To Love a Stranger (12 page)

D
ark sky. Angry clouds. Smoke. He could smell smoke. Black smoke.

“Mayday! Mayday!”

We're going down. Dear God, we're going down.

He tried to scream but now he couldn't squeeze air through his lungs. Blood rushed and threatened to burst his eardrums while his body tensed in preparation for the inevitable impact.

A static voice buzzed in head. “What's your position, Maj. Cougar?” Position. Position? He couldn't think. They were going to crash. The throttle of the helicopter rattled out of control in his hand while the static voice questioned him again. “What's your position, Maj. Cougar?”

“I-I-can't control it.”

“Russell! Russell! Wake up!” Madeline shook his body, frightened that he was having some type of seizure. “Russell, please. You're scaring me,” she said, desperate to wake him.

Russell continued to thrash and then suddenly his eyes snapped open. He bolted up in bed and Madeline released a startled cry of alarm.

“What?” He glanced around, and panicked when he was unable to recognize his surroundings. “Where am I?”

“You're in my room,” the woman next to him answered in a small voice.

Wild eyed, he glanced over at her and then slowly relaxed as recognition settled in. “Madeline.”

She flashed him a nervous smile, while her beautiful green gaze filled with questions.

“Bad dream,” he answered the unasked question. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Quite a while. It's noon.”

Russell blinked. “You're kidding?”

“No. Judging by the way you were snoring, I'd say you needed it.” She laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” He collapsed back against the pillows. “I've been having trouble sleeping.” He tossed the covers back from his naked body and started to climb out. “Are the kids up?”

Madeline placed a staying hand against his shoulder. “Don't worry about them. They're playing at the neighbors. How long have you been having trouble sleeping?”

He couldn't answer the question. It seemed like forever. When he didn't answer, he saw worry lines etch into her face. “Don't worry I'm fine. I've been able to operate pretty good with just a few hours of sleep. Sometimes even less than that,” he said.

His words of assurance had the opposite affect.

Madeline's gaze dropped to his naked body. “How did you get all these scars?” Her fingers traced a long jagged scar on his right side and then leapt to a few smaller ones on the left side. “You have a few keloids on your back, too.”

“I don't know. It must have something to do with the crash.”

Madeline removed her hand from his scar and glanced up to meet his questioning stare.

“Is something wrong, baby?”

How could she answer such a question? Everything is fine…except there's this naked stranger in my bed.

“What is it, baby? Why are you crying?”

Madeline touched her face, surprised there were, indeed, tears. “It's nothing. It's just that…last night was so beautiful.”

Russell smiled and relaxed. “You mean, whenever I could keep you
on
the bed?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. That had never been a problem for her in the past. But there was an intensity and an unbridled passion that had transferred between them last night that she couldn't hold still and truth be told, her body was aching for another round right now.

“How did you meet Shaw?” she asked instead.

“The detective?”

She nodded, keeping her gaze leveled with his to see if she could read the truth in his eyes. “It was pretty much like he said. At the hospital.”

“Queen Elizabeth?”

Russell opened his mouth, closed it and wrinkled his forehead in deep thought. “Yeah.” He gazed off into the distance for a long moment, and then shook his head as if the question had given him a headache.

Madeline's gaze dropped and again returned to the scars across his body. Something had happened to him; that was for sure. Then again, what about the blood test? How on earth did he pass a blood test?

“I'm starving. What about you?” Russell said, pulling her body against him. He sniffed the column of her neck and sighed dreamily. “You smell like baby powder. You've already hit the shower?”

“Well, we both can't lie in bed all day,” she teased.

“Why not?” He slid up her pink chemise and exposed her full breasts. “The children are gone and neither of us has to go into the office today. We can play all day if we want to.”

It was true, she realized. Last night, she had been too caught up in the heat of the moment, but now in the light of day, she knew that carrying on such a charade was wrong—wasn't it?

Russell's hot mouth locked around a pert nipple while his large hand slid down in between her legs. “Mmm. It seems as if you're ready to play,” he said.

Madeline closed her eyes and panted, “I thought you were about to get up and get something to eat?”

“I don't have to get out of bed for that.”

Her panties came off with a firm yank and Russell planted himself between her legs to prove his point.

The war between her head and her heart was probably the shortest war ever fought. There was something about the way his hands roamed over her skin, the way his mouth raised her body's temperature and just the beautiful way he made love to her that made her feel so complete.

By her second orgasm, Madeline's voice was reduced to a breathless pant and joyful tears rolled from her eyes and soaked her pillow. Even then, she didn't want him to stop. Heck, she never even wanted to leave the bed.

Sooner or later she would have to get answers—just not right now.

Russell burrowed deep into Madeline, relishing the way her slick velvet walls lulled him into a peaceful utopia. He loved the way her slim fingers rolled down his back and then settled against his butt in silent urging.

Madeline's sighs escalated and every muscle in her body tightened. He growled, knowing that she was on the verge of another orgasm. She was wet, slippery, warm and moist. Soon his own breathing came out in short sporadic puffs.

Madeline tossed back her hair and Russell watched, fascinated by her uninhibited response. Her contractions squeezed him and drove him insane. With each thrust, he lost a piece of himself, of his soul, to her.

A grand climatic cry tore from her long, smooth throat and he erupted soon after, his body quaking with violent, intense spasms.

“God, I love you.” He rained kisses along the side of her face, down her neck and across her collarbone. He breathed in the musky scent of their lovemaking. “I love you.”

She curled and snuggled against him and pressed a kiss against his sweat, slick forehead. “I love you, too.”

Russell smiled and glanced up, but halted at the sight of her tears. “You're crying again.” He gently brushed a them away. “Why the tears?”

Her smile flickered briefly. “Because I'm so happy.” She gazed deep into his eyes. “You make me so happy.”

“Then I hope that I will always make you this happy.”

Madeline nodded, but in her heart, she knew this was one promise he couldn't keep.

The last few days of December flew by in a haze. The children continued their joyous bonding with Russell with plenty of snowballs fights, video-game tournaments and s'mores by firelight. Plus, they seemed giddy about the fact he'd finally moved into their mother's bedroom.

Madeline couldn't complain, either. Her nights and mornings were filled with wild, mind-blowing sex that she had only dreamed about. Every time she thought she couldn't possible stand another round, Russell wrangled another orgasm out of her exhausted body.

When they were having sex, Russell picked her brain about the ins and outs of her job and he really listened, questioned her ideas and encouraged her whenever she mentioned some particular difficulties she was having with distributors, model agencies or just simple fabric decisions.

Once he'd asked what had taken her so long to get started on her dreams and she had to refrain from telling him that he—or rather her real husband—had discouraged her from doing anything other than joining the right wives clubs and posing prettily for the cameras.

Christopher threw an outrageous New Year's Eve party at his estate and he immediately sensed that something had changed between Russell and Madeline and it made him nervous. Throughout the evening the two behaved more like newlyweds than two people who were on the verge of a divorce…like he'd hoped.

As a result, he hit the bar fast and furious. It didn't help that Madeline tried constantly to corner him.

Had she finally found out the truth?

If so, he had a lot of explaining to do.

Damn. Why didn't Madeline file for divorce like a good girl?
Christopher slammed back another drink and then scanned the dancing crowd to see
his brother
laughing at something Madeline whispered in his ear. Christopher's heart squeezed.

The same face.

The same voice.

The same laugh.

But he was
not
Russell.

He had been a fool thinking he could pull this off. He was also desperate. So enamored with the similarities that, he convinced himself that he could have his brother back.

However, for the last six weeks the office had been buzzing about the changes in Russell. Where the real Russell had been loud and gregarious, this Russell was more quiet and introverted. The real Russell loved women—often. This Russell only had eyes for Madeline.

Party horns blared and Stone Cold Records newest artist that was working the crowd called for everyone's attention.

Tiffani clamped a hand around Christopher's wrist and dragged him toward the stage. Standing before the crowd, his wife grabbed the microphone and glanced at her watch.

“All right, everybody. It's almost that time to ring in the New Year!”

The crowd cheered.

Christopher caught sight of Russell and Madeline again. He was laughing. She was staring at Christopher.

She knows.

Tiffani began the countdown. “Ten, nine, eight…”

Christopher looked away and chiseled a smile on his face.

“Six, five, four…”

Watching her skittish brother-in-law, Madeline had her answer. And with the holidays drawing to a close, she had a serious decision to make. Uncover the truth about the stranger she had fallen in love with, or go on pretending the imposter was her husband.

“Three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Glittering confetti, balloons and streamers fell on the exuberant crowd while several blasts from party horns rattled her eardrums.

Russell gathered her close, enveloping her with loving arms. “Happy New Year, sweetheart. I love you.” He leaned forward and planted the sweetest kiss against her full lips.

I love you, too. Whoever you are.

F
or the first time in a long while, Russell slept peacefully throughout the night. A great deal of that was attributed to the sex marathon he and Madeline competed in for the last week. He certainly wasn't complaining. Madeline's body was a wonderland of smooth curves, jasmine-scented valleys and warm silken caverns. He had been more than willing to lose his mind and soul exploring every inch of it.

The morning's bright winter sun bathed and warmed his body. With a great sigh, Russell stretched every muscle in his body. Was it possible to feel any more content than he did at this moment? Of course he could. He and Madeline could engage in one more round of lovemaking before having to get up.

Smiling, Russell slid his hands across the bed. “Baby,” he purred. However, his hands never made contact with Madeline.

He snapped open his eyes and then bolted up in bed. However, he wasn't alone. Madeline sat curled up in the bedroom's window, watching him.

He laughed and then relaxed back against the pillows. “What are you doing over there?” Russell patted the empty spot beside him. “Why don't you come back to bed before we're rudely interrupted?”

Madeline's face flushed prettily and Russell was instantly hard again.

“Or,” he said, climbing out the sheets, “I can join you over there.”

“No. No.” She threw up her hands, though a smile still hung on her lips. “Stop,” she said.

“Why?” He asked, standing nude from the bed.

“Because.”

“Because why?” he asked, sounding eerily like their eight-year old. Russell reached the window, swept her into his arms and pressed a fervent kiss against her lips.

They moaned together as Madeline leaned slack against him. The feel of her hard nipples against his chest caused Russell's heart to ram full throttle against his chest.

When his lungs finally demanded oxygen, he broke the kiss, but still kept their foreheads pressed together.

“Because I said so,” she whispered finally. “I can't think when you do that.”

He chuckled and peppered kisses across her closed eyelids. “Don't think. Feel.” He inhaled the soft fragrance of her hair and roamed his fingertips lightly down curves of her body. “Can you feel me?”

She moaned again and sighed. “Yes.”

It was a good thing, but he was definitely feeling her, not just physically, but emotionally. They belonged together. It was the one thing he was sure of. He saw them having more children and growing old together.

A part of him didn't care whether his memory returned because he was no longer the man people talked about. He had no desire to stay out at clubs all night, drape himself with obnoxiously sized diamonds or compete with Christopher on the amount of notches to add on his bedpost.

After work, all he wanted to do was stay home and spend time with Madeline and the children. It sounded cliché, but home really was where his heart lay.

“I have an idea,” he said, stealing a quick kiss.

She lifted her adorable green eyes and stared into his soul.

“Let's get married,” he whispered excitedly. To his surprise, she stiffened in his arms. “I know that we're already married but…I'm not that same man.” He stroked a hand through her hair. “And I have a feeling you're not the same woman.”

“Russell, I-I…”

“We can do it right here at the house. Ariel could be the little flower girl and Russ could be the ring bearer or the best man. Although, he'd probably have to fight his Uncle Chris for that privilege.”

Madeline shook her head and pressed against his chest. “Whoa, whoa. You're moving too fast here.” She succeeded in escaping his embrace and turning her back toward him.

Confused, Russell felt as if a steel vise had clamped around his heart. Had the last six weeks, heck, the last week meant nothing? Now that the holidays were over, had she planned to take him up on his offer for a divorce? He braced himself, suddenly feeling sick.

“What's the matter, Pamela? Don't you love me?”

Madeline whipped around. “Who's Pamela?”

Russell blinked. Had he said Pamela? “I-I don't know.” But he did know, didn't he? He tried concentrating on the name, but after a moment, his head exploded with pain.

“Here, here. Come lie down.” Madeline helped him over to the bed and then limped to the bathroom for a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water. “Hold on, let me go get you some crackers or something.”

Despite the pain and discomfort, Russell rather liked being taken care of by Madeline. Seeing her fuss over him put his fears to rest. She loved him. It was in everything she did.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, once the pain began to subside.

“I'll feel better when you agree to marry me.”

Her shoulders deflated and she started to turn away from the bed.

Russell reached out and caught one of her wrists.

Madeline glanced back down at him.

“Say ‘yes,'” he urged, and then pulled her down to lay beside him in bed. “Say ‘yes.'” He curled toward her and once again rained kisses on her face, all the while urging her to, “Say ‘yes.'”

Seconds later, the word
yes
fell from her lips and Russell made love to the woman who held his heart completely.

The first business day of the New Year, Christopher returned to work. It was before nine o'clock but he had already downed half a bottle of Crown Royal in preparation for the day ahead and a possible confrontation with Madeline. He didn't know what time she'd show up…he just knew that she would.

Lucky for him, he didn't have too long to wait. His secretary announced her arrival a few minutes after nine. He could have stalled, constructed some lie, but he wouldn't be able to avoid her forever.

“Send her in.” Christopher sat back in his chair and braced himself for the worst.

The door opened and Madeline glided in, looking the part of a fashion diva and glaring at him as though ready to eat him alive. “Christopher.”

“Madeline. Won't you have a seat?”

“I'd rather stand.”

He nodded and reached for his drink again. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She ignored the stupid question, but patiently crossed her arms and waited for him to stew in silence.

He didn't last longer than a few seconds. “I guess you want to talk about Russell.”

“No. I want to talk to you about the stranger living under my roof, playing father to my impressionable children and…” She stopped and drew a deep breath to collect herself.

Christopher guessed what she wanted to say. “I figured that's how you found out.”

In a blink of an eye her face turned to stone and she came close as humanly possible to breathing fire. “You figured that's how I'd find out? You purposely sent a stranger to my bed? Are you out of your mind?”

He worked his jaw, swallowed. “Maybe.”

Madeline stared, shaking her head. “Why? Why would you lie?”

Christopher's eyes widened, incredulous. “Why do you think?” He finally stood from his chair, walked over to the window and gaze out at the skyline. “Look at him. He's a perfect carbon copy of Russell. His face, his voice and even his laugh.” Tears raced down Christopher's face. “I just wanted my brother back.”

Madeline walked stealthily to the window, but paid no attention to the view. “That's bull and you know it.”

Christopher turned and locked gazes.

“You wanted your
damn
company back. Announce to the world that your dearly departed brother has returned from the dead, reinstate our prenuptial agreement and convince
Russell
to divorce me and—what? Were you hoping the man would never get his memory back? Hope that he would live the rest of his days as your long-lost brother? What?”

“You got it all wrong.”

She stalked toward him. “You look me in the eyes and tell me none of this crossed your mind. Tell me you weren't behind him telling me to stick the marriage out until after holidays and then we should look into getting a divorce!”

Christopher opened his mouth, the denial seconds from falling off his tongue…but then he quickly closed his mouth and dropped his gaze.

Madeline reared back a fist and threw her whole body into a punch across his jaw. Christopher's head rocked to the side. This time his body turned to stone and anger blazed in his eyes. Yet, his hands stayed clenched at his sides.

“Tell me,
Saint
Madeline. When did you discover he wasn't Russell? Last night?”

Madeline's gaze faltered.

“The night before?”

She clenched and unclenched her jaw.

“Tell me, what took you so long to confront me about this?”

Madeline moved from the window, but Christopher stalked behind her. “You
wanted
him to be Russell every bit as much as I did. You want him to be your husband. You want him to be the father of your children.”

She whirled toward him. “Only because he's a better
man
than your brother ever dreamed of being.”

“Face it. You just don't want to lose him.”

“What makes you think I'll lose him?”

Christopher's lips sloped into an uneven line before he marched over to his desk and picked up a thick manila folder.

Dread seeped into Madeline's bones. She suddenly didn't want to continue this argument—an argument it took her a week to prepare for. “What's that?”

“One guess.”

She clutched her cane and hobbled backward toward the door, but Christopher reached her with lightening speed.

“You want the truth?” He shoved the folder into her arms. “Well, here you go, my dear. Peruse at your leisure.”

The folder felt heavy, too heavy, in her arms. She willed herself not to look down at it. “How did you get this?”

Christopher laughed and walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. “Care to join me?”

“Answer the question.”

He took his time refreshing his drink and by the time he faced Madeline again, tears had worked their way up and blurred her vision.

“Dr. Rountree took not only his blood samples, but fingerprints. I contacted a few friends, greased a few pockets and—
voila.
”

“Fingerprints?” Madeline felt sick. “Please don't tell me he some kind of criminal. This all hasn't been some kind scam, has it?”

Christopher took a hefty swallow of his drink. “No. As far as I can tell his memory loss is legit.” He watched as her shoulders slumped in relief, but then continued studying her while she warred with herself to read the information he'd given her. “You're in love with him, aren't you?”

Madeline couldn't bring herself to answer. The folder was getting heavier by the second. This was her reward for not sticking to her mother's creed of falling for money and not love. Love hurts a hell of a lot more.

“I'm sorry, Madeline,” Christopher said, and actually managed to look genuine in his apology. “His name is Marcellus Cougar. Once Major Marcellus Cougar of the United States Army…and he has a family…and a wife.”

The folder slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. “He's married?”