Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  ‘But I finally realised something I should have noticed straight away.’ She grabbed his hand and raised it between them. ‘You wear a signet ring.’

  Slowly he nodded. ‘It was my father’s. It means a lot to me.’

  ‘More than your marriage? You don’t wear a wedding ring.’

  Molly knew she was right by the way his mouth tightened, tiny lines bracketing the corners. His jaw set hard, as if he bit back a response.

  ‘Of course, not all men wear wedding bands, but most Australian women do.’ How she knew for sure was beyond her, but Molly had no doubt she was right. ‘I’d wear a ring if I were married. And yet...’ she lifted her hand to show him ‘...there’s no ring. Nor a mark to show I used to wear one.’

  Why hadn’t she realised sooner? It was such a simple thing. Should she blame her poor, confused brain for being slow? Or had she allowed herself to be gulled because she’d wanted so much to believe in Pietro, in them? Had she subconsciously decided not to question his version of events too hard because she’d wanted so badly to belong somewhere?

  She dropped her hand and took another step backwards, aware of the dormant strength of the big man before her and the fact that he’d lied to her about such an important thing.

  Suddenly his strength seemed threatening rather than comforting. Her spine iced as she fought panic.

  ‘We’re not married, are we, Pietro? What do you want from me?’ Her voice rose. ‘Why am I here?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  MOLLY HAD EXPECTED a reaction. Dismay, perhaps, or embarrassment at being caught lying. Something.

  Instead she looked into Pietro’s face and read nothing at all.

  For a split second she wondered if she’d got it wrong. If, despite her surmises, they were married after all. But the dead stillness of his expression told her she was right. Now he waited to see how she would react.

  He’d been prepared for this moment.

  ‘I’m sorry, Molly.’

  She heard regret in his soft voice and it made the hair on her arms stand on end. Abruptly the balmy evening turned chilly. She rubbed her hands up her bare arms, trying to get warm. Trying to stimulate her circulation, which seemed to have frozen.

  No denial, then.

  Her heart sank as anxiety tore through her. It was true. Pietro Agosti wasn’t her husband.

  Who was he? Someone who preyed on vulnerable women?

  But then why had he broken that kiss when he could so easily have...? No, she refused to follow that line of thought.

  Was she a prisoner here?

  Her eyes darted past him, measuring the distance into the apartment and then to the front door. If she had to run for it she’d have no hope. His long legs would cover the distance far more quickly.

  Why had he claimed to be her husband? Her mind whirled so fast she didn’t have time to grab at any logical explanation. Her breathing grew short and stress made her dizzy.

  ‘Take a deep breath.’ His voice was low and even, like someone talking to a scared child. He stepped back and pulled a chair forward. ‘Here. You’ve had a shock.’

  Molly swayed, but refused to obey. She stiffened her knees.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ There was no way she could sit and have him loom over her. ‘As for a shock, whose fault is that?’ Finding refuge in anger, she crossed her arms and glared at him, pretending to be furious instead of furious and frightened.

  Who was this man who’d abducted her and brought her to his home? More to the point, who was she? Were those stories he’d told about their time together, her background, even her name, all false, just like their so-called marriage?

  Terror welled deep inside but she pretended not to notice, choosing to concentrate on anger.

  ‘If you’re not my husband, who are you? Why did you bring me here?’

  ‘I’m Pietro Agosti, as I told you.’ His look was steady, as if he expected her to take his word.

  ‘Why should I believe you?’

  He drew a wallet out of his pocket and withdrew an identification card: Pietro Agosti, thirty-two, with an address in Rome. He passed over a couple of credit cards in the same name.

  Molly’s thundering heart slowed a fraction. So he’d told her his real name. ‘This says you live in Rome, not Tuscany.’

  He shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of openness she refused to believe. ‘I spend time between them. This is my official residence. The Tuscan villa is my family home, inherited from my parents.’

  Her fingers closed around the cards as she looked up into shuttered eyes.

  ‘Believe me, I did it for the best. There was no way the hospital staff would tell me about your condition, or release you into my care, unless they believed we were married. It was a necessary ruse, otherwise you’d still be stuck there, alone and fretting. They had to believe I was your next of kin.’

  She heard urgency in his voice, earnestness, but didn’t trust either. How could she? Even his ID card, cutting into her curling fist, didn’t prove much.

  ‘I was sick with worry, Molly. I had to see you were all right.’ At last, a glimpse of emotion in those hooded eyes.

  Was it real or feigned? Her heart hammered and, despite the chill in her bones, her skin turned clammy. She didn’t know what to believe.

  ‘The trouble was, once I’d told the hospital we were married, I couldn’t unsay it. I’ve been wondering when to tell you the truth without distressing you. You’d remember eventually but who knew how long that would take?’ Pietro’s shoulders lifted high as once more he gestured wide, his mouth hitching in a crooked smile that caught at her midriff. Instinct told her she’d responded to that deprecating half-smile before.

  Because he’d duped her more than once?

  Or because he was, after all, trustworthy?

  ‘There never seemed a good time to explain. You still seemed...delicate. I didn’t think you were ready for the truth.’

  ‘But not too delicate to kiss!’ Molly repressed a shudder as she wrapped her arms tighter around her middle.

  Who had she kissed? What of her certainty that she responded to Pietro because they were lovers? Had she come on to a complete stranger who, for his own devious purposes, kept her here?

  What of her glorious feeling of homecoming? What of shared passion and love? Were they simply the illusions of a damaged mind?

  She was a fool, a trusting, stupid fool.

  ‘Ah, I should apologise for that too.’ Yet instead of apologising Pietro smiled. The glow of satisfaction in his face made her insides squeeze and her knees tremble. ‘I should have resisted, but a man only has so much restraint.’

  ‘Because I’m at your mercy?’ It was a sickening thought, despite her body’s response to him.

  His eyes bulged in horror and that satisfied smile vanished. ‘Because you’re my lover!’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Of course! Why else would I scour Rome for you?’

  ‘I only have your word for that.’

  Pietro’s head jerked back as if she’d slapped him. His eyes narrowed and she saw his mind working.

  ‘You think—what? That I’m a complete stranger who walked into the hospital off the street, looking for a woman to prey on? That I brought you home, bought you a wardrobe of clothes and tried to look after you because I had some underhanded plan for you?’ His proud nostrils flared and his jaw clenched as if he’d never been so insulted.

  Let him be insulted! She needed answers.

  Molly angled her chin, meshing her gaze with his. ‘I don’t know what to think. I’ve just discovered the one person in the world who claims to know anything about me has been lying. All I know about you is your name.’ Her hands crept to her hips as she fought to keep her tone even. ‘What am I supposed to believe? I don’t know anything. Not even if I can trust you.’


  Tension was a twanging, discordant note reverberating through her body. It was nausea in her stomach and the bitter taste of fear on her tongue. It took everything Molly had to stand there and meet him head on.

  Pietro muttered something under his breath and spun away in a long-legged march down the length of the terrace. She heard soft swearing in Italian as he stalked back. He stopped several paces away, his hand raking his scalp, shoulders hitched high.

  ‘I’m sorry, Molly.’ His voice was as stiff. ‘I knew finding out the truth would be a shock but I never imagined you’d think anything like that.’

  He moved to the half-wall on the edge of the terrace, gripping it so tightly his knuckles paled.

  ‘First, you’re absolutely safe with me. I’m not a criminal or a sex fiend.’

  Molly opened her mouth to say she only had his word for that, but snapped it shut. Better to let him speak then ask questions.

  ‘I can get references if you like.’ Again that tiny twist of his lips that did funny things to her insides. ‘I know a couple of judges and a senior police officer—would they do?’

  Molly shrugged. How would she know if they were who he said?

  ‘Second, you really are Molly Armstrong from Australia, and we met just the way I told you.’

  Relief gushed through her. She wanted to believe him so much, not least because the idea of becoming once more that nameless woman without a past was too much to bear.

  ‘And we are lovers. I thought after that kiss there’d be no doubt in your mind but this might help.’ He reached in his pocket and drew out a phone.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘A photo of us.’

  Molly’s eyebrows rose. They’d talked and talked about her past but she hadn’t thought to ask about photos. The knock to her head really had affected her! ‘Why didn’t you show it to me before?’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Because I didn’t want you asking for more photos—of our wedding, for instance.’

  Because he’d lied and there’d been no wedding.

  But maybe, just maybe, they were in a relationship and he’d been desperate to see her in the hospital. And, having seen her in hospital, he’d realised how desperate she was to get out of there.

  ‘Here.’ He handed over his phone. It was a selfie Pietro had taken. He was shirtless, squatting in front of an aquamarine pool in swim shorts. For a second Molly’s attention dawdled on the expanse of taut muscle on display. Then she saw herself in a black bikini, her hair in drenched rats’ tails and smile wide. Between them was a grinning little boy with brown hair and glasses.

  Molly’s heart thudded, her eyes widening as she looked for facial similarities.

  ‘Who...?’

  ‘That’s Tom, one of your charges. He wanted a photo.’

  Molly stared at the image, taking in their relaxed attitude and wide smiles. And Pietro’s fingers clamped on her bare waist.

  She shivered, envisaging his hand on her, how it felt to snuggle up against all that solid muscle and sinew.

  Then Pietro’s words hit her. Tom had wanted a photo. Not Pietro. Was that significant? Pietro claimed they were lovers, and this photo seemed to bear that out, but it was nothing like proof. Surely a lover would have a photo of her?

  ‘Do you have any other photos of us?’

  He stilled, reading her expression. ‘Just a moment.’ He thumbed his way through more photos then passed the phone back to her.

  Molly barely recognised the woman in the photo. She lay barefoot on a blanket spread beneath the gnarled trunk of an olive tree. Her skirt was rucked up around her knees and the top buttons of her lacy camisole-style top were undone, revealing a shadowed cleavage. But it wasn’t her rumpled clothes that snagged her attention. It was her beckoning smile of invitation as she held a bunch of purple grapes to her lips and the sultry, heavy-lidded stare she directed straight at the camera.

  Heat flushed her breasts and throat as she stared at her alter ego. Molly couldn’t quite believe she could pull off such a sexy, confident look.

  Unless she was in love.

  The tiny voice in her head jarred. But it made sense. Either she was head over heels in love with the man who took the photo or that was pure lust she read in her body language. Either way, it pointed to a level of intimacy that explained why she’d leaned so close to Pietro in the previous photo.

  ‘I...see.’ She didn’t know what to say.

  Strangely she felt like a voyeur peering into someone else’s love life, for she couldn’t remember a thing about their relationship.

  Except that it had felt so right being in his arms. So perfect when his mouth fused with hers and he hauled her high against him.

  Instinct had been right after all. She’d yearned for Pietro because they were lovers, or had been lovers.

  Slowly she lifted her head. Pietro’s gaze fixed unwaveringly on her. ‘Now you understand why our kiss was so explosive.’

  Molly started. It really was as if he’d read her mind!

  ‘Don’t deny it, Molly. I was there too. I felt it.’ He smiled, that slow smile that turned the blood in her veins to honey and her knees to limp ribbons of pasta. ‘Even without your memory we still connect.’ He didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. Who could blame him? She hadn’t merely participated, she’d all but demanded he kiss her. ‘That was a relief.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Had she missed something?

  His shoulders rose in a deprecating gesture. ‘I didn’t think, with your memory gone, you’d want to kiss me. Yet you did, and it was just the same between us. Just as powerful.’

  There was a golden glint in his eyes that spoke of...anticipation?

  Instantly Molly stepped back, recognising something primal and predatory in that look.

  It was one thing to crave comfort from her husband, but she didn’t yet know where she stood with Pietro. They’d been lovers, that seemed clear. Were they still?

  Yet she couldn’t fathom any reason why he’d lie about that.

  ‘The baby!’ How could she have forgotten? Her hand pressed protectively to her abdomen. ‘Is it...?’

  ‘It’s mine. Don’t doubt that for a second.’ The hint of a smile playing around Pietro’s lips vanished, his look turning serious. He stepped closer, just an arm’s length away. This time Molly didn’t move back, though she felt unsettled by his invasion of her personal space, as if he projected a force field that detonated warnings all through her jangled senses.

  ‘Or, I should say, it’s our child.’ His voice was pure caress. ‘We’ll be raising it together.’

  ‘We will?’ What had she agreed to? Some sort of long-distance shared parenting? Or had she agreed to stay in Italy?

  ‘Of course.’ He bestowed one of those smiles on her that made her knees rock and her insides melt. ‘We’re getting married.’

  ‘We’re engaged?’ Molly’s hand lifted to her throat as if to stop the fluttering sensation where her heart beat high.

  Why was the idea so shocking? Half an hour ago she’d thought them already married.

  Maybe it was because of the sheer greedy satisfaction she read in Pietro’s face. He didn’t bother hiding his feelings now and she was overwhelmed by the intensity of his pleasure. Because he couldn’t wait to marry her?

  Molly’s pulse pounded and an answering excitement built deep within.

  It was a powerful thing to be so wanted.

  Her heart seized as he took her hand in his. He kissed it, not on the back this time, but her palm, making tiny threads of delight unravel up her arm, across her shoulders and down her spine.

  Her visceral response to Pietro told her she longed for him too, especially on a physical level.

  And what of the rest? Are you just going to accept everything he says? Didn’t he lie about being married? But was that only so he could bring you home?
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  Molly looked into Pietro’s proud face and wanted to believe everything was as simple as he said. It probably was. Certainly her response to his touch, even to that heavy-lidded stare, told her she craved this man.

  Yet she knew so little about herself. Let alone him.

  She looked at her hand in his.

  ‘I’ve only got your word for it that we’re engaged.’

  Pietro nodded, releasing her.

  ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? I have something that should clear that up.’ Then he was gone, striding purposefully across the darkening terrace. In the doorway he met the housekeeper and said something to her. Was he delaying their meal?

  Molly turned and sank onto a chair, trying to calm her sprinting pulse with deep breaths and the gorgeous view of Rome spread out before her.

  What was she to believe? Pietro seemed so plausible. Certainly she felt safe with him, and he’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble to look after her. The idea of him providing character references made her smile, but maybe she should follow that up.

  Except her heart told her there was no need. Her heart made it clear Pietro was important to her. Not only as the man who’d rescued her from that grey hospital room but as the man she cared for.

  Did she love him?

  It was tempting to believe so. But one thing Molly had learned in the past few days—to take things slowly and assume nothing.

  If only she could remember something. Anything!

  So far her memory consisted of two things: her tendency to kill more plants than she grew, and a sense memory of being held by Pietro, losing herself in his kiss. Thinking about that ignited flames low inside.

  Her mouth turned down and familiar fear battered her resolve not to crumple. Surely soon there’d be a breakthrough? Or at least another snippet of the past. Then another and another. She just had to be patient.

  Molly shook her head, her hair slipping around her shoulders. She didn’t even know if she was a patient woman! She could ask Pietro but could she really trust him? She wished her sister Jillian were here.