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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 him a little.
“I was just…” He stopped himself, obviously realizing he was beginning to sound defensive. He narrowed his eyes. “This is new territory for me. It won’t happen again.”
She’d smiled. She’d believed him then and she believed him now. He had the look of a man who didn’t usually do much daydreaming on the job.
“They looked so pretty, like little blue balloons sailing toward me in the water. I didn’t realize they were even alive until they began to sting.”
She nodded wisely. “Many of the most beautiful plants and animals in paradise hide a deadly poison,” she noted, talking more philosophy than biology.
To her surprise, he’d laughed. “Is that meant as a warning?” he asked her, and she laughed, too, realizing how it could be interpreted that way. She liked the cast of his dark eyes as they warmed with amusement. And she thought—maybe he wasn’t such an aloof character, after all—once he wasn’t in pain.
“Sit tight,” she said, moving to position herself to use the outboard motor. “I’ll take you back to shore.”
She’d sensed him studying her again as they raced over the blue water. To her surprise, she found she rather liked it. She’d come to these islands almost a year before and in all that time, she had very carefully avoided inviting any male interest.
She wasn’t here for romance. She was here for sanity. It was her intention to live modestly and attract very little notice from the locals. The tourists were a necessary nuisance, since she worked at Kimo’s, but she’d managed to make herself friendly in a reserved sort of way that seemed to work. She’d only had a few incidents where she’d had trouble getting rid of an overzealous male.
All in all, living here had worked out great. No one seemed to question her presence. No one had actually accused her of being in hiding. Maybe that was because so many of the drifters who had made their way here were just like her, avoiding life somewhere else. No one asked too many questions. She’d hoped he wasn’t going to change that trend. She still had hopes along those lines, but if that were the case, why had he come back?
She glanced at what she could see of the skin along his neck. There was no lingering evidence of weeks before when the men-of-war had stung him so badly. She remembered how, on that day, she’d brought him in to shore and tied her dinghy up to the little pier she used. Her small house was a bit back from the water, but it was visible between the coconut palm trunks, its bright yellow exterior and the riotous red hibiscus bushes around it standing out from everything else along the beach.
“Are you staying at the hotel?” she’d asked him then, toying with the idea of offering him a ride back to town on her Vespa and then shrugging it aside. She didn’t want to give him ideas, and anyway, she’d figured a nice long walk would be good for him.
“Is there really only one?” he’d asked, seeming to be amused by that thought.
“Hotel?” She nodded. “We’re pretty remote,” she noted. “We don’t really get a lot of tourists. Most of the passers through are here for the fishing or for the seasonal yacht regattas.”
“I see.”
“So…which are you?”
“Which am I?” he’d repeated, as though wondering himself. “Neither, actually,” he said cryptically. “I guess you could say I’m here for repairs. A little recuperation.”
He’d had the tone of someone who didn’t welcome too much delving into his affairs, so she’d let it drop.
And she knew now that had probably been her big mistake. She found out soon after that he’d only come to the island because he was looking for her. Well, he’d found her. And then he’d left without her.
And here he was, back again.
But that had all happened then, four weeks before. She looked at him sharply. This was now. Why was he back?
It had only been a few minutes since they’d arrived on the Vespa. He was still standing in the clearing, looking a bit lost, and all she was doing was remembering—thinking about the old Marco who had been here before. This new Marco seemed somewhat annoying in contrast and not half as appealing. But maybe the fact that she knew things about him now that she didn’t know then had something to do with that.
If only she’d given him the third degree at that point on that day four weeks ago when she’d found him in the water, she might have saved herself a lot of trouble.
CHAPTER TWO
MARCO COULD TELL she was wondering what to do with him and maybe mulling over things from their shared past, so he waited, letting her stew. He needed some time himself. He was having trouble dealing with all this. A beautiful woman, a forgotten past—it all seemed so outlandish. He could certainly understand Shayna’s appeal. He had no doubt his vacation on Ranai had been pretty spectacular, if she had been his companion in the way all evidence suggested. But that only made it even more crazy that he couldn’t remember her.
And there was another thing. Why had she run from him?
That was the question he needed to hear answered. He’d seen the look of fear in her eyes. Her first reaction had been surprise, but fear had followed quickly, and she’d turned and dashed off as though…what? He’d never been known as a pushover where ladies were concerned, but he’d certainly never been a Blackbeard, either. What had she expected him to do? Whatever it was, she’d thought better of it soon enough, and decided to be reasonable.
But he couldn’t rid himself of that nagging question. Why had she run? It had shocked him and shaken his confidence in a strange way he wasn’t used to. Maybe this situational amnesia had more facets than he’d thought. Maybe his subconscious really wanted to shield him. Maybe there was something about himself he wasn’t going to like finding out.
He would have been less surprised if she’d acted casually unconcerned about his existence, or if she’d walked up, gazed at him with no recognition at all and asked if he wanted a menu. But she hadn’t done that. She’d taken one look, known him immediately, and turned and ran.
What had he done to her? He had a small shiver of unease deep inside. What could he possibly have done to bring on a reaction like that?
He looked at her and tried to read her thoughts by the look in those exceptional blue eyes. She was hesitating, expecting him to start for her house. And that presented a problem. He didn’t know which house was hers. There were two little houses, one on either side of the clearing. He stood back, pretending to be polite, waiting for her to take the lead.
He’d planned to tell her right away about losing his memory. Now he wasn’t so sure. He hesitated. As he stood in the clearing, island life seemed to blossom around him. The sound of the surf on the reef provided background music to parrots calling to each other in the trees and someone in a distant house singing a catchy island song. The heat was a physical presence, and the sunlight seemed to slant into his eyes. If he wasn’t careful, the island magic was going to eat away at his sanity. And that made him think that it might be the wiser course of action to let things cruise for a while as he tried to figure out what upset Shayna. He might as well give it a bit of time to see what he could glean from her conversation before she knew the truth.
And if neither of them was going to make a move, at least he had to say something.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked without thinking.
She turned to stare at him. “What are you trying to do, stir up some small talk?” she asked tartly as he realized his mistake.
This was something a friend would know. He was going to have to take care not to sound like a stranger.
“Why not?” he responded lightly.
Why not, indeed.
She bristled, one hand on her hip. He was still looking around as if he didn’t recognize the place. She would like to think that he was opening his eyes to what he’d lost when he’d destroyed their relationship. That he was re-evaluating some of his actions. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite buy it.
“We’re a little beyond that, don’t you think?” she muttered, shaking her head. “Come on,” she added, starting off down her path at last. “Let’s go inside. I’m dying for some iced tea.”
“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, following her. His gazed dropped to her cute bottom and he quickly looked away. Until he found out what the problem was between them, he wasn’t going there.
Her house was tiny, set on stilts and surrounded by riotously flowering plants. It was exactly what a beautiful young woman who lived in the tropics should have for a house, he decided, but that was just what made him wary. It was all too perfect, too lush, too sensual—like a trap. Was that what had happened before? He’d probably fallen for her like a ton of bricks, right from the start. He was going to be more careful this time.
He followed her up the wooden steps and across the wide lanai, pulling off his dark glasses as he did so. Inside, she had an open floor plan tastefully decorated in pastels and rattan furniture. He glanced around the room but didn’t see any sign of anything personal that would tell him anything. There was one framed photograph high on a shelf, but not much else, no mementoes of trips or triumphs. She didn’t seem to reveal much easily.
She went into the little kitchenette and opened a small refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea and reaching into a cupboard for two tall glasses. He took his gratefully and drank most of it down. It was a hot day.
“So,” she said, leaning on the counter between them and gazing at him levelly, “you’re back. I assume there’s a reason?”
He leaned on the counter, too, just to keep things even. “I came back to find you.”
Something flashed in her eyes. It wasn’t particularly friendly, but there was a wary question behind the guardedness. She was angry and resentful about something, but she was ready to be coaxed back into friendliness. If he could just figure out what that would take, he would do it.
“Well, here I am,” she said, trying to be flip. “Though I didn’t know I was missing.”
Their gazes met and held. There was a hesitant question in her beautiful eyes, along with that touch of resentment. He frowned. This was a mystery he was going to have to get to the bottom of.
“Look, Shayna, I don’t know why you’re so angry with me,” he said, putting his glass down on the counter. “I don’t know what I did.” And he leaned back a little, expecting a vigorous response.
And that was pretty much what he got.
“You don’t know?” She stared at him as though flabbergasted. “Marco Smith—” She stopped. “Oops, I forgot. It’s really Marco DiSanto, isn’t it?” Her startlingly blue eyes were glaring at him now. “What are you doing, having memory lapses now? Don’t know what you did! Please.”
Whatever his mistake had been, she didn’t like it. That much was evident. He watched her anger, wishing he knew how to quench it.
“But I guess you are forgetting things,” she said crisply, waving a hand at him. “Look, you’ve only been gone a few weeks and already you’ve forgotten how we live in the tropics.” She shook her head. “Don’t you feel overdressed in that suit?”
“I had a meeting with a client in Singapore just before I caught the plane out here,” he explained, looking down.
She shrugged.
“At least get rid of that suit coat.”
“I’d like to,” he admitted, shrugging out of it. “With your kind permission,” he added, exaggerating his manners.
She hesitated and he could tell she had the impulse to come around the counter and take it from him in order to hang it up somewhere. But she was reminding herself that she was angry and an angry woman didn’t do things like that for the object of her anger. So she stayed put, but it was obviously an effort.
“Just hang it on the back of that stool,” she muttered, and her cheeks reddened a bit.
Marco’s instincts were right on the money. Shayna was a mass of conflicting emotions right now and that made life more uncomfortable than she was used to. She watched him take care of his jacket and loosen the knot in his tie. He tugged open the top three buttons on his silky white shirt, unbuttoned his cuffs, and shoved one sleeve up to his elbow. She was fascinated as he began a transformation. With each adjustment, he seemed to lose a bit of his reserve. He was sloughing away a more formal civilization and sinking into island life and, for some crazy reason, that made her heart beat faster.
“Stop it!” she said aloud before she realized what she was doing.
“What?” he said, looking up in surprise, the second sleeve only beginning to be pushed up.
“N…nothing,” she said quickly, flushing. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was just…” Her voice trailed off. There was no way to explain.
But she could take this as a warning. She was still vulnerable to his charms and she had to beware.
All she had to do was remember how easily she’d fallen under his spell a few weeks ago. He’d looked very different that first day. There had been no business suit then. In fact, there had been very little covering his beautiful body after she’d rescued him from the little blue men-of-war.
Once back on the shore, she’d gone against her better instincts and invited him in for iced tea that day, too.
“My name is Shayna Pierce,” she’d said once they’d settled at this same counter that day.
There was just the slightest hesitation before he’d answered. She should have paid more attention to that.
“Marco,” he said at last. “Marco Smith.”
She’d gaped at him. He was so obviously Italian, from his dashing dark looks to his very sexy accent. The name seemed like a fake from the start.
“Smith! Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
His dark eyes had gazed at her levelly, just a touch of humor in their cloudy recesses.
“You doubt me?”
She’d flushed. Doubt him? Not at all. Here in the islands, everyone was entitled to whatever name they wanted to use. Who was she to judge him? Her own name was as phony as…well, as a three-dollar bill. She’d made it up and now that she was used to it, she found that the name she was hiding under suited her much better than her old name. “No, of course not.”
But he’d been so gorgeous that day. As she remembered it, after a few minutes of sipping and conversation, she’d found her gaze straying to his muscular chest once too often.
“Where exactly did you leave your clothes?” she’d asked him a bit fretfully.
He was feeling much better by that time. The red welts had mostly melted away.
“What do I need with clothes?” he’d responded, half-teasing. “Isn’t this the tropics? I thought you all walked around like children in the Garden of Eden.”
She’d laughed, teasing right back. “Even Adam was embarrassed when he realized Eve was looking at him cross-eyed.”
“I don’t embarrass that easily,” he said, and at the same moment, his gaze caught hers and held and she felt a rush of sensual excitement in a way she’d never experienced before. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, which told her he had thoughts of exploring things between them, things that would come too close to intimacy. Things she couldn’t allow. She didn’t think she’d ever read the signals in a man’s eyes quite so clearly as she did at that moment. She’d been uncharacteristically tongue-tied for a good twenty seconds.
He’d broken the spell by smiling and speaking casually, as though none of that had happened at all.
“As for my clothes, they are back on the beach somewhere. Closer to town. The water was so clear and the fish were so beautiful, I guess I got caught up in the moment and swam pretty far from where I started.”
She’d sighed, looking at him and biting her lip. It was one thing to pal around with a halfnaked man on the beach. Somehow it seemed very different here in her home. It had made her uncomfortable.
He’d noticed. “I’d ask to borrow one of your shirts, but I have a feeling that would be a tight squeeze,” he said lightly.
“I’ll find you something,” she’d said, jumping up and then afraid she’d sounded a bit too eager. “Uh, I’ll be right back.”
She took her time, rummaging through her closet shelves and waiting for her cheeks to cool down. And then she remembered the Hawaiian shirts a previous tenant had left and pulled them out, choosing a bright yellow one with a red parrot on the front.
“Here you go,” she said as she came out into the living room again, expecting to find him still at the counter. But he wasn’t there. Instead, he was across the room where he had obviously been studying the things on her display shelves. As she came into the room he’d turned and stared at her, a completely new look on his face.
“Didn’t you say your name was Shayna Pierce?” he’d asked, at the same time studying her closely.
She remembered blinking and feeling a tiny thread of alarm slithering down her spine. What had he seen on her display shelves?
“That’s right.”
He’d frowned, staring at her face. “Are you sure?”
She gave him a sideways glance of annoyance. “Last time I looked,” she said tartly.
He shook his head and gazed at her narrowly. “There’s something familiar about you,” he’d said softly.
Her mouth had gone dry but she rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, I hope not.”
