One Night Scandal. Joanne Rock

word. Amnesia.

      Was that why he couldn’t recall what was going on in his family? Why he didn’t remember the accident that brought him in here? But he knew his own name. Could remember his friends. His family.

      His head throbbed harder.

      While the medical expert spouted something about care plans, a soft knock sounded on the exam room door. One of his sisters, maybe?

      “Come in,” Brock called, needing an ally to bust him out of the facility.

      But the woman who stepped into the room juggling two steaming foam cups wasn’t a sister. And he thanked his lucky stars for that.

      Her generous curves and platinum waves were the stuff fantasies were made of, although her outfit made her look like she’d just stepped off the prairie. Her long, flower-dotted skirt was something from another era and modest in the extreme. But the shirt she wore with it was another matter altogether, the stiff fabric as tight as a corset, nipping her waist and drawing the eye upward to her breasts.