His Lost-and-Found Bride

by Scarlet Wilson

  A tiny little part of her wished that Logan was looking at her in a different way. The way he used to, with passion and laughter in his eyes. She wanted to reach up and touch him. Touch the skin on his cheek, the shadowed outline of his jaw, and run her fingers through his dark hair. She wanted him to step forward just a few inches to see if their bodies still fitted together after all this time.

  Her heart was racing and Logan blinked. He was staring at a spot on her neck where she was sure he could see the rapid beating of her pulse.

  She took a deep breath and turned away, trying to blink back threatening tears. This was why everything about this was a bad idea.

  She swung open a dark wooden door, flooding the corridor with light and stepping into a white and blue room. It was still traditional. A double bedroom with a window overlooking the canal, pale blue walls and fresh white bed linen. It wasn’t quite as sumptuous as the other rooms in the house as it was rarely used.

  She nodded her head. ‘The bathroom is next door. Don’t worry, we won’t have to share. The box room was converted to an en suite. Would you like some time to settle in?’

  He shook his head. ‘Your coffee smells too good to let it go to waste. Let’s finish the paperwork then we can decide where I’m taking you to dinner.’ There was a glimmer in his eye. ‘I don’t expect you to cook for me—not if I want to live to tell the tale.’

  He’d caught her unawares and she threw back her head and laughed. ‘I offer you a room for the night and this is the thanks I get?’

  He gave her a steady smile. ‘Let’s just wait until dinner.’ She could almost hear his brain ticking over and her stomach gave a little leap.

  What on earth did he have planned?

  * * *

  Logan washed up and changed his wrinkled shirt. Thank goodness he always had a spare in his bag.

  He looked around the room. It was comfortable but sparse—it was clear this room didn’t get much use. Didn’t Lucia have friends to stay? She’d had a few girlfriends at university but he had no idea if they’d kept in touch.

  He sighed and looked out of the window. It was ridiculous but he was having a hard time with this.

  Lucia had a job she loved and a fabulous apartment in one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the world. He should be overjoyed for her. In his head, all he’d ever wanted was for her to be happy. In a twisted kind of way this was his ideal situation.

  She was happy. She was settled. But there was no husband and kids on the scene to let the tiny leaves of jealousy unfurl. To let him know that she’d taken the final steps.

  He couldn’t quite work out why he was feeling so unsettled. All he knew was that there was something in her eyes. A guarded part. A hidden part. A little piece of her that didn’t look quite...alive.

  That was what bothered him. Lucia had a fabulous life. But was she really living?

  He glanced around. While this room was sparsely furnished, the rest of the apartment was sumptuous. The reds and golds complemented the grandeur of the ancient palace. There were lots of similar buildings scattered across Venice. It seemed everyone who’d ever been slightly royal had built a palace in Venice. It was no wonder the heritage board wanted to keep someone in here.

  He walked through to the main room. Lucia was sitting in a chair next to the open doors, the sights and sounds of the Grand Canal drifting up towards them. She’d changed into a purple jersey wrap-around dress, her dark chocolate-brown hair falling over her shoulders in waves. Her legs were curled up underneath her and she was reading a book.

  Sitting on the table next to her was a glass of red wine. He smiled. ‘Merlot or Chianti?’

  Her head lifted in surprise. ‘What do you think?’

  He glanced out at the busy traffic on the Grand Canal. ‘A warm summer evening? An aperitif before dinner?’ He put his finger on his chin. ‘I’m trying to think what you’ve planned for dinner—will it be meat or pasta?’

  She used to be so fussy. He could imagine there were only certain local restaurants that she’d visit.

  She held up her glass towards him. ‘Maybe it will be both?’

  She was teasing. He shook his head and pointed to the glass. ‘It must be Merlot. It’s too warm an evening for steak. You’re planning for pasta.’

  Something flickered across her face. She didn’t like it that after twelve years he could still read her. She gestured towards the dining table where the bottle of wine and another glass sat. ‘Find out for yourself.’

  Logan walked over and filled his glass, resisting the temptation to smile. ‘Where do you think we’re eating tonight?’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘What makes you think we’ll be eating anywhere? Haven’t you heard—it’s the busiest night of the year in Venice?’

  He sat down on the chaise longue next to her chair. ‘But I might know an out-of-the-way place that the tourist hordes don’t know about—like Erona’s in Florence.’

  There was a flash of something behind her eyes and she stood up quickly. He’d upset her.

  She didn’t want direct reminders of their time in Florence. ‘You’re not from here. How would you know where to eat?’

  ‘Let’s just say that your boss, Alessio, gave me a few hints.’

  She slid her feet into a pair of red-soled black patent stilettos with impossibly high heels.

  ‘Wherever we’re going, I hope they have flat surfaces,’ he muttered. Alessio had told him to get to the restaurant—just not what the streets around it were like.

  ‘Let’s go, Logan. Our viewing is early tomorrow morning. I want to get an early night.’

  The words sent a flurry of sparks across his brain. An early night. With Lucia Moretti. It was enough to send his whole body into overdrive.

  His eyes focused on her behind as she crossed the room ahead of him in her impossibly high heels. Her dress clung to every curve.

  He swallowed. This was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

  * * *

  Venice was virtually silent at this time in the morning. The private motor boat glided through the water towards the Venetian island of Giudecca.

  Logan was curious. ‘I thought all the artefacts of historical value would have been commandeered by the Italian Heritage Board?’

  Lucia gave a sigh. ‘In theory, they can. But part of this island is private—has been since before Renaissance times. It’s owned by the Brunelli family. They built the church here and commissioned the artist, Burano, to paint the fresco. Technically, we’re just their guests. We’re allowed access to the fresco on request. You’ll understand why when you see it—it’s a little unusual.’

  The boat came to a halt at the dock and they disembarked onto the wooden structure. A white stone path led them directly to the church, where a dark-suited man was waiting for them. Logan recognised him immediately—Dario Brunelli was frequently nicknamed Italian’s most eligible bachelor. He knew Lucia?

  ‘Lucia,’ he said swiftly, bending to kiss her on both cheeks, ‘it’s good to see you again. How have you been?’

  His familiarity with Lucia grated instantly. Her reaction was even worse—she seemed relaxed in his company. ‘I’m good, thank you.’ She turned towards Logan. ‘Dario, this is Logan Cascini, a specialist restoration architect from Florence. He’s working with me on the project in Tuscany.’

  It was completely true. But it made it sound as if they’d only just met. As if there was no shared history between them at all.

  For a second he held his breath, wondering if Dario was having the same thoughts that he’d had this morning when he’d first seen Lucia. Her cream fitted business suit and pale pink shirt hugged her curves. The knee-length skirt exposed her slim legs. And her dark hair and eyes complemented the package perfectly. Lucia looked good enough to eat.

  Dario nodded towards
Logan but it was clear his focus was on Lucia. ‘So, do you think you’ve found another of Burano’s frescoes?’

  Lucia’s smile was broad. ‘I think there is a distinct possibility. With your permission, I’m going to take some high-resolution digital shots to compare the brushstrokes.’

  Dario was nodding enthusiastically. ‘In Tuscany? I wonder how in the world Burano ended up working there? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was another of his works?’

  A Renaissance art lover. The passion and enthusiasm in his eyes was for the art, not for Lucia. Not for his woman.

  Where had that come from?

  Cold air prickled his skin and he shifted on his feet. Lucia hadn’t been his woman for twelve years—she hadn’t wanted to be.

  And he’d had to live with that. He’d had to support the fact she wasn’t able to continue their relationship and allow her the space she’d needed to heal. No matter how much it had ripped his heart in two.

  No one else had ever come close to the love he’d felt for Lucia. How could they? She’d been the mother of his child. And even though that was something she wanted to forget, her place in his heart had been well and truly cemented there.

  But even he hadn’t realised how much.

  ‘Forgive me.’ Dario nodded. ‘I have to go. I have business to attend to. Please, take all the time you need.’

  Lucia gave a gracious nod of her head as Dario walked swiftly down the path towards the waiting motorboat.

  She turned and pressed her hand against the heavy wooden door of the church and smiled at Logan. There was a gleam of something in her eye. He only hoped it was for the contents of the church and not for the retreating back of Dario. The spike of jealousy had been unexpected—a feeling he hadn’t dealt with in years.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  He nodded and she pushed the door and it groaned and creaked loudly on its hinges as it swung back. The church wasn’t lit.

  The only light that streamed in came through six muted stained-glass windows above the altar.

  It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He caught his breath.

  The fresco on the wall was magnificent and stretched from one end of the church to the other. His feet moved automatically towards it.

  Over his years in Italy he’d seen many frescoes—but none quite like this. It was completely and utterly unique, almost like a timeline through the first book of the bible.

  She rested her hand on his arm. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I’m quite sure I’ll never see anything like it again.’ He could hear the amusement in her voice at his reaction. ‘It’s a little different from the Madonna and Child, isn’t it?’

  He shook his head as he took in more and more of the fresco. He recognised the characters—at least, he thought he did. Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, Jacob and his sons. But the thing that made these characters unique was the fact they were all completely naked.

  He spun to face her. ‘What on earth...?’

  She laughed. ‘I know. It’s why the Italian Heritage Board hasn’t bothered to make demands on the family. The Catholic Church would be outraged by these scenes.’

  Logan moved forward. He just couldn’t stop smiling. He was trying to think rationally. ‘Adam and Eve—you might expect them to be naked. But the rest...’ He kept looking at the scenes. ‘It’s amazing. I mean, apart from their nakedness the depictions are accurate. Eve with the apple, Moses leading the Israelites through the Red Sea, Noah on the ark, and Jacob with his twelve sons.’ He let out a laugh. ‘Joseph is even holding his multi-coloured coat instead of wearing it.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Naked bodies were pretty much the fashion during Renaissance times.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘But usually they had something—anything—draped around about them. These ones are totally original.’

  Logan stepped back a little. ‘But there’s something else, isn’t there? I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ He paused, staring hard at the scenes, looking between one and another.

  She nodded, with an amused expression on her face. ‘Give it time, Logan. You’ll get it.’

  She was teasing him. It was almost like throwing down a challenge. So he took a few minutes, concentrating hard until, finally, the penny dropped.

  He turned to her in amazement. ‘It’s the faces, isn’t it?’ He stepped right up to the fresco, staring first at the face of Adam then at the face of Moses, then Noah. ‘It’s the same face.’ His eyes scanned one way, then the other. ‘It’s the same man and woman in every scene.’

  Lucia was laughing. ‘You’re right. The family don’t have any official records about who commissioned the fresco. The name of Burano has just been passed down through the family. That’s why we’ll have to do a comparison. And we’re not quite sure why it’s the same faces in all the scenes. I’ve spoken to the family about it at length. We think there’s something a little narcissistic in it. We think that when the original Brunellis commissioned the artist they asked for the faces to be made in their image.’

  Logan let out a burst of laughter. ‘You mean, even all those years ago we had fame-hungry people?’ He shook his head. ‘Wow, just wow.’

  He took another few seconds and stopped in front of the young Joseph holding the coat. ‘I still can’t believe they wouldn’t let Joseph wear his multi-coloured coat.’

  She bent down in the front of the fresco. In the dim light he could see her dark eyes were still gleaming. ‘Yes, but look at the folds in the cloak. What do you see?’

  He looked closer. ‘Of course. They look exactly like the folds in the Madonna’s dress in the fresco in Tuscany. That’s what you noticed.’

  There wasn’t a sound in the dark church. They were entirely alone, crouching on the floor. The lack of artificial light was almost like a safety blanket around them.

  His face was only inches from hers. Their gazes meshed. It was a moment. An instant. For just that second she had the same passion and wonder in her eyes that she’d had twelve years ago. Twelve years ago when they’d thought they could conquer the world.

  He’d been trying so hard to hold his tongue, trying to keep a handle on how he felt about everything, but the memories of Lucia were just overtaking him. The spark of jealousy, the protectiveness, the connection between them. He was like a pressure cooker just waiting to go off.

  Her pupils were dilating in front of him, the blackness overtaking the chocolate brown of her eyes. He was pretty certain his were doing exactly the same.

  All of a sudden he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned forward, just a few inches, and caught the back of her head in his hand, tangling his fingers through her hair as he pulled her towards him.

  And then he stopped thinking entirely...

  * * *

  She was instantly transported back twelve years. The familiarity was astounding.

  No one had kissed her like this in twelve years.

  No kiss had felt so right.

  No kiss had felt so perfect.

  Her body moved on automatic pilot, ignoring all the little neurons that were firing in her brain. Ignoring every single rational thought that might be there.

  She could only act on instinct. Her hands slid through his thick, dark hair, her fingers tugging and pulling at his head. She could taste him. She could smell him.

  Everything about him was familiar. His scent was winding its way around her like a coiling snake. Her hands moved, sliding across his muscled shoulders and arms and down the planes of his chest.

  His lips never left hers. Their teeth clashed, his tongue tangling with hers. Crouching on a floor wasn’t comfortable for kissing. Logan sensed that and pulled her up against him, his strong legs lifting them both upwards, keeping their bodies in contact the whole time.

  She could feel his heart th
udding against her chest. Feel her breath catching in her throat.

  It was so easy to be swept away. It was so easy to forget about everything else. His fingertips brushed across the front of her breasts as she sucked in a sharp breath, then rounded her hips and stopped firmly on her behind, pulling her even closer to him.

  There was no mistaking his reaction to her. There was no mistaking he was every bit as caught up in this as she was.

  So when he stopped kissing her she was shocked.

  He pulled his lips back from hers and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. His body was still interlocked with hers. It seemed he had no intention of moving.

  Her hands, resting against his chest, clenched.

  Embarrassment swamped her. She wanted to step back but couldn’t.

  What on earth was he thinking?

  Then, to her surprise, he let out a deep laugh. It wasn’t a mocking laugh. It wasn’t derogatory. It was more one of astonishment.

  In the dark church his voice was husky. ‘So that’s what I’ve been missing.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I sometimes wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me. If I’d imagined how good it was.’

  He was echoing her thoughts. She’d felt exactly the same way. Any time she’d allowed memories of Logan to sneak into her brain, she’d always thought it couldn’t possibly have been as good as she remembered it. Everything before Ariella Rose, that was.

  The portcullis that was always stiffly in place was shaken a little. The thick gate had risen just a tiny bit, leaving the thinnest gap underneath. The black cloud of self-protection that usually cloaked her was thinning in patches.

  Their foreheads were still touching. She could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. ‘It wasn’t all that bad, was it?’ she whispered.

  His fingers stroked through her soft hair. ‘Some parts were really good,’ he breathed quietly.

  She stayed where she was—for a few more seconds.

  This was only a moment of madness. A tiny little step back in time.