Mediterranean Men & Marriage. Raye Morgan

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СКАЧАТЬ he put pencil to paper, he realized his doodling was turning out to be a woman’s face instead of the hull of a sailing craft. He stared at it. He hadn’t done any figure drawing since his days at university, but here he was, making a pretty decent stab at getting Shayna right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Memory. You still have yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Maybe so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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