by Day Leclaire
But he couldn’t. She’d only been released from the hospital mere hours ago, he reminded himself. She had bruises on top of bruises. And most damning of all . . .
She was a con artist.
It didn’t matter that The Inferno shrieked through him, clawing at him to take that final step of possession. It didn’t matter that Kiley seemed equally inclined to make the ultimate commitment. He couldn’t trust this woman, didn’t dare believe that any of this was real. He’d put his family’s well-being at risk if he fell for her game. Though right this minute he almost—almost— didn’t give a damn.
She stroked her fingertips across his chest in tiny, tantalizing circles. “I know exactly what you should do with me,” she repeated. “It occurred to me while I was downstairs.” The softest laugh escaped her, her breath caressing his chin and neck and wreaking havoc with his self-control. “I’d like to start over.”
Okay, not quite what he’d expected. He caught her hand in his before he lost it completely. “Start over,” he repeated.
She nodded, eagerness brightening her eyes. “It occurred to me when I was getting reacquainted with Brutus. You see, I don’t remember any of my previous interactions with him.”
Maybe because there hadn’t been any. The only reason Brutus had recognized her scent when he’d first introduced them was because he’d allowed the dog to sniff some of her possessions after he’d had them transferred into his house. “When your memory returns, all that will be resolved,” Nicolò offered. Of course, when her memory returned, he’d be the one in the doghouse.
“No. I can’t wait for that. I have to live my life now.” She regarded him in all seriousness. “I don’t remember any of my interactions with Brutus, any more than I remember our interactions. I can’t ask Brutus what happened.”
He found himself giving her back a sympathetic stroke. “But you can ask me.”
Determination filled her expression, and perhaps a hint of desperation, as well. “I want to do more than ask. And that’s where my idea comes in.”
He needed to stop touching her and soon. But even as the thought dawned, Nicolò found himself tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the silky curve of her cheek. “Tell me your idea.”
“You said ours was a whirlwind affair.” She waited for his nod of confirmation before continuing. “So that means it wouldn’t be too difficult to reenact, right?”
Aw, hell. “Reenact, as in create all over again?” he asked.
She smiled and he suddenly realized that her smile was a tiny bit crooked, her lips tugging ever so slightly to the right. For some odd reason, he found the imperfection all too appealing. “Exactly. We can recreate our first meeting, and each of our subsequent dates. Best of all, maybe it’ll help me remember.”
Actually, it was a very clever idea, one that would provide her with endless amusement if she were faking amnesia. Considering they didn’t have a history, other than that one disastrous meeting at Le Premier, he’d find it impossible to come up with anything real, which left creating some ridiculous fantasy.
Everything within him flinched from the idea. He’d been dishonest enough by claiming her as his wife. Granted, The Inferno had united him with this woman, and perhaps if circumstances had been different he might have pursued a serious relationship in order to see where it might take them. But no way in hell would he permanently connect himself with a con artist.
The reminder of who and what she was stiffened his resolve. He’d put this game in motion for a reason. A very simple, extremely vital reason. If Kiley O’Dell succeeded with her scam, she could conceivably claim half the value of the fire diamond mine and the Dante family jewelry empire would go under. He had to play out this game until he had proof of her true nature. Unfortunately, his physical reaction to her complicated matters.
“Nicolò?” She looked far less excited than moments before. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my idea?”
“I love your idea.”
“Then will you do it?”
He was digging himself deeper and deeper into an inescapable hole. How would he justify his actions if Juice proved her innocence? He couldn’t. And when she recovered her memory, those actions would cause her unfathomable pain.
But then, he didn’t believe for one minute she was an innocent in all this, not based on her actions and attitude that day at Le Premier. That woman and the one currently in his arms bore no relationship to each other. Until the two melded together once again, he’d follow the course he’d set for himself. For both of them. In fact, if he played this the way she requested, he might be able to prove what she was, as well as the truth behind her claim of amnesia.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” he agreed. “We’ll start all over again.”
He could feel her relief. “Where did we first meet?”
“In the park,” he answered promptly, following the history he’d scripted in anticipation of this conversation. “I was walking Brutus.”
“And what was I doing there?”
“Sitting. You’d just moved to the city in order to begin a new job. Unfortunately, the company folded the week after you started.”
“You took pity on me, didn’t you?”
The fantasy she’d created to fill in the holes in her memory showed an impressive ingenuity and amazed the hell out of him. Unfortunately, the warmth with which she regarded him left him stirring in discomfort.
“Brutus and I both did,” he said, forcing out the lie. “We cheered you up with a rousing game of Frisbee.”
“Then tomorrow that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to the park and play Frisbee.”
“Actually, we won’t.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “You’re less than a day out of the hospital. We’re not doing anything that risks putting you back there again. Frisbee is out.” When she would have argued further, he added, “It was just a brief encounter, Kiley. I have an alternate suggestion, if you’re willing.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll recreate our times together, if that’s how you want to play the game.” And this very well could be a game for her, he reminded himself. “In return, you don’t ask any questions beforehand. Let events unfold naturally.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
“Because this way you don’t have any preconceived expectations. You can just be yourself and enjoy the occasion. There won’t be any ‘did I do this’ or ‘did I say that?’ You can just take it as it happens and respond naturally.”
“But I don’t know what’s natural for me,” she argued.
“Then go with what feels right.”
She hesitated, considering, before giving a reluctant nod. “I guess I can do that. Are you sure we can’t start tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “We wait until the doctor clears you for normal activity.”
She grinned, her mouth taking on that lopsided slant again. “In that case, I’ll call Ruiz first thing tomorrow.”
Nicolò considered for a moment, then shrugged. “If he gives you the okay, I’m fine with it. But I’ll need a little time to set everything up.”
And the first thing he’d set up would be a few “dates” that would help him determine whether or not she truly had amnesia, while giving Juice additional time to complete his background check. Dates that would prove she was a woman who craved the good life and all the expensive accessories that went with it. Until then . . .
He stretched out his arm and flicked off the light. “Try and sleep.” Because heaven knew, he wouldn’t. Not with her in his bed, wrapped around him, while he couldn’t do more than plant a chaste kiss on her brow.
She stirred against him, threatening to shred his ability for any sort of chaste embrace. Or so he thought until she said, “I—I don’t like it this dark.”
“I’m right here,” he said, reassuring her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. But if you’d be more comfortable with the light on . . .” He reache
d for the lamp again. “Better?”
“Do you mind?” Her eyes turned so shadowed they were almost as black as his own. “Ever since the accident—”
“What?” He threaded his fingers through her hair, careful to avoid the stitches from her injury. “Do you remember something?”
“No, it’s not that.” She moistened her lips. “As long as I can remember—which, granted, isn’t long—it’s never been this dark or so quiet. Hospitals are noisy, busy places. Until I woke up in your guest bedroom, I don’t ever remember being alone before. I didn’t like it.”
It took him a moment to reply. “There’s an easy fix to that. From now on, you sleep here with me and we leave a light on.”
A hint of uncertainty swept across her expressive features. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not even a little.”
He continued to hold her until she drifted off, calling himself six kinds of fool. He watched as she slept, memorizing every curve and angle of her face. She was out cold, no faking that, so relaxed and trusting within his embrace.
She’d regained some of her color, her cheeks carrying a light flush instead of that frightening waxy pallor she’d worn during her hospital visit. And her hair fell in heavy curls across her shoulders and his bared chest, the soft, springy feel of it sheer torture.
Her lips were parted ever so slightly, making him long to sample them again, to delve inward and invade that honeyed warmth. To see if she tasted as sweet and rich as before or if he’d imagined it.
How could someone who looked so innocent be so amoral? Every instinct he possessed insisted she was telling the truth. That her amnesia was real. If he only had himself to consider, he’d take the risk. But his responsibilities encompassed far more than himself, and that meant he needed to use extreme caution. He had to remain on his guard every second, especially during moments like these. Intimate, private, vulnerable moments that someone experienced in running a con could turn to her advantage.
He closed his eyes, wishing he had the ability to trust. Wishing that he could believe in things like The Inferno and second chances and the goodness of human nature. But in his capacity as Dantes’ troubleshooter he’d experienced far too much of the opposite to ever take such a leap of faith.
Even as the thought lingered in his mind, he settled her more firmly within his hold, his embrace equal parts possessive and protective. And as he joined her in sleep, one word sounded louder than all the others.
Mine.
Three endless days passed before Kiley received the official okay from Dr. Ruiz to resume normal activities. He also gave her the name of a doctor who specialized in retrograde amnesia, though she hoped she wouldn’t need his services. Instead, she preferred to trust that with her husband’s help, her memory would return on its own. It was just a matter of when.
She wished she could explain how disoriented she felt. Nicolò knew everything about her, while she knew nothing. Nothing about herself. Nothing about her likes and dislikes. Nothing about her personality or hopes or dreams. It put her in a position of reacting to all that went on around her instead of driving or controlling events. It also forced her to trust implicitly, which filled her with uncertainty and fear.
Every aspect of her life ended in a giant question mark. And every time she had to ask a question about herself and the appropriateness of her actions, or about mist-shrouded events from her past, or unremembered plans for her future, it left her both dependent and vulnerable.
Well, at least she could state two things with absolute certainty. First, she didn’t like feeling either dependent or vulnerable. So, with each day that passed, she intended to make strides to put some distance between herself and those particular characteristics. To find a way to win back control over her life.
And second, despite her inability to recall the details of her previous life, her feelings toward her husband hadn’t changed. It offered untold relief she felt such a powerful hunger toward the man at her side. That she couldn’t wait to be with him, held safe within his arms. To kiss him again. To relive that joy of loving and being loved. And to uncover all the secrets he kept hidden from the rest of the world, secrets he’d probably shared with her, and her alone, if only she could remember.
She wanted him. Needed him. And she had little doubt that they’d act on those desires before very much longer. Soon she’d experience anew those soul-stirring emotions when he made love to her for the first time. Maybe in those intensely intimate moments her memory would return.
She could only hope.
“I’m sure everything will come back to me if we recreate our dates,” she told Nicolò. “It’s bound to spark something, right?”
“It’s quite possible.”
Her enthusiasm dimmed. “Do you think the fact I haven’t had any flashes of recall so far means it won’t return?”
He instantly wrapped his arms around her. “Not at all. And now that you’ve been given the all-clear, we’ll see what memories we can shake loose.”
They decided to skip their first meeting in the park and move on to their first “real” date. To Kiley’s dismay, it didn’t go quite the way she’d hoped. The day started off well enough. Her excitement at their implementing her plan carried her through the first couple hours as they toured the delights of San Francisco.
Nicolò took her to all the top tourist spots—Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli Square with its view of Alcatraz Island, for a ride on the cable cars that rumbled through Chinatown and past Lombard Street, topped with a drive through Golden Gate Park. It was an exhausting array of sights and sounds, odors and impressions. Unfortunately, not one place incited more than a faint glimmer of recognition in the murky recesses of her mind, an awareness she’d read about or seen pictures of the city at some point.
And with every stop, she glanced toward Nicolò, hoping against hope to gain some clue as to that first time. Despite her promise to him, she wanted to ask if this occasion matched the one from the past. Had they said the same things? Had they laughed or talked or shared confidences then, all the important tidbits they weren’t sharing this time around because she was too empty to have anything worth contributing?
Eventually, he became aware of her growing silence and sideways looks. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
She collapsed on a park bench with a weary sigh. “This isn’t working quite the way I’d thought it would.”
He joined her on the bench. “You don’t remember anything? Not necessarily our time together, but I hoped you might remember one of the places we’ve been. That it might spark some vague memory.”
She shook her head, frustrated beyond belief. “I don’t remember a blessed thing,” she confessed. “Not any of the tourist spots.” She spared him a swift, reluctant glance. “Not being with you. Ever.”
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Kiley.”
She covered his hand with hers. “None of this is your fault.” He opened his mouth to argue and she cut him off. “I know you want to take responsibility for my accident. But you have to admit that if I’d been less impulsive, I wouldn’t have been in the middle of a busy intersection where I could be hit by a cab.”
She watched him struggle with that for a moment. “Why don’t we agree to disagree on that particular subject?” he suggested with a grim smile.
Her return smile attempted to tease away his seriousness. “I can live with that.” His hand tightened on hers, tugging her close. She slid into his hold with the ease of familiarity and tilted her head to one side in consideration. “What next? Do we continue with our tour? Or can you think of something else that might help me remember?”
He hesitated, before nodding. “There’s one more place that might prompt a memory.”
“And where’s that?”
He gave her the sort of grin that threatened to melt her bones. No doubt it was the same smile he’d used during those earlier dates, if only she could recall. All he had to do was switch it on her and she could
feel everything soft and feminine surrendering to him, softening, urging her to agree to anything he might ask of her.
“Come on. I’d rather it be a surprise.”
He drove them from the park into the heart of the city toward the financial district and Embarcadero. Beneath one of the towering skyscrapers, he pulled into an underground parking lot and escorted her to a private elevator that shot them straight to a penthouse suite. When the doors parted, they stepped out into a massive room, which at first glance appeared to be someone’s private residence.
Kiley entered ahead of Nicolò, sinking into the thick, plush carpet, the soft dove-gray color lending the area an opulent, yet intimate feel. There were several divans decorated in a subtle pinstripe of gray and white, accented with a narrow band of black, and silk chairs in a rich ruby red. The pieces were simple, yet exquisite.
Glass tables were arranged in front of the divans and chairs, sitting slightly higher than conventional coffee tables. The lighting also struck her as different, overhead spots creating blazing puddles of brilliance that struck the various tables, while the seats remained in soft shadow. Plants and elaborate fresh flower arrangements gave the area an added warmth.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
“Dantes Exclusive.” Was it her imagination or did his gaze grow as intense as the spotlights?
“Dantes? I don’t . . .” She shook her head in confusion. “Is this your family business?”
“You haven’t heard of Dantes?”
She blinked. “Are you talking about the jewelry firm?” He simply continued to watch her and her breath escaped in a soft gasp. “You’re one of those Dantes?”
