Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

by Annie West

  Molly shifted against him and his groin tightened.

  He shouldn’t wake her. She needed sleep, as she’d got little of it so far tonight.

  Satisfaction stirred, an eddying heat in his belly. She was just as passionate as before. More so, if anything. As if any barrier that might once have existed between them had been torn away.

  Because she believes you love her. She believes the romantic picture you painted. Lovers torn apart by circumstance and reunited. She looks on you as her saviour, combing the country for her, rescuing her from hospital, giving her safety, security, an identity. Love.

  Pietro swallowed, ignoring the rasp, as if something sharp lined his throat.

  The shards of his conscience?

  No. Not that. Whatever a purist might say about his tactics, his intentions were good. Wasn’t he giving Molly exactly what she wanted?

  He’d seen the stars in her eyes, the fragile hope that last night in Tuscany, when she’d shared her news with him about the baby.

  And finally Pietro understood why the sex tonight had been even more phenomenal than before.

  Partly it was relief at having her back where she belonged. For he’d missed her. He had worried about her.

  But the real difference was in Molly herself. Before tonight she’d held back something of herself. Of course she had. They’d indulged in an affair. There’d been no talk of love or the long term until she’d turned up that last evening with the bombshell that she was pregnant. She’d been guarding her heart.

  But now...

  Now Molly believed in him, in them, completely. Tonight she’d shared herself totally, with a generosity that had transformed spectacular sex into something almost transcendent.

  For a while there he’d felt so close to her, so at one, he’d been both elated and terrified. She’d given him a window onto something he’d never known or expected.

  Pietro’s chest compressed as a weight crushed his lungs. It was the weight of Molly’s expectations, her happiness, pressing down on him.

  For a man used to running a corporate conglomerate that employed thousands, responsibility was nothing new. But this was different. It felt monumental. For a second something like terror crackled in his veins, till reason asserted itself.

  Things couldn’t be better. He had exactly what he wanted.

  And so would Molly. She wanted him, wanted to be part of his life, wanted to bring up their child together.

  He’d give her exactly that. He’d make her happy.

  There was no reason for guilt. Despite the internal whisper that he’d taken advantage of her.

  How could that be when he intended to deliver her dream to her?

  The only possible problem would arise when, if, her memory returned.

  But Pietro already had a strategy for that.

  His mouth curved up in a smug smile.

  Molly was a warm, passionate woman. He intended to satisfy her fully, both sexually and emotionally, so that by the time she remembered the past she wouldn’t be able to imagine life without him.

  He’d explain why he’d overreacted to her news and she’d understand, because she was a reasonable woman and, despite her romantic leanings, a pragmatist. Otherwise she’d never have embarked on what had been originally a short-term affair. He’d assure her they had a future together, would become the family she wanted. She’d be happy and all would be well.

  Pietro’s hand flexed at her waist and she stirred again, her softness sliding provocatively against him.

  Instantly his flesh tightened, his arousal strengthening. He should let her sleep. But, on the other hand, the sensuous way she moulded herself to him, even in slumber, revealed a sweetly carnal nature that matched his own.

  Besides, if he was to bind her to him, shouldn’t he take every opportunity that presented itself? Who knew when the mist of amnesia would lift and her memory would come back?

  Pietro lifted his hand to her collarbone then traced the line of her body where she snuggled against him, down one cushioned breast and under, smiling as she sighed and rolled a little, unconsciously offering the pert nipple to his touch. Slowly he stroked a circle around her breast, feeling her tiny shivers as the caresses contracted in ever smaller circles. Her breath snagged. In the dim room he thought her eyelids flickered, but that was all.

  He shifted sideways a little, rolling her off him and onto her back. Her mouth twitched in a moue of protest as if, even in sleep, she missed lying over him. Surely, cementing her attraction, her attachment into something strong enough to withstand the truth of their situation, would be simple?

  His hand skimmed lower, over lines of ribs, tickling the neat indent of her navel. The way she lay spread before him made it tempting to wake her with sex. He’d enjoy seeing the sleepy arousal in her eyes if she woke to find him inside her. But his scruples held him back. He might be in the process of seducing her into his life, but he understood the importance of consent.

  Which meant waking her first.

  His mouth kicked up in anticipation as he slid down beside Molly, tracing delicate, circuitous patterns across her velvety skin.

  ‘That feels so good,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to his shoulder.

  Pietro smiled, hearing the catch in her voice. He pressed kisses at her hip as he moved to lie between her thighs. They shivered around him, clutching close as he swirled his tongue into her navel.

  Her gasp was loud in the stillness. Pietro looked up to find her regarding him through slitted eyes. He smiled and lifted his head.

  ‘Don’t stop.’ Her voice was sleep-rusty and infinitely sexy. If he’d been aroused before, the luxury of her body beneath him and the sweet taste of her made his need urgent.

  Yet he refused to rush. He intended to be the romantic lover Molly expected. More, he wanted to take his time pleasing her. For there was magic there that made his own satisfaction even greater. Delayed gratification might be a form of torture but it was also its own, spectacular reward.

  Propping his elbow on the bed beside her hip, Pietro let his fingers rake her belly, feeling her skin twitch and contract with the light caress.

  There. Right before his eyes was the place where his baby nestled. Even now it was growing stronger by the hour. In a few months it would be big enough that he’d be able to see the swell of it. One day he’d be able to flatten his hand like this, right here, and feel it move.

  His child. The beginning of his new family.

  The wonder of this everyday miracle still astonished him. It made his hand unsteady as it rested on her warm flesh. He lowered his head, kissing her there, inhaling the unique scent of his lover—feminine musk and something light and sweet, like honeysuckle. It couldn’t be soap or perfume, he realised. It was the same fragrance he’d detected when they’d been together in Tuscany. Whatever perfumes she’d used then were gone. This was essence of Molly. Pure, sweet and sexy.

  ‘You’re happy about the baby?’

  Pietro looked up, over his hand splayed across her abdomen, to find her watching him intently.

  ‘Never doubt it, Molly. It’s wonderful news.’ How simple it was when the truth coincided with what she wanted to hear.

  And, Pietro assured himself, that was how it would be from now on. Molly’s desires and his coalesced. Pleasing her would achieve his own goals. It was a win-win situation.

  Her touch fluttered uncertainly on his shoulder, then delicate fingers caressed his cheek and jaw, scraping the rasp where soon he’d need to shave. Pietro turned his head, nipping at her fingers before sucking one into his mouth.

  Beneath him she tensed, her thighs tightening their embrace of his torso.

  Heat escalated as he felt her fine tremors. Pietro looked up to see her propped on one elbow, eyes fixed on him with an intensity that reinforced what her body told him.

  Her luscious scen
t grew stronger.

  Pietro drew her hand from his mouth and kissed her palm, using his tongue as well as his lips till he felt her shudder. Satisfied, he inched his way lower, aware of her shifting restlessly beneath him.

  The triangle of dark-blonde hair protecting her sex was soft and tantalising, the flesh beneath already wet.

  Pietro smiled as he slid his hand down, following the centre of her body to that tiny, responsive pearl.

  She gasped when he put his mouth there, tracing her with his tongue, making her shake as he probed.

  Her hands grabbed at his scalp then released as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Pietro turned his head again, capturing her hand and stroking his tongue from the tip of her middle finger up the centre of her palm to her wrist, where her pulse beat so fast it seemed to quiver.

  Satisfaction roared through him. Molly was so attuned to him, so eager.

  He turned back, licking again, so she squirmed and he had to use his weight to hold her still. Her breathing hitched on a sob of rapture and the sound made him tight with need. He wanted to be exactly where he was, driving her out of her mind. Yet he needed to be deep inside that lush femininity, bucking hard till the heavens opened and the world collapsed.

  It was time. More than time, given the way his strained body shook. Tenderly he nipped at her, felt the runnel of shock course through her, then sucked hard.

  Frantic fingers raked his scalp. Molly’s cry of triumph pierced the night and she jolted beneath him.

  Seconds later Pietro knelt above her, brushing her hair from her face, watching the dark tide of ecstasy cover her pale skin. Her gaze melded with his, her mouth opened as if she was about to speak, but no sound came. Just the clutch of her hands on his shoulders as he knelt between her thighs and filled her with one hard, sharp thrust.

  Sleek, dark velvet. Honey and heat. A searing, pulsing welcome. Her orgasm reignited, her muscles clenching, feeding the urge for completion.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Now.’ Molly raised her legs, linking them over his waist, pulling him to her.

  With the second thrust she was there, meeting him, even as she cried out and juddered against him.

  Pietro had never known anything as exquisite as the feel of Molly losing herself. The sight and sound of her. He tried to pause, to prolong that moment on the brink, but it was impossible. With a raw shout he followed her, diving into the shimmering, coiling fire, losing all sense of anything but the rapture and Molly. Molly, who even at her peak clung onto him as if she’d never let him go.

  Was it any wonder, he thought dazedly later, as he lay boneless on her limp frame, that the world now seemed to spin in a new orbit?

  He sucked air into overworked lungs and tried to marshal his thoughts.

  He enjoyed sex. Always had. It was a good sign for the future that he and Molly were so compatible.

  Yet this didn’t feel like compatibility. This felt like so much more.

  Pietro caressed her earlobe. Molly shivered and flinched. Even that tiny touch was too much in her overwrought state. A second later, her limp hand settled on his bare back, as if in mute apology.

  It took Pietro a moment to snag again his elusive train of thought about how good the sex was with Molly. Dangerously good. Better even than he remembered.

  It was tempting to imbue it with some sort of higher meaning. But that was the thing about sex, wasn’t it? When it was good, it was very, very good.

  Pietro told himself what he’d shared with Molly had simply been just that. They’d been lovers for months, so their bodies were attuned. Plus there was the added euphoria of knowing she carried his child. Together they were building the family he’d waited for so long.

  That was all. Nothing more.

  Satisfied, Pietro wrapped his arms around Molly and rolled onto his back, pulling her close and lifting one leaden hand to smooth her hair. Everything was just as he wanted. Even better than he’d hoped. He was in total control.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A WEEK LATER Molly dropped her shopping bags on one of the white settees and drew out the cushion that had caught her eye at a fashionable boutique.

  It was silly to be so excited about her find, she told herself repressively, but she couldn’t prevent the little fillip of satisfaction as she positioned it against the scattering of celadon and sea-green cushions already there.

  She stepped back, considering. The bronze fabric was just the right shade to contrast with the greens she’d bought last week. And together... She put her hands on her hips and slowly turned, surveying the elegant sitting room. Yes, the combination was just right. Appealing and inviting. Far warmer than the room’s original cream-on-white, which had looked like something from an upmarket magazine but was far too formal to live in.

  Her gaze drifted to the throw rug in green and autumn shades she’d found a few days ago, not at an upmarket boutique but at a market stall. Then to the vase filled with vibrant daisies over on a side table by the windows. That had been her first purchase. She’d fallen in love with its simple, sinuous shape and bronze-green colour.

  Ridiculous how nervous she’d been about displaying it in this designer-perfect room. She’d even asked Pietro’s permission.

  ‘Whatever you want. It’s your home too.’ His words had warmed her every bit as much as his kisses as he’d drawn her close and proceeded to ravish her with that single-minded focus she found impossible to resist.

  Molly sank onto one of the comfy lounges, grabbing another cushion from her shopping and cuddling it close. Her heart pounded fast and her mouth curved in a grin.

  Despite her recalcitrant memory, she was happy.

  Pietro was, quite simply, wonderful. Ardent. Strong yet tender. Incredibly considerate but, beneath the urbane gloss, he was potently masculine, the embodiment of sexy Italian machismo.

  She felt cherished.

  A flutter of delight rippled through her as she recalled their love-making that morning. What had begun languorous and slow had become hard and urgent when she’d whispered in his ear what she wanted to do with him. In the end he’d been late for the office, but his final, lingering caress told Molly he didn’t mind at all.

  She sank back, feeling like a cat who’d lapped up a bowl of cream. Distracted, she surveyed the changes she’d made to the décor. The room definitely felt more comfortable. A place to relax. More like home.

  That familiar pang of distress sliced through her, but Molly forced it away, not letting herself panic about her slow progress in remembering.

  Her brain refused to yield more than tiny snatches of the past, and never anything important. Children’s faces in the classroom. A long, sandy beach with the scent of the sea heady on a warm breeze. Riding a pushbike down a hill, the wind in her face as she tried to catch up to another girl about twelve or thirteen, just a little way ahead. Her sister? A friend? Picking mulberries and emerging from the tree with twigs in her hair and hands black with juice and the sweet, tart tang of fruit in her mouth.

  Molly breathed deep and made herself look on the bright side. So far the little she remembered pointed to a happy life, a job she loved and a carefree childhood. That had to be enough for now. Besides—she slid a hand over her taut though still-flat abdomen—she and Pietro were making their own memories now, weren’t they?

  ‘Oh, you’re home, signora. I didn’t hear you come in.’ The housekeeper stood in the doorway.

  ‘Hi, Marta. I just arrived. I’ve been admiring my purchases.’ Molly gestured to the cushions. ‘I hope Pietro likes them.’

  Marta beamed. ‘He’d approve of anything you bought, signora. I’ve never seen him so—’ She broke off and shook her head. Molly sat straighter, curiosity piqued, but before she could frame a question Marta went on. ‘I like what you’re doing with the room. It’s warmer now, more hospitable.’

  Molly’s eyes rounded.
She knew how devoted Marta was to Pietro. The housekeeper had never once intimated anything like disapproval for the way the apartment was furnished.

  ‘I’m glad you think so too.’ Marta’s approval made her feel good. Even knowing Pietro was happy for her to use the money in the account he’d given her, she felt odd about spending it. And about changing what had been his home. So far the only things she’d bought had been for the apartment, not herself.

  She stared down at the ring she’d put on this morning for the first time, the red-and-green fire incandescent in the opal’s deep-blue depths. Warmth filled her.

  After weeks torn between doubt and delight Molly had decided today to get on with her life. She couldn’t remain in limbo, afraid to commit herself because her memory was slow returning. What if it never came back? She forced down a shudder of fear at the idea.

  Instead she’d made the decision to trust her instincts and her feelings for Pietro. When he came home...

  ‘There was a delivery while you were out. Some luggage. I thought you might prefer to unpack it yourself.’

  Molly froze. ‘Luggage?’ Her pulse took off in a rackety beat and her breath jammed in her ribs. Pietro had assured her the search was still on to locate where she’d stayed in Rome and recover her belongings. Things that, surely, would peel back the fog blanketing her past?

  Marta nodded, her expression sympathetic. She knew about Molly’s accident and her faulty memory. ‘One of Signor Agosti’s staff just found it and brought it straight over. I put it in your room.’ She paused. ‘Shall I make tea for you while you look?’

  Molly was already on her feet. ‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

  Minutes later she was standing before a navy suitcase on the wide padded bench seat at the end of the bed. Her throat was dry and her heart beat high against her ribs. She flexed her hands. They were clammy.