by Annie West
In a dress of amber silk that skimmed her curves and accentuated her hair’s tawny highlights, she was stunning and sensual. He’d had to make a conscious effort to act like a civilised man and not sweep her straight off to bed when he’d found her on the terrace, ensconced on her favourite lounger. But it was clear she wanted to talk.
‘Yes. To Tuscany.’
Pietro put down his glass as something streaked through him. Alarm? His nape tightened as if someone had walked over his grave.
Ridiculous! He loved his Tuscan home.
‘Why there? There are places closer to Rome you’d adore.’
Molly angled her head. Had she guessed at his disquiet?
She shrugged, the movement spilling her hair around bare, slim shoulders. Instantly the tightening of his skin spread lower, rippling down his torso to his belly and groin.
One look was all it took for arousal to strike these days. Even her sweet honeysuckle scent made him hard. Pietro had never known anything like it.
Which made it imperative he secure her in marriage as soon as possible.
Now, with his engagement ring on her finger, and her talk of joining the family, he was on the threshold of achieving that.
‘It’s where we met. Where we fell in love.’ Molly paused, a fleeting expression he couldn’t decipher flitting across her face. ‘And from what you say it’s beautiful there.’ She looked away, staring past him to the roofs of Rome. ‘I love the city but a change would be nice. Besides—’ she swung back ‘—you want an early wedding and I thought your villa might be a good venue. I don’t want a huge celebration.’
‘Nor do I.’ Partly because he wanted the marriage as soon as possible, but also for Molly’s sake. She had no friends to support her, other than Chiara. Pietro had a possible lead on locating Molly’s sister, but his agents still hadn’t found her. He refused to ask Molly to face a big wedding with hundreds of strangers plus the paparazzi pack. Something intimate would be much better.
The villa had an added bonus. It held no memories of Elizabetta. His ex-wife had hated the countryside, refusing even short visits there.
He nodded. ‘You’re right, the villa would make a perfect venue. Private. Secure. With accommodation for guests.’ Pietro paused, his gaze inevitably tracking back to Molly’s generous mouth and sparkling eyes. ‘And, yes, you thought it very romantic.’
He’d never thought of the estate he’d inherited in those terms. But seeing it through Molly’s eyes had given the place a new perspective. ‘You loved the house and garden, and especially the old olive groves.’
‘I did?’ She leaned forward eagerly.
‘Definitely. That’s where you first seduced me, under an olive tree.’
Molly’s cheeks tinged pink. ‘I seduced you? I find that hard to believe.’
Pietro shrugged, grinning as he remembered her eager responses. ‘Perhaps it was a mutual seduction.’
He’d made the first advance but Molly hadn’t held back. She’d driven him crazy for what seemed an age, charmingly unaware of how alluring she was, playing with her young charges, wearing a wet T-shirt, swimsuit and floppy hat.
‘Possibly. But I suspect you took the lead in any seduction.’ She grinned. ‘Who knows? Maybe I’ll remember when I see the place again.’
Maybe she would.
The idea gripped like a fist squeezing his gut. But Pietro ignored the sensation. He refused to keep her from the place because it might spark a memory. He wouldn’t live on tenterhooks any more, afraid of what might happen when she recalled how they’d fought.
Surely, even if her memory came back, by now Molly understood that he’d look after her and her child and give her the life together that she’d wanted? After all, she’d admitted she loved him.
Heat blazed at the memory of those words. Her expression as she’d revealed her heart for the first time. He couldn’t remember anything making him feel as fine and proud, not even dragging the faltering family business back from the brink of ruin.
The potency of her admission still rocked him. To be loved—wasn’t that what he’d craved all these years? To be knitted to someone at the most visceral level?
He vowed silently that Molly would never regret their marriage.
For her sake he wanted her to regain her memory. He could only guess at the burden her injury caused her. He’d read the strain on her face sometimes when she wasn’t aware of his regard. The melancholy she’d banished so thoroughly that often it seemed like he’d imagined it.
‘Okay, then. I have some meetings to attend or reschedule, but by Friday I’ll be free.’ He’d ensure it. ‘Tuscany it is.’
Molly’s brilliant smile smothered any last wrinkle of doubt about taking her there and maybe evoking memories he least wanted to conjure. He’d face that if it happened. He’d always hated deception. In some ways it would be a relief if the truth came out.
Molly crossed the space between them. With a sinuous ease that sent his hormones into overdrive, she sank onto his lap, her arms locking around his neck and eyes dancing.
‘Thanks, Pietro. I’m looking forward to seeing the place where I first seduced you.’ She shimmied a little, settling more comfortably. ‘Maybe I’ll remember some useful techniques.’
Pietro suppressed a groan as fire rushed to his groin. His arms closed hard around her and he bent to kiss her throat, inhaling the sweet perfume of her skin. ‘I don’t think you’ve got anything to learn, dolcissima.’
She was perfect as she was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘IT’S EVEN MORE gorgeous than I’d expected.’ Molly turned from the view of undulating hills to survey Pietro as he drove around a swooping curve.
She admired the way he drove, strong hands relaxed on the wheel, controlling the power of the low-slung vehicle with a competence that made it look simpler than she knew it was. But it was Pietro’s profile that drew her attention. Those proud features looked harder, the angles more pronounced, the mouth tighter as they travelled the last few kilometres to the estate.
What was bothering him? Some business worry he hadn’t managed to leave behind?
‘I’m glad. It’s my favourite place.’
He glanced away from the road to smile at her, banishing instantly the idea that he was troubled.
She breathed deeply, trying to stifle the flurry of nerves tightening her stomach. She’d told herself not to expect too much from this trip. That her memory wouldn’t magically return simply because she was in familiar surroundings, But it was hard not to expect something.
And to worry about what it would mean if the villa didn’t spark recollections.
Would she be doomed never to recall her past?
A warm hand closed over hers. ‘Don’t worry. Whatever the future holds, we’ll face it together.’ It was as if Pietro had read her mind. ‘Just relax.’ He withdrew his hand and shifted down a gear. ‘And here we are.’
Molly turned to see tall gates opening. Beyond, an avenue of trees flanked a drive that disappeared around a curve of narrow cypresses. As they slowed and entered, leaves stirred in the breeze from the rows of grape vines on either side.
‘You have a vineyard?’
Pietro shrugged. ‘A small one.’
Molly wound down her window, registering the scent of warm earth and vegetation and, as they drove further, some fragrant herbs. She inhaled and a thrill of recognition coursed through her. It smelled...familiar.
‘It smells good, doesn’t it?’ Pietro’s deep voice burred through her.
‘Definitely.’ The scent tantalised, stirring something she couldn’t name, and Molly tried hard to ignore a spike of excitement. She would not expect anything. That way she wouldn’t be disappointed if no memories came.
A large, two-storey stone building appeared on her side of the private road. It looked very old but exquisi
tely maintained, with bright shutters at the windows, and beyond it a glimpse of aqua from an in-ground pool.
‘It’s lovely. No wonder you like it here.’
But the car didn’t stop. ‘That’s the old farmhouse. The one Chiara manages as a holiday rental. You stayed there with the Australian family.’
Molly twisted in her seat, searching the building for anything familiar, but there was nothing.
‘Don’t worry, Molly. We’ll come back later and you can look around as much as you want. It might trigger more memories.’ Again, Pietro might have read her thoughts.
She sank back, taking in the green-and-gold landscape and, as they rounded another bend, the stunning villa before them.
Molly had thought the converted farmhouse was big but it was nothing to Pietro’s home. Glowing a sandy gold in the sunshine, it was grander than any villa she’d seen. Yet, with its warm terracotta roof tiles and green shutters bracketing its long windows, the three-storey building looked inviting rather than intimidating.
There were formal gardens with low box hedges, within which were gravel paths, citruses in huge terracotta tubs, lavender and shade trees. The combination of perfumes—citrus and cypress, lavender and sunshine—made her nostrils twitch. Again she felt an undercurrent that tickled at the edges of her memory, a feather-light caress that made her brain quicken.
Molly heard the music of falling water as the car pulled up and noticed an ornate, antique fountain in the centre of the garden on her side of the car. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Roman piazza. Yet it was perfect in this setting. As if it had been there for centuries, made by some master sculptor.
‘What’s so funny?’ Pietro undid his seat belt and turned, one arm resting on the steering wheel.
Molly hadn’t realised she’d laughed. ‘I am. I’d expected something quaint and rustic; my idea of a Tuscan villa is more like the farmhouse back there. Not this...palazzo. I keep forgetting about your wealth.’
Which was absurd, given the incredible engagement ring she wore and the cost of her designer clothes.
Pietro’s hand captured her cheek. He turned her face till their eyes meshed and that crazy, jagged lightning bolt of heat zapped between them once more. ‘That’s not important. What’s important is you and me.’ His gaze dropped lower with a possessiveness that made her shiver. ‘And our baby.’
‘You’re right.’ But the grandeur of his country home made Molly wonder how she’d ever had the temerity to begin an affair with Pietro.
Then he smiled, that slow, sexy smile that made her stomach drop to her toes, and she had her answer. Awed by his wealth or not, how could she ever resist him?
He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, banishing confusion and doubt. No matter what, she had one certainty. She and Pietro were right together.
When he drew back, Molly felt ready for anything.
‘So, how long has it been in the family?’
Pietro lifted his shoulders in that characteristic shrug. ‘A couple of hundred years. But it wasn’t in good repair when I inherited. The family business was in the doldrums and money hadn’t been spent on it. I renovated it.’ His eyes searched hers. ‘Do you like it?’
Molly laughed again, the sound this time a bubble of pure joy. ‘You have to ask? It’s gorgeous!’
She saw his watchful expression morph into a grin and realised he’d been waiting. Had he really wondered if she’d approve? Pietro was so confident, sometimes bordering on arrogant, that his occasional diffidence took her by surprise.
‘Excellent. I want us to be happy here.’ He unclicked her seat belt. ‘Come on. Let me show you around.’
They were greeted at the door by the estate manager and his wife who looked after the house. Then they were ushered through the building to a shaded loggia. It had a breath-taking view over the turquoise pool to more gardens then down to slopes of silvery-green olive groves. The breeze stirred and Molly saw, entranced, the wind’s patterns in the sea of leaves. In the distance, blue-tinged hills framed the view.
‘I’m in love.’ Molly breathed.
Pietro slid an arm round her waist and pulled her close, his heat warm against her side. ‘When we marry we could live here, if you like. I can do much of my work from here and just go to the city for short stints.’
She looked up into those leonine eyes. His tone was light but his expression intent. Molly leaned into him and kissed his neck, loving the salty tang of his flesh.
‘Just because I prefer it here?’
‘I do too, Molly.’ He paused. ‘It would be a marvellous place to raise a family.’ His gold-flecked eyes glowed with that satisfied look he got whenever he talked of their child. ‘Would you like that?’
Molly tried to visualise herself living in Rome, maybe working at an English language school. But the idea of spending a few years at least, devoting herself to her small family, sounded like bliss. How many women got the chance to be at home full time when their child was young? And in such a stunning place.
‘I think I would.’
‘Excellent.’ His mouth covered hers. Molly felt the ardour in his kiss and in the taut rigidity of his big frame. Yet, instead of taking the kiss further, Pietro pulled back.
‘It’s been a long journey. Have some refreshment then I’ll take you on a tour.’ He invited her to sit at a table laid with cool drinks and delicious-looking sliced meats, vegetables and olives.
As they ate and drank, Molly felt herself relax in this peaceful, bewitching place. Everything, from the perfumed air to the food and even the luxuriously appointed terrace, lulled her into a satisfied stupor.
‘This would make a marvellous wedding venue.’ She could see chairs out on the lawn. The stone archway that supported climbing roses draped in gauzy cloth. It was truly romantic.
But would she have anyone to invite? Would she remember her past life by the time they tied the knot? Or would she make her vows in front of strangers?
She surveyed the pristine pool where, apparently, she’d come daily with the children, where she’d met Pietro, yet the past stubbornly remained a blank.
Molly bit her cheek, trying to quell self-pity. Pietro was trying to find her sister. When that happened, surely Jill would be a door to her past?
‘Are you ready for a tour or would you rather rest?’ Pietro’s expression was solicitous. But Molly was fine now, except for the small matter of a gap in her brain where the past used to be.
‘No, I’d love to explore.’
Smiling, he took her hand and drew her to her feet. It was obvious how proud he was of the place. ‘After my parents died their estate was held in trust for me and a manager appointed for the business.’
‘Not your aunt or uncle?’
‘They had no experience running a corporation of that size, and they had their hands full trying to handle me as well as their own family.’ He spread one hand, palm up. ‘Unfortunately the administrator made some bad decisions and the business grew less profitable. Upkeep of the property just didn’t happen.’
‘But it’s wonderful now.’ Obviously restoring it had been a labour of love.
The villa was even more impressive inside than out. No expense had been spared. But, unlike the Rome apartment, there was a sense of a handsome old building aging gracefully. Of quirks and comfort. There were massive carved-stone fireplaces, a profusion of antiques, but everywhere flowers and big windows and chairs that looked so comfortable you wanted to sit and linger. The breakfast room featured trompe l’oeil landscapes painted on the high walls and rounded ceilings, making it look as if the long table was in an outdoor bower complete with trailing ivy.
‘It’s magic,’ she said, wondering how it would be to use this room every day.
Yet, as the tour proceeded, an ache started up behind Molly’s eyes. It couldn’t have been from the glare from the drive her
e. She’d worn her sunglasses in the car and when they’d sat outside.
‘Molly? Are you okay?’
‘Fine.’ She turned from surveying a library that would be sheer bliss on a rainy day with a fire crackling under that ornate mantelpiece. But as she moved she felt light-headed. She grabbed Pietro’s hand, needing his support.
Was it morning sickness? She’d fortunately been free of that and even now she didn’t feel nauseous, just a little giddy.
Yet as they made their way hand-in-hand up the sweeping staircase Molly experienced a strange shuddering inside. It felt as if her lungs couldn’t work properly, her breath choppy and quick, each intake of air not quite enough. Her knees began to tremble, making her cling harder to Pietro.
They reached the landing, turned towards the bedrooms and Molly stopped, rooted to the marble floor.
‘I feel...’
She shook her head. She didn’t know how to describe it—not quite a headache but more a tightness in her skull. And in her stomach was a swooping, churning sensation that felt like the prelude to nausea. Her skin tightened into goose flesh and she shivered, cold to the bone. Apart from the physical sensations there was something else—rising alarm. No, more than that. Dread.
Pietro’s broad palm covered her forehead. ‘You don’t have a temperature but you’re definitely clammy. And you’re very pale.’
An instant later he scooped her into his arms.
‘There’s no need for that. I can walk.’
‘Not a good idea when you look like a breeze will blow you over. Besides,’ his voice dropped to that rugged gravel-and-velvet tone she loved, ‘I enjoy having you here, exactly where I want you.’
He strode down the corridor, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.
Despite the barrage of strange sensations, Molly repressed a smile. Pietro really did love to hold her, and she adored the closeness, feeling she was precious to him.
But as they entered the master suite she began to tremble. Molly had an impression of a huge four-poster bed, of windows looking onto the garden, then suddenly, to her horror, she was battling extreme nausea.
