Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

“What is it?”

He checked the label. “Vicodin.”

“For pain?””

“Ariel. Honey—”

“What did I tell you? I won’t take anything like that, anything that makes me feel woozy. Never again.”

There was a world of meaning in those words. Matteo decided to tuck them away for another time.

“Okay. That’s fine. How about an ibuprofen?”

“That’s like aspirin, right?”

“Right.” He dug into one of the other bags, found the ibuprofen, shook two into his hand. She gave them a wary look. Then she reached for them and downed them with the rest of the water.

“Excellent,” he said, with such false cheer that he made himself wince. “Okay. Now for dinner.” He reached into the bags of food, took out the contents, opened all the wrappers and arranged the stuff on the nightstand. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I brought a little of everything. Burgers, chicken, fish. What would madam like?” he asked, deliberately miming a bad French accent in hopes of defusing any remaining tension.

His silly plan worked. She smiled as she looked at the food.

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed. Want to start with a burger?”

“Does that Quarter Pounder have cheese?”

She’d recognized the hamburger. Was that meaningful, or did every human being on the planet instinctively know what a Quarter Pounder was?

“Hey,” he said, with a quick smile, “what would be the point if it didn’t?”

“Exactly.” She picked up a burger, took a big bite and rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to forget about calories, you should do it right. I know I shouldn’t admit it, but I’m a junk food junkie at heart. The other girls used to tease me about it, but I figured if you’re a dancer, you can dance off those cal…” All at once, she went very still. “Oh.”

“Easy,” Matteo said softly.

“Did you hear what I said? I remembered!”

“Yes. You did.” She was trembling. Matteo took the burger from her and clasped her hand in his. “Can you tell me more?”

She stared at him, her eyes wild and wide. He could almost see her straining to call up images and memories.

After what seemed an eternity, her shoulders slumped.

“No,” she whispered.

“You talked about other girls. And dancing.”

“Yes. But I don’t know what it meant. What I meant. I just—I just suddenly could hear—I could hear, like, these laughing voices in my head teasing me about—about eating so much and me saying—me saying we’d work off the calories, dancing.” A shudder went through her. “Matteo? Am I—am I crazy? Have I lost my mind?”

“No!” Cursing softly, he gathered her in his arms. “There’s nothing wrong with your mind.”

She gave a wet little laugh.

“Nothing, except that it’s a blank. How could I talk about dancing without knowing why?”

He knew why. She’d belonged to The Electric Dancers. The Electric Dance Company. Something like that. Should he tell her so?

“Matteo?”

What had Stafford said? Her memory could come back in bits and pieces. If it did, he should be there to offer support, but prompting her could be a mistake.

“Matteo.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Please. Tell me who I am.”

“You are,” he said, framing her face in his hands, “an incredibly strong, brave woman.” His gaze dipped to her mouth, rose to meet her eyes. “A beautiful woman,” he added softly.

“But who am I? Where am I from? What do I do? Why was I on a bus with nothing in my pocket except some money and a card with your name on it?” Her eyes glittered with sudden tears. “I have to know.”

“And you will.” He took one hand from her face, dug into his pocket, brought out a pristine white handkerchief and dabbed at the tears that had begun running down her face.

“You know things about me,” she said. “At least tell me what you know.”

“Here,” he said, holding the handkerchief to her nose. “Blow.”

She took the hanky from him and blew her nose.

“You won’t tell me?”

“Dr. Stafford said it was important to let your memory come back at its own speed.”

She sighed. “He told me the same thing.”

“See?” He tipped her face up and smiled. “The guy is consistent.”

She smiled, too, though her eyes were still damp. It was like watching the sun break through the clouds after a rain shower.

“When he came in to fill out the discharge papers, he asked me if I knew who you were. I guess he didn’t believe our little act.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. That I don’t remember you, but that it felt—if felt safe, being with you.”

“You are safe with me.”

“I believe you. I just don’t understand how I can trust you, but not know you.” She touched the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. “And I don’t understand why I have this—this thing about needing to feel safe.”

Because you’re married to a monster, Matteo thought grimly. Ariel’s eyes locked onto his.

“But you do,” she said slowly. “You know the reason.”

Matteo brought her hand to his lips.

“I have some answers. We’ll find the rest, together.”

“We? You and I?”

“Yes. You and I.” He tucked a long strand of gold behind her ear. “We’re going to play Sherlock Holmes.”

“A famous detective, right?” Her laugh was soft and bittersweet. “Wonderful. I can remember all the important things. Quarter Pounders, fictional detectives…”

“A girl after my own heart,” Matteo said lightly.

“Am I? A girl after your own heart?”

He felt his pulse beating in his ears.

“Ariel…”

“Because…” Her cheeks pinkened. “Because the nurse that got me ready to leave the hospital said…she said she thought you and I must be lovers. I know you said we aren’t, but—but if we are, I mean, if we were—”

What was he supposed to say? That tonight was only the second time in his life he’d set eyes on her? If he did, wouldn’t she want to know more? But he couldn’t tell her more without divulging the sordid details of an unbelievable story, that she was married, that her husband wanted her out of his life, that he’d asked him, Matteo, to make that happen, that she’d begged for his help and he’d walked away…

Shit, he thought, shit, shit!

“Matteo?”

She was watching him with such trust. And with something more, too, something that made his blood thicken.

“Are you my lover?” she whispered. “Because if you are—if you are—”

A groan broke from his throat. He drew her into his arms; her face lifted to his, her hand cupped the nape of his neck. Her rosy lips parted and he bent hi

s head and kissed her, gently at first and then with growing passion…

His iPhone rang.

He ignored it.

But it kept ringing and ringing and when it finally stopped, it began ringing again after only a few seconds.

“Dammit!” He dug the phone from his pocket. “What?” he snapped, before he could think, before he could check to see the caller’s ID.

“Havin’ a good time, Bellini?”

Matteo shot to his feet, put a finger lightly over Ariel’s mouth and walked into the bathroom.

“Tony,” he said, very softly. “You have a short memory. I told you never to call me again.”

“Listen and listen good, lawyer-man. You think you’re so smart, like when we were kids, but you aren’t smart at all if you thought you could get away with stealin’ my property.”

“Your property?”

“My wife, you piece of shit. My woman. I know you took her. Maybe you forgot she belongs to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Forget the lies, Bellini. You got one chance to hand her over. After that, you’re a dead man, right along with her.”

Matteo’s vision blurred. He was a man who’d spent most of his life controlling his emotions. Losing yourself to your feelings was a weakness. Now, for the first time, he understood that letting yourself feel, really feel, was the very purpose of life, even if what you felt was gut-deep hate.

“You listening, pal?”

“You listen, Pastore. You touch her and so help me, I’ll kill you.”

Pastore laughed. It was the kind of laugh Matteo remembered from their childhood, low and cruel and vicious.

“Big talk, lawyer-man.”

Ariel’s hand fell on his arm. Matteo swung around, but it was too late.

“Matteo?” she said.

Pastore laughed. “Mah-tay-oh,” he said.

Matteo punched the phone’s off button.

“We have to leave.”

“But why? Who was that you were talking to? What—”

“There’s clothing in those other bags. Warm stuff. Jeans. Sweaters…” Dammit, what was wrong with him? Pastore could be hours away, in Manhattan, or miles away, in Lake Serene. Getting Ariel out of her hospital scrubs and slippers and into real clothes wasn’t an option.

The blanket would have to do.

He hurried back into the bedroom, snatched up the hospital blanket and wrapped it around her. Hell. No way was that sufficient. He grabbed the blanket from the bed and snugged it around her, too.