The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense) Read Online Free PDF

outwardly wrong with you,”
he tells Don. “No bruises on the head, no wounds, no contusions.
I’m not even convinced you had a concussion. But if you like, we
can run a scan of your brain.”
    Don looks uncertain. No doubt he’s thinking
of the cost.
    “I’ll think about it,” he says.
    “Cost is not an issue,” I say.
    “Yes, it is,” Don says.
    Like the saleswoman before him, the doctor
looks back and forth between us.
    “Just think about it and let me know what
you decide.” He turns to Don. “What you have is generalized
amnesia, which is extremely uncommon. More often than not, it’s
triggered by psychological stress – some major life event that
happened to you – rather than an actual head injury. It can last
for days in some people, months in others. We can start with some
psychotherapy to help you recall your memories. But meanwhile, you
will need a place to stay.”
    “He can stay with me until he gets back his
memories,” I quickly put in.
    Don looks at me gratefully.
    We make an
appointment with the
hospital’s psychology department for next week. But I can tell that
Don is extremely worried. Not that I blame him in the
least.
    In the car,
Don says, “I can’t imagine what could have happened to me to make me lose my memory like this. Why
did I wake up all alone in the forest? Who am I and how did I end
up here?”
    I have no
answers for him either, and so we are left to ponder this in
silence. Don’s arm is crooked
and his elbow is placed against the window. He rests his chin
against his palm and stares wistfully out into the countryside. He
presents such a picture of melancholy that I wish I can say or do
something to make him feel better.
    At home, I whip up some linguini with
clams and shrimp. After we have eaten, Don insists on doing the
dishes the old-fashioned way, until I point to the dishwasher –
something he either obviously hasn’t seen before or whose function
he cannot recall.
    This time, he is
visibly embarrassed.
    “ I’m
sorry to be such a burden to
you,” he says as he kneels to stack the dirty dishes in the
dishwasher.
    “ You’re not a
burden. Stop saying that.”
    His
gradual loss of confidence
worries me. I feel so helpless.
    He straightens
his wonderful body again to fetch another tr io of plates from the sink. A plate slips from his
grasp and drops onto the floor.
    It shatters
upon impact. But not before he collapses – eyes rolling back into
his skull.
    “Don!” I shriek.
    He strikes the
floor at the same time as the plate, hitting his head on the floor with a hard thud. Blood
trickles from his left nostril.
    I fly towards
him. His head is lolled backwards, and he seems to have lapsed into some sort of
semi-conscious stupor. I cradle the back of his head in my hands.
My stomach is clenched with fear.
    “ Don? Are you
all right? Please . . . talk to me.” My voice comes out simultaneously tinny and squeaky.
I debate on whether to call an ambulance.
    His blue-green
irises come back into focus. Dazedly, he looks up at me.
    “Wh-what
happened?”
    “ You fell.”
I’m almost beside myself with relief. I’m a klutz when it comes to
medical emergencies, being totally unable to perform CPR without
spontaneously combusting myself into a hyper-emotional ball. Don
sure picked the wrong Good Samaritan to go home with.
    “I fell?”
    “Yes.”
    He touches the
back of his head. I wince as I remember the sharp thud that
accompanied it.
    “ I had
a vision,” he says.
    With my help, he
props himself up on one elbow. He is still extremely shaky.
    “A vision,” I
repeat.
    “ Yes.” His
hand is trembling slightly, and so I clasp it in mine. “In it, I
saw something.”
    I’m dying to
know what that something is, of course, but my caring instincts
scream at me to take care of him first. I lightly touch his upper
lip where the blood from his left nostril has pooled.
    “Don, I think we
better get that seen to first. And I think we should get you to