by Day Leclaire
“Thank goodness,” she said faintly.
“We can buy anything you need.”
Her brows drew together. “That seems rather excessive. If you’d just told me, I’d have been happy to—”
“You won’t need much. A couple bathing suits. A couple dresses for the evening. We’ll check out the shops in a little while.”
First the wardrobe full of designer clothes, then Dantes Exclusive, and now this. She regarded him with a troubled expression. “I need to ask you a question and I’m not quite sure how to phrase it.”
“Just be direct,” he suggested.
“Are we…rich? Or rather, are you?”
“Yes.”
So brutally frank. “Was—was I?”
He hesitated before shaking his head. “No.”
She nodded in relief. “That makes sense. This feels…”
His scrutiny intensified. “What?”
“Different,” she admitted with a shrug. Then she brightened. “But considering how short a time we’ve known each other, perhaps that explains it. I’m probably not accustomed to such a lavish lifestyle.”
He turned to face her, folding his arms across his chest. She’d always been aware of his impressive size, especially in comparison with her own. But for some reason his current stance made her even more aware of it than usual. “You know that much about yourself, even though you have amnesia?” he asked.
The softness of the question captured her full attention. “It’s not anything I remember,” she hastened to explain. “It’s just a feeling I have. Like I’m out of step or something. Like this isn’t me.”
“Not you?” He shook his head. “You seem to be operating under a misapprehension that I need to straighten out. You didn’t have much money, but you thoroughly enjoyed the best life had to offer.”
She couldn’t conceal her shock. “I did?”
“Designer clothes and accessories. Five-star hotels.” He caught her hands in his and turned them so she could see the lacquered tips. “Professional manicure and pedicure. An expert hairdresser. They were all part of your lifestyle when we first met.”
For some reason his words impacted like a body blow. “I didn’t know.” Nor did she like hearing the truth. It felt wrong. Unappealing. Superficial. Was that the sort of person she’d been before? “If I was so shallow, why were you attracted to me?” she asked, troubled. “Why would you have married me?”
His fingers interlaced with hers until their palms joined. She could feel the heat from The Inferno build there, melding them together. “It’s been like this from the beginning.”
Oh, God. She stared at him in distress. “It’s physical? Our entire relationship is based on this Inferno we feel for each other? That’s it?”
“Would you like there to be more?”
“Of course!” She searched his expression. “Wouldn’t you?”
“My grandparents have been married for five and a half decades. I’m well aware there has to be more to marriage than physical attraction. But that takes time to build.”
“How do we build it when I know nothing about my background?” she protested, her distress increasing by the second. “Nothing about my history or experiences? How do we find common ground?”
“We start with this—”
He swept her into his arms and ravished her mouth with a kiss that stole every single thought from her head. Heat bloomed, a messy stream of need that lapped through her veins, bringing a flush to cheeks and breasts before settling in the very core of her. He invaded her mouth, teasing her until she couldn’t stand it any longer.
She fought back, deepening the kiss until it was his turn to catch fire, his turn to burn. His turn to lose control. She tugged his shirt free of his trousers and swept her hands underneath. The instant she hit skin she slowed, tracking a wayward path across his chest as she gathered all that heat in her palms. And then she dipped lower, over the rock-hard ripple of abs to the belt that prevented her from a more intimate exploration. She settled for outlining the thick bulge she found there, cupping him as he’d once cupped her. At the last instant, he caught her hands in his and pulled them away.
“We start with this, the physical,” he said, gritting out the words. “And we build on it. Together.”
She collapsed against his chest and nodded. What a wonderful word. “Together,” she whispered.
He made a visible effort to catch his breath. “And the first thing we’re doing together is purchasing the clothes we’ll need for our stay here.”
Kiley wrinkled her nose at him. “That wasn’t quite the togetherness I had in mind.”
“It wasn’t quite the togetherness I had in mind, either.” Wry amusement gathered in his dark eyes. “But it’ll have to do until—”
“Until when?” she couldn’t resist asking.
She’d never seen Nicolò look so conflicted. “Until your memory returns. Until you can make an informed choice.”
Iciness replaced the heat of only moments before. An informed choice? What did that mean? And of even greater concern…What had happened between them that prompted him to put that sort of condition on their current relationship? What happened the day of her accident that she no longer remembered? When she first awoke in the hospital, Nicolò had told her they’d fought moments before she’d been injured. Whatever the cause of the argument, it had been serious enough to send her darting in front of a cab. Serious enough that her husband wouldn’t make love to her until she remembered.
Was it also serious enough to end their marriage?
Kiley entered the restaurant, Ambrosia, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable than she could ever remember. Her mouth curved in a wry smile. Not that she had much basis for comparison.
At least her bruises were no longer visible, since in the gown Nicolò had purchased, they would have stood out like a neon sign. She skated a hand down the pale green silk that molded to her waist, hips and thighs before flaring outward in a short train, and struggled to appear poised and confident. It took every ounce of willpower not to tug at the strapless bodice, one that revealed more than it concealed.
She associated the elegant gown with “Old Kiley,” a woman, based on her husband’s description, she neither liked nor understood. Maybe that other version of herself enjoyed a life rich in sensual pleasure. The only sensual pleasure this Kiley cared about was the one she found in Nicolò’s arms.
But did her preference match his? She searched his stunning profile. He was a Dante. A man who hobnobbed with billionaire financiers and jet-setters. He had a position to maintain. He’d been so patient with her, but maybe his patience would soon run out. Maybe he’d brought her here in an effort to change her back into the woman he’d first married.
She worried at another possibility, one that concerned her more than any other. Perhaps he chose her originally because she fit into his world, something no longer true. Without a memory of all the little turns of events that led her to develop into the person he married, she could only base her actions on what felt right. And though it broke her heart to admit it, this current getup felt completely wrong. No matter how hard she struggled to fit in, she simply didn’t.
Since the moment she’d awoken in that hospital bed and been claimed by her husband, she’d been forced to rely on her instincts. And those instincts—straight down to the very core of her—told her that she bore no relationship to this glossy woman he’d patchworked together for a dinner date with some fancy billionaire glamour couple. Perhaps that had been true once upon a time. But not any longer. Not unless she regained her memory and lost her current self. If this version of Kiley wasn’t good enough for Nicolò, she had a terrible feeling it doomed their relationship before it ever truly began.
The knowledge hung over her like the sword of Damocles, threatening with one swift plunge of the blade to render her from a man The Inferno insisted was her soul mate. A man she knew, deep in her heart of hearts, belonged to her every bit as much as she belonged
to him.
Or did he belong to that other Kiley?
The maître d’ appeared just then and showed them to a private dining alcove and a few minutes later Joc Arnaud and his wife, Rosalyn, appeared. To Kiley’s surprise, Rosalyn proved to be a fellow redhead, although her hair gleamed a deep, rich auburn instead of Kiley’s brighter shade. Of equal interest, Joc shared Nicolò’s coloring.
The similarity ended there, of course. Rosalyn had the height and curves that Kiley lacked and crossed the room with long, ground-eating strides that proclaimed her as comfortable on a Texas cattle ranch as in a ballroom. She stuck out her hand with equal forthrightness.
“I’m Rosalyn Arnaud,” she announced. “Pleased to meet you. And this is my husband, Joc.”
“Kiley O—Dante. Sorry.” She released a quick laugh as they all exchanged handshakes. “I guess I’m still getting used to my name.”
“Nicolò told us about your accident.” Rosalyn took the seat Joc held for her and dropped her hand over Kiley’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really sorry that you’re going through such a difficult time.”
“The doctors say I could get my memory back at any time.”
“In the meanwhile it must make it very difficult to take everything in. You must feel so dependent and vulnerable.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” Kiley confessed. “I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for Nicolò.”
“Right.” Rosalyn’s gaze flashed in his direction and she smiled sweetly. “At least you have a husband who loves you and only has your best interests at heart. Someone you can trust to protect you.”
Joc took the menu from their waiter and handed it to his wife. “Here you go, Red. See what trouble you can get into with this.”
She shot a grin at Kiley and leaned in. “That means be quiet,” she whispered in a voice that could be clearly heard by everyone at the table. “Not that I ever listen.”
Kiley laughed. “How did you two meet?” she asked, intrigued by the unmistakable differences in attitude and polish between husband and wife.
“Joc sent some goons to my ranch in a vain attempt to buy it. I stormed his citadel and explained why that wasn’t going to happen.”
“And then?”
“Then he kidnapped me—”
“I most certainly did not,” Joc argued. “I tendered an offer which you accepted with impressive alacrity.”
“—and he brought me here and proceeded to seduce me.” Rosalyn helped herself to a breadstick. “It was actually quite enjoyable.”
“Coming here or being seduced?” Kiley asked.
Everyone laughed and Rosalyn gave Kiley a look of undisguised approval. “Since it resulted in our son, Joshua, I’d have to say that tips the scales ever so slightly toward the whole seduction number. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m hoping for a big seduction number, too.” She waited for the laughter to die down again before asking, “How old is your son?”
“Not quite a year and walking already,” Joc answered. “That’s why we were late. We needed to settle him for the night and he wasn’t in any hurry to settle. Then I had to talk Rosalyn into putting on the fancy duds.”
“I’d live in jeans if it were up to me,” she confessed.
“You don’t—” Kiley broke off, searching for a more tactful way to phrase her question. “I assumed—”
“That we always live and dress like this?” Rosalyn shook her head. “Honey, if it were up to me, I’d never attend another fancy shindig for the rest of my natural born days. That’s Joc’s thing, not mine.”
“A consequence of my position, I’m afraid.” Joc glanced at Nicolò. “And of being a Dante, too, I presume.”
Nicolò nodded and it wasn’t until then that Kiley became aware of how quiet he’d remained all this time, content to sit back and observe. Observe her, she suddenly realized, while kneading his palm in a gesture that grew more habitual with each passing day.
“I’m not on the frontline quite as much as Sev or the twins,” Nicolò conceded. “But I’m forced to do my fair share when the occasion demands.”
“I doubt I’ll ever get used to it,” Kiley confessed. “I’m a nervous wreck right now.”
Joc’s brows pulled together. “Well, we can fix that easily enough.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “I’ll arrange for dinner to be delivered to our cabana. You and Nicolò can meet us there in say…twenty minutes? Will that give you time to change into something casual? We’ll send the nanny on her way and just relax and eat and have some wine. How does that sound?”
Before Kiley could interject, Nicolò nodded. “Sounds perfect, Joc. Thanks for understanding.”
“Nothing to understand,” he assured.
They met up twenty minutes later and Kiley thoroughly enjoyed every second of the evening from that point on. After dinner, a demanding wail sounded from one of the bedrooms and a few minutes later Rosalyn appeared with a sleepy baby held close in her arms. At first glance his hair seemed as dark as his father’s, but as the two drew closer, Kiley saw it reflected a hint of Rosalyn’s deep auburn. He’d also inherited his mother’s eyes, the color an unusual violet-blue. He blinked at the assembled group for a moment, taking it all in, before offering a huge grin, proudly displaying a pair of bottom teeth.
Kiley couldn’t resist. It was a night of new experiences and fate offered her one more she wanted to add to her collection. “May I?” she asked. “I can’t remember ever holding a baby before.”
Rosalyn instantly melted. “Joshua’s still half-asleep, so I’m not sure how he’ll take to you. Just don’t be offended if he decides he wants to go to Joc. He’s more of a guy’s guy than a momma’s boy.”
Kiley took the baby into her arms, cradling him in her arms, barely daring to breathe. Joshua blinked up at her and she could tell he was weighing his options—scream his little head off or put up with her. To her delight, he gave her the benefit of the doubt.
“He’s almost a year, and yet he still smells so new,” she whispered to Nicolò.
He chuckled, joining her on the couch and wrapping an arm around her and the baby. “Try smelling him when he loads that diaper of his.”
“Amen,” Joc and Rosalyn said in unison.
The rest of the evening passed, possessing an almost dreamlike quality. Contentment settled over Kiley, along with a renewed self-confidence. Maybe she could handle this, especially if all Nicolò’s friends were as nice as the Arnauds. She continued to hold Joshua, who promptly fell asleep against her breast.
“Lucky brat,” Nicolò whispered in her ear.
“No,” she whispered back. “Lucky me.”
When the evening came to an end, Kiley reluctantly handed over Joshua and she and Nicolò made their farewells. They followed the lighted walkway from the Arnauds’ cabana to their own, enjoying the exotic scents that filled the sultry night air. It gave Kiley a moment to think, to address the whispered concerns that had gradually grown to a shout during the course of the evening. She’d learned two very important facts this evening.
First, that she could act the part Nicolò required of her in order to fit into his world. And second, that she didn’t want to pretend to be anyone other than herself, the “real” woman she instinctively recognized as her true persona. Now, she had to convince her husband of that. Nicolò unlocked the door and waited for her to precede him into the darkened interior. She paused in the foyer, turning to face him.
“I can’t continue this pretense any longer,” she announced.
Six
Nicolò froze, Kiley’s words causing bitter disappointment to clash with cynical triumph. Gotcha. He didn’t know what about tonight had set her off, but she was finally going to admit the truth of who and what she was.
“What can’t you do?”
She swiveled to face him, taking a step in his direction that shifted her from deep shadow into a pool of moonlight. “I can’t continue living this sort of lifestyle. It feels…wrong.
I feel wrong.”
Okay, not quite what he expected. “You didn’t enjoy this evening?”
“This evening—or at least, the second half of the evening—was incredible. But not all the rest. Not the trappings and the facade I’d have to adopt.” Worry filled her expression. “Is it necessary, Nicolò? Do I have to become the woman I was before in order for our relationship to work?”
“No.” The word escaped before he could stop it. “You can be any sort of woman you wish.”
“And you’ll still love me?”
The question burned like acid. “My feelings for you won’t change.”
“Even though I’ve changed?”
“Give it time, sweetheart.”
She took another step in his direction, closing the gap between them. Her hands slipped across his chest and gathered up handfuls of his shirt. “I don’t want to be the Kiley you described to me earlier. How can I like or respect her if she’s as shallow inside as she is on the outside? I just want to be who I am now. Can you live with that? Can you accept that?”
He wasn’t the one who wouldn’t accept it. She, herself, wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not once she regained her memory. But how did he explain that to her, without telling her the rest? “It’s not my decision,” he said, regret roughening his voice. “If your memory returns you’ll be who you were before. The events that will have occurred since then may alter your perspective, somewhat. But you’ll be the Kiley O’Dell I first met.”
Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “I can almost hear the clock ticking down. Only in this version I don’t know who or what Cinderella turns into when the clock strikes midnight. I’m afraid of that other woman, afraid I’ll turn into something or someone I won’t like.”
“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to remember?”
“Yes. No. The way you act—” She shook her head, her tears catching on the end of her lashes. “The way everyone acts makes me wonder what you’re not telling me. Even Rosalyn—”
Aw, hell. “What about her?”