Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  His hand tightened on hers, imbuing her with warmth and reassurance. ‘And now you know you were wrong.’

  So simple, yet so decisive. With those few words Pietro banished the horror that lurked in the silent night hours. ‘You’re right. I may not get everything back, but there’ll be more to come, I’m sure of it.’

  The waiter arrived, bearing a tray of drinks and snacks. With a flourish he put down their glasses, a frosted glass for her and a wine glass for Pietro, then a platter of bread and antipasto.

  Pietro raised his glass in a toast, still keeping hold of her other hand. ‘To you, Molly.’ He paused, then added, ‘And to our future together.’

  A thud of heat pulsed through her as she read his look. Approval and possessiveness. Both gleamed bright and unmistakable in that searing stare.

  Molly told herself she wasn’t ready for anything more than friendship, not till she got her mind working again. But her body wouldn’t co-operate. She couldn’t even find the energy to tug her hand free. Detonations exploded along her nerve endings. Her breasts tingled and swelled, her flesh tightening as something slid sideways deep inside.

  Not simply because Pietro looked at her like a lover.

  But because she wanted him to be just that.

  She waited for doubt to assail her. But instead she felt only a sense of rightness. It was as if her body recognised and accepted Pietro while her brain struggled to catch up. Was she crazy, trying to hold back from him? With every moment it became clearer that he was incredibly important to her.

  At the last moment innate wariness intervened. ‘To the future.’ Silently she acknowledged she wanted theirs to be a joint future, even if she wasn’t ready to commit to that yet.

  Far from being annoyed at her amended toast, Pietro squeezed her hand and smiled lazily. As if he had all the time in the world for her to accept him, accept them. That, more than anything else, settled the last of her doubts and made her grin back at him.

  Maybe everything would be all right after all.

  ‘Pietro!’ A young woman, slim and vibrant in tight jeans and a bright top, emerged from the crowd. She embraced Pietro, kissing him on both cheeks and bursting into animated Italian.

  Molly stiffened and tried to prise her hand free, but Pietro’s grip stayed firm. Her mouth turned down as she surveyed the vivacious stranger who was clearly intimate with Pietro.

  Molly registered a curious, curdling sensation in her stomach as she watched the pretty stranger monopolise him.

  It could not be jealousy. The odd feeling was probably due to gulping an icy drink on a hot day. Except, she realised, she hadn’t taken a sip.

  Molly was frowning over the thought when Pietro extricated himself. ‘Chiara, you need to speak English. Molly doesn’t speak Italian. Molly, this is my cousin, Chiara.’

  ‘Your cousin?’ Molly felt an uprush of relief. Despite what she’d said about taking things slowly, the idea of Pietro being intimate with any other woman had made her feel nauseous.

  Because he’s yours. Face it. You’ve wanted him from the moment you saw him in that hospital room. There was a spark, a connection you can’t deny.

  ‘Molly? You’re a good friend of Pietro’s?’ Chiara’s inquisitive gaze dropped to the table where Pietro’s hand enfolded Molly’s. For a moment her eyes widened then she grinned and pulled out a chair to sit and lean closer. ‘How lovely to meet you, Molly. I’m looking forward to hearing all about you and Pietro. Every little detail and—’

  ‘Adesso basta.’ Pietro shook his head. ‘Molly isn’t here to entertain you.’

  His hand curled tight around Molly’s and she felt once more that inner glow. He might be over-protective but he cared. Molly had a strong suspicion she was used to standing up for herself, not relying on a man to protect her. But, in this still alien world, it was comforting to have him so obviously on her side.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, Chiara.’ She smiled back at the other woman who looked just a few years younger than her. ‘I don’t know anything about Pietro’s family.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Perfectly arched ebony eyebrows rose in shock. ‘He hasn’t told you about his favourite cousin?’ Her expression turned to mock dismay as she regarded Pietro.

  ‘Favourite? You mean your brother?’ His retort was belied by the humour in his expression.

  Chiara shook her head then batted her eyelashes in such an exaggerated way Molly stifled a laugh. ‘I mean me, of course. Your devoted cousin.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the one who never stops talking? The one who gets underfoot?’

  Chiara’s eyes danced. ‘Males enjoy attention. It’s a proven fact.’

  Pietro snorted. ‘Do they indeed? And I was supposed to enjoy being badgered constantly about lending you my new car?’

  Chiara’s smile became a pout. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still going on about that?’ She turned to Molly. ‘It was a tiny scratch. No more.’

  ‘Tiny?’ Pietro’s voice was a mock growl.

  Molly listened to their banter and wondered if this was how things were between her and Jillian. Meanwhile, it was fun seeing the affection between Pietro and his cousin. It confirmed her impression of him as genuine. A man she could trust. It made a mockery of her fear when she’d learned his lie about them being married.

  As for that hovering sense of something shadowy and hidden, something Pietro was keeping from her, surely that was only the imaginings of a fertile mind? She was reading too much into his caution as he attempted to deal with her amnesia.

  ‘Molly?’

  She looked up to see Chiara watching her. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I just asked where you’re from. That’s not an American accent.’

  ‘No, I’m Australian. I’m from the east coast, north of Sydney.’ Maybe one day she’d even be able to remember her home town.

  ‘Have you known Pietro long?’

  ‘A few months. But this is my first time in Rome.’

  ‘So you knew each other in Tuscany.’ Chiara paused. ‘And do you—?’

  ‘It’s been a long day, Chiara. We want to relax, not answer a lot of questions.’ Pietro’s voice was firm.

  Chiara wasn’t in the least deflated. ‘Then we’ll make a time to meet when you’re rested, Molly. I can show you some of the trendiest places. I’ll call you if you give me your number.’

  ‘You can reach her at my place,’ Pietro said.

  Molly watched as Chiara’s eyes widened in astonishment. For a second she looked almost disbelieving. Then she sank back in her seat, her eyes alight.

  ‘That’s wonderful. I’ll call you, Molly. Okay? We can go out together. I’d like that.’

  ‘I’d like that too.’ Molly enjoyed Chiara’s bubbly personality and the fact that beneath her teasing it was obvious she cared for Pietro.

  Besides, it would be nice to know another person. So far she could count her acquaintances on the fingers of one hand.

  ‘Excellent. I’ll definitely call.’ Chiara looked at her watch and jumped to her feet. ‘I have to go. I’m late.’

  ‘It was nice meeting you.’

  ‘And you, Molly. Very nice.’

  With one last smile and a hug for her cousin, Chiara disappeared into the crowd promenading through the square.

  ‘She’s very friendly,’ Molly said, looking down at her hand, still clasped in Pietro’s on the table. The sight sent pleasure tripping up her spine. No, that wasn’t right. The thrill had been there all along, like a current of electricity buzzing on the edge of her consciousness, but she’d tried to pretend it meant nothing.

  Nothing! It was proof, yet again, that she was anything but immune to the big man sitting so near. The man who said they’d agreed to spend their lives together.

  Her pulse quickened. The notion still caught her off-guard, not with shock or dismay, but with the fervour of h
er response.

  Was it because she’d been so utterly adrift and alone, waking in the hospital, that the idea of loving and being loved by Pietro held such profound power over her?

  Or was it because he really was the one for her?

  Instinct shouted it was the latter. But could she trust it?

  His thumb stroked the pulse point at her wrist till her blood beat faster. It took just that, such a simple caress, and she was putty in his hands. Yet she couldn’t, didn’t, want to break away.

  Perhaps she should be annoyed that he was so obviously staking his claim on her. But Pietro’s touch felt like support and encouragement. It was only now, after Chiara had left, that Molly realised how tough it could have been, facing the other woman’s curiosity while she had so few answers.

  Molly yanked her mind away from the idea. She didn’t like to think of herself as vulnerable.

  ‘Chiara seemed surprised that I live with you.’ Molly tried not to make it a question.

  Pietro shrugged and sipped his wine. ‘I don’t have live-in lovers.’

  Molly blinked. ‘Never?’

  ‘Not until you. I like my privacy too much.’ His gaze bored into hers and Molly felt it as a scorching blaze running under her skin. ‘Obviously she realised you’re special.’

  Special. Molly could handle that. Particularly when Pietro looked at her as if she were his ultimate fantasy. That heavy-lidded stare made her breath tremble and her body quake.

  She’d tried to be sensible and take things slow. But today, seeing Pietro with his cousin, hearing his humour, feeling his protectiveness and his love for his family, the barriers she’d erected had crumbled.

  The idea of being Pietro’s lover, even his fiancée, was no longer daunting but intriguing. Exciting.

  A shiver ripped through her. Not from trepidation this time, but desire. Pure, unadulterated desire.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PIETRO WAS CLOSE to breaking point. He’d meant to seduce Molly slowly, so she didn’t feel rushed or cornered. He’d managed just five days since her release from hospital. Now he wondered how he’d find the patience he needed.

  He wanted her to turn to him, as eager as she’d been in Tuscany. But, despite her response when they’d kissed, she needed time. He’d seen doubt creep in when she’d learned they weren’t married.

  Even now Molly didn’t wear his ring. He couldn’t be sure of her. He had to step warily.

  His gut clenched as he wrapped his arm around her and guided her out of the restaurant and onto the pavement. It was torture of the most exquisite kind, holding her, yet keeping a leash on the primitive urge to touch her the way he craved.

  To have her naked. Beneath him. Gasping out his name while he powered into her.

  A shudder ripped through him as he forced his mind back to the street and to the limo waiting for them.

  ‘Pietro, is everything okay? You seem tense.’

  He flicked a glance down to her upturned face, not letting himself dwell on those glossy lips, or the intriguingly slanted eyes that shone more blue than grey tonight, reflecting the colour of her dress.

  She’d blossomed as her tension had eased. Medical checks earlier today had confirmed she and the baby were doing well. Tonight she’d been animated and alluring, far too sexy for comfort in a dress that revealed bare, toned arms and a shadowed cleavage.

  All evening his need for her had intensified as his control incinerated.

  ‘Everything’s fine. I enjoyed our evening. Did you?’ Easier to deflect the conversation back to her.

  For a moment longer she surveyed him, clearly trying to read his mood. Then she smiled. ‘It was marvellous! The food was fantastic, and what a lovely restaurant. I thought at first it might be a little too...’

  ‘Too?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was so fancy, so elegant. I thought I’d feel out of place, but the staff weren’t superior at all. I had a brilliant time; thank you.’

  Which only reinforced what he’d already learned. Unlike Elizabetta, Molly neither expected nor demanded the luxuries and attention wealth could buy. It galled him that, even for a moment, he’d believed them to be the same—gold-diggers out for his money.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s a favourite of mine.’ He didn’t add that he was part-owner of the place, hence their table had been near a charming inner courtyard, far from the prying paparazzi.

  Pietro helped Molly into the limo and slid in beside her, forcing himself to look away as her dress crept up, revealing a flash of slim, pale thigh.

  His groin tightened. His throat closed and he felt he was choking. It went against nature to stifle his sexual urges when Molly had been such a passionate lover, and would be again. Pietro was used to curbing his impulses, but that was in the business world. When it came to sex...well...he was clearly too used to getting exactly what he wanted.

  * * *

  Out of the corner of her eye, Molly surveyed Pietro, wondering what was making her urbane, witty companion so uptight.

  It wasn’t the first time. It had happened last night too. They’d been on the rooftop terrace when Molly had said she needed to turn in. It had been a lie. She’d been too wired to sleep. Too awake and aware of him. But it was either head to her lonely bedroom or give in to the urge to touch Pietro, as she’d longed to do for days. As she’d dreamed of doing in those erotically charged dreams that might have been pure imagination but which felt so real Molly wondered if they were, in truth, snippets of memory.

  She’d actually crossed the space between their seats, not quite sure what she intended, when he’d stiffened and shot to his feet, stalking to the balustrade on the edge of the terrace. He’d bid her a curt good night, totally at odds with his usual charming manner.

  Now it was happening again. At the restaurant he’d been great company, amusing and attentive, just as he’d been when they’d gone sightseeing. But now...

  She shifted restlessly and saw him glance at the flare of her skirt across the seat then back towards the window. In the haphazard illumination from the streetlights his jaw was clamped, the hand on his thigh a tight fist. Tension radiated off him in staccato hammer-beats. Her pulse grew jerky in response.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely night.’ Her voice was husky.

  What had gone wrong? Was it something she’d done?

  ‘It was my pleasure, Molly.’ He turned and smiled. But even in the dim light she realised the expression didn’t reach his eyes. As for his voice, it was stilted, like their conversation. Then he leaned forward to say something to the driver and the car surged forward.

  Molly’s earlier ebullient mood frayed. Each day she’d relaxed more, felt almost normal. She’d found a growing confidence, despite her secret fear that her memory was doomed never to return. She and the baby were healthy and Pietro’s enthusiasm about the child proved he was excited about becoming a father.

  That insight had eradicated the last of her wariness. True, she couldn’t remember their relationship, but it was clear they’d been lovers. She still craved him. And Pietro was everything she could wish for.

  Except at times like this.

  Had something gone wrong with their relationship?

  Despite the kiss they’d shared, was it possible the physical attraction was only one-sided? Molly frowned. That couldn’t be right. Pietro had been as needy as she had when they’d kissed. Hadn’t he?

  She had to find out. To bridge the chasm widening between them.

  Molly refused to live on tenterhooks. If she and Pietro were to have a future, she needed to know where she stood.

  She waited till they were in their apartment. Molly was grateful the housekeeper didn’t live in. She wanted absolute privacy for this discussion.

  ‘We have to talk.’ Her voice was over-loud in the lengthening silence.

  Piet
ro’s brow furrowed and he half-turned towards her, seemingly unwilling to look her in the eye. ‘Of course. But tomorrow, yes? There’s some work I need to do tonight.’

  For a second Molly hesitated, aware that he’d neglected so much in order to look after her. Maybe she should wait till the morning...

  Except she knew it was cowardice, thinking that way. Because she was scared what she might discover when she confronted Pietro.

  ‘This won’t take long.’

  Molly crossed her arms to hide the fact her hands were trembling and strode past him into the sitting room. Its pristine, pared back elegance mocked her pretensions, as if asking, Who do you think you are demanding anything here? Despite its beauty, she’d never felt at home in this showpiece room. As if she were an imposter who didn’t belong.

  The trembling in her hands became a shiver that ran the length of her body, weakening her knees.

  She whirled around, surprised to find Pietro close behind her. His brow was corrugated, this time with worry.

  Unfairly, the sight made her impatient. She was tired of feeling like she was ill.

  ‘What’s the matter, Molly? You look flushed.’

  ‘I’m confused.’

  His gaze bored into hers, the flecks of golden bronze flaring brighter. He breathed deep and shoved his hands into his pockets. The action parted his jacket, making her aware of the breadth of his chest and the power in his long limbs.

  ‘Go on.’ He didn’t smile or try to close the space between them. For a second Molly’s courage faltered, but she refused to back down. She had to know.

  ‘What’s wrong between us?’

  Pietro’s eyes widened and for an instant she saw something like horror and a sharp stab of fear reflected back at her from those leonine eyes.

  Shock made the air snag in her throat.

  Molly was still trying to process what she’d seen when it disappeared. All she saw now was curiosity and confusion. And a hint of that never-ending store of patience that seemed to be Pietro’s specialty.

  Had she imagined that blank moment of alarm?