Книга - The Latin Lover’s Secret Child

The Latin Lover's Secret Child
Jane Porter


Argentinean wine tycoon Lucio Cruz is not expecting the call that summons him to his estranged wife's side. She's suffering a partial loss of memory, and Lucio discovers that she's returned to being the fiery, affectionate girl with whom he once eloped.Suddenly he can't resist her but he knows he must. In just a few weeks, their divorce will be final….Unless Ana can recall a secret that could change both their lives…









“Your love,” he said against her mouth, “is worth everything.”


Anabella studied his hard eyes, his almost arrogant expression. Such a proud, noble face. He could have been a Spanish conquistador, an explorer in search of the New World. Instead he was hers.

“I’ll love you forever,” she promised.

At first he said nothing. Then his dark eyes grew somber. “You’re only seventeen. Forever is an awfully long time.”

But his cautious tone made her laugh and she gave her head a shake even as her warm laughter danced between them, a shimmer of exuberance.

“And tell me, Lucio Cruz. When have I ever been afraid of anything?”







by

Jane Porter

The Galván men: proud Argentinean aristocrats…who’ve chosen American rebels as their brides!

Other exciting episodes in this series:

In Dante’s Debt #2298

Lazaro’s Revenge #2304

Coming Soon

The Spaniard’s Passion

#2363

Harlequin Presents


:

Intense, international and provocatively passionate!




The Latin Lover’s Secret Child

Jane Porter










CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN




PROLOGUE


IT WAS a beautiful afternoon, sunny, cloudless, the sky a pristine blue. Anabella Galván felt the warmth of the sun inside her, her happiness almost as bright.

“Tonight, Lucio, we’re going tonight. It’s finally happening.” She couldn’t help smiling. It was impossible to contain her excitement.

“You just like the idea of running away together,” Lucio answered, tweaking her nose. “You’re such a rebel, Ana.”

“Maybe. But I want to be with you and if we worried about what everyone else thought, we’d never be together.”

The gaucho nodded his head slowly, his thick black hair loose to his shoulders. He usually wore it tied back but Ana had pulled the leather tie from it moments ago. “You’re sure your brother has no idea—”

“Dante’s not even at the estancia. He’s in Buenos Aires. He’s left me with his American, Daisy.” Ana’s fine black eyebrows arched. “And Daisy is very sweet, but she’s far too trusting.”

“Your brother’s going to be furious.”

Ana pressed against Lucio’s chest and drew his arms around her. “Stop worrying. Everything’s going to be fine.”

They were sitting on a stone plaster wall behind the small town center and he dipped his head, kissed her cheek, near her ear. “I just don’t want you hurt. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

She laughed at his fears and snuggled closer. “Nothing will happen, Lucio.”

They were silent for a moment and the warm breeze ruffled Ana’s hair and danced across their skin. Anabella closed her eyes, savoring the afternoon’s warmth, the feel of the sun on the top of her head, the strength of Lucio’s arms. Everything would be perfect now. She and Lucio together. She and Lucio and the baby. She couldn’t forget the baby. The baby made all things possible.

His arms tightened around her. His mouth brushed her ear. “This is crazy, you know,” he said, his voice deep.

Ana broke free and turned to face him, her hands supporting her on the rough stone and plaster wall. She studied his face, the black brows, dark eyes, long nose, sensual mouth. He was lovely, but what made him lovely wasn’t the symmetry of his features or his imposing size, but rather the beauty on the inside. You could see the fire in his eyes. You could feel his energy. He was so alive. So real.

Unlike the people in her world.

Unlike her family.

Anabella swallowed and reaching up lightly traced his temple, his nose, his cheekbone and chin. “I love you, Lucio.”

His dark eyes burned hotter, the heat and desire a tangible thing. “Not half as much as I love you.”

But his fire didn’t scare her. She loved it. She wanted it. He made her feel big and powerful and free. “We’ll take the world by storm, Lucio. We’ll do it all. See it all. Have it all.”

He laughed softly and shook his head. “You’re not a dreamer, are you?”

“We will have it all,” she insisted stubbornly, glaring at him. “We’ll have each other. We’ll have the baby. What else is there?”

His dark eyes searched hers. She could tell he was amused by her passionate outburst. Little she did upset him. Little she said troubled him. He accepted her for what she was. He accepted her for who she was.

“I am poor, Ana,” he said slowly, deliberately, his dark gaze intense. “I will never be able to give you—”

“No!” She clapped a hand over his firm mouth, silencing his words. His warm breath tickled her palm but she didn’t remove her hand, unwilling to let him speak the words. “You give me love, Lucio. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed. Everyone in my family insists on the importance of appearances, propriety, position. You’re the only one that just loves me for me.”

His fierce expression softened. He drew her hand from his mouth, kissing her palm as he did so. “But negrita, I want you to have everything.”

She scooted closer to him, inching forward until her thighs pressed his, inching until she’d practically climbed into his lap. “But love is everything.”

“And our baby?”

“Will be loved.” She leaned towards him and touched her lips to the bronze column of his throat. With his Spanish-Indian heritage he tanned easily and she hoped their child would take after him. She wanted the baby to have his dark hair, dark eyes, and golden skin.

“You’re determined to have it all, aren’t you?” Lucio growled before catching her face in his hands and kissing her deeply.

He drank her in, drank her as if she were air and light and water and Ana felt a shiver of pleasure race beneath her skin. His touch made her feel hot, brilliant, physical.

“Your love,” he said against her mouth, “is worth everything.”

She held him tightly, pressing her face against his chest. It was such a miracle that they’d found each other. Lucio was a gaucho. She was the daughter of a count. Running off together might be scandalous but it would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“You smile,” he said, his fingers tangling in her long dark hair.

And she was smiling. “I wish we were leaving now.”

“I’ll have a horse ready for you later. We’ll ride most of the night.”

She nodded, the bubble of happiness so big and bright it felt like she’d swallowed the sun itself. She lifted her head to better see his face. “Do you think your family will like me?”

“Without a doubt.”

She studied his dark eyes, his almost arrogant expression. Such a proud, noble face. He could have been a Spanish conquistador, an explorer in search of the new world. Instead he was hers.

“I’ll love you forever.”

At first he said nothing. Then his dark eyes grew somber. “You’re only seventeen. Forever is an awfully long time.”

But his cautious tone made her laugh and she gave her head a shake even as her warm laughter danced between them, a shimmer of exuberance. “And tell me, Lucio Cruz, when have I been afraid of anything?”




CHAPTER ONE


Five years later…

“ANABELLA, you’ve been standing at the window all morning. Come sit down. You must be exhausted by now.”

Anabella tensed, her eyes so dry and gritty that it hurt to blink. “I can’t sit. Not until Lucio comes.”

“It could be a while—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupted huskily, her gaze never leaving the snowcapped Andes. It’d been cold the past few days but this morning was lovely. It felt almost like Spring. “He’ll come for me. He promised.”

“But we haven’t been able to reach him yet, Senora, and you’re still weak,” the nurse said coaxingly. “You must give us a chance to find him.”

Anabella didn’t answer. Her hand gripped the gold damask curtain in her hand, fingers trembling. She was tired. Her legs felt oddly weak, her muscles fatigued, but she missed Lucio so much. It’d been forever since she last saw him. Yet he would come for her. Lucio never broke his word.

“You’ve been ill, Senora. You must rest. Conserve your strength.” The nurse continued in the same patient voice one would use for a high-strung horse or a difficult child. “At least sit and have your lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” Anabella hated how the nurse treated her like a child. Anabella didn’t need someone to tell her to rest, to sleep, to eat. She had a brain. She could think for herself.

Not that they were giving her many opportunities to make decisions for herself.

Like coming to this house. She hadn’t wanted to be here. The hospital had been bad enough with its antiseptic smells like the cool metallic scent of rubbing alcohol, the pungent disinfectant used to mop the shiny floors, the oddly pleasing odorless hand lotion worn by the staff nurses. But then they brought her to this big mausoleum of a place in the middle of vineyards.

The villa was enormous and formal and stuffed with antiques and fine art. It was a place for grand parties and elegant luncheons and business functions. It was another of Dante’s extravagances. He had so many. He was so rich.

Unlike her Lucio.

The only good thing about the house was its proximity to the mountains. And at least from her bedroom window she could see the mountains. Lucio and the mountains were synonymous in her mind. Lucio had grown up in the mountains and his family lived there still.

Her fingers tightened on the silk fabric. “So Dante has called Lucio then?”

The nurse set the clipboard down and her footsteps sounded on the floor. “I don’t know. The Count doesn’t consult with me.” The nurse’s hand settled lightly on Ana’s shoulder. “Shall we finish getting dressed now? Your brother will be here soon. You don’t want to meet him in your nightgown, do you?”

“I don’t want to see him.”

The nurse withdrew her hand. “You didn’t see him yesterday, either.”

Ana’s stomach knotted. “That’s my choice, isn’t it?”

“He’s your brother—”

“And what business is that of yours, anyway?” Anabella turned from the window, her arms folding across her chest and she stared at the nurse in the trim white dress with the neat white hose and shoes. “And why are you even here? I’m fine. I don’t need you. I don’t want the fuss.”

“I’m sorry. It’s your brother’s decision.”

“And you wonder why I don’t want to see him?” Anabella asked bitterly, moving to a deep armchair in the corner of her room and burying herself inside the protective arms.

Dante, Dante, Dante. It was always about Dante. When Dante said jump, people jumped. But Dante didn’t know everything.

Tears stung her eyes and Anabella bent her head, covered her face with her forearm. She felt almost crazy. Her emotions felt so wild, so chaotic and there was a buzz in her head, like the drone of a bee.

“You’re not dressed.”

Ana stiffened at the sound of the deep male voice. So he’d arrived. She glanced up, her gaze meeting her brother’s as he entered her room. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, a shirt almost the same shade, and no tie. He looked rich, sophisticated, and successful. “I didn’t know I had to dress for you.”

Count Dante Galván glanced at the nurse and she discreetly slipped from the room. He waited until the door was shut. “What’s wrong, Anabella? You’re so angry with everyone lately.”

Her hands balled into defiant fists. “I want Lucio.”

“You don’t want him,” he corrected sternly. “Trust me, Ana, you don’t want—”

“You’re wrong!” She slammed her fists on the upholstered arms of the chair. “I do want him. I love him. I miss him—” her voice broke and she shook her head, frustrated, furious, unable to bear Dante’s grim expression. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it was like to love someone and yet be denied that person.

“You left him, Anabella.” Dante’s voice sounded flat. “It was your choice. You realized you didn’t have anything in common. You realized you needed something else, something different than what he could provide.”

“Stop!” He was making her sick and cold and she longed to take the soft afghan from the foot of the bed and wrap it around her. “You’re telling me lies. You’re trying to confuse me. But it won’t work this time. I know the truth. Lucio loves me.”

“That’s not the point, Ana!”

“It’s exactly the point.” Her teeth began to chatter. She rubbed her hands along her upper arms trying to get warm, trying to silence the small, frightened voice inside her. Lucio was coming back, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t leave her here with Dante, would he?

“You’re cold.” Dante moved forward, lifting the crimson blanket from the bed and covering Ana’s shoulders. He tucked the edges of the soft, fuzzy blanket around her before touching her forehead. “You’re icy. You need to be resting, Ana. You’ve worn yourself out.”

“I can’t rest.” Teeth chattering she tipped her head back and looked up at her brother. His face seemed so hard and yet his golden eyes glowed. He might look angry with her but she knew he loved her, and despite all his bullying and strong-arm tactics he wanted what was best for her. “Please Dante, find Lucio. I miss him so much. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Please bring Lucio back to me.”



There went his wireless phone again.

The small phone clipped to Lucio Cruz’s belt silently vibrated yet again, sending tiny currents through his torso. The phone had rung almost constantly during Lucio’s three hour meeting with the California Wine Advisory Council and even though he was now on the way to his car, he still hadn’t had a moment to check his messages yet.

Lucio reached for his phone as he headed outside to the parking lot where the black convertible Porsche he’d rented at the San Francisco airport waited.

But before he could answer the phone, footsteps sounded on the pavement and Lucio looked up to see Niccolo Dominici, president of the California Wine Advisory Council, approach. Niccolo, owner of Napa’s famous Dominici Vineyard, had run the afternoon meeting.

“Come have dinner with us,” Niccolo said, sunglasses on to cut the bright afternoon glare. “Maggie’s just phoned. She’s insisting I bring you home with me, wanted me to tell you that you can’t say no. She’s desperate for adult conversation.”

Lucio’s lips tugged. He felt a reluctant smile. Niccolo’s wife was beautiful. Spirited. Like his ex-wife Anabella, but unlike Anabella, Niccolo’s wife loved him.

His smile faded. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’ve work to do—”

Niccolo made an impatient sound. “You’ve worked all day. You need dinner. Company. Hotels can be lonely places.”

Actually being in a hotel was less stressful than being home, Lucio thought bitterly. Home didn’t feel like home, not anymore. In the divorce settlement Anabella had gotten the house, the upper vineyard, the apartment in Buenos Aires. He’d taken a small place, a new place, in downtown Mendoza. It was a nice apartment in an expensive building. His one bedroom apartment was elegant with excellent light and a magnificent view of the Andes, but he’d left it virtually unfurnished, buying only a table, a chair and a bed.

He didn’t need more than that. He didn’t intend to be in Mendoza more than he had to. Anabella lived—entertained—in Mendoza. He couldn’t bear to be in the vicinity. Too much had happened between them. Too much pain. Too much disillusionment.

Lucio realized Niccolo was watching him, quietly waiting for an answer. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company tonight,” Lucio answered honestly. “Besides, you have three little ones at home anxious to see you. They’d rather have you to themselves.”

Lucio had met the children a week ago when he first arrived in California and they were delightful. Jared, the eldest at seven, was fair and wiry with intense blue eyes. Then there was five-year-old Leo, the middle one, the second son, dark like his father with green gold eyes; and the youngest, three-year-old Adriana, with dark curls and dimples and constantly in mischief.

But being with Niccolo, Maggie and the children hadn’t been easy. Lucio found himself envious of his colleague, of the life the Italian vintner had made for himself in Northern California. Lucio, too, craved children but Anabella couldn’t conceive.

Niccolo’s hand suddenly clapped Lucio’s shoulder. “You’re sure you won’t join us?”

“Positive.” Lucio started the engine. He just wanted to escape. Niccolo meant well but Lucio couldn’t handle the contact, and certainly wasn’t up for socializing. It’d taken him a number of years, but he was finally good at growing grapes, crushing fruit and making drinkable dinner wine. He was sticking with his strengths. “Give your wife my best. Tell her we’ll have dinner before I go.”

Lucio drove fast; taking the narrow winding road from Dominici Vineyard to the highway more quickly than he should—far more quickly than the law allowed—but he’d never followed rules, never believed in rules. Rules, his father used to say were made for the man who couldn’t think for himself. Rules, his cowboy culture implied, were for those who needed a norm.

He didn’t need a norm.

Even now, despite his success, he didn’t want to be part of the norm, or the exclusive society of his aristocratic wife.

Lucio’s gaze swept the tight turn ahead and he shifted down, briefly reducing speed until he cleared the turn. The moment he came out of the turn he accelerated hard, practically flying down the stretch of road cutting through the rolling golden hills. Napa was in the middle of an Indian summer and the warm dry air, and the scent of baked earth, ripe fruit, smelled achingly familiar.

Maybe too familiar.

Thankfully this fast, rather reckless, drive was exactly what he needed. Freedom. Space. Speed. Adrenaline.

Racing through the hills reminded him of riding bareback on a young stallion. Danger heightened the senses and Lucio found himself relishing the rush of dry wind in his face, the hot sun burning down on his head, the ease with which the sports car hugged the turns.

Moving fast, he could almost forget that he’d lost the one person he’d ever loved.

By the time Lucio made it to his hotel room, his phone was ringing again. He answered, hand on the door, half expecting to hear Anabella’s brittle, angry voice. A small part of him still hoped she’d phone. A small part of him hadn’t accepted reality.

But it wasn’t Anabella’s voice on the other end of the line. It was Dr. Dominguez, the family physician in Mendoza.

“Where have you been?” Static on the line made the doctor’s voice sound unnaturally faint.

Lucio reached for the light switch on the wall. “I’ve been in meetings.”

“I’ve been calling you, leaving messages—” the connection broke up, and then the doctor’s voice came through again, “danger’s past—” and faded out only to fade in again, “an immediate return.”

Danger? Where was the danger?

It was a terrible connection. Lucio couldn’t make out more than a couple words the doctor was saying. He closed the hotel door and headed across the room to see if he couldn’t get better reception there. “Stephen, I missed most of what you just said. Can you repeat that, please?”

Dr. Dominguez replied but again it was static once more and Lucio drew back the drapes at the window to let in the light. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” Lucio fought to hang on to his temper. “Tell me again. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Anabella.”

“What’s happened to Anabella?” Dread seeped through his gut as he pushed open the glass door to the balcony.

But he didn’t get an answer. The line went dead.

What the hell? What had happened to Anabella? Lucio swore, gripped his phone and started to punch in Dominguez’s number but his phone rang, interrupting him.

In that brief twenty-some seconds of silence his mind had spun a dozen different tragic scenarios.

“What’s wrong with Anabella?” Lucio demanded the moment he answered the phone.

The doctor didn’t waste time. “We think now it’s encephalitis.”

“Encephalitis,” Lucio repeated, wondering if he’d misheard the doctor. The connection still wasn’t the best. What the hell was encephalitis?

“It’s a viral infection. It’s very rare, almost never heard of in Argentina, which is why we had difficulty with diagnosing the illness. Your wife has been pretty sick, but we think she’s out of the woods now—”

“Out of the woods? How sick was she?”

The doctor hesitated, and then cleared his throat. “Encephalitis can be fatal.”

“How sick was she?” Lucio repeated with quiet menace.

The doctor didn’t reply. Lucio closed his eyes, shook his head, his heart and mind dark.

No one had told him. No one had called him. And it hit him all over again, how he’d always been the outsider. He might have married Anabella, but her family didn’t accept him. They’d barely tolerated him and once they knew Ana wanted out of the marriage they did everything in their power to expedite the divorce itself.

No wonder he and Anabella hadn’t lasted. They were up against too much. Up against virtually everything.

The doctor cleared his throat again. “As I said, it’s not an easy disease to diagnose. It starts out like the flu and quickly progresses. We had to do a lumbar puncture test. A CT brain scan. An MRI scan—”

“Goddamn,” Lucio swore, interrupting. A lumbar puncture test? CT scan? MRI scan? They ran all those tests on Anabella without ever calling him…telling him? “When were you going to tell me that my wife might die? After she’s already in a coma? When it’s time to make the funeral arrangements?”

“She’s out of the coma.”

Lucio’s hand felt nerveless. She’d been in a coma?

“I induced the coma.” The doctor’s voice was calm, reasonable, sounding as if inducing comas were child’s play. “But she came out of it fine, and the coma did exactly what we hoped. The inflammation is gone. We eventually expect a full recovery.”

“You induced a coma.” Lucio felt a wave of emotion. They’d put her in a coma; placed her in a deep sleep she might never have emerged from and no one—not one person—had given him the chance to say goodbye.

How dare they? How dare the doctors and her family exclude him?

His emotion was nothing short of rage, and hate and a gnawing helplessness. He didn’t like being helpless. He didn’t accept helpless. Helpless was for those too afraid to act.

He wasn’t afraid to act.

But he wasn’t free to act.

“Inducing a coma was the best way to limit the seizures. The seizures could have pushed her over the edge.”

Lucio closed his eyes, unable to even bear the vision of Anabella so close to death. She’d been the most important person in his life. He’d loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone and to think he’d almost lost her. Permanently. “But you’ve saved her.”

“Yes.” There was relief in the doctor’s voice. “We have. She’s awake, fairly alert.”

“So why are you calling?” Lucio couldn’t hide his bitterness, or the depth of his pain. Once an outsider, always an outsider. To Ana’s family he’d always be the gaucho. The peasant. The Indian native. “Am I to send flowers? Pick up the hospital tab? What’s my job now?”

“Help her regain her memory.”

Lucio tensed. It took him a moment to process this. “You said she’s recovered.”

“Recovering,” the doctor corrected. “Her body is stronger, but her mind—” he hesitated, picking his words with care, “—her consciousness is altered, has been altered for quite a while—”

“How long?”

“Three weeks.”

Jesus! Lucio rubbed at his temple, his head pounding. He needed sleep. He needed to feel like himself again. “She’s been seriously ill for three weeks?”

“Four, actually. Ever since her return from China. But the first week everyone thought it was just the flu. There were headaches, vomiting, the usual.”

And then seizures, altered consciousness, coma and loss of memory. Lucio grimly clamped his teeth together to keep from saying something he’d regret.

“She is better now,” the doctor reassured. “But she’s confused. I think…we all think…she needs you.”

She needed him?

Lucio nearly laughed out loud. The good doctor didn’t know what he was saying. Anabella most certainly did not need him. She’d made that perfectly clear over and over in the past year.

Lucio reached up to pull the black leather tie from his hair. His heavy black hair fell to his shoulders and with a weary hand he rubbed his temple and his scalp. He was tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

He couldn’t continue like this. Couldn’t continue fighting battles he didn’t care about. The grapes, the economy, the Argentina export business—these did not move him. They were a duty, an obligation, but were they truly his?

And Ana. She wasn’t his anymore, either.

“Not to mince words, but her family hired the divorce attorney. I never thought I’d see them asking me to return.”

“I can’t speak for Marquita,” the doctor replied, referring to Anabella’s beautifully preserved mother who had a taste for hard liquor, “but the Count has offered to send his plane.”

Lucio almost growled his dislike. “I don’t need the Count to send a plane for me. I have transportation of my own, thank you.” It was impossible to hide his bitterness. He and Dante were not friends. Would never be friends. He couldn’t even bear to be in the same room with Anabella’s brother.

The doctor hesitated. “What shall I tell the Count?”

“That I’m packing my things.” Lucio drew a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress his anger towards the Galváns. His marriage might be over, but it didn’t change his feelings. Married or divorced, in his mind, Anabella would always be his wife. To death do us part, and he’d meant it. “I’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

But on the plane that night, stretched out in the leather lounge chair in the first class cabin, Lucio’s thoughts were tangled. His emotions even more jangled.

He tried to picture Anabella ill. He couldn’t. His Ana was tough. Physically, mentally, emotionally. She was as spirited and independent as they came. Nothing touched her. Nothing fazed her.

Ironically, it was her strength that had allowed the divorce to happen in the first place.

She’d been the one who pushed. He’d fought the divorce, fought her, for months, refusing to let go. But his refusal only pushed her further away. Her anger gave way to tears, and then the tears gave way to silence.

They stopped speaking. Stopped being in the same room at the same time. Stopped all communication.

He remembered asking her what she wanted for her birthday and she faced him across the long dinner table, he at one end, she at the other, and she very politely said, “A divorce, please.”

And in that calm voice, and that quiet moment, he agreed.

Later when they sat down to sign the papers, he’d hesitated. But tears welled up in her eyes, and she stretched a hand out across the table, entreating, Let me go, Lucio. We’re both so miserable. Please just let me go.

He caught her hands in his and saw the tears in her beautiful eyes, the quiver of her full passionate mouth and felt hell close round him.

It was over.

Silently he signed his name, dated the document and walked away without another word.

But he hadn’t really walked away, he thought now, leaning his head back against the wide leather seat. He’d been ignoring the truth, denying the truth, unable to handle the fact that Ana could so easily dispose of him, of them.

Eyes burning, Lucio swallowed the rush of hurt.

You were wrong, Anabella, he thought, eyes closed, chest livid with pain. I might have been miserable at times, but I never wanted out. Your love might have died. But I will always love you.

The commercial jet landed in Chile early the next morning, where Lucio took a connecting flight, arriving in Mendoza just after ten. A car was waiting for him, and the driver—one of Lucio’s own—didn’t offer any information and Lucio didn’t ask.

Mendoza had only been home for four years. Lucio had bought the vineyard, villa and business with one cashier’s check. He’d known nothing about the winery business at the time. He just knew it was respectable and respectable was what Ana’s family demanded.

But now as the chauffeur wove on and off the highway towards the villa nestled in the foothills, Lucio couldn’t help reflecting that Ana had loved the gaucho, not the vintner.

The black town car drove through ornate iron gates tipped in gold, and turned down a long private lane leading to an elegant two-story villa, the smooth plaster walls a wash of soft apricot paint. It might be wine country Argentina, but the house was all Tuscany. The original owners had been Italian. The wood beams, hardwood floor, roof tiles all imported from Italy.

With the morning sun casting a warm rosy glow across the front of the one-hundred-year-old villa with the tall cypress trees and the plaster arch flanking the front door, the house looked magical.

Lucio felt a pang of loss. This is the place he’d brought Ana as his new bride. This is the place he’d thought they’d finally make their home.

Nothing ever worked out as one hoped, did it?

“Shall I bring your bags in, Senor?” The chauffeur’s respectful voice interrupted Lucio’s painful thoughts.

Lucio shook off his dark mood, stepped from the car, and adjusted the collar on his black leather traveling coat. He’d do what he’d have to do. “No, Renaldo. I’ll be staying at my apartment downtown.”

Suddenly there was a shout from upstairs. He heard his name called. Once, twice, and Lucio turned to look up at the second floor of the villa. The windows were open to welcome the freshness of the morning. He searched the windows for a glimpse of Anabella but saw nothing.

Seconds later the front door burst open and suddenly she was there, on the doorstep, breathless from the dash down the stairs.

“Lucio,” Anabella cried, green eyes bright. “You’re home!”




CHAPTER TWO


FOR a long moment Lucio could think of nothing to say. It felt as if his brain had stopped functioning altogether and he simply stared at Anabella, amazed to see her downstairs, at the door.

The doctor had made her sound ill—fragile—but she practically glowed, her skin luminous and her green eyes bright like Colombian emeralds. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She was barefoot and wearing snug jeans, a crisp white blouse, and her long glossy black hair hung loose. “Now that you’re here.”

Now that you’re here.

Her soft, husky voice burrowed deep inside his heart. She sounded so glad to see him, so unlike the Anabella he’d last seen eight weeks ago, just hours before she left on her big shopping trip to Asia.

That Anabella, the antiques buyer, had been dressed immaculately in a black suit, high black heels, her red leather suitcases stacked at the door.

She’d stood on the doorstep of the villa for a long silent moment looking at him before smiling faintly. “Well, this is it,” she said, her cool smile not reaching her intense green eyes.

“Is it?”

Her head tipped, giving him a flash of her black hair smoothed into a sophisticated French twist. “I think so.”

“And you get to make all the decisions?” He shot back, regretting that he’d driven to the house to say goodbye, regretting that he couldn’t even contain his temper.

He knew she hated his temper. She hated the unresolved issues still simmering between them. Her cool smile slowly faded. “No, Lucio, I didn’t make all the decisions. We made them together.” And pulling on her black leather traveling gloves, she headed for her car, her head high, her slender back straight.

And that’s how he’d remembered her. Cool, elegant, an ice maiden. But that wasn’t the woman before him now.

“Where have you been, Lucio?” Ana’s voice sounded uncertain and her unblinking eyes held his.

“On a trip.”

Her uncertain smile faded, as did some of the joy from her eyes. “You said you’d never leave me.”

He frowned, puzzled. “We agreed—”

“To be together,” she interrupted fiercely, finishing the sentence for him. And her expression darkened for a moment before she struggled to smile once more. Lucio could feel her struggle. She was trying to make it light between them but on the inside she was hurt. Angry.

“I’m here now,” he answered, unable to think of anything else to say even as his mind raced. She’d been the one to send him away, but that didn’t matter now. He could see that Ana was confused and he felt the urge to protect her, shield her, from memories that hurt. “Everything will be fine now.”

But her eyes filled with tears and she looked away, biting her lip. “It’s too late,” she said sadly.

“What’s too late?”

She hunched her shoulders and her body quivered. “They’ve done terrible things, Lucio. Things I can’t even tell you.”

His heart faltered. And then he remembered the doctor’s caution, the warning that Ana wasn’t herself, and that her memory wasn’t what it’d once been.

She must be talking about the illness, he reassured himself. No one had harmed her. He might not like her family, but they loved Ana. Dante loved Ana.

“Of course you can tell me,” he said gently. “You tell me everything. You always have.” Once, he silently corrected. Once you told me everything. Once we were as close as two people could be. But that was long ago and it’d been years since they were so open, so free, so hungry together.

“You told me to wait at the café. I waited and waited but you never came. What happened? I was so afraid and then my mother’s people came and they brought me home.”

He didn’t know what to say.

There was only one time when they were separated, forcibly separated, and that was years ago. That episode was the darkest point in his life, the point where all seemed lost.

She took a step away and her hands went to the pockets of her jeans. “Do you know what it’s like to be left? To be abandoned in the middle of the night?” Her rigid shoulders drew her white cotton blouse taut. She still had such a beautiful body, her breasts round and full, her torso lean, her hips curved beneath the faded denim. “I felt so lost, so confused. And I’ve been waiting for you ever since. Waiting for you to come find me again.”

But he had found her again. He’d found her three and a half years ago and they’d moved here, and later married, but their happiness hadn’t lasted. It hadn’t worked the first time. And it hadn’t worked the second, either. Their passion, their attraction couldn’t handle the brunt of reality.

Yet that was all water under the bridge. Clearly she didn’t remember anything since that terrible night five years ago.

“You said you’d be there for me,” she whispered, eyes blazing now, furious. Accusing. “You lied to me. You weren’t there when I needed you most.”

“I’m here now.”

Her brilliant green gaze held his, and she searched his eyes, her full lips pressed into a mutinous line. He didn’t know what she was searching for. He didn’t know what she hoped to find.

“Are you going to stay?” she asked at length.

The air felt bottled in his lungs. “As long as you want me to stay.”

“I want you to stay forever.”

The innocence of her answer, the childlike honesty, made him ache. His chest burned, his heart felt as if it were on fire. She was torturing him.

She’d been the one to send him away, he heard a voice protest inside his head. She’d been the one that wanted the divorce. Insisted on the divorce.

But that didn’t matter now, he silently argued. Right now she needed him. And that was all that mattered.

She grabbed the lapel of his leather coat between her hands. “Look at me,” she commanded, staring up into his face, her eyes almost feverishly bright. “Look me in the eye and promise me that you’ll stay.”

He leaned over, kissed the top of her glossy head. “I’m staying, Ana.” He whispered the words in her ear. “I promise.”

Lucio became conscious that they were still standing on the front steps of the villa with Renaldo. A woman in a white uniform hovered on the other side of the door. Everything was so public, he thought. Nothing was ever private anymore.

“Now can I come in, Ana?” he asked, tipping her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Will you let me come inside, and take my coat off, and just be with you?”

Ana’s heart melted at the warm intensity in Lucio’s dark eyes. This was the way he used to look at her, this was the way he used to love her. With so much passion. And so much conviction. This was the Lucio who was going to take her away.

“Yes.” She slid her hands into his, happiest when touching him. “Come inside, but I warn you, this place is just the kind of house you hate.”

“It’s not so bad,” he answered, his voice almost strangled.

She saw his mouth tighten. She knew he preferred simple things and this villa was typical of the Galván’s aristocratic lifestyle. “It is. It’s pretentious. Packed with antiques and knickknacks and expensive art. But we don’t have to stay here much longer.”

He let her lead him through the long entry. “And where would we go?”

Ana wanted to shrug, answer something light and frivolous. But she didn’t feel light on the inside. She felt wild, driven. Obsessed.

“Ana?” he gently prompted.

She balled her hands into fists. “I want him back. I need him back.” Her voice dropped. “Oh Lucio, I have to get him back.”

Lucio’s brow furrowed. His dark eyes met hers. “Who, Ana? Who are you talking about?”

“The baby.”

“What baby?”

She pressed her fists to her chest, trying to contain her fear. “Our baby.”

Gingerly he reached out to touch her cheek. “Ana, there is no baby. You miscarried.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. We don’t have children.”

She hated the rush of wild emotion. “We do. We have a boy.”

“Negrita, listen to me—”

“How can you not remember?” She searched his face, searched for a sign, some light, a hint of recognition. “Lucio, what’s wrong with you? You have to find our baby. You have to rescue our baby.”

Lucio couldn’t answer. He didn’t know how. His hand fell from her face.

It was worse than the doctor had said, he thought. Far worse. The doctor had said prepare yourself, but how to prepare oneself for this?

Lucio swallowed the lump filling his throat, struggling to come to grips with the shock. This wasn’t Anabella. This couldn’t be Anabella.

And then she whimpered softly. “Could we sit down?” she asked, her voice growing hoarse. “Somewhere dark, please.”

He immediately reached for her. “Your head hurts.” He lightly touched her forehead with his fingertips. She felt cool and yet just the touch of his fingers to her temple made her wince.

He glanced up, saw that the nurse had quietly materialized. “The nurse is here—”

“I’m fine. Really. I just need to sit.” But she was flinching at the sound of her own voice and her shoulders arched, rising towards her ears.

Lucio couldn’t bear for her to suffer, and she was suffering. He took her hand in his. Her pain was like a live thing and it spread through her hot and consuming. He felt it in her skin, in her pulse, in her mind.

He swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. “There must be something they can do, something they can give you,” he said, carrying her to her bed and setting her down on top of the burgundy silk coverlet.

Ana rolled over onto her side. “I don’t want anything.” She looked up at him and her eyes were dark. “The medicine makes me sleepy, and I can’t sleep right now. I have to think—”

“How can you think when your head hurts so bad?”

“But I have to. I have to get ready to go for him.”

Him. Not this crazy mumbo jumbo again. Lucio suppressed a sigh, feeling as if he’d stepped into a dense fog. But he had to find his way clear. He had to find a way to help her.

Crossing the floor, Lucio went to the window and drew the drapes to cut the glare. “Better?” he asked as the spacious bedroom darkened.

“Much.” She managed a small smile but he felt how her body seemed to shimmer with a ceaseless, restless energy.

He returned to her side and sat down, next to her on the bed. She pressed her face to his thigh, her hand covering his knee. “Stay,” she whispered, sagging against him, part fatigue, part relief.

“Of course.”

“And you’re not angry?”

She was so tired, he thought. The wild horse had nearly trampled her down. He smiled at her a little, still calming, reassuring. “Why would I be angry? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But the baby—” She broke off, shook her head and looked at him with fear, with need, with painful vulnerability, but there was something else in her eyes now. Trust.

It was as if the last five years had fallen away and she was a child again, the seventeen-year-old he’d met who craved love.

He stroked her long hair back from her face. “I would never be upset with you about losing the baby. I promise, Ana.”

Grateful tears burned her eyes and she nestled closer, feeling his warmth, letting his heat creep into her. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispered. She carried his hand to her cheek, and held it as if it were a life preserver in the middle of the sea. “It’s like a dream.”

He sat with her until she slept, and once he was sure she was peacefully sleeping, he headed to the door but once there, he couldn’t make himself leave. He stood in the doorway of her darkened room and looked at her where she lay curled on her side.

He could just make out her profile in the dim light. Her face was as perfect as it ever had been—fine, straight nose, slightly turned up at the end, full mouth, firm chin, high cheekbones and wide brow—but it wasn’t her beauty that moved him. It was just being back here, being so close to her again and after all these months, after all this time when he’d thought he was reconciled to living without her, he found himself burning with emotion.

Burning with need.

What the hell had happened to them? Where had everything gone wrong?

Suddenly Lucio resented Ana’s illness and helplessness, resented the fact that she didn’t remember—couldn’t remember—while he felt everything.

He felt the anger, the guilt, the sense of betrayal. He felt loss and grief and rage because dammit, he’d wanted this to work. He’d given everything to their relationship and why hadn’t it been right?

Worst of all, he still missed her so much. Physically missed her. He missed holding her, feeling the shape and weight of her, missed her softness against his body. And it hurt, too, that she’d been the one to say enough, to say she’d had all she wanted, all she needed, and now she was ready to move on with the rest of her life.

What was the rest of her life?

What was his?

Shaking his head, he left her room and quietly closed the door behind him. The nurse was seated in a chair outside Anabella’s room and she looked up at him as he passed. “Everything okay?” she asked.

Lucio nodded. “She’s asleep.”

His eyes felt gritty as he descended the staircase and blinking, he pushed back the sadness, pushed back the ambivalent emotions. This wasn’t the time, he told himself. And this most certainly wasn’t the place.

Seated in Ana’s office, Lucio sorted through her mail, filed the stacks of paperwork, wrote checks for businesses that had sent them statements. He’d forgotten how large her business had grown. She owned a shop in Buenos Aires and another here in Mendoza. The Mendoza store was newer. It didn’t have the business Anabella had hoped for. He studied her accounts for a moment, knowing she’d stretched herself too thin, taken on too much. She’d wanted to be successful, wanted to prove to everyone she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore, but the sophisticated antique dealer. The expert.

He smiled a little and leaning forward he picked up a slender cloisonné clock from the corner of her desk. He’d never seen the clock before. It was turquoise blue with a round ivory face and a pendulum of gold in the shape of a sunburst.

There was a knock on the door and the door opened. The housekeeper quietly carried a tray into the office with a late lunch and placed it on the edge of Lucio’s desk. “I know you haven’t eaten anything since you arrived,” Maria, the housekeeper said, pushing the tray towards him a little.

“I’m not hungry,” he answered, replacing the clock back on Anabella’s desk.

The housekeeper glanced at the clock. “The Senora brought it back from her last trip.”

The trip from China. Lucio felt an urge to throw the clock, break it in a thousand pieces. If Anabella hadn’t been chasing all over the world in search of exotic antiques she’d be well now.

He glanced up at Maria. She was a slim barely graying woman in her fifties. He mustered a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Senor.” She’d been hired after Lucio and Anabella married. Anabella had hired her. “But you are missed.”

How nice to hear something like that, especially after the past six months when he felt completely dispensable. “Thank you.”

“Will you be here long?” the housekeeper asked.

Would he be here long? Yes. No. Only as long as Anabella needed his help.

Only until she sent him away again.

Wearily, Lucio leaned back, rubbed his eyes. “It depends.”

“Your room has been made up.”

The room he’d been banished to when Anabella stopped wanting him in her bed. “Thank you.” He watched the housekeeper start to leave and he sat forward. “Maria—”

She turned towards him. “Sí, Senor?”

How odd that he already felt like such an outsider. It’d only been a couple months since he moved out of the villa. “Let me know what I can do to help you and the rest of the staff. I realize things are not…normal.”

Maria bowed her head. “But what is normal, Senor? I don’t think there is a normal. I think there is just life.”

Lucio was still in the office two hours later when Maria knocked on the door again. He’d dozed off in the chair, slumped back, and he woke with a start. “Yes?” he called gruffly, pushing himself forward, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d slept hard and he shook his head a couple times, finding it difficult to wake.

“The Count Galván is here,” Maria said entering the room and taking the empty tray from a side table. “He’s waiting for you in the salon.”

Lucio passed a hand across his face once again. So the big brother had arrived. Dante Galván certainly didn’t waste time.

Lucio was tempted to have Maria show the Count into the study, but glancing around the study with the framed pictures of Anabella on the desk and the personal keepsakes on the bookshelves made the room feel far too intimate.

Better to meet on neutral ground.

Or as neutral a ground as they were going to find in Lucio’s former house.

Entering the salon Lucio found his brother-in-law standing in the great room with the high painted beams, the plaster walls washed cream, the floor terra-cotta tiles imported from Italy. The oil paintings all dated from the 17th Century and the rich art and fine antiques spoke of wealth, class, prestige.

Lucio saw Dante glance around the room, Dante’s gaze briefly settling on one of the Italian paintings, a landscape with cherubs and maidens frolicking at a tree-shaded lake.

“You know how valuable these are, don’t you?” Dante said, gesturing to the wall. “Especially this one,” he added, pointing to the maidens by the lake.

Lucio would have smiled if he had the strength. With his world coming down around him, Dante wanted to discuss Lucio’s wealth? “Yes.”

Dante continued to study the oversize canvas. “When did you buy it?”

“Before I married your sister.” Meaning, with my money, not hers. And not yours.

Dante’s head lifted and the two men, both Argentine, Dante Italian aristocrat, and Lucio, Spanish-Indian, stared at each other with open hostility.

“I bought the house complete.” Lucio broke the tension-fraught silence. “The owner fell on hard times. I bought the land, the villa and all the furnishings with cash.”

Dante’s lashes flickered down but Lucio saw the doubt in his eyes. “You’ve never explained how you made your money.”

“I made my fortune gambling—”

“Gambling?”

“And then took what I made at the gaming tables and invested it here,” Lucio concluded as if Dante had never interrupted.

Dante made a rough sound. “Gambler to vintner? Sounds awfully far-fetched.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Count. But I’ve always been a gambler. You should know that. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t take risks.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have seduced my sister—”

“No.” Lucio felt his temper rise but he kept it controlled, hidden by a pleasant smile. “I wouldn’t be here now, this afternoon, if I didn’t believe that this was a good opportunity for both of us.”

“Opportunity?” Dante shot him a sharp glance. “You don’t honestly think you’ve got a chance with her again?”

Lucio shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an optimist. I will never give up on Anabella. I will never give up on us.” And Lucio had said the words to spite the Count, but once he’d spoken the words he realized he meant them. He did want a second chance. Maybe God had given him a second chance to make Ana fall in love with him again.

Dante’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew bitter. He moved towards the window and stared out, his gaze fixed on the dark green vineyards undulating in the distance.

For a long moment Lucio said nothing. He just watched Dante and waited for whatever was to come next. Lucio could afford to wait. It’s all he’d been doing for weeks. Months.

Years.

Finally Dante turned, acknowledged Lucio with a slight nod of his head. “I suppose I should thank you for coming.”

Lucio bit his tongue.

“The doctor said you were in California,” Dante continued.

“You waited an awfully long time to call.”

“I waited until Ana asked for you.” Dante’s golden gaze clashed with Lucio’s. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

Lucio kept his temper—just barely. And yet he had to keep reminding himself not to pick a fight with his brother-in-law. Feuding wouldn’t help Anabella. What he needed was facts. More information. Pieces of the missing puzzle. “Is this how she emerged from the coma?”

“She was hallucinating even before your Dr. Dominguez induced the coma. It was the hallucinations that helped get her properly diagnosed. Until then everyone here, including her staff, believed she had the flu.”

“You visited her here then?”

“Your housekeeper called me and I flew out. I sent for the ambulance as soon as I arrived. I knew it was serious. She was feverish. She was definitely ill.”

“And that was what? A month ago?” Despite his best intentions, Lucio felt the bitterness rise. He wanted to remain calm, controlled, but deep down he’d never forgive Dante for shutting him out.

“Nearly.” Dante hesitated for a long moment. He appeared at a loss for words. “She is better,” he said quietly. “She may not be the old Anabella yet, but she’s greatly improved from where she was a week ago.”

Lucio could feel the Count’s concern. Dante genuinely cared for Anabella and Lucio was reminded of the autumn five years ago when he first met Ana and her family. Just seventeen, she was starting her last year of school, and already such a rebel, so at odds with her older brother’s authority.

Dante and Anabella. The two had gone round and round but no matter what happened between them, they were family.

Lucio slowly exhaled, the air almost hissing between his lips. “I’m curious about your definition of better.”

The Count looked at him, puzzled. “Her muscle tone is returning. Her strength is returning, but as you might have noticed, there are some memory issues.”

Lucio didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, I noticed.”

There was a moment of silence following Lucio’s answer and as the silence lengthened the Count’s expression grew wary. “What happened? How did she react to you when you arrived—”

Dante was interrupted by a scream from upstairs, the shout carrying down the stone stairwell into the high ceilinged living room. Dante jerked but Lucio’s features remained hard, impassive. In the six hours he’d been home, he’d heard every sound imaginable.

“What the hell was that?” Dante demanded, his gaze lifting to the ceiling where the beams had been stenciled in cream, red and green designs.

Lucio moved swiftly towards the stairs. “Anabella.”




CHAPTER THREE


THE furious cry was followed by the sound of bare feet running down the stairs. Anabella practically jumped down the last two stairs, her white shirt untucked, her long hair flying. “What do you want, Dante? What are you planning now?”

Dante took a stunned step backwards, hands rising to calm his youngest sister. “I came to see you.”

“And do what?” Her fine aristocratic features were pinched and her dark-lashed eyes bright. She reached up and swiftly knotted her hair into a rough ponytail. “Or do you not think I know what you want to do, what you intend to do?”

His expression hardened. “I have no intentions,” he said impatiently. “I’m here because you’ve been sick and I’ve been worried.”

Ana made an indignant sound and her hands flew in quick Italian gestures. “I haven’t been sick. I’ve just been upset. I missed Lucio, but he’s back now.” She drew a quick breath, eyes blazing even hotter. “And no one can keep us apart now. No one, Dante. Not you. Not Mama. Not even all of Mama’s hired soldiers.”

“You’re being irrational, Ana. I have no desire to keep you apart—”

“Liar!”

The color drained from Dante’s face. “Ana.”

Brilliant tears filled her eyes. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t say anything to me at all. Ever since Tadeo died you’ve tried to control me. You’re so scared that I’ll turn into Tadeo—but I’m not Tadeo! I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I just love Lucio. But even that makes you crazy.”

“No, Ana.”

“Yes, Dante. Yes.” She jabbed his chest with the tip of her finger. “You and Mama. Always interfering. Never able to leave me alone.” She broke off, eyes filling with tears, and she looked at him, hurt, confused, angry. “Why can’t I want something different from the rest of you?”

Dante said nothing and the two stared at each other as if enemies instead of brother and sister.

She was living in the past. She’d forgotten that she and Dante were the best of friends, forgotten that it was Dante she confided in now.

“If you don’t go, Dante, I will.” Anabella threw back her head and swiftly wiped a tear from her eyes. “I don’t want to be in the same place with you.”

Dante looked helplessly at Lucio. “Por Dios. She’s lost her mind!”

“This isn’t the Anabella you saw a week ago, was it?” Lucio asked grimly.

“No.”

“Well, it’s the one I came home to this morning.”

Anabella grabbed Lucio’s arm. “Don’t talk to him. Have nothing to do with him. He’s not to be trusted.”

“It’s okay, Ana.”

“No, it’s not. He’s going to get rid of you. He’s going to do something to make sure you stay away—”

“Ssssh, chica,” Lucio interrupted soothingly. He cupped her cheek, stroked the warm softness. “It’s all right. You go upstairs. Wait for me. I’ll handle this.”

Anabella still clung to his arm. “And you won’t leave me?”

“No. I promise.”

Reassured, Anabella climbed the stairs but then pausing halfway, leaned over the banister to shoot her brother a contemptuous glance. “I know you,” she challenged Dante. “I know how you think.”

Lucio had had enough. He headed up the stairs and swung Anabella into his arms. He couldn’t handle much more of this today.

“Let’s run away,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. “Let’s leave tonight. When the others are asleep.”

He said nothing. He let her keep talking as he finished climbing the stairs. The world she lived in right now confounded him. Where was she? What was going on in her head?

“They’ll hurt you, Lucio,” Ana said, her hands tightening around his neck. “I heard them talking. They want to keep us apart. They want to make sure we’ll never be together again. Whatever you do, don’t trust Dante. He’s not your friend. He won’t be fair with you.”

Lucio gritted his teeth, wanting her to be quiet, wanting her to stop with all this chatter. These nonsensical words were like a hammer to his brain. She was dredging up old memories, wretched memories, memories of the night when he’d been beaten so badly that it had been weeks before his broken bones healed, months before he could stand properly.

“Ana, no one can take you from me,” he said gruffly, walking through her bedroom to the ensuite bath. He placed her in the center of the black marble counter. “We’re together now. You belong with me.”

“Dante doesn’t think so!” She scooted backwards on the counter until her back bumped the mirrored wall and she stared up at him, eyes dark with anger, her black lashes still matted with tears. “Dante will never accept that I’ve a mind of my own…that I’m capable of making decisions on my own.”

She looked so small on the counter, and yet so feisty. A caged jaguar.

He reached up to lightly touch her temple. How much did she remember? How much did she know? “Ana—where are you?”

Her dark green eyes shone with fresh tears. Her hands fluttered in his. “I am here, Lucio.”

This was bizarre, he thought. It was like being in a science fiction movie. He was living two lives at one time—the one before and the one right now and it was the oddest, most uncomfortable sensation. “You don’t need to fear Dante,” he said slowly. “And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not as naive as I used to be.”

She slid forward on the counter and wrapped her legs around him, almost catlike in her grace. Lightly she ran her hand up his thigh. “He’ll try to pay you off. He’ll give you anything you want because he wants to keep you away from me.”

Lucio tensed as her fingers trailed across the taut muscle of his thigh. She was stirring his body and he grew hard at the light, teasing touch.

“That’s all in the past,” he said, trying to remove her hand from his leg without hurting her. It was one thing to return home and provide some stability. It was another to pretend they were still…intimate.

But she wouldn’t move her hand and she raked her nails against his dark trousers, her nails sharp enough to make him feel their hard edge through the stiff fabric. “But you do believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because if you don’t, I’d have to punish you.” And her tone lightened, becoming almost teasing and she was smiling at him, smiling playfully, happily, the way she once had all those years ago when they used to have so much fun together. “Maybe I’ll punish you anyway.”

Her teasing tone, the rake of her nails against his thigh made him ache. It’d been so long since they’d made love. And Anabella was the only woman he wanted in his bed. Anabella was the only woman he’d ever wanted period.

“Those delights will have to wait,” he answered, fighting the urge to touch her, fighting the need to draw closer, to part her thighs and press against her.

He shouldn’t be surprised she could still make him feel so much. She was impossible. Incorrigible. No one stood a chance resisting Anabella. He’d never wanted to resist her before. “How does your head feel?”

“Better. Headache’s all gone.” And she raked her nails across his butt before tucking her fingers into his belt loops. “See, all I needed was you to find me. Be with me. We belong together.”

Studying her clear bright eyes, her olive complexion with just a hint of dusty pink in the cheeks, he silently agreed with her. Yes, they did belong together and suddenly Lucio desperately wanted to make everything the way it once was, the way it had been between them when they wanted nothing but each other. Life had been so simple then. Life had made such perfect sense.

“Why don’t you take a shower and dress for dinner,” he said, resisting the desire to put his hand on her hip, resisting her sweetly tempting curves.

She leaned against him, her breasts brushing his chest and grinned. “Yes. Dinner. Sounds wonderful. I’m starving.”

But from the wicked gleam in her eyes he knew she wasn’t just asking for steak and fries.

His body grew hotter, harder, the softness of her breasts imprinted on his chest.

“Great. I haven’t had much today, either.” His voice sounded hoarse. He felt utterly exhausted. Resisting Anabella was going to kill him. “You shower. Dress. Take your time. Then we’ll have a nice meal together downstairs.”

He leaned forward to kiss her temple but Ana wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and slid forward yet again, bringing her in full contact against his groin. He inhaled sharply as he felt her everywhere—her full soft breasts, the warmth of her thighs where they wrapped around his hips, the slender shape of her pressed against him.

She looked up at him, her green eyes vivid and with one hand she reached for his thick, tightly bound ponytail low at his nape. He felt her fingers slide through his hair and then the cool brush of fingertips against his neck. Her light knowing touch shot a ball of fire through his groin. He was already hard but he felt close to exploding now.

“Do not,” she whispered fiercely even as her green eyes sparkled with humor and mischief, “kiss me as if you are my grandmother.”

Lucio choked on a laugh. He brushed his lips across her forehead before firmly pushing her away and taking a step back.

She sat tall on the counter. “You’ll pay for that.”

He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. This was so Anabella, so perfectly like his Anabella that he couldn’t help the great wave of relief riding through him. Anabella would recover. Anabella would be herself. “Can’t wait,” he replied before he turned away and headed downstairs.

Dante hadn’t gone. He was pacing the living room as Lucio descended the stairs.

“She’s mad,” Dante said, meeting Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s lost her mind.”

“She’s not crazy,” Lucio answered almost cheerfully, tying his hair back again. His body hummed, and he felt hot, hungry and more than a little relieved. He was only just beginning to understand. It had taken him a while, but it was starting to add up, starting to come together.

She hadn’t lost her mind. She’d lost her memory.

“Anabella has gone back in time,” Lucio said, mentally sorting through his observations, piecing together all the conversations he’d had with her since returning. “And she seems to be living in the past right now.”

Dante looked even more appalled. “She’s back in time? But where? When?”

“That I haven’t figured out yet.”

“But you do think she’s gone back a number of years?”

“Well, certainly back to a place where she felt you were oppressive—”

“I was never oppressive!”

Lucio laughed without the least bit of humor. Dante was kidding himself. “You sent the police after us. Your mother’s hired guns nearly killed me.”

“My mother just wanted Anabella home.”

“Enough said.”

Dante sighed, ruffled the back of his hair, clearly at a loss. None of this was easy. None of this made sense. “So you really don’t think she’s gone over the edge?”

“No. She just needs time and a little less pressure. And frankly, I think your visits are harming her more than they’re helping. You need to give her space. She needs to recover at her own pace.”

“I think her doctor can be the judge of that.”

“You forget, her doctor works for me, Dante. Ana might be your sister, but she’s my wife.”

Dante’s dark head jerked up. “Your wife? She’s divorced you!”

“The divorce isn’t final.”

“But legally—”

“Legally she’s still my wife.”

The two men stared at each other for a long unending moment before Dante gave his head a bitter shake. “So you’re back in charge, are you?”

Lucio hated the violence of his emotions, hated that he wanted to grab Dante and do bodily harm to him. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, fighting for control.

Slowly he exhaled. He had to stay calm. It wouldn’t be fair to Anabella to get into a shouting match with her brother now. She was just upstairs and it’d be far too easy for her to overhear things she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Dante. This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted the divorce. That was her decision, her doing. And she might not remember the present, but I do. I know her feelings changed for me. I know how miserable she was with me.”

Dante’s narrowed glance met Lucio’s. “Yet she doesn’t remember any of that now.”

“She will.”

“And until then? From what I saw here, Anabella still imagines the two of you wildly in love.”

Lucio’s hard smile faded. “Then I guess I’ll have to play along.”

Dante’s lashes flickered, concealing his expression. “And you can do this? You can stay here and put yourself in the middle of her drama?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice! You have another home, another life. You could be there instead of here.” The Count turned away, passed a hand over his eyes. “You hope to use her illness to your advantage. You’re going to try to win her back.”

“And is that such a crime?”

Dante’s head lifted and his cynical gaze clashed with Lucio’s. Lucio didn’t blink. He’d pledged himself to Anabella five years ago, three years before they married. His love had nothing to do with a ceremony and a piece of paper.

He loved Anabella simply because she existed.

“She’s never been happy living with you,” Dante said at last. “It’s the idea of you she loves. Not the reality.”

It’s the idea she loves. Not the reality. The words repeated in Lucio’s brain. He held still, flinching inwardly as the words sank in.

Dante’s assessment was harsh, sharp, and his words wounded. But Lucio kept the hurt from his expression. “I will call you with updates,” he said evenly. He wouldn’t say more than he already had. “I promise to phone the moment she begins to improve.”

“But otherwise you’re telling me to stay home?”

Lucio managed the briefest of smiles. “I’m asking you to give Ana time.”

After Dante left, Lucio stepped into the kitchen and requested that dinner be served in the small study downstairs instead of carried to Anabella’s room. Then Lucio headed upstairs to check on his wife.

“He’s gone?” Anabella asked hopefully as Lucio entered the room. She was sitting on the foot of her bed, wrapped up in a thick bath towel, her wet hair slicked back from her beautiful face.

Lucio felt a craving to touch her, and he suppressed the craving just as quickly as it flared. “He’s returning to Buenos Aires. He’s going home and back to work.”

“Good. I don’t like him!”

“Ana, you adore him.” He stared down at her, arms folded over his chest and for a moment he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. What if she never did improve? What if she never regained her memories? Never regained her independence? What then?

But Lucio wouldn’t think that far. No reason to go there yet. He reminded himself that she was young and strong and intelligent. Of course she’d improve. They’d just have to take it slowly. They’d have to be patient.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, trying hard to make it sound as if everything was normal, that everything would eventually be normal. “Except you’re still wearing a towel.”

“You don’t think it’s romantic?”

“Not unless you’re the matching bath mat.”

He was rewarded with a laugh. Grinning, Ana slid off the edge of the bed. “Actually, I did want to dress but I couldn’t find my clothes. Do you know where Dante put my suitcase?”

Lucio cocked his head a little. Was she serious? “They’re in your closet, Ana.”

“Where’s my closet?”

“There. In your room.”

“Show me.”

He walked her to the massive walk-in closet across from her en suite bath. Flicking on the closet light he gestured to the rods of hanging clothes and the long wall lined with shoe boxes. “This is your closet.”

Ana peered in. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the racks of suits, dresses, long evening gowns. “Very funny. Now where are my clothes? My shirts, my shoes, my jeans?”

It hit him all over again.

She didn’t know. She didn’t recognize anything here, didn’t realize that she wasn’t Anabella the teenager but Anabella the woman. The last five years hadn’t happened yet…at least, not in her mind.

He looked down at her, his chest tight with wildly contradictory emotions. This was going to be so difficult. He didn’t know how to deal with her…interact with her. He’d come to think of her as remote, sophisticated, self-contained but right now she was as bubbly and effervescent as a bottle of sparkling wine.

Again he told himself not to look ahead, not to think too much. All he could do was take life with Anabella one step at a time. He had to deal with one crisis before facing the next. And right now the girl wanted clean jeans.

In the bottom drawer of the dresser in her room he found old clothes that Anabella didn’t wear anymore, but clothes she hadn’t discarded, either.

Ana beamed. “Thank you.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and an old cropped sweatshirt once a bright cherry red but through repeated washings had faded to brick. “I’ll be ready in just a second. Should I meet you downstairs?”

He agreed and when she appeared fifteen minutes later she was dressed, her hair blow-dried, eye lashes thickened with mascara and lips darkened with a soft rosy lip gloss. “Better?” she teased.

“Much,” Lucio nodded.

He wanted to smile at her but he couldn’t. He was feeling so much, remembering so much. She exuded sweetness and spice, innocence and bravado. This was the Anabella he’d fallen in love with. This was the one he couldn’t imagine living without.

But feeling this much was dangerous. He couldn’t let his emotions get the upper hand and he clamped down hard on all the chaotic, turbulent feelings rushing through him. What Anabella needed now was practical, rational support. She needed him calm. She needed him to remain firmly in control.

“We’ll be eating in here,” he said, steering her into the library. “I thought we could eat by the fire. It seemed cozy.”

She blushed. “And intimate.”

Intimate. Right. Not exactly the mood he was going for. But he let Anna’s comment slide, focused instead on putting her at ease. It’d been a month since she sat at a real table for a meal, and Lucio hoped that this dinner together would be a first step for her on the road to recovery.

Neither said much during dinner but Ana ate nearly everything on her plate. It was a simple, traditional Argentine meal—grilled beef, pommes frites, green salad. “Thank God,” she said, curling up in her wing chair, legs under her. “Real food again.”

He was curious about her memory, about the past month and exactly what and how much she recalled. “What were you eating before?”

Ana shrugged. Smiled. Her teeth flashed white. “Isn’t that odd? I don’t remember. So it must not have been anything good, or I’d know, right?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

She laughed. “And what’s another?”

His gut tightened and he watched the light from the fire dance and flicker across her expressive face. He loved her laugh, loved her when she was feisty and playful. When she teased him like this, he wanted to pull her onto his lap, into his arms, and keep her there forever.

Suddenly her expression grew somber and she dropped the French fry she’d been nibbling. “Lucio—”

“Yes, negrita?”

She blushed at the endearment. She’d always loved being his. “We’re still going to get married, aren’t we?” Her blush deepened. She seemed to be struggling with the words. “You do still want to marry me, don’t you?”

So much innocence. Such a return to girlish dreams. For a moment he didn’t know how to answer her. And then he thought, answer her honestly. Be truthful. She deserved that much. “Of course I want to marry you.”

Her lips curved and her green eyes shone warm, soft, as though she were glowing from the inside out. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do it soon. I want to do it soon.” She leaned forward. “How about tomorrow?”




CHAPTER FOUR


UPSTAIRS after dinner Anabella didn’t want Lucio to leave her. She slid her arms around his waist, pressed close to him. “Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice deepening, husky, voice of a seductress.

“I can’t.” He moved to kiss the top of her forehead before remembering that he wasn’t her grandmother and he smiled to himself.

“Why not?”

And gazing down into her face, he realized all over again that all he could do was be as honest as possible. “I’m tired. I’ve just returned from a long trip and I need to sleep.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“I wouldn’t get any sleep, and neither would you.” He stroked her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And you need your rest as much as I do.”





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