From the Publisher

HE COULDN'T FORGET

Clay LeGrand's heart shattered the day his wife, Frankie, disappeared. Had she run away? Been kidnapped? Or had she simply left him for another man? Two years later he's still asking the same burning questions when he comes home to find Frankie in his bed, as if nothing had ever happened.

SHE COULDN'T REMEMBER

The shock, outrage and anger in Clay's eyes say it all--he doesn't believe that she can't remember anything about the past two years. He's seen the strange tattoo on her neck, the needle marks on her arm. What's left of their marriage has become an endless loop of unanswered questions and black holes of memory. But the answers are there, waiting in the shadows, as evil as the interloper who has marked Frankie as his own. This time he plans to take Frankie away forever. But to get her, he's going to have to get past life's most indomitable force--Clay LeGrand's love for his wife.

Publishers Weekly

In Sala's latest romantic suspense (after Reunion), a needle-tracked and tattooed Frankie LeGrand wakes up one morning to find that she's been missing for the past two years--and she has no memory of where she's been or what she's done. When Frankie vanished, her husband, Clay, became the target of police scrutiny for foul play, even though their marriage had been a peaceful one. Sala's spellbinding narrative follows the reunited Denver couple as they repair their marriage and try to understand what happened to Frankie. Through vague flashes and unsettling nightmares, Frankie slowly begins to remember the missing years and a powerful man from her childhood who is intent, even now, on possessing her at any cost. Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller. (Dec.) Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.

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Read a Sample Chapter

Remember Me

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Chapter One

Frankie LeGrand was beginning to worry about the darkening clouds, but as her husband's voice wrapped around her, her thoughts shifted. She pivoted, turning her back on the window at which she'd been standing, as well as the view of the storm about to hit their Denver home.

"I think it's going to rain," she said.

"I think I don't give a damn."

Frankie smiled. Clay LeGrand had been her husband for exactly a year and one day - all six feet four inches of him. On most days, he was a law unto himself. It would seem this day was one of those times - and it was part of why she loved him. Clay liked what he liked, and laughed when something struck him as funny, and didn't give a good goddamn what anyone else thought.

She gave him the once-over as he leaned against the doorway, her wifely instincts kicking in to make sure that when he left, he would be prepared for a wet day ahead.

He was ready for work. Blue jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and, of course, a flannel-lined denim jacket and work boots. His hard hat would be in the truck. As foreman of his father's construction company, it was something he never left home without.

Thunder rumbled overhead, rattling the window behind her. Although the weather was not unusual for an October morning, she shivered suddenly, hugging herself in reflex. Before long it would be winter, and she hated the cold.

"Hey," Clay said. "If you need a hug, let me do that."

"Then hug," she said, and opened her arms.

When his arms wrapped around her, she closed her eyes, savoring the safety of his love. The fabric of his shirt was soft against her cheek as she inhaled slowly, cupping his backside as she pulled him closer.

"You smell good," she whispered.

His voice lowered to a growl. "Francesca ..."

"Clay, am I in trouble?"

He grinned. "Why?"

"Because the only time you growl at me is when you're angry."

He frowned. "I am never angry with you and you know it."

She arched an eyebrow. "Well ... maybe disturbed is a better word. And don't deny it, because I know you were disturbed when you caught the bag boy at the grocery store winking at me last week."

"Damn right," he growled, then scooped her into his arms, kissing her hard all the way to the bed.

"You're going to be late."

Ignoring her warning, he yanked her shirt over her head.

"Clay, what will your dad say?"

"Probably something like, 'Where the hell are my doughnuts?'"

Her laughter shattered about him, causing him to flinch. He loved her so much it scared him. She made him weak, and Clay LeGrand had never been a weak man.

As he wrapped her in his arms, she knew that she was blessed. Clay was diligent to a fault, but a few minutes late would put him in no danger of losing his job, especially if he showed up with a dozen of his dad's favorite chocolate-covered doughnuts.

She savored his kisses, feeling the warmth of his lips against her skin. When the tip of his tongue laved her nipple, she sighed and closed her eyes. For Frankie, Clay was her joy, her reason for living. Raised in an orphanage, she'd been alone in this world - until him. He wasn't just her husband, he was her everything. She cupped his face with her hands, momentarily stopping his excursion.

"Clay?"

He raised himself up on one an elbow. "What, sweetheart?"

"When I was standing at the window ..."

He gazed down at her, wondering how something as simple as black hair and brown eyes could be so enchanting in one woman's face.

"What about the window?" he muttered.

"You started to say something to me. What were you going to say?"

"That you looked sexy as hell in my shirt." Then his eyes darkened as he looked at her there beneath him, hair tousled, sleepy-eyed and naked.

"But you look even better in nothing."

She arched toward his touch as he stroked the length of her body. His eyes glittered as she grabbed his hand, stilling its journey.

"What?" he growled.

"Take off your clothes and make love to me now, before I die from pure want."

He grinned. That was a request he could easily fill.

Minutes passed. Outside, the storm made good on the promise of rain. Now and then, a hard gust of wind would shatter the rhythm of the raindrops against the windows, but nothing could stop the rhythm of the lovers as they rode out a storm of their own.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Remember Me by Sharon Sala Copyright ©2003 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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