by Day Leclaire
“Why?”
He shook his head. “Call it irreconcilable differences.”
“What happens if I never regain my memory?” she persisted. “If I never remember, do we continue to pretend there isn’t a problem? For how long?”
“You’ll get it back.” He said it with such flat certainty, she flinched.
“What if I don’t?” The question sounded more like a wish and a prayer. “What happens then?”
“I don’t have an answer for you.”
“That’s why you initially put me in a separate bedroom. Why we haven’t made love. Why you’re insisting I regain my memory before we do. Because we were on the verge of divorce.”
“It was an argument, Kiley. That’s all.”
She took a step back, releasing him. Her eyes glittered like crystal in the moonlight, leached of all color. She reached for the first button of her blouse and thumbed it through the hole. Then a second. And a third. The deep V of her neckline revealed the intricate heart-shaped locket on its thin silver chain.
It was almost identical to their first meeting at Le Premier when she’d tempted him with that tantalizing striptease. Only this time around, he didn’t catch a flash of vibrant red. This time he couldn’t tell what color provided such a sharp contrast between the milky whiteness of her skin and the unrelenting darkness of her blouse. This time her movements stuttered with a hint of clumsiness and sweet resolve, rather than cynical calculation.
His gaze shot to her face and he searched for some hint to her thoughts, some clue that she was playing him by reenacting their initial meeting. But he saw nothing other than a fierce determination.
She finished unbuttoning her blouse and shrugged it off. It crumpled to the floor behind her. She kicked aside her sandals before tugging at the snap of her jeans. Next came the rending of her zipper, the sound shattering in the dense silence of the foyer. She slipped the denim off her narrow hips, her no-nonsense movements in complete opposition to her provocative actions during their hotel room meeting.
She stood before him in bra and panties. They were much plainer than before, and for some reason far more tantalizing. When he made no attempt to touch her, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra and tossed it to one side. And then her panties disappeared as simply and economically as her jeans.
Moonlight poured over her, silvering the creamy white of her skin and creating interesting shadows beneath the slight curve of her breasts, as well as in the nest of curls at the junction of her thighs. It also spotlighted a small birthmark riding the curve of her hip, one that reminded him of a flower in full bloom.
Some might have called her figure boyish. Nicolò found it anything but. Her arms and legs were sculpted with lean muscle with just enough curves to make them distinctly feminine in appearance. Her breasts were on the small side, certainly, but they were also round and pert, with the nipples forming perfect pearls that he longed to taste. She was so delicate, her ankles and wrists coltish-slender. And yet, she was all woman, an indomitable woman at that, determined to tempt him beyond endurance.
The Inferno woke with a roar, consuming him in huge greedy gulps, filling him with an insatiable hunger. In that moment he didn’t care who she’d been before. All that mattered was here and now. They belonged together and he refused to deny the fact any longer. He’d deal with the fallout from his actions when Kiley regained her memory. In the meantime, he’d take what she so generously offered. Take it and be damned grateful because when she came to her senses, she’d make him pay.
Big-time.
In one swift stride he reached her and swept her into his arms. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he told her.
Her arms whipped around his neck and clung. “Not even a little. Not that I care.”
“I’ll remind you of that at some point down the road.”
“I won’t forget.” Her expression grew fierce. “Not this time.”
He shouldered his way into their bedroom and dropped her onto the mattress. She came up on her knees, lost amid the flow of creamy silk covering the mile-wide bed. He didn’t waste any time. He stripped out of his clothes and joined her.
And then he paused. Slowed. Allowed himself to savor the moment.
The moonlight had followed them in here and caught in the long curls of her hair. He could just make out a whisper of blush in the pale color, as well as the merest hint of green in the eyes she trained so steadily on him. “The light?” he asked, remembering how she hated the dark.
“It’s not necessary.” She cupped his face and lifted upward, fitting her mouth to his. “Not any longer.”
He sank into her, home at last. “Are you sure,” he murmured between a series of long, drugging kisses.
“Positive.”
“No regrets come morning?”
“No regrets, ever.”
His smile held little humor. “Don’t be so sure of that.”
“And I’m guessing you aren’t going to explain that particular remark, either.”
“No.” He lost his hands in the weight of her hair. “But there’s one thing I want you to know and believe.”
Her head tipped back giving him better access to the length of her neck. “And what’s that?”
He slid his index finger along the pulse throbbing in her throat before following the same path with his tongue. “It was like this between us from the first moment we met. From the instant I set eyes on you, I wanted you.”
“Was the feeling mutual?”
“You know the answer to that.”
She smiled, the curve of her lips full of mystery and allure. “I responded the same way as I did at the hospital.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“I may have no memory,” she whispered. “But I know you. I know your touch and your scent. I know the sound of your heartbeat and how it echoes my own. I know you were meant to be mine, just as I was meant to be yours.”
He shook his head. “Kiley—”
She stopped his words with her hand. “I’m serious, Nicolò. On some level I must remember you. It’s as if you imprinted yourself on my heart and soul. Can’t we just start over, as though our fight never happened?”
He closed his eyes. “It won’t change anything. Not in the long run. Not when you regain your memory.”
She shifted, opening herself to him. “I’m willing to take the chance.”
The last of his resistance vanished. He lowered himself to her, sliding over her. Skin burned against skin. Curves and angles collided before shaping themselves, one to the other. She was soft, so soft. It took every ounce of control to keep from burying himself in that softness. And then a stray thought took hold.
If her memory loss was real, if she couldn’t remember anything of her life before, then she also didn’t remember making love. For her this would be another new experience. And even if she regained her memory at some point, this night would, quite possibly, hold special meaning for her. How could he do anything other than make it as unique for her as possible?
He slowed the pace, taking her mouth in slow, deep kisses. And all the while he gave to her, gifted her with quiet caresses and teasing strokes. With whispered words that brought a flush of warmth to cheek and breast. He let her know with every touch, with every appreciative murmur, with every sweep of his hand that he found her the most beautiful woman he’d ever held in his arms. And she believed him, because it was the truth.
“Is this how it was the first time we were together?” she marveled at one point.
He couldn’t lie. Not here. Not now. Not in such an intensely intimate moment when they were both stripped to their bare essence. “This isn’t like any other time. This is new for both of us.”
Her breath escaped in a happy sigh. “I’m glad. I want it to be different. I want it to be special.”
And it would be. He’d see to that. He cupped her breasts, as tantalizing and perfect as the rest of her, and lathed the sensitive tips. She arched
beneath him, pressing herself deeper into his mouth. He scraped the tight nipples with his teeth and heard the soft cry of pleasure it elicited. And then he tormented her other breast, feeling the pounding of her heart against his cheek.
The need to taste more of her drew him and he slid downward, sampling the soft indentation of her belly and the small birthmark at her hip, before finding the thick blush of curls concealing the heart of her. He parted the delicate folds and gave her the relief her body wept for. Her hips rose to meet his kiss, her thighs taut and trembling as she teetered on the knife’s edge. He pushed, ever so slightly, and she went over with a cry, all fluid heat and gasping pleasure.
“We’re not done, yet,” he warned. “Not even close to done.”
“I don’t want this to ever end.” Her hands curled in his hair and she tugged, drawing him up and over her. “I want this night to last forever.”
She was so beautiful, still captured within the moon-silvered glow of her climax. “It’s not within my power to make the night last forever.” He traced her features, one by one. The winged arch of her brows, the wide, vivid eyes, her sculpted cheekbones and pert nose, right down to her sweetly lopsided smile. “But the memory of tonight will last forever.”
Her smile faded. “What if I forget again?”
His gaze grew tender. “Then I’ll remember for you.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’d like that.”
He began again, building on what had gone before. Her reaction to him came quicker this time, her responses more natural and fluid. And she gave back in ways that threatened to send him straight out of his mind.
Her quick, clever hands stroked and gripped before flitting away to provoke a new sensation. And she moved—heaven help him, how she moved—with a sensual grace that drove him wild with desire. She flowed over his body like silk, cupping him, tracing a provocative finger of exploration across velvet and steel. By the time she finished she knew every inch of his body. But then, he knew every inch of hers.
Finally, the exploration ended in the ultimate discovery. Making short work of slipping on protection, he parted her thighs and forged deep inside. She wrapped herself around him, clinging to him as though she never intended to let go. And then she rocked upward, surging with him into a rhythm as old as mankind.
Nicolò could feel the white-hot forging of The Inferno, could feel the ultimate completion of the bond between them and the way it expanded until it filled him to overflowing. It didn’t matter any longer whether Kiley was con artist or innocent. They belonged together, two parts of a whole. How their affair would ultimately end was a question for another time and place. All that mattered was here and now.
This moment.
This woman.
The creation of this memory, everlasting.
She shuddered beneath him. “No, not yet.”
“Now, Kiley. Go over with me.”
Their gazes locked, his demanding, hers so trusting it would haunt him forever. He cupped her head as he surged inward, watching her give in and take flight. Feeling her surrender radiate outward until it encompassed her entire body. And he soared with her, losing himself in her heat and warmth. Losing himself in that moment of ultimate completion. Losing himself, body and soul.
“How could I have forgotten that?” she whispered in the darkness. “How is it possible that something so—”
“Perfect?” The word escaped without thought.
“Yes. Perfect.” She didn’t speak for a long moment, and then added, “I thought when we made love I’d remember. That the strength of it would bring the past back to me.”
He couldn’t help himself. He froze. “It didn’t?”
Her breath escaped in a frustrated sigh. “No. I only have this one memory of us together. All the other times are—” Her hand fluttered through the air. “Gone.”
Her voice broke on that last word and she curled into him, her tears biting into his skin. All he could do was hold her while she wept and allow the guilt to eat him alive. He couldn’t doubt her any longer, at least not about her amnesia. Whatever she’d been before was currently trapped in the dark recesses of her mind, perhaps forever.
So where did the two of them go from here? He’d taken her on as his responsibility, claimed her as his own. Worse, he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. If she’d been a scam artist, what did that make him?
He closed his eyes, flinching from the question. Up until now he could justify his actions. Could claim he was acting for the better good of his family. But what he’d done this night wasn’t for anyone’s benefit but his own. Hell, he could blame it on The Inferno, could claim their ending up in bed together was inevitable. But at least he knew all the facts, had taken this step with total awareness and understanding.
Kiley hadn’t. Worse, she believed they were married, that when she’d given herself to him, it had been a wife to her husband. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She murmured drowsily and snuggled closer. No question about what was going to happen as a result of his actions tonight, especially if his “wife” regained her memory anytime soon.
He was going straight to hell.
“What are you up to, Nicolò Dante?” Kiley faced her husband, her hands planted on her hips. Not that she appeared terribly intimidating, an impossible feat when dressed in a minuscule bikini, her modesty barely preserved by the paper thin floral pareo she’d wrapped around her hips. “You have secret written all over you.”
“A small deviation in plans.”
“We’re not reenacting another date?” she asked, unable to prevent a small twinge of disappointment.
He shook his head. “Since you ended up in tears the one time we attempted it, I’d rather not. Instead, I decided to try something else. You gave me the idea last night when you were holding Joshua.”
She stared blankly. “I did?”
“You did.” He adjusted her hat to ensure her pale skin remained shaded from the powerful rays of the sun. “You commented that holding a baby was a new experience for you. So, I’ve decided to give you a few more new experiences. They’re waiting for you on the beach.”
He led her toward the lagoon outside their cabana and she paused halfway across the sand, staring in amazement. A huge table had been assembled beneath a canvas tent, the linen-covered surface overflowing with food, drinks, and even flowers.
“What’s all this?” she asked in astonishment.
“These are new memories.” He gestured toward the table. “We’re starting with appetizers and ending with dessert. There’s a little of everything.”
It took her a moment to reply, a series of emotions sweeping across her face. Surprise. Fascination. Curiosity. And sweet, utter delight. “And the flowers?”
“I had them gather up every variety they had in stock. You decide which ones you like best.”
Her expression grew misty. “Oh, Nicolò, this is so thoughtful of you.”
She threw her arms around him and lifted her mouth to his. He took his time with the kiss, sparking a return of the passion they’d shared the previous night. Before she could act on it, he caught her hand in his and drew her across the sand to the tent. Once inside, he considered the flowers and finally plucked one from the various arrangements, one she wouldn’t have expected.
“Honeysuckle?” she asked. “Do I make you think of honeysuckle?”
He hesitated. “One of my earliest memories is wandering through my grandfather’s garden. He has this beautiful pink honeysuckle growing along one of the fence lines. I couldn’t have been much more than three, but that scent drew me. It was indescribable. I think I got drunk on the perfume.”
She leaned in and inhaled the delicate sweetness. “It’s wonderful.”
“It was my first flower, or at least my first memory of one. My first floral scent.”
“It’s your favorite, isn’t it? That’s why you’re sharing it with me.”
“Yes. Though I learned to be cautious around a h
edge of blooming honeysuckle.”
“Uh-oh. Bees?” she hazarded a guess.
“’Fraid so. That day was also my first bee sting.”
She frowned. “One of your favorite memories is also one of your most painful?”
He inclined his head. “I’ve discovered that’s often the way life works.”
“Why, Mr. Dante, you’re a cynic.”
“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid. As Dantes’ troubleshooter I see all the problems. It’s my job to fix them.”
“Regardless of the cost?”
“Yes.” He gave her a direct look, one that seemed to chill the humid warmth of the midday air. “And sometimes that cost is very high.”
“You don’t have to worry about that now,” she told him, her tone taking on a fierce edge. “You don’t have to troubleshoot a problem while we’re on Deseos. Not here. Not with me. You can relax and enjoy yourself while we have fun playing.”
Curls danced along her temples, tightened by the unrelenting humidity, and he tucked them behind her ear, anchoring them in place with the sprig of honeysuckle. “You, my dear, cause me nothing but trouble.”
He said it with such a look of good humor she couldn’t take offense. “Well, as long as I’m already trouble for you, why don’t we see how much more I can cause you?” She shot him a flirtatious glance from beneath the brim of her hat. In response, heat flared to life in his dark eyes. “What do you say we dive into that table of new memories?”
The rest of the day was one of sheer delight and endless sensual pleasure. It wasn’t just the food or flowers or drink, but who she shared them with. Nicolò. Nicolò, who left her in fits of laughter one minute and in the next moved her to tears with his poignant stories of family. Nicolò, who turned her life golden with a single smile. As the sun slipped away, and the shadows grew long, she went into his arms.
“Thank you for such an incredible day,” she told him.
She lifted her mouth to his in order to sample the sweetest of all the desserts. This put the final touch on their time together. This made it perfect. His reaction to her was instantaneous. He tugged her close, wrapping his arms around her with a power and strength that reminded her of their night together. He’d put those skillful hands on her the previous evening, used that strength and power—and gentleness—to drive her insane with desire.