Dante's Wedding Deception

by Day Leclaire

  Nicolò crossed to the closet and opened the double doors. “Your clothes are in here, as well as in the dresser.”

  Curiosity filled Kiley and she joined him, eager to see what sort of clothing she normally wore, hoping it might help her pick up clues to her personality. The wardrobe was stuffed full, with something for every occasion, though most of the items still had tags dangling from them.

  “Why is everything brand new?” she asked.

  “You’re a Dante now. You needed clothing to match.”

  She examined the outfits a second time and inhaled sharply. “Nicolò, these are all designer labels. They must have cost the earth.”

  He shrugged. “That’s what you wear. Take back whatever you don’t like. You also warned me that some of them would need to be altered before they could be worn.” He gave her an odd look. “I thought you’d be delighted by a brand-new wardrobe.”

  Did she sound ungrateful? She bit down on her lip, struggling for something appropriate to say. “Thank you,” she managed. “These are all gorgeous.”

  “And yet…” He tilted his head to one side, fixing those unnerving dark eyes on her, eyes that seemed to see straight down into her soul. “I can tell you’re less than thrilled.”

  “It’s just a little overwhelming.” She spared the closet an uncomfortable glance. “I’ll adjust in time,” she said, before adding beneath her breath, “Maybe.”

  So, why the knee-jerk reaction to the unexpected riches? Why did she shrink from the beauty and luxury of what he’d shown her. She couldn’t explain it. It just felt wrong, as if she’d fallen into someone else’s life and didn’t have a clue how to get back to her own.

  Nicolò caught her left hand in his and she stilled, overcome by the burn of The Inferno. This she understood. This grounded and centered her. His touch. Her reaction to his touch. That remarkable kiss they’d shared. The need that clawed at her, insisting that they complete what they’d started. More than anything she wanted to walk out of this room and into the bedroom that she’d once shared with him. Where she belonged.

  Before she could put thought to action, he said, “There’s one other thing missing.”

  You, she wanted to say. His mouth on hers. His skin against her skin. Taking her and making her his. “What’s missing?”

  He lifted her hand. “Your wedding rings.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Did I lose them in the accident?”

  “As I mentioned, our wedding was a spur-of-the-moment affair. We were supposed to buy our rings the day you were injured.”

  “Oh, how sad.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get it taken care of as soon as you’ve recovered. We’ll make a special day of it. How about that?”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until I get my memory back?”

  “I hadn’t considered that.” Again came that penetrating look. “Do you think you’ll change your mind about the style between now and then?”

  She spared an uneasy glancce toward the closet. “It’s possible. Maybe our tastes are formed by our past experiences. I wouldn’t want to make any decisions I’ll regret later.”

  “If you change your mind later, we’ll simply replace the rings.”

  “Just like that?” she marveled, before confronting him. “As though they had no meaning? As though one ring is as good as another? Tell me something, Nicolò, is that what you believe? More to the point, is that what I believed?”

  He shook his head. “We never discussed it.”

  “No, of course not. Why would we?” Who could have imagined something like this happening? Or made contingency plans in the event it did. “I’ll tell you what, let’s stick with something simple. Something along the line of a plain pair of bands. If we change our mind later on, we can choose rings that strike us as more meaningful.”

  “You don’t have to make a decision right now. You never know. You might see something you fall in love with when we go to the shop.” He opened the top dresser door and removed a small square box. “Here. This is yours. You were wearing it the day of your accident.”

  She took the box from him, surprised by the weight of it. Removing the top, she found an intricate silver locket on a matching chain. “It’s beautiful.” She shot him a hopeful glance. “Did you give this to me?”

  “I can’t take credit for that, I’m afraid. It’s your favorite piece of jewelry. A family heirloom, I believe.”

  “It does appear old.” She turned it over, searching for a hinge. “It looks like it should open, but I don’t see how. Do you know?”

  He shook his head. “If it opens, you never showed me the secret. If you’re curious, we can take it to a jeweler and see if they can figure it out.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She held the locket out to him. “Would you mind putting it on?”

  He took the necklace and she turned, sweeping her hair aside so he could fasten the chain around her neck. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the huge antique mirror hanging above the dresser and it gave her a start. From the moment she’d first seen her reflection in the hospital, it never failed to surprise her.

  “What is it?” Nicolò asked as he fastened the locket in place.

  The instant he finished, she turned her back on her image. “Nothing.” She offered a bright smile. “Everything’s terrific.”

  She could tell he didn’t buy it. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and forced her to face her reflection once again. “Why do you have so much difficulty looking at yourself?”

  “I guess because I see the sort of woman I wish I were.” She released a frustrated laugh. “That sounds bizarre, doesn’t it?”

  “A little.” He eased her hair back from her face so it poured down her back. “You don’t have to wish to be the woman you see. You are her.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Then explain it to me.”

  “This is so frustrating. I don’t even remember what I look like. The first time I saw myself in a mirror—”

  “It was like looking at a complete stranger?”

  “Yes!” She started to swivel around again, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, she met his gaze in the mirror, his midnight black, hers springtime green. “I keep staring at myself, trying to discover some clue to my personality. And the best I can come up with is that I seem…nice.”

  “I’d call you beautiful.” He tilted his head. “Part pixie and part angel.”

  The color deepened in her cheeks, betraying her reaction to his words. “I meant character, as well as appearance. I’m pretty. Maybe even more than pretty. But I look…” She stared at herself.

  For some reason his expression went blank. “Nice.”

  She couldn’t help grinning. “Yes. Don’t misunderstand. That’s a good thing. I want to be a nice person. I feel nice.” She touched a spot just above her heart, close to where her locket nestled. “Inside.”

  “Then you must be,” he informed her lightly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have married you.”

  She relaxed within his embrace. “I’m relieved to hear you say it.” Then she stiffened as another thought occurred to her. “But what if I’ve changed because of the amnesia? What if I’m not the same person I was before? What if I turn into a class A bitch or start throwing temper tantrums or pilfering the silver.”

  In the mirror, she saw his eyes narrow and it caused her heart to give a small jump. “Are you feeling any larcenous urges?” he asked.

  “Not even a little, but—”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  She turned and this time he didn’t try and stop her. “But…Aren’t our personalities formed by the events and circumstances of our past? Since I don’t have any background notes to draw from—”

  “Then you’ll have to rely on your instincts and allow yourself to live your life the way that feels right.”

  Frustration at
e at her. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is that simple. Do what feels right inside.” He brushed the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek. “Why don’t you rest and I’ll order up some dinner.”

  For some reason, that amused her, which helped break the tension. “I gather you don’t cook?”

  “I can manage toast, if forced. I leave the kitchen to experts like Marco and my grandfather.”

  “Marco’s a brother?” she guessed.

  “One of three older brothers.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Sev, the eldest. Then there’s Marco and Lazz, who are twins. We were raised by my grandparents, Primo and Nonna. Then there’s a slew of cousins and the odd sister-in-law or two.”

  A sudden thought struck her and she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before this. “What about me?” she asked eagerly. “Do I have any relatives?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters, and your father died when you were a baby. Your mother’s still around, but I haven’t been able to locate her. Don’t panic,” he added, when she started to do just that. “According to what you’ve told me, it’s not unusual for her to take off for weeks at a time. You said she travels a lot.”

  Her excitement dimmed, replaced by dismay. So she really did have no one. Or next to no one. “It doesn’t sound as though I have a very close relationship with my mother, if I lose track of her for weeks on end.”

  Imagine if she’d never met Nicolò. If they’d never fallen in love and married. She’d have been utterly alone dealing with the aftermath of her accident, with no memory and no family to help her. She shivered in distress. He must have read her thoughts, or maybe they were mirrored on her face.

  “You have my family,” he told her gruffly, “even if I haven’t had an opportunity to introduce you to everyone.”

  “Our relationship developed that fast?” she asked uneasily.

  “You’re looking worried again. Don’t be. There’ll be plenty of time to meet them once you’ve had a chance to recover.”

  “And if I don’t recover?” she asked, tension underscoring the question.

  He smiled. “Since you never met any of them before, it’ll be a new experience for both old and new Kiley.”

  “Huh.” The concept intrigued her. “Old and new. That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

  Nicolò frowned in concern. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you? And I can tell just looking at you that your headache has started up again. Probably from all that worrying.” He nudged her in the direction of the bed. “Get some sleep. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

  Without thought, Kiley lifted her mouth for his kiss, only a split second later realizing what she’d done. She caught a momentary glimpse of something dart through his gaze, a hint of surprise mingling with an intense desire. And then his head dipped downward.

  Before, in the hospital, he’d consumed her, his need a hard, driven thing. This time the kiss came softly, leisurely, but no less powerful for all that. She shuddered within his hold, reveling in the hot spice of his kiss, as swept away this time as she’d been the first.

  He tugged her closer, exploring the curves of her body as he deepened their kiss. He cupped her breasts through the knit material of her shirt, thumbing the tips until they tightened into hard, rigid peaks. Before she could do more than gasp in reaction, he slipped beneath her knit shirt to investigate further.

  His hands spread across the narrow expanse of her waist and the inch of sensitive skin between the gap of shirt and jeans before finding her breasts again. He teased them through her bra, the slide of the thin silk across the aching peaks almost more than she could stand. He must have realized as much because he dragged his fingertips in a torturous path to her hips, his fingers just curving around her flanks.

  She could feel his erection surging against her belly and his mouth grew more determined, driving instead of teasing. His hands began to move again, restlessly exploring the curve of her backside, lightly tracing the flare of her hips before sliding to cup her where her need burned hottest. She wanted him. Heaven help her, but she wanted him to rip away her clothes and spread her on the bed behind them and give her the relief her body wept for.

  She sensed he hovered on the very edge of control. They teetered there for an endless moment, locked together, on the verge of taking that final, irrevocable step. At the last instant, he released her and stepped back. But it cost him, his expression drawn into taut lines of pain.

  “Sleep,” he told her, the single word shredded almost beyond recognition. “You need sleep far more than this.”

  Kiley would have argued, but exhaustion fell over her like a blanket and she did as he suggested, curling up on top of the bed. If she’d had any doubts about their relationship, Nicolò had put them to rest in the past few minutes. How was it possible that it only took one touch from the man? A single touch and she melted in mindless desire. No way would she do that unless on some level she recognized and trusted him.

  She smiled sleepily. He had a knack for easing her fears and helping her to deal with her memory loss. She doubted she’d have been able to get through this if she’d been on her own. But with her husband by her side, she felt she could tackle just about any adversity. She yawned.

  How had she gotten so lucky?

  The sound of gunshots woke Nicolò and sent him leaping from the bed and racing into the hallway. It was only then that he realized that the noise came from the downstairs TV. After checking Kiley’s room and finding it empty, he headed for the steps, surprised to discover every light in the house ablaze. He followed the trail of lights to the kitchen, turning them off as he progressed through the house.

  Earlier, he’d planned to wake Kiley when their dinner arrived. But he’d found her sleeping so soundly, he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. Leaving a note seemed the best option, and it had worked, since a quick check of the refrigerator told him that she’d polished off the Chinese leftovers. He was less pleased to discover that Brutus had cleaned out everything else. Greedy mutt. It would seem that this new version of Kiley was an easy touch, and Brutus sensed as much.

  Next he turned off the trail of lights leading through the dining room, into the living room and finally to the den. And that’s where he found her. She and Brutus were curled up together on his couch, both sound asleep and utterly oblivious to the raging gunfight from a 40s gangster movie playing on the television.

  She’d donned one of the nightgowns and robes he’d bought during her hospital stay, the robin’s egg-blue setting off the vividness of her hair and the creamy paleness of her skin. She’d forked her fingers deep into Brutus’s coat, her hand fine-boned and delicate against the huge, muscular dog. Brutus lay curled protectively around her, his breath escaping in deep, rumbling snores.

  The desire Nicolò had felt earlier came storming back, just as messy and uncontrollable and incomprehensible as before. He hesitated, no more than an inch away from ripping off her nightgown and covering her body with his own. She wouldn’t resist. Hell, based on her reaction a few scant hours ago, she’d open to him as sweetly now as she’d done then. He took a single step in her direction before he caught the violent purple bruising along the back of her shoulder.

  He sucked in a shuddering breath and crossed to turn off the television, which instantly woke Kiley. Or maybe it was his lifting her in his arms that disturbed her slumber. He carried her from the room, much to the annoyance of a disgruntled Brutus.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Nicolò’s neck and yawning broadly.

  Her scent drifted to him, light and feminine and unmistakably her own. “Back to bed,” he answered her question.

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d really rather not.”

  That gave him pause. “You prefer sleeping with my dog?”

  She hesitated, a heart-wrenching vulnerability sweeping across her face and shadowing her eyes. Nicolò found it diffic
ult to believe she could fake the expression, especially straight out of a sound sleep. But perhaps he wasn’t the best judge. At least, not right here and now.

  “I’d rather not sleep alone,” she confessed. “It’s not that I’m afraid. Not exactly. It’s just that I don’t like being by myself. I’m not used to it.”

  “I can solve that problem for you.”

  It was inevitable. It had been from the minute he’d first seen her. First touched her. First claimed her as his own. One way or another she was destined to end up in his bed. Better sooner than later.

  “Are you taking me to our bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you sleep with me?”

  “Without question.” Even if it meant an eternity of hellfire and damnation.

  She snuggled deeper into his hold. “That’s okay then.”

  Nicolò shouldered through the door to his bedroom suite and crossed to the bed. He deposited her there, struck by how small and fragile she appeared curled up on his king-sized mattress. Maybe that’s how she succeeded with her cons, by looking so utterly innocent. She blinked sleepily up at him and smiled.

  “Aren’t you coming back to bed?” she asked.

  “I am. Although, now that I have you here…” He tilted his head to one side and studied her. “What will I do with you?”

  Four

  “I can tell you exactly what you should do with me,” Kiley replied.

  Desire flashed through Nicolò. “And what’s that?”

  Unable to resist, he joined her in the bed and scooped her close, cushioning her head against his shoulder. There was something different about her, he realized. A quality that hadn’t been there when they’d first met, as well as a quality that had vanished as completely as her memory. And then it hit him. The cunning he’d seen in that other version of Kiley was missing. And in it’s place sparkled kindness and generosity and an openness he suspected would have been utterly foreign to her nature only a few short days ago.