The Italian's Forgotten Baby. Raye Morgan

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

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

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

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

      “You go first,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “So I’ve heard,” she said.

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

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