Charm, devastating good looks & wealth – these gorgeous, passionate Latin men surely have everything a girl could want?

MEDITERRANEAN

Men & Marriage

Take a romantic trip this summer with three heart-warming, emotional novels from Raye Morgan, Carol Grace and Donna Alward

The Italian’s Forgotten Baby
Raye Morgan
The Sicilian’s Bride
Carol Grace
Hired: the Italian’s Bride
Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Italian’s Forgotten Baby

Dear Reader,

Living on a South Pacific island is different. Those of you who do it know this very well. You live with lush trade winds, elegantly swaying palm trees in the silver moonlight, the thunder of surf on the reef, dancing sunlight glinting on the ocean in the distance. It’s all the background music of your life. I know – I grew up on an island.

Of course there’s also the feeling of isolation, the heat and humidity, the mildew, the bugs and the coconut crabs and the huge snails – but never mind all that. We’ll leave that part out and concentrate on the romantic side of island living.

There’s also a nice earthy innocence to island life. That’s what Shayna Pierce finds when she comes to Ranai to escape the media firestorm lifestyle she’s been living in New York. She finds what she’s searching for among the down-to-earth islanders, but she also finds love when Marco DiSanto appears in her lagoon. Will his presence ruin the idyllic life she’s made for herself? Or will she find her own voice and make a stand for her choices?

So, are you ready to take a little vacation? Hop aboard. We’re heading for an island where anything can happen!

Regards!

Raye Morgan

RAYE MORGAN has been a nursery school teacher, a travel agent, a clerk and a business editor, but her best job ever has been writing romances – and fostering romance in her own family at the same time. Current score: two boys married, two more to go. Raye has published over seventy romances and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. She lives in Southern California, with her husband and whichever son happens to be staying at home at the moment.

This book is dedicated to Jenn and her Vespa

Chapter One

MARCO DISANTO lowered his long, elegantly lean body into the rickety bamboo chair and rested one elbow casually on the little round sidewalk café table. The heavy heat was offset a bit by the afternoon trade winds. Still, it was a good bet he was the only man on the island crazy enough to be wearing an Italian business suit in this climate.

Was he here on business, or was this a search for lost love? Maybe it was time he made up his mind and acted accordingly. With his free hand, he pulled a crumpled photo out of his pocket and flattened it on the surface of the table. Bracing himself, he glanced at it again.

No matter how often he looked at the picture, the shock of seeing those mesmerizing blue eyes gazing back at him sent a quiver of excitement through him. Eyes like that didn’t belong in real life. He was pretty sure they only existed on the covers of science fiction books or on fantasy movie posters.

But the ticket agent at the Ranai airport had recognized her right away when he’d shown him the photo.

“Oh sure. That’s Shayna. You can probably find her at Kimo’s Café. She works there off and on.”

So here he was, wondering why nothing looked familiar. Out of the corner of his vision, his attention was caught by crisp white shorts encasing a firmly rounded female bottom and set off by long and lovely tanned legs. He didn’t want to make eye contact—not yet—but he turned enough to see a bit more, including a loose, gauzy top that fell provocatively off one lovely shoulder, giving a teasing glimpse of full breasts. Waves of blond curls cascaded almost to her shoulders and framed a pretty face that was alive with laughter. He drew his breath in sharply, muttered something slightly obscene in Italian and looked down at the picture.

Yes, he had the right woman. But he’d never seen her before in his life. Not in the flesh, at any rate.

Who the hell could she be? The man at the airport had called her Shayna, so he supposed that must be her name. Other than that, he knew nothing about her.

He slid the picture into the pocket of his suit coat and sat back at the remote table on the patio of the fashionably shabby waterside café. He would wait. She would have to get to him eventually.

Funny that he couldn’t remember her. Funny that he couldn’t remember anything from the recent two weeks he’d spent here, on vacation in the Traechelle Islands. He’d tried. It just wouldn’t come. Something about the accident—or maybe something about what had happened while he was here—had caused his brain to block it out. The psychiatrist who’d been assigned to him during his recovery had a name for this kind of thing: selective amnesia.

“It will probably begin coming back to you bit by bit,” he’d said, frowning at Marco as though he were a specimen in an experiment. “Interesting case. I hope you’ll keep me apprised as to your progress.”

That was doubtful. If modern science had no answer for him, he would have to deal with this on his own. In the meantime, it was damn annoying. Those two weeks loomed like a black hole in his life. He found it very difficult to try to move on when he had this empty place that needed filling. He knew he’d come to this island resort, but he didn’t know what he’d done while he was here—or whom he’d done it with.

An added problem—he was missing some very important designs he’d been working on. Had he left them here? He needed to know, and he needed to find them, quickly. And so he’d come back to see if he could reconstruct just exactly what had happened to his missing two weeks.

She came out of the café carrying a tray bristling with tropical drinks, all pastel colors and tiny exotic umbrellas. He watched as she set it down on a table crowded with tourists and began to pass the drinks out. Someone said something to her and she laughed, throwing her head back so that her thick blond curls caught the breeze and flew around her face. He could hear her laughter, hear her voice, though she was too far away for him to understand just what she was saying. He stared at her, hard, even pulling off his dark aviator’s glasses for a moment to get a better look. Surely this should strike a chord with him if anything would.

But no. There was nothing.

He pulled the photo out again and looked at it. Yes, it was definitely the same woman. There she was, laughing the same way, and there he was, his arm around her shoulders in a manner that spoke of intimacy. One look said it loud and clear—at the time the picture had been taken, the two of them had been lovers. Just knowing that sent a hot current of interest through his pertinent regions. How could he have wiped his memory clean of something like that?

She picked up the empty tray, throwing a comment back to the table which made those around it erupt with laughter, and he braced himself for the moment her gaze would meet his. What would she do? Would she recognize him? Would she smile and come quickly toward him, reaching out for a hug, a kiss? Would she open up the floodgates to his lost two weeks?

But she turned to another table and began to take their order. He wasn’t going to find out yet. He relaxed. He had another few moments to watch her.

And she was definitely good to look at. She moved with style and grace, and a certain languor that evoked sensuality. She seemed to belong to these islands, like a natural part of the landscape of paradise. Just watching her move made his male instincts sizzle.

But there was no recognition triggered. None at all.

He’d thought just coming back might remove the roadblocks and trigger his memories. So far, that hadn’t happened. Once he’d found the picture, he’d been certain, that if he could find the woman again, that would do it. There was no getting around the fact that this woman was not the sort a man would easily forget.

He watched her weave her way among the tables in the outdoor café. She was coming closer. In another moment, she would see him. The moment of truth.

There was a smile on her lips as she turned. It froze as she caught sight of him. Those blue eyes were even more hypnotic in person, but right now they were filled with shock and then went cold as ice. Turning on her heel, she fled.

It took him another beat to realize she really was running from him. He hadn’t expected that. Rising, he started after her, but a table full of young people had just begun to leave and they filled the aisle, talking and laughing back and forth and blocking his path. By the time he’d made it around the corner she’d taken, he’d lost her. He looked up and down the rutted street, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn,” he swore softly, frowning. Now what?

Shayna Pierce stopped herself short, gulping in air, and looked at her little Vespa. Her impulse had been to hop on and head for the hills. The only trouble was, there were no real hills—not that kind, anyway. What the heck was she doing? It was a small island. She couldn’t hide from him if she tried.

She could always wait for dark and take her motor boat out into the ocean, heading for the even smaller island of Coco where she’d been hanging out for the last month or so, just in case. But in the meantime, what was she going to do? Stay concealed in this dusty lean-to? Hardly.

She sighed, wheeling out her little Vespa. She was pretty sure he would be in the road, looking for her. She was surprised he hadn’t followed her right into the shed. He knew where she parked it when she worked at Kimo’s Café. Stopping, she took a deep breath before stepping out into the sunlight again.

Why was he back? Her emotions buzzed like a swarm of angry bees, making her dizzy. She had to admit just seeing him made her heart stutter and her stomach feel as if she’d just started off on a rollercoaster ride. What could you do when your feelings turned traitor like that?

Fight them. That was all that was left to do. But running wasn’t going to change all that. She had to face him and have it out. There was no other way, now that he was here. With a soft groan of regret, she pushed the double doors open and wheeled her Vespa out into the road.

There he was, facing out of town, hand shading his eyes, looking in the wrong direction. She kick-started the engine on her scooter and he whipped around, staring at her. With as haughty a look as she could manage, she settled into the seat and drove forward, pulling up next to him.

“Hop on,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Pulling off his sunglasses, he looked directly into her eyes. He seemed to be searching for something he didn’t find. There was no warmth in his gaze, no evidence of shared memories, of past intimacy. Her heart sank. He really did despise her now, didn’t he? Probably had from the beginning. Well, in many ways, the feeling was mutual.

Oh, brother—whom was she trying to kid? Just looking at him made her heart thump like a bass drum and the rest of her innards go all warm and gooey inside. He was such a beautiful man with his Roman profile, his huge dark eyes shaded by eyelashes thicker than any male should be allowed to have. And then there was that long, gorgeous body and those wonderful hands…

No! She looked away. She had to stop before she fell off the Vespa in an old-fashioned fainting spell.

“Come on,” she said impatiently. “We’ll go to my place. We can talk there.” She threw him a quick glare, just to keep her spirits up. “Unless you’re too busy,” she added, ready to be defensive if he gave her reason to be.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, he swung his leg over the seat behind her, grabbed the edge for balance, and held on as she started off.

Her heart thumped hard and her mind was in chaos. She’d really thought she would never see him again, and now, here he was. There were a hundred reasons why she wished he hadn’t come back. And there was one very clear reason why she was holding off a big, embarrassing swoon. She was crazy about him.

Or at least, she had been before she realized they had a connection she hadn’t known about. An ugly, painful connection that made a relationship between the two of them impossible.

Still, here he was, and what had been between them, and what had destroyed that, had to be dealt with. They were both reasonable people. They had to come to terms with things.

She raced down the dirt road at full speed, the wind in her hair. She had a lot of questions. Was he going to answer any of them? First, she wanted to know if he’d ever really cared for her at all, but that was one she was never actually going to ask. All signs pointed toward a negative.

Then she wanted to know how much her father had paid him to come find her. And last—and the most puzzling one—why hadn’t her father contacted her yet? She’d been so sure, once she realized Marco was working for her father, that someone would show up to drag her back to New York. That was why she’d gone to hide out on Coco Island for the last month.

But no one had appeared. There had been no word of anyone coming. So what had happened? Had Marco decided not to tell her father where she was after all? Had he had second thoughts? If so, his demeanor didn’t show it.

Still, she was hoping, deep in her heart, that his return meant…No, she wouldn’t put it into words. She couldn’t let herself get her hopes up. She wasn’t that naive.

Pulling the scooter to a stop in the little clearing near her tiny house, she turned off the engine. Marco got off and she followed, looking at him, trying to be as cool as he was acting.

But then a funny thing happened. He stopped and scanned the area, as though he’d never been there before. That was odd. Ordinarily, he would be striding toward her house by now.

“Go on,” she said, gesturing with a jerk of her head, but he turned to eye her warily.

“You go first,” he said.

She frowned. There was something way off center about all this. Was he sick? Was something seriously wrong? Suddenly filled with a wave of worry and compassion, she stepped toward him.

“What is it, Marco?” she asked. “Is something the matter? Do you feel all right?”

The panes of his dark glasses flashed at her mockingly, as though he were sneering at what he perceived as her attempt to get closer. “I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Let’s go. You lead the way.”

She hesitated. He sounded the same. He looked the same, except for that coldness she’d seen in his eyes. But something wasn’t right. He didn’t seem like the same person at all.

She remembered the first time she’d seen him, not two months ago. She’d just come back hot and tired from a hike along the far side of the island and she’d been going into her cabin when she heard the shout from out in the water. Shading her eyes, she’d seen someone struggling just inside the reef. Teenage lifeguard training kicked into gear and she dashed toward her little outboard motor-equipped dinghy.

Shayna to the rescue! She’d felt like a real contributing member of society—she was going to save a life.

Cranking on her motor, she’d raced out to where she’d seen the man struggling. He was still thrashing around in the water. But it didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t quite a life-threatening situation. The water inside the reef was crystal clear and turquoise blue from a distance. But as she stopped the boat and stood up to survey the scene, she saw one tired man and an array of floating blue bubbles that spread out like a little navy fleet. The poor guy had got himself caught up in a mass attack of Portuguese men-of-war and he’d tried to fight back.

“Ouch,” she’d said, wincing as she looked down and shaking her head as she noted the large red welts on his neck and shoulders—and even his face. “Didn’t you see them coming?”

The look he cast was full of fury. He said something mean and menacing in Italian and she’d grinned. “It’s not going to kill you unless you’re allergic,” she told him sensibly.

“Certo,” he said back through gritted teeth. “I’ll just wish I was dead, that’s all.”

She shrugged. “I know it’s painful.” She tried to hold back her grin, knowing any signs of amusement would infuriate him. And she couldn’t really blame him. “Just remember, it’s only temporary.”

She shook her head, looking at him now. If only she’d known who he really was at the time. But would it have made a difference? She really didn’t know.

She remembered how her gaze had hovered over what she could see of his beautifully molded body. As she recalled it now, he’d been wearing swim trunks, but the rest was out there for anyone to stare at, and it was worth the look. She’d felt her eyes sparkle with appreciation. Who didn’t like a nicely formed male figure? Still, there were other concerns to consider.

“Come on into the boat,” she’d told him. “I’ll help you.”

He was still splashing around in the water as though he felt it his manly duty to battle these little attackers and she lost patience.

“Look, do you want a ride in to shore or not? I’ve got things to do.”

He didn’t wait for another invitation. In seconds he was hauling himself up over the side of the boat.

“Water,” he’d grunted, writhing and grimacing.

She knew he wasn’t talking about being thirsty. Looking like a man on the edge, he’d pointed at her canteen but she reached for a cup.

“Not fresh water,” she’d told him crisply. “Salt water will help wash off the tentacles better and it acts to sort of neutralize the sting.”

He gave her the sort of skeptical look strong-willed men often used when they didn’t think you knew what you were talking about, but he grudgingly submitted to the salt water she poured over his welts, wincing and biting his lip.

“I’m going to rub your skin,” she’d said, trying to maintain a clinical facade. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to ignore the fact that this man had a body created to make grown women weep with gratitude and she was going to have to let herself react to it eventually. He was trying to take care of the sea creature remnant stinging his skin, and she’d stopped him.

“You’ll just get it all over your hands,” she said, as he groaned at the pain.

She searched the bottom of the boat and found a rag that was relatively clean. Turning back toward him quickly, she began working on the gelatinous blobs that littered his back, pouring out salt water, then rubbing away the residue.

“How’s that?” she asked after a quick scrub.

Turning, he gave her a look and then took the rag from her, working on his chest himself.

“Thanks,” he said shortly. “I may not sound like it, but I really do appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered sweetly, then hid a smile as she watched him taking care of the last of the mess. Filling the cup with sea water again, she threw a splash over his shoulders, then another on his neck, and he gasped as the cool water hit his skin, then went back to work with the rag.

She watched him, bemused. He was certainly gorgeous. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of anything extra on him. He looked fit and muscular, about thirty years old.

Just right for me, she’d thought at the time with a silent chuckle. Getting to know a man like this was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid, but she had to admit, she tossed that idea away with a sense of regret.

“I never want to go through that again,” he’d said once he’d removed most of the tentacles. “I felt like something was yanking a thousand hairs out of my flesh, one by one. I’ve never felt anything that seemed so simple to be so damn painful.” He frowned. “It was horrible,” he said, as though he was afraid he hadn’t convinced her.

“So I’ve heard,” she said.

He turned to look at her, and as she thought of it now, she realized he’d really been seeing her for the first time. His head went back and his gaze skimmed over her, lingering on her bare, tanned legs. “You’ve never been stung?”

“Not me. I pay attention to what is going on around me.” She knew she sounded smug, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

“I was just…” He stopped himself, obviously realizing he was beginning to sound defensive. He narrowed his eyes. “This is new territory for me. It won’t happen again.”

She’d smiled. She’d believed him then and she believed him now. He had the look of a man who didn’t usually do much daydreaming on the job.

“They looked so pretty, like little blue balloons sailing toward me in the water. I didn’t realize they were even alive until they began to sting.”

She nodded wisely. “Many of the most beautiful plants and animals in paradise hide a deadly poison,” she noted, talking more philosophy than biology.

To her surprise, he’d laughed. “Is that meant as a warning?” he asked her, and she laughed, too, realizing how it could be interpreted that way. She liked the cast of his dark eyes as they warmed with amusement. And she thought—maybe he wasn’t such an aloof character, after all—once he wasn’t in pain.

“Sit tight,” she said, moving to position herself to use the outboard motor. “I’ll take you back to shore.”

She’d sensed him studying her again as they raced over the blue water. To her surprise, she found she rather liked it. She’d come to these islands almost a year before and in all that time, she had very carefully avoided inviting any male interest.

She wasn’t here for romance. She was here for sanity. It was her intention to live modestly and attract very little notice from the locals. The tourists were a necessary nuisance, since she worked at Kimo’s, but she’d managed to make herself friendly in a reserved sort of way that seemed to work. She’d only had a few incidents where she’d had trouble getting rid of an overzealous male.

All in all, living here had worked out great. No one seemed to question her presence. No one had actually accused her of being in hiding. Maybe that was because so many of the drifters who had made their way here were just like her, avoiding life somewhere else. No one asked too many questions. She’d hoped he wasn’t going to change that trend. She still had hopes along those lines, but if that were the case, why had he come back?

She glanced at what she could see of the skin along his neck. There was no lingering evidence of weeks before when the men-of-war had stung him so badly. She remembered how, on that day, she’d brought him in to shore and tied her dinghy up to the little pier she used. Her small house was a bit back from the water, but it was visible between the coconut palm trunks, its bright yellow exterior and the riotous red hibiscus bushes around it standing out from everything else along the beach.

“Are you staying at the hotel?” she’d asked him then, toying with the idea of offering him a ride back to town on her Vespa and then shrugging it aside. She didn’t want to give him ideas, and anyway, she’d figured a nice long walk would be good for him.

“Is there really only one?” he’d asked, seeming to be amused by that thought.

“Hotel?” She nodded. “We’re pretty remote,” she noted. “We don’t really get a lot of tourists. Most of the passers through are here for the fishing or for the seasonal yacht regattas.”

“I see.”

“So…which are you?”

“Which am I?” he’d repeated, as though wondering himself. “Neither, actually,” he said cryptically. “I guess you could say I’m here for repairs. A little recuperation.”

He’d had the tone of someone who didn’t welcome too much delving into his affairs, so she’d let it drop.

And she knew now that had probably been her big mistake. She found out soon after that he’d only come to the island because he was looking for her. Well, he’d found her. And then he’d left without her.

And here he was, back again.

But that had all happened then, four weeks before. She looked at him sharply. This was now. Why was he back?

It had only been a few minutes since they’d arrived on the Vespa. He was still standing in the clearing, looking a bit lost, and all she was doing was remembering—thinking about the old Marco who had been here before. This new Marco seemed somewhat annoying in contrast and not half as appealing. But maybe the fact that she knew things about him now that she didn’t know then had something to do with that.

If only she’d given him the third degree at that point on that day four weeks ago when she’d found him in the water, she might have saved herself a lot of trouble.

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, halfteasing. “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 half-naked 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 tabloid-reading 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 well-known 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.

“But you see, that’s the paradox. He was the lie. Byebye Marco Smith.” She pretended to wave a fond farewell toward the doorway. “Marco DiSanto, on the other hand, was not very nice to me. He told the truth, but it was a truth I didn’t want to hear.”

She stared into his eyes, looking for any tiny sign of regret he might be willing to bestow. Just a hint. It might have made her feel better.

For just a moment, she remembered how he used to laugh with her, his white teeth flashing against his tan skin. She would give almost anything to see that laughter now, that warmth. Instead, she saw amusement, but she couldn’t tell if he was smiling with her or against her. He had a sense of reserve in his face as he looked at her. She wanted passion and he was giving her polite appreciation instead. A little passion, a bit of memory, would have cancelled out a lot of her resentment.

But instead, he asked her a question she wasn’t expecting.

“Do you always tell the truth, Shayna?”

That startled her. She turned away. He knew the answer to that. He knew she’d lied to him about who she was for two weeks, just like she lied to everyone. She supposed it was only fair that he bring it up, since she’d brought up his lies. But still…

He went on, speaking softly.

“Truth can be a slippery thing. You know what they say. One man’s truth is another man’s fairy tale.”

She sighed. It seemed he did want to make her suffer. Well, she could give as good as she got. She gave him a direct look.

“Telling stories did seem to be a talent of yours when you were here before,” she noted.

He barely acknowledged her dig, waving it away as though he had larger things on his mind.

“Okay, here’s some truth for you, Shayna.” He paused, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I don’t know you.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at him. For a few seconds, she went back over his words in her head. Had she really heard what she’d thought she heard?

“What are you talking about?”

He met her gaze firmly. “I don’t have any idea who you are. I feel like I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

For a second or two, she felt sick. The room seemed to sway. She closed her eyes and steadied herself, then looked him in the eye again, searching hard. The man she’d spent all that time with just a few weeks ago had to be in there somewhere, but she couldn’t find any sign of him at the moment.

“Is this some kind of game, Marco?”

“No. It’s not.” He shook his head, holding her gaze. “I’m serious as a midnight clock.”

She pulled her arms in close around her. It was a steamy tropical day, but she was shivering. Something in his words, something in his attitude, had chilled her to the core.

“I do not know who you are. I can’t remember a thing.”

Chapter Three

“I KNOW THIS IS HARD to believe,” Marco said, running a hand distractedly through his thick dark hair. “I can hardly accept it myself.”

Shayna drew her breath in softly, then let it out again. “Accept what, exactly?” she asked, surprised that her voice wasn’t trembling. “Please explain.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then laughed shortly. “You see, that’s the problem. How can I explain what I can’t remember?”

“Marco…”

“Okay, I’ll try.” He grimaced. “When I left here, on my way back to Rome, I must have taken a regular flight, since that’s all that comes through here. But somewhere along the way, I transferred to a small plane, a commuter flight, and we went down in the Mediterranean off Sicily.”

She gasped. “Oh, Marco!”

“The pilot and another passenger were killed, but somehow I was rescued. I woke up in a hospital in Napoli. I couldn’t even remember who I was, much less where I’d been.”

She had to hold herself back. Every instinct cried out to go to him, to touch him, to convey her feelings as best she could. Despite everything, she cared about him more than she’d ever cared for any other man. Whatever it was she felt for him was pretty darn close to love. You couldn’t just throw that away at will. It tended to linger.

“Were you hurt? Are you all right?”

He looked at her and managed a slight smile. “I’m fine, Shayna. Physically. And over a few days, most of my memory came back.”

She nodded slowly, feeling very much at sea. These were circumstances she’d never dealt with before. It was hard to imagine how this could be true.

“But not all.”

“No, not all. I seem to have totally lost those two weeks I spent here on Ranai. I can’t remember a thing about them.”

She shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around this weirdness. And at the same time she had to decide whether or not she believed him. Could this really be true? Was there any reason he might want her to think this in order to gain some sort of advantage—though she couldn’t say what that might be. Just the thought of that made her feel a bit guilty. After all, didn’t she trust him?

Hell, no! The man had lied to her from the beginning. Marco Smith indeed.

She didn’t say it aloud, but her eyes flashed and she wondered if he realized this whole story was a bit hard to swallow. Memory loss. Amnesia. She’d never known anyone to have it before. Why him? Why now? What did he want?

“How odd,” she said softly.

“Yes. Odd and awkward.”

Her brow furrowed as she purposely tried to harden her heart toward him. She had to stay objective if she had any hope of finding out the truth. There were certain questions that came up about this. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. Time to see if he had answers.

“If you couldn’t remember anything about those weeks, how did you know where you’d been?” she asked.

He didn’t seem surprised that she had questions. “I had a copy of my plane tickets, and records of my reservations at home in my office.”

“In Naples?”

He nodded. “Yes. That is where I live most of the year.”

She nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.

“Do you know why you came?”

He hesitated. “I was probably looking for a vacation of sorts. A getaway. A place to work in peace on…some ideas and problems I had.”

Hah. That wasn’t the half of it. But maybe he didn’t remember that part. It hadn’t been until that last day that she’d even known he was a world-famous racing yacht designer—and worked with her father. Glendenning Hudson loved competitive sailing and had the money to hire the best. Marco DiSanto was his designer, his ace in the hole when he competed in some of the biggest offshore races. And Marco had very carefully kept all that from her for those two weeks and probably wouldn’t have told her at all if she hadn’t walked in on him in his hotel room and seen the evidence with her own eyes.

“Why did you come here in the first place?” she challenged. “To Ranai, I mean.”

He frowned, shaking his head. “Damned if I know,” he muttered. “That’s part of the mystery.”

“Uh-huh.” Okay, she could either buy that he didn’t remember or she could suspect him of all kinds of nefarious things. It was up to her. Which way was she going to bend?

And finally, the pièce de résistance.

“So tell me this,” she began slowly and carefully. “If you don’t remember anything about your time here, how is it that you knew to come and find me?”

A slow smile began to spread over his handsome face. He knew what she was doing and it obviously amused him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled photograph and flattened it on the surface of the counter before her.

“When they recovered my luggage from the wreck, I searched it as soon as I could get to it. I was looking for souvenirs, mementoes, pictures, anything to jog my memory.” His dark eyes sparkled as he smiled at her. “And this was all I found.”

She stared down at the image of pure joy the photo had captured. Her heart beat faster. She remembered that day. Kimo had taken the picture. It was the day before Marco left, the day she had decided she just might be in love. The day before she’d realized that Marco was not who he pretended to be.

“So you came to find out who this overly friendly female might be,” she managed to say lightly.

“The clerk at the airport pointed me in the right direction and gave me your name.” He shrugged with Mediterranean charm. “And you know the rest.”

She could hardly stand to look at her face in the picture—or his, either. She had been so happy. She’d been so sure…

Rising from the bar stool, she walked across the room and went out onto the lanai, folding her arms across her chest and staring out at the ocean in the distance. She wanted to go for a swim. A long, cleansing swim. The water looked cool and clear and refreshing.

He’d come up beside her and was looking out at the horizon, as well.

He hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him quickly. “Sorry? But surely you didn’t do this on purpose. It’s not your fault.”

He shrugged. “The result is the same.” He grimaced, obviously loath to go on. But he seemed to think it was necessary.

“You see, to you, I’m a man you think you know well. Very well.” He winced slightly and glanced at her, then away again. “To me, you’re a stranger.”

She stared at him. Yes, she did see. And what she saw was about as disturbing as it could get. If what he was telling her was true, he didn’t feel any ties to her at all. No passion. No friendship. No memories of the good times they created together. No memory of that one enchanted night they spent together. For him, all that never happened.

If a tree fell in an empty forest and there was no one to hear it, did it make a sound? Was it real? If she was the only one with the memories, would they fade away, like old photographs left out in the sun? Had they ever really happened? Or would they become misty dreams that only she knew anything about?

Despite her shock and her surprise, she very quickly understood a number of things about this situation. First, any feelings he might have had for her didn’t exist. All her dreams were in ashes. There was hardly any point in going on with this.

Second, she now realized he had never gone back and told her father where she was because he didn’t remember that he was supposed to do that. Right now, he didn’t even seem to remember who she was. And that was why her father hadn’t shown up yet. He still didn’t know she was here.

That was the good, she supposed. But it hardly compensated for all the rest.

“So in the end, you came back here,” she said softly. “Why?”

He thought for a moment before he responded. “To recreate a personal narrative,” he responded carefully. “I need to find the pieces of the puzzle and put them into the picture so that I can feel whole and go on with my life.”

“Oh.” So it was all about him, was it? But she really couldn’t criticize him for that. After all, how could he care about people he didn’t remember he knew?

“And there’s one more thing,” he said, looking around the room as though he’d lost something. “I was working on some plans. New designs. They weren’t in my luggage when it was recovered. I was hoping to find someone who might know what I did with them.”

“Plans?” She looked at him expectantly. She hadn’t seen any evidence of him working on any plans until the last day when she’d gone to his hotel room. That was when she’d first seen the large, detailed papers, spread out all over the floor. And that was when she’d seen the logo for her father’s company on one of them and realized Marco was not who he was pretending to be. “What sort of plans?”

She held her breath, waiting to see if he would tell the truth this time, but he didn’t hesitate.

“Shipbuilding blueprints. And some experimental designs. Some ideas I was working on.”

“Designs?” she asked, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

“I design open class monohulls. Racing yachts.”

“Ah.” Yes, she knew that now. “Are they important? Something you can’t replicate easily?”

He gave a short laugh. “Something I probably can’t replicate at all. It’s very important I find out what happened to them.”

Shayna had a sad epiphany. She’d found the answer to one of her main questions. His plans—that was why he’d come back. It had nothing to do with her. She should be happy about that. He was a liar and a sneak, and she didn’t want any part of him.

No, Marco hadn’t come back to find her. Maybe he had come back to fill in the blanks in his memory—if there really were any. But that was also beside the point. What he’d really come back for were his plans.

“Is it very important to find them?” she asked.

He gave her the most candid look he’d allowed so far. “It’s the only important thing,” he said firmly. “It’s my legacy, my life.”

At least he was honest about it, but unease churned inside her as she considered the facts. The plans were all that mattered to him. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t exist except as a means of finding his precious plans. She sighed. It was almost a relief to know the truth. This way, there was no question. She had to push him out of her life and she had to do it right away. He’d already done enough damage.

“I’m sorry, Marco,” she said shortly, turning away. “I don’t know anything about your plans.”

He frowned, watching her progress back into the house, then followed her inside and studied her face. “But if we spent a lot of time together…”

She looked up. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t really help you.” She met his gaze with a cool determination. He wasn’t going to manipulate her. “We spent some time together. We had some laughs. But that was about it. You didn’t exactly let me into your life in any meaningful way.”

As she said the words, she realized, with a sinking heart, how close to true they had to be.

He picked the photo up off the counter. “This picture gives a different impression. I’d say more than a few laughs were sparking between these two people.” His gaze held hers. “You and me.”

She didn’t let him see her involuntary wince. “Photography tells lies.”

“Not this one.”

“How could you know that? You don’t remember anything. Isn’t that right?” She looked at it. “This picture is fiction, pure and simple.”

He frowned, not accepting her judgment at all. “But we did spend time together.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

“And you have some idea of what I did while I was here, where I went, whom I saw.”

She hesitated. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to draw her in again. “Well, I noticed a bit, here and there,” she said, sounding rather defensive but not sure how to avoid that. “I wasn’t exactly following your every move, you know.”

“But you could help me map out a sense of what I did and where I did it.”

No, she could not. She had to nip this idea in the bud. “Are you serious? I’m a waitress. I was working at Kimo’s during that time. You came in for breakfast every day. We said hello.”

He stared deep into her eyes for a moment, then turned away, groaning. “Shayna, don’t try to snow me with this ‘I was too busy to pay any attention to you’ nonsense.”

“What do you mean?” She coughed nervously, then tried again. “We had a laugh or two together. We went on a couple of jaunts around the island. And that’s about it.” She shook her head emphatically, her hair slapping her on the cheek. “I can’t help you.”

He stared at her. “Then who can?”

She avoided his gaze. “I really don’t know.” She made a show of glancing at her watch. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to cut this short. I’ve got some things I need to do. I’ll get you a ride back to the hotel.”

“Shayna…”

She looked up at him and attempted candor—or at least the appearance of it. “I can’t help you,” she said again.

He held the picture up, not saying a word.

She flushed. “We weren’t that close,” she insisted. “Nothing happened.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. “That’s not really true. Something happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. “I guess I’ll ask around at the hotel,” he said. “Maybe someone there knows something.”

“Good idea.” She could hardly wait to get him out of her house. A flash of color from outside caught her eye and she saw a couple of neighbors passing by. “Oh, there’s Jilly,” she said, moving quickly back onto the lanai. “Hi there,” she called out.

A young girl of about fourteen turned and waved. “Hi, Aunty Shayna,” she said, her short dark curls bobbing about a pretty, tomboyish face. She had the mixed-race look of someone with the strains of almost every continent and culture creating the young, coltish beauty of her appearance. Walking with her was her constant shadow, Kali, a boy of about twelve who lived nearby.

“Jilly, do you remember Marco?” She gestured toward the man as he came out to stand beside her.

“Howdy, Mr. Smith.” Jilly gave him a grin and a sort of salute. “You’re back. Great. Wait until I tell Eddie.”

“Who’s Eddie?” Marco asked out of the side of his mouth.

“Her little brother,” she responded softly. “He took a special liking to you when you were here before.”

Marco gave her a skeptical look. “Really? I usually don’t get along with little kids all that well.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I know,” she said, then more loudly, to the young girl, “Do you and Kali have time to give Mr. Smith a ride back to the hotel? You can take my dinghy.”

“Yahoo!” Jilly celebrated with a whoop. “I will be so careful, Aunty Shayna, honest I will.”

Shayna had to laugh at her enthusiasm. Jilly was as expert a boat handler as anyone else on the island. Her father had taught her well before he’d disappeared on a fishing trip. Now he was gone and there was no boat for Jilly, so she cherished every chance she got to take out Shayna’s dinghy.

“Okay. Just as long as you two stay inside the reef and bring it right back and don’t go joyriding with your friends.”

Jilly’s face became very serious. “I no longer have any friends. I’ve given all that up. Those kids in town are just too childish for me.”

Shayna stifled the laugh that threatened to reveal how seriously she took that statement. “Good. That’s fine, then.”

“Okay. I’m good with boats, Mr. Smith,” Jilly professed earnestly. “I’ll keep you dry. Honest.”

Shayna laughed softly, then turned to Marco while the two youngsters ran down to the pier to prepare for shipping out.

“Mr. Smith?” he asked her questioningly.

“You might as well face it. Even if you don’t remember doing it, you told everyone your name was Smith. That’s how they know you.”

“Smith,” he muttered disparagingly. “Not very creative.”

He went back in to grab his suit coat, then paused on his way down to the shore to catch his ride to the hotel.

“We’re not done, Shayna,” he said, his gaze traveling over her face in a way that seemed to be seeing things she didn’t really want to reveal. “I don’t give up so easily.”

She started to turn away and he reached out, fingers curling around her upper arm, and pulled her back to face him. “You haven’t even begun to tell me all you know about this,” he said softly.

She gazed back with a touch of defiance in her eyes.

Looking down into her face, he hesitated. Why not? Why not kiss her? He wanted to. Evidence suggested that they had the background for it, even if he couldn’t remember. But no, he couldn’t make a move like that until he found out just what had torn them apart at the end of his stay. And until he saw a little less of that fierce resistance in her eyes. So instead, he gave her a crooked smile.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

Then he was on his way down to the pier where Jilly and Kali were waiting with the dinghy. Shayna watched him go, rubbing her arm where he’d touched her, feeling a little shaken. She saw the hardness in him, the power that would let him sweep away all her inhibitions and take over if she wasn’t careful. That was what made him so dangerous. That was why she needed him off the island as quickly as possible.

But now that he was giving her a bit of space, she allowed herself to enjoy the look of him, just a little bit. He moved with an easy athletic grace and she felt a catch in her breathing. If only things hadn’t gotten so complicated. If only…

Shayna was busy until evening, cleaning up and then working on a new set of kitchen window curtains out of some dyed burlap material she’d picked up at the island’s one general store. She welcomed Jilly back when she returned the dinghy, then tried to get her mind back on the curtains, but her thoughts wouldn’t stay away from what had happened that afternoon.

And what had happened was all about Marco. He was here and he wasn’t going away any time soon. It was all very well to decide to ignore him, but if he really had come back to find his missing plans, he wasn’t leaving until he knew where they were. If he really didn’t remember anything about his visit, he wasn’t going to have a clue as to where to look. He couldn’t remember what he’d done or where he’d been. If he really was telling the truth. Which she doubted at times.

How could he have forgotten? The memories were so vivid in her mind. But the brain was a weird and scary place—and it contained all sorts of things its owner knew nothing about.

“Ugh.” She made a face. This was getting a bit thick, wasn’t it? Better to stick to the world she saw before her eyes. At least there, she knew what she was doing.

She fixed herself a simple meal of cheese toast and a green salad, and then found herself staring down into it, unable to eat a bite. She kept wondering what he was doing. Was he still at the hotel? Had he found someone else to talk to? He was determined to find his missing design plans. She thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could about them and how they’d looked that morning, all spread over the hotel room floor.

She’d seen her father’s company logo on a few of them—and the name Marco DiSanto right next to it From then on, she’d been on a white-hot tear, unable to process any other information. Once she’d realized who he really was she’d been sure she knew why he was here. Her father had sent him, of course—sent him to find his daughter and drag her back to New York. And hadn’t that been what he’d been trying to do by urging her to come back with him? She’d almost fallen for it.

That last night had been magic, all star-filled and moonlit. They had toasted the time they’d had together with sparkling wine, regretting that he was to leave in the morning, and when he began to whisper in her ear about going with him, she’d really been tempted. Her heart had cracked painfully as she’d tried to explain to him why that was impossible. He didn’t want to listen, and they had parted just this side of angry with each other for the first time. That was why she had gone to his hotel room so early the next morning, eager to make peace. And instead, the pretend world she’d been living in had broken wide open and she’d come face-to-face with reality.

Did she love him? Maybe. But it hardly mattered. There was no hope, and she knew it only too well. Besides, he wasn’t the man she’d fallen for. That was all a great big hoax.

And now she was committed to getting him out of here as quickly as possible, and if that meant helping him find those plans, she’d better get with it. She would have to be proactive.

As long as he really didn’t remember anything about his stay here, if she helped him find his plans, he’d go back where he came from and she’d be home free. The only complicating factor was the little hitchhiker she’d acquired along the way. She sighed and flattened her hands over her stomach. There was nothing showing yet, but she knew the truth, even though she hadn’t seen a doctor. The fact that she was probably pregnant wasn’t quite real to her yet. She hadn’t thought through all the implications. She was planning to do exactly that—just as soon as she got Marco out of her hair and on an airplane for Italy. Or a slow boat to China. Whichever came first.

So she’d better get prepared. And what did that mean? A shower, of course. Washing her hair. Putting on something pretty and trekking on over to his hotel to tell him she’d changed her mind. Heaving a big, long sigh, she squared her shoulders and got on with it.

A bit over an hour later, she was on her way. First, she stopped in at Kimo’s Café to apologize for having run off earlier. He waved her regrets away. The large Hawaiian was so laid back, nothing ever seemed to bother him much.

“No worries,” he told her. “Lunch was about done by then anyway. We didn’t have any trouble taking up the slack.”

She gratefully kissed his cheek and promised to be in early for the breakfast crowd in the morning, then slipped off to cross the road and made her way to the Ranai Hotel. Climbing the wide steps to the entry, she hesitated at the double doors. Was she really ready to do this?

“Get a grip, Shayna,” her inner strength said firmly. “If you don’t guide your own destiny, someone else will do it for you.”

She nodded. Her inner strength had the answer, as usual.

“Okay,” she said aloud and she reached out to swing open the door. “Here I go.”

Chapter Four

MARCO SAT IN THE HOTEL BAR at a beautiful old mahogany table overlooking a wide veranda. He was nursing a whiskey and brooding over the stunning sunset that was spreading its orange and gold effects over the peaceful ocean. The place itself had strongly nostalgic vibes. It gave off the sense of a time fifty years past when men really could get lost and start their lives over in the South Seas.

He wasn’t having a lot of luck in igniting his own memories. He’d looked through the old-fashioned hotel register for past entries and, sure enough, there was the name Marco Smith, clear as day. What had he been thinking? The counter attendant didn’t know anything about it. When he’d asked him, all he’d gotten in return was a smile and a shrug.

He’d had a bit more luck with the waiter here in the bar. A young, rakish sort, he looked like a college kid making a little money with a summer job in the tropics.

“Do you remember me?” he’d asked him curiously.

“Sure. I remember you. You were here a few weeks ago. You asked me some stuff about sailing conditions around here.”

“Sounds about right,” Marco murmured softly. Then his gaze sharpened. “Did I hang around here a lot? In the bar, I mean.”

“You don’t remember?” He grinned. “Dude, why would you? You were mostly heading out for picnics with Shayna. That’s the way I remember it. And the rest of us were feeling a little envious, I must admit. She usually doesn’t fraternize, if you know what I mean.”

He knew exactly what the young man meant, but that wasn’t the point. It was more confirmation that he really had been here, and that he had been with Shayna a lot of the time. No matter how she tried to shade it now, he knew she could help him if she wanted to. But the waiter was treating it like a joke and he knew he wasn’t going to get anything else relevant out of him.

No one took anything very seriously here on the island, and everyone took everything very slowly. He supposed it had something to do with the humidity and the heat, but it was going to drive him mad in short order if he didn’t learn to ignore it.

He liked things to happen fast. He needed to find his plans and he needed to find them now. Looking down, he saw that his fingers had tightened on his glass until the knuckles were white. Carefully, deliberately, he made them relax.

And then he thought about Shayna. It had been a long time since he’d felt this sort of tug toward a woman. Over the past few years, he’d thrown all his passion into designing, into making racing yachts as beautiful and as fast as possible. And it had paid off for him. He was at the top of his game. Or at least he had been before the accident. And in his world, competition was everything. If you weren’t at the top, you were falling behind someone else. He was determined not to let that happen to him.

Women usually didn’t come into the picture. They only complicated things. As soon as they got your attention, they wanted to dominate it, and suddenly there was no room for anything but them. He’d been there. He wasn’t going there again. Life was too short.

But Shayna…

Not only was she a beautiful young woman, there was something strangely compelling about her. It was difficult to know how to treat her. He wasn’t sure what sort of relationship they’d had. He didn’t know what they’d done together, what sort of interplay they had worked out between them—what they’d decided, what they’d left for later, what they’d agreed to leave out completely. It was very odd having this chunk of his life missing. It was hard to go on without knowing where those two weeks had left him. The worst was knowing what to say to Shayna. He felt as if he were walking on quicksand there.

One thing was sure, as far as his relationship with her was concerned. He was going to have to find out what the fight on the last day of his stay had been about—just exactly what she thought he should apologize for. And she was probably the only one who could tell him.

A sense of movement made him glance up into the long mirror over the bottle-filled counter, and there she was, coming down the steps behind him into the bar area. He sat watching her with pleasure as she hesitated, looked around the room, caught sight of him and started his way. She had her hair swept up in an old-fashioned do from the World War II era. She looked stunning in a halter dress accented by a lacy throw balanced artfully at her shoulders and a wide skirt that danced around her knees as she walked. And those legs! There was no getting around it—the woman was a knockout. He could feel a slow grin starting as he met her gaze in the mirror and he had no intention of dousing it. She was playing right into his current sentimental fantasy.

She stopped right behind him, placed one hand on her hip and struck a pose as he kept watching in the mirror.

“Of all the wine spritzer bars in all the South Pacific,” she said while he turned slowly to face her, “why did you have to turn up in mine?”

He looked up and smiled, then swallowed quickly and tried to go into Humphrey Bogart mode to fit in with her scenario, putting on a world-weary attitude.

“I make it a habit to turn up in all the worst places.”

She shrugged one shoulder, looking down at him in what she obviously hoped was a sassy 1940s’ manner and flipped her hair back flirtatiously. “What’s a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

He shrugged. “You could try a whistle.” A devilish light was gleaming from his dark eyes. “You know how to whistle, don’t you?”

Her own eyes flashed and he wasn’t sure at first if it was from annoyance or amusement.

“Spare me the mercy lessons,” she said, sinking into the chair across from him. Now he could see that her eyes were sparkling with laughter, but she was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face. “And get me a Shirley Temple, will ya?”

“For a classy dame like you? Anything.” He signaled the waiter.

“Anything?” she responded with a quick smile. “Wow. If I’d known it would be this easy, I’d have tried this years ago.”

“It’s never too late,” he said smoothly.

Their gazes met and they both grinned, and suddenly there was a bond between them that hadn’t been there before. She glanced at his mouth, remembered how sweet and silky his kiss had been, and felt herself flushing. Just thinking of it made her ache with a dusky longing that she knew she had to suppress as quickly as possible.

“So you’ve decided to come clean, have you?” he said, not noticing her discomfort. “I have to admire your courage.”

“Admire away, big boy,” she said tartly. “I deserve it.”

“You most certainly do,” he agreed.

She laughed softly, abandoning the playacting at last. “Don’t you sometimes wish you’d lived in the first half of the last century?” she said. “They seemed to have so much more heart in those days.”

“It only looks that way from a distance,” he responded cynically. “They had the same problems then that we do now.”

The waiter appeared to take their order.

“Hey, Shayna,” he whispered, giving her the eye as he presented himself. “Lookin’ good, girl.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” she said casually.

Marco narrowly avoided rolling his eyes before ordering her a soft drink and himself another whiskey. His natural male flare for competition kicked in without delay.

“An admirer of yours?” he asked once Bobby had withdrawn.

Shayna looked up, surprised. “Not really. He’s just a kid.”

“Have you ever dated him?” he asked, watching her reaction.

She gave him a look he might have considered scathing under other circumstances. “I don’t date anyone,” she said coolly.

But Marco knew she’d time to spend with him when he was here before; at least, that was the picture he got from what others told him. A strong sense of possession rose in him. He fought it back. Where in hell had he got the idea that she was supposed to be his?

An image formed in his head. A memory? Soft skin that smelled of orange blossoms, a pristine sculptured hairline, a whisper that lingered, his lips on the long curve of a neck, a warm hand sliding inside his shirt. Just as quickly as it came to him, it faded again, but it left behind a tingle of excitement. He drew in a sharp breath and steadied himself. He had to avoid this sort of thing. He was here to find his plans, not to reignite what he assumed must have been a romance.

“I take it you’ve decided to help me after all?” he noted, looking at her.

“I’ve decided to try,” she said. “I figure two heads are better than one.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

She smiled, glancing at him and then away again. If he knew her motivation for changing her mind, would he still appreciate it? Maybe not. But that didn’t really matter. She was only here to make sure he left the island as soon as possible—and before he remembered who she was or why he’d been here in the first place.

“Okay Mr. Marco Smith,” she said with a quick smirk. “What do we do first?”

“The first thing I want you to do,” Marco said, gazing at her levelly, “is to tell me who you really are.”

Shayna looked up, her eyes wide and startled. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked quickly.

Her overreaction surprised him and made him wonder, for just a moment, what she was expecting. But he went on and very soon forgot about it.

“I’ve been sitting here enjoying the sunset and musing over this strange situation.”

Bobby brought the drinks and she reached for hers as though it were a lifeline.

“What strange situation?” she murmured, wishing he would change the subject.

“Your strange situation.”

“Oh.” She took a sip of her drink put it down again, back in control. “Why don’t you explain what you mean?” she asked him, using a steady look to cover up her unease.

He sat back and studied her from under lowered lashes. “I want to know why a woman like you would be here on her own in these islands, so far from the hope of finding…oh, say a high-end department store or a five-star restaurant. It occurred to me that it just doesn’t make any sense.” He raised one dark eyebrow cynically. “What’s the story, Shayna?”

Funny, but he’d never asked her that question before. But then, he’d known who she was then—and probably guessed why she was here. He hadn’t felt the need to probe for information. Far be it from her to help him out with his personal questions. She met his gaze steadily and answered with calm deliberation.

“Here in the islands it’s okay to ask a question like that. Some people are happy to tell you all about their background. But if someone doesn’t respond, well, right away, you leave them alone. You don’t push.”

His face changed as he realized she was challenging him. “You’re telling me to back off.”

She blinked at him calmly. “Exactly.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t want to.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, gazes locked. She knew she couldn’t do this for long. Her own feelings were going to show.

Breaking away from his hard dark eyes, she made an elaborate show of sighing. “I can understand that you might feel that way, Marco. However, I came here to talk about you and your missing plans. My unusual choices in life aren’t under consideration at the moment. Let’s just leave me out of it.”

He stared at her for a few more beats before he shrugged. “As you wish,” he said, but his gaze sharpened as he looked at her and she could tell that her avoidance only increased his interest.

“Okay,” she countered. “Here’s what I want to know from you.” She leaned forward. “What’s so special about these design plans? Why can’t you just re-create what you did before?”

He half laughed, scoffing at the question. “If I can’t remember what I did, how can I re-create anything?”

She threw out her hands. “But if you can’t remember that, how do you know you produced something of genius in the first place?”

He stared at her for a moment, said something rude in Italian, then gave an extravagant shrug. “I just know.”

She shook her head, as though despairing of him, and his face lost some of its hardness as he smiled at her. “And anyway, if I could remember what was on those plans, I wouldn’t need them so badly, now would I?”

“You are maddening,” she pronounced, taking a long sip of her drink and giving him a mock glare over the rim of the glass. “But then, they do say genius is a form of insanity, don’t they?”

He shook his head as though she were a trial, but a cute one. “All right, Shayna, I’ll try to explain to you. I’ve been designing sailing ships all my life. It is my life. But I’ve only been getting major international recognition over the last few years.”

She nodded. “I’m sure you deserve it,” she murmured.

“I do,” he said boldly. “I’ve made some important innovations. The people I work for are very rich and they don’t throw their money away on useless developments. They want to win races. They hire me to help them do that.”

“I understand.”

“But I’m not the only one. There are a hundred designers who would like to take my place. Many of them work night and day, trying to beat me to the punch on new ideas, trying to win. You understand?”

“Of course.”

“And some even cheat.”

She waved a hand in the air. “That goes without saying.”

He nodded. “Lately there is a man who is following closely in my footsteps. Salvo Ricktorre is very good, and he’s always just one step behind me.” He made a very Italian gesture with his hands. “I can feel his breath on my neck. He seems to come up with ideas very similar to mine very soon after I have them. I’ve developed the habit of keeping my sketches and blueprints in very secure places, just to be sure he isn’t seeing them.”

She nodded approvingly. “That sounds like a wise thing to do.”

“Yes. So when my plans go missing, I can’t help but wonder if he has something to do with it.”

That garnered a small frown, but she still said, “Understandable.”

He sat back and looked pleased that she concurred. “Of course.”

She nodded slowly. He was leaving something out. Should she bring it up? Should she mention her father? It might be a good way to smoke him out—if he was giving her a snow job. And if he was on the level—well, that would be obvious, wouldn’t it?

She bit her lip nervously. It was a risk. If he was on the level, and he really had forgotten everything from those two weeks, bringing up her father’s name and then looking him straight in the eye might just jog his memory in ways she wasn’t going to be happy with. Still she almost felt it had to be done. Taking in a deep breath, she prepared to do it.

“Who are you working for right now?” she asked, her heart in her throat as she said the words.

“Right now?” He hesitated, then shrugged and went on. “My most important client is a man named Glendenning Hudson. You may have heard of him.”

She nodded. Her mouth was so dry, she wasn’t sure if she could form words. She forced herself to meet his gaze and then she waited, wondering. Would he remember now?

“He’s crazy, of course,” Marco went on blandly. “Most of these superwealthy people are. But they want the best and if you don’t give it to them, they go to someone who will.”

She nodded again. She certainly agreed that he was “crazy.” That was the whole point.

“Glendenning Hudson,” she said slowly, turning her head but watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Didn’t…didn’t he have a daughter?”

She turned back to face him, her heart beating so hard she was sure he must hear it. It took all her strength to keep from letting him hear how rapid her breathing was now.

He frowned, as though trying to remember. “I think so. Some little party girl who’s the apple of his eye, as I remember. One of those rich girls who grow up too fast and crash and burn too early.”

“Just one of many, huh?” she said a bit breathlessly. “Not particularly memorable.”

“No.” He made a face and shook his head. “I think I saw her once. Someone pointed her out at a restaurant. But I can’t recall anything much about her, actually.”

“Not your type?”

“My type?” He laughed as though it were not even worth considering. “Not at all. I’m not a teenager anymore. I have other things on my mind.”

Despite everything, that stung.

“So only immature boys would be interested in a girl like…” She paused for a moment, then forced herself to say the name she used to use. “Summer Hudson.”

She searched his eyes quickly, but there was nothing to indicate that he had any idea what she was talking about.

“No,” he said casually, leaning back and stretching. “Girls like that spend too much time in rehab to be interesting,” he added.

His words cut into her soul, leaving scars, and she knew that was crazy. What was the matter with her? Of course he despised Summer Hudson. She despised that girl she used to be. She didn’t want to be her anymore. That was exactly why she was here. But it still hurt to know that he didn’t think any more of her than that—that he hadn’t had some magic epiphany when he’d seen her, hadn’t been able to see past the nonsense down to the worthy core.

But then, no one else had, either. It was a good thing she’d escaped all that and come here. At least she had a chance of being a decent person. As long as she stayed.

“Anyway, to get back to my missing plans, you do understand why it is important that I find them?”

She raised her gaze to meet his and she nodded. “Yes. What I don’t understand is exactly what is missing and where they might be.” She challenged him brightly. “And why you are so sure they even exist.”

“Oh, they exist, all right. I couldn’t possibly have gone two weeks without working on something.”

She shrugged. “Then where are they?”

“Good question. That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I haven’t got a clue. I wouldn’t even know for sure what I’m looking for.” She hesitated, knowing there was no hope in dissuading him from this search, but thinking it was worth a meager try at the very least.

“I think you ought to go back home and look in your recovered luggage again. After all, if they are gone, how do you really prove they were ever there if you can’t remember what you did?”

He shook his head, frowning at her. “This is beginning to sound like a fractured version of ‘Who’s on first?’ Just listen for a moment. Don’t talk.”

Ah, yes, she had to admit, this sounded like the Marco Smith she’d known and loved. All that Italian brashness and arrogance came out in flashes now and then, and this was one of them. Lucky she had a sense of humor, she decided, and then she pretended to zip her lips together and looked at him mockingly while she folded her hands in her lap.

He gave her a fretful look, then went on. “When I’m working, I’m always jotting down specifications, looking for new combinations, figuring the math, checking the statistics on temperatures, wind, tides and so on. And I’m always sketching. Then, when my ideas begin to gel, I draft out more formal blueprints. And as I work, I constantly make copies of everything I do. In the end, I’ll always have two sets of plans.”

He looked at her and she nodded helpfully, her lips still zipped. He rolled his eyes and went on.

“I usually carry the originals with me in a portfolio and mail the copies to myself in a cardboard mailing tube. Just in case. This time, I ended up without either copy.” He looked at her expectantly and she smiled, her lips still pressed together.

“Shayna, speak,” he ordered impatiently. “I didn’t mean it. I only wanted you to give me a chance to explain.”

“Ahhh,” she said, as though she’d just been released from holding her breath. “Thank you.” She couldn’t resist a grin.

“Okay, here’s all I know. I only went up to your room in the hotel once, and that was on the morning of the day you were to leave. And when I walked into your room, I saw the floor covered with blueprints and other design papers.”

He nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, that is how I usually organize them, and put them in order, especially if there are a lot of them. I was obviously preparing for the trip.” He frowned. “And you never saw me working on any of them before that?”

She paused to think. Was it going to be giving anything away to tell him the truth? Wouldn’t he begin to wonder why he had kept this from her? But there was no way to hide what actually happened. “No. I’d never seen any of them before.”

“I never talked to you about them?”

“No.” She thought back for a moment. “You were obviously interested in yachts and sailing, but you never told me why.”

He shook his head. “Strange. I can’t imagine why not.”

Because you didn’t want me to realize who you were, she could have told him, but she held her tongue.

“What was the room like? How did it seem to you?”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what the room had looked like. She had walked in, full of anticipation. She was going to tell Marco that she would find a way to go with him. He’d been sitting at the small hotel room desk, working on something, and he’d looked up at her and grimaced. He knew what was coming next—just as soon as she looked down and saw the logo of her father’s company on many of the papers. She knew in an instant that this was a major betrayal—that Marco was not who he had pretended to be, that he was not really the person she’d fallen in love with. The pain of that realization still tortured her. You didn’t forget a moment like that easily.

Opening her eyes again, she looked at the man who had engineered that dishonesty. “It was just a normal room,” she told him crisply. “There were papers all over the floor. That’s all I know.”

She began to gather her things together. He watched, puzzled. There it was again, that moment in the hotel room. Something had happened, something that had ruined their relationship. Why didn’t she just come out with it and stop wasting time?

He grabbed her wrist, fingers circling it, to get her full attention.

“Shayna, tell me what happened that day.”

She glanced at him and then away. “Nothing happened,” she said shortly, pulling away from his touch. “It’s getting late. I’m going to have to go.”

He rose. “I’ll see you back to the house.”

“No need. I’ve got my Vespa.” She threw him the briefest of smiles. “I do this all the time. The island is safe. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Her lacy wrap fell down onto the chair as she rose and he picked it up, reaching out to put it back around her shoulders. As he did so, his hands lingered on her upper arms. Her bare skin felt smooth and firm and fabulous, and for a long moment, he couldn’t pull his hands away.

And then she turned and looked at him and he winced, realizing he was reacting to her like a lover, not a new acquaintance. And that made him wonder—just how close had they been? He knew what the photograph he carried with him presented. He knew what his instincts told him. But she hadn’t said a word. And she was avoiding the issue, even now.

“Tell you what,” she said, pointedly moving away from him. “I’ve got to work the breakfast shift tomorrow. If you can be ready at about ten-thirty, we’ll go hunting for your plans.”

That sounded promising. “Where do you propose to go?”

She eyed him coolly. “Everywhere you went when you were here before. We can retrace your steps and check it all out. You’ll touch base at every point of the past you’ve forgotten.” She shrugged. “At least, every point I know about. I’ll give you a chronological tour in one day.”

“That would be terrific.”

“I’ll be at Kimo’s Café in the morning,” she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. “Meet me there at ten. I’ll help you retrace your steps from your visit. Who knows? Maybe we’ll figure out what happened to your plans.”

He wanted to thank her. He thought he should say something. But she didn’t give him a chance. She sailed down the wide staircase and out into the parking lot before he realized what she was doing, and by the time he reached her, she’d started the Vespa and was backing out of the parking space. With a cheery wave, she was off, and all he could do was stand there and watch her go.

Chapter Five

MARCO SAT drinking black coffee and trying to stop staring at Shayna as she made her rounds of the tables, smiling and laughing with the customers. Today she was dressed in a brightly colored pareau, a Tahitian wrap skirt and a matching halter top, leaving a beautiful expanse of silky bare skin between the two. As he watched her, he had a twinge of unease. She was always lovely to look at, but today there was the hint of something more. Hadn’t he seen her somewhere before?

Well, of course, there was yesterday, and then there was the time his mind had stolen from him. Those were givens. But something else, something older and longer ago teased at him. He wished he could think of what it was. But even more, he wished he could get back his two missing weeks.

Maybe if his brain were clearer. He’d had a horrible night, tossing and turning, and it had nothing to do with drinking too much. Dreams had slithered in and out of his sleep and then he’d woken and tried to capture the fleeting images his dreams had left him with. He had a feeling the dreams were built out of those missing memories, and if he just woke up in time, he could pin the facts to the wall and then he would be able to unravel the truth.

Pulling out his sketchbook, he tried to concentrate on what he did best, dig into problems of sailing design. But as he put pencil to paper, he realized his doodling was turning out to be a woman’s face instead of the hull of a sailing craft. He stared at it. He hadn’t done any figure drawing since his days at university, but here he was, making a pretty decent stab at getting Shayna right.

She came toward him with a coffeepot and he quickly flipped the page on the sketchbook. There was no point in being blatant about the fact that she fascinated him.

“Have you had any sudden revelations this morning?” she asked as she freshened his coffee.

He had a hard time focusing on her words. Something about that beautiful expanse of tan and creamy skin, revealing a neat little belly button and a lovely curving waistline made him feel like a stammering schoolboy. He couldn’t seem to rip his gaze away from her midriff. So near and yet so far. He had a sudden fantasy of his lips against that gorgeous flesh, his tongue exploring that belly button, and he had a hard time keeping down the groan of pleasure that threatened to come out of his chest.

Wow. He hadn’t realized he could be caught out like that at his age.

“What?” he said vaguely, forcing himself to look up at her eyes but completely unable to remember what she’d asked him.

She frowned disapprovingly. “Revelations,” she repeated. “New ideas. Light bulbs going off over your head.”

“Huh?” he said, then began to regain control. “Oh. You mean about where the plans might be?” He took a quick, cleansing breath. “Not yet. How about you?”

“Me?” She looked startled. “What do you expect from me?”

“Memory. You still have yours.”

She frowned. “Yours has got to be in there somewhere. Try harder.”

He shrugged. “I have tried harder. And I’ve done relaxation therapy. And I’ve gone to hypnotists. You can’t get blood from a stone.” Shaking his head, he swore softly. “My Roman ancestors conquered the world, you would think I could conquer this one stupid thing.”

His frustration was mirrored in his dark eyes and she regretted being impatient with him. After all, he was the one who actually wanted his memory to come back—as far as she was concerned, it could stay lost.

“That’s very true,” she said more sympathetically. “But you are hardly a stone.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry. It’s bound to come back to you eventually. Patience is a virtue.”

“And I am nothing if not virtuous,” he said wryly.

That made her smile. She couldn’t resist a quick, admiring glance at how he looked today. He wore chinos, deck shoes and a pale blue polo shirt that molded itself to the muscles of his upper body like cling wrap. It was all good. Too good.

She’d spent most of the late evening making phone calls. From the station chief at the airport to the manager of the hotel, she’d contacted anyone she could think of who might have an idea where the plans had gone. She’d even come in to work early to search the back rooms here in the café, just in case he’d stopped in for a snack before heading to his flight back on that fateful day. Perhaps he had left the portfolio at his table and someone had stuck it in a cupboard somewhere and forgotten about it. So she’d searched, but so far, no luck. Maybe their trip today would bear fruit, though she didn’t have a lot of hope. Somehow she had a feeling that anything left behind two weeks before would have shown up by now.

Biting her lip and shaking her head, she turned away. “Hang in there. I’ve got two more tables and then I’ll be ready to go.”

He watched her head for a table full of young couples and he flipped back to the portrait he’d been drawing. He stared at it for a long moment. What was it about this woman that kept tangling with his emotions? His mouth twisted and he ripped the page out of the book, crumpled it in his hand, and aimed at a nearby trash can. It was a decent attempt, but it had missed all her special magic, and he wasn’t going to accept anything less.

A half hour later, she finished up and they headed for the shed where she kept her Vespa. She kick-started it and he climbed on behind, but this time his hands didn’t go to the edge railing to hold on. With no hesitation, his large hands clamped down on either side of her waist, practically spanning the distance and holding her completely in his control.

She felt as though she’d just taken a sudden drop off the edge of a tall cliff, and it took a second or two to get her equilibrium back. Then she turned to look at him. He looked right back at her, not smiling, almost daring her to complain. She stared at him for a moment and then gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

“So I guess you don’t feel like such a stranger anymore, is that it?” she noted dryly.

A slow smile tilted the corners of his wide mouth. “Just drive,” he said.

Shayna drove, but she took note of Marco’s move toward a new level of intimacy. They were going to have to get this task done quickly. It was obvious he was beginning to feel he could take over for the old Marco, in more ways than one. That just couldn’t be allowed to happen. She was highly susceptible to male influence. She knew that. It was the reason she was here, as far from her father as she could get. Did she have to stay away from Marco, too?

Maybe so.

They swung by her house so that she could change, and there was Jilly waiting on the front stairs, a small boy of about three in her arms.

“Hi Auntie Shayna,” she called out as they left the Vespa and started for the house. “I brought Eddie over. He really wants to see Mr. Smith.”

Marco recoiled for a moment, glanced at Shayna, then at the children.

Jilly looked up at him, so young and bright-eyed and innocent. He almost grunted aloud, but stopped himself in time.

“Marco,” he reminded her carefully. “The name is Marco.”

She blinked like a young owl. “Okay, Mr. Marco,” she said. “Here’s Eddie.”

She released the little boy and Marco stared down at him. His thumb was planted firmly in his mouth, but the huge, almond-shaped eyes were filled with some sort of earnest hope that took him by surprise. Marco almost took a step backward. No one should depend on him this much.

“Hi, Eddie,” he said, putting on a slightly forced smile.

Eddie didn’t say a word. Never taking his eyes off Marco’s, he took a few steps forward, and then his free hand reached out and took hold of Marco’s slacks, the grubby little fingers curling tightly into the fabric as though he would never let go again.

“Hey, little guy,” Marco said, half laughing, but somewhat startled as he patted the boy’s head a bit awkwardly.

“He missed you lots and lots,” Jilly told him in her matter-of-fact manner. “When I told him you were back, he smiled.”

It was heartwarming to be missed, and the child seemed pretty darn adorable, but Marco didn’t have any memory of ever having seen him before in his life. It would seem the two of them had developed some sort of relationship. That was unusual for him. He usually avoided getting too close to little ones. You never knew how long they were going to be around. He’d had enough experience losing contact with a cherished child to make him wary of repeating the situation.

He patted the boy’s head again, hoping to be friendly but detached, then looked to Shayna for help. “Don’t you have a cookie or something Eddie might like?” he asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

“Coming right up,” Shayna said with a reassuring wink. “Let’s all go in and see about it.”

Eddie didn’t want to let go of Marco’s slacks, which made walking a bit awkward, but once inside, Shayna was able to coax him away with a huge chocolate chip cookie and a cartoon DVD in the player. She served milk with the cookies and they left the youngsters in the front room with the entertainment.

“He’s such a duck,” she whispered to Marco as he followed her into the kitchen. “But he hasn’t said a word since his father went missing last month. I think he must be transferring the attachment to you.”

“Pop psychology,” he muttered, glancing back into the room where the kids were. “What happened to his father?”

“Went overboard on a fishing trip.” She shrugged, then added as an aside, “Though rumor has it he’s AWOL on purpose. Who knows?”

Marco looked at the little guy with a larger measure of sympathy after hearing that. A moment later, as he lowered his long body to sit on the rattan couch in the front room, Eddie shot up beside him and sat very close, little legs out straight, as though trying to copy whatever he did.

Shayna watched, touched at the scene. Marco hadn’t gone out of his way to cultivate Eddie when he’d been here before, but the boy had been fascinated by him from the first. She was glad to see that Marco wasn’t trying to fend him off. Poor Eddie was having a rough time of it with his father missing and his mother gone trying to get work wherever she could.

And so was Jilly. She had a lot of sympathy for the girl and what she was going through. Losing a parent when one was just beginning to learn what life as an adult was all about was rough. She knew from experience, though for her it had been a little different. Her mother and brother had died in a car accident when she was about Jilly’s age. Instead of having to take over the family chores and babysitting responsibilities, she’d been drafted into providing emotional support for her father. If her mother had lived, would she have gone down that glittery yellow brick road she took into her twenties? She hardly thought so. If her brother had been there to help deflect some of the intense influence from her father, would she have been a more normal adult? She had no doubt of it. She’d missed them both so much; they still haunted her dreams.

“Is your mom working at the hotel today?” Shayna asked Jilly.

Jilly looked up and nodded. “She’s going in after lunch. She likes to work there. Sometimes people give her tips.” A look of alarm came over her face. “Oh! We better go back. She’s probably looking for us now.”

As she turned toward her little brother, Eddie’s little hand shot out and curled around the seam of Marco’s slacks again, fingers digging in.

“Eddie! We have to go home.” She tried to pry his fingers off the fabric, but the little boy’s face was set with determination. “Oh, Eddie!” she wailed.

“Here.” Marco put his hand out, palm up, in front of the boy. He looked down at him and smiled, this time with genuine warmth. “We’ll make a deal,” he said.

Eddie looked at him, then at his hand, but didn’t take the bait. His dark eyes were watchful, but unforgiving.

“Come on,” Marco said gently. “We have to shake on it.”

Eddie’s questioning gaze looked at Shayna, then back at Marco. Tentatively, he put out his left hand.

“Nope,” Marco said firmly. “The other hand. Come on.”

Eddie’s little face was pained. Slowly, almost undetectably, his fingers began to loosen their hold on the pants.

“I’m going to promise you something,” Marco told him. “Shayna and I have to go on a trip around the island, but we’ll be back tonight.”

His hand finally slid off the fabric and landed in Marco’s, looking small and vulnerable there. Marco turned his own hand and enveloped the little one so that they were shaking.

“We’ll be back,” he said, looking earnestly into Eddie’s face.

Alarm bells rang in his head the moment the words were out of his mouth. It was so easy to make promises to little kids. And so easy to break them. He knew that from his own childhood. How many times had he waited at the tall windows in his mother’s house, hoping and praying that his father would show up for his visitation day? And how often had his prayers been answered?

No, if he made this promise to this boy, he had to keep it. No matter what.

“We’ll be back,” he said firmly, “and I’ll bring you a red licorice whip. Okay?”

Eddie’s face lit up and for a second, it almost looked as though he were going to say something. But the moment faded as quickly as it had begun, and there was no sound from the child. Still, he pumped hands with Marco. They had a deal.

Shayna watched this whole scene, entranced. Not matter what, Marco was great with little kids. She smiled at the handshake gimmick, but the smile froze when he mentioned the licorice whip.

Wait a minute. How had he remembered that Eddie was a fool for red licorice? He couldn’t have just plucked that out of the air…could he?

Who knew? Maybe he had. But she kept thinking about the day, a few weeks ago, when they’d stopped in at the little general store for supplies, and Marco had casually picked up a package of red licorice for Eddie. His gift had been received with a rapture that had surprised and pleased him. Could he be starting to remember things? Could that reaction from Eddie have stayed with him when nothing else had? It didn’t seem logical.

They waved goodbye to the children from the front porch, and then Shayna gave him a sideways smile. “You were sweet to Eddie. He needs a good male role model.”

“Whoa,” Marco said quickly. “I’m not a role model.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a sigh. “But poor Leila can’t do it all by herself. She tries to get all the work she can, especially at the hotel, and Jilly tries hard to be a good babysitter. But she gets distracted and Eddie takes off on his chubby little legs. The next thing we know, there’s Eddie showing up at the hotel or wherever Leila is working that day. They have to watch him like a hawk.”

Marco tilted his head, considering that little story and taking it to heart. “Well, you can’t blame him, poor little guy. After all, with his father missing, I’m sure he’s scared he’ll lose his mom, too. So he takes off after her, just to be sure she comes home.”

She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

He sighed and turned to her.

“Where the hell am I going to find red licorice?” he asked distractedly. “Do you suppose anyone has it here?”

She smiled, feeling a small flutter of relief. It didn’t seem that his memory was coming back after all. “Don’t worry, we’ll find some. I’ll help.”

They went back into the house and she headed for her bedroom to change for the island trip. She took off the pareau with regret. She probably wouldn’t get to wear that again for another year at least. Any moment now, she would start expanding at the waistline.

“How come you’re Aunty Shayna and I’m Mr. Marco?” Marco called from the living room. He’d slipped onto a bar stool and leaned against her counter with both elbows.

“They know me better,” she called from her room. “It’s sort of a tradition here in the islands. To the children, close family friends are called Aunty.” She chuckled. “You want to be an uncle?”

“That’s not necessary,” he said. “Mr. Marco is better than Mr. Smith, though.” He groaned, rubbing his face as though trying to wake from a bad dream. “Are you seriously trying to convince me that I was using a phony name when I was here before?”

“Yes, Marco. We all knew you as Marco Smith, and probably no one over twelve bought it for a minute. But that’s the way things are here. If you wanted to be a Smith, everyone was okay with that. We’re easy.”

He grunted. “It must be confusing to a little guy like Eddie,” he noted more to himself than to her.

“Maybe.” She sighed. “Poor Leila—their mom. She’s having a hard time of it since her husband went missing. And Jilly has pretty much become the nanny for the babies.”

“There are more of them?” he said, then winced at the horror he’d allowed to show in his tone.

“Besides Jilly and Eddie?” she responded. “Two more. Jamu is eight months and Ali is about ten.” She poked her head out and grinned at him. “Here in the islands, we consider children a blessing, not a burden. It does change your outlook.”

“I suppose so,” he murmured, but he wasn’t really listening. Memories of another little boy came tumbling back into his heart and he turned away, fighting it. A little boy named Carlo who had been the child of a woman he was pretty seriously dating at one time. When she’d decided to move on to other relationships, he’d lost his connection to the boy, and it had hurt more than he’d ever thought possible. That was a painful chapter in his past, a chapter he didn’t want to revisit. If he had to lose a period of his life to amnesia, why couldn’t it have been that one?

He glanced at Shayna as she came out of the bedroom. She didn’t know about little Carlo, of course. No matter how close they had become before, he knew he wouldn’t have told her about Carlo. Setting his jaw, he pushed thoughts of the little boy he’d cared so much about away and turned his mind to the woman in front of him.

She’d changed into denim capris and a bright Hawaiian shirt and he had a moment of regret that the naked stomach was gone. But she’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail and she looked downright adorable anyway. Good enough to kiss. Only she didn’t have that “Hey, why don’t you kiss me?” look in her eyes that a man liked to see before he made that move. So he let the moment pass.

“I’ll bet you were a tomboy,” he remarked, looking her over. “All you lack are the freckles on the nose.” His eyebrows rose as he surveyed her feet. “But I hope you’re not planning on hiking or climbing any trees today,” he said.

She lifted her chin. “Why not?”

“Flip-flops?” he said, looking askance. “You really want to drive around on your Vespa in those?”

He glanced pointedly at her feet and she flashed her sandals proudly.

“You call them flip-flops. Some people call them thongs. Here in the islands, we call them zoris and everybody wears them.”

“Not me,” he said stoutly.

She grinned. “Not yet,” she amended for him.

He couldn’t resist grinning back, then shook his head. There was so much about her he didn’t know. “Where are you from, Shayna?”

Something flashed in the depths of her blue eyes. He sharpened his own gaze, trying harder to read them, but whatever it was he’d noticed for just those few seconds proved elusive.

“What makes you think I wasn’t born right here on this island?” she challenged, her gaze clear as glass.

He shook his head slowly, taking in her various assets one by one. “I don’t buy it. You give off cosmopolitan vibes. You’ve been around. Haven’t you?”

“Have I?” she shot back, though a veil seemed to draw a shadow over her eyes. “That’s pure speculation and a pretty subjective evaluation.”

He shrugged. “It’s mine and I’m sticking to it.” He turned as she walked around him, as though keeping her pinned with his steely gaze and planning to reel her in eventually. “The question is, where?”

She sighed, avoiding him.

“The U.S., I’d say. East Coast. Maybe even New York. Hmm. Let me think…”

A look close to alarm swept across her face and she glanced up, pressed her lips together, and then shrugged in a sort of mini-surrender. “Okay. You’re right. I wasn’t born here.” She flashed him a stern look and grabbed her keys before she started out the door. “But I mean to die here. And that’s what counts.”

He followed, frowning. He didn’t get her at all. Why was she still avoiding every personal issue? “Just hold off on that for a while, okay?” he said wryly. “At least until we find my plans.”

“Don’t worry,” she said back over her shoulder. “You’ve got me for the duration.”

He didn’t bother to react. Anything he might have said would gain him nothing but scorn from her and he knew it. Still, he had to chuckle, deep inside. He had her, did he? Funny, it didn’t feel that way. It seemed more likely that she had him—over a barrel.

Fifteen minutes later, they were cruising down a winding road that threaded a trail between two junglelike thickets of tall, slender trees and opened out onto an endless white sand beach, rimmed with multiple coconut palms. The trees looked as though they would be reaching for the sky if it weren’t for those darned old trade winds bending them toward the ground.

“This is Tanachi Beach,” she told him as he dismounted from the scooter. “What do you think?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Slowly, he turned, taking it all in—the gleaming sand, the black rock formations, the crystal blue sea, the white foam of the waves pounding out on the reef.

“Wow,” he said softly, shaking his head.

She came up beside him, pleased with his reaction.

“We came here, you know. The second day you were on the island. We set a blanket down right over there and had a picnic lunch we’d brought from home.”

“Really.” He turned to look at her, bemused. “Why didn’t we bring along a picnic lunch this time?”

She met his gaze with a touch of defiance and decided to tell him the truth. “Because we’re not playing around with the idea of beginning a romance today,” she said firmly.

That set him back on his heels for a second, but he didn’t waver. “We aren’t?” he countered with a gleam of humor in his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

She managed a simple glare before starting off toward the rocks. He followed her through the sand, and then they stood side by side and watched the water lap against the shore.

“So you’re telling me we did play around with that very idea when I was here before, aren’t you?”

“More or less,” she allowed.

He searched her brilliant blue eyes. “So what happened, Shayna? What came between us? What ruined everything?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. “It was a short-term thing,” she said. “We both knew it was just for fun, just for the moment. Neither one of us expected anything long-term from it.”

It was easy to say those words and it didn’t even hurt too much to say them. But once they were out there, they wouldn’t fade. They hung in the air, mocking her, and she couldn’t get them to move on out of the way. Mainly because they were lies. She’d expected a lot more than a bit of fun. She’d thought she’d found a man like no other, the sort of man she’d been waiting for all her life. Knowing Marco, seeing the sort of man he was—at any rate, the sort of man she’d thought he was—had thrilled her at the time.

Her eyes stung for a moment and she had to turn away from him. She’d had dreams. Oh, yes, how did the song go? Clouds in her coffee. That was the way it felt now. No one much liked dreams gone bad, did they?

“When people talk about tropical beaches, this is what they have in mind, isn’t it?” he was saying, still reacting to the scenery.

She nodded, swallowing her regrets and forcing herself to get back to normal. “I think so. It is so beautiful here.”

“Yes.” He looked around again. “Inspirational, even.” He raked fingers through his thick dark hair. “And you’re telling me I didn’t do any sketches while I was here with you?”

“No. Not a one.”

“Strange.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you had other things on your mind.”

He felt a smile forming and gave in to it. “You mean, like that romance thing you were talking about?” he teased her.

She gave him a look and didn’t answer that. Instead, she tried to get back to business.

“Okay, take a good look. Doesn’t anything ring a bell? Tickle your memory? Bring on a feeling of déjà vu?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Not a thing.”

She shaded her eyes and looked at the ocean. It seemed to go on forever. Sometimes being on an island could feel lonely. Everything she’d grown up with was so far away. She didn’t often get that feeling, but right now, she had a little hint of it. And it chilled her a bit. There was reality to face here.

She was going to have a baby. Marco’s baby. Just the thought made her catch her breath and feel ill, so she pushed it away. She would think about that and all its implications once they found his plans and got him safely off the island. Then she would decide what she was going to do. Until then, she had to pretend everything was normal.

Looking up and down the beach, she felt a quiver of nostalgia.

“You really don’t remember this?” She waved her arm in an arc as though indicating the whole panorama before them. “Not even a little tiny bit?”

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his slacks and hunched over, looking uncomfortable. “That’s right. I don’t get any memory vibes at all.”

She shook her head, looking at him as though she had a hard time believing what he’d said.

“How could you have forgotten?”

She said it softly, more to herself than to him. She remembered. She bit her lower lip and let recollection flow. Their first kiss had happened right there by the jagged outcropping of volcanic rocks. She’d been showing him how the waves had broken through that part of the reef and came rushing in to the shore, depleting as they came but still carrying enough force to make a great display of sea foam against the rocks. As she turned to see if he was impressed, she’d found he was studying her instead of the ocean.

“I love when you get so excited about something,” he had said softly, reaching out to push back a strand of hair that had come loose and was falling across her face. “Your eyes sparkle and your face lights up with a glow, like rose petals.”

She’d blushed, right there on the beach. There was something so sweet and simple about his words and yet they conveyed a warmth she wasn’t used to in men she’d dated. Maybe it was the slight Italian accent, maybe it was the honesty in his tone, the earnest pleasure in his face, but something had struck a spark in her and she’d lifted her face and reached for him.

His arms had come around her and his mouth had found hers, warm and hungry in the coolness of the ocean spray. She’d loved his kiss from the first, and his hard body excited her in ways she didn’t expect. Despite the reputation she’d had over the years, she didn’t usually feel passion with the men she knew. What she did feel was a sort of desperation, a need to blot out loneliness, a hunger for something she never did find. So the sense of sweet desire he conjured up surprised her and took her breath away.

Embarrassed, unsure of how to deal with the new feelings, she’d had to pull away quickly, laughing. Then she ran away and he’d followed her, chasing across the beach until he’d caught her, tackled her from behind and they both went down into the sand.

She treasured that day. She was pretty sure she’d never feel another like it. But that was then. This was now. She glanced at him sideways. How could he be that same person and yet not have that experience in his memory? It was like dating a twin or something.

Suddenly, she wanted him to kiss her again. The feeling swept over her like a wave and she could hardly breathe. She knew how dangerous this was, and that she had to fight it. She was being tossed around by a current of emotion, and she had to remember to keep her head above water.

This isn’t really the man you thought he was, she told herself silently. He turned out to be a deceiver. It wouldn’t be the same.

She knew that. But she still wanted his kiss, ached for it. Turning away, she ran again, just as she had the other day, but this time she wasn’t laughing. Just like before, he followed her. Had she known he would? Had she done this because she was sure of it? She really didn’t know, but when he caught her, when he pulled her around to face him and took her face between his hands and touched his lips to hers, she heard a soft cry and realized, to her horror, that it was hers.

But she forgot that soon enough. His mouth on hers was hard and soft at the same time, cool and hot, rough and smooth. Her arms slipped into a circle around his neck, and she arched her body into his. It felt right and natural, and she wanted him so badly.

The wind tossed her hair and the sun was hot on her shoulders, but all she knew was the smooth warmth of his mouth, the hard excitement of his body, the thrill as his hands began to move up under her shirt.

No. She had to stop this. If she didn’t, she would just be repeating her last mistakes, doing it all over again, falling for a man who wasn’t what he pretended to be. Surely she couldn’t be this stupid. Could she?

Chapter Six

GATHERING ALL HER STRENGTH, Shayna pulled away.

“Shayna…” Marco tried to pull her back again.

“No, don’t say anything,” she said, backing away, her eyes huge with remorse as she fooled with her hair, pulling it back into the ponytail band. “That was a mistake. A big, big mistake. I didn’t mean to do it and…”

His face changed. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that was pain in his dark eyes.

“Don’t say you wish it hadn’t happened,” he told her roughly. “Just don’t tell me that.”

His tone caught her by surprise. He seemed to feel strongly about it. But what the heck, so did she. Her chin rose. “All right. I won’t tell you. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

He looked at her for a moment, then the anger slipped away and he relaxed until he had a soft laugh for her. Shaking his head, he said, “Shayna, you can twist things around so that they mean exactly the opposite of what they are supposed to mean. You drive me nuts.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she said, trying to maintain a huffy exterior but failing on all counts. She shook her head, exasperated but somewhat amused at the same time. “This is too much. You’re doing just exactly what you did before.”

His face was a picture of innocence. “What I did before? What did I do?”

She threw out her hands. “These patterns must be ingrained in you somewhere. Even if your mind doesn’t remember, your body does.” She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Your body doesn’t have amnesia, Marco. Isn’t that remarkable?”

He frowned, trying to understand her. “Will you tell me what you’re talking about?”

She heaved a sigh and shrugged. “You’re re-creating what happened when I brought you here the first time.”

He made a face. “Because I kissed you?”

“Yes.”

His brow furrowed over that one. “Shayna, any man worth his salt is going to want to kiss you, anytime, anywhere. He doesn’t need to have his body especially trained for it.”

“Oh!” He was being frustratingly dense and she gave up, turning away. “Never mind.” She looked toward the sea, then back at him. “So that’s over now. Don’t feel this changes anything. We’re back to being wary adversaries.”

“We are?” He looked adorably bewildered. “I mean…I didn’t realize that was what we were in the first place.”

“You don’t pay attention.” She studied him, the set of his jaw, the way his eyelashes made lacy shadows across his cheeks in the sunlight, the slight stubble of his beard that was beginning to show, his mouth—oh how she wanted to kiss that mouth again. Against her will, her own smile surfaced.

“Oh, just forget it,” she said in semidespair. “What just happened never happened. Okay? Come on, I’ll show you some caves.”

She started off across the sand, only looking back to see if he was following. He was, though more slowly than she would like. He was obviously thinking over what had happened, even after she’d told him not to. That made her smile, but she turned so he wouldn’t see.

“Here they are,” she said, stopping before an area that looked like an ordinary landslide of rocks.

“Where?” he asked, coming up behind her.

“Look closely,” she said, pointing out the opening.

“Not bad,” he told her admiringly. “I never would have noticed them on my own.”

They had to lower themselves over the slide and then wedge themselves between a couple of large rocks, but finally they were inside, and it was breathtaking. The air was cool, the light was filtered and the ceilings were ten feet high.

“It’s like being in a natural cathedral,” Marco said, speaking softly as though in respect.

“Isn’t it?” She nodded. “I love this place. Come here.” She showed him where they could lie on their stomachs in the cool sand and look out through an opening at the waves on the reef.

“This is like a World War II pillbox,” he told her. “I’ve been in some up in the Marianas Islands.”

“But this isn’t man-made,” she noted.

He turned to look at her, lying so close beside him and yet untouchable—at least if they played by her rules. This wasn’t going to work. Everything she did today was turning him on. If she only knew the thoughts that were going through his head—no body memories needed.

“This is interesting,” he said a bit impatiently, “but you’re getting us off the track. We’re looking for my plans.”

“I know.”

He shrugged and glanced around the edges of the cave. “Have I been here before?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t bring you here.”

“Then why are we here?”

She settled back into a comfortable position, propped by an elbow. “I thought it was a good place to use to go over your memories and try to figure out how and when they stopped.”

“Sounds reasonable. But we’ve got to stay focused or we’ll never find anything.”

“Agreed.”

He met her gaze and winced, as though her eyes were too bright for him. Frowning slightly, he turned his head. “Okay. I’m ready. Ask me anything.”

“I’m not going to ask. You’re going to tell.”

He looked back warily. “Tell what?”

She’d hoped he would be spontaneous about it, but if he needed prompting, she was ready to do that, as well.

“Okay, here’s my idea. Why don’t we backtrack? Try to take your memory up as far as it goes. Maybe that will trigger something.”

He shrugged. Lying here in the cool sand on the floor of a sea cave seemed a strange setting for this, but you never did know what might set off recollections. Actually, her suggestion sounded better than anything he’d received from the psychiatrist.

“Okay. I remember…” He closed his eyes and threw his head back, leaning into the sand. “I remember about a month ago, I was considering three or four different places for my vacation. I wanted a place that was off the beaten path. I needed to rest. I’d just had a big career setback and I needed space and time to use to recover and regroup.”

“A career setback? What do you mean?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I told you about the designer who has been dogging my steps. He actually did steal some plans from me at one point.” He grimaced. “At least, I think he did. The plans he submitted were so close…” He shook his head and grimaced, remembering when Glendenning Hudson had shown him what his rival was offering for sale. “Anyway, just knowing that such unique thinking so close to mine was out there shook me at first. I couldn’t prove they were actually stolen from me, but I wanted to take some time to evaluate the matter and figure out how I was going to get inspiration back. I needed to get away, get my head straight and come up with some new ideas for racing design. I wanted to get back my momentum.”

She nodded. All perfectly understandable. “So you were trying to decide where to go. What were the possible places?”

“Tahiti. The Caribbean. I was also thinking about going back home to Italy, just to lick my wounds.”

She smiled at the picture that conjured up. But her smile quickly faded as she realized the next logical step in this journey. She was going to have to ask him the question that might restore his memory of why he’d come here in the first place. Would he suddenly snap his fingers and say, “Oh, right. It was your father who sent me here and he wanted me to bring you back. How could I forget that?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Carefully positioning herself so that she watch him closely, she asked, “How did you happen to think of coming here?”

His eyes narrowed as he considered the question. She waited, holding her breath. But when he started talking, she let it out again. It was obvious he didn’t remember what she’d feared at all.

“That was a bit odd. Not like my usual decisions. But I’d seen pictures of these islands in the office of my most important client. Glendenning Hudson, in fact. We were talking about him last night. Every time I visited his office, I couldn’t take my eyes off those pictures. They haunted me. The geography was so unique, so beautiful, so peaceful and calm. I just felt I had to go there.”

She looked away, relief mixed with a sense of eerie coincidence. She knew exactly what he meant. She’d sat in that same office and been mesmerized by those same pictures. She could visualize it now, the large pictures that covered the walls, the huge models of racing yachts on pedestals beneath the pictures. It was quite a scene, and one she’d grown up with. When she’d decided to hide herself away from her old life, these islands had been the first place she’d thought of. The only thing that had made her hesitate was fear that it would be the first place her father would look for her, as well.

But she’d risked it. She knew her father’s visits to the islands were from twenty years before. He hadn’t been there since and probably didn’t think of them as relevant to her in any way. And for a long time, it had looked as though she’d guessed right. She kept in touch with her old life through her lawyer. He sent reports and called once a month to check on how she was doing. He also let her father know she was okay, though he did it anonymously so as not to suffer the wrath of Glendenning Hudson. She knew her father was searching for her, but he was one of the main reasons she’d had to run from her old life, and she couldn’t risk seeing him until she was sure she was strong enough to tell him she wasn’t going to be his tagalong ever again. It was only now that she’d had time and space to sit back and look at her life that she realized how much he had used her to enhance his own image. And how he would just use her again if she went back.

“Never going back.” That was what she said to herself every morning after she’d washed her face and looked up into the mirror. “Never, ever going back.”

But she knew he thought he needed her. He was just too big a personality to let her find her own way. He loved it when she trailed along in his orbit.

She’d been nervous when she’d first arrived, jumpy, always sure her father or one of his assistants would show up and ruin everything. But as the weeks passed and that didn’t happen, she’d begun to relax.

And then Marco had arrived.

He talked about her father’s office and the work he’d done for her father without hesitation, making her think his memory loss must include what she assumed was that original assignment to come after her. She only hoped he didn’t remember it until she got him back off the island. Of course, that all presupposed that this was all on the up-and-up—that he was telling her the truth. That this wasn’t just a ruse to get her to let her guard down.

She looked at him strangely. She wanted to believe him. She was ready to believe him. Yes, she’d pretty much accepted that he really didn’t remember that she was the daughter of the man whose pictures he’d been so taken by.

“I went to bed that night determined to make my decision in the morning,” he was saying. “And the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital. Almost three weeks had gone by. At that point, I couldn’t even remember who I was.”

She felt a pang of guilt. Sometimes she forgot that he had been in a very bad accident and that he was still suffering. “But most of it came back to you?”

“Yes, little by little. It was some time before I realized no more was coming and I’d just lost two weeks of my life.” He sighed. “Now I want to recapture those weeks.”

“What if they don’t come back to you?”

“Then at least I’ll have your memories to use.” He raised one sleek dark eyebrow her way. “You’re going to tell me everything.”

She stared at him. That wasn’t likely, was it? Did he really think that?

Reaching out, he touched her cheek with the flat of his hand. “You are going to help me remember, aren’t you?” he asked her softly.

Her breath caught in her throat at his touch. “No,” she said quickly, pushing his hand away. “But I will try to help you find the plans you think you’ve lost. I’ve already been doing that. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Here’s an idea. Maybe we should try out more kissing for a while. That might break the logjam.”

She rolled her eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Why not?” Reaching out again, he took a strand of her hair this time and curled it with his fingers. “The evidence suggests you and I were pretty close a few weeks ago.”

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “We were close at one point. However, by the time you left, we weren’t.”

He frowned, studying her. “The picture…”

“The picture depicts a time before I knew who you really were.” The words were out before she could stop them and she waited, heart beating, for what he would have to say.

His frown had deepened and he obviously thought this whole situation curiouser and curiouser. “So you found out I design fast sailboats. Was that so horrifying you felt you had to drop me like a bad penny?”

She closed her eyes. He still didn’t remember. “Yes.”

“Why?”

She opened her eyes and stared straight into his. “You really don’t remember, do you? Don’t worry. At some point it will come to you.”

Jumping to her feet, she began to brush off the sand. “We’d better get out of here before the tide comes up,” she noted. “Come on. I’m going to take you to visit with an odd friend of mine.”

He straightened reluctantly. “Did you say an odd friend or an old friend?”

She grinned. “Gigi is very definitely odd,” she explained. “And though she’s probably in her forties, she wouldn’t appreciate being called old at all. And doesn’t act it, either.”

They squeezed out through the opening and soon were back on solid sand, marching along toward where they had left the Vespa.

“I take it I’ve met this lady before?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.” She stifled a knowing grin. “Maybe seeing her again will be the shock that starts you on the road to recovery.”

“Sounds good.”

Did it? Shayna sighed. Maybe so. She was certainly getting tired of hiding things from him and waiting to see if he were hiding things from her. She yearned to be free and open with him, to hear his explanation for what he’d done, to tell him her side. He was actually a great guy. Wasn’t he? All evidence seemed to support that. There was only that original flaw—the fact that he’d lied to her. But maybe they could fix that. It wasn’t likely, actually, but if they didn’t try…

Did she dare start that conversation off? Maybe. Maybe soon. If she couldn’t get him to leave, at least she could help him wake up to the reasons he should go.

“Shayna, I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth.” He stopped himself and almost laughed. “Let me start that over,” he said smoothly. “Shayna, I appreciate all you’re doing to help me,” he amended quickly. “But I need to know one thing. How is all this running around the island going to help me find my plans?”

She struck a pose before him. “We’re re-creating your stay. I’m taking you around to see all the places you visited while you were here.”

He looked pained. “But I didn’t carry my portfolio along with me, did I? After all, you saw all my papers right there in the hotel room that last day.”

“Good point,” she agreed breezily, turning on her heel and starting off again. “But you’re overlooking one thing. The people I’m taking you to see were people who came in to see you off that day. There’s a chance they might have seen something, or you might even have given them your papers for safekeeping. Plus, you told me that you always made two sets of papers. I only saw one. You said you often mailed them ahead in a cardboard tube.”

“True.”

“And, bottom line,” she said with a carefree shrug, sashaying in front of him toward the scooter, “seeing these places and people again might just jog your memory.”

Funny how he was finding her more and more appealing. He smiled at her, as indulgent as a lover. “Okay. I’m sold.”

They’d reached the Vespa. Marco turned back for one last look at the gorgeous beach line, but Shayna was still mulling over the possible hiding places for finding his plans. She turned to him.

“Marco, about your portfolio. You carried it separately from your main luggage?”

He nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes I was able to get it all put into one bag. I just can’t remember what I did that day.”

She frowned. “But the second set…I wonder where it was. I don’t remember seeing it at all.”

He took hold of her shoulders, staring down into her face. “Okay, think back. Try to remember everything you can about the plans, from the first to the last.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t see you working on any plans until that last day. You didn’t do it when I was around. Maybe you did it in your hotel room, probably when I was at work at Kimo’s Café. But whenever we were together, you weren’t talking about any plans.”

“Okay, so you came into the room and what did you see?”

She gazed up at him. He was serious about this. When he talked about the missing designs, she saw an intensity he didn’t seem to have about anything else.

“I’ve told you. Your papers were spread out all over the floor where you were organizing them.”

“And that was the first you knew about me designing yachts.”

“Yes.”

His hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned to stare at the horizon. That was odd and didn’t seem like him at all. He hadn’t thought about this much, but it was a mystery why he wouldn’t have told her from the beginning. And this calling himself “Smith” was just another puzzle in the game. He must have had some rationale, but what in the world could it have been?

The only thing he could think of was that he’d decided to stay on Ranai under an assumed name so that Salvo Ricktorre couldn’t find him and send his spies out. That was probably it. But why carry the pretense to such lengths that he wouldn’t have told Shayna the truth? That he actively hid it from her? He really couldn’t fathom that one.

He frowned, kicking the toe of his shoe into the sand. “What’s your theory on that?” he asked her, looking up from under his brows.

That startled her. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Why do you think I didn’t tell you I was a yacht designer?”

Oh, that. She knew the answer to that, but she wasn’t going to tell him. Quickly, she batted the question away. “Why do you think?”

He frowned, seriously considering this. “I have no idea. Do you really think I deliberately didn’t want you to know?”

She drew in a long breath before she answered that one. “Yes, I do think that.” She bit her lip with regret. She shouldn’t have admitted that. But still, it was hard not to be honest with him. Something in her just wanted to be open with him, to tell him everything, and all that she was thinking. She had to fight it every minute.

He nodded, a bit troubled by that. But then he looked at her pretty face and changed his mind. “Here’s my theory.” His own face softened a bit and his warm gaze caressed her. “I fell crazy in love with you the moment we met.”

That one made her blush, she couldn’t help it. She turned away as warmth flooded her. Oh, if only she could count on something so clean, so pure, so candid. But it had been her experience that life just wasn’t like that at all.

“Oh, please.”

“No, hear me out.” He moved closer and she could tell he had the urge to touch her, but he was fighting it, at least for now.

“I think maybe I saw you and I fell so hard, all ideas and thoughts about sailing went out of my head. All I could think about was you.” He shrugged. “It’s a simple straightforward sort of explanation. I find the simplest is usually the best.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. He was saying pretty much the opposite of what she’d been thinking. Who was closer to the mark? She wished she could believe it was him.

“I don’t think so.”

“I believe it.” He reached out and touched her shoulder, and she jerked away. But he didn’t back off. Instead, he took her more firmly, his hand at her neck, and let his fingers slide along her collarbone. “I can imagine wanting nothing more than to be with you, to hold you, to kiss you.” He moved even closer and his voice was husky when he said, “To make sweet love to you.”

“Marco!” She pulled away from his touch and turned toward the scooter.

“I think I wanted you more than I wanted to design yachts,” he said simply.

She got onto the Vespa and searched for her key. Her fingers were trembling, and she didn’t think they should be. His words were lovely, in a way, but not realistic, especially considering the real reason, which only she seemed to remember at this point. “You live in a dream world, don’t you?” she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t like that?”

She glared at him. “No it wasn’t like that. Not a bit like that.”

He tilted his head to the side, considering, as his gaze slowly traveled over her face. “But we did kiss.”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

He got onto the scooter, sliding in behind her and putting his hands at her waist.

“And I did hold you, sort of like this.” He leaned forward and began to nuzzle the crook of her neck. “Now about the lovemaking…” he murmured, and that was when she kick-started the Vespa and took off with a jerk that practically had him flying off into the jungle. He laughed, she bit her lip and bent forward. She would be a speed racer if that was what it took to get him to stop teasing her.

But once they were out on the main road, she pulled over and turned off the engine, remembering that she hadn’t called Gigi to warn her of their impending visit. Pulling out her cell, she poked in the number and hoped for the best. Phone service was hit-or-miss on the islands. Luckily, she got a connection.

“Hello?” a deep but very feminine voice answered.

“Hi, Gigi. It’s Shayna.”

“Hi, doll. What’s up?”

She glanced at where Marco was pacing along the side of the road near the Vespa, listening in on every word. “Remember Marco Smith?”

“Of course I remember Marco Smith. Delightful man. Knew his sailing. I’ll tell you this—he taught me a few tricks when we went out on the water.”

“No kidding.” She fought back the inevitable jealous pangs that threatened to reassert themselves after hearing that little boast. “Well, he’s back.”

“Wonderful. Bring him by.”

“I’d like to. Right now, in fact. But I must warn you. He’s not Marco Smith anymore.”

“You don’t say.” She laughed. “Since I can’t imagine a man that masculine having a sex change, what’s the deal?”

Shayna gave a spurt of laughter she couldn’t contain after that image flashed into her mind. “No, it’s not a sex change,” she assured the older woman, laughing again when she saw the look of horror on Marco’s face. “Just a change of identity. You see, his real name is Marco DiSanto.”

“No! The yacht designer?”

“That’s the one.”

She laughed again. “I should have known. Why didn’t I think of that at the time? I knew he was some sort of professional. He just knew too much. But somehow I didn’t connect the name. Hah! Get that little rascal over here so I can give him a piece of my mind, will you?”

“Uh, one more thing, Gigi. He’s got amnesia.”

“What?”

She flashed a questioning look Marco’s way and he shrugged his permission for her to go into it.

“He doesn’t remember a thing about his previous visit here. So be kind.”

“Kind? I’ll shake some sense into him, more likely. Amnesia indeed!”

Shayna laughed. He could use a little shaking, she was thinking. “We’ll be there in minutes.”

“Good.”

She clicked off and grinned at Marco, still gnashing his teeth over the sex change reference. “Come on,” she said cheerfully.

“Let’s go see Gigi.”

Chapter Seven

HE CLIMBED BACK ABOARD, being careful to stay away from her neck this time, and asked, “So tell me about this woman you’re taking me to.”

“Gigi knows sailing. You spent a lot of time with her when you were here before.”

Funny that she could mention that so calmly now. At the time, she’d been jealous. It had seemed that every time she had to work, he would suddenly be off with Gigi, testing out her new yacht in the open waters. She’d never been invited along and she’d just assumed that Gigi, a tall, beautiful older woman, was the draw. It was only later that she realized there really had been another motivation at work—the opportunity for sailing. He’d been working on ideas of his own.

Gigi had a huge estate right along the waterfront. They rode down the long driveway, rimmed with tall coconut palms, and stopped before a huge white mansion that looked like something from the nineteenth century, wraparound porch and all.

Before they had time to disentangle themselves from the scooter, a long, lanky woman walked out in a bright red bikini, accented by huge dark glasses and one of the flimsiest cover-ups she’d ever seen. Shayna suppressed a grin. Despite everything, including her periodic fits of jealousy, she liked Gigi. Men tended to react with quick interest when they first met her, not realizing that her lack of modesty showcased a woman who was just natural and unaffected and totally unconscious of how she came across to others. She wore that dangerous swimsuit for comfort, nothing more, and she was slightly built and sinewy enough to get away with it. She didn’t have a provocative bone in her body. This was Gigi and she meant no harm to anyone.

Stalking toward them like a hunter with a blunderbuss, she ripped off her dark glasses and stared penetratingly into Marco’s eyes. “So you don’t remember me, huh?” she accused.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a friendly grin. He obviously liked her on sight. “And you have a very memorable face, so it’s not that.”

“Memorable?” That got her to straighten, her green eyes narrowing. “In what way?”

“It’s lovely,” he said quickly. “Really beautiful.”

Gigi shrugged her unconcern. “Of course.” She reached out a hand to help him off the scooter. “Come on down to my dock. You’ll remember everything once you see the True Yar again.”

Marco joined her willingly, glancing back at Shayna with a rueful shrug. “Maybe that will work. Let’s take a look.”

The yacht was gorgeous. As he walked down the boardwalk to the pier, he filled his senses with it, with the sight of it, the smell of the sea, the sound of the water. It suddenly occurred to him that he looked at women the same way he looked at beautiful sailing ships. No, he had to correct that. Lately he was looking at Shayna the way he looked at beautiful sailing ships, and other women the way he looked at ordinary sailing ships. She was special. There was no denying it.

Once aboard, he ran his hands over the wood and shook his head. “Wonderful ship,” he said reverently. “Where do you get men to crew her?”

Gigi’s smile was radiant. “My estate workers are part-time crew. I hire them for their sailing abilities and then teach them how to garden and paint and all the rest.”

He was impressed. “Good plan.” He noticed the sails as they flapped in the wind. “Did I go out on her with you?”

Gigi nodded. “I took you out into deep water for a half-day trip. Twice.”

He nodded, knowing he wouldn’t have passed that up for anything. “Was I working on designs?”

“Oh, yeah. You were sketching things and jotting down numbers the whole time. Doing measurements with your wind and weather instruments and using mine and jotting things down constantly.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure out who you were at the time.”

He frowned, wondering why it had been easy for him to let Gigi in on what he did with his life while he’d obviously felt he had to hide that information from Shayna. Strange. He just didn’t get that at all.

He filled her in on the missing plans, about which she claimed to know nothing. She had come in to see him off that last day, but just for a moment, and she hadn’t noticed anything about his portfolio. They went over the times they’d been together and tried to analyze what could have happened, but all their noodling didn’t get them anywhere.

Finally the housekeeper brought them out iced tea and sandwiches and as they ate, Gigi went on about her wonderful husband, Jimmy, who had brought her here to the islands ten years before.

“Where is he?” Marco asked guilelessly.

She waved a hand in the air as though that were an inconsequential matter. “Jimmy went to the mainland to get supplies. He’ll be back one of these days.”

“Oh.” Marco looked at Shayna. Shayna looked at her sandwich.

“In the meantime,” Gigi said cheerfully, “aren’t I doing a good job of maintaining this place? Come on, admit it. I’ve got my own private paradise here.”

There was no denying that. Her place had to be the envy of the island. They made plans for Marco to come back the next day for another trip out to deep water, and then Shayna began to prepare him for their next stop.

“I’m going to take him to Naliki Falls, the short way,” she told their hostess.

“Uh-oh.” Gigi grinned. “That’s quite a hike.”

Shayna nodded, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “I’ve been looking him over. I think he can handle it.”

They both gazed at him critically, studying every part until he began to turn a little red under all this scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said, flexing his wide shoulders in a manly manner. “I can hold my own. Just give me a chance.”

Shayna looked at Gigi and shrugged. “He wants a chance.”

Gigi frowned and twisted her mouth to the side. “Gosh, I just don’t know.”

“Very cute,” he muttered, pretending resentment, but actually enjoying the give-and-take. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more comfortable with a woman than he did with Shayna. Somehow their personalities seemed to fit together in ways that pleased him. It was frustrating to feel that there was an obstacle between them, something he couldn’t deal with because he didn’t know what the hell it was. He sighed, rubbing his head. Today they were looking for his lost plans. Tomorrow he was going to dedicate to finding out what he’d done to hurt Shayna, and figuring out how to make it up to her.

“Don’t forget, Elmo’s having a luau today,” Gigi reminded Shayna as they were leaving. “You should take Marco by. Didn’t he and Elmo go out on a fishing trip together while he was here before? Maybe Elmo remembers something.”

“Good idea,” Shayna responded. She’d forgotten all about the luau and she’d planned to attend from the first time she’d heard about it. Half the island should be there. “It’ll be a good way to pick up an evening meal while we’re at it.”

Marco appraised her—her lovely coloring, her brilliant blue eyes, the wonderful velvety texture of her skin—and wanted to hold her. “Will there be dancing?” he asked hopefully.

“Hula dancers,” she responded brightly.

Gigi laughed, seeing the way his mind was working. “I don’t think that is what he has in mind,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure there will be a band.”

“Good.” He patted his stomach. “I’ve got to work off some of this great food I’ve been wolfing down.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Shayna told him with a laugh as they waved goodbye to Gigi. “That’s what the hike is for.”

“What’s Gigi’s husband like?” Marco asked as they made their way back to the Vespa.

Shayna smiled and stretched out her arms, enjoying a cool breeze that was coming through. “You got me. I’ve never met him.”

That seemed strange. “How long has he been gone?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” Shayna pulled the scooter around to get into position for starting off. “He’s been on the mainland getting supplies for as long as I’ve known her.”

Marco grunted cynically. “Does the guy actually exist?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Shayna waited to feel him settle in behind her and prepared to turn on the engine. “I don’t know if she really believes he’s coming back, or if she uses it as a way of keeping overeager suitors at bay.”

“Whatever,” he said with sigh. “She knows how to manage beautiful sailing ships. The True Yar is in perfect condition. She must work on it night and day.”

“It’s her obsession,” Shayna agreed. “At least until Jimmy comes home.”

He thought about that as they raced on down the road. He was obsessed with ship design, Gigi was obsessed with her yacht. Were they both letting things get in the way of caring for people? He’d been down this path before, wondering why he didn’t find a woman and fall in love. Was the career too important to him? Were the yachts? Was he letting gorgeous objects blind him to the need for human contact—and love and tenderness? He hadn’t had time to find an answer to that question when Shayna turned off the main thoroughfare and started them bumping down a rutted side road.

“Here we are,” she said, pulling the scooter into a small clearing. “This is the hike to the falls.”

He got off the scooter and walked to where he could get beyond the brush, then looked at the sheer cliff she was pointing to.

“What?” he said, reacting with shock. “No way. We’re not climbing up that, are we? That’s impossible.”

“What’s the matter, big boy?” she said, giving him a little sock in the chest with her fist. “Too tough for you?”

“I don’t know about tough,” he said, scratching his head as he surveyed the terrain. “I’m not an experienced climber, by any means. But I would say this climb is beyond the realm of an amateur. So if you think…”

His voice faded away. She’d already begun the climb…and she was doing it barefoot, her zoris stuck in her pockets. He gaped at her. She was climbing like a monkey. This was nuts. He had no problem braving the high seas on a tiny sailboat, clinging to the rigging in high winds when the sails needed tending, sweeping out over rough waters in shark-infested areas. He’d done that sort of thing all his life. But climbing around on slippery rocks in a bug-ridden jungle? This was not his idea of fun.

Still, he couldn’t stand here on the ground while she shimmied up into the clouds, could he? Grumbling in annoyance, he started up after her, only to find himself sliding back down on every other hold. It was definitely a case of two steps forward, one step back—when he was lucky.

A bird swooped down and almost took a hunk out of his hair.

“Hey,” he called up to her after he fended it off. “At least tell me what to look out for in the way of animal life.”

She glanced back down and grinned, obviously tickled that she was beating him. Finding a small ridge, she sat down and waited for him to catch up.

“Snakes,” she said at last as he sat down, too, panting. “Look out for snakes and silver lizards that bite.”

“Great,” he said, giving her a baleful look. “I’ll do that.”

“When I first got here,” she went on, “I was told there were no snakes, but that turned out to be a lie.”

She realized the admission she’d made as soon as the words were out of her mouth and she groaned silently, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on it.

But he did.

“When did you get here, Shayna?” he asked right away. “How long have you lived here?” Reaching out, he gave her a little playful pretend punch in the arm. “Come on. Time to spill the beans.”

The sparkle went out of her eyes. Slowly, she shook her head. “I told you my life was not up for discussion.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Let’s get this thing over with.” He frowned toward the jungle that surrounded them. He could hear animal calls in the distance. He would hold off on getting worried until they started to come closer. Maybe.

“What is the purpose of this hike again?” he asked, the tiniest thread of resentment in his tone.

“To see the falls,” she said, and started off confidently. “They’re wonderful. Come on.”

But by now he’d gotten the knack and she soon found that her lead had dwindled to nothing. They hiked through a stream and past a nest of brilliantly feathered birds who scrambled and squawked at being interrupted, and finally, the summit was reached.

“Look at that. It’s magic, isn’t it? It just overwhelms me every time.”

He looked. He had to admit it was okay. They had a panoramic view of the jungle, right on down to where it met the blue ocean. Beautiful. Thrilling, in its own way. But was it worth what they’d gone through to get here? Maybe he was being a wimp, but he didn’t really think so. He was hot and sweaty and sore, and he’d cut his hand. He didn’t love it.

“So tell me, Shayna, what does this hike have to do with finding my plans?” He pinned her with a hard look that was almost a glare.

Her smile was sunny and completely innocent. “Nothing.”

He gaped at her uncomprehendingly. “What?” he said.

“I just thought we needed a little exercise,” she said.

He was about to answer her sharply when he noticed something. Sounds. He climbed a little higher and looked over the top, down to where the waterfall hit bottom. There were people down by the waterfall’s edge. Lots of people. Family groups. Little children. Mothers with strollers.

“Wait a minute. There are cars over here.” Standing, he waved a finger at them and looked back at Shayna. “Those people down there drove to see the falls. Didn’t they?”

She climbed up to where she could see what he was seeing. “Sure,” she said simply. “You can get to it off the highway from the other side of the island.”

Outrage wasn’t a word strong enough for what he felt. He’d made the hike, but he hadn’t liked it much. And now he saw that it was all for naught. “We could have driven here. We wouldn’t have had to go through all the misery.”

She shrugged, her sparkle back as she looked at him, mischievous as a kitten. “Sure, but where’s the fun in that?”

He made a strangling sound, and she replied sunnily, “This amnesia thing is great.” She grinned. “I got to do this to you twice.”

“What? You dragged me here before?”

“Sure.” Her grin widened. “Maybe you’ll get a new round of amnesia and I can do it again.”

He stared at her for a moment. Her smile was a little too cocky and her eyes gleamed just a little too brightly. He lunged.

“You’re going to pay!”

She tried to run, but this time he was too fast for her, so she squealed instead. He held her close and growled at her. “You were just trying to torture me, were you?” he teased. “Well, turnabout is fair play. So let’s see. What could I do to torture you?”

He pretended to think, and she tried to squirm out of his arms and shrieked again. But not for long. He dropped small, hot kisses along her neckline and in an instant, all resistance melted away. She sighed, arching her neck for him, closing her eyes as his mouth covered hers. He kissed her, sinking into her intoxicating warmth and she kissed him back, opening to him, accepting him with a passion she’d never felt for any other man. Every part of her sizzled with excitement at his touch. She began to need him with a deep, dark current of desire. For just a moment, she was his, and he was hers, and that was all that mattered.

A shout from below was a wake-up call, and though it wasn’t aimed at them, it was enough to remind them they weren’t alone. She drew back and looked into his dark, limitless eyes, but he didn’t let her out of his arms. He held her close, pulling her up against his chest so that she could hear the wild beating of his heart. She sighed, happier than she’d ever been.

She gazed down at the falls. He might not appreciate them but she certainly did. They were gorgeous from here—the jungle dripping flowers, the smooth flow of water over the edge, the drops spraying out and catching the sunlight in diamond sparkles, the crash as the water hit the rocks, the red and green parrots squawking in the trees, the white lacy butterflies like living flowers against the cliff. This place, along with the beach, epitomized the island to her. She loved the peace, she loved the excitement, she even loved the danger. She loved everything about Ranai. It had saved her life. She was more determined than ever that she would never leave.

Pulling back, she looked into his handsome face. “I’ve got to admit that this, more than anything else, has convinced me that you really have had a memory loss,” she told him.

He smiled, his gaze tracing the outline of her face as though he were memorizing it. “Why?”

“If you had remembered this hike, you wouldn’t have made it a second time, would you?”

He almost laughed. “You’ve got that right.” Then he finally let her go, shaking his head. “They invented cars for a reason, Shayna.”

She laughed, still carrying the happiness he’d given to her. “Come on,” she said, preparing to climb back down again. “Let’s go to the luau.”

Darkness hadn’t fallen yet but the torches were already lit, lining the long, winding driveway as they made their way to the top of the hill. They could hear the music before they shut the engine off.

“How do you want to play this?” she asked him. “Shall we tell people you’ve lost your memory? Or will you just go around with a smile on your face and pretend to know everyone?”

He nodded. “Let’s go for the latter at this point, unless we have to resort to the good old-fashioned truth. You can point out people I need to remember for sure and I’ll play it by ear from there.”

There were people spread all over the grounds of the beautiful glass and wood house that jutted out over the valley. At this point, alcohol seemed to be flowing more freely than food, though the delicious aroma from the cooking pit filled the air, as did the Hawaiian style music. A group of very large men, most of them Polynesians, played ukuleles and sang in high falsetto voices, while a line of hula dancers swayed. The beginnings of a gorgeous sunset was making amazing watercolors across the surface of the sea. The ambience was perfect. Another wonderful island evening was in store.

Marco talked to a lot of people in the next half hour, not one of whom he remembered at all. But the conversation was engaging and no one seemed to notice when his answers seemed a bit disengaged. Still, the only meeting that really stuck with him was the one he had with Eddie’s mom.

“Mr. Smith, hi. I heard you were back.”

Marco turned to find himself talking to a beautiful young woman with huge, haunted eyes. She held a tray of appetizers and he took a stuffed mushroom automatically, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

“Hello,” he said, stammering slightly. He had no idea who this was. “Uh…nice to see you again.”

She smiled and offered him a cracker with a shrimp on it. “Here,” she said in a husky whisper. “Better fill up on these. The Kalua pig is nowhere near done. It’ll be hours before you’ll get any real food.”

“Oh. Of course.” He took the cracker and began a balancing act that included his drink.

She smiled, watching him, but made no move to help until the shrimp began to slide off the cracker. Finally, she reached out and caught it just before it hit the deck. Calmly and without a word, she popped it into his mouth, just as though that were the most natural thing in the world to do.

“Want another?” she asked.

He shook his head, trying to chew as fast as he could. “Why don’t you have one?” he suggested once his mouth was clear.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m a server.” But there was a sad, hungry expression in her eye and she said it so regretfully that he couldn’t help himself. He turned the tables on her, taking a shrimp from the tray and tucking it into her mouth before she could stop him.

“Oh!” she said, laughing, but she chewed and swallowed quickly, after a few surreptitious looks around to see who might be watching. “There’s dinner,” she said happily.

Marco grinned. She was adorable, but who the heck was she?

As she waved and strolled off to serve appetizers to the others, Shayna appeared at his elbow.

“So you’ve seen Leila,” she noted. “She’s working every single job she can come up with to keep those kids fed.”

“Leila!” Of course. Why hadn’t he realized it? “That’s who that was.”

“You didn’t know?” She gave him a look.

“No. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.” Shayna felt her jaw tightening, stopped, and laughed at herself. That reaction was so typically female. Every time another woman got a compliment didn’t mean that she was suddenly in competition with you, she reminded herself. In many ways, that seemed like a holdover from her old life that she had to get rid of.

They strolled over toward the entertainment and watched the beautiful Tahitian dancers churning their hips. The action was fun and the music was wild, and everyone seemed to be having a heck of a time. But Marco wasn’t getting anywhere. He wanted to get back to the reason they were here.

“Is there anyone I should be talking to that I haven’t?” he asked Shayna, getting a little impatient with it all.

“Elmo,” she said. “He’s the one giving the party, after all.”

“Okay. And how is he connected? What might he have seen?”

She twisted her mouth, thinking back. “He took you out fishing one day while you were here before. You came back fairly inebriated but without any fish at all.” She fixed him with a schoolmarmish look. “But you seemed to have had a good time.”

“So I guess his boat was of the inboard motor variety?” Marco noted.

“Yes. All rigged up for deep sea fishing. But I had the impression you two mainly sat around drinking beer and telling each other stories about fishing glories of the past. Though I could be wrong.” She put her nose in the air, teasing him. “You never know.”

He wanted to kiss her when she teased him like that. But he had to keep his focus. “Lead me to him,” he said instead, feeling a bit regretful but doing what was necessary. “Let’s see what the man knows.”

Elmo was a big, gruff Danish bear of a man who’d come to the islands as a teenager and stayed for good. He’d done well as a home builder for the high end trade that had developed over the last ten years or so, wiping out his previous image as a beach bum. And he loved to give parties.

He remembered Marco fondly and there was a lot of backslapping and loud joking about beer and large fish that got away. But when Marco tried to pin him down on remembering anything about his portfolio, he drew a blank.

“I remember you jotting down information now and then,” he admitted. “But I never really paid much attention.”

Another dead end. Elmo was called away, and Marco found Leila at his side again with a new plate of appetizers.

“Pigs in blankets,” she whispered to him. “I bet they’re your favorites.”

They were. He took two.

“I hope Jilly and Eddie haven’t been driving you crazy,” she said before heading off. “I haven’t been home much in the last few days so I haven’t been able to keep as close an eye on them as I usually would.”

“They’re fine,” he said. “They’re beautiful children.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and seemed to mean it. “They’re so good, too. They’re home right now and Jilly is fixing them tacos for dinner.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, as though she wished she were there with them. “I hope this party doesn’t last too long,” she murmured, more to herself than to Marco.

There was a veil of secret sorrow about this woman and he couldn’t help but be intrigued. She looked so spunky, yet vulnerable, that it made him want to do something for her.

“Leila, I was sorry to hear about your husband.”

“Yes.” Her dark eyes flashed his way. “He disappeared out by Sangria Island.”

“No sign of him?”

She hesitated. “Well, they searched Sangria and those two little islands right close. Then I told them about the island where he used to go with his dad as a kid, Grigos, and they said they searched it, but…” She scrunched her face tightly for a second or two. “You know, I don’t think they searched enough. That’s why I’m trying to make some extra money so I can charter a boat and go out there and look for myself.”

Yes, she certainly did have spunk. He nodded approvingly.

“Hey, Leila, good for you. Even if you don’t find anything, you’ll feel better because you’ll be sure.”

She nodded. “You know, Mr. Smith—”

“Call me Marco.”

Her smile was a little shaky. “Okay. Marco.” She sighed, her gaze wandering nervously. “I know people have probably told you that Tony had a girlfriend and he might have jumped ship to…to go be with her,” she said, her voice breaking. “But that’s not true. Yes, he is very handsome, and yes, he has always had an eye for the ladies.” She turned her eyes back to meet his, and he could see that they were shimmering with unshed tears. “But what people don’t understand is, he loves me and he loves the kids, and there is no way he would leave us. Not ever.”

She gazed up into his face beseechingly, as though he could do something about this, and he was at a loss.

“I…I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said unconvincingly.

She gave him a tight smile and turned her attention away as she melted into the crowd again. He watched her go, his heart breaking for her. He knew his answer hadn’t done anything to satisfy her or make her feel better in any way. He’d never felt more inadequate. If only he could think of something…

Evening turned into night. The sunset had come and gone. And suddenly, he remembered Eddie. He went looking for Shayna and finally found her near the koi pond.

Shayna had been mixing freely, talking to so many people that it took her aback to realize how many friends she’d made in the little less than a year she’d lived here. Everyone treated her like an old-timer. The cliques and backbiting she’d known in her milieu at home weren’t apparent here. She felt good about that. She felt a part of things. Best of all, she didn’t get the sense that she had to do something to excite the crowd and justify her existence as she’d felt for most of her life before she came here. People accepted her for who she was. No circus tricks.

Of course, things weren’t perfect. There was the occasional jealous woman who acted as if she had to protect her man from cheating bait such as Shayna. And there was the occasional lecherous man who thought he could talk his way into gaining a few sexual favors. But she’d learned how to deal with problem people over the years and that sort of thing had pretty much died down since the first six months she’d been here.

She was happy here on Ranai. She was whole. The only thing missing was a man of her own. And a child. But she was pretty sure she’d taken care of that last request—thanks to the original Marco, the one she’d fallen for weeks ago. The trouble was, she was getting the two Marcos mixed up. They were blending together in her mind. And that was just too dangerous.

The reality was, she adored both of them. And even more reality—she was pregnant. If only she could tell him. If only he would be happy about it, as a father should be. She could close her eyes and pretend, but fantasy did not become her. She was going to have a baby, and she was going to have this baby alone. Had she really faced this yet? She was afraid the truth would overwhelm her if she let herself think about the gravity of the situation.

She was walking out toward the terrace when Marco caught up to her. She’d been still thinking about how she had to beware of him and how hard it was to do that. Somehow that fear, that wariness, translated into seeing her only refuge as being in his arms. Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself clinging to him, pressed tightly against his chest.

“Cara mia, what is it?” he said, lifting her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, unable to speak without letting him know how close she was to crying. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips, she made a tiny sound, like a kitten, like a sigh, and his arms tightened around her. She felt safe, protected. How could that be when the one she feared was the one holding her? It didn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away. “I’m being a big baby. I’m…I’m really sorry, Marco.”

“What is it, Shayna?” he asked, catching hold of her hand. “What has frightened you?”

“Nothing.” She managed a fairly good smile and congratulated herself on it. “Nothing at all. Now what was it you were coming to tell me?”

He frowned, wishing he understood what had upset her. He was glad she’d turned to him instead of away, but he didn’t understand it. And he’d been shocked by the deep, fierce emotional response he’d had—as though he would do anything he had to do to make her smile again.

“Shayna—”

“Hush,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. But I was just thinking. What about Eddie?”

He nodded quickly. “That was exactly what I was coming to tell you. We’ve got to go. We forgot all about Eddie. I made a promise. I’ve got to keep it.”

Chapter Eight

“OH, MY GOSH!” Shayna said, alarmed as she looked at her watch. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“That’s the problem,” Marco agreed. “I don’t know what time he goes to bed, but we still have to find a place that sells red licorice.”

“Uh-oh.” It dawned on her that this was serious. She could tell by the look in his dark eyes that he was going to find a way to keep his promise no matter what it took. “The little general store in town sells it, but they are probably closed by now.” She frowned, pursing her lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked impatiently.

She held up a hand. “I’m trying to think if there is any other place where we could buy the licorice.”

“There must be another store. A general store, a grocery, a candy store.”

“Not with that sort of red licorice.” She shook her head, genuinely worried now. “We can stop by Howe’s Market on the coast, but I doubt it.”

“Well, let’s go. If we hurry, maybe we can catch the store at the marina before they close.”

She was glad he’d remembered his commitment to the boy. Not many men she’d dated would have done it. Or, once they’d realized it was going to be an imposition to get the candy, they would have decided the promise could wait until the next day. No problem. Just a little boy who would learn how easy it was for adults to lie to him.

Luckily, Marco didn’t seem to be one of that type. A woman always liked to see a man keep his word. It was pretty important to the stability of a relationship.

Relationship! Who was she trying to kid? She had no real relationship with Marco and never would. How could she let herself get this close to a man who had been hired to spy on her by her father?

They raced back over a darkened road. Howe’s Market along the coast was already closed. Marco was kicking himself for having forgotten until so late. When he thought of Eddie with his bright brown eyes looking at him so earnestly, sure that he would do what he’d promised, it made him sick to think he might disappoint him. Poor little guy. His father was missing and his mother was suddenly gone all the time. He thought of how she was working so hard for her kids and he felt even worse. How could he have forgotten such a simple thing?

A scene flashed into his mind, a moment in his own childhood. His father had been a busy man, director of a huge international shipping enterprise and after his parents had divorced, he’d become more and more remote. To Marco, he’d been a distant sort of god to be worshiped from afar—hardly a warm, fatherly figure. As a boy, he’d yearned to be closer to him, to get some of his attention. There had been so many lonely days when promises made were broken.

There had been the time, when he was about ten, that his father had sworn he was going to make up for all those missed dates. He would take Marco overnight to attend a sailing competition being held off the Isle of Capri. He could still remember the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he leaned on the balcony railing, staring out into the darkness, waiting to see the headlights of his father’s car coming up the long driveway. They never came. He found out later that his father had gone without him, had forgotten all about taking him, in fact. He’d laughed. He’d pretended it was no big deal. But that was the day his trust in fathers died.

But what did he care, really? He barely knew this little boy. He wasn’t the boy’s father. He wasn’t the boy’s anything. They had no real tie to each other. No, it was something more than that. There was a certain empathy he felt. The boy had lost his father. He himself had lost a father, even if only emotionally. But he knew how much that loss had hurt, how it devastated his life for a time.

They arrived at the little town, turned at the marina and swung around the corner. There stood the general store, silent and closed, with only one neon sign flashing, an advertisement for beer.

Marco jumped off the scooter and bounded to the front door. “Hello,” he called, pounding on the door. “Anyone in there?”

No one responded and he went quickly to the back, trying the same thing. Nothing. He came back to where Shayna sat.

“Quick, we need the store keeper’s phone number,” he said.

Shayna gaped at him. “Sorry, that’s not something I keep on me for emergency grocery requests.”

“Well, you should,” he said distractedly. Searching the signs on the front of the store, he found a phone number and decided to try it. The ring sounded over and over again in his ears. No one answered. He swore softly.

He stared at the store, set his shoulders, and then he turned and walked back to Shayna, who was still on the Vespa. He looked troubled. Raking his hair with his fingers, he grimaced.

“Okay, I’m going to have to break in.”

She felt as though she’d been hit by lightning, flattened to the pavement. “You’re kidding,” she gasped.

He shook his head, his eyes cold as ice. “No. I have to get that licorice. I don’t see any other way.” He began rummaging in the saddlebag.

“You’re crazy,” she said, hardly able to process what he was planning to do. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe.” He found an oily rag and began to wind it around his hand and then grinned at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “But what if I’m the lunatic you’re looking for?”

He was enjoying this. She couldn’t believe it.

“I don’t want a lunatic,” she snapped. “I want someone with a cool, clear mind and common sense.” “No.” He shook his head. “That won’t help us. We’re thinking outside of the box here.” He put his hand up to the light from the scooter, testing how well the cloth had wrapped. “Lunatics are better for that.”

He was really planning to break into the general store. She couldn’t fully process that. She grabbed his arm. “Marco, you can’t do this. Don’t you see? You’ll get arrested.”

He barely looked at her. “Think so?”

“You’ll get thrown in jail.”

His grin was fleeting this time. “Will you bring me a file in a cake?”

“No.”

He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Snob. What have you got against jailbirds?”

She threw her hands down, exasperated with him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that they tend to be crooks!”

He thought for a moment, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Eddie’s bedtime must be fast approaching, if it’s not already come and gone.” He looked back at her. “I can’t help it, Shayna. I’ve got to get him that licorice.”

She jumped off the scooter and came to him, putting a hand on his arm, trying to think of ways to soothe his conscience. “I know but, there’s got to be another way. Maybe if we just thought this through…”

He held his rag-covered fist up for her to admire, then looked into her eyes. “Are you with me?”

“No,” she moaned. “You can’t do this.”

He shook his head. “Oh, but I can.” His jaw was set. “If you can’t bring yourself to do a little burgling for a good cause, stay here.”

He turned and started toward the window set just above a drink cooler where he planned to break in. She gave a cry of exasperation and ran after him.

“Stop!” she ordered firmly. “Don’t you dare break that window. You’ll probably slash an artery or something.”

“I’ll be careful,” he said without looking back at her.

“Stop, Marco. I mean it.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her, looking up into his face and feeling a little wild about it. “I’ll help you, but not like this.”

His frown was suspicious. “How, then?”

She almost had to laugh at his resistance. He looked like a boy threatened with an extra school day.

“Believe it or not, I’ve got a trick or two of my own up my sleeve,” she told him. “Give me a minute to see if this works.”

Running back to the scooter, she pulled her purse out of the saddlebag and dug for a credit card, then went toward the front door of the store. A car went past slowly and she paused in the shadows, trying not to look guilty and not succeeding very well. But the car didn’t stop. Meanwhile, Marco was unimpressed.

“The old credit card in the door lock trick?” he scoffed. “That went out with high button shoes. Modern locks are made to resist that one.”

She waved the card at him. “Modern locks, sure. But you forget. We’re on island time now. ‘Modern’ is a concept, not a reality here.”

He shrugged. “Even if you get the main lock, surely there will be bolts inside.”

“Marco, the thing you don’t understand,” she said as she set up to try her idea, “is that there is virtually no crime on Ranai. So no one takes all those extra precautions you need to take in the city. We just don’t need to.”

She tried the credit card against the edge of the door, then used it to pry a little.

He grunted, looking over her shoulder with growing interest. “So where did you learn how to do this, anyway?”

She gave him an arch smile. “I went to boarding school. We always needed someone to let in the girls who got back late at night.” She set the card just right and wiggled it a little. There was a click and the door swung open. She beamed at him. “Voilà,” she said with a flourish.

He grinned his admiration for her lock-picking abilities, then walked right past her into the store. “Good work,” he said shortly, seeming to forget all his dire warnings. “Now let’s find that licorice.”

Luckily there was a big box of the whips right by the cash register. Marco picked three, looked at the price, pulled coins out of his pocket and slapped them down on the counter.

“There we go,” he said, then hesitated. “I’d better write the store owner a note. Got a pen?” He grinned. “Or better yet, got a lipstick on you?”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I am, some kind of gun moll?”

“That was the part you were playacting last night, wasn’t it?”

She held up a finger. “Note the operative word—playacting.”

“Okay. I guess I’m going to have to steal a pen, as well.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, caught by the ridiculousness of it all. “You’re going to steal a pen so you can write the man you’re stealing from a note? Don’t you think that’s overdoing it a bit?”

He frowned, thinking it over. “It does seem a bit convoluted, doesn’t it?”

“Well, never mind. Here’s a pen.” She produced it out of her purse, along with a tiny notepad of violetcolored paper. “But hurry. We really don’t want anyone finding us here.”

He hurried. The note was apologetic. He even signed his name. In minutes they were back on the scooter, racing toward home and Eddie next door.

The house looked quiet, but lights were on. Shayna and Marco approached the front door with trepidation. Jilly pulled it open right after their knock.

“Hi, Mr. Marco,” she said brightly.

“Hi, Jilly.” He shifted his weight, feeling awkward. “Is Eddie home?”

Jilly looked surprised. “He went to bed already.”

“Oh.” More shifting of weight. Shayna gave him a little shove from behind and he grunted. “I…uh…I brought him the licorice I promised.”

“Oh. Great.” She smiled. “But he already brushed his teeth.”

Shayna smiled at her. “Wow, Jilly, you’re such a good babysitter. You take good care of the little ones. You’ve already got them all to bed and everything. Your mom is lucky.”

Jilly looked pleased. “I’m trying to help her.”

A movement caught Shayna’s eye, and there was Eddie peeking around the corner. She poked Marco again and gestured in Eddie’s direction with her head.

“Eddie!” Jilly cried in dismay.

“Oh, Jilly,” Shayna said quickly. “I know it’s not fair to put you in this position, but Marco promised him red licorice and he promised he would bring it tonight. Would it be okay if he just gave him the candy and Eddie could save it for tomorrow?”

Jilly looked from Eddie, to Shayna, to Marco and back to Eddie. She shrugged. “Sure,” she said sunnily. “Okay, Eddie, come on out.”

Marco grinned at him and he came out, hesitated a moment, then ran to Marco, who enveloped him in a big bear hug.

“Hi, Eddie,” he said, holding the little boy close. “I told you I’d bring you some red licorice, didn’t I? Here it is. You’d better not eat it until tomorrow, okay?”

He nodded, taking the long red whips, his dark eyes shining.

“Okay, kiddo. See you tomorrow. You be good for Jilly, okay?”

Eddie nodded again, and Shayna and Marco gave Jilly a wave and, in Marco’s case, a wink, and they left the little house.

“You know, it really feels good to do the right thing, doesn’t it?” Marco said, his chest puffed out as they made their way back to the scooter.

“Absolutely,” she responded, hiding her grin.

She drove him back toward his hotel. As they turned the corner toward the two-story building, she jammed on the brakes.

“Hey,” he cried.

“Look at that,” she said, pointing toward the parking lot.

“Uh-oh.” He looked. Two black-and-white cars were parked along the side, their lights swirling. “Looks like the cops are here.”

“Oh, goodness,” Shayna agreed. “Both cars. This must be something serious.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Like, breaking into the general store, maybe?”

She gasped. “Oh, gosh.” She put a hand to her mouth and her eyes got very wide. “Do you think…?”

He nodded. “Yup.” He groaned. “I probably shouldn’t have signed that note.”

She turned and stared at him. “What shall we do?”

He shrugged. “I could walk in and give myself up.”

“Or?”

“Or go home with you and wait until tomorrow.”

“They might check my place.”

“You think so?”

She thought it over. “Not tonight,” she said, shaking her head. “Their investigations tend to last a long, long time, because they get to do so few of them. So they savor the moment, so to speak. I bet they won’t come out until tomorrow.”

“Well, then…”

“Oh, why not just go on in there and tell them what happened? Get it over with. Sheriff Joe’s a good guy. I could explain to him. I’m sure he’d understand.”

Marco considered that for a moment, his head to the side and his eyes narrowed. “If you were the one on the hot seat, I have no doubt he’d listen to reason. Something tells me he won’t be so accommodating for me.”

“No, Joe’s okay, really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know this?”

She shrugged. “Joe’s been trying to date me since I got to the island, and…”

“And you’ve turned him down?”

“Yes.”

He threw up his hands. “There you go. Now we’ve added jealousy to the mix. I’m out of here.”

“Marco…”

“Let’s go. I can’t risk being tied up in jail for too long. I’m going sailing early with Gigi. I got things I want to get done tomorrow.”

She frowned. “Maybe you’d better not go on that.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I have to go. This isn’t just for fun, Shayna. I’ve got something I really need to accomplish.”

She looked at him, perplexed and not sure what he was talking about. Something to do with re-creating his plans, she supposed. “Well, I didn’t sign that note, but they will probably find out we’re connected at some point and be pounding on my door in the morning.”

He nodded. “And in the meantime, we might as well go there and get some sleep.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Everyone is still at the luau. I’m surprised the cops weren’t there, too.”

“So we should have this side of the island to ourselves,” he said lightly. “We’ll have a sleepover.”

“You,” she said pointedly, “can sleep on the couch.”

He grinned and put his hand over his heart. “You wouldn’t be so cold to a lonely soul about to be sent off to jail.”

“I would,” she countered. “And gladly.”

She turned the scooter toward her home, and they were off.

They were hungry. It had been a long day filled with strange experiences and they needed a little food, a little drink, to help them unwind. Shayna made a shrimp salad and garlic toast and then poured golden liquid into two wine glasses—Chardonnay for Marco, sparkling cider for herself. They ate on the lanai with a candle as their only light until the moon came out. They could hear the surf in the distance. The air was cool and fresh and full of promise. The scent of plumerias wafted in the air.

They sat without speaking for a few minutes, then Marco turned and looked at her. “You know what we didn’t remember to do?”

She turned and smiled at him, enjoying the slight lilt to his language. “What’s that?”

“Dance.” He looked at her with a strange, sensual longing in his eyes. “I want to dance with you.”

Her heart beat quickened. There was something in that look of his…She shivered. Don’t do it, Shayna, her better counsel warned. If you do it, you know very well what might happen.

She shouldn’t do it. She should be stern and cool and keep control of the situation. She took a deep breath and prepared to tell him so.

“Hold on, I’ll turn on some music” came out of her mouth instead but she didn’t regret it.

Moments later, she was in his arms and they were swaying to soft sounds and dancing across the lanai in the moonlight, floating on blissfulness. And it was even better than she’d hoped it would be. There was something so lovely about being held close by a large, strong man that you were crazy about, and yet not in the throes of passion, but in the structure of music. So near and yet so far. Temptation balanced with form.

“How did you get to be such a good dancer?” she asked him dreamily.

“I was a child prodigy,” he teased, then relented. “Actually, I had a sister who needed someone to practice with. And I found I liked it.”

“You’re a natural,” she said with a sigh, thinking of her own brother. He would have preferred a dirt sandwich to a day of dancing. Her smile was bittersweet. It was at odd times like this that she missed him most.

She sighed and leaned a little closer against his shoulder. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent.

“Where did you come from, Shayna?” he asked her softly. “What are you doing here on this island?”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “Why do you want to know?” she murmured.

“At first, looking at you, I thought you were a naturalborn child of the tropics. You seemed to be part of the exotic beauty of the place.” He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “But now that I know you better, I know that’s a posture of sorts. You’re no more a native than I am.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said groggily in a pathetic challenge.

“You’re a transplant. But where from? What for? What made you come hide away on this island?”

Her head snapped around at the phrase hide away. He’d finally gotten her goat and she pulled back to give herself a little space from him.

“What are you talking about?” she said crossly. “What makes you think I’m hiding something?”

“We’re all hiding, Shayna.” They were barely swaying together now, not really dancing, and he had grown philosophical on her, a trend she wasn’t sure she liked.

“You know, I think if you want to be analytical about all this, I’m probably hiding things, too. I’ve been thinking about my memory loss and what could have caused it. I probably let myself go those two weeks while I was originally here. I’ll bet I became free and natural in ways I hadn’t done in years. Maybe like I’d never been before. And perhaps my psyche couldn’t take it. Maybe my more rigid self had to blot it out. Maybe I just had to come back to it slowly and digest it and assimilate it with the rest of me.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then rolled her eyes as she pulled herself out of his embrace.

“Oh, brother,” she said, turning toward the table. “I think I need another glass of sparkling cider.”

He followed her and took over filling both their glasses with the shiny golden liquid. Each caught the moonlight and seemed to glow with its own light.

“To islands,” he said, raising his glass for a toast.

“To islands,” she echoed. “And the people who hide away on them.”

He laughed, enjoying her again, and she bent forward to kiss his lips.

It was a simple gesture, and she’d meant it to be a quick salute, an expression of light affection, but once her lips touched his, a fire that had been smoldering seemed to burst into flames. She meant to pull away, to back off, and go back to her drink. Somehow the kiss lingered and then his hand came up, cupping the back of her head and holding her there. Her mouth softened, opening to his tongue, and her arms came up and circled his neck.

“Oh,” she gasped, coming up for air, but he didn’t give her a chance to retreat. He kissed her again, and again, and their kisses became deeper and more urgent. Now her fingers were digging into his hair and his hands were sliding up under her shirt, leaving a trail of fire as they found her breasts. Her nipples were erect and so sensitive that she cried out when he touched them. Her hips began to press against his as she melted into his body. The fog of passion clouded their minds and smoothed the way toward an appetite for love. They both knew it. But the sensation was so intoxicating, they didn’t want it to stop.

And then Shayna knocked over her glass of cider.

She pulled away, panting, and stared at the spilled liquid. Then she looked up at Marco. “Wow, that was close,” she said, and he laughed. Giving him a look, she went to the kitchen to get a cleaning rag. He watched her with regret, but he knew better than to try to resume the activity.

Meanwhile, he poured her a fresh glass of cider.

“Shayna, you’ve been quite wonderful to me,” he said. “You didn’t have to be so accommodating this second time around. As I understand it, the first time ended in acrimony. So I want you to know I appreciate the way you’ve tried to help me this time.”

She caught her breath and glanced away, feeling a little guilty. After all, she had her motives that he knew nothing about. It wasn’t as though she’d done it all out of the goodness of her heart.

“Why not?” she said lightly. “We’d been pretty friendly the first time, for the most part.”

He nodded, looking at her searchingly. “We did seem to spend a lot of time together, you and I.”

She nodded. “We did.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then reached out and took a handful of her hair, letting his fingers sift through the shiny strands. “We did some kissing.”

She drew in her breath. Where was he going with this? “Yes,” she admitted. “Yes we did.”

“And?”

She blinked at him. “And what?”

His shrug managed to be incredibly sensual, but she supposed that was the Italian in him.

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