Lovers' Reunion (Silhouette Treasury 90s)
Page 1
“Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Books by Anne Marie Winston
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Copyright
“Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”
He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, as his gaze took in the woman he’d never forgotten.
“You look fantastic,” he said, and she smiled.
“Sophie. . .” He hesitated. “About the way things ended between us—”
“It was a long time ago, Marco, and I’ve forgotten it. I still consider you a friend.”
He frowned. That wasn’t the response he’d expected or hoped for.
“Have a nice visit,” she said as she walked back toward her house.
Her voice brought reality crashing down on his head. She had been his once, but he’d left her. And now he would have to do all he could to win her back....
Dear Reader,
The joys of summer are upon us—along with some July fireworks from Silhouette Desire!
The always wonderful Jennifer Greene presents our July MAN OF THE MONTH in Prince Charming’s Child. A contemporary romance version of Sleeping Beauty, this title also launches the author’s new miniseries, HAPPILY EVER AFTER, inspired by those magical fairy tales we loved in childhood. And ever-talented Anne Marie Winston is back with a highly emotional reunion romance in Lovers’ Reunion. The popular miniseries TEXAS BRIDES by Peggy Moreland continues with the provocative story of That McCloud Woman. Sheiks abound in Judith McWilliams’s The Sheik’s Secret, while a plain Jane is wooed by a millionaire in Jan Hudson’s Plain Jane’s Texan. And Barbara McCauley’s new dramatic miniseries, SECRETS!, debuts this month with Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge.
We’ve got more excitement for you next month—watch for the premiere of the compelling new Desire miniseries THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB. Some of the sexiest, most powerful men in the Lone Star State are members of this prestigious club, and they all find love when they least expect it! You’ll learn more about THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB in our August Dear Reader letter, along with an update on Silhouette’s new continuity, THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS, debuting next month.
And this month, join in the celebrations by treating yourself to all six passionate Silhouette Desire titles.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
LOVERS’ REUNION
ANNE MARIE WINSTON
Books by Anne Marie Winston
Silhouette Desire
Best Kept Secrets #742
Island Baby #770
Chance at a Lifetime #809
Unlikely Eden #827
Carolina on My Mind #845
Substitute Wife #863
Find Her, Keep Her #887
Rancher’s Wife #936
Rancher’s Baby #1031
Seducing the Proper Miss Miller #1155
*The Baby Consultant #1191
*Dedicated to Deirdre #1197
*The Bride Means Business #1204
Lovers’ Reunion #1226
*Butler County Bndes
ANNE MARIE WINSTON has believed in happy endings all her life. Having the opportunity to share them with her readers gives her great joy. Anne Marie enjoys figure skating and working in the gardens of her south-central Pennsylvania home.
For Mary Alice
My roomie
“Few delights can equal the mere presence of one whom we trust utterly.”
—George MacDonald
Prologue
Had he heard voices?
Slowly, Marco Esposito opened his eyes, dreading the sight of the dappled shades of the jungle surrounding him. God, if he got out of here alive, he’d never wear green again.
He held his breath, straining to hear above the warbling, whistling clamor of the creatures in the canopy above his head. Must’ve been wishful thinking. Or hallucinating.
His tongue felt thick and swollen. It took effort to unstick it from the roof of his mouth. He was dying for a drink, but he’d finished the last of the water late yesterday. Kind of ironic, since he was soaked from head to toe by the steamy humidity in the air.
Something was crawling over his hand. He fought back a shudder and hoped it wasn’t one of the brilliantly colored little tree frogs whose poison would finish him off a lot faster than the blood he’d already lost, considerable as he thought it was.
He knew better than to move, and not just because of threatening creatures. The pain was bearable as long as he lay completely still. He wanted to check his watch, but even the movement of his arm sent hot daggers of fire lancing up his right leg, so he didn’t. He squinted up through the leafy veil of the rain forest that soared in a tangled jumble of vines, thick tree trunks and leaves overhead.
Daylight. Unless he’d been dozing a lot longer than he thought, this was the second day, then. Relief swamped him. By day the jaguar he so feared would be lying low, waiting for night, when its sharp predator’s vision was unparalleled in the close, black regions of the terrain through which it passed.
He’d kept the flashlight on last night, shining it at random spots around him until the battery weakened and finally died. If he wasn’t found today, the jaguar would find him tonight.
By rolling his eyes to the left, he could just see the humped outline of what had been a small plane, wingless and shattered among the ferns. The pilot was still inside, dead since the moment of impact. The other body lay on the ground beside the plane. He’d covered it as best he could with a heavy tarp, broken open a couple of capsules of ammonia and prayed that any passing predators would be too afraid of the strange scents to come too close for a while.
Grief tightened his chest. Stu had been a good researcher, a trusted friend and damn good on expeditions like this. He’d died less than an hour after Marco had pulled him from the plane.
Marco hoped he’d get the chance to talk to Stu’s family one day, give them the final few words his colleague had sent to those he was leaving. Dammit! Stu had a wife, two kids, one of whom was still in high school. Life really sucked sometimes.
Family. His own family was going to be devastated if he didn’t make it out of this green hell. He hadn’t been home more than a handful of times in fifteen years. But in his heart, they were always close. His mom, dad, grandparents, four sisters... At least he wouldn’t be leaving a wife or kids to mourn him, to try to get along on their own.
And just like that, she was with him.
Sophie. He’d tried to forget her, to keep her out of his head for nearly six years now.
He hadn’t succeeded.
He could see her clearly: soft bouncy curls, laughing dark eyes, those full, pouty lips he’d so loved to kiss. He’d had no business kissing her, but his willpower hadn’t been up to the task of holding her at bay after the first time he’d tasted her. They’d had only one time together but still he could call up the images, the scents, tastes and touches as if it had been yesterday. And the raw, naked longing that had sprung from nowhere had spooke
d him.
His only defense had been to stay away. Away from Chicago, away from his own home, away from the girl next door who’d said she loved him.
But she’d been too young to love anybody. He’d told himself that more times than he could count.
Sweet Sophie. Would she miss him if he died? Did she even think of him anymore? She surely was married by now, with a family of her own.
And that might be his biggest regret. He’d never thought he was a family man. But the thought of dying, of leaving nothing of himself behind to carry on his name, his blood, his life....
He hadn’t let himself think of a family in years. It was funny, though, that he’d never been able to envision children of his own unless they were being held in Sophie’s soft arms. She was the only woman who’d ever even tempted him to think “family.”
“Ho-o-o!”
The voice was close. It had to be, to carry so clearly through the sodden, sound-swallowing vegetation.
“Hello! I’m here!” He made the mistake of turning his head, and the movement jarred his body just enough to arouse the beast gnawing on his leg. He gritted his teeth; a guttural sound rose from his throat, and every muscle in his big body went rigid.
“Marco! Keep talking! We’re coming.”
He recognized the voice an instant before a head topped with flaming copper hair appeared from around one of the immense tree trunks. Rescue! Relief, excitement, panic that had been held at bay, all surged forth.
As soon as Jared Adamson saw him, he broke into a jog. “Here,” he called over his shoulder. “Esposito’s over here. The plane’s over here, too.” Jared leaned over him, shining a horribly bright light in his eyes, and Marco knew he was checking his pupils. “Hey, buddy. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
“Wanna bet?” He was shocked to hear how hoarse and weak he sounded, but he tried to smile.
Jared dropped to his knees beside him, his face grim as he ripped an enormous backpack off his shoulders and began pawing through it. “What the hell happened? This wasn’t in the plan.”
Marco wanted to say something flippant, but suddenly he was on the verge of tears and he swallowed several times before he could trust his voice. Over his friend’s broad shoulder, he saw several other rescuers moving toward the plane, unrolling body bags and transport stretchers.
“Engine failure. The pilot couldn’t do a thing.” He was able to speak again. “The others are dead. My leg...is bad.”
Jared nodded, his hazel eyes sober. “I can see that. How did Stu manage to get out of the plane?”
“I pulled him out. He died after that.”
Jared gave a low whistle. “You pulled him out? With this leg?” He shook his head. “Only you could manage a feat like that,” he muttered as he bent to examine the injury. “You bandage this yourself?” he asked as he put one hand behind Marco’s head and held a metal cup of water to his lips.
Pain threatened again, and he gritted his teeth. When it passed, he drained the cup before he answered. “Had to. Losing a lot of blood.”
Jared grimaced, and his face contorted for an instant as he fiddled with gauze and antiseptic. “You did a good job.” He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I’m going to have to stabilize your leg before I move you. Brace yourself, bud. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”
His friend’s eyes met Marco’s, and Jared went silent for a moment, looking away, struggling for composure. Finally he said, “It looks ugly. I wouldn’t be surprised if the doctors want to amputate.”
Marco froze. Deep inside, he’d known it was bad. He just hadn’t let himself think about the mangled flesh and bits of bone he’d dragged together and bandaged the day before. “Save it,” he whispered. His whole life was centered around the reputation he’d built exploring, researching and documenting geological environs. He’d suffocate in a sedentary job, a single location. “Please tell them to save it if there’s any chance....”
“Will do.” His friend’s big hand came down over his and squeezed once. “I’m going to have to touch your leg now.”
“S’okay—” His voice rose to a scream as pain’s teeth bit deep, and then the world spun in a red cyclone of agony that sucked consciousness from him.
One
Marco pulled the dark blue rental car to the curb a few yards from his parents’ house in Elmwood Park, Illinois. He’d grown up in the Chicago suburb in this same house, and the familiar sight of his mother’s red geraniums cascading from the window box above the single-car garage brought back a cascade of warm memories. The memories lightened the dark despair with which he had grappled since a doctor had told him his right leg would never regain more than a bare minimum of flexibility.
He reached for the manual shift, and then remembered he couldn’t drive a clutch yet. Shoving the automatic gear into park with more force than necessary, he opened the door and swung his legs out of the car, being careful not to bang his stiff knee. It was pretty good most of the time now, as long as he wasn’t reckless.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the mild air. Early May in Chicago wasn’t usually this pleasant. Better enjoy it while it lasted. As a geologist who frequently traveled the globe on scientific expeditions, he’d spent far more time in tropical climates than any other, and he much preferred the warmth.
His mood darkened again as he took his cane and walked slowly around the car. He hated using the crutch and rarely needed it for short distances anymore, but the flight from Buenos Aires had been long and tiring, and when he was tired, the leg was apt to give way without any warning. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he started up the walk toward his house.
“Marco!” A screech of delight warned him a moment before the door banged open. Dora Esposito rushed through the screen door and off the small stoop with a speed that gave no hint that she was the mother of five grown children.
Her arms were around him before he could respond, and he put his free arm around his mother, hugging fiercely as he looked down at her ebony curls that had yet to see a strand of gray. “Still coloring your hair, Ma?”
His mother drew back, squeezing his shoulders and laughing. “Still as disrespectful as ever, I see.” She wiped her eyes as she smiled at him. “I’ll have to work on that while you’re home. How long can you stay?”
He hesitated. “I’m not really sure.”
Dora’s face fell. “Don’t tell me you’re rushing off tomorrow like you always do,” she scolded. “Sometimes I think you only stop by because it’s cheaper than a hotel room when you’re passing through Chicago.”
He laughed, keeping his arm around her shoulders affectionately as they turned toward the door. “I’m not stopping off this time, Ma. I’m staying.”
Dora Esposito was rarely at a loss for words, but his news struck her dumb—for a moment “You’re teasing your old mama.”
“Never.” He removed his arm from around her as they reached the stoop and juggled his cane into position. He’d learned the hard way that he needed all his concentration for stuff like steps, however small. “I have a temporary position at Purdue for the summer and fall semesters. I’ll be around so much you’ll be sick of seeing me in a few months.”
His mother pressed a hand to her breast. “I can’t believe it!” Then she realized what he was doing. “Oh, here, bambino, let me help you.” She put an arm under his elbow and he stopped, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. Ma, I can do it. It just takes a little time. Besides—” he forced himself to grin “—there’s well over two hundred pounds of me and less than a hundred of you, so I’m not sure what you’d do if I started to fall.”
His mother smiled back, although her eyes were shadowed. “I’ll just go ahead and get your room ready.”
“Thanks.” Reaching the top of the steps, he grabbed the door before she could, holding it open for her. “I’m going to start looking for apartments tomorrow, so I shouldn’t be under your feet past the end of the month.”
“Under m
y feet?” His mother flapped a hand at him as she started up the stairs. “Since Teresa moved out, it’s been too quiet around here. It’s wonderful to have you home.”
As Dora bustled up the steps, he set down his bag in the front entry and moved through the tiny house he’d shared with his parents and four sisters. The living room, on the left, was dominated by the large television he’d bought his father a few years ago, the better to view the Chicago Bulls during basketball season. The furniture was homey and practical, and his mother’s needlework peeped out of a basket beside the sofa. Pretty crocheted doilies still covered the pie-crust tables.
In the dining room a lacy cloth lay over the table. One wall was covered with familiar framed photos: himself and his sisters, Camilla, Elisabetta, Luisa and Teresa as babies, at First Communion, graduating from high school; his grandparents and his aunts and uncles; his parents on their wedding day. A vase of tulips from his mother’s flower beds brightened the room, and a crucifix hung above a small table that served as an altar.
It was strangely reassuring to see that nothing had changed.
The kitchen, too, was much as he remembered, except that his father had installed the dishwasher all the kids had given them for Christmas ... two years ago? Had it really been two years since he’d been home?
Yes, he realized with chagrin. It really had been. Last Christmas he’d been in a hospital in Paraguay, fighting an infection that threatened to undermine any chance of saving his damaged leg. There probably had been ten tons of bacteria, at least, running around in the damned rain forest—it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten anything worse.