She’s carrying the billionaire’s child...

But he seems like a stranger!

Brooding Pietro Agosti was stunned when his sizzling fling with vibrant teacher Molly Armstrong resulted in her pregnancy. Finally, the merciless Italian would be able to continue his legacy—but then an accident left Molly with no memory of him! Pietro must help Molly remember the fierce attraction that drove them together, and the fact that the baby she’s carrying is the Agosti heir...

Experience the emotion in this dramatic amnesia romance!

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07274-8

HER FORGOTTEN LOVER’S HEIR

© 2018 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is for all those readers who tingle with

anticipation at the thought of an amnesia story.

Thank you for your enthusiasm for my earlier book,

Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child. Your feedback is what prompted this new story. I hope you enjoy it!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

SHE WOKE TO a sense of disorientation.

Blinking, she took in the dimly lit room. The visitor’s chair, bedside table and small window. Now she knew where she was. Rome. The hospital they’d brought her to after she’d been knocked down on the street.

Yet, instead of feeling calmer, her pulse quickened. The sense of disorientation didn’t ease. How could it when everything beyond this room was a blank?

Her name.

Her nationality.

What she was doing in Rome.

She didn’t recall anything.

Impulsively, she reached out to the bedside table, fingers running over the small comb and vanilla lip-balm that were the only possessions she could call her own. Her clothes had been so torn and bloodied they were unwearable and whatever bag or wallet she’d carried was missing.

She shut her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow. Forcing down the fear at not knowing anything.

After all, she did know some things.

She wasn’t Italian. She spoke English, with only a smattering of tourist Italian.

She was in her twenties. Pale-skinned with regular, if ordinary, features. She had grey-blue eyes and tawny hair that looked limp after the blood had been washed out.

And she was pregnant.

Her breath hissed in as she struggled with fear at the thought of being pregnant, nameless and alone.

The amnesia would pass. The doctors were hopeful. Well, most of them were hopeful. She was determined to cling to that. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. She’d feel better in daylight when the medical staff bustled around the ward. Even the continual barrage of tests would be a welcome change from lying here, utterly alone and...

Something tugged at her senses. The hairs on her nape rose and her skin tickled with the awareness someone was watching her.

Slowly, since quick movement made her head ache, she turned towards the door.

She blinked, then blinked again. Wasn’t it enough that her memory was shot? Had she begun hallucinating too?

In the shadowed doorway stood a man who surely didn’t belong here. Tall, broad-shouldered and lean enough to wear his dark suit to elegant perfection, he looked like a model for designer menswear. That square jaw, the hint of a groove low in each cheek and those soaring cheekbones were all ultra-masculine and stunningly attractive.

A fillip of emotion stirred in her belly. Surprise, obviously. And attraction. As a distraction from self-pity he was perfect—the epitome of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ cliché.

Except, as he stepped into the room, she discovered he wasn’t anything so simple as a pretty face.

There was an underlying toughness about him that made her skin prickle. He was the sort of guy who made designer stubble sexy instead of effete. His nose was strong rather than suave and his eyes hinted at shrewd, calculating intelligence. His height made him dominate the room and the effect was magnified when he stopped by her bed.

She tilted her head up, heart pounding.

‘Who are you?’ It seemed vital she sound calm, though everything inside her quickened.

Maybe he was some fancy consultant. That might explain his lack of bedside manner. No cheery smile, no platitudes about time being a great healer. No stethoscope. She couldn’t picture anything so mundane draped over that superbly fitted suit.

His eyes bored into hers and she saw now why they looked so unusual. They were brown flecked with gold and glowed with an inner fire, their colour unexpected given his olive skin and dark hair.

His silent scrutiny made her uncomfortable. ‘I said—’

‘You don’t remember me?’ His voice was honey and whisky, velvet and steel, and it would have made her hang on his every word even if he’d recited from a phone book. But when he implied...

She scrambled to sit up then winced as the movement made her head pound.

‘Are you all right? Should I call someone?’

Not a doctor, then.

‘Should I remember you? Have we met?’

Something she couldn’t identify flared in those golden eyes.

‘Do you know me?’ She leaned towards him, silently pleading for him to say he did.

Someone somewhere held the key to her identity.

‘I—’

There was a bustle in the doorway and one of the doctors entered. The chubby one with the kind eyes who’d reassured her when the fear she’d never regain her memory had grown close to terror. He burst into excited Italian, questioning the man at the bedside. The stranger responded, those grooves in his cheeks more pronounced, as if carved by concern. Back and forth they talked, the doctor voluble, the stranger answering with terse responses.

As if she weren’t there!

‘Can one of you please explain who this man is and why he’s here?’

Instantly the doctor turned towards her. Which was when she registered that the tall stranger hadn’t once taken his eyes off her. Even as he’d spoken with the medico his scrutiny of her had been constant.

She shivered, pulling the light cotton blanket higher up her body.

There was something about the intensity of his regard that made her feel naked. Not simply naked beneath the flimsy hospital gown, but as if he could strip her character back to the private self she kept hidden from the world.

Which was completely fanciful, as she had no idea what sort of person she was! If he could read her innermost character... Good—maybe he could enlighten her!

‘My apologies.’ It was the doctor who spoke. ‘We should have spoken in English.’ Then he smiled, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘But we have excellent news for you.’

She swung her gaze back to the man standing silent at her side. Her tongue swiped her suddenly dry lips. ‘You know me?’ Despite her best efforts the words were shaky.

Abruptly he nodded. ‘I do. Your name is Molly. You’re Australian.’

Molly. An Australian.

She sank back, barely aware of the doctor leaning in to prop up some pillows behind her.

Australia. That explained why she spoke English, not Italian.

Molly? She frowned. She didn’t feel like a Molly.

Did she?

Her frown became a scowl as she tried and failed to feel any familiarity with the name.

She swallowed, petrified as she realised even her own name was foreign to her. She’d assumed that, once she had more information about herself, her memories would kick into gear. But the revelation of her name hadn’t worked any magic at all. There was still nothing but that dreadful foggy nothingness.

‘It probably sounds strange, hearing it for the first time again, but you’ll get used to it.’

She stared up at the tall stranger, registering his reassuring tone. How had he known about her panic when she didn’t recognise her own name?

‘Are you a doctor too?’

He shook his head and she heard the doctor murmur something under his breath.

‘Yet you know me?’

Gravely he nodded. Why didn’t he look happy or at least relieved to help her discover her identity?

‘And?’ She gritted her teeth. Did she have to plead for every nugget of information?

‘You came to Italy working as an au pair for an Italian-Australian couple.’

‘An au pair?’ She tested the idea on her tongue. Yet, once again, there was no spark of familiarity.

‘A nanny. A child minder.’

She nodded impatiently. She knew what an au pair was. Yet, how did she know, when even her own name was totally unfamiliar?

Molly. Was that really her name?

‘You’re sure you know me? You’re not confusing me with someone else?’

Was that sympathy in his eyes? Whatever his expression, it was swiftly masked.

‘Absolutely sure. You’re a teacher but gave it up for the chance to come to Italy.’

‘A teacher...’

‘You love children.’ Something in his voice, something sharp and hard, snagged her attention. Was it imagination or was the golden light in his eyes more pronounced than before?

Yet for the first time she accepted his words without question. Yes, she did love kids. She could visualise herself as a teacher. Not that she could remember any individual children, but for the first time in this odd conversation his words struck a resonance deep within her.

She’d been dumbstruck to discover herself pregnant in such extraordinary circumstances. Terrified at the idea of bringing a child into the world, not knowing who she was or who the father was. Yet even her fear couldn’t completely obliterate her wonder at the new life she carried. Maybe, once her memory returned, she’d actually be excited about it.

She sank back against the pillows and offered a tentative smile.

Instantly he reacted. His nostrils flared, as if he drew in extra oxygen, and his eyes...

She didn’t have time to worry about his eyes, no matter how gorgeous they were. This was about her. Molly... Molly what?

‘What’s my last name?’ Once she had that she could find her past, locate her family and friends and begin to knit her life together again. Her fingers tightened, clenching the thin blanket. If she could get her memory back. If she wasn’t doomed to lose her past for ever.

The idea sent a shaft of fear right through her.

The tall man’s gaze flickered towards the doctor, who nodded.

‘Agosti. Your name is Molly Agosti.’

She frowned. ‘Agosti?’ Once more she waited for her subconscious to recognise the unfamiliar name. Nothing. Not even the faintest quiver of recognition. ‘Are you positive? That sounds Italian. But I’m Australian.’ And her colouring wasn’t typical of someone descended from Italians.

‘Absolutely sure.’

She’d have to take his word until she had proof to the contrary. ‘And you are...?’

Did he stiffen? No, he didn’t look at all put out. Yet something had changed. Surely the vibration in the air between them grew charged?

She blinked. Vibrations? Charged air? Was she a person who thought in terms of auras and unseen forces? Or was she just preternaturally attuned to this man?

‘I am Pietro Agosti.’

She stared up past the disturbingly powerful hands resting on the rail at the edge of her bed and that long, elegant body.

‘Agosti. But that’s the same name.’

He inclined his head. ‘It is.’ Then the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile that made the breath stop in her lungs, even though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. That golden-brown stare remained watchful, assessing.

Deep in her subconscious, an alarm bell sounded.

‘That’s because I’m your husband.’

CHAPTER TWO

HER PULSE SLAMMED past fast to frantic as she gawped up at the imposing man before her. One part of her mind atrophied in shock, another part raced in circles trying to make sense of his words.

Her husband? This unnerving man?

It wasn’t possible.

Even forgetting for a moment his air of cool assurance and those honed, handsome features, everything about him screamed money and power. His suit must have been made for him, it fitted so perfectly. His shirt was snowy, nothing as average as mere white, and his subtly gleaming silk tie was the sort that came in a designer box. At his wrists were discreet yet intricately crafted gold cufflinks.

His hands... Her heart gave a sharp thump as she concentrated on his hands. They were large and strong but well-shaped. Seductive hands, the sort that would know their way around a woman’s body. Hands adept at giving a woman pleasure.

She had a thing for sexy hands?

Of all the things she needed to know about herself, that had to be low down on the list. Except, staring at Pietro Agosti’s hands, such knowledge suddenly seemed of paramount importance.

Heat flared in her cheeks and she kept her gaze fixed there rather than meet his stare, worried what he might read in her eyes. It seemed...wrong to feel that squiggle of strong reaction deep in her feminine core just looking at this man. Despite his words, he was a total stranger to her.

The hands in question were well-cared-for and there was a heavy gold signet on one finger that looked old and expensive.

He came from money, lots of it. She’d guess, based on his ingrained air of command and that ancient ring, he’d probably been born to it.

But she wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew, but in that moment she was convinced of it.

Her face, when she’d scrutinised it in the bathroom mirror, had been ordinary. Not beautiful or intriguing. Her hair was lank and a shade somewhere between caramel and dirty blonde that surely was too ordinary to have come out of a bottle? Her hands weren’t scarred or rough, but nor were they manicured. And her only jewellery was a pair of tiny gold stud earrings.

She and Pietro Agosti didn’t match. How could they be married?

If it were true, then it must be his child she carried. The idea sent a tumble of unsettling emotion through her.

‘Signora Agosti.’

Her head jerked up at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She opened her mouth to reject the title he’d given her.

That wasn’t her name, was it? And as for being married...

She shot a sideways glance at the tall man standing beside her bed, utterly unmoving. There was something about his stillness that unnerved her. He was waiting for something.

For her to acknowledge him?

Or for her to declare she couldn’t possibly be his wife?

She frowned, the tightness in her head turning into a thump of pain in time with her quickened pulse.

When she winced the doctor bustled forward, murmuring in Italian beneath his breath as he checked her pulse and got her to lie back.

Yet all the time she was aware of Pietro Agosti looming silently beside her, tall, dark and dauntingly handsome. If the doctors hadn’t assured her she’d recover fully physically, she might have wondered in her confused way if he was the Angel of Death come to take her.

She lifted her head and caught him staring. He didn’t look away and she sank into the surprising warmth of his bright gaze.

Heat flared anew, this time not in her cheeks but deep, deep inside. In those female organs where her tiny embryo of a baby was lodged.

Was this the father?

Emotion sliced through her. Excitement or fear?

She settled for disbelief.

‘You’re sure I’m married to this man?’ It didn’t seem likely. Surely he spent his time with gilded socialites, not au pairs?

The doctor’s eyes rounded and he darted an apologetic look at the taller man.

Was Pietro Agosti so important that no one ever questioned him?

A shiver snaked through her. For some reason she hadn’t a hope of identifying, she baulked at the idea of being at his mercy.

His mercy? Surely that wasn’t how a wife thought of her husband?

‘Signora Agosti.’ The doctor’s reassuring tone broke across her thoughts. ‘There was no doubt about the identification. Your husband was able to describe you in perfect detail before he arrived, right down to your appendix scar.’

Which only meant he was intimately acquainted with her body.

A sizzle of sensation prickled her skin. Was it a remnant of memory? The legacy of intimacy with this man? Or anticipation at the idea of him stroking those big hands across her bare skin sometime in the future?

She sneaked another look up at the sombre man beside her. As if on cue his sculpted lips turned up into a smile that would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been for the shadow that looked like calculation in his eyes.

Her throat was gritty as she swallowed. Her eyelids flickered down as she fought off the headache beginning to beat in time with her pulse. It was all too much to take in.

‘Let me assure you that your husband is most respectable and esteemed—’

‘I think that’s enough for now.’ The deep voice with that sexy, husky edge interrupted the doctor’s encomiums. ‘Molly’s obviously too tired for this tonight. It’s all been a shock. Maybe we should leave her to rest.’

He was going?

Her eyes snapped open as fear hurtled through her.

What if he left and didn’t come back?

What if he left her alone again, like an unclaimed piece of luggage?

What if, tomorrow, this proved to be a dream? If there was no one who knew who she really was?

Reason told her that wouldn’t happen. He’d identified her and the hospital staff would know how to reach this man who was so well-regarded and respectable.

Yet the well of fear that had threatened to suck her down for days swirled anew. She couldn’t face the idea of being abandoned here again.

‘No! Please, don’t go!’

There was a flash of something in those uncanny eyes but this time it looked like sympathy.

‘Perhaps, doctor, you might give us some time alone together? I know there’s paperwork to complete. I’ll see you after Molly and I have spoken.’

‘Of course. Yes, an excellent idea.’ The doctor clearly didn’t mind being dismissed. Which told her he was either glad to hand her over to someone else or that Pietro Agosti was a VIP with considerable influence. The medico nodded to Molly, assured her all would be well and left the room.

Now, alone with the man who said he was her husband, her relief dissipated. But instead of towering over her any longer he reached for a visitor’s chair and sat by the bed.

‘That’s better. Now you don’t have to crane to look up at me.’

His mouth crinkled up at one corner in the smallest of smiles but this time, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt a tug of response. Her lips twitched and her taut muscles eased a little. It was only now that she realised her shoulders had crept up towards her ears and her hands had curled into taut fists. She looked down and smoothed her hands across the bedspread.

* * *

She looked so damnably pale. Fragile in a way he hadn’t expected, even when he’d heard about her injuries. He’d come immediately, riding a wave of shock and relief at the news that she’d been found.

Something inside Pietro stretched tight and hard, tension twanging like a plucked string. His chest squeezed as he read the pain etched in Molly’s tired eyes.

One of the things that had attracted him to her was her warm, sunny disposition. Her ready smile and the way her eyes danced. Seeing her so frightened made him want to break something. Preferably the motorbike rider who’d knocked her over. Who, it seemed likely, had targeted her for her bag with its wallet and passport.

His staff was liaising with the police. If the person responsible was located, he’d pay dearly for his actions.

Pietro’s jaw tightened at the idea of Molly lying unconscious on the road. Of her waking to the horror of not even knowing her own name.

The doctor had said her memory loss might partly be due to shock. From the fall? Or from what had happened before she’d come to Rome?

Icy fingers of guilt gripped his throat.

Pietro swallowed hard. The accident or assault wasn’t his fault. As for what had happened before...

‘I’m glad you found me.’ Solemn eyes held his. ‘It’s...worrying, not knowing who you are.’

She looked so lost, yet so determined to be brave, downplaying the fear she must feel. A wave of protectiveness washed through him.

Pietro froze. He’d thought himself immune to feminine vulnerability. He’d been inoculated against it by brutal experience. But the circumstances here were different.

He reached out to grasp Molly’s hand and reassure her then stopped himself. Better to keep his distance. She looked so frail, her eyes huge in her pale face, watching him warily.

She noticed the movement but said nothing, though her brow knitted, as if she had catalogued the abortive gesture for future consideration.

It was a reminder that he needed to be careful how he proceeded. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

‘I can’t begin to imagine how it feels not to recall anything,’ he admitted. He half-expected her to confess it wasn’t true, that she remembered something, even just the reason she’d left on the spur of the moment for Rome. ‘But you don’t need to worry. I’ll take good care of you.’

‘You will?’

He couldn’t work out if she looked pleased about that or petrified. Did he scare her? He knew his size could be daunting...

‘Of course. You can count on me. Everything will be all right, Molly. Just give it time. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’m trying to contact your sister in Australia, to bring her over to see you.’

The tightness around the corners of her generous mouth eased and a little colour returned to her wan face, making her look more like the woman he knew.

‘I have a sister?’ She sounded so excited, so wistful.

‘Her name is Jillian.’

‘And my parents?’

Pietro shook his head, wishing he could give her better news. ‘I’m sorry, Molly. There’s just the two of you.’

Her face fell and Pietro felt his chest squeeze. He remembered loss only too well. Molly’s pain reinforced his determination to do everything he could for her.

‘But I’m very lucky to have both a husband and a sister.’ Her gaze dropped from his, as if she were fascinated by the movement of her hand plucking at the bedclothes. ‘I wondered if anyone would ever come along and identify me.’

There was a wealth of repressed fear behind her words and Pietro felt a surge of relief that he’d mobilised a search for her. If he hadn’t, if he’d ignored that belated voice of logic telling him he’d made an appalling mistake, how long would she have been stuck here alone in frightening limbo?

The knowledge strengthened his determination. He’d acted impulsively tonight but he didn’t regret it, or any complications that might arise from it. Molly needed him.

‘You’ll feel better when you’re out of here.’

‘Out of here? You mean out of the hospital?’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Really?’ Her tentative smile reached her eyes, making them shine more blue than grey. ‘They’ll let me go?’

Again Pietro felt that strange sensation in his chest as he looked into her hopeful eyes. He told himself it was only satisfaction that this would be so straightforward.

‘You’re not a prisoner, Molly.’

* * *

‘I know that. I know they’ve been doing their best for me.’ She looked up into that brown-gold gaze and told herself there was nothing to be frightened of now. Her husband was here. The person she presumably trusted above all others.

Yet still that nervous tingle of energy ran from her nape to her fingertips and down her spine as her gaze collided with his. Each time it felt like a shock, an assault on her senses.

There was definitely a sizzle of awareness as she took in his proud features and the strength of his rangy, powerful form. Yet shouldn’t there be something more? A sense of relief and comfort; of...homecoming...when she looked at him?

It wasn’t relief she felt, at least not solely. There was something else mixed in there too. Something her subconscious tried to tell her, except she wasn’t very good right now at reading subliminal messages.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t much good at anything. Complex thought made her head spin and any attempt at delving into the past made the grey walls around her close in.

Defeated, she shut her eyes as her struggle to remember failed and pain rose once again.

‘Molly? What is it?’ His tone was sharp. Even with her eyes closed she clearly caught his sense of urgency.

Which was natural for a man seeing his wife in these circumstances. It was absurd for her to think there was something not right here.

The only thing not right is you. Your brain isn’t working properly. You don’t even recognise your own name! Did you really think one sight of the man you love would bring your memory flooding back?

Logic told her she’d expected too much. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

The chair scraped across the floor and she opened her eyes to see Pietro Agosti striding towards the door.

‘Don’t go!’ Was that desperate voice hers? She shot forward to sit straight up in the narrow bed, ignoring the way the movement slammed the ache in her skull from dull to throbbing.

So much for masking her fear. Faced with the prospect of being alone again, the strength she’d relied on to see her through this nightmare evaporated. ‘Please stay.’

‘I was just getting the doctor. You’re in pain.’ Yet he stopped on the threshold, his dark eyebrows tilting down in a frown.

‘Please don’t leave.’

Was she always this needy? She hoped not.

How did she explain to this sexy, forbidding stranger that she’d give anything for a little ordinary human comfort instead of more medication?

Pietro Agosti’s gaze dropped from her face. She followed the direction of his stare and saw her hand was raised, stretched towards him. Her fingers trembled. She hadn’t been aware she’d reached for him.

She let her hand fall and swallowed hard. Her desperation for his presence, his touch, disturbed her. Maybe because it proved she’d finally reached the end of her tether. She couldn’t face being alone with her fears any longer.

‘Aren’t you going to take me home?’ She gave up worrying about how weak that made her sound. She needed to know.

‘Of course.’ His voice came from right above her. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. Still, she didn’t lift her face to look at him. She felt as if that searing golden gaze could see right inside her, that she was vulnerable to this man in ways she didn’t understand. While he, with his air of control and unreadable expression, was a closed book to her. Surely lovers, husbands and wives, were more...equal?

But then, what did she know? Everything was new to her. She didn’t know whether to trust her instincts and the ideas that popped into her head or whether they were the product of trauma and medication.

‘I’ll take you home as soon as the doctor says you’re free to go.’

Home.

Relief was a splintering wall, letting hope flood her. Soon. Soon she’d be away from here and her memory would come back in familiar surroundings. Surely it would?

The chair scraped again softly. Then a long arm in a dark sleeve stretched across the bed. Old gold gleamed against a pristine cuff then hard fingers closed around hers. His touch was gentle and reassuring, enfolding her hand in warmth and comfort.

He didn’t say any more and she didn’t look at his face, too scared of the terrible strangeness she felt when she looked at the man who was her husband.

Instead she focused on his hand holding hers, the rhythmic stroke of his thumb across her flesh. The tiny caress counteracted the sickening lurch of anxiety in her belly.

Heat spread from his touch. Tiny ripples of delicious sensation that radiated through her whole body till soon she floated, limp and relaxed, in a sea of wellbeing.

Her fingers tightened around his and he gently returned the pressure. A sigh rose in her throat even as her heavy lids flickered.

She’d been wrong.

There was a connection between them after all. She could feel it now. Not just the warmth and delicious sense of peace, but something else. Something vital right at the heart of her. As if a missing part of a puzzle had slotted into place and everything was all right again.

Because Pietro Agosti was with her.

Her mouth curved up in a tiny smile and her weighted lids closed.

Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Pietro studied the sleeping woman who still clutched his hand. He catalogued everything about her, from her slender fingers and delicate wrist to her bare arm, which the Italian sun had turned a soft gold. Her rounded breasts rose and fell beneath the blanket with each even breath.

Her collarbone looked fragile, as if she’d lost weight in the last week. At the thought, regret sliced through his midsection. His hand tightened on hers till he realised what he was doing and released her. She needed sleep.

His gaze rose to her face. She was still too pale, making that smattering of freckles stand out. Her eyebrows were finely shaped and darker than her hair. Likewise, her long lashes were brown, not blonde. Her nose was even, though undistinguished, and her chin neat. The only remarkable feature was her mouth. Wide and exquisitely sculpted into a cupid’s bow, it was the sort of mouth a man could fantasise about.

Just thinking of her lips on him sent Pietro’s blood surging low, awakening a heavy tension in his groin.

He lifted his arm off the bed and shoved his hands in his pockets.

It was a relief he’d been able to comfort her. She’d clearly been frightened and trying hard not to show it, but his touch had helped.

He told himself he was doing the right thing. Of course he was. He’d had to act quickly and there’d been no other option. If he’d thought ahead, he’d have anticipated the complication that had forced his hand. But he hadn’t been thinking clearly for days.

Pietro Agosti prided himself on his ethics, his honour. Some accused him of ruthlessness, primarily those he’d bested in a business deal or, very occasionally, an ex-lover who hadn’t believed him when he’d declared he was only interested in a short-term affair.

He was honest, sometimes brutally so.

Which meant that what he did now, what he was about to do, cut across his personal code of behaviour.

Cut across! His mouth lifted in a cynical smile. Why not call a spade a spade? He was blatantly lying.

But it had to be this way, at least for now.

Pietro stifled the carping voice of his conscience. He refused to feel guilty about doing the right thing for all concerned.

It wasn’t as if he was going to harm her. On the contrary, his aim was to care for her, look after her, during a time when, surely anyone would agree, she most needed his help.

He did what he did because there was no alternative.

CHAPTER THREE

THE LIMOUSINE WAS sleek and almost silent as it glided away from the hospital and onto the city streets.

Molly avoided looking at Pietro sitting beside her. Doubt about their relationship filled her. She told herself it would cease with time and familiarity. Yet it was unnerving. She didn’t feel up to breaking the silence, especially after the wearing bustle of departing from the hospital. It was scary how weak she felt. How isolated from everyone.

She peered ahead of her, hoping for a sight of something, anything that might jog a memory.

There was nothing. Her heart sank as the car made its way through a city that was unfamiliar to her.

It’s too soon. They all said not to expect anything yet.

But she couldn’t push aside the unpalatable cocktail of excitement, fear and impatience. She’d hoped that once she got out of the hospital room, that had become both prison and refuge, memories would crowd back.

The sun shone and it was a warm day, judging by the clothes of the people on the street. In the air-conditioned car it felt cool. Or maybe that was because of the stilted atmosphere here behind the privacy screen that separated the driver from his passengers.

There’d been no ecstatic reunion with her husband. Nothing but a guarded kindness. Such as when he’d come to her bed last night and held her hand till she’d fallen asleep.

There hadn’t even been a kiss!

What sort of marriage did they have?

She wasn’t scared of Pietro. She’d never have gone with him if that were the case. But still he made her feel edgy.

Molly told herself he was simply a man who didn’t show his feelings in public, and there’d been staff fussing about them all morning. Even the head of the hospital had made an appearance, shaking Signor Agosti’s hand and all but bowing them out of the building.

Besides, Molly was injured. It was natural Pietro would treat her carefully rather than sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

Her cheeks fired at the idea. How would it feel, being scooped up against that hard, lean body?

She’d dreamed of him in the night, of his hand holding hers as she lay in her narrow hospital bed. In her dream that hard, gentle hand had touched her elsewhere, exploring thoroughly, driving her wild with an urgent, carnal hunger. Molly had woken, damp between the legs and hot all over, in an empty room.

Was that memory or imagination? Pietro knew her body well enough to describe her appendix scar. Maybe what she’d considered an erotic dream was a memory. Perhaps it was part of her brain’s reawakening.

‘How are you doing?’ Pietro’s deep voice set off a shuddery response inside Molly, as if she was still in the grip of that erotic dream. ‘Is the temperature okay for you?’

Her blush intensified because he’d noticed it.

That was another thing: Pietro watched her continually. Molly told herself it was good that he was concerned for her comfort and so solicitous.

‘It’s just right. Thanks.’ Deliberately she made herself turn to the man beside her on the back seat.

In broad daylight he was just as dauntingly, devastatingly good-looking. Like one of the beautiful people you saw splashed on the pages of magazines and TV shows about the rich and famous.

Not that she’d describe him as beautiful. That arrogant nose and no-nonsense jaw were powerful rather than pretty, and his expression of reserve and cool consideration proclaimed he was nobody’s fool.

Yet Pietro had sat holding her hand last night till she’d fallen asleep. He’d been uncomplaining this morning as they’d waited for the results of yet more tests. Then he’d sat through a long consultation with every doctor on the premises, it seemed, plus senior administrators. Molly was convinced so many staff had appeared because Pietro Agosti had been there.

He was a VIP yet she knew nothing about him. He’d kept the conversation focused on her, her chances of recovery, symptoms and care. There’d been no chance for private conversation. There had been too many people around.

‘How did you find me?’ She fixed on those golden-brown eyes looking back at her.

‘My people were searching for you.’

‘Your people?’

‘My staff.’

‘You have staff?’ As soon as the words spilled out, she felt foolish. Of course he had staff. This was a private limousine and Pietro knew the driver’s first name. Plus there must be someone keeping his clothes in such pristine order. Molly couldn’t picture him pressing his shirt and shining his own shoes to that mirror gloss before stepping out of the door.

He shrugged. ‘I run a company. I assigned some trusted staff to help.’ Not a small company, then.

‘You didn’t just look for me yourself?’ She’d pictured her partner scouring the city for her.

Pietro’s expression turned grim. ‘You disappeared. It wasn’t a one-man job. I employed an investigation firm too.’ His voice grew even more clipped and Molly realised with a burst of relief that must be how Pietro dealt with emotion, by keeping it tightly leashed.

Maybe she’d been influenced by that popular image of Italians as extroverted about their feelings. Clearly Pietro wasn’t. He did that whole controlled, macho thing to perfection. But it warmed her heart to know he’d been worried about her.

‘How did I disappear?’

‘Sorry?’ His eyes narrowed, as if taken by surprise.

‘How come you didn’t know where I was?’ Pietro stared back silently. ‘I take it I didn’t just pop out for a carton of milk?’

‘You went to Rome and—’

‘Went to Rome? You mean we don’t live here?’ She was sure he’d given an address in the city to the hospital authorities. But then she still felt a bit foggy. Surely she hadn’t been mistaken?

‘We’d been staying at the family villa in the country. You wanted to come to Rome and I couldn’t go with you because of other commitments.’

Molly sat back against the luxuriously upholstered seat and wondered what it was about his words that sent a shimmer of unease through her. Surely there was nothing unusual about them living in the country? Except that, with his suave tailoring and severe good looks, Pietro seemed utterly urban. She couldn’t visualise him in faded jeans and a T-shirt.

Though she’d love to try. She had a suspicion he’d fill them out to perfection.

She put her unease down to their odd situation, married yet strangers. And possibly to Pietro’s unblinking regard when he spoke, as if checking she accepted everything he said. Why wouldn’t she? Did he think she’d forget what he told her? She might have lost her long-term memory but she recalled everything that had happened since she’d woken in hospital, though sometimes she found it hard to focus.

‘The trouble was, once you got to Rome you vanished.’ There it was again, that tightness in his deep voice. Molly heard it and knew Pietro repressed strong emotion. It was a male thing, she figured, not to let others see vulnerability. Plus, he probably didn’t want to stress her with how badly her disappearance had affected him.

‘I didn’t mean to.’

He looked into her face and his features softened. ‘It doesn’t matter now. That’s all over.’ After a moment he reached out and squeezed her hand briefly. Instantly Molly felt better. Her fingers wrapped around his and clung, till the limousine took a tight curve and Pietro swayed back into his own corner.

‘But we have a place in Rome too? We’re going there now, aren’t we?’

He nodded. ‘We are. It’s not far. But don’t get your hopes up. The place has just been completely redecorated, so I suspect it’s not going to awaken any memories for you.’

‘You really are a mind reader.’ Last night, as he’d watched her, Molly had been convinced of it.

‘Hardly, but it seemed logical you’d expect it to.’

Molly shrugged, trying to stifle disappointment. ‘At least with my own things around me I’ll feel more at home. You never know, even something as simple as my old clothes might spark some recollection.’

She thought disconsolately of the red comb and vanilla lip-balm now nestled in the smart designer handbag Pietro had produced for her this morning. So far none of her possessions had opened the door to her lost memory.

Nor had the clothes he’d brought in this morning. Expensive pewter-coloured shoes and a plain silk dress that had looked almost drab on the hanger, but which had clung elegantly and transformed her into a stylish stranger. Yet she hadn’t felt at home in the outfit, despite the luxury of the gossamer-fine silk and exquisitely dainty underwear.

Her mouth curved bitterly. She didn’t care about being stylish, but she hated the fact Molly Agosti was still a stranger to herself.

‘Ah, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer for those.’

‘Sorry?’

His eyes met hers. ‘For your own clothes. You brought some with you to Rome but because our place here was still under wraps, with paint fumes and the designer adding the final touches, you didn’t stay there.’ He paused and for a second she thought she read uncertainty in Pietro’s face.

The impression swiftly passed. He spread his hands in a speaking gesture and lifted his shoulders. ‘Unfortunately you forgot to give me your accommodation details before you went out and had your accident. Your luggage is still in your room in Rome. But we haven’t managed to track down where that is yet.’

‘You don’t know where I was staying?’ It seemed strange.

He nodded, his expression regretful. ‘It would have been a simple matter to have my secretary arrange your accommodation, but the trip was on the spur of the moment, and you’ve always been...independent. You don’t like a fuss.’

Molly sank back in her seat, her mind reeling. ‘So these clothes aren’t mine?’ She plucked at the fine dress which was lovely and clearly pricey but which felt somehow not her. Which was an absurd idea, when she didn’t know what sort of person she was.

‘Bought for you by a personal shopper. A very discreet woman.’

Pietro’s sharp gaze must have registered her dismay, for he leaned towards her, once more covering her hand in his.

‘It’s okay, Molly. It will all be okay.’ His voice hit that low gravel and suede note she’d heard in her dreams last night.

A shiver passed through her, a ripple, not of dismay but of awakening. For in response to Pietro’s touch her body began to come alive. Heat stirred in her belly and her breasts tightened against the lace of the brand-new bra.

She was disappointed, horribly disappointed, that at journey’s end she wouldn’t have anything of her very own to help her regain her memories. But with Pietro leaning close, the warmth of his body invading hers, it wasn’t panic she felt. It was desire. Awareness. Attraction.

The constraint she’d felt around her impossibly gorgeous husband cracked. Their carefulness with each other was due to her unusual situation. For beneath it was a deep channel of passion. That passion ran strong and true now as they edged their way towards an understanding of new boundaries.

It said something about her husband’s character that he didn’t press her, expecting her to act as if everything was normal between them. He must be hurt by the fact she had no recollection of him. Yet he was patient and restrained, respecting how difficult this was for her.

Molly smiled up into the dark face so close to hers, her heart filled with thankfulness and joy.

‘I’m so lucky I’ve got you. Thank you, Pietro.’

* * *

Pietro’s lungs stalled, his breath faltering as Molly looked up at him, her generous mouth pulling wide in a smile that was all gratitude and happiness.

Her smiles had always been heady things. When she was carefree, they were like golden sunshine on an endless summer day. When she was amused, her smile beckoned conspiratorially, inviting you to share the joke. And when she was aroused her smile turned sultry and irresistible, a siren’s weapon with the power to stifle even the sternest voice of caution.

At the moment it wasn’t the voice of caution that bothered him but his conscience. She’d accepted everything he’d told her easily, which of course was what he wanted. But then to have her so grateful to him...

Pietro thrust aside the quibble of conscience. There was no place for such niceties here.

He was doing the right thing. His goals were the same as hers—to look after her and the baby.

What could be wrong with that?

Yet he wished she wouldn’t look at him that way. It wasn’t just that it evoked an unnecessary pang of guilt. Her adoring look stirred other feelings too, feelings he didn’t have time for. This situation was precarious enough without adding further complications.

He turned his head and looked outside satisfaction rising as he saw where they were. ‘Good. Here’s our place now.’

* * *

‘Our place’ turned out to be a lavish top-floor apartment sprawling across the footprint of a whole building.

Molly felt her eyes bulge as she took it in. It looked like something from an upmarket home-decorating magazine, each room more discreetly luxurious than the last, all in shades of white or cream. She reached out to touch the celadon figure of a horse, the sole touch of colour in a huge living room, then tugged her hand back. It was probably some priceless antique.

Her breath quickened and her pulse too as she gazed through the wide open doors to the formal dining room, large enough for a banquet. Even the sleek, minimalist study nearby screamed expense with its spare designer furniture and exquisite artwork.

Did she really belong here? She felt like an interloper.

Firmly Molly told herself it was because the place had been recently remodelled, with perfect taste and a restrained opulence that absolutely screamed wealth. She sensed she hadn’t been born to this sort of money, even if Pietro had.

She darted a glance at the tall man beside her who’d stopped to silence the quiet buzz of an incoming call to his phone. How much she had to learn about the man she’d married! And about herself.

It was a daunting prospect but she stilled the whisper of unease sidling along her nerves and tried to project a confidence she didn’t feel. Fake it till you make it—wasn’t that what they said? Molly had a disturbing feeling it would take a long time to feel comfortable in such surroundings.

Pietro introduced her to a smiling housekeeper, Marta, explaining that she spent the days here, leaving each evening.

Molly nodded and said something suitable, surprised by how daunted she felt at the prospect of having staff to cook and clean for her. It felt...odd. As if she wasn’t accustomed to employing someone to do what she could easily do herself.

Except, exploring the prestigious residence at Pietro’s side, she realised it was probably a full-time job keeping the place in such pristine condition. Everything gleamed spotlessly, from the antique mirrors to the long lap pool on the roof garden. Even the lush potted plants flowered in profusion with not a single dying leaf.

If it had been left to her, half the plants out there would be sick. Her only gardening talent was to kill the plants she tried to nurture.

Molly froze mid-step, halfway across the terrace.

How did she know that? Did she know it or just imagine it? Was her mind filling in the vast gaps of her life with stories that weren’t real? What about her self-consciousness at having a housekeeper? Surely she was used to having staff, since it was how she and Pietro lived?

‘Molly? What is it?’

Instantly Pietro was there, his gaze concerned, his mouth tight. ‘Come, sit down.’ He gripped her elbow and ushered her towards a shady pergola and a stylish iron chair with a cream cushioned seat.

Ecru, Molly thought hazily as she sank onto it. Like everything else in the apartment, the outdoor furniture featured shades of white. Yet she’d bet the posh designer who’d created this showpiece wouldn’t call the cushions anything as ordinary as creamy white.

A broad palm covered her forehead, as if checking for a fever, and Molly knew a momentary urge to lean into Pietro’s touch, seeking comfort in his physical presence. But he dropped his hand and hunkered before her, eyes searching.

‘What is it, Molly? A headache? I’ll carry you to bed.’

Pietro reached out to her but she stopped him.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. For her instant response to the idea of him carrying her was yes, please. Not because she needed to lie down but because she wanted the comfort of Pietro’s arms about her, holding her close.

The one sure thing she’d discovered since meeting him was that she felt better when he touched her.

Molly craved that comfort so much she was afraid it made her weak when she needed to be strong to get through this difficult time.

She cleared her throat. ‘No need. I’m okay, truly.’

He sat back on his heels and she curled her fingers into the thick seat cushion so as not to give in to temptation and reach for him. He really was the most amazing looking man. Particularly when he stared at her with such intensity, such concern, in those stunning eyes.

‘It’s just that I remembered something.’

To her surprise, instead of evoking a smile her news made his dark, straight eyebrows draw together.

‘You did? Something important?’

‘Anything’s important, surely?’ She cocked her head, trying to read his still features, then gave up. A smile tugged her mouth wide. ‘I remembered gardening!’

‘Gardening?’ Pietro looked confused.

‘Silly, isn’t it? You’d think I’d remember the big things first, like you. Or our wedding. Or coming to Italy.’ Molly shrugged and sank further into the comfortable seat, revelling in the sun’s warmth out here on the terrace after her time cooped up in hospital.

Slowly he nodded. ‘You don’t remember any of that?’ His voice sounded strained, making her abruptly aware that Pietro had also been through an enormously tough time. Think of having someone you loved disappear without a trace. And then to have her turn up and not remember you!

No wonder he was tense. He’d been through the mill too.

If she’d known him better she’d have reached out and covered his hand with hers. Or smoothed out the faint frown on his wide forehead.

A tremor passed through her, a surge of longing. She wanted so badly to connect with Pietro, to smash through the invisible barrier between them. But she didn’t have the nerve. He was still a stranger after all.

Her smile faded. ‘I’m sorry. I probably raised your hopes. It’s nothing really, not even a clear picture in my head. Just the knowledge that I’m a dreadful gardener. I used to joke and say I had a black thumb, not a green one, because of all the plants I’d inadvertently killed off.’

Excitement raced through her. She hadn’t remembered that last bit at first. The knowledge had come to her as she’d spoken the words. It was like being on a ribbon of road unfolding before her in real time but not knowing what was coming up around the next curve.

Eagerly she concentrated on the idea of tending plants. She tried to conjure a mental picture to go with the words that had popped into her head and the certainty that this really was a memory.

But there was nothing. No matter how hard she tried.

‘That’s marvellous!’ Pietro’s belated enthusiasm almost made up for her failure to form a concrete picture of the past. ‘Didn’t they say your memory would start returning?’ His mouth curved as he stood. It must be a trick of the light that gave his smile a cool edge, as if it didn’t reach up to his eyes.

‘Now, sit here and I’ll get you a cool drink. I don’t want you to overdo it.’

Molly shook her head. ‘No need.’ Tempted as she was to stay, sunning herself in the open air, she had other priorities. ‘What I’d really like is a long, hot shower or maybe a bath.’

At the hospital they’d removed the last bandage and she’d had a quick shower before changing into the clothes Pietro had brought. Yet she felt as if she still smelled of institutional cleanser and the indefinable scent of hospital that had filled her nostrils too long.

‘If you’re sure.’ He stood back so she could rise. ‘But then have a rest, and later we can talk. You need to build up your strength gradually.’

Molly was about to reassure him that she was healthy and that she’d had more rest than she’d liked. But she did feel fatigued. Just from the stress of leaving hospital! The realisation dampened her excitement. How long before she was back to normal?

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

Besides, Pietro wanted to look after her. She shouldn’t throw his concern back in his face.

His solicitousness warmed her. How foolish she’d been when he’d arrived at the hospital, thinking there was something darkly brooding and dangerous about him. He’d just been worried about her.

How much more concerned would he be if he knew she was pregnant?

She needed to tell him and soon. But not yet. According to the hospital, the pregnancy was in the very early stages. Pietro hadn’t mentioned other children so this would be their first. She wanted to choose the right moment to break the news.

Besides, she needed more time to adjust to being Molly Agosti. To get to know her husband and herself. She had so many questions, so many things she needed to understand.

So she didn’t blurt out the news of the baby. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he be thrilled? Maybe they’d been trying for a while. Or would it be unexpected? No, definitely better to wait a little longer before throwing that news at her husband as well. For now they had enough to deal with.

Which was why Molly didn’t demur when Pietro showed her to a gorgeous bedroom, asked again if she needed anything then left, closing the door behind him. For a moment, maybe two, she’d wondered if he’d stay with her, fold her in his arms and take her to bed, not for sex, but for a long overdue cuddle.

Of course she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. He was being careful of her boundaries, aware that to her he was a complete unknown.

Yet in her heart of hearts Molly longed for the comfort of his embrace.

She slipped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes in the plush softness of the rug at this end of the room. At the far end the bed sat on a raised plinth with a gorgeous headboard of stylised roses climbing up a metal frame.

Quickly Molly turned away. She was not going to think of Pietro on that broad bed. Or of herself naked and spread-eagled on the counterpane, her fingers gripping the headboard as a tall, dark-haired man settled between her thighs.

Molly choked back a gasp of excitement mingled with shock.

Was that a memory? Heat seared and her mouth tipped up in a grin as she thought of her returning memory beginning in the bedroom. But it wasn’t to be. It was simply a case of wishful thinking.

Yet between her legs a pulse started up and her muscles softened.

Simply from imagining Pietro in bed with her.

How long had it been since they’d had sex? Had they been abstaining for some reason or did she have a naturally sensual nature?

So many questions. So few facts. After she’d showered, she’d begin finding out more. This morning it had been enough to get away from the claustrophobia of the hospital and trust Pietro to bring her home.

Soon she’d get more answers.

Sighing, she crossed the floor and opened a door. Instead of the bathroom she found herself in a dressing room. Molly stopped, eyes widening, as she took in the luxurious space. Customised storage for shoes, bags, boots and hats. A deeply padded day-bed, presumably for reclining on while deciding what to wear. Racks of clothes in a multitude of colours and styles. Her dazed eyes took in a bright sundress and a tailored suit. There were dresses that sparkled and swept low towards the floor and skirts that flared or fell in straight lines.

Slowly she pivoted, surveying the range of feminine clothes it would surely take months and months to wear. Had they, like the clothes she wore, been bought while she’d been in hospital? Was it all on loan while she decided which items she wanted? She’d have to talk with Pietro.

But as she turned she discovered something else. There was no men’s clothing in the space.

Frowning, Molly backed out and returned to the bedroom.

There was another set of doors. But as she turned the handle she discovered they led out onto part of the roof terrace, made private by screens of green foliage that blocked it from the rest of the garden.

Molly turned and crossed the room, her feet silent on the cool floor. She pushed open another door and there was a bathroom, an airy space full of exquisite creamy marble flecked with gold.

Ignoring the call of the sunken tub, and the rain shower big enough for a small crowd, Molly spun round, surveying the bedroom.

No more doors, which meant no walk-in closet for Pietro.

Nor were there any signs of male habitation. There was nothing on the bedside tables, desk or even on the long sofa facing the bed.

Pietro didn’t share this room with her.

Which begged the question—exactly what sort of marriage did they have?

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SUN WAS low in the sky as Pietro sat on the roof terrace, pondering his situation.

There were too many chances for failure. At any moment, if Molly’s memory returned, he’d be scuppered. She’d put up so many barriers it would make what he had to do almost impossible.

Not that that would stop him. He was determined to get what he needed. Because he played for the highest stakes.

Pietro might have been born to wealth and privilege, but he’d known tragedy, deceit and disappointment. Those had galvanised him into a man who didn’t play at life. He worked single-mindedly to get what he wanted then keep it.

At the age of ten his world had been ripped asunder. His beloved parents and little sister had been killed in a freak accident. He’d known then what it was to feel utterly alone and vulnerable, cut off from the world. As the years had passed and he’d learned to deal with the terrible sense of isolation, he’d vowed to build a life that contained everything he’d lost.

The success of the family business, which had been tottering towards insolvency by the time he was old enough to take control, was a result of his determination. As CEO, he thrived on challenge.

Pietro’s mouth twisted. His personal life was less successful. Less successful. There was a laugh.

His marriage to Elizabetta had been a fiasco. He’d been so distracted by the prospect of having a family of his own, by the child she’d said she was carrying, that he’d ignored the warning signs. How had he not seen earlier that his ex-wife was a gold-digger and liar? How had he allowed himself to fall for the sham pregnancy?

Simple. She offered what you longed for. What you’ve dreamed of since you were a kid.

Belonging.

Family.

Somehow Elizabetta had sensed that and exploited his weakness. But he’d learned quickly. Now she was out of his life. Yet the yearning remained. For blood ties, for a family of his own.

With Molly he’d get just that. The thought sent anticipation ripping through him. Finally, he’d have it all.

A sound drew his attention and he looked up. Molly stood, paused, in the doorway. His pulse kicked and tension coiled in his belly.

Yet it wasn’t the success of his careful scheme that excited him as Molly stepped out onto the terrace.

It was sex.

Heat burgeoned low in his body and his pulse thrummed as he took in her slim figure in fitted white capri pants and a sleeveless blue top, her narrow feet in low white sandals.

Pietro frowned at the stark intensity of the hunger grabbing at his insides. He wanted to march over and sweep her into his arms and straight back to bed.

He’d looked in on her a few hours ago and had stood far too long staring down at her as she slept. She’d been curled up like a child on top of the covers. But the glimpses of pale breast and thigh at the gap in her robe had been pure, seductive woman. He’d been on the verge of kissing her awake and joining her on that bed when he’d come to his senses, remembering she was still an invalid.

It had been the same the night they’d parted in Tuscany. Despite his fury and the sour taste of disgust on his tongue, he’d lusted after her then too. Neither pride nor common sense had eradicated his hunger for this woman. That, above all, explained why he’d lost his temper so monumentally.

In his eyes what she’d done had been unforgivable, but even worse was the fact that he still wanted her in spite of it.

Now that anger was gone, stripped away by the truth. Everything had changed. Except his desire for Molly. It was so strong, so electric, he wondered that she didn’t pick up on it.

He smoothed the frown away and raised a hand in greeting. ‘Ciao, bella.’

She gave him a tentative smile and made her way towards him.

The late sun burnished her tawny shoulder-length hair into waves that showed highlights of gilt and amber. Possessiveness struck. Pietro remembered threading his fingers through those thick tresses, fascinated by the colour. She’d dismissed it as somewhere between brown and dirty-blonde and had spoken of dyeing it one day.

Women were strange—never happy with what they had.

‘Sleep well?’

She nodded. ‘Better than I remember ever sleeping.’ Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile and she shrugged. ‘Which isn’t saying much since my memory only goes back days.’

‘One day at a time, cara. You’ll get there.’

Despite his need to take advantage of her memory loss, Pietro didn’t like to think the amnesia might be permanent. He’d spent a long time interrogating the medical staff about that. The one thing they’d all agreed was that no one knew for sure, but most were hopeful her memory would return given time.

Meanwhile he was determined to look after her, keep her safe.

And ensure the success of his own plans.

‘Thanks, Pietro.’ She hesitated over his name as if shy, and instantly he was hurtled back to the day they’d met. She’d been self-conscious yet charming. He’d been intrigued as he’d watched her stiffness disappear as soon as she’d interacted with her young charges and forgotten him.

Now she stopped by the table, her head angled as if to scrutinise him better. Instantly he was alert, conscious of the need to be careful.

‘Is something amusing? You’re smiling.’

‘Am I?’ Pietro was surprised. He might have been amused at the memory, but he hadn’t actually smiled. He’d been told more than once that he kept his emotions well-hidden. It was a useful trait during business negotiations and over the years it had become instinctive, as he preferred to keep his feelings private.

She took the chair opposite and sank down. ‘Not exactly smiling, but one corner of your mouth twitched and your eyes looked different.’

Pietro stared, astounded that she’d sensed his mood from such slight evidence. No one else read him so easily.

He needed to be even more careful than he’d anticipated. Had Molly always been able to sense his thoughts and feelings? The idea disturbed him. Pietro was used to being the one in control, the one reading others, not being an open book himself.

Marta appeared with a tray.

‘Grazie.’ Molly smiled at the older woman and accepted a soft drink.

‘Prego, signora.’ Marta served Pietro’s glass of wine and a platter of antipasto misto.

Pietro nodded his thanks then turned back to Molly. ‘You haven’t forgotten your Italian, then?’

Just how much did she remember? He hadn’t probed earlier for she’d looked so fragile. Yet he had to know, for it would determine his next move. Was it possible she recalled more than she admitted?

She shrugged. ‘Much good it will do me. I can say “please” and “thank you”. I know some food and the days of the week, but I get the numbers confused.’ Her eyes fixed on him, grey now rather than blue. ‘Was I ever fluent in Italian? I don’t remember. Not a thing.’

The sunny smile she’d given the housekeeper faded and her eyes grew shadowed. She blinked, her mouth pursing, as if to stop it trembling. Molly wasn’t dissembling. She really knew nothing of her past. He was so caught up in his own deception he was too ready to expect it in others.

Molly’s distress tugged at something deep within. He reached for her hand resting on the table and covered it with his. He ignored the heat that flared when they touched.

‘Give it time.’ He made his tone upbeat. ‘But I’m afraid as far as Italian goes you weren’t ever proficient. You’d just started learning.’

‘There was I hoping that when my memory came back I’d find myself fluent.’ She smiled just a little too widely and he read the fear in her eyes despite her light tone. Something struck his chest and his hand tightened. He wanted to help but there nothing he could do. The experts had told him that. Yet such impotence made him uncomfortable. He was used to decisive action.

‘I can fill in some of the blanks for you.’ Even though he’d much rather not talk about the past he wasn’t accustomed to lying and, though he had no doubt he was pursuing the right course of action, he’d prefer to avoid more untruths.

Molly’s smile rewarded him. Gone were the clouds in her eyes, replaced with sunny pleasure.

‘Fantastic! I have so many questions. But first, what amused you when I came out? Was it to do with me?’ Her hand slid from his and began twisting a tiny pearl button on her pale blue top. Her other hand lifted to her hair then fell to her lap.

She was nervous. About how she looked?

Surely not? Molly was slim and sexy in a fresh, wholesome way, quite different from the sophisticates he usually met in Rome.

‘I was remembering the day we met.’

‘Really? Tell me!’

It was as if he’d ignited a spark inside her. She sat forward eagerly, her pink lips parting in a soft smile and her eyes turning a hazy blue. He could always tell when Molly was happy or excited because her eyes looked more blue than grey.

‘It was at my villa in Tuscany.’

‘You have a villa in Tuscany too?’ Then before he could answer she shook her head, making her hair swirl around her cheeks in a bright curtain. ‘No, of course you do. It makes sense when you have all this.’ Her gesture encompassed the penthouse apartment. ‘I suppose you have a luxury sports car as well as the limo.’

He shrugged. ‘I use the limo in the city as I’m usually busy with business calls. In the country, I prefer to drive myself.’

Which was better than saying he had several sports cars and, for that matter, a couple of other properties, including the whole of this building. For he remembered how Molly’s eyes had widened in shock, first at the limousine then at the sight of his city apartment. How tentative she’d been, walking through the expensively furnished rooms, as if scared to touch anything. He didn’t want her feeling even more uncomfortable. Time enough for her to learn the scale of his wealth later.

She sipped her drink then sat back, expression expectant. ‘So, you were at your villa in Tuscany. How long ago? When did we meet?’

‘The spring just gone.’

He watched her eyes become round. She sat forward. ‘Really? Such a short time ago?’ Colour highlighted her cheeks. ‘So, we’re newlyweds?’

Pietro nodded and spoke quickly, not wanting to get side tracked into detail. ‘We haven’t been together long.’

Molly’s brows knitted and she stared at her glass, her flush intensifying. ‘Yet we don’t share a room.’

Pietro’s heart gave a mighty thud. Why had he believed for a moment that Molly would simply accept things without question?

‘You need plenty of rest. The doctors were insistent.’

Plus, despite the rush of desire when he was near her, he had qualms about bedding her now. He was already taking advantage of her amnesia. If she knew all that he knew, she wouldn’t be sitting here, blushing and smiling at him.

‘So, I was at the Tuscan villa.’ Pietro paused to make sure his diversion worked. Sure enough, Molly nodded, eager for more. ‘I was working in my study.’ No surprise there. He spent a lot of time working, even when he was supposed to be relaxing, or in this case recuperating from a bad bout of flu—brought on, his doctor had said, from too many hours working and not enough enjoying life. ‘But this particular morning I had trouble concentrating.’

At her curious glance, he went on. ‘The villa isn’t alone on the property. Down the drive, on the other side of a small hill, is an old farmhouse. My cousin Chiara is a budding entrepreneur and persuaded me to let her do it up and rent it out as guest accommodation.’ The agreement was she’d keep any profits too and Pietro had been happy to support her small but growing enterprise.

‘I rented it?’

He shook his head. ‘Not quite. A family from Australia rented it. The husband’s ancestors were from Tuscany and they wanted to explore the area for several months. You came with them to look after their three young children. They just returned to Australia last week.’

Slowly she nodded, twisting her glass round and round on the table. ‘That’s right, you said I was an au pair.’

‘Temporarily. You’re a qualified teacher, specialising in early childhood. As one of the boys has learning difficulties, the parents were eager to get someone with your qualifications.’

Molly frowned. ‘I gave up a teaching job for temporary work as an au pair?’ Apparently she hadn’t really registered that when he’d told her yesterday but she’d had a lot to take in.

Pietro leaned back in his chair, fascinated by this insight into Molly’s thought processes. With her ready smile and easy going nature, when they’d first met he’d merely thought her ripe and ready for a temporary amorous adventure. It was only later he’d discovered Molly was far more complex and circumspect. Surprising, given what had happened between them. But here it was again, proof that she wasn’t as carefree as she had sometimes seemed.

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