The Italian's Forgotten Baby. Raye Morgan
her dinghy up to the little pier she used. Her small house was a bit back from the water, but it was visible between the coconut palm trunks, its bright yellow exterior and the riotous red hibiscus bushes around it standing out from everything else along the beach.
“Are you staying at the hotel?” she’d asked him then, toying with the idea of offering him a ride back to town on her Vespa and then shrugging it aside. She didn’t want to give him ideas, and anyway, she’d figured a nice long walk would be good for him.
“Is there really only one?” he’d asked, seeming to be amused by that thought.
“Hotel?” She nodded. “We’re pretty remote,” she noted. “We don’t really get a lot of tourists. Most of the passers through are here for the fishing or for the seasonal yacht regattas.”
“I see.”
“So…which are you?”
“Which am I?” he’d repeated, as though wondering himself. “Neither, actually,” he said cryptically. “I guess you could say I’m here for repairs. A little recuperation.”
He’d had the tone of someone who didn’t welcome too much delving into his affairs, so she’d let it drop.
And she knew now that had probably been her big mistake. She found out soon after that he’d only come to the island because he was looking for her. Well, he’d found her. And then he’d left without her.
And here he was, back again.
But that had all happened then, four weeks before. She looked at him sharply. This was now. Why was he back?
It had only been a few minutes since they’d arrived on the Vespa. He was still standing in the clearing, looking a bit lost, and all she was doing was remembering—thinking about the old Marco who had been here before. This new Marco seemed somewhat annoying in contrast and not half as appealing. But maybe the fact that she knew things about him now that she didn’t know then had something to do with that.
If only she’d given him the third degree at that point on that day four weeks ago when she’d found him in the water, she might have saved herself a lot of trouble.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCO COULD TELL she was wondering what to do with him and maybe mulling over things from their shared past, so he waited, letting her stew. He needed some time himself. He was having trouble dealing with all this. A beautiful woman, a forgotten past—it all seemed so outlandish. He could certainly understand Shayna’s appeal. He had no doubt his vacation on Ranai had been pretty spectacular, if she had been his companion in the way all evidence suggested. But that only made it even more crazy that he couldn’t remember her.
And there was another thing. Why had she run from him?
That was the question he needed to hear answered. He’d seen the look of fear in her eyes. Her first reaction had been surprise, but fear had followed quickly, and she’d turned and dashed off as though…what? He’d never been known as a pushover where ladies were concerned, but he’d certainly never been a Blackbeard, either. What had she expected him to do? Whatever it was, she’d thought better of it soon enough, and decided to be reasonable.
But he couldn’t rid himself of that nagging question. Why had she run? It had shocked him and shaken his confidence in a strange way he wasn’t used to. Maybe this situational amnesia had more facets than he’d thought. Maybe his subconscious really wanted to shield him. Maybe there was something about himself he wasn’t going to like finding out.
He would have been less surprised if she’d acted casually unconcerned about his existence, or if she’d walked up, gazed at him with no recognition at all and asked if he wanted a menu. But she hadn’t done that. She’d taken one look, known him immediately, and turned and ran.
What had he done to her? He had a small shiver of unease deep inside. What could he possibly have done to bring on a reaction like that?
He looked at her and tried to read her thoughts by the look in those exceptional blue eyes. She was hesitating, expecting him to start for her house. And that presented a problem. He didn’t know which house was hers. There were two little houses, one on either side of the clearing. He stood back, pretending to be polite, waiting for her to take the lead.
He’d planned to tell her right away about losing his memory. Now he wasn’t so sure. He hesitated. As he stood in the clearing, island life seemed to blossom around him. The sound of the surf on the reef provided background music to parrots calling to each other in the trees and someone in a distant house singing a catchy island song. The heat was a physical presence, and the sunlight seemed to slant into his eyes. If he wasn’t careful, the island magic was going to eat away at his sanity. And that made him think that it might be the wiser course of action to let things cruise for a while as he tried to figure out what upset Shayna. He might as well give it a bit of time to see what he could glean from her conversation before she knew the truth.
And if neither of them was going to make a move, at least he had to say something.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked without thinking.
She turned to stare at him. “What are you trying to do, stir up some small talk?” she asked tartly as he realized his mistake.
This was something a friend would know. He was going to have to take care not to sound like a stranger.
“Why not?” he responded lightly.
Why not, indeed.
She bristled, one hand on her hip. He was still looking around as if he didn’t recognize the place. She would like to think that he was opening his eyes to what he’d lost when he’d destroyed their relationship. That he was re-evaluating some of his actions. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite buy it.
“We’re a little beyond that, don’t you think?” she muttered, shaking her head. “Come on,” she added, starting off down her path at last. “Let’s go inside. I’m dying for some iced tea.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, following her. His gazed dropped to her cute bottom and he quickly looked away. Until he found out what the problem was between them, he wasn’t going there.
Her house was tiny, set on stilts and surrounded by riotously flowering plants. It was exactly what a beautiful young woman who lived in the tropics should have for a house, he decided, but that was just what made him wary. It was all too perfect, too lush, too sensual—like a trap. Was that what had happened before? He’d probably fallen for her like a ton of bricks, right from the start. He was going to be more careful this time.
He followed her up the wooden steps and across the wide lanai, pulling off his dark glasses as he did so. Inside, she had an open floor plan tastefully decorated in pastels and rattan furniture. He glanced around the room but didn’t see any sign of anything personal that would tell him anything. There was one framed photograph high on a shelf, but not much else, no mementoes of trips or triumphs. She didn’t seem to reveal much easily.
She went into the little kitchenette and opened a small refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea and reaching into a cupboard for two tall glasses. He took his gratefully and drank most of it down. It was a hot day.
“So,” she said, leaning on the counter between them and gazing at him levelly, “you’re back. I assume there’s a reason?”
He leaned on the counter, too, just to keep things even. “I came back to find you.”
Something flashed in her eyes. It wasn’t particularly friendly, but there was a wary question behind the guardedness. She was angry and resentful about something, but she was ready to be coaxed back into friendliness. If he could just figure out what that would take, he would do it.
“Well, here I am,” she said, trying to be flip. “Though I didn’t know I was missing.”
Their gazes met and held. There was a hesitant question in her beautiful eyes, along