The Italian's Forgotten Baby. Raye Morgan

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      But she had fallen. And then she’d found out who he really was, why he really was there, and her heart had broken in two. Seemingly heedless, he’d left the island. She’d tried to get over him. She’d been stern with herself and attempted a quick recovery. And now she’d realized he’d left her with more than memories. Her world had tilted on its axis. That changed everything. And yet…

      Well, now he was back. What next?

      As she pulled herself back to the present, she found him leaning forward and looking at her with a strange, intense light in his lush dark eyes. She had the feeling he was looking for something in her he just wasn’t finding and he was losing patience with the search.

      “Would you like something to eat?” she asked as a quick distraction.

      “I’m not hungry,” he said, and it was lucky. Just the passing thought of food made her queasy at the moment. The last thing she wanted to do was let him see her current condition. That was something she was going to keep from him at all costs.

      “Tell me, Shayna,” he said abruptly, “what is it that you want from me?”

      She drew back, surprised. His tone was just…unacceptable. That was the word. Who the heck did he think he was, anyway? She stared at him, sending daggers his way. He was, after all, the one who had come back. She hadn’t asked him to.

      “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, a bit of sarcasm showing. “An apology would be nice.”

      One dark eyebrow rose and he looked a little startled. “An apology for what?”

      Her eyes flashed. “Well, that’s the crux of the matter isn’t it? If you don’t feel there’s anything to apologize for, forget it.”

      She knew as the words left her mouth that she was falling into the usual female trap of expecting a man to understand how his actions had affected her. You had to explain these things to them. Saying “forget it” just gave them an out to do exactly that. She bit her lip. Was he going to try, at least?

      He started to say something, then changed his mind, as though he was reining in what he’d really like to tell her. She waited, simmering. Of all the arrogant men in the world, she had to choose this one.

      But she still reacted to him. When she thought of his kiss, her body warmed with memories. Looking at him now, she could hardly believe it hadn’t been a dream. He seemed cold and somewhat angry. At first she had thought he appeared very much the same, but she’d been wrong. He was like a different person. She put a hand over her mouth, holding back that queasy feeling again, a feeling that was beginning to be a regular around here. Closing her eyes, she swayed, waiting for it to ease. There was no denying the signs. It was only waiting to be confirmed by the doctor.

      Finally, he shook his head and gave a short laugh. “Okay, Shayna, here’s the deal. You know who I am, don’t you?” He said it, as though that still surprised him.

      “Of course I know who you are.” She frowned, beginning to find this conversation eerily convoluted. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t up for the challenge in his tone. She leaned toward him. “In fact, I know both of who you are.”

      His wide mouth was like a slash against his handsome face and it turned up at the corners.

      “Both, huh? Are you referring to my wellknown split personality?”

      He sounded as if he was teasing, but he had to know what she was talking about.

      “Is that your alibi?” she tossed back.

      He blinked, and then his eyes narrowed. “Do I need one?”

      “You tell me. You’re the one with two names.” She winced. There she went again, talking before thinking. After all, she had two names herself, and he knew it very well.

      But, strangely, he didn’t seem to have caught her very obvious mistake. Instead, he just looked puzzled.

      “This is fascinating,” he said lightly. “Why don’t you give me a full explanation. What are my two names?”

      “Well, first there’s Marco Smith, the man I got to know for two weeks.”

      His dark eyes looked bewildered by that name. “Smith?” he repeated, giving it an Italian accent that made it seem all the more phony.

      She sniffed, assuming he was just covering his tracks.

      “And then there’s Marco DiSanto, the man I only met that last day, before he bid me a careless adieu and flew off into the clouds, never to be seen again.”

      “That doesn’t make any sense,” he told her, shaking his head and frowning. “And anyway, I’m here, aren’t I? Marco DiSanto, in the flesh.”

      She cocked her head to the side, pretending to consider the dilemma.

      “Where do you want to go with this? Shall we discuss which one I liked better?” She shrugged. “That’s easy. I liked the liar, of course. He was funny and sexy and great to be with.”

      His puzzlement was growing, but she’d gone too far to stop now.

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

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

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

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

      “Do you always tell the truth, Shayna?”

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

      He went on, speaking softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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