Dante's Wedding Deception (5 page)

He shook his head. “We never discussed it.”

“No, of course not. Why would we?” Who could have imagined something like this happening? Or made contingency plans in the event it did. “I’ll tell you what, let’s stick with something simple. Something along the line of a plain pair of bands. If we change our mind later on, we can choose rings that strike us as more meaningful.”

“You don’t have to make a decision right now. You never know. You might see something you fall in love with when we go to the shop.” He opened the top dresser door and removed a small square box. “Here. This is yours. You were wearing it the day of your accident.”

She took the box from him, surprised by the weight of it. Removing the top, she found an intricate silver locket on a matching chain. “It’s beautiful.” She shot him a hopeful glance. “Did you give this to me?”

“I can’t take credit for that, I’m afraid. It’s your favorite piece of jewelry. A family heirloom, I believe.”

“It does appear old.” She turned it over, searching for a hinge. “It looks like it should open, but I don’t see how. Do you know?”

He shook his head. “If it opens, you never showed me the secret. If you’re curious, we can take it to a jeweler and see if they can figure it out.”

“That’s a good idea.” She held the locket out to him. “Would you mind putting it on?”

He took the necklace and she turned, sweeping her hair aside so he could fasten the chain around her neck. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the huge antique mirror hanging above the dresser and it gave her a start. From the moment she’d first seen her reflection in the hospital, it never failed to surprise her.

“What is it?” Nicolò asked as he fastened the locket in place.

The instant he finished, she turned her back on her image. “Nothing.” She offered a bright smile. “Everything’s terrific.”

She could tell he didn’t buy it. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and forced her to face her reflection once again. “Why do you have so much difficulty looking at yourself?”

“I guess because I see the sort of woman I wish I were.” She released a frustrated laugh. “That sounds bizarre, doesn’t it?”

“A little.” He eased her hair back from her face so it poured down her back. “You don’t have to wish to be the woman you see. You are her.”

“You don’t understand.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Then explain it to me.”

“This is so frustrating. I don’t even remember what I look like. The first time I saw myself in a mirror—”

“It was like looking at a complete stranger?”

“Yes!” She started to swivel around again, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, she met his gaze in the mirror, his midnight black, hers springtime green. “I keep staring at myself, trying to discover some clue to my personality. And the best I can come up with is that I seem…nice.”

“I’d call you beautiful.” He tilted his head. “Part pixie and part angel.”

The color deepened in her cheeks, betraying her reaction to his words. “I meant character, as well as appearance. I’m pretty. Maybe even more than pretty. But I look…” She stared at herself.

For some reason his expression went blank. “Nice.”

She couldn’t help grinning. “Yes. Don’t misunderstand. That’s a good thing. I want to be a nice person. I feel nice.” She touched a spot just above her heart, close to where her locket nestled. “Inside.”

“Then you must be,” he informed her lightly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have married you.”

She relaxed within his embrace. “I’m relieved to hear you say it.” Then she stiffened as another thought occurred to her. “But what if I’ve changed because of the amnesia? What if I’m not the same person I was before? What if I turn into a class A bitch or start throwing temper tantrums or pilfering the silver.”

In the mirror, she saw his eyes narrow and it caused her heart to give a small jump. “Are you feeling any larcenous urges?” he asked.

“Not even a little, but—”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

She turned and this time he didn’t try and stop her. “But…Aren’t our personalities formed by the events and circumstances of our past? Since I don’t have any background notes to draw from—”

“Then you’ll have to rely on your instincts and allow yourself to live your life the way that feels right.”

Frustration ate at her. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is that simple. Do what feels right inside.” He brushed the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek. “Why don’t you rest and I’ll order up some dinner.”

For some reason, that amused her, which helped break the tension. “I gather you don’t cook?”

“I can manage toast, if forced. I leave the kitchen to experts like Marco and my grandfather.”

“Marco’s a brother?” she guessed.

“One of three older brothers.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Sev, the eldest. Then there’s Marco and Lazz, who are twins. We were raised by my grandparents, Primo and Nonna. Then there’s a slew of cousins and the odd sister-in-law or two.”

A sudden thought struck her and she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her before this. “What about me?” she asked eagerly. “Do I have any relatives?”

He shook his head. “You don’t have any brothers or sisters, and your father died when you were a baby. Your mother’s still around, but I haven’t been able to locate her. Don’t panic,” he added, when she started to do just that. “According to what you’ve told me, it’s not unusual for her to take off for weeks at a time. You said she travels a lot.”

Her excitement dimmed, replaced by dismay. So she really did have no one. Or next to no one. “It doesn’t sound as though I have a very close relationship with my mother, if I lose track of her for weeks on end.”

Imagine if she’d never met Nicolò. If they’d never fallen in love and married. She’d have been utterly alone dealing with the aftermath of her accident, with no memory and no family to help her. She shivered in distress. He must have read her thoughts, or maybe they were mirrored on her face.

“You have my family,” he told her gruffly, “even if I haven’t had an opportunity to introduce you to everyone.”

“Our relationship developed that fast?” she asked uneasily.

“You’re looking worried again. Don’t be. There’ll be plenty of time to meet them once you’ve had a chance to recover.”

“And if I don’t recover?” she asked, tension underscoring the question.

He smiled. “Since you never met any of them before, it’ll be a new experience for both old and new Kiley.”

“Huh.” The concept intrigued her. “Old and new. That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

Nicolò frowned in concern. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you? And I can tell just looking at you that your headache has started up again. Probably from all that worrying.” He nudged her in the direction of the bed. “Get some sleep. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Without thought, Kiley lifted her mouth for his kiss, only a split second later realizing what she’d done. She caught a momentary glimpse of something dart through his gaze, a hint of surprise mingling with an intense desire. And then his head dipped downward.

Before, in the hospital, he’d consumed her, his need a hard, driven thing. This time the kiss came softly, leisurely, but no less powerful for all that. She shuddered within his hold, reveling in the hot spice of his kiss, as swept away this time as she’d been the first.

He tugged her closer, exploring the curves of her body as he deepened their kiss. He cupped her breasts through the knit material of her shirt, thumbing the tips until they tightened into hard, rigid peaks. Before she could do more than gasp in reaction, he slipped beneath her knit shirt to investigate further.

His hands spread across the narrow expanse of her waist and the inch of sensitive skin between the gap of shirt and jeans before finding her breasts again. He teased them through her bra, the slide of the thin silk across the aching peaks almost more than she could stand. He must have realized as much because he dragged his fingertips in a torturous path to her hips, his fingers just curving around her flanks.

She could feel his erection surging against her belly and his mouth grew more determined, driving instead of teasing. His hands began to move again, restlessly exploring the curve of her backside, lightly tracing the flare of her hips before sliding to cup her where her need burned hottest. She wanted him. Heaven help her, but she wanted him to rip away her clothes and spread her on the bed behind them and give her the relief her body wept for.

She sensed he hovered on the very edge of control. They teetered there for an endless moment, locked together, on the verge of taking that final, irrevocable step. At the last instant, he released her and stepped back. But it cost him, his expression drawn into taut lines of pain.

“Sleep,” he told her, the single word shredded almost beyond recognition. “You need sleep far more than this.”

Kiley would have argued, but exhaustion fell over her like a blanket and she did as he suggested, curling up on top of the bed. If she’d had any doubts about their relationship, Nicolò had put them to rest in the past few minutes. How was it possible that it only took one touch from the man? A single touch and she melted in mindless desire. No way would she do that unless on some level she recognized and trusted him.

She smiled sleepily. He had a knack for easing her fears and helping her to deal with her memory loss. She doubted she’d have been able to get through this if she’d been on her own. But with her husband by her side, she felt she could tackle just about any adversity. She yawned.

How had she gotten so lucky?

The sound of gunshots woke Nicolò and sent him leaping from the bed and racing into the hallway. It was only then that he realized that the noise came from the downstairs TV. After checking Kiley’s room and finding it empty, he headed for the steps, surprised to discover every light in the house ablaze. He followed the trail of lights to the kitchen, turning them off as he progressed through the house.

Earlier, he’d planned to wake Kiley when their dinner arrived. But he’d found her sleeping so soundly, he didn’t have the heart to disturb her. Leaving a note seemed the best option, and it had worked, since a quick check of the refrigerator told him that she’d polished off the Chinese leftovers. He was less pleased to discover that Brutus had cleaned out everything else. Greedy mutt. It would seem that this new version of Kiley was an easy touch, and Brutus sensed as much.

Next he turned off the trail of lights leading through the dining room, into the living room and finally to the den. And that’s where he found her. She and Brutus were curled up together on his couch, both sound asleep and utterly oblivious to the raging gunfight from a 40s gangster movie playing on the television.

She’d donned one of the nightgowns and robes he’d bought during her hospital stay, the robin’s egg-blue setting off the vividness of her hair and the creamy paleness of her skin. She’d forked her fingers deep into Brutus’s coat, her hand fine-boned and delicate against the huge, muscular dog. Brutus lay curled protectively around her, his breath escaping in deep, rumbling snores.

The desire Nicolò had felt earlier came storming back, just as messy and uncontrollable and incomprehensible as before. He hesitated, no more than an inch away from ripping off her nightgown and covering her body with his own. She wouldn’t resist. Hell, based on her reaction a few scant hours ago, she’d open to him as sweetly now as she’d done then. He took a single step in her direction before he caught the violent purple bruising along the back of her shoulder.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and crossed to turn off the television, which instantly woke Kiley. Or maybe it was his lifting her in his arms that disturbed her slumber. He carried her from the room, much to the annoyance of a disgruntled Brutus.

“Where are we going?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Nicolò’s neck and yawning broadly.

Her scent drifted to him, light and feminine and unmistakably her own. “Back to bed,” he answered her question.

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d really rather not.”

That gave him pause. “You prefer sleeping with my dog?”

She hesitated, a heart-wrenching vulnerability sweeping across her face and shadowing her eyes. Nicolò found it difficult to believe she could fake the expression, especially straight out of a sound sleep. But perhaps he wasn’t the best judge. At least, not right here and now.

“I’d rather not sleep alone,” she confessed. “It’s not that I’m afraid. Not exactly. It’s just that I don’t like being by myself. I’m not used to it.”

“I can solve that problem for you.”

It was inevitable. It had been from the minute he’d first seen her. First touched her. First claimed her as his own. One way or another she was destined to end up in his bed. Better sooner than later.

“Are you taking me to our bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

“Without question.” Even if it meant an eternity of hellfire and damnation.

She snuggled deeper into his hold. “That’s okay then.”

Nicolò shouldered through the door to his bedroom suite and crossed to the bed. He deposited her there, struck by how small and fragile she appeared curled up on his king-sized mattress. Maybe that’s how she succeeded with her cons, by looking so utterly innocent. She blinked sleepily up at him and smiled.

“Aren’t you coming back to bed?” she asked.

“I am. Although, now that I have you here…” He tilted his head to one side and studied her. “What will I do with you?”

“I
can tell you exactly what you should do with me,” Kiley replied.

Desire flashed through Nicolò. “And what’s that?”

Unable to resist, he joined her in the bed and scooped her close, cushioning her head against his shoulder. There was something different about her, he realized. A quality that hadn’t been there when they’d first met, as well as a quality that had vanished as completely as her memory. And then it hit him. The cunning he’d seen in that other version of Kiley was missing. And in it’s place sparkled kindness and generosity and an openness he suspected would have been utterly foreign to her nature only a few short days ago.

Of course, it could all be an act, a brilliant charade to keep him off balance. But if she were faking amnesia, he was absolutely certain he’d have caught her “tell,” just as he had in the hotel room during their first confrontation. He’d have noticed some small indication of subterfuge. So far there had been none.

She curled into his embrace, fitting her curves to his angles as though it were the most natural thing in the world. As though they’d slept like this a thousand times before. For an instant they both stilled, and Nicolò became intensely aware of the intimacy of their position. He could hear her slow, shallow breathing and feel the slide of silk against his side, along with the pressure of her small, rounded breasts. Cautiously, her hand crept across his chest settling just above his heart.

More than anything, he wanted to flip her onto her back and fill her to overflowing, to take her with mouth and body. To join with her in that ultimate dance of pleasure. Nothing mattered except that he have her here and now, in his arms. He’d worry about the ramifications of his actions later. When Rufio turned in his report proving Kiley’s guilt. When Kiley regained her memory. When all his outrageous mistakes hit the fan, he’d find a way around it. Because that’s what he did. That’s what he’d always done. In the meantime, why shouldn’t they enjoy what fate had so generously provided? He should take the offering and enjoy it to the fullest, and to hell with the consequences.

But he couldn’t. She’d only been released from the hospital mere hours ago, he reminded himself. She had bruises on top of bruises. And most damning of all…

She was a con artist.

It didn’t matter that The Inferno shrieked through him, clawing at him to take that final step of possession. It didn’t matter that Kiley seemed equally inclined to make the ultimate commitment. He couldn’t trust this woman, didn’t dare believe that any of this was real. He’d put his family’s well-being at risk if he fell for her game. Though right this minute he almost—almost— didn’t give a damn.

She stroked her fingertips across his chest in tiny, tantalizing circles. “I know exactly what you should do with me,” she repeated. “It occurred to me while I was downstairs.” The softest laugh escaped her, her breath caressing his chin and neck and wrecking havoc with his self-control. “I’d like to start over.”

Okay, not quite what he’d expected. He caught her hand in his before he lost it completely. “Start over,” he repeated.

She nodded, eagerness brightening her eyes. “It occurred to me when I was getting reacquainted with Brutus. You see, I don’t remember any of my previous interactions with him.”

Maybe because there hadn’t been any. The only reason Brutus had recognized her scent when he’d first introduced them was because he’d allowed the dog to sniff some of her possessions after he’d had them transferred into his house. “When your memory returns, all that will be resolved,” Nicolò offered. Of course, when her memory returned, he’d be the one in the doghouse.

“No. I can’t wait for that. I have to live my life now.” She regarded him in all seriousness. “I don’t remember any of my interactions with Brutus, any more than I remember our interactions. I can’t ask Brutus what happened.”

He found himself giving her back a sympathetic stroke. “But you can ask me.”

Determination filled her expression, and perhaps a hint of desperation, as well. “I want to do more than ask. And that’s where my idea comes in.”

He needed to stop touching her and soon. But even as the thought dawned, Nicolò found himself tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the silky curve of her cheek. “Tell me your idea.”

“You said ours was a whirlwind affair, right?” She waited for his nod of confirmation before continuing. “So that means it wouldn’t be too difficult to reenact, right?”

Aw, hell. “Reenact, as in create all over again?” he asked.

She smiled and he suddenly realized that her smile was a tiny bit crooked, her lips tugging ever so slightly to the right. For some odd reason, he found the imperfection all too appealing. “Exactly. We can recreate our first meeting, and each of our subsequent dates. Best of all, maybe it’ll help me remember.”

Actually, it was a very clever idea, one that would provide her with endless amusement if she were faking amnesia. Considering they didn’t have a history, other than that one disastrous meeting at Le Premier, he’d find it impossible to come up with anything real, which left creating some ridiculous fantasy.

Everything within him flinched from the idea. He’d been dishonest enough by claiming her as his wife. Granted, The Inferno had united him with this woman, and perhaps if circumstances had been different he might have pursued a serious relationship in order to see where it might take them. But no way in hell would he permanently connect himself with a con artist.

The reminder of who and what she was stiffened his resolve. He’d put this game in motion for a reason. A very simple, extremely vital reason. If Kiley O’Dell succeeded with her scam, she could conceivably claim half the value of the fire diamond mine and the Dante family jewelry empire would go under. He had to play out this game until he had proof of her true nature. Unfortunately, his physical reaction to her complicated matters.

“Nicolò?” She looked far less excited than moments before. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my idea?”

“I love your idea.”

“Then will you do it?”

He was digging himself deeper and deeper into an inescapable hole. How would he justify his actions if Rufio proved her innocence? He couldn’t. And when she recovered her memory, those actions would cause her unfathomable pain.

But then…he didn’t believe for one minute she was an innocent in all this, not based on her actions and attitude that day at Le Premier. That woman and the one currently in his arms bore no relationship to each other. Until the two melded together once again, he’d follow the course he’d set for himself. For both of them. In fact, if he played this the way she requested, he might be able to prove what she was, as well as the truth behind her claim of amnesia.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” he agreed. “We’ll start all over again.”

He could feel her relief. “Where did we first meet?”

“In the park,” he answered promptly, following the history he’d scripted in anticipation of this conversation. “I was walking Brutus.”

“And what was I doing there?”

“Sitting. You’d just moved to the city in order to begin a new job. Unfortunately, the company folded the week after you started.”

“You took pity on me, didn’t you?”

The fantasy she’d created to fill in the holes in her memory showed an impressive ingenuity and amazed the hell out of him. Unfortunately, the warmth with which she regarded him left him stirring in discomfort.

“Brutus and I both did,” he said, forcing out the lie. “We cheered you up with a rousing game of Frisbee.”

“Then tomorrow that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to the park and play Frisbee.”

“Actually, we won’t.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “You’re less than a day out of the hospital. We’re not doing anything that risks putting you back there again. Frisbee is out.” When she would have argued further, he added, “It was just a brief encounter, Kiley. I have an alternate suggestion, if you’re willing.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll recreate our times together, if that’s how you want to play the game.” And he was painfully aware that this very well could be a game for her. “In return, you don’t ask any questions beforehand. Let events unfold naturally.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

“Because this way you don’t have any preconceived expectations. You can just be yourself and enjoy the occasion. No…did I do this or did I say that? You can just take it as it happens and respond naturally.”

“But, I don’t know what’s natural for me,” she argued.

“Then go with what feels right.”

She hesitated, considering, before giving a reluctant nod. “I guess I can do that. Are you sure we can’t start tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “We wait until the doctor clears you for normal activity.”

She grinned, her mouth taking on that lopsided slant again. “In that case, I’ll call Ruiz first thing tomorrow.”

Nicolò considered for a moment, then shrugged. “If he gives you the okay, I’m fine with it. But, I’ll need a little time to set everything up.”

And the first thing he’d set up would be a few “dates” that would help him determine whether or not she truly had amnesia, while giving Rufio additional time to complete his background check. Dates that would prove that she was a woman who craved the good life and all the expensive accessories that went with it. Until then…

He stretched out an arm and flicked off the light. “Try and sleep.” Because heaven knew, he wouldn’t. Not with her in his bed, wrapped around him, while he couldn’t do more than plant a chaste kiss on her brow.

She stirred against him, threatening to shred his ability for any sort of chaste embrace. Or so he thought until she said, “I—I don’t like it this dark.”

“I’m right here,” he said, reassuring her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. But if you’d be more comfortable with the light on…” He reached for the lamp again. “Better?”

“Do you mind?” Her eyes turned so dark they were almost as black as his own. “Ever since the accident—”

“What?” He threaded his fingers through her hair, careful to avoid the stitches from her injury. “Do you remember something?”

“No, it’s not that.” She moistened her lips. “As long as I can remember—which, granted, isn’t long—it’s never been this dark or so quiet. Hospitals are noisy, busy places. Until I woke up in your guest bedroom, I don’t ever remember being alone before. I…I didn’t like it.”

It took him a moment to reply. “There’s an easy fix to that. From now on, you sleep here with me and we leave a light on.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not even a little.”

He continued to hold her until she drifted off, calling himself six kinds of fool. He watched as she slept, memorizing every curve and angle of her face. She was out cold, no faking that, so relaxed and trusting within his embrace. She’d regained some of her color, her cheeks carrying a light flush instead of that frightening waxy pallor she’d worn during her hospital visit. And her hair fell in heavy curls across her shoulders and his bared chest, the soft, springy feel of it sheer torture. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, making him long to sample them again, to delve inward and invade that honeyed warmth. To see if she tasted as sweet and rich as before or if he’d imagined it.

How could someone who looked so innocent be so amoral? Every instinct he possessed insisted she was telling the truth. That her amnesia was real. If he only had himself to consider, he’d take the risk. But his responsibilities encompassed far more than himself, and that meant he needed to use extreme caution. He had to remain on his guard every second, especially during moments like these. Intimate, private, vulnerable moments that someone experienced in running a con could turn to her advantage.

He closed his eyes, wishing he had the ability to trust. Wishing that he could believe in things like The Inferno and second chances and the goodness of human nature. But in his capacity as Dantes’ troubleshooter he’d experienced far too much of the opposite to ever take such a leap of faith.

Even as the thought lingered in his mind, he settled her more firmly within his hold, his embrace equal parts possessive and protective. And as he joined her in sleep, one word sounded louder than all the others.

Mine.

Three endless days passed before Kiley received the official okay from Dr. Ruiz to resume normal activities. He also gave her the name of a doctor who specialized in retrograde amnesia, though she hoped she wouldn’t need his services. Instead, she preferred to trust that with her husband’s help, her memory would return on its own. It was just a matter of when.

She wished she could explain how disoriented she felt. Nicolò knew everything about her, while she knew nothing. Nothing about herself. Nothing about her likes and dislikes. Nothing about her personality or hopes or dreams. It put her in a position of reacting to all that went on around her instead of driving or controlling events. It also forced her to trust implicitly, which filled her with uncertainty and fear.

Every aspect of her life ended in a giant question mark. And every time she had to ask a question about herself and the appropriateness of her actions, or about mist-shrouded events from her past or unremembered plans for her future, it left her both dependent and vulnerable.

Well, at least she could state two things with absolute certainty. First, she didn’t like feeling either dependent or vulnerable. So with each day that passed, she intended to make strides to put some distance between herself and those particular characteristics. To find a way to win back that control over her life.

And second, despite her inability to recall the details of her previous life, it was clear that her feelings toward her husband hadn’t changed. It offered untold relief that she felt such a powerful hunger toward the man at her side. That she couldn’t wait to be with him, held safe within his arms. To kiss him again. To relive that joy of loving and being loved. And to uncover all the secrets he kept hidden from the rest of the world, secrets he’d probably shared with her, and her alone, if only she could remember.

She wanted him. Needed him. And she had little doubt that they’d act on those desires before very much longer. Soon she’d experience anew those soul-stirring emotions when he made love to her for the first time. Maybe in those intensely intimate moments her memory would return.