Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  Time and again she’d told herself the reason Pietro kept his distance was out of consideration. He knew he must seem like a stranger to her.

  Yet he felt familiar. The warmth of his hand on hers. The soft gravel of his voice that made the fine hairs on her body stand to attention. The heat in his eyes that evoked an answering fire low in her body.

  Molly wanted that and more too. She wanted to feel alive again. She wanted to feel connected, not isolated.

  She wanted her husband.

  Surely that was proof, if any were needed, that their relationship prior to her memory loss had been strong and passionate?

  Tonight she’d find a way to bridge the gap between them.

  Pietro was already on the roof terrace when she stepped out into the warm evening. He stood staring out across at the city view, hands thrust in his trouser pockets, his wide shoulders hunched.

  Molly halted. It was a rare luxury to observe her husband without him noticing. What she saw intrigued her. There was the stunning profile with the proud, almost arrogant angles of nose and jaw. The lean strength and familiar height was clearly visible beneath the fine tailoring. Yet in repose Pietro didn’t look relaxed. His hand in his pocket was fisted and his shoulders looked as though they were drawn tight with tension.

  What was bothering him? Business? He’d worked mainly from home since she’d arrived. Was there a problem because he’d neglected work for her? Or was something else tugging down the corners of his mouth?

  She crossed the terrace. Molly could have sworn she was quiet enough not to be heard over the sound of water cascading in the fountain and the distant hum of traffic. Yet as she approached Pietro swung round, his eyes meeting hers unerringly.

  ‘Cara.’ It was a simple endearment, yet it made her needy heart beat faster. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Molly opened her mouth to voice an automatic denial then snapped it shut. She wasn’t used to thinking herself beautiful. That much she did know. Yet tonight she felt different, especially seeing the look in Pietro’s eyes.

  That look propelled her the rest of the way to him. She stopped so close she had to lift her chin up to meet his gaze. The heat of his rangy frame enveloped her and delight shimmered through her as she inhaled the scent of his subtle aftershave. This close she caught a hint of something else—Pietro’s own clean, male scent. Her nostrils twitched as she leaned closer.

  Instantly he stiffened.

  Didn’t he like her being so close to him?

  Logic told her Pietro kept his distance so as not to rush her, yet doubt instantly took root.

  Could there be a rift in their relationship—a problem Pietro didn’t like to refer to before her memory returned?

  Molly couldn’t bear the thought. It might be needy of her, but she wanted their marriage to be strong. It was the only solid thing in her world right now. She’d do whatever it took to make this marriage work, no matter what problems she and Pietro had encountered in the past.

  She smiled. ‘You look very solemn. What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  Clearly she was over-sensitive for she imagined steel shutters slamming, making his expression eerily unreadable. Abruptly the heat humming in the air between them dissipated, as if Pietro had flicked a switch.

  He’d done that before. Usually he’d talk easily, particularly about their life in Tuscany. But at other times she felt he diverted the conversation, though he explained it by reminding her she shouldn’t try to force the memories to return.

  ‘You can talk to me, Pietro. I’m not an invalid any more.’ She put her hand on his arm, feeling the warm strength of rigid muscle. ‘There’s something on your mind, I know. Is it work?’

  Slowly his mouth curved and those sexy grooves dug down through his cheeks, transforming his face from serious to potently attractive.

  Being on the receiving end of that smile made the air catch in Molly’s lungs. Her fingers wrapped tighter around his arm.

  ‘No. Everything is fine with the business. I told you, I’ve got efficient managers. I can afford to take a few days away from the office.’

  ‘Then what’s bothering you? And don’t say it’s nothing!’ Her voice rose and she clamped her lips, afraid she’d sounded almost shrill. ‘If you’re worried about me, there’s no need. I’m stronger every day.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  Molly clamped her molars in frustration. ‘Don’t humour me, Pietro.’ Great! Now she sounded as if she was spoiling for a fight when nothing could be further from the truth.

  Frustrated, she dropped her hand from his arm and turned away to lean on the waist-height terrace wall.

  ‘Molly?’

  She didn’t turn. Instead she kept her eyes on the rooftops of Rome, washed apricot and amber in the dying sunlight. This was a private oasis, above the city bustle, but despite its beauty and peace Molly needed more. She felt hemmed in by Pietro’s unwillingness to share his problems and have a real conversation, and by her physical boundaries.

  Shocked, she realised she hadn’t left the apartment since coming from the hospital. She’d spent a lot of time sleeping and the rest relaxing with the books Pietro had supplied her with. She’d spent time on the web, looking up places on the east coast of Australia Pietro had said she knew. But still no memories stirred. Maybe that was why she was so antsy.

  ‘Let’s go out.’ She swung round to find him closer than expected, his expression inscrutable. ‘Dinner in a nearby restaurant?’

  ‘Marta is about to serve dinner. But if you want—’

  ‘No, no. I’d forgotten.’ No doubt the housekeeper had spent time and effort creating another culinary triumph for their enjoyment.

  ‘What is it, Molly? You don’t seem yourself.’

  She chewed her lip rather than blurt out her first thought—that it was fine for him to pry but not for her. That was unfair and ungrateful. But it helped her make up her mind.

  Molly’s eyes met his. ‘You’re right, I’m restless. I’ve been cooped up here too long. I know you’re concerned for me and, frankly, until tonight I was feeling too tired to go out.’

  ‘That’s easily fixed.’ Was that relief in his eyes? ‘Let’s go out tomorrow. We’ll tour some of the city sights. Would you like that?’

  See? Nothing was too much trouble. She couldn’t ask for a more understanding husband. Except...

  ‘That sounds wonderful, Pietro. I’d love to see Rome with you.’

  ‘But?’ One sleek black eyebrow lifted in query. He had an uncanny knack of reading her.

  She drew a fortifying breath and linked her hands before her. ‘I can’t shake the feeling there’s something wrong between us.’

  Had he stiffened?

  ‘You don’t open up about what’s on your mind. And you don’t—’

  ‘Don’t what?’ His brow furrowed.

  ‘You don’t touch me.’ She hadn’t meant for it to emerge like a challenge.

  His eyes rounded in genuine shock. ‘That bothers you? I thought, since you didn’t remember me...’ He lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug.

  Pietro was right. Logic said she wouldn’t welcome the touch of a man she barely knew. Except she did know him. Something within her yearned for him. Whenever he smiled at her she lit up inside.

  Molly refused to feel embarrassed about being attracted to her own husband. He should be pleased she wanted him.

  ‘It would be nice if you didn’t treat me like a house guest.’ She sucked in a lungful of air. ‘For instance, I’d like you to kiss me.’

  For a second he was utterly still, as if she’d shocked him. Then gold flared in his hooded eyes.

  ‘That’s what’s bothering you? That I haven’t kissed you?’

  Molly’s chin rose and her hands slid to her hips. Pietro didn’t smile but she just k
new he was laughing inside. She’d never been more certain of anything.

  ‘I don’t see the humour.’ This wasn’t funny! She was tempted to turn away and leave him to his amusement. Except she’d be back to exactly where she’d been before.

  ‘It’s not just about kisses. It’s about the state of our relationship. Are you holding something back from me? There’s something not quite right. You...’

  Her words ended as Pietro’s big hands wrapped round her elbows and pulled her against him. Her breath expelled in a tiny puff of air. Not from the physical force of the action, but from raw shock.

  Molly had told herself she was prepared. Didn’t she crave intimacy with him? Yet the sensation of Pietro against her, of that wall of hot muscle making every nerve receptor in her body twang into overdrive, was so much more than she’d imagined.

  Stunned, she looked at that firm mouth just inches away. It was intriguingly sculpted, strong yet sensual, and it curled up in a delicious invitation that made every atom of her needy body sit up and beg.

  Molly swallowed hard, all her bravado swamped by the certainty that, as far as kisses went, Pietro was a consummate expert but she...

  Thought atrophied as his head lowered and his mouth opened over hers. Electricity jolted through her. That was the only way she could explain the sizzle that drew her skin tight and puckered her nipples against her bra.

  Pietro’s lips were softer than she expected, gentle, moving with aching slowness over hers as if taking time to relearn what must surely be familiar territory. Familiar to him. To her this caress felt shockingly new and unfamiliar. His mouth moved again, his tongue licking the seam of her lips, and something drove hard and fast down through her belly straight to that achingly hollow place between her legs.

  Molly trembled and grabbed Pietro’s arms. She felt the power of them, taut with restraint. He held himself utterly still but for the tantalising slide of lips and tongue.

  Another caress, this time more insistent, and something inside her gave way, yielded, yet at the same time blossomed into life.

  Molly’s lips opened and Pietro’s tongue swept deep.

  Her knees caved so abruptly it was only his hold that stopped her crashing to the floor. The effect of that deep, searching kiss was instant and overwhelming. Her blood fizzed as every neuron in her brain ignited.

  This was what she wanted. What she knew and craved.

  Her hands slid high, over hard shoulders and a strong neck, fingers threading through Pietro’s thick hair to clamp his skull and hold him to her.

  She’d wanted a memory back and now she had it. Not a recollection as such but a sense memory. Her body sparked with excitement and recognition at the taste of him, the heady power of his possession, the familiarity of his hard body pressed against hers.

  A sob of relief and arousal rose at the back of her throat as she pushed closer.

  That was when the kiss changed, from slow and searching, as if Pietro believed he needed to entice her into a response, to something more potent and urgent.

  One large hand anchored on her buttock, drawing her up to his groin. The other cupped her waist, the splay of his fingers hot as a brand through the thin fabric of her dress. It made her wonder how his touch would feel on bare skin.

  The notion notched her need higher. Molly opened her mouth wider, stroking his tongue with hers, inviting him to devour her. And all the time a lavish, molten heat swept through her, coalescing in a swirling vortex right at her centre.

  Pietro’s hand slid up from her waist, his long fingers slipping over first one rib then another, till his thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she sucked in a raw gasp.

  That felt so good. On tiptoe now, she tried to merge her body with his, desperate to meld with him.

  When his hand closed fully over her breast a jolt of energy zapped from her nipple to her toes, setting off explosions along the way, especially between her legs.

  Molly moaned and held on tight as Pietro and her own needy body led her into a sensual world of give and take, of building ecstasy.

  A tiny part of her brain screamed that she needed to be careful, to think before she gave herself to him so unstintingly. But she couldn’t stop or pull back. She didn’t want to. This was a rainbow of colour after a world of grey, delicious food after nothing but ashes in her mouth. It was life, sex and love after fear, pain and loneliness.

  How could she resist?

  Molly had no idea of resistance. What would she be resisting anyway? Nothing but herself and her own need for affirmation, for life and love.

  Hands tight against his scalp, her mouth fused with his, her heart singing, Molly curved her body towards Pietro. To her delight she discovered that he was just as affected. High against her belly pressed a ridge of male arousal. That sign of his matching need was more reassuring even than his gentle words. It was proof positive that, despite everything, the passion and connection they’d shared was still strong.

  His primal reaction made her feel powerful, for the first time since she woke in the hospital. No longer a victim.

  But it did more too.

  In her few short days of memory, Molly had never been more certain of anything than that Pietro was the man who held her heart. He was the one she’d trusted with her body and her love. For surely it was love, not merely lust, that inundated her, battering aside the fragile protective barriers she’d erected?

  It tasted like love. It felt like love, swelling up from the very heart of her.

  Molly smiled against her husband’s mouth and held on tight as he bent her back over his arm, his mouth hungry on hers, his body thrumming with a barely leashed need that was unmistakable. It was an overt display of masculine strength and possession, and she revelled in it.

  Molly slipped one hand down his hard frame to his erection. It was long and every bit as impressive as—

  Pietro broke their kiss, head rearing back, dragging her hands from him.

  It was only his grip that kept her upright when she wobbled on weakened knees.

  Molly blinked, having trouble surfacing from that heady sensual onslaught. His wide chest heaved and the pulse at his throat beat double quick, just like hers.

  As she fought to suck oxygen into starved lungs her gaze climbed slowly higher. Past that sensual mouth, now set in a firm line. Past flared nostrils. Up to eyes that blazed more gold than brown.

  He looked like a man who wrestled for control. The sight of his struggle pleased her. What if he’d been unmoved? The idea was unbearable. But Pietro had been so controlled, so carefully distant these past few days, that Molly had wondered.

  ‘Why did you stop?’

  His straight eyebrows shot up. ‘I promised to look after you, Molly, help you recover. But that kiss was headed straight—’

  ‘I know where it was headed, Pietro. I’ve lost my memory of specifics, not life in general.’ The way he’d held back shouldn’t chafe so but she was tired of being treated as an invalid. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a kiss between husband and wife.’ She reached out and put her palm flat to his chest, registering the heavy throb of his heartbeat, only marginally slower than her own.

  ‘With Marta about to serve dinner?’ She was surprised at the frown marking his brow.

  Surely a kiss was no big deal?

  Yet Pietro looked strangely out of sorts as he lifted his hand and speared his fingers through his hair. It was perfectly cut, falling back into place instantly, gleaming black against his olive skin and the golden glow of his signet ring.

  Something jerked hard in Molly’s chest. She stiffened.

  Pietro dropped his hand to his side and her gaze followed the movement.

  Her forehead puckered in concentration. Something hovered, just beyond her consciousness. Some vital thing she needed to...

  ‘Molly? What is it?’

  She
shook her head, snatching desperately at the wisp of... Was it a memory?

  ‘I don’t know. There’s something...something I’ve almost remembered.’ It took everything she had not to look at Pietro, knowing his excitement would feed her own and probably destroy any hope she had of retrieving this tantalising thought.

  ‘Lift your hand again.’

  He did so, bringing it palm-up between them.

  Molly frowned but there was no nudge of enlightenment.

  She took his hand in hers and turned it over, noting the long, capable fingers, the broad back of his hand, olive-skinned with a sprinkling of black hair. Noting the heavy signet ring, the neat nails. He had sexy hands, strong hands. The sort of hands she could imagine skimming and caressing her bare body.

  Molly’s thumb traced a line across his fingers. Then, barely knowing she did it, she lifted her own hand, staring at it beside Pietro’s, noting the difference in size and colouring, in strength and...

  Enlightenment was a slash of lightning across her vision, a stab to her heart.

  She stumbled back till Pietro caught her, his hands around her shoulders. His hands were steady but she was shaking.

  It couldn’t be! But she knew what she’d seen. What her brain had finally revealed.

  It wasn’t memory at all, merely belated logic, and it left her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘You can let me go now.’ Her voice was clipped as she wrestled with panic.

  When Pietro’s arms dropped, she stepped back, locking her knees. Desperately she concentrated on dragging air into struggling lungs.

  ‘Is it a memory? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Her lips curved in a mirthless smile as she stared into that bold, beautiful, lying face. She noticed again the arrogance there as well as the concern. He was right to be worried. It was ridiculous she hadn’t worked it out before. Her only excuse was she’d not really been coping with anything much apart from sleeping and minimal exertion.

  ‘No, I haven’t remembered anything.’

  Expression flickered in his eyes but it was unreadable, as were his features. Pietro, she realised, had a perfect poker face.