* * *
“Fallon.”
Fallon sighed. It was that husky male voice again, calling her back.
“I know you can hear me, Fallon. I want you to open your eyes.”
He was half-right, whoever he was. She could hear him, but opening her eyes was impossible.
“You can do it.”
A hand, hard and warm, wrapped around hers.
“I know you can do it.”
He was wrong. She couldn’t do anything but lie here and sleep.
“Damn it, don’t you want to get better? You won’t, if you don’t open your eyes. You have to wake up. You must wake up!”
“Signore. I know you’re upset but please, you need some rest. Il dottore would like to check your arm again. I know you refused stitches earlier, but if you would just come with me—”
“Not until she’s conscious.”
“Si, so you said, but that might take hours.” The woman’s voice gentled. “Days, perhaps, signore.”
“Then I’ll stay with her for days,” the man said roughly. “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
“You need to take care of your own injury, signore.”
“You need to take care of your own injury,” Fallon said weakly, as she opened her eyes. “She’s right.”
The man and the woman swung toward her, staring at her as if they couldn’t believe she’d spoken.
Well, why would they? She’d thought the words, but they hadn’t come out sounding quite like that. Her speech was stiff and slurred.
That didn’t seem to matter to the people standing beside her bed. Both of them said her name with excitement.
“Signorina O’Connell!”
“Fallon! Fallon, thank God.”
Fallon looked from one face to the other. The woman was dressed in white and was obviously a nurse. The man—the man looked familiar. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A smile that softened an otherwise hard-looking mouth.
Who was he? Why couldn’t she recall his name? It lay just at the tip of her tongue.
“It’s good to have you with us again, signorina,” the nurse said. “How do you feel?”
It was a good question. How did she feel? Exhausted. Achy all over. Confused. But most of all, her head hurt. And her face. From the neck up, she was a throbbing mass of pain.
“Whappen?”
“Scusi?”
“She wants to know what happened.”
The man reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. It felt good, letting him do that. He was strong; she could tell by just looking into his eyes, and with their fingers entwined, she could almost feel some of that strength flowing into her.
“There was an accident,” he said softly.
“Accident?”
“Yes. A car accident.”
A car accident? Fallon closed her eyes, tried to remember. She saw herself in a car, saw a winding, wet road, a bright light, a tree…
And then nothing.
“Fallon?”
She made the mistake of shaking her head to tell him she had no memory of it. Tiny hammer-blows of pain struck along her jaw, her forehead, scalp and eye socket. She hissed with the sharpness of it.
That sent the nurse into action.
“I shall get il dottore,” she said, and hurried away.
A bell was ringing softly in the background; a mechanical-sounding voice was repeating a message over and over, requesting that a Dottore Something-or-other call his office.
Fallon looked into the man’s eyes.
“Is this a hospital?”
The words didn’t come out sounding like that. Izissas-pital? was closer to what she said, but evidently he understood because he nodded.
“Yes.”
A hospital. Of course. What other place would be so dazzlingly bright? The walls, the ceiling; even the unadorned light fixture in the ceiling blazed down with a white glow so vivid it hurt the eyes.
“The doctor will be here in a moment.”
The nurse was back, politely trying to get past the man, but he didn’t give an inch.
“Signore, par favore, if you would let go of the lady’s hand for a moment…I promise, I’ll give it right back.”
Color stained his high cheekbones. He let go of Fallon’s hand and she felt a flutter of alarm. He was the only familiar thing—the only vaguely familiar thing—in this strange and painful world.
“Don’go,” she whispered.
His expression softened. “Don’t worry, cara. I won’t leave you.”
The nurse’s cool fingers closed around her wrist.
“Her pulse is okay?” the man said.
“Fine.”
“Her temperature? It’s okay, too?”
“I’ll know after I take it,” the nurse said gently. “Just be patient, signore.” A moment passed. The nurse nodded, put a stethoscope to her ears, listened and nodded again. “The signorina’s vital signs are excellent. I’ll go and inform the doctor.”
She stood up; the man brushed past her and sat down beside the bed. When he touched Fallon’s hand, she twined her fingers through his.
“What can I do for her?” he asked the nurse in a low voice.
“You have already done a great deal,” the woman said quietly. “Getting her here as quickly as you did…”
“Yes.” His eyes went dark. “I meant the rest.”
“You can be here, signore.” She smiled at Fallon. “That seems to mean a great deal to the lady, si?”
It did. He was her only comfort…and yet—and yet—Why did he seem familiar? Why couldn’t she place him?
“I don’t remember you,” Fallon said woozily. “But I have the feeling that I should.”
“The gentleman brought you here,” the nurse said, before Stefano could speak. “He is, how do you say, your Good Samaritan, yes?”
Fallon knew better than to nod her head this time. She knew better than to smile, either. Moving her mouth was too painful.
“Yes,” she said softly, and looked at Stefano. “Did you find me on the road?”
“Not exactly.”
His hand tightened on hers as the nurse padded quietly from the room. Stefano chewed on his lip. Nothing about this little scene was simple. Should he tell Fallon she was right to find his face familiar? Should he remind her of their initial meeting and how badly it had gone? Should he tell her he’d been watching her all week?
No. She was shaken and hurt, and things would get far worse before they got better, for she had yet to see her face in a mirror and
realize the severity of her injuries.
But he could tell her what had happened on that wet road.
“You were driving your car,” he said in a low voice. “I was riding my motorcycle. The road was narrow, the rain had just started and you came around a curve and skidded.” He hesitated. “You didn’t expect to see anyone else on that road and when you did—”
“Were you hurt, too?”
“Me? No. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “Would you like some water?”
She nodded. He took a glass from the table beside the bed and carefully brought it to her lips. She tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t let her.
“No, no. Don’t move around. Not until the doctor checks you over. Here.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, lifted her a bit and gently tucked the straw between her lips. “Drink a little. Easy. That’s it. Good?”
Fallon nodded again and sank back against the pillows.
“How do you feel?”
“Awful,” she said, and tried to smile but it didn’t work. For one thing, it hurt. And the muscles in her face wouldn’t cooperate. She lifted her hand, raised it toward her face. The man caught her wrist and stopped her.
“You have bandages,” he said quickly. “It’s probably best if you don’t touch them.”
“Bandages?”
“Yes. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“Bandages on my face? Am I cut?”
He could hear the underlying note of fear in her voice and knew he would have willingly done anything to take that fear away. How much to tell her? How soon?
“A little,” he finally said.
Her eyes searched his. He saw the muscles in her throat move as she swallowed and he knew she had decided not to ask too many questions just yet.
God, he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, soothe her as if she were a little girl needing his comfort.
“Tell me more about the accident.”
“There’s nothing more to tell,” he said, clasping her hand again. “What matters is that you’re alive and that you’ll be walking out of here in no time.”
Then, why wouldn’t her Good Samaritan let her touch her face? Before he could stop her, Fallon snaked her other hand out from under the blanket and lifted. Her fingers danced over the bandages, then felt the puckered ridgelines of delicate silk stitches.