Where It Began

“Daniel, my son.” Elias’s voice dropped to a whisper. “In this terrible accident I have lost a wife and a daughter. Will you not honor me by taking this last chance?”

Daniel’s blood grew hot. “You mean as penance for not stopping the thunder boat from ramming the skiff in the first place?”

Elias glanced toward the balcony, determined that Maria not hear their words. “I mean no such thing.”

“Then why do you insist that I take her?”

The older man’s gaze softened. He reached out a hand, letting it settle, palm down, on the glass table. “You think I do not know how you suffer, as well?”

“It’s in the past.”

“Nonsense. You breathe every moment of that accident, every day. I see it in your face when you think no one is watching.”

Like a falling ax, the truth cleaved his emotions. He had decided to leave because he could not—no, would not—suffer this constant turmoil any longer. Either Maria loved him, or she did not. As of today, she did not. A year was a long time to torture a man.

“Then let the past die, Elias.” Daniel ground out his quiet words. “I will return in six months to check on you both.”

Elias pounded the table with his hand. “You do not run out on family.”

He knew, without looking, that Maria had descended the balcony stairs to the patio. He heard the silent padding of her bare feet, felt her body heat. He crossed his arms, watching Elias’s gaze warm as she approached. He didn’t have to see to know she moved like a siren walking on air.

“So, querida, you join us for breakfast?”

She passed Daniel to kiss her father’s cheek. “I couldn’t work with you two arguing. I want to join this conversation.”

Daniel’s senses swelled with the citrusy scent clinging to her skin. The stains on her sundress reflected bright oil paint from canvases already finished and sold. The thin straps of the dress threatened to slide off her tanned shoulders, and his hand itched to push them farther down that soft skin with a finger.

He swallowed hard when she turned, her dark eyes grazing him with that curious but unfamiliar gaze that tore at his heart. Right now, losing her seemed like a life sentence. She and her stubborn father, more precious to him than anything in the world, were asking him to do something that would destroy everything he’d spent the past year trying to preserve.

He might be planning to move on with his life, but Elias and Maria Santiago were family. Nothing tied Daniel to the land like Reefside, the only home he now knew, and its inhabitants.

Before the disaster, Daniel and Maria had built dreams for their future. She would create canvases of international renown, while he raced closer to world cup status. When he had asked her to marry him, she had said yes, and compounded her acceptance with the sweetness of her body. That memory alone practically drove him to madness.

They had decided to make a home at Reefside, with Elias. Maria’s father had shared their dreams. Blessed them. Then, their world shattered on one gorgeous, sun-filled afternoon, the aftermath of which still lingered today.

Since the accident, Daniel could not bring himself to sail. Meanwhile, Maria’s career flourished, while she remained blissfully unaware that Daniel languished.

Daniel had doggedly followed every rule Elias and the doctors had set for helping Maria regain her memory. They had wanted him to go slowly—not upset her by trying to make her remember they were lovers. If she could not recall her previous life, anxiety might drive her deeper into herself. But their rules had fallen short. In a year, Maria had not remembered him. At all.

Now, with Elias’s demand that he take her back to the Abacos, Daniel was terrified of what might happen if she did remember—out there. In Little Harbour. Not in the safety of her home.

If he were to agree to this mission, it would be out of kindness. He’d already told himself the two of them were finished. He’d welcome time alone with Maria. Taking her away was the right choice, but not to the Abacos. His throat tightened, making it hard to breathe. He shot Maria an impatient look that would have sent a lesser woman fleeing.

If Maria sensed his distress, she ignored it.

“Poppa offers you respect as a family member. Yet, you treat his gesture lightly.” She laid a hand on her father’s shoulder. “I told you, Poppa. He’s playing you for a fool.”

The only fool here is me, Daniel thought, for wasting an entire year trying to reach her. This was one insult he would not ignore. “You have no idea how wrong you are, Princess.”

Her dark eyes snapped to attention. Her full lips compressed into a hard line. “How could I possibly know anything other than what I hear? And do not call me Princess.”

Damn if his jaw didn’t tighten so hard his back teeth hurt. He thumbed in the direction of the yacht docked on the Intracoastal side of the estate and asked her a question he didn’t need answered, if only to reclaim some control over this situation. “Well then, tell me this…Maria. Do you even like to sail?”

He immediately regretted the confusion that clouded her eyes. She visibly struggled with his question until her resolve steeled. “There is only one way to know, Captain. Poppa says you are the best of the best, yet you’ve stayed landside for months. Would you dare take the Honora off shore to find your answer?”

Oh, he wanted the chance to find out, all right. A chance to woo her. Seduce her. Win her back. But on the Honora…where it all began? No way could she be aware of this one dangerous fact.

In his role as captain of the sloop he loved, he would be creating a facade that didn’t exist on the last journey, almost a year ago to the date. As far as Maria knew, Daniel was hired help. Anonymous. Indifferent. Yet how long could he remain that way? Despite its fifty-foot waterline, the Honora would be tight quarters for the chemistry they still seemed to share.

Deep inside, he longed to be alone with her. To calm her, explain things to her. He believed she felt their bond, even though she ignored him. Dare he test her limits at sea? Away from Elias? Away from empty rooms that were once her mother’s and her sister’s? Should he try, one more time, to see if their love was strong enough to overcome the trauma of retrograde amnesia?

The chance to win her back, as a stranger, was cowardly, no matter how appealing. He’d be better off pursuing his new plans, away from Maria, especially with her in such a volatile, emotional state of mind.

She was out of reach now, but if she remembered the accident without the right people around her to help her understand? Then, for sure, she would be lost to him. He’d be better off leaving for Australia and starting a new life. If, in time, her memory returned and she was willing to forgive him, they could at least remain friends.

Sailing away with her tomorrow would simply make a bad situation intolerable. He should move on. After all, had she died in the accident, like the others, he would have had to start over. Her love would have remained an ache deep in his being—one he’d learn to live with. There wouldn’t be much difference between that sad acceptance and the way he felt now at the lack of recognition that pooled in her eyes when she gazed at him.

Damn it all. While his heart tugged at him to take her away and make one last try, his mind demanded he run as fast as he could.

Elias watched him with hawklike calm. Daniel might fool Maria, but the older man knew. He recognized the depth of Daniel’s love for his daughter. Elias had urged Daniel to overcome his fear of his own abilities to command a vessel.

Daniel met his gaze, silently pleading that this interview end. He needed to commit to the races in Australia. Winning was critical to cement himself in the sailing arena. The sponsorship calls and advertising contracts wouldn’t be coming in forever. He only had a small window of time here to get back on track. Daniel had spent too many months wrestling with the guilt that had tied him to Reefside, day in and day out, and the need to ensure Elias and Maria fared well.

A sigh escaped his lips. Why the hell was he arguing with himself, anyway? Elias’s look said it all. Daniel had no choice but to right the wrong that had begun with him. It was his fate to be ground zero when Maria exploded back to life. It just had never occurred to him, or Elias, that she would request to sail back to the place where it all began.

Daniel needed time to think.

“I have errands to do. I’ll answer you in an hour.”

He didn’t even look back when Elias called out, “Be sure there is storage on the Honora for Maria’s canvases.”

CHAPTER TWO

AGAINST HER DECISION not to heed Del Rio at all, Maria watched his angry stride, infuriated at his rudeness. He had her full attention as he headed into the tropical overhang leading around the villa. His unwillingness to help confounded her. After refusing his attempts at conversation with her all these months, she finally needed him and he was dodging her.

It made no sense.

She’d avoided him most of this past year because a wave of anxiety would hit whenever he came around, rattling her right down to the bone. Then, his soothing, deep voice with its touch of laughter would lull and excite her at the same time. His concerned glances, as if he expected her to ask him a question at any moment, had left her feeling inadequate and foolish.

Recently, however, she’d felt differently. It occurred to her that her subconscious was prodding her. Perhaps Del Rio knew the answers to her questions. Instinct said that he was her ticket to regaining her memory, and every ounce of her being knew this to be true. If only she could calm down enough around him to stop being such a shrew, he might be inclined to help her.

The clang of iron from the side gate heralded his exit. She dropped into the seat across from Elias, aware her father watched her. Perhaps he was reassessing the wisdom of letting her leave. It didn’t matter. She had to make this voyage. Nothing was going to stop her from retracing that trip to Little Harbour—unless Poppa was ill.

“You’re angry with me,” she said.

Elias shook his head, his rheumy brown gaze filled with intention. “No, mi querida. It hurts me to see what is left of our beautiful family quarreling.”

“Del Rio is not family. He acts as if you and I belong hidden away like a couple of loony tunes in an asylum.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “You simply do not remember, Maria.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Yes. Poppa was right. While a niggling thought teased that she knew Del Rio, he remained an enigma. That his family had been tied to hers for so many years made her wonder why she could remember nothing of this South American.

Yet, something about him disquieted her. Poppa had said Del Rio’s mother was beautiful, his father a lifelong business partner. Elias had laughed, insisting that Del Rio had inherited his Irish father’s renegade looks, while his blue eyes reflected the deep current of his mother’s Chilean soul. Del Rio must have held a strong affection for his mother and her Chilean roots, because he used her last name more often than his surname. The man certainly showed a respect for family that Poppa more than once had openly admired.

Her father could keep his poetic musings to himself.

“I am so tired of not remembering, Poppa.” Her tremulous words surprised her.

Elias turned his wheelchair to face her. With a slow shake of his head he said, “My beautiful Maria. You have been lost in your hideaway upstairs for too long. I am glad you have found strength to seek the answers you want. If it was in my power to accompany you, I would.”

Her chest tightened with love for her father. She stood. “Thank you, Poppa. You know I hate to leave you. I will be back as soon as possible.”

Yes, Del Rio could go to the devil if he did not agree to take her to Little Harbour. It was as simple as that. She pressed her cheek to her father’s, relishing the warmth, inhaling the familiar, soapy smell of his shaving lotion. Familiar scents had been triggers for her memory, and Poppa’s was one of the first to bring her around. “I love you, Poppa. I trust you will ensure your captain cooperates.”

He patted her back. “Have Enrique bring your things to the Honora.”

Ascending her steps to the studio, Maria pushed thoughts of Del Rio away. A commissioned piece needed to be completed before morning. The easel holding a painting half her size stood by the open French doors to capture as much tropical light as possible.

She reclaimed her seat on the wooden stool splattered with various colors of dried paint. Her gaze rested on her current work, which a socialite from her mother’s International Women’s group had asked her to paint. The woman wanted the view from her Islamorada home to be painted like a dream.

Maria usually created only what arose in her imagination, but since this woman had been a friend of Momma’s and offered to pay an outrageous price, Maria had accepted. She had laughed out loud when she saw the photo from which she would work. Living in the Florida Keys was like living a dream. Lately, daydreams came easily to Maria. Anything that promised escape—the slow burst of sunrise, birds flying over the sea, this photo of the view of Florida Bay from her client’s window, all set her paintbrushes in motion. She’d created a technique of blending colors and images that left the viewer mesmerized and contemplative, just as the perfect dream might do. This commission had been simple to create.

Maria still couldn’t believe that complete strangers sought out and paid huge sums for these canvases splayed with the surreal joys, sorrows and regrets of her soul that words could not describe. Heaven knew, even her nightmares made excellent subjects and sold fastest.

She marveled at the encouragement she received from art critics for indulging this exquisite escape from reality. Yet now, only reality stared back from the canvas in the form of Del Rio’s face. He had mocked her when he asked her if she even liked to sail. He knew the answer. She didn’t. And her inability to remember shook her to the core.

It was like being surrounded in complete gloom with no walls, no floor, no sound. No matter how much she reached out, how often she felt for footing, how hard she listened, nothing came. Only darkness. A darkness that spawned nightmares.

She had no memory of the accident; Poppa had told her about it. The only proof was the concussion, cuts and bruises she had sustained. Awakening in a hospital bed and not even knowing her own name had been terrifying. Elias was the one who’d rekindled her memory. By holding her hand and singing songs from her childhood, he had reached her.

Del Rio had been with Elias at the hospital. He had stood behind Poppa to support him. The two men had a bond. She remembered this fact. She also remembered her stunning twin, and their dark, elegant Latina mother, Rosalinda. When Maria and Carmen were young, their mother used to tease that no one could tell the twins apart. Maria remembered Elias saying he would always know the difference.

But what of Del Rio? He remained in her mind like Elias’s shadow. Her father would have to reeducate her about his family, his past. Elias had said Del Rio was like a son to him, but Maria couldn’t even bring herself to speak his first name.

Why?

The man was easy on the eyes. In fact, he was downright handsome. She didn’t like the pull her body felt toward him when he was around. Somehow she’d managed to ignore him. If she kept treating him as an employee, she didn’t have to consider the possibility that he might be more to her family. Because if he was simply the Honora’s alluring captain, then Elias indulged him far more than necessary. And why would this distress her?

Shame tugged at her heart. She knew why, and was loath to admit it. Jealousy. As children, Carmen had been Poppa’s favorite. Maria never quite minded because Carmen was irresistible, always quick to laugh and get into mischief. Maria had always been the “quiet” one of the two, so she was used to handing over the spotlight to her twin. Elias had indulged Carmen and Rosalinda equally because their personalities were so similar.

People used to joke that Carmen and Momma should have been the twins, not Maria and Carmen. The two were inseparable. Maria had felt like a spectator at their party, but she hadn’t minded. Someone had to provide an audience for their antics.

Now, with Carmen gone, Del Rio had taken over that coveted spot in Elias’s attention. If she were totally honest, Maria had been jealous of the love Elias poured on Carmen and their mother. He was always less enthusiastic—perhaps she’d call it softer—toward her. Did a vile part of her now hope that as the remaining child she would take first place in Poppa’s eyes? Did she resent that Del Rio had filled that void instead of her?

Hurt squeezed her heart. Was she that shallow? She released the breath she’d been holding. No. Not shallow. Needy. Her amnesia had driven her into isolation. She felt so very alone in her darkness and had become a recluse. Painting day in and day out. Sometimes sleeping in her clothes.

She’d turned away lunch dates, since most of her friends were Carmen’s and spoke only of her, deepening Maria’s loss. She stopped attending gallery showings. Refused interviews. Her world had narrowed down to Reefside. This art studio. The silly monkeys in the banyans outside her front window. And Poppa.

With diabetes weakening her father each day, she worried that she’d made a hasty decision to leave him. Yet Poppa’s longtime family physician said now was the perfect time to go.

She had to stop second-guessing her decision. It stressed her too much. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she turned her focus on the canvas. By the time she lifted her brush, Poppa, the heart-stopping Daniel Murphy Del Rio and the world outside her balcony had vanished.

SHADOWS FELL ON THE PATIO as the sun climbed into the late-afternoon sky. Daniel took the last step up to Maria’s balcony, enchanted, as always, by the Bohemian feel of her studio.

A chaise lounge scattered with turquoise pillows faced the ocean. Terra-cotta pots overflowing with flowers lined the marble balustrade. Sheer curtains inside the open doors fluttered easily in the onshore breeze, beckoning him to enter.

His eyes rested on the lounge chair and his heart started knocking around his chest. Once upon a time, he and Maria had made good use of that chair on many a summer night. The last time, she had agreed to marry him. It had been a year since he’d been up here. He steeled himself as he stepped across the balcony. Once Maria realized he was present, she would ignore him and it was going to do damage to his already tormented heart.

That’s how it was between them now. That’s why he should be hightailing it to Brisbane.

She sat just inside the doors, her back to him. The clear acrylic palette splashed with colors lay nestled in the crook of her tanned arm as she leaned toward her work. She’d twisted her hair into a knot again, catching it with an extra paintbrush.

The brush in her left hand flitted across the canvas like a lively bird. Her sundress hugged the slender curves of her body—a body now off-limits to him. The soft cotton falling in waves against the chair gave way to a smooth length of shapely leg and bare feet entwined at the ankle. Damn. She even had white paint smeared across the top of her foot.

The scent of linseed oil and paint mingled with the sea air. The subtle incense of her perfume wafted across his senses like needed oxygen. This…this was the Maria he loved. This was the woman who had stolen his heart; not the frightened, angry woman who now inhabited her skin.

He watched a moment longer, unable to resist. Her artwork, vibrant and warm like her voice when she spoke to anyone other than him, lit the canvas like seductive fingers reaching to touch his aching heart. He lounged casually against the doorjamb if only to counteract every straining nerve in his body. Without a doubt, her eyes would flash with annoyance when she finally acknowledged his presence.

He wouldn’t even flinch.

He resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the irony. Maria could not even remember why she avoided him. Nor did she remember she once loved him like a woman on fire.

Damn himself for agreeing. He’d decided to give Elias—and Maria—only three weeks. Would he be able to spend that much time alone with her without shooting off his mouth about what they had meant to each other and ruining everything?

He cleared his throat. “Maria.”

Her paintbrush stopped moving, but she didn’t turn her head. “I’m busy.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans rather than reach for her and demand she look at him.

“We have to talk.”

She slapped the brush down, her concentration lost. “I think not, unless you have a question about tomorrow’s sail.”

Daniel waited until she turned to look at him, the defensiveness in her glance nerve-racking.

“My only question is whether you’re sure this trip is something you want to do.”

She opened her mouth to speak then hesitated. “Dr. Hernandez assures me Poppa is strong. Now is the best time to go.”

“There’s that, of course. I was thinking more along the lines of what you are looking for.”

She tilted her head as if gauging his question. “Like will I fall apart if I don’t remember anything?”

“Or more like, will you be able to hold it together if you do remember?”

With an impatient flick of her wrist, she dabbed the brush in a jar of linseed oil before wiping it with a square of white towel streaked with colors.

“Oh, please. I think you are sidestepping the real question.”

“Which is?”

She appraised him over her shoulder. “Are you reliable enough to take me across the Gulf Stream?”

Oh. Low blow, Maria. A comment like that makes me wonder why I’m even bothering. My Maria was more careful with her words.

Daniel inhaled a huge breath, his mind racing with retorts, but he held them back. He wouldn’t let her get under his skin so fast, especially with that satisfied smirk on her gorgeous lips. “What, exactly, do you mean, Maria?”

Maria shrugged one shoulder, the gesture sexy as hell. “Poppa said you’re a world-class sailor. Seems more to me like you’ve been hiding on his yacht.”

Low blow number two. He stepped across the threshold, planting his feet firmly on the wide-planked flooring. His throat tightened with the urge to shout, we never spoke like this to each other before Carmen came between us, but instead, he shot a volley back, aiming straight for her heart.

He gestured to the room. “I could say the same for you in your studio, my dear. When was the last time you left Reefside?”

She swung on him. “Well, at least I’m taking my future into my hands. I’m willing to change my situation.”

He leaned toward her. “I had made plans, my dear. I’m supposed to leave for Australia this weekend.”

She pointed a finger, color rising in her cheeks. “You owe me this trip.”

If she’d slapped him, she’d have elicited the same response. Suspicion furrowed his brow. He resisted pressing a hand to relieve the pressure. Had Elias betrayed his secret? He cleared his throat before he dared ask, “And just how is it that I owe you, Princess?”

She unhinged the painting from the easel, carrying it to the drying wall, then turned to face him.

“You’ve been lounging around Reefside on my father’s dime for way too long. You owe it to him to postpone your plans and earn the salary you’ve collected by taking me.”

Relief was so immediate, he almost laughed. He’d come up to tell her he’d agreed to take her, but seeing her at work had, once again, thrown him off balance. And here she thought his reluctance was about money. If she only knew.