Mystery Wife

by Annette Broadrick

  He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again. The small bedside lamp was still lit and Sherye was curled beside him, her arms and legs still entwined with his.

  Raoul couldn't remember a time in his life when he had felt so truly whole and complete. What had happened between them tonight was nothing short of a miracle. Never had he felt such a tenderness toward his beautiful and willful wife.

  She'd shared her unabashed needs without shame, all the while making him feel as though he was the only man who could satisfy those particular needs. He lifted a long strand of her hair and watched it curl around his finger.

  "Are you cold?" she asked.

  He'd thought she was still asleep until her long lashes had lifted from her satiny cheeks. Her eyes were fuzzy with sleep.

  "A little," he admitted with a half smile.

  "We could get under the covers, if you'd like."

  "We could." He didn't move.

  She grinned. "Are you too comfortable to move?"

  "Something like that."

  She slid the leg she'd tucked between his thighs a few inches up... then a few inches down... his leg.

  He tightened his arms around her. "I have an idea," he whispered.

  "What's that?"

  "We could go shower, then sleep in my bed for the rest of the night."

  "Mmm."

  "Is that a yes or a no?"

  "Oh, I think it could definitely be considered a yes."

  He sat up, pulling her up with him. Once on his feet he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bathroom. There he allowed her to stand while he adjusted the spray of the water, then guided her into the shower with him.

  With careful strokes Raoul lathered her entire body, blocking most of the water with his back, then stepped aside to allow her to rinse. Dutifully she took the washcloth and mimicked his ministrations until she had him so stiff he had to grit his teeth to keep from lifting her onto him right then and there.

  He forced himself to turn his back and hurriedly rinse. Then he stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and in record time dried both of them off. This time he was determined to make it to bed and beneath the covers.

  He made it, but just barely.

  This time he placed himself on the bed and urged her to move over him. With a mischievous grin she knelt over him and soon had him gripping the sheets and clenching his jaw to stop himself from groaning at her exquisite touch.

  When she finally eased herself down over him, engulfing him with her velvet-lined sheath, he was too far gone to do anything but grab her hips and encourage her to ride him fast and hard until she collapsed on his chest after they had once again reached their peaks together.

  Raoul went to sleep with her bonelessly sprawled across him.

  ❧

  He was so soundly asleep that he couldn't seem to figure out how to quiet the jangling noise that impinged on his consciousness. The steady brrinng nearby wouldn't go away. He didn't know how long the noise had been going on before he was awake enough to recognize the sound of the phone.

  Sometime during the night Sherye had curled up on her side, and he was tucked spoon-fashion beside her. With a groan he rolled away from her and reached for the phone.

  "Yes?"

  "Sorry to bother you," the housekeeper said hurriedly, "but you have a phone call from Perth, Australia, They insisted on speaking to you right away."

  Perth, Australia? He had no business contacts there. Raoul shoved his hair out of his face, rubbed bis jaw and said, "All right. Put it through, please." He glanced over at Sherye and saw that she was still sound asleep. No wonder, he thought with a grin of purely male satisfaction. He was already thinking of some fairly inventive ways he could wake her up a little later when another voice came on the line and he said, "This is Raoul DuBois."

  Chapter 11

  Sherye wasn't certain what caused her to awaken. She heard a low murmur nearby, then a sharp questioning sound that somehow broke through her wonderful dream and caused her to surface into awareness of her surroundings.

  She blinked, surprised to see that she was not in her own bed before the events of the previous night rushed into her mind. She stretched, then winced as certain achy spots on her body forcibly reminded her of recent activities.

  Smiling, she rolled over and reached for Raoul.

  He was sitting on the side of the bed,,obviously listening to someone on the phone. Unable to resist the temptation of that smooth, bare expanse of muscle, she placed her hand on his back.

  He jerked away as though she had burned him and looked around at her with a grim, shocked stare. The combination of his expression and instinctive withdrawal sobered her.

  What happened to the warm, loving, passionate man from the night before?

  She stared at him in confusion. The tender lover of last night had disappeared as though he'd never existed. In his place was the cold, hard, aloof man that had been waiting beside her when she first opened her eyes at the hospital.

  She could have wept if it would have done any good. What was wrong? What had she done? Was there some etiquette about sharing his bed that had been lost along with so many of her other memories?

  Sherye forced herself to listen to his end of the conversation, for the first time wondering if the phone call had anything to do with his inexplicable change of attitude.

  She couldn't tell much from his side of the conversation. He was asking short questions and receiving lengthy answers. Afraid to do anything that might further distract or annoy him, she lay quietly and waited for him to get off the phone.

  When Raoul hung up and looked at her she knew that whatever information he'd received would affect her. She could feel a trembling beginning somewhere deep inside. She fought to control her reaction to the implacable mask Raoul now wore.

  "What's wrong?" she finally asked when he didn't speak but continued to stare at her.

  "I would say just about everything," he finally responded. He got out of bed and strode into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  By now the trembling had taken over her entire body. She knew that she needed to get up, to put on some clothes so that she wouldn't feel quite so vulnerable, but at the moment she was shaking too much for her knees to support her.

  Within moments Raoul reentered the bedroom and, without looking at her, began to dress.

  "I heard you say you'd be there as soon as you could. Is there an emergency at the winery?"

  Once dressed, he walked over to the bed and stood at the end of it. He was studying her as though she was someone he'd never seen before. His stare unnerved her.

  "Raoul?" she whispered, feeling as though her world was suddenly spinning out of control. How could she hope to adjust to such a wide range of moods as he'd exhibited in a few short hours? Was that why she'd ended up distancing herself from him in the past?

  His first words wiped all speculation from her mind.

  "The doctors and I should have listened more closely to you when you first regained consciousness."

  She stared at him in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

  "During those first few days you kept talking about your home in Dallas, about your friend Janine, about seeing yourself in a classroom."

  "Dr. Leclerc felt those images could be explained," she reminded him when he didn't say any more.

  "Of course. Based on the fact that I identified you as my wife."

  "Well, yes, that's true."

  "But you didn't believe me. Or him. You were shocked to see that your hair was red. You were not comfortable with the clothes, you didn't recognize the children, the chateau, or Danielle and Merman.'' ,

  "But I thought you said you no longer cared about my memory loss. You said—"

  He made a chopping motion with his hand. "Forget what I said. Forget everything you've been told."

  "But I-"

  "I have just been informed that my wife—that Sherye DuBois—is presently in a coma in a Per
th hospital. That she has been there for several weeks without identification. There would have been a more timely identification if there had been a missing persons bulletin out on her." He leaned closer. "But of course there would not have been a missing persons report filed, since I believed Sherye DuBois was living at home, showing an unusual amount of interest in my children, in my home and in my life."

  He turned and began to pace.

  "I should have known. You were too different from Sherye despite the physical resemblance between the two of you. If I'd been thinking at all last night I would have known. You are nothing like Sherye in bed... nothing! But I was so caught up in passion that I ignored all the evidence."

  She felt stabbed by his offhand comment. She couldn't have said anything if her life had depended on it.

  He stopped pacing and stood at the end of the bed once again. "The only thing that I do believe is that you haven't faked your memory loss. You were tested too vigorously to have faked such a thing." He ran his hand through his hair and frowned.

  "I don't have time now to deal with who you are and how you came to be driving Sherye's car. I've got to fly to Perth and bring her back here."

  She couldn't deal with what he was saying. She simply couldn't. One shock was falling on another. She wasn't Sherye? She wasn't married to Raoul? She wasn't the mother of Yvette and Jules?

  "I—" She stopped, unable to go on.

  He came around the bed and flipped the sheet away from her body. Instinctively she grabbed for it, but too late. He ran his hand over her smooth abdomen. "I bet you've never had a child. There are not stretch marks, something I didn't notice last night, but Sherye had several, here—" he ran his hand along her pelvic bone "—and here." He touched the curve of her hips.

  Everywhere he touched her, her skin tingled, as though remembering his touch during the long, heated hours of the night. She tucked the sheet around her, pulling it high on her chest.

  "It's a little late for modesty, don't you think?" he drawled.

  "Why are you being this way? Do you think I've done this on purpose? Do you believe that—" she choked on the words "—your wife and I planned this?"

  He spun away from her and began to pace once again. "I don't know what to think... or believe. All I know is that I must leave right away and you—" He paused, and when he didn't go on, she prompted him.

  "Yes? I what?"

  "There's nothing else you can do but to stay here until we can find out who you are and how the hell you came to be here." He started pulling clothes out of his closet along with a bag. "I'll hire a private detective to see what he can find. I'll have him come here and interview you to see what you can dredge up from your memories that might give him some place to begin his search."

  She rubbed her hands over her face. She was dreaming, that's all. This was some kind of nightmare. Any moment now she would wake up and she and Raoul would be able to laugh about her silly dream.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn't seem to control them. They rolled faster and faster and she caught her breath in a sob.

  He looked up from his suitcase, then slowly walked over to her. Sinking onto the side of the bed, he said, "Look, I'm sorry I'm not handling this very well. I should have realized the shock would be as great to you as it is to me, given our circumstances."

  She wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands. "I don't even know my name," she whispered.

  As though he couldn't stop himself, Raoul took her hand and massaged the knuckles with his thumb. "We'll find out."

  "I don't belong here."

  "But you'll stay here until we find out where you do be-long." '

  The confusion as well as the unexpected kindness in his voice was her undoing. She could no longer hold back the pain.

  ❧

  The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was that she was back in her room. No. That wasn't right. She was in Sherye's room.

  Dear God! This was even worse than the first time when she had awakened in the hospital. Now she had memories of a different sort, memories that shouldn't have been hers at all because she wasn't Sherye DuBois. Instead she was some nameless person who looked like the famous model.

  Listlessly she turned her head on the pillow, aware for the first time of the lengthening shadows in the room. Raoul had given her something, hadn't he? She vaguely remembered a prescription for medication the doctor had sent home with her. Something to soothe her if she became too agitated. Raoul had offered her a tablet with a glass of water and she had been willing to escape into oblivion in order to avoid the pain of the moment.

  Now she felt sluggish, her mind disjointed from her body and her surroundings. Raoul must be gone by now, gone to Australia to find his real wife.

  She felt removed from the whole idea of Raoul and his wife who was in a coma. There was something to be said for being in a coma. At least Sherye could escape from a world she hadn't been able to face.

  "Are you feeling better now?" Danielle asked, stepping closer to the bed.

  "Oh. I didn't see you."

  "Raoul asked me to stay with you. He didn't want you to wake up alone."

  Not only had he placed her in her own bed, he had also slipped a nightgown on her. She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember the night they had spent together. Nor did she want to remember what he had said about their love-making. But she couldn't forget that he had known she was a fake. She hadn't been able to compare to Sherye when it came to making love with him.

  Here was another humiliating aspect of her present situation. Not only did she not know who she was, she hadn't been able to successfully be someone else.

  Her fairy-tale life had ended. Somehow she would have to pick up the pieces and go on from here.

  Danielle took her hand and gently squeezed it. "Raoul explained that we were wrong about your being Sherye. I'm so sorry all of this has happened. I've grown to love you very much during these past few weeks."

  She tried to smile, but she wasn't certain of her success.

  Danielle continued. "Raoul contacted an investigator, who wants to speak with you as soon as you feel up to it."

  "Yes. I need to do whatever I can to find out where I belong."

  "In the meantime, we have to find a name to call you. Can you think of one you'd like?"

  She shook her head and Danielle didn't push. After a moment Danielle asked, "Are you hungry? I could order a tray for you."

  "I'm not particularly hungry but I know I need to eat." She tried to think. "Am I supposed to call the investigator to set up an appointment?"

  "Why don't I call him and suggest he meet you here at the chateau in the morning?"

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  "We'll get through this together. You don't have to go through any of it alone. I may not know your name, but you are my friend and will always be my friend. Try not to fret. I'll be back with something for you to eat."

  Once she was alone again, she slipped out of bed and went in to shower. She wanted to dress and feel more in control. She had to face the situation head-on and find the answers. Obviously Raoul had his hands full with this most recent news.

  She stood in the middle of the room the two of them had shared since her memory began and thought of the man who had played a major role in her new life.

  Raoul.. .who was no longer her husband...who had never been her husband. Raoul... the man she loved.

  ❧

  Raoul leaned his head against the airline seat and closed his eyes. He'd managed to make good connections, but he had several hours of flying time before he would reach Perth on the western coast of Australia.

  Perhaps during the ensuing hours he would be able to come to grips with this latest devastating news. The shock of the early-morning call had forced him to put all of his feelings on hold while he dealt with the practical details of the unusual situation in which he found himself.

  For weeks he'd been living with a woman who wasn't his wife. The irony of the ti
ming of the phone call hadn't escaped him. Twenty-four hours earlier and there would have been no intimacy between him and the woman he'd thought was Sherye. He could have apologized for his role in the misidentification, helped her find out her true identity and, perhaps, felt a touch of sadness that the woman he'd come to know—the kind, gentle, caring woman—was not, after all, a new incarnation for his previously shallow, self-centered wife.

  Unfortunately he had been given that twenty-four hours, which had compounded the inherent problems in the situation and added a distinctly painful side effect to everything that had happened.

  He couldn't run away from the fact that he was in love with a woman with no memory of who she was. The only thing known for certain was that she was not his wife.

  The authorities in Perth had made certain their proof of identity was incontrovertible before they had called him, not wanting to be held responsible for any possibility of a mistake.

  Now he had to find some way to blot out the multitude of discoveries he'd made while making love to the woman he'd believed was Sherye—discoveries about how differently he viewed himself and his feelings and abilities to relate to others.

  He had given himself in a way he'd never done before. He had shared all of who he was and accepted all of who she was... the woman who now held his heart in the palm of her hand.

  He had seen her shock and emotional distress and had wanted nothing more than to stay beside her, holding and comforting her, reassuring her that somehow, some way he would make things work for them.

  But he'd known better. He'd known from the time the authorities confirmed the identity of the woman in Perth that all the joy he'd discovered, the sense of unity he'd felt with another, his insight of how love transcends all boundaries would not matter now that he knew about the mistaken identity.

  It could not matter. It must not matter because he had a duty to deal with life as it was, not the way he wanted life to be.