The Latin Lover's Secret Child. Jane Porter
I’ll punish you anyway.”
Her teasing tone, the rake of her nails against his thigh made him ache. It’d been so long since they’d made love. And Anabella was the only woman he wanted in his bed. Anabella was the only woman he’d ever wanted period.
“Those delights will have to wait,” he answered, fighting the urge to touch her, fighting the need to draw closer, to part her thighs and press against her.
He shouldn’t be surprised she could still make him feel so much. She was impossible. Incorrigible. No one stood a chance resisting Anabella. He’d never wanted to resist her before. “How does your head feel?”
“Better. Headache’s all gone.” And she raked her nails across his butt before tucking her fingers into his belt loops. “See, all I needed was you to find me. Be with me. We belong together.”
Studying her clear bright eyes, her olive complexion with just a hint of dusty pink in the cheeks, he silently agreed with her. Yes, they did belong together and suddenly Lucio desperately wanted to make everything the way it once was, the way it had been between them when they wanted nothing but each other. Life had been so simple then. Life had made such perfect sense.
“Why don’t you take a shower and dress for dinner,” he said, resisting the desire to put his hand on her hip, resisting her sweetly tempting curves.
She leaned against him, her breasts brushing his chest and grinned. “Yes. Dinner. Sounds wonderful. I’m starving.”
But from the wicked gleam in her eyes he knew she wasn’t just asking for steak and fries.
His body grew hotter, harder, the softness of her breasts imprinted on his chest.
“Great. I haven’t had much today, either.” His voice sounded hoarse. He felt utterly exhausted. Resisting Anabella was going to kill him. “You shower. Dress. Take your time. Then we’ll have a nice meal together downstairs.”
He leaned forward to kiss her temple but Ana wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and slid forward yet again, bringing her in full contact against his groin. He inhaled sharply as he felt her everywhere—her full soft breasts, the warmth of her thighs where they wrapped around his hips, the slender shape of her pressed against him.
She looked up at him, her green eyes vivid and with one hand she reached for his thick, tightly bound ponytail low at his nape. He felt her fingers slide through his hair and then the cool brush of fingertips against his neck. Her light knowing touch shot a ball of fire through his groin. He was already hard but he felt close to exploding now.
“Do not,” she whispered fiercely even as her green eyes sparkled with humor and mischief, “kiss me as if you are my grandmother.”
Lucio choked on a laugh. He brushed his lips across her forehead before firmly pushing her away and taking a step back.
She sat tall on the counter. “You’ll pay for that.”
He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. This was so Anabella, so perfectly like his Anabella that he couldn’t help the great wave of relief riding through him. Anabella would recover. Anabella would be herself. “Can’t wait,” he replied before he turned away and headed downstairs.
Dante hadn’t gone. He was pacing the living room as Lucio descended the stairs.
“She’s mad,” Dante said, meeting Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s lost her mind.”
“She’s not crazy,” Lucio answered almost cheerfully, tying his hair back again. His body hummed, and he felt hot, hungry and more than a little relieved. He was only just beginning to understand. It had taken him a while, but it was starting to add up, starting to come together.
She hadn’t lost her mind. She’d lost her memory.
“Anabella has gone back in time,” Lucio said, mentally sorting through his observations, piecing together all the conversations he’d had with her since returning. “And she seems to be living in the past right now.”
Dante looked even more appalled. “She’s back in time? But where? When?”
“That I haven’t figured out yet.”
“But you do think she’s gone back a number of years?”
“Well, certainly back to a place where she felt you were oppressive—”
“I was never oppressive!”
Lucio laughed without the least bit of humor. Dante was kidding himself. “You sent the police after us. Your mother’s hired guns nearly killed me.”
“My mother just wanted Anabella home.”
“Enough said.”
Dante sighed, ruffled the back of his hair, clearly at a loss. None of this was easy. None of this made sense. “So you really don’t think she’s gone over the edge?”
“No. She just needs time and a little less pressure. And frankly, I think your visits are harming her more than they’re helping. You need to give her space. She needs to recover at her own pace.”
“I think her doctor can be the judge of that.”
“You forget, her doctor works for me, Dante. Ana might be your sister, but she’s my wife.”
Dante’s dark head jerked up. “Your wife? She’s divorced you!”
“The divorce isn’t final.”
“But legally—”
“Legally she’s still my wife.”
The two men stared at each other for a long unending moment before Dante gave his head a bitter shake. “So you’re back in charge, are you?”
Lucio hated the violence of his emotions, hated that he wanted to grab Dante and do bodily harm to him. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, fighting for control.
Slowly he exhaled. He had to stay calm. It wouldn’t be fair to Anabella to get into a shouting match with her brother now. She was just upstairs and it’d be far too easy for her to overhear things she wasn’t ready to hear.
“I don’t like this any more than you do, Dante. This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted the divorce. That was her decision, her doing. And she might not remember the present, but I do. I know her feelings changed for me. I know how miserable she was with me.”
Dante’s narrowed glance met Lucio’s. “Yet she doesn’t remember any of that now.”
“She will.”
“And until then? From what I saw here, Anabella still imagines the two of you wildly in love.”
Lucio’s hard smile faded. “Then I guess I’ll have to play along.”
Dante’s lashes flickered, concealing his expression. “And you can do this? You can stay here and put yourself in the middle of her drama?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you have a choice! You have another home, another life. You could be there instead of here.” The Count turned away, passed a hand over his eyes. “You hope to use her illness to your advantage. You’re going to try to win her back.”
“And is that such a crime?”
Dante’s head lifted and his cynical gaze clashed with Lucio’s. Lucio didn’t blink. He’d pledged himself to Anabella five years ago, three years before they married. His love had nothing to do with a ceremony and a piece of paper.
He loved Anabella simply because she existed.
“She’s never been happy living with you,” Dante said at last. “It’s the idea of you she loves. Not the reality.”
It’s the idea she loves. Not the reality. The words repeated in Lucio’s brain. He held still, flinching inwardly