in front of him. He hit a switch to the right of the door. Lights came on, illuminating the way.

It was homey, she thought, as she scanned the interior. Warm. She liked it.

“It’s nice,” she commented. Desperate to find something familiar to grasp, she continued her search over to the reception desk. Nothing around her nudged at any distant images. Still, she heard herself asking, “Have I ever been in here before?”

He turned on another series of lights, not wanting her to feel any more disoriented. “Not that I know of, but then, I’m usually in the kitchen.” He only came out on occasion, when someone he knew was in the dining area.

When he said he owned the restaurant, she’d thought of the financial end. She hadn’t thought of him in any other capacity. Cocking her head, she tried to picture him at a stove, surrounded with boiling pots.

“You’re a chef?”

Trevor smiled, thinking of the diploma from the culinary academy that hung on the wall of his tiny office in the back. “So I like to think.”

“Who’s Kate?” she asked suddenly, turning toward him. “Your wife?”

“My stepmother.”

“Oh.” Now that was odd. Most people thought of stepmothers as creatures to get away from, not immortalize. She had no idea where the thought came from, but it took root, planting itself firmly in her mind. Did she have a stepmother? Was that why she felt like that?

“That’s a little strange.” And then she realized that she’d said the words out loud. She didn’t want to offend him, not after he’d rescued her. “Sorry, none of my business.”

He couldn’t help wondering what sort of unsavory scenario she’d just conjured up in her mind. Something from her past? Was she remembering?

“My stepmother came to work for my dad as our nanny a little more than twenty years ago. She basically saved our lives—not the way I saved yours,” he qualified, “but in a sense, just as dramatically.” On the outside, they had seemed like a family, but inside, they’d all kept to themselves, at least as far as the pain was concerned. Losing their mother had been hard on all of them. “She brought a lot of happiness into our world and she’s been supportive of all of us from the first day, even when we gave her a hard time.”

Trevor continued turning on lights as he went toward the rear of the restaurant, to where the walk-in refrigerator was located.

She followed him, but she’d stopped listening right after Trevor had said the part about saving her life. It came home to her in letters ten feet high.

He had saved her life.

If not for this man, she would have quite possibly died in that ocean.

By design?

By accident?

Damn it, why wasn’t anything coming back to her? she silently demanded. Why didn’t she even know her own name? At least the first name, if not the last.

Lost in thought, she impotently clenched her hands into fists again and sighed, struggling to keep her frustration in check.

He heard the loud sigh. Trevor doubted the woman was even aware of it. Opening the door to the refrigerator, he took a step in, then looked around at several racks containing covered pans.

“Can you remember liking anything in particular?” he asked her. When there was no answer, he turned to glance at her over his shoulder. There was a puzzled expression on her face. “Food,” he specified. “Can you remember a favorite food?” She seemed to be trying to remember, but then shook her head. “Okay then,” he said philosophically. “Maybe this’ll be your new favorite food.”

He took out a tray, placed a serving on a subdued Wedgwood blue plate and stuck it into the microwave. A minute and a half later, he took out a warm plate of chicken tetrazzini. It had been on this evening’s menu. While it was always a popular item, he’d had a few servings left when he closed his doors.

Tomorrow, everything that hadn’t been consumed today would find its way to St. Anne’s Homeless Shelter. Luther, a man who had worked and lived at the shelter these last twelve years, came by every morning at eight to pick up the leftovers. Trevor made sure that there always were some, even if he had to prepare them that morning. Luther never left empty-handed.

But this serving was for his mermaid, he thought, bringing it over to the table where, during business hours, the salads were prepared.

She stood on ceremony for exactly half a minute, then ate with gusto.

He liked seeing people enjoy his food like this, although, to be fair, the woman would have probably enjoyed anything at this point. She seemed to be as ravenous as she’d claimed.

The entire serving was gone within less than ten minutes. He supposed that nearly drowning spiked a person’s appetite.

“More?” he asked when she pushed the empty plate away from her.

Smiling for the first time since he’d saved her, the woman shook her head. She had a nice smile, Trevor thought.

“No, I’m full.” She resisted the urge to run her fingers over the plate and lick them. “And it was very good. You made this?”

It was one of the first things he’d ever learned to prepare. He’d been seven and Kate had made him her assistant, tying one of her aprons around his waist. It had dragged on the floor, but he’d had the time of his life. He’d gotten hooked on cooking from the very start.

“It’s an old stand-by,” he answered.

“Well, it’s very good,” she repeated, her tone sounding a little awkward. “Thank you.”

He saw concern slip over her face. “What?”

She tried not to let the anxiety take her prisoner. “That’s it exactly. ‘What?’ What do I do now?”

“Well, if you want my opinion,” he said, “I think you should be checked out at a hospital. Just in case.”

She frowned. At the mention of the word hospital, she felt something tighten inside. Was she afraid of hospitals? Had she had a bad experience? Had someone she cared about died in a hospital? It was so terribly annoying, not having a single answer, a single clue to anything about herself.

“I’m okay,” she answered.

“You have amnesia,” Trevor pointed out to her. “That’s not okay.”

She followed him out into the dining hall again. “But they can’t fix that in a hospital, can they?”

“I don’t know, but this way, you find out if you have a concussion, or anything else wrong.” Although from where he sat, she looked damn near perfect, at least on the outside, he mused.

He kept the thought to himself.

“They’re going to want to know my name,” she said.

“We’ll just tell them that you can’t remember it.”

We. Did that mean he was coming with her? She had no idea why, but the thought brought her a sense of relief.

“But I need a name,” she protested. She raised her eyes to his, silently asking him to christen her, if only for the time being.

“Okay.” Fishing out his keys, he thought for a moment. “How about ‘Venus’?”

“Venus?” she echoed. It was pretty. She liked it.

He nodded as he locked the door behind them and then armed the security system. “Like the Botticelli painting. Venus rising out of the sea—”

“On a giant half shell,” she completed.

Her eyes widened.

Chapter Three

“I remember that,” she cried excitedly.

Without thinking, she grabbed at his shirtfront. The jacket he’d put around her began to slip off, but he caught it in time and set it back on her shoulders. She was vaguely aware of an electrical charge dancing through her, but her excitement was focused on this tiny kernel of information that she’d stumbled across.

She searched his face for an answer. “How do I remember that?”

Very gently, he disengaged her hands from his shirt. “You’re an artist, you work in the art field, or maybe you just like Botticelli. Or clams,” he added, picking up on her description of the half shell. “Or maybe your memory’s coming back. Can you remember anything else?” he prodded.

Like a child trying to recall a phrase she’d memorized, the woman slid her tongue along her lips, a faraway look in her eyes. Trevor watched her and could almost see her effort to summon a familiar thought, any familiar thought.

Her frustration was apparent when she shook her head.

“No.” She exhaled the words. “Nothing else.”

Pocketing his keys, he began walking. She fell into step. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard, then,” he suggested. “It’ll come back on its own. Like the Botticelli painting.”

She dragged her hand through her hair. Disappointment was evident in every word. “Not fast enough for me.”

He resisted the temptation to put his arm around her shoulders, sensing that the gesture wouldn’t be welcomed. “C’mon, Venus, let’s get you checked out.”

Stumbling blocks became evident. “I don’t have any money,” she told him even as she followed him to the far side of the restaurant’s perimeter, where the parking lot was located.

One lone car stood unattended. His, she surmised. He drove a Mustang. While she recognized the vehicle’s make and model, it meant nothing to her. No bells rang, no fragments of memory were dislodged. It was annoying beyond words.

She stopped before the car, waiting for him to unlock it. “And since I don’t know who I am, I don’t have any medical insurance.” She saw him look up at her. He seemed a great deal happier than she did. “Why are you grinning like that?”

Aiming his key at the car, he pressed a button and disarmed the vehicle’s security system. All four locks sprang to attention. “You just remembered that you need medical insurance.”

She paused for a second before getting into the Mustang. She felt a great deal less pleased about this supposed breakthrough. “You’re right, I did. But if I can remember something that trivial, why can’t I remember who the hell I am?”

Opening his car door, Trevor got in. She followed suit on her side. “Maybe you don’t want to.”

She frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I want to remember who I am?”

Psychology wasn’t his thing—that belonged to Kate and his brother Trent. But he’d heard enough about the topic at home to venture an educated guess. “Maybe you’re running from something. Something that involves who you are.”

Her frown deepened. “That’s a little far-fetched, isn’t it?”

Inserting the key into the ignition, Trevor shrugged. “Just a thought.” He glanced at her. “You remembered to buckle up.”

Her irritation increased. Did he think she was a child in need of endless encouragement? “All right, I get it. I remember some things. Some general things,” she emphasized. It was in the same category as remembering how to walk and talk. “You don’t have to keep pointing those things out.”

He started up the car. “Just trying to give you some hope, Venus.”

Guilt assaulted her. She was being waspish again—and he was being nice and definitely going out of his way for her. He didn’t have to be doing any of this. “Are you sure I don’t know you?”

Leaving the lot, he made a left turn, easing onto Pacific Coast Highway. The hospital, Blair Memorial, wasn’t far. “I’m sure.”

It didn’t make any sense to her. Something told her that she was accustomed to people who didn’t go out of their way for anyone. The thought made her sad. “If you don’t know me, then why are you going out of your way like this?”

“Can’t very well save your life then just say, ‘See ya,’ and go on my way, now can I?”

Why couldn’t he? she wondered. “Wouldn’t most people?”

“I don’t know people like that.” Coming to a red light, he eased onto the brake and spared her a look. “But you obviously do.”

She became defensive without knowing why. “How do you know that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have asked that question if you didn’t,” he told her simply. “It wouldn’t have been in your ‘general’ frame of reference.” He emphasized the word she’d balked at previously.

She thought about it for a minute. Without knowing it, he’d hit upon the same thought she’d had, except that hers involved an uneasy feeling. “That’s pretty good. You always this logical?”

Being creative, he’d never thought about being logical. But he did now. He realized logic pretty much dictated a good portion of his life. Unlike Travis, he didn’t act first then think later. He did it the other way around—except when it had come to rescuing Venus. He’d reacted rather than reasoned. But, looking back, he supposed logic came into play even there. Because if he’d stood by and done nothing, her life—and death—would have weighed heavily on his conscience.

But he didn’t want to get into a discussion about himself. It was her they needed to identify, not him.

“Mostly,” he admitted.

She nodded her head. She appeared complacent, but then she challenged him. This was a woman to keep you on your toes, he noted.

“Then tell me how you can logically take me to a hospital to be checked out when I have no money and no identity?” she asked. “They’re going to want to get paid.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He could feel her eyes on him. The woman obviously wanted details. He deliberately remained vague, not wanting to get into an argument. She was already displaying more than the average share of pride. “I’ll take care of it.”

Which meant he was going to pay for her care out of his own pocket—unless he owned a hospital as well as a restaurant.

“If I’m a stranger to you, why would you do that?” she asked.

Because he’d been raised to lend a helping hand when he could. But he had feeling if he told her that, it would sound too much like charity. “In some cultures, if you save a life, it’s yours. That means you have to take care of it.”

Venus shook her head. “This isn’t one of those cultures.”

“Something else you know,” he said cheerfully. He had no idea why he was enjoying himself so much, but he was. “You can pay me back when your memory returns,” he told her. He slanted a look in her direction, then turned back to the road. “That satisfy you?”

“I guess it’ll have to.”

She thought for a moment, then examined at his profile, wondering if she’d just had some kind of a breakthrough. The rest of her mind still felt tangled. But right now, a few fragments floated through her brain. Fragments that seemed familiar, even though she couldn’t harness them. It was all too vague. And so damn aggravating.

She sighed, giving voice to her discovery. “I don’t think I like being beholden to anyone.”

“Nothing wrong in asking for help once in a while.”

“There is if asking for help places you in someone’s debt.”

There was a long stretch between lights. He took advantage of it by stepping on the gas, careful to remain on the alert for the occasional motorcycle cop. “That sounds as if you’ve had some not overly satisfactory relationships with people.”

He was right. It did sound that way. Was this another piece of the puzzle that contained her identity? Venus tried vainly to fit it in somewhere. She struck out.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. But even as she said the words, something nebulous slipped over her. It was elusive and refused to take on any definite form, but came with a feeling that there was some truth in what he said.

He hadn’t expected her to suddenly exclaim, “Eureka!” and have her memory rush back. But he had no doubt that eventually, the woman would remember things. Just not yet.

“Maybe you were just born skeptical,” he theorized.

“Maybe,” she mumbled under her breath. She might not have been born that way, but she felt it now.

Pacific Coast Highway and Newport Boulevard were fairly empty at this time of night. Trevor made the trip from Kate’s Kitchen to Blair Memorial in record time.

Luck continued to hold for them because, judging by the hospital’s emergency room parking lot, it had been a rather slow night at Blair, as well. Two minutes after they entered through the electronic doors, Venus was sitting down in a chair before the receptionist. Rather than take the chair next to her, he stood behind her.

The woman on the other side of the desk had to be approaching retirement age and was definitely cheerful. She gave each of them a wide smile as they approached her.

“You caught us at a good time,” the receptionist, Rebecca according to the name tag pinned to her left shoulder, told them. “So, what brings you to the emergency room tonight?”

“He did,” Venus answered, turning her head toward the man behind her.

“She means besides that,” Trevor interjected, then took over the narrative. “She almost drowned tonight.”

Sympathy flared in the woman’s brown eyes as she appraised the would-be patient in front of her. “And you want us to check you out for any ill effects?”

Again, when Venus didn’t answer quickly enough, Trevor took over. “The ill effect is that she can’t remember who she is or anything about how she got into the ocean to begin with.”

“The ocean,” the receptionist repeated, looking surprised by the information. And then she nodded. “That would explain the damp clothes,” she surmised. The smile on her lips indicated she was a tad chagrined. “I thought you were talking about falling into a swimming pool.” Typing, she made a notation on the screen, then automatically asked, “Do you have any identification?”

Impatience had woven through her the second she’d walked through the doors.

“If I did, I’d know who I was, wouldn’t I?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trevor flash her a look. Everyone couldn’t be as nice as he was, she thought defensively. And she had a feeling that she wasn’t in Trevor’s league when it came to being laid-back.

“Right.” Rebecca hit several keystrokes, then glanced up again. “No insurance cards, either, I take it.”

“No anything,” Venus replied, doing her best not to sound impatient.

Trevor saw the receptionist look at Venus, then raise her eyes to his. “And how would you like to—”

Trevor anticipated her. Before the receptionist could find a comfortable way to ask the question, he had his wallet out and produced a credit card. Leaning over the desk, he handed it to her.

“Put it on my card,” he instructed.

After taking the card from him, the receptionist rose. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. “I just have to run this through.”

“I don’t feel comfortable about this,” Venus told him as the receptionist went to a room behind the registration area.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” he assured her. In his opinion, she really needed to get checked out, just in case something was wrong. “She said they weren’t busy tonight.”

Venus waved away his words. “No, I mean having you put this on your credit card.” It was hard to believe selfless people like this man were still around. “How do you know I won’t skip out on you once my memory comes back?” she challenged.

“I just know.” When she looked at him skeptically, he added, “Call it a hunch.”

“I call it being foolhardy,” she retorted.

“Why?” His mouth curved in amusement. “Are you planning on skipping out once your memory returns?”

“No,” she answered with feeling. “But you don’t know that for sure.”

He gazed into her eyes and her stomach went queasy. That was twice now that she’d reacted to him this way. Why?

“I just know,” he told her softly.

The receptionist returned with the paperwork before Venus had a chance to challenge Trevor again. He signed on the line allotted for his signature. In less time than it took to house the paperwork in a folder, they were being ushered into the rear of the emergency room where all the beds were.

Most of them were empty.

The attending nurse took down more information, although it, too, was sparse beyond Trevor’s recounting of the events. Venus had nothing to add because she couldn’t remember.

X-rays and blood work were ordered.

An orderly wheeled her away to the lab, leaving Trevor to sit and wait and wonder if he was getting in over his head. Normally, these days, the most interaction he had with women outside his family was to ask them if everything was all right with their meal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out socially.

The thought made him smile. His father and Kate would be happy about this. Any girl in a storm.

The physician on duty reviewed the films and glanced at the lab report. His expression indicated that he was unimpressed by either.

“Everything looks normal,” he declared, returning the X-rays to the oversize manila envelope that protected them.

“But I can’t remember anything,” Venus protested.

The physician seemed fairly unconcerned. “There’s no evidence of a concussion and no tumors or lesions are indicated. Most likely, what you have is a case of hysterical amnesia.”

“Hysterical?” she echoed with distaste. Venus didn’t care for the term’s connotation. She was fairly certain she wasn’t the hysterical type and resented being categorized that way.

“Hysterical amnesia brought on by a trauma, either physical or emotional,” the doctor explained. “In either case, most people suffering from that recover their memories in a few days.”

Venus zeroed in on the crucial word. “Most people, but not all.”

“No, not all,” the doctor freely admitted. He glanced at the chart again, then placed it at the foot of her bed. He looked at Trevor as he continued, “But there’s no reason to believe that you won’t.”

“Are there people who never recover from amnesia?”

The emergency room physician appeared reluctant to comment on her question. Venus waited for an answer.

“Every now and again, yes, a few never recover their memory. But again, there’s no reason to believe that you’ll number among them.” A hint of a smile creased his thin lips. “You’ll get your memory back.”

That wasn’t enough. She needed facts. “Give me a good reason to believe that I will.”

The doctor seemed weary. It was apparent that he wasn’t accustomed to justifying his opinion, but he humored her.

“Well, you’re young, healthy and in very good physical condition. Those are the best conditions. Give yourself a little time.” He glanced at the man beside her, silently enlisting his aid. “Nearly drowning is a pretty intense experience.”

A restlessness continued to consume her. “So’s not knowing who you are.”

The doctor took a step away from the bed, as if ready to move on. “Well, know this. You’re a very lucky young lady that this man was there to save you.” He addressed his next words to Trevor. “She needs to come back in two weeks if she isn’t herself by then.” Taking out his prescription pad, he wrote something down on the top page, then tore it off. He held the page out to Trevor. “These are to deal with the pain should she have any,” he added. “Feel better,” he said, then walked quickly away.

Leaning over, Venus took the prescription from Trevor. Not a single word of it made any sense. Just like the jumbled mess in her brain. She sighed. “He seems to think you’re in charge of me.”

Trevor tried to lighten her obvious dour mood. “Maybe he’s aware of the custom I told you about earlier. I saved your life, now it’s mine to protect and do what I want with.”

Folding the prescription, she started to put it in her pocket, only to realize that she had no pockets and no other place to put the folded piece of paper. With another sigh, she held the prescription out to him.

“I guess you get to hang on to this until I can get a purse—which I can’t because I have no money, no identity,” she realized. Venus bit the inside of her lip to keep from uttering a string of less than flattering words about her dilemma.

“Sit tight,” he instructed, “I’ll get this filled for you at the hospital pharmacy.”

“Wouldn’t they be closed?” She looked at a wall clock directly to her right. “It’s after midnight.”

“The hospital pharmacy is opened twenty-four/seven,” he assured her. “My whole family uses this place. Can’t get better care than here.”

She nodded as she slid off the side of the bed.

He stopped walking away. “What are you doing? I just said—”

“I’m coming with you.” There was no room for debate. Her tone was firm. “And then, after we fill that, we can leave. The sooner we get out of here, the better.” When she saw him eyeing her quizzically, she told him, “I don’t like hospitals. I don’t know why I don’t, but I don’t.” And then she hesitated. Nothing about her was written in stone, she thought helplessly. “At least, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

Trevor could empathize. If he were in her place, if the family he loved were erased from his mind, he wouldn’t know how he would cope. “It’ll all clear up soon,” he promised.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she murmured.

Trevor cut off the engine. They were here. At the homeless shelter, the one he donated all his leftovers to. The one Kate volunteered at whenever her schedule permitted and where he, his brothers, sister and parents had spent more than one Thanksgiving working the kitchen.

St. Anne’s was clean, had been renovated less than two years ago and the staff consisted of kind, decent people. There was no reason in the world for him to hesitate in bringing Venus here. They’d take good care of her. They were accustomed to helping the lost, though she was just a little more lost than most.

And yet, he did hesitate. Maybe because St. Anne’s was a homeless shelter and somehow, that very fact seemed demoralizing. Venus had already been through enough tonight.

“You’ll be all right here,” he told her, trying to convince himself more than her.

She nodded. “You already said that. Twice.” She took a deep breath and placed her hand on the latch inside the car. But as she began to open the passenger door, Trevor suddenly stepped on the accelerator. They were moving away from the curb.

“Hey,” she protested, pulling the door shut. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you someplace else” was all he said.

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