Page 3 of Diagnosis Attraction

“Understandable. Let’s check your pupillary reflexes.”

She tipped her face up, and he looked into one eye and then the other with the flashlight, noting that the pupils were contracting normally.

“Okay, that’s good. I’m going to check your heart and lungs.” He pressed the stethoscope against her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. “Good.”

Up until then, it had been a routine examination—or as routine as it could be when the patient had amnesia. As he put a hand on her arm, everything changed. At his touch, she gasped as though an electric current had shot through her, and perhaps he did, too, because suddenly, the room began to whirl around him, making it seem like the two of them were in the center of a private, invisible tornado. He knew the windows hadn’t blown in or anything. The air in the room was perfectly still, the same as moments before. The whirling was all in his mind. And hers because he was picking up on her confusion and sense of disorientation—as well as his own.

He should let go of her, but he felt as though he were riveted in place. With his hand on her arm, memories leaped toward him. Her memories—that she’d said were inaccessible to her. He was sure she hadn’t been lying, but somehow recollections that had been unavailable to her were flooding into his consciousness.

The first thing he knew for sure was that her name wasn’t Jane Doe. It was Elizabeth something. He clenched his teeth, struggling to catch the last name, but it seemed to be dangling just beyond his reach. Although he couldn’t get her last name, he caught hold of a whole series of scenes from her past.

Elizabeth, as a little girl, on her first day of nursery school, wasshy, uncertain, and then panicked, watching Mommy leave her alone in a room full of children she didn’t know. Elizabeth as a grade-schooler working on math problems from a textbook. Elizabeth refusing to eat the beef tongue her mother had bought—to save grocery money. Elizabeth alone in her room, reading a book about two lovers and wishing she could have the same feelings for someone. Elizabeth leaving the hockey field, distraught because she’d missed making a goal she thought should have been hers. And then, in a college classroom—taking a social studies exam and sure she was going to get a perfect score.

The old memories faded and were replaced by something much more recent. From yesterday. She was worried about being followed. She was driving an old sedan she’d borrowed from a friend, glancing frequently in the rearview mirror—seeing a blue car keeping pace with her.

She sped up, fleeing the pursuers, weaving down alleys and onto the street again. She thought she was going to get away until a truck blocked her escape. Trying to get around it, she plowed into a lamppost with bone-jarring impact. While she was still stunned from the crash, a man rushed to her, yanking her from the car, hitting her head on the doorframe as he pulled her onto the sidewalk, just as a crowd of onlookers gathered.

“Hey, what are you doing to her?” somebody demanded.

That memory of the accident cut off abruptly with a flash of pain in her head and neck. She must have passed out, and one of the people who’d come running had called 911.

The recollections flowing from her mind to his were like pounding waves, but they weren’t the only thing he experienced. As he made the physical connection with her, he felt an overwhelming sexual pull that urged him to do more than dip into her thoughts.

He was her doctor, which meant that ethically there could be nothing personal between the two of them; yet he couldn’t stop himself from gathering her close. Somewhere in his own mind, he couldn’t squelch the notion that letting go of her would be like his own death.

He knew from her thoughts that she felt the same overwhelming connection to him. It made her feel desperate. Aroused. More off balance than either one of them had ever been in their lives.

He told himself he should pull away. But he was trapped where he was because her arms came up to wrap around his waist. Well, not trapped. He wanted to be here, and she’d given him a reason not to break the connection. She pressed herself against him, increasing the contact and the frustration—and the sheer need. He breathed in her scent, picturing himself bending down so that he could lower his mouth to hers, imagining the taste of her and letting himself visualize what it would be like to kick off his shoes and climb into the hospital bed with her.

She made a small, needy sound, and he knew that the same image was in her head. Part of his mind was shocked and aghast at how far he was going with this fantasy. The other part ached to push her back onto the bed and roll on top of her so he could press his body to hers. Only first, he needed to drag off his shirt and pants and get rid of her hospital gown.

That last frantic thought was what finally made him come to his senses and pull away, breaking the physical contact and, at the same time, breaking the contact with her mind.

He stood beside the bed, dragging in lungfuls of air, feeling dizzy and disoriented and still achingly aroused.

And she was staring at him, looking like a woman who was ready for sex. Instead of reaching out his hand toward her, he forced himself to step farther back.

He cursed under his breath, ordering himself not to think about making love with her as he clawed his way toward rational behavior. For a few moments, he’d felt an overwhelming connection with Elizabeth—even though he was sure he’d never met her before. But he did know that she was a patient, and thinking about anything physical between them was completelyout of bounds. It was morally wrong, and it could get him arrested, come to that.

Which left him trying to understand what had happened between the two of them in those seconds when they’d been touching. Both the flood of memories from her mind and the sudden overwhelming sexual attraction that had threatened to wipe any reasonable thoughts from his mind.

He shook his head as he gazed down at her. She sat on the bed, looking stunned, her blue eyes wide, her breath coming in little gasps as she clenched and unclenched her fingers on the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.

“Are you?”

“Of course. That was completely inappropriate.”

“I think it took both of us by surprise,” she said, making an excuse.

“You’re a patient.”

Ignoring the observation, she began to speak. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Touching you made me recall things I couldn’t remember for myself. And I got inside your mind, too. I didn’t know a thing about you before we touched. Now I know you always went in for dangerous sports. Like mountain climbing. Spelunking. And ice camping.”

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