Dante's Wedding Deception (7 page)

Was it also serious enough to end their marriage?

Kiley entered the restaurant, Ambrosia, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable than she could ever remember. Her mouth curved in a wry smile. Not that she had much basis for comparison.

At least her bruises were no longer visible, since in the gown Nicolò had purchased, they would have stood out like a neon sign. She skated a hand down the pale green silk that molded to her waist, hips and thighs before flaring outward in a short train, and struggled to appear poised and confident. It took every ounce of willpower not to tug at the strapless bodice, one that revealed more than it concealed.

She associated the elegant gown with “Old Kiley,” a woman, based on her husband’s description, she neither liked nor understood. Maybe that other version of herself enjoyed a life rich in sensual pleasure. The only sensual pleasure this Kiley cared about was the one she found in Nicolò’s arms.

But did her preference match his? She searched his stunning profile. He was a Dante. A man who hobnobbed with billionaire financiers and jet-setters. He had a position to maintain. He’d been so patient with her, but maybe his patience would soon run out. Maybe he’d brought her here in an effort to change her back into the woman he’d first married.

She worried at another possibility, one that concerned her more than any other. Perhaps he chose her originally because she fit into his world, something no longer true. Without a memory of all the little turns of events that led her to develop into the person he married, she could only base her actions on what felt right. And though it broke her heart to admit it, this current getup felt completely wrong. No matter how hard she struggled to fit in, she simply didn’t.

Since the moment she’d awoken in that hospital bed and been claimed by her husband, she’d been forced to rely on her instincts. And those instincts—straight down to the very core of her—told her that she bore no relationship to this glossy woman he’d patchworked together for a dinner date with some fancy billionaire glamour couple. Perhaps that had been true once upon a time. But not any longer. Not unless she regained her memory and lost her current self. If this version of Kiley wasn’t good enough for Nicolò, she had a terrible feeling it doomed their relationship before it ever truly began.

The knowledge hung over her like the sword of Damocles, threatening with one swift plunge of the blade to render her from a man The Inferno insisted was her soul mate. A man she knew, deep in her heart of hearts, belonged to her every bit as much as she belonged to him.

Or did he belong to that other Kiley?

The maître d’ appeared just then and showed them to a private dining alcove and a few minutes later Joc Arnaud and his wife, Rosalyn, appeared. To Kiley’s surprise, Rosalyn proved to be a fellow redhead, although her hair gleamed a deep, rich auburn instead of Kiley’s brighter shade. Of equal interest, Joc shared Nicolò’s coloring.

The similarity ended there, of course. Rosalyn had the height and curves that Kiley lacked and crossed the room with long, ground-eating strides that proclaimed her as comfortable on a Texas cattle ranch as in a ballroom. She stuck out her hand with equal forthrightness.

“I’m Rosalyn Arnaud,” she announced. “Pleased to meet you. And this is my husband, Joc.”

“Kiley O—Dante. Sorry.” She released a quick laugh as they all exchanged handshakes. “I guess I’m still getting used to my name.”

“Nicolò told us about your accident.” Rosalyn took the seat Joc held for her and dropped her hand over Kiley’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really sorry that you’re going through such a difficult time.”

“The doctors say I could get my memory back at any time.”

“In the meanwhile it must make it very difficult to take everything in. You must feel so dependent and vulnerable.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” Kiley confessed. “I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for Nicolò.”

“Right.” Rosalyn’s gaze flashed in his direction and she smiled sweetly. “At least you have a husband who loves you and only has your best interests at heart. Someone you can trust to protect you.”

Joc took the menu from their waiter and handed it to his wife. “Here you go, Red. See what trouble you can get into with this.”

She shot a grin at Kiley and leaned in. “That means be quiet,” she whispered in a voice that could be clearly heard by everyone at the table. “Not that I ever listen.”

Kiley laughed. “How did you two meet?” she asked, intrigued by the unmistakable differences in attitude and polish between husband and wife.

“Joc sent some goons to my ranch in a vain attempt to buy it. I stormed his citadel and explained why that wasn’t going to happen.”

“And then?”

“Then he kidnapped me—”

“I most certainly did not,” Joc argued. “I tendered an offer which you accepted with impressive alacrity.”

“—and he brought me here and proceeded to seduce me.” Rosalyn helped herself to a breadstick. “It was actually quite enjoyable.”

“Coming here or being seduced?” Kiley asked.

Everyone laughed and Rosalyn gave Kiley a look of undisguised approval. “Since it resulted in our son, Joshua, I’d have to say that tips the scales ever so slightly toward the whole seduction number. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m hoping for a big seduction number, too.” She waited for the laughter to die down again before asking, “How old is your son?”

“Not quite a year and walking already,” Joc answered. “That’s why we were late. We needed to settle him for the night and he wasn’t in any hurry to settle. Then I had to talk Rosalyn into putting on the fancy duds.”

“I’d live in jeans if it were up to me,” she confessed.

“You don’t—” Kiley broke off, searching for a more tactful way to phrase her question. “I assumed—”

“That we always live and dress like this?” Rosalyn shook her head. “Honey, if it were up to me, I’d never attend another fancy shindig for the rest of my natural born days. That’s Joc’s thing, not mine.”

“A consequence of my position, I’m afraid.” Joc glanced at Nicolò. “And of being a Dante, too, I presume.”

Nicolò nodded and it wasn’t until then that Kiley became aware of how quiet he’d remained all this time, content to sit back and observe. Observe her, she suddenly realized, while kneading his palm in a gesture that grew more habitual with each passing day.

“I’m not on the frontline quite as much as Sev or the twins,” Nicolò conceded. “But I’m forced to do my fair share when the occasion demands.”

“I doubt I’ll ever get used to it,” Kiley confessed. “I’m a nervous wreck right now.”

Joc’s brows pulled together. “Well, we can fix that easily enough.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “I’ll arrange for dinner to be delivered to our cabana. You and Nicolò can meet us there in say…twenty minutes? Will that give you time to change into something casual? We’ll send the nanny on her way and just relax and eat and have some wine. How does that sound?”

Before Kiley could interject, Nicolò nodded. “Sounds perfect, Joc. Thanks for understanding.”

“Nothing to understand,” he assured.

They met up twenty minutes later and Kiley thoroughly enjoyed every second of the evening from that point on. After dinner, a demanding wail sounded from one of the bedrooms and a few minutes later Rosalyn appeared with a sleepy baby held close in her arms. At first glance his hair seemed as dark as his father’s, but as the two drew closer, Kiley saw it reflected a hint of Rosalyn’s deep auburn. He’d also inherited his mother’s eyes, the color an unusual violet-blue. He blinked at the assembled group for a moment, taking it all in, before offering a huge grin, proudly displaying a pair of bottom teeth.

Kiley couldn’t resist. It was a night of new experiences and fate offered her one more she wanted to add to her collection. “May I?” she asked. “I can’t remember ever holding a baby before.”

Rosalyn instantly melted. “Joshua’s still half-asleep, so I’m not sure how he’ll take to you. Just don’t be offended if he decides he wants to go to Joc. He’s more of a guy’s guy than a momma’s boy.”

Kiley took the baby into her arms, cradling him in her arms, barely daring to breathe. Joshua blinked up at her and she could tell he was weighing his options—scream his little head off or put up with her. To her delight, he gave her the benefit of the doubt.

“He’s almost a year, and yet he still smells so new,” she whispered to Nicolò.

He chuckled, joining her on the couch and wrapping an arm around her and the baby. “Try smelling him when he loads that diaper of his.”

“Amen,” Joc and Rosalyn said in unison.

The rest of the evening passed, possessing an almost dreamlike quality. Contentment settled over Kiley, along with a renewed self-confidence. Maybe she could handle this, especially if all Nicolò’s friends were as nice as the Arnauds. She continued to hold Joshua, who promptly fell asleep against her breast.

“Lucky brat,” Nicolò whispered in her ear.

“No,” she whispered back. “Lucky me.”

When the evening came to an end, Kiley reluctantly handed over Joshua and she and Nicolò made their farewells. They followed the lighted walkway from the Arnauds’ cabana to their own, enjoying the exotic scents that filled the sultry night air. It gave Kiley a moment to think, to address the whispered concerns that had gradually grown to a shout during the course of the evening. She’d learned two very important facts this evening.

First, that she could act the part Nicolò required of her in order to fit into his world. And second, that she didn’t want to pretend to be anyone other than herself, the “real” woman she instinctively recognized as her true persona. Now, she had to convince her husband of that. Nicolò unlocked the door and waited for her to precede him into the darkened interior. She paused in the foyer, turning to face him.

“I can’t continue this pretense any longer,” she announced.

N
icolò froze, Kiley’s words causing bitter disappointment to clash with cynical triumph. Gotcha. He didn’t know what about tonight had set her off, but she was finally going to admit the truth of who and what she was.

“What can’t you do?”

She swiveled to face him, taking a step in his direction that shifted her from deep shadow into a pool of moonlight. “I can’t continue living this sort of lifestyle. It feels…wrong. I feel wrong.”

Okay, not quite what he expected. “You didn’t enjoy this evening?”

“This evening—or at least, the second half of the evening—was incredible. But not all the rest. Not the trappings and the facade I’d have to adopt.” Worry filled her expression. “Is it necessary, Nicolò? Do I have to become the woman I was before in order for our relationship to work?”

“No.” The word escaped before he could stop it. “You can be any sort of woman you wish.”

“And you’ll still love me?”

The question burned like acid. “My feelings for you won’t change.”

“Even though I’ve changed?”

“Give it time, sweetheart.”

She took another step in his direction, closing the gap between them. Her hands slipped across his chest and gathered up handfuls of his shirt. “I don’t want to be the Kiley you described to me earlier. How can I like or respect her if she’s as shallow inside as she is on the outside? I just want to be who I am now. Can you live with that? Can you accept that?”

He wasn’t the one who wouldn’t accept it. She, herself, wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not once she regained her memory. But how did he explain that to her, without telling her the rest? “It’s not my decision,” he said, regret roughening his voice. “If your memory returns you’ll be who you were before. The events that will have occurred since then may alter your perspective, somewhat. But you’ll be the Kiley O’Dell I first met.”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “I can almost hear the clock ticking down. Only in this version I don’t know who or what Cinderella turns into when the clock strikes midnight. I’m afraid of that other woman, afraid I’ll turn into something or someone I won’t like.”

“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to remember?”

“Yes. No. The way you act—” She shook her head, her tears catching on the end of her lashes. “The way everyone acts makes me wonder what you’re not telling me. Even Rosalyn—”

Aw, hell. “What about her?”

“She was annoyed with you about something. Please don’t deny it,” Kiley added, before he had a chance to speak. “All that business about being vulnerable and having to trust you. I can read between the lines. I also overheard you and Francesca arguing at Dantes Exclusive. I’m not an idiot, Nicolò. You’re keeping something from me. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

The tears fell then, each one impacting like a knife to the gut. “You’re lying,” she whispered, not even attempting to disguise her pain. “You said we fought right before my accident. Were we about to break up? Is that it? Is that what you can’t bring yourself to tell me? Are you just waiting until my memory returns before you put an end to our marriage?”

“We did argue,” he admitted. “And it’s possible that when your memory returns you’ll want to end our relationship.”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “Call it irreconcilable differences.”

“What happens if I never regain my memory?” she persisted. “If I never remember, do we continue to pretend there isn’t a problem? For how long?”

“You’ll get it back.” He said it with such flat certainty that she flinched.

“What if I don’t?” The question sounded more like a wish and a prayer. “What happens then?”

“I don’t have an answer for you.”

“That’s why you initially put me in a separate bedroom. Why we haven’t made love. Why you’re insisting that I regain my memory before we do. Because we were on the verge of divorce.”

“It was an argument, Kiley. That’s all.”

She took a step back, releasing him. Her eyes glittered like crystal in the moonlight, leached of all color. She reached for the first button of her blouse and thumbed it through the hole. Then a second. And a third. The deep V of her neckline revealed the intricate heart-shaped locket on its thin silver chain.

It was almost identical to their first meeting at Le Premier when she’d tempted him with that tantalizing striptease. Only this time around, he didn’t catch a flash of vibrant red. This time he couldn’t tell what color provided such a sharp contrast between the milky whiteness of her skin and the unrelenting darkness of her blouse.

His gaze shot to her face and he searched for some hint to her thoughts, some clue that she was playing him by reenacting that initial meeting. But he saw nothing other than a fierce determination.

She finished unbuttoning her blouse and shrugged it off. It crumpled to the floor behind her. She kicked aside her sandals before tugging at the snap of her jeans. Next came the rending of her zipper, the sound shattering in the dense silence of the foyer. She slipped the denim off her narrow hips, her no-nonsense movements in complete opposition to her provocative actions during their hotel room meeting.

She stood before him in bra and panties. When he made no attempt to touch her, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra and tossed it to one side. And then her panties disappeared as simply and economically as her jeans.

Moonlight poured over her, silvering the creamy white of her skin and creating interesting shadows beneath the slight curve of her breasts, as well as in the nest of curls at the junction of her thighs. It also spotlighted a small birthmark that rode the curve of her hip, one that reminded him of a flower in full bloom.

Some might have called her figure boyish. Nicolò found it anything but. Her arms and legs were sculpted with lean muscle with just enough curves to make them distinctly feminine in appearance. Her breasts were on the small side, certainly, but they were also round and pert, with the nipples forming perfect pearls that he longed to taste. She was so delicate, her ankles and wrists coltish-slender. And yet, she was all woman, an indomitable woman at that, determined to tempt him beyond endurance.

The Inferno woke with a roar, consuming him in huge greedy gulps, filling him with an insatiable hunger. In that moment he didn’t care who she’d been before. All that mattered was here and now. They belonged together and he refused to deny that fact any longer. He’d deal with the fallout from his actions when Kiley regained her memory. In the meantime he’d take what she so generously offered. Take it and be damned grateful because when she came to her senses, she’d make him pay.

Big-time.

In one swift stride he reached her and swept her into his arms. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he told her.

Her arms whipped around his neck and clung. “Not even a little. Not that I care.”

“I’ll remind you of that at some point down the road.”

“I won’t forget.” Her expression grew fierce. “Not this time.”

He shouldered his way into their bedroom and dropped her onto the mattress. She came up on her knees, lost amid the flow of cream silk covering the mile-wide bed. He didn’t waste any time. He stripped out of his clothes and joined her. And then he paused. Slowed. Allowed himself to savor the moment.

The moonlight had followed them in here and caught in the long curls of her hair. He could just make out a whisper of blush in the pale color, as well as the merest hint of green in the eyes she trained so steadily on him. “The light?” he asked, remembering how she hated the dark.

“It’s not necessary.” She cupped his face and lifted upward, fitting her mouth to his. “Not any longer.”

He sank into her, home at last. “Are you sure,” he murmured between a series of long, drugging kisses.

“Positive.”

“No regrets come morning?”

“No regrets ever.”

His smile held little humor. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

“And I’m guessing you aren’t going to explain that particular remark, either.”

“No.” He lost his hands in the weight of her hair. “But there’s one thing I want you to know and believe.”

Her head tipped back giving him better access to the length of her neck. “And what’s that?”

He slid his index finger along the pulse throbbing in her throat before following the same path with his tongue. “It was like this between us from the first moment we met. From the instant I set eyes on you, I wanted you.”

“Was the feeling mutual?”

“You know the answer to that.”

She smiled, the curve of her lips full of mystery and allure. “I responded the same way as I did at the hospital.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“I may have no memory,” she whispered. “But I know you. I know your touch and your scent. I know the sound of your heartbeat and how it echoes my own. I know you were meant to be mine, just as I was meant to be yours.”

He shook his head. “Kiley—”

She stopped his words with her hand. “I’m serious, Nicolò. On some level I must remember you. It’s as if you imprinted yourself on my heart and soul. Can’t we just start over, as though that fight never happened?”

He closed his eyes. “It won’t change anything. Not in the long run. Not when you regain your memory.”

She shifted, opening herself to him. “I’m willing to take the chance.”

The last of his resistance vanished. He lowered himself to her, sliding over her. Skin burned against skin. Curves and angles collided before shaping themselves, one to the other. She was soft, so soft. It took every ounce of control to keep from burying himself in that softness. And then a stray thought took hold.

If her memory loss was real…If she couldn’t remember anything of her life before, then she also didn’t remember making love. For her this would be another new experience. And even if she regained her memory at some point, this night would, quite possibly, hold special meaning for her. How could he do anything other than make it as unique for her as possible?

He slowed the pace, taking her mouth in slow, deep kisses. And all the while he gave to her, gifted her with quiet caresses and teasing strokes. With whispered words that brought a flush of warmth to cheek and breast. He let her know with every touch, with every appreciative murmur, with every sweep of his hand that he thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever held in his arms. And she believed him, because it was the truth.

“Is this how it was the first time we were together?” she marveled at one point.

He couldn’t lie. Not here. Not now. Not in such an intensely intimate moment when they were both stripped to their bare essence. “This isn’t like any other time. This is new for both of us.”

“I’m glad. I want it to be different. I want it to be special.”

And it would be. He’d see to that. He cupped her breasts, as tantalizing and perfect as the rest of her, and lathed the sensitive tips. She arched beneath him, pressing herself deeper into his mouth. He scraped the tight nipples with his teeth and heard the soft cry of pleasure it elicited. And then he tormented her other breast, feeling the pounding of her heart against his cheek.

The need to taste more of her drew him and he slid downward, sampling the soft indentation of her belly and the small birthmark at her hip, before finding the thick blush of curls that concealed the heart of her. He parted the delicate folds and gave her the relief her body wept for. Her hips rose to meet his kiss, her thighs taut and trembling as she teetered on the knife’s edge. He pushed, ever so slightly, and she went over with a cry, all fluid heat and gasping pleasure.

“We’re not done, yet,” he warned. “Not even close to done.”

“I don’t want this to ever end.” Her hands curled in his hair and she tugged, drawing him up and over her. “I want this night to last forever.”

She was so beautiful, still captured within the moon-silvered glow of her climax. “It’s not within my power to make the night last forever.” He traced her features, one by one. The winged arch of her brows, the wide, vivid eyes, her sculpted cheekbones and pert nose, right down to her sweetly lopsided smile. “But the memory of tonight will last forever.”

Her smile faded. “What if I forget again?”

His gaze grew tender. “Then I’ll remember for you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

He began again, building on what had gone before. Her reaction to him came quicker this time, her responses more natural and fluid. And she gave back in ways that threatened to send him straight out of his mind.

Her quick, clever hands stroked and gripped before flitting away to provoke a new sensation. And she moved—heaven help him, how she moved—with a sensual grace that drove him wild with desire. She flowed over his body like silk, cupping him, tracing a provocative finger of exploration across velvet and steel. By the time she finished she knew every inch of his body. But then, he knew every inch of hers.

Finally, the exploration ended in the ultimate discovery. Making short work of slipping on protection, he parted her thighs and forged deep inside. She wrapped herself around him, clinging to him as though she never intended to let go. And then she rocked upward, surging with him into a rhythm as old as mankind.

Nicolò could feel the white-hot forging of The Inferno, could feel the ultimate completion of the bond between them and the way it expanded until it filled him to overflowing. It didn’t matter any longer whether Kiley was con artist or innocent. They belonged together, two parts of a whole. How their affair would ultimately end was a question for another time and place. All that mattered was here and now.

This moment.

This woman.

The creation of this memory, everlasting.

She shuddered beneath him. “No, not yet.”

“Now, Kiley. Go over with me.”

Their gazes locked, his demanding, hers so trusting it would haunt him forever. He cupped her head as he surged inward, watching her give in and take flight. Feeling her surrender radiate outward until it encompassed her entire body. And he soared with her, losing himself in her heat and warmth. Losing himself in that moment of ultimate completion. Losing himself, body and soul.