The Italian's Forgotten Baby

CHAPTER TWO

MARCO COULD TELL she was wondering what to do with him and maybe mulling over things from their shared past, so he waited, letting her stew. He needed some time himself. He was having trouble dealing with all this. A beautiful woman, a forgotten past—it all seemed so outlandish. He could certainly understand Shayna’s appeal. He had no doubt his vacation on Ranai had been pretty spectacular, if she had been his companion in the way all evidence suggested. But that only made it even more crazy that he couldn’t remember her.

And there was another thing. Why had she run from him?

That was the question he needed to hear answered. He’d seen the look of fear in her eyes. Her first reaction had been surprise, but fear had followed quickly, and she’d turned and dashed off as though…what? He’d never been known as a pushover where ladies were concerned, but he’d certainly never been a Blackbeard, either. What had she expected him to do? Whatever it was, she’d thought better of it soon enough, and decided to be reasonable.

But he couldn’t rid himself of that nagging question. Why had she run? It had shocked him and shaken his confidence in a strange way he wasn’t used to. Maybe this situational amnesia had more facets than he’d thought. Maybe his subconscious really wanted to shield him. Maybe there was something about himself he wasn’t going to like finding out.

He would have been less surprised if she’d acted casually unconcerned about his existence, or if she’d walked up, gazed at him with no recognition at all and asked if he wanted a menu. But she hadn’t done that. She’d taken one look, known him immediately, and turned and ran.

What had he done to her? He had a small shiver of unease deep inside. What could he possibly have done to bring on a reaction like that?

He looked at her and tried to read her thoughts by the look in those exceptional blue eyes. She was hesitating, expecting him to start for her house. And that presented a problem. He didn’t know which house was hers. There were two little houses, one on either side of the clearing. He stood back, pretending to be polite, waiting for her to take the lead.

He’d planned to tell her right away about losing his memory. Now he wasn’t so sure. He hesitated. As he stood in the clearing, island life seemed to blossom around him. The sound of the surf on the reef provided background music to parrots calling to each other in the trees and someone in a distant house singing a catchy island song. The heat was a physical presence, and the sunlight seemed to slant into his eyes. If he wasn’t careful, the island magic was going to eat away at his sanity. And that made him think that it might be the wiser course of action to let things cruise for a while as he tried to figure out what upset Shayna. He might as well give it a bit of time to see what he could glean from her conversation before she knew the truth.

And if neither of them was going to make a move, at least he had to say something.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked without thinking.

She turned to stare at him. “What are you trying to do, stir up some small talk?” she asked tartly as he realized his mistake.

This was something a friend would know. He was going to have to take care not to sound like a stranger.

“Why not?” he responded lightly.

Why not, indeed.

She bristled, one hand on her hip. He was still looking around as if he didn’t recognize the place. She would like to think that he was opening his eyes to what he’d lost when he’d destroyed their relationship. That he was re-evaluating some of his actions. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite buy it.

“We’re a little beyond that, don’t you think?” she muttered, shaking her head. “Come on,” she added, starting off down her path at last. “Let’s go inside. I’m dying for some iced tea.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, following her. His gazed dropped to her cute bottom and he quickly looked away. Until he found out what the problem was between them, he wasn’t going there.

Her house was tiny, set on stilts and surrounded by riotously flowering plants. It was exactly what a beautiful young woman who lived in the tropics should have for a house, he decided, but that was just what made him wary. It was all too perfect, too lush, too sensual—like a trap. Was that what had happened before? He’d probably fallen for her like a ton of bricks, right from the start. He was going to be more careful this time.

He followed her up the wooden steps and across the wide lanai, pulling off his dark glasses as he did so. Inside, she had an open floor plan tastefully decorated in pastels and rattan furniture. He glanced around the room but didn’t see any sign of anything personal that would tell him anything. There was one framed photograph high on a shelf, but not much else, no mementoes of trips or triumphs. She didn’t seem to reveal much easily.

She went into the little kitchenette and opened a small refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea and reaching into a cupboard for two tall glasses. He took his gratefully and drank most of it down. It was a hot day.

“So,” she said, leaning on the counter between them and gazing at him levelly, “you’re back. I assume there’s a reason?”

He leaned on the counter, too, just to keep things even. “I came back to find you.”

Something flashed in her eyes. It wasn’t particularly friendly, but there was a wary question behind the guardedness. She was angry and resentful about something, but she was ready to be coaxed back into friendliness. If he could just figure out what that would take, he would do it.

“Well, here I am,” she said, trying to be flip. “Though I didn’t know I was missing.”

Their gazes met and held. There was a hesitant question in her beautiful eyes, along with that touch of resentment. He frowned. This was a mystery he was going to have to get to the bottom of.

“Look, Shayna, I don’t know why you’re so angry with me,” he said, putting his glass down on the counter. “I don’t know what I did.” And he leaned back a little, expecting a vigorous response.

And that was pretty much what he got.

“You don’t know?” She stared at him as though flabbergasted. “Marco Smith—” She stopped. “Oops, I forgot. It’s really Marco DiSanto, isn’t it?” Her startlingly blue eyes were glaring at him now. “What are you doing, having memory lapses now? Don’t know what you did! Please.”

Whatever his mistake had been, she didn’t like it. That much was evident. He watched her anger, wishing he knew how to quench it.

“But I guess you are forgetting things,” she said crisply, waving a hand at him. “Look, you’ve only been gone a few weeks and already you’ve forgotten how we live in the tropics.” She shook her head. “Don’t you feel overdressed in that suit?”

“I had a meeting with a client in Singapore just before I caught the plane out here,” he explained, looking down.

She shrugged.

“At least get rid of that suit coat.”

“I’d like to,” he admitted, shrugging out of it. “With your kind permission,” he added, exaggerating his manners.

She hesitated and he could tell she had the impulse to come around the counter and take it from him in order to hang it up somewhere. But she was reminding herself that she was angry and an angry woman didn’t do things like that for the object of her anger. So she stayed put, but it was obviously an effort.

“Just hang it on the back of that stool,” she muttered, and her cheeks reddened a bit.

Marco’s instincts were right on the money. Shayna was a mass of conflicting emotions right now and that made life more uncomfortable than she was used to. She watched him take care of his jacket and loosen the knot in his tie. He tugged open the top three buttons on his silky white shirt, unbuttoned his cuffs, and shoved one sleeve up to his elbow. She was fascinated as he began a transformation. With each adjustment, he seemed to lose a bit of his reserve. He was sloughing away a more formal civilization and sinking into island life and, for some crazy reason, that made her heart beat faster.

“Stop it!” she said aloud before she realized what she was doing.

“What?” he said, looking up in surprise, the second sleeve only beginning to be pushed up.

“N…nothing,” she said quickly, flushing. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was just…” Her voice trailed off. There was no way to explain.

But she could take this as a warning. She was still vulnerable to his charms and she had to beware.

All she had to do was remember how easily she’d fallen under his spell a few weeks ago. He’d looked very different that first day. There had been no business suit then. In fact, there had been very little covering his beautiful body after she’d rescued him from the little blue men-of-war.

Once back on the shore, she’d gone against her better instincts and invited him in for iced tea that day, too.

“My name is Shayna Pierce,” she’d said once they’d settled at this same counter that day.

There was just the slightest hesitation before he’d answered. She should have paid more attention to that.

“Marco,” he said at last. “Marco Smith.”

She’d gaped at him. He was so obviously Italian, from his dashing dark looks to his very sexy accent. The name seemed like a fake from the start.

“Smith! Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

His dark eyes had gazed at her levelly, just a touch of humor in their cloudy recesses.

“You doubt me?”

She’d flushed. Doubt him? Not at all. Here in the islands, everyone was entitled to whatever name they wanted to use. Who was she to judge him? Her own name was as phony as…well, as a three-dollar bill. She’d made it up and now that she was used to it, she found that the name she was hiding under suited her much better than her old name. “No, of course not.”

But he’d been so gorgeous that day. As she remembered it, after a few minutes of sipping and conversation, she’d found her gaze straying to his muscular chest once too often.

“Where exactly did you leave your clothes?” she’d asked him a bit fretfully.

He was feeling much better by that time. The red welts had mostly melted away.

“What do I need with clothes?” he’d responded, half-teasing. “Isn’t this the tropics? I thought you all walked around like children in the Garden of Eden.”

She’d laughed, teasing right back. “Even Adam was embarrassed when he realized Eve was looking at him cross-eyed.”

“I don’t embarrass that easily,” he said, and at the same moment, his gaze caught hers and held and she felt a rush of sensual excitement in a way she’d never experienced before. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, which told her he had thoughts of exploring things between them, things that would come too close to intimacy. Things she couldn’t allow. She didn’t think she’d ever read the signals in a man’s eyes quite so clearly as she did at that moment. She’d been uncharacteristically tongue-tied for a good twenty seconds.

He’d broken the spell by smiling and speaking casually, as though none of that had happened at all.

“As for my clothes, they are back on the beach somewhere. Closer to town. The water was so clear and the fish were so beautiful, I guess I got caught up in the moment and swam pretty far from where I started.”

She’d sighed, looking at him and biting her lip. It was one thing to pal around with a halfnaked man on the beach. Somehow it seemed very different here in her home. It had made her uncomfortable.

He’d noticed. “I’d ask to borrow one of your shirts, but I have a feeling that would be a tight squeeze,” he said lightly.

“I’ll find you something,” she’d said, jumping up and then afraid she’d sounded a bit too eager. “Uh, I’ll be right back.”

She took her time, rummaging through her closet shelves and waiting for her cheeks to cool down. And then she remembered the Hawaiian shirts a previous tenant had left and pulled them out, choosing a bright yellow one with a red parrot on the front.

“Here you go,” she said as she came out into the living room again, expecting to find him still at the counter. But he wasn’t there. Instead, he was across the room where he had obviously been studying the things on her display shelves. As she came into the room he’d turned and stared at her, a completely new look on his face.

“Didn’t you say your name was Shayna Pierce?” he’d asked, at the same time studying her closely.

She remembered blinking and feeling a tiny thread of alarm slithering down her spine. What had he seen on her display shelves?

“That’s right.”

He’d frowned, staring at her face. “Are you sure?”

She gave him a sideways glance of annoyance. “Last time I looked,” she said tartly.

He shook his head and gazed at her narrowly. “There’s something familiar about you,” he’d said softly.

Her mouth had gone dry but she rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, I hope not.”

“Why would you say that?”

She’d searched his eyes. He was smiling again and she felt a sense of relief. Whatever he’d thought he saw, he’d already forgotten about it.

“No reason.” She smiled back a bit warily. “It’s just that we like our privacy out here in the islands. It’s pretty much a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ situation. You’re playing with fire if you delve too much into others’ lives.” She shrugged. “You have your life and I have mine. We tend to let sleeping dogs lie.”

He’d given a snort of amusement. “You’re just an encyclopedia of useful sayings,” he noted, teasing her again. “I’m sure I’ll be improving my English if I’m around you long enough.”

She’d laughed and teased him back, but his recent reaction stayed with her for a while. She certainly had her reasons for avoiding his curiosity. There was nothing she was prepared to share with him. As she remembered it now, she’d shaken his question away at the time and held the shirt out for him and he slipped into it, leaving the buttons undone so that the shirt hung open. There was still a lot of gorgeous flesh on display, but it was a big improvement, and she’d thought that she could relax a little.

What a fool she’d been. Relax! She’d invited a viper into her life, a spy into her home, and she was thinking she could relax.

At the time, she’d been somewhat concerned that he might recognize her face, but she’d thought that wasn’t very likely. Only a year before, her face had dominated the tabloids, but she’d taken steps to make herself look very different from that girl who’d been considered a media sensation. Her hair had been shorter, straighter, redder, and she’d faced the world with a permanent pout.

Attitude, they called it. Spoiled selfish brat behavior, she called it now. To the tabloidreading public, she’d been considered a “bad girl” who always went right to the edge of trouble, but didn’t quite slip over that cliff. Few had understood how tempting that fall would have been to her. Anything to save her from the life she’d been leading.

She’d been born Summer Hudson, daughter of Glendenning Hudson, one of the richest real estate moguls in Manhattan—a man who partied with film stars and raced yachts for recreation—always firmly in front of the cameras. As a child, her birthday parties had been covered on the evening news, her first ride on a pony documented, her first prom night celebrated. She’d grown up in the public eye.

She knew most people would choke with laughter if she told them it wasn’t easy being rich and famous. But the truth was, it wasn’t. Living life on a constant high of attention was exciting at times, but it quickly became a numbing sort of hell. That public ordeal might have been tolerable if only her private life had given her the support she needed—the support anyone needed. But her father’s insatiable appetite for publicity and acclaim left her with no safe haven.

In fact, she sometimes thought it had driven her a little insane. She did things, said things, ended up with people, who were obviously all wrong for her. Life was a mad, speeding carousel with clown faces coming at her out of the dark, and as it began to turn faster and faster, she knew she had to jump off or it would destroy her.

She’d tried often enough, and each time, her father had found a way to pull her back into the spotlight. Finally, she’d escaped secretly and on her own, using a lawyer friend as her only contact to let people know she was okay, and she’d made her way, with a new identity, to this most remote of tropical islands.

When she’d first arrived she had been exhausted and heartbroken, as damaged as a broken butterfly. She’d thought she would stay for six months or so, heal herself, take a deep breath and go back into the fray a stronger contender.

But it had been so different living here—being a real person, not a media creation; living by her own rules instead of serving as the center of other people’s emotional attachments and needs. Being able to understand that people were dealing with her as a normal person, not as some kind of sick icon.

She’d grown. She’d expanded. She felt as though her heart were bigger now. Her life was bigger. She knew what real joy was. And most important, she knew she would never voluntarily go back.

No, she hadn’t been concerned about him recognizing her, and that was just as well, since it seemed he’d already figured out who she was long before. It might have been nice if he’d let her in on that little secret that first day. Then she might have avoided the opportunity to fall for someone so wrong.

But she had fallen. And then she’d found out who he really was, why he really was there, and her heart had broken in two. Seemingly heedless, he’d left the island. She’d tried to get over him. She’d been stern with herself and attempted a quick recovery. And now she’d realized he’d left her with more than memories. Her world had tilted on its axis. That changed everything. And yet…

Well, now he was back. What next?

As she pulled herself back to the present, she found him leaning forward and looking at her with a strange, intense light in his lush dark eyes. She had the feeling he was looking for something in her he just wasn’t finding and he was losing patience with the search.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked as a quick distraction.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, and it was lucky. Just the passing thought of food made her queasy at the moment. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see her current condition. That was something she was going to keep from him at all costs.

“Tell me, Shayna,” he said abruptly, “what is it that you want from me?”

She drew back, surprised. His tone was just…unacceptable. That was the word. Who the heck did he think he was, anyway? She stared at him, sending daggers his way. He was, after all, the one who had come back. She hadn’t asked him to.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, a bit of sarcasm showing. “An apology would be nice.”

One dark eyebrow rose and he looked a little startled. “An apology for what?”

Her eyes flashed. “Well, that’s the crux of the matter isn’t it? If you don’t feel there’s anything to apologize for, forget it.”

She knew as the words left her mouth that she was falling into the usual female trap of expecting a man to understand how his actions had affected her. You had to explain these things to them. Saying “forget it” just gave them an out to do exactly that. She bit her lip. Was he going to try, at least?

He started to say something, then changed his mind, as though he was reining in what he’d really like to tell her. She waited, simmering. Of all the arrogant men in the world, she had to choose this one.

But she still reacted to him. When she thought of his kiss, her body warmed with memories. Looking at him now, she could hardly believe it hadn’t been a dream. He seemed cold and somewhat angry. At first she had thought he appeared very much the same, but she’d been wrong. He was like a different person. She put a hand over her mouth, holding back that queasy feeling again, a feeling that was beginning to be a regular around here. Closing her eyes, she swayed, waiting for it to ease. There was no denying the signs. It was only waiting to be confirmed by the doctor.

Finally, he shook his head and gave a short laugh. “Okay, Shayna, here’s the deal. You know who I am, don’t you?” He said it, as though that still surprised him.

“Of course I know who you are.” She frowned, beginning to find this conversation eerily convoluted. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t up for the challenge in his tone. She leaned toward him. “In fact, I know both of who you are.”

His wide mouth was like a slash against his handsome face and it turned up at the corners.

“Both, huh? Are you referring to my wellknown split personality?”

He sounded as if he was teasing, but he had to know what she was talking about.

“Is that your alibi?” she tossed back.

He blinked, and then his eyes narrowed. “Do I need one?”

“You tell me. You’re the one with two names.” She winced. There she went again, talking before thinking. After all, she had two names herself, and he knew it very well.

But, strangely, he didn’t seem to have caught her very obvious mistake. Instead, he just looked puzzled.

“This is fascinating,” he said lightly. “Why don’t you give me a full explanation. What are my two names?”

“Well, first there’s Marco Smith, the man I got to know for two weeks.”

His dark eyes looked bewildered by that name. “Smith?” he repeated, giving it an Italian accent that made it seem all the more phony.

She sniffed, assuming he was just covering his tracks.

“And then there’s Marco DiSanto, the man I only met that last day, before he bid me a careless adieu and flew off into the clouds, never to be seen again.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he told her, shaking his head and frowning. “And anyway, I’m here, aren’t I? Marco DiSanto, in the flesh.”

She cocked her head to the side, pretending to consider the dilemma.

“Where do you want to go with this? Shall we discuss which one I liked better?” She shrugged. “That’s easy. I liked the liar, of course. He was funny and sexy and great to be with.”

His puzzlement was growing, but she’d gone too far to stop now.