Passion (In Wilde Country 2)

“I’m married?”

“Yes.”

“But you and I… We’ve been… You knew I was married, and you still…”

“Yes. I still.” He spoke roughly, all too aware that everything that mattered to him would be decided in the next few minutes. “I didn’t expect us to become lovers, but I don’t regret that we did. I love you. He doesn’t.”

He reached for her. She shook her head and took a quick step back.

“Married,” she said. “To a man whose name is enough to sicken me. And you knew. You knew!”

“I wanted to tell you, but how? Stafford warned me that bringing your memory back before you were ready could be dangerous. And I didn’t need a physician to tell me that handing you this kind of memory, that you were married to a man who wanted to hurt you, could do you irreparable damage.”

“So you told me nothing. You just took me to bed.”

His mouth thinned. “Goddammit, you know that’s not the way it was! Everything that’s happened between us is real. I didn’t plan on making love to you, and I sure as hell didn’t plan on falling in love with you.” He clasped her shoulders, felt the rigidity of her body. “I never believed in those things. Love. One man, one woman. Forever after. And then you came into my life and—and—”

“You should have told me.”

“Don’t you think I wanted to?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

“Of course I did! But how was I supposed to do it? Was I supposed to say, here’s a cup of coffee, do you want it with cream and sugar and oh, by the way, you’re married to a son of a bitch who wants you dead?”

She stared at him.

“Ariel. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you with all my heart.”

Her expression softened. “I know you do.” She reached up and kissed him. “And I love you the same way. I’ve never loved anyone else. I know that. As for him…” She shuddered. “I don’t know why I married him. When I try to come up with a reason… It’s like peering into a dark, bottomless hole. I know I hated having him touch me. That I hated even being in the same room with him. Do you know why I married him? And why he wants to—to hurt me?”

Matteo stared at the woman he loved. The stricken expression on her face went straight to his heart. She was aching. How could he live with himself if he didn’t help her?

Slowly, gently, he tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know why he wants to hurt you,” he said in a low voice.

“But you know why I married him. I know that you do.” Her voice broke. “Matteo. Please. You’re the only one I can turn to. I beg you. Help me.”

She had said those words to him before, and he had turned away from her. He had failed her, but he would not fail her again.

He looked at the fireplace. The flames were dying. The room was growing chilly. Was that a symbol? He didn’t believe in symbols. Still, the past was done. His love for Ariel, hers for him, was the future.

He touched her cheek. Her skin was cool. She was shivering.

“Come to bed,” he said. “Let my body warm yours. And I’ll tell you what I know.”

He took her upstairs, to their room. He sat her down on the bed, went to the fireplace and lit the kindling, fed wood to the flames that sprang up. Then he stripped off his clothes, undressed her, and slipped into the bed with her in his arms. He held her close to him, rocked her, stroked her hair until he felt the tension ebbing from her.

“Tell me,” she said softly. “Who is Anthony Pastore? When did I marry him? And why?”

He took a deep breath.

“You married him a year ago.”

“Because?”

“Ariel. This is going to be painful.”

“Not knowing is more painful. Why would I have married a man like him? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Your father—Pastore had some information about your father that could put him in jail.”

She was quiet for what seemed a long time. Then, she made a little sound of distress.

“My father’s a thief,” she whispered. “It’s coming back to me. He’s an investor. But he—he was stealing from his clients.”

“Yes.”

“And my mother was—she was—” Her voice broke. “She was sick. Terribly sick. And if she’d found out about my father…” She drew an anguished breath. “Anthony Pastore was one of my father’s clients. He found out what my father was doing. He said—he said he’d keep quiet, but for a price… Oh God,” she said softly. “I was that price.”

Matteo wrapped her even more tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his throat. He could feel her hot tears against his skin.

“My mother’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Honey. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

“She is. I know she is. But I kept her from knowing the truth about my father. From the disgrace of it.”

“You did a wonderful thing, cara.”

“Marrying that man…” She shuddered. “It’s all coming back to me. The wedding. Telling him, after it was over, that I would never let him touch me…” She looked up at Matteo. “Is that why he wants to get rid of me now? Because I wouldn’t sleep with him?”

“I don’t know, cara. I wish I did.”

“And what about us? You and me. How did we meet?”

“Let the rest wait until tomorrow.”

“I want to know now. This is like a—a giant jigsaw puzzle. I have some of the pieces, but I need the others. If have them, everything will fall into place.”

Everything, Matteo thought including how he had turned his back on her when she’d needed him.

“We met over drinks,” he said slowly. “Pastore, you, and me.”

“Why?”

“Pastore wanted me to see you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He wanted me to see that you were—that you weren’t well.”

She gave a forlorn little laugh. “This isn’t a jigsaw puzzle, it’s a movie. I’m watching it, but I don’t understand the plot. Why did he want you to see that I wasn’t well? And what does that mean? Was I sick?”

“You were—upset.”

“You’re leaving things out. I know you are.”

“Ariel. Please. Let’s not do this all at once.”

”Did we talk? What did we say to each other? How did I get your card?”

There was no way out. He’d known that, all along. It was time to stop being a coward and tell her the truth.

“I gave it to you.”

“Because?”

“Because—because you were so beautiful. And so sad.” He paused. “And because you asked me to help you.”

She rose up on her elbow and looked down at him. The light from the fire illuminated her face.

“My knight,” she said softly.

“No. Not that. You asked for help and I said—”

“He said,” a voice snarled, “fuck that!”

The lights blazed on. Ariel screamed. Matteo shot upright against the pillows.

A man stood near the light switch. He was big and bald, and he had what Matteo figured was a .375 Magnum in his hand.

At the foot of the bed stood Tony Pastore. He was holding the same kind of gun.

It was pointed at Ariel.

Pastore grinned. “Surprise! Bet you didn’t expect visitors tonight.”

Matteo started to pull back the blankets.

Pastore’s grin vanished. “Don’t move, you piece of shit, or so help me, I’ll blow my beloved wife’s head off right now.”

Matteo touched Ariel’s leg under the blanket. It was a warning, as much as he could give her, to stay quiet and let him handle this.

“Hello, Tony,” Matteo said calmly. “How’d you get in?”

“What, you think only the good guys know how to work computers?” He grinned. “You made a bad mistake, lawyer-man. You figured that was just a power-down and that it took a while for the backup generat

or—yeah, we knew there was a generator— to kick in. It was a power-down, all right, but the storm didn’t have a thing to do with it. Jimmy here has talents you wouldn’t think a guy like him has. Right, Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s grin showed a mouthful of yellowed teeth.

“You want me to pop them, boss?”