Absolutely nothing.
His eyes sharpened again, cutting into her with laser intent as he waited for her to speak. Her mouth went dry. She clutched the sheet tight around her chest as if it would somehow shield her from the sheer horror at her predicament. The wind rose to an awful howl. Shutters crashed somewhere.
He was still watching, still waiting. But something else was shifting into his features. Pity. He felt sorry for her. And that made her feel infinitely worse. It also made her angry. She hated pity.
“If you tell me your name,” he said, “once we get our communication system up and running again, we can let someone know that you’re all right.”
She remained silent. She had absolutely no idea who might be looking for her.
“I’m sure there are people worried about you.”
She drew in a shaky breath, said nothing.
A crease deepened across the smooth skin of his brow. He studied her face, his blue eyes analyzing, stripping her down to her mental core, making her feel more naked than she already was under the crisp sheets.
“You don’t know your name, do you?”
“Of course I do.”
He arched a brow, waited.
“I…my name is…it’s…” It still wouldn’t come. She couldn’t find it. She felt it was inside her head somewhere, lurking in a file folder in her brain. She just couldn’t find the tab that identified the folder so that so she could grasp it, pull it out.
He touched her arm again.
She jerked back reflexively.
But this time his hand remained on her arm. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice suddenly incredibly gentle. His hand was warm. The roughness of his palm against her skin spoke of a man who spent a great deal of time outdoors. For some reason this grounded her. This time she found some small comfort in his touch. This time she didn’t pull away.
“Just relax, I’ll get Dr. Watson.”
“Doctor?”
“He tended to you most of the night.” He smiled into her eyes. “I took the graveyard shift so he could get some rest. I’ll send for him.”
Panic swamped reason. “No.” She jerked away, fresh energy and determination surging through her system. She struggled into a sitting position. She clutched the sheet around her torso and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine.”
She would be fine. As soon as she got moving. As soon as she got blood flowing back into her brain. Then it would all come back. Her name, everything. She was sure of it. “Where are my clothes?” she demanded.
He angled his head, tilted his dark brow, a hint of amusement lighting his intelligent eyes. “You haven’t got any.”
“What?”
A smile ghosted his lips. “You washed up on the shore as naked as the day you were born…apart from some torn green fabric wrapped around your legs.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Who brought me up from the beach?”
“I did.”
“How?”
“On my horse.”
Oh, Lord. She closed her eyes, tried to find a center in the gray swirling blankness of her brain. She had to get moving. It was the only way. She was sure of it. Once she moved she’d be fine. She forced herself off the bed and onto her feet, clutching the sheet tightly around her body. Her legs felt like lead, her feet were as heavy and about as cooperative as dead stumps.
She took a step, and the world spun wildly. She wobbled, grabbed the edge of the bed, steadied herself.
He grasped her elbow. “You shouldn’t move so quickly.”
She jerked away from him. “I said don’t touch me.” She took a determined step toward the thick-looking bedroom door. Then another. But her body wouldn’t behave. Her steps turned into a wild, flailing stumble, and the whole room spun. She swayed as a dizzying kaleidoscope of black and bright closed around her. She felt her legs collapse under her. Everything moved in slow motion as she sank to the floor, the sheet pooling embarrassingly at her feet as she went down.
He moved quickly, catching her head an instant before it thudded onto the cool tiles. She was vaguely aware of his callused hands against her bare torso, the brush of his forearm over her naked breast as he lifted her from the ground.
Then everything went black.
David yanked on a thick, tasseled bell cord. His housekeeper appeared almost immediately.
“Fayha’, get Dr. Watson, please. Tell him his patient surfaced briefly. I think she’s sleeping now.”
Fayha’ dipped her head in silent acquiescence, closed the door gently behind her. David turned to the mysterious woman lying in his bed, all the while listening for the approach of Watson’s heavy footsteps in the stone corridor.