by Day Leclaire
His expression never eased. Nor did the manner in which he stared at her. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I’m the one with the memory loss, remember? So, you tell me. Let’s start with how I was injured,” she requested.
Much to her relief, he didn’t weigh his words this time. “You were hit by a cab while crossing the street. I came out of the hotel just in time to see it happen.”
Now he did pause, but she suspected it had nothing to do with choosing what to say and how to say it. She could tell how badly the accident had affected him, could glimpse the horror and helplessness he’d experienced in those final few seconds before she’d been hit. She wasn’t the only one damaged when she’d been struck by that cab. His life had also been irreparably changed.
It took a moment for him to gather his self-control before continuing. “As I said, what possible reason could you have for faking amnesia? It was a stupid, regrettable accident.”
“But there’s something more. I can see it in your expression. What aren’t you telling me?”
“We had a fight right beforehand.” The admission came hard. “You left the hotel in a hurry. If I’d stopped you from leaving, or if I hadn’t delayed going after you, I might have prevented the accident from happening.”
She couldn’t mistake his sincerity and something loosened inside of her. Apparently, even hard, powerful men suffered from vulnerabilities. It would seem she was his. “You blame yourself, don’t you? For the accident, I mean.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Yes.”
“What good would it have done if you’d been with me?” She offered a reassuring smile. “Chances are we’d both have been hit by that cab.”
Again, that bleak expression. “Doubtful. It’s far more likely I would have prevented the incident from ever occurring.”
The absolute certainty in his voice amused her. “I see I’ve married an arrogant man.”
“That isn’t arrogance, but fact.”
She laughed, the sound a bit rusty, but it felt good, nonetheless. “I believe you just proved my point,” she said.
Kiley couldn’t say when she accepted Nicolò as her husband. Not at first touch, despite the undeniable connection between them. She’d still been too traumatized by her loss of memory at that point to accept much of anything. Granted, the unmistakable surge of lust had convinced her she and Nicolò were two parts of a whole, clearly connected to each other physically. But that hadn’t been enough to convince her they were husband and wife.
Perhaps she’d begun to accept their marriage because of the way she’d clung to him throughout their conversation. Or the scorching pain she’d glimpsed when her husband had described her accident. Or maybe it had been something as silly as his admitting she hadn’t decided whether or not to take the Dante name as her own. Whatever the cause, the result was she accepted one undeniable fact. They belonged together.
“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.
“I’m trying to remember, but . . .”
“But, what?” he prompted.
“I’m afraid.” It amazed her she confided in him after only knowing him for mere minutes. Maybe it had been like that when they’d first met. In fact, she was certain it must have been. She could practically see their affair unfold as though part of some romantic dream, where they met and connected and established an instant rapport, both emotional as well as physical. It would explain so much about her current feelings for him. “I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I do remember.”
“Or not find?”
His perception unnerved her. “That, too.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask,” Nicolò pressed. “There’s something else. What aren’t you telling me?”
For some odd reason tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m afraid if I go to sleep again, I’ll lose more of myself, if that’s even possible.” She whispered the confession, almost afraid of speaking it aloud in case it gave form and substance to the nightmare. “That it’ll be like that movie. You know the one? Where she wakes up each day having to start over again?”
“You mean 50 First Dates?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Kiley stirred restlessly, an intense throbbing in her hip making her catch her breath before she could go on. “Isn’t it ridiculous? I can remember that movie but I can’t remember when or where I saw it or who I was with.” She shot him a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose it was you?”
To her disappointment, he shook his head. “I should warn you we don’t know each other all that well. Our relationship really is a whirlwind affair.”
She offered a crooked smile, attempting to put the merest hint of shine on a bleak situation. “Then it shouldn’t take us long to catch up, should it?”
That won her another grin, one that caused her heartbeat to kick up, a fact duly noted by the surrounding monitors. “Not long at all.”
A wave of exhaustion hit her and her eyes began to drift closed. “I’m getting so sleepy. It must be that shot the nurse gave me.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Will you still be here when I wake again?”
“I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
So adamant. So solid and reassuring. “Will I remember you?” she managed to ask.
“If you forget, I’ll remind you. And if that doesn’t work . . .” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss in the center of her palm. “This is one thing you’ll never forget.”
“You’re right. I’ll never be able to forget that,” she whispered. “Thank you, Nicolò. I’m so glad you’re my husband.”
And then darkness captured her again.
Chapter Three
“Have you lost your mind?”
Nicolò released his breath in a deep sigh. “I believe that’s the same question you asked me last time we had this conversation.”
“It bears repeating,” Lazz proclaimed. He turned to the oldest Dante brother, Sev, for confirmation. “You can’t possibly condone what he’s doing?”
“Not even a little,” Sev assured. He hesitated for a split second before adding, “Although—”
Lazz shut his eyes. “Oh, no. Hell, no. Do not in any way, shape, or form encourage him in this madness.”
“It’ll give us time to figure out what she’s up to,” Sev offered. “If she does get her memory back, we’ll be prepared. Nicolò will have gathered enough information to put a plan in place.”
“Is that straight from legal?” Lazz shot back.
Nicolò fought to keep from massaging his palm. Ever since he’d joined hands with Kiley, he’d been driven by the overwhelming urge to rub the spot where her touch had branded him. It had happened to Sev and Marco after they’d been bonded with their Inferno matches. And now it was happening to him, though he didn’t dare let on just yet.
“In case it’s escaped your collective notice,” he announced, “I’m not asking for anyone’s advice or opinion. I’m simply informing you of the latest developments.”
“Which includes you continuing to pose as her husband,” Lazz barked. “Just what the hell do you suppose will happen when she gets her memory back?”
Nicolò lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I’ll deal with it.”
Lazz’s twin brother, Marco, spoke up for the first time. “I think the more intriguing question is, what do you intend to do with her if she never regains her memory?” He stared at Nicolò, seeing far too much. “How long do you plan to keep up the pretense? And what do you do with her once you’re convinced of her guilt?”
“Or innocence,” Nicolò inserted without thought.
Marco’s gaze sharpened. “You think that’s at all possible?”
Nicolò considered the possibility before reluctantly dismissing it. “No. When we met at Le Premier, I’m positive she was running a con of some sort. With luck, Juice can uncover the truth. In addition to checking into her background, I had him collect her possessions from Le Premier.”
“What did he di
scover?” Sev asked.
“Nothing helpful.” Which only made Nicolò’s suspicions all the stronger. “We didn’t find anything to indicate where she came from immediately preceding our meeting, or whether she has an accomplice. We haven’t found an address book, tablet, or so much as a business card. Her cell phone is a disposable. And her driver’s license lists an old residence. She moved from that location—Phoenix, to be exact—eighteen months ago and left no forwarding address.”
Sev frowned. “That alone should give us pause,” he said. “No one maintains that low a profile unless it’s for a reason. I assume you told Juice to continue digging?”
“I did. He has instructions to call me with regular updates I can incorporate into what I tell Kiley about our history together. Until then, I intend to keep her close.”
Lazz straightened. “I don’t like the sound of that. What history? And just how close are you planning to keep her?”
Nicolò spared his brother an impatient look. “Try applying some of that logic you’re so fond of. She’s supposed to be my wife, remember? When she’s released tomorrow, I’m bringing her home with me. I’ve already transferred her possessions to my house and have created an entire history of how, when, where, and why the two of us hooked up.” All three of Nicolò’s brothers shot to their feet, arguing at once. He waited until they ran out of steam before speaking again. “She’s still recovering from a serious accident. She has no memory and no one to help her—except her husband.”
“What if she’s faking amnesia?” Lazz asked.
“Or is running part two of her con?” Marco added.
Nicolò’s expression hardened. Then he’d see she regretted playing him for a fool for a long time to come. “All the more reason to have her where I can keep an eye on her. She believes I’m her husband. I intend to play the part to the hilt until I have a damn good reason not to. So far, none of you have offered me one. Once Juice has figured out the truth, we’ll decide how to proceed from there.”
“Do you have any idea the sort of trouble this could cause?” Lazz demanded.
Nicolò released a laugh, the sound ripe with irony. “It’s going to cause more trouble than you can possibly imagine. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice.”
The Inferno had seen to that.
“This is where you live?”
“We,” Nicolò corrected gently. “This is where we live.”
“Oh, right.” Kiley stared up at the elegant turn-of-the-century Victorian. From deep inside the recesses of Nicolò’s—their—home came a thundering bass woof that succeeded in rattling the stained-glass windowpanes bookending the front door. She swallowed. “What was that?”
“Ah.” A brief smile came and went. “That would be a who. Brutus, to be specific.”
“Brutus,” she repeated faintly. “And what sort of creature is a Brutus?”
“Dog.”
“Huh. It sounds more like a cross between a moose and a lion.”
“That would be about right.” He waited until she swiveled to face him in wide-eyed dismay before relenting. “He’s a St. Bernard. Very gentle.”
Time would tell. She took a deep breath and faced the front door once again. She slanted her husband a final glance. “I don’t suppose you know whether I like dogs?”
“You love dogs,” he stated categorically. “And you’re crazy about Brutus. Everyone’s crazy about Brutus.”
“If you say so.”
Nicolò slid his key into the lock and opened the door. A series of thuds drummed through the soles of her shoes as Brutus approached at a dead run. He reached the parquet flooring in the foyer and the speed of his forward momentum sent him skidding across the glossy wood. He slid to a stop inches from where she and Nicolò stood.
Kiley remained frozen in place, utterly petrified by the mammoth animal who probably topped her by a solid hundred pounds and appeared capable of swallowing her whole in a single gulp. The top of his head hovered at shoulder height and every inch of his massive body rippled with hard, lean muscle, while his rich, multicolored coat gleamed with health. He was a gorgeous animal, though right now she found it difficult to summon much appreciation for that fact in the face of overwhelming terror.
Nicolò dropped to his knees and performed some sort of ritualistic man/dog bonding game that had her backpedaling as fast as her aching hip would allow until her spine hit the front door. If she could have melted into the wood and out the other side, she would have.
“Nicolò,” she whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
She fought to speak around a bone-dry throat. “I think the amnesia may have screwed up my dog appeal.”
Nicolò came to his feet, creating a solid barrier between her and his dog. “Don’t be afraid. I swear, Brutus is the gentlest animal in the world.”
“It’s just . . .” She swallowed. “He’s so big.”
“Yeah, he is,” Nicolò agreed. He made a hand signal and in response Brutus dropped instantly to the floor in a sphinxlike pose. “So, we’ll take this nice and slow. I’m right here beside you, and I won’t let anything bad happen.”
“Thanks.” He held out his hand and Kiley took it without a second thought. She even allowed herself to be drawn toward the dog, who didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. “Why isn’t he moving?” It was downright unnerving.
“I’ve trained him not to.” Nicolò offered a reassuring smile. “You’re not the first person to be intimidated by his size. So I taught him certain behaviors that make him more approachable and less overwhelming.”
“You’re going to try and get us to be friends now, aren’t you?” she asked with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
“Yup.” He sent the dog another hand gesture and Brutus dropped his head onto his enormous front paws. Huge melting brown eyes peered up at Kiley. “Kiley, this is Brutus. Close your hand in a fist and just put it in front of his nose so he can smell you. Don’t worry, he’ll recognize your scent.”
It took every ounce of nerve to do as Nicolò instructed and stoop in front of the huge animal. Closing her eyes and praying she wasn’t about to lose half her arm, she lowered her fist to within a few feet of Brutus’s snout. The dog’s nose twitched and he sniffed her hand. His tail thumped in recognition and he squirmed close enough to lick her. It was as though someone had flicked a light switch. The fear didn’t completely disappear, but how could she resist the sweetness exuding from Brutus?
She gave in to temptation and scratched behind his ears. After a few short minutes, her sore hip forced her to her feet and she gingerly stood with an assist from Nicolò. “His coat is so soft,” she marveled. “Especially around his ears.”
“Don’t let him fool you. He’s a cagey beast.”
“Cagey?”
“It’s all about food with this one. Be careful when you’re eating because he’ll find a way to distract you so he can snitch your meal off your plate.” Nicolò interlaced his hand with hers. “Come on. Why don’t I take you on the grand tour?”
“I’d love to see the place.”
With Brutus leading the way, Nicolò escorted her through the lower rooms, featuring a generous-sized kitchen with a small table set in a bow window, a formal dining room off the kitchen, as well as a beautifully decorated living area. Deeper in, he showed her what was clearly his favorite room, a large den with built-in bookcases, a mile-wide plasma TV and a couch with cushions as soft and comfortable as down.
His cell phone rang right before they headed upstairs and, with a word of apology, he took the call. “What have you found out, Juice?” He listened for a long minute. “Any family other than . . . ? Got it. No, that’s quite helpful, thanks. Just what I needed.” He disconnected the call and offered Kiley one of the smiles that never failed to ignite a flame of intense awareness. “Sorry. Business update I’ve been waiting for.”
“No problem.”
Nicolò paused in the doorway of a large bedroom gilded
by late afternoon sunlight. Leaning against the doorjamb, he waited while she circled the room. “This one’s yours. I thought you’d be more comfortable having a room to yourself. At least for the time being.”
Surprise held Kiley frozen for a split second. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” she murmured.
She didn’t dare tell him it didn’t feel comfortable at all. Instead, it made her feel all the more alone. On the other hand, did she really want to spend the night in his bed? Despite her instinctive reaction to him—an all-consuming passion that defied understanding—they’d only known each other for a few days, at least to the best of her current recollection. Her husband was being incredibly sensitive by not forcing them into an intimate relationship until she’d had time to adjust to their marriage. This situation must be every bit as difficult for him as it was for her.
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 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.”
