The Latin Lover's Secret Child

Lucio saw Dante glance around the room, Dante’s gaze briefly settling on one of the Italian paintings, a landscape with cherubs and maidens frolicking at a tree-shaded lake.

“You know how valuable these are, don’t you?” Dante said, gesturing to the wall. “Especially this one,” he added, pointing to the maidens by the lake.

Lucio would have smiled if he had the strength. With his world coming down around him, Dante wanted to discuss Lucio’s wealth? “Yes.”

Dante continued to study the oversize canvas. “When did you buy it?”

“Before I married your sister.” Meaning, with my money, not hers. And not yours.

Dante’s head lifted and the two men, both Argentine, Dante Italian aristocrat, and Lucio, Spanish-Indian, stared at each other with open hostility.

“I bought the house complete.” Lucio broke the tension-fraught silence. “The owner fell on hard times. I bought the land, the villa and all the furnishings with cash.”

Dante’s lashes flickered down but Lucio saw the doubt in his eyes. “You’ve never explained how you made your money.”

“I made my fortune gambling—”

“Gambling?”

“And then took what I made at the gaming tables and invested it here,” Lucio concluded as if Dante had never interrupted.

Dante made a rough sound. “Gambler to vintner? Sounds awfully far-fetched.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Count. But I’ve always been a gambler. You should know that. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t take risks.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have seduced my sister—”

“No.” Lucio felt his temper rise but he kept it controlled, hidden by a pleasant smile. “I wouldn’t be here now, this afternoon, if I didn’t believe that this was a good opportunity for both of us.”

“Opportunity?” Dante shot him a sharp glance. “You don’t honestly think you’ve got a chance with her again?”

Lucio shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an optimist. I will never give up on Anabella. I will never give up on us.” And Lucio had said the words to spite the Count, but once he’d spoken the words he realized he meant them. He did want a second chance. Maybe God had given him a second chance to make Ana fall in love with him again.

Dante’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew bitter. He moved towards the window and stared out, his gaze fixed on the dark green vineyards undulating in the distance.

For a long moment Lucio said nothing. He just watched Dante and waited for whatever was to come next. Lucio could afford to wait. It’s all he’d been doing for weeks. Months.

Years.

Finally Dante turned, acknowledged Lucio with a slight nod of his head. “I suppose I should thank you for coming.”

Lucio bit his tongue.

“The doctor said you were in California,” Dante continued.

“You waited an awfully long time to call.”

“I waited until Ana asked for you.” Dante’s golden gaze clashed with Lucio’s. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

Lucio kept his temper—just barely. And yet he had to keep reminding himself not to pick a fight with his brother-in-law. Feuding wouldn’t help Anabella. What he needed was facts. More information. Pieces of the missing puzzle. “Is this how she emerged from the coma?”

“She was hallucinating even before your Dr. Dominguez induced the coma. It was the hallucinations that helped get her properly diagnosed. Until then everyone here, including her staff, believed she had the flu.”

“You visited her here then?”

“Your housekeeper called me and I flew out. I sent for the ambulance as soon as I arrived. I knew it was serious. She was feverish. She was definitely ill.”

“And that was what? A month ago?” Despite his best intentions, Lucio felt the bitterness rise. He wanted to remain calm, controlled, but deep down he’d never forgive Dante for shutting him out.

“Nearly.” Dante hesitated for a long moment. He appeared at a loss for words. “She is better,” he said quietly. “She may not be the old Anabella yet, but she’s greatly improved from where she was a week ago.”

Lucio could feel the Count’s concern. Dante genuinely cared for Anabella and Lucio was reminded of the autumn five years ago when he first met Ana and her family. Just seventeen, she was starting her last year of school, and already such a rebel, so at odds with her older brother’s authority.

Dante and Anabella. The two had gone round and round but no matter what happened between them, they were family.

Lucio slowly exhaled, the air almost hissing between his lips. “I’m curious about your definition of better.”

The Count looked at him, puzzled. “Her muscle tone is returning. Her strength is returning, but as you might have noticed, there are some memory issues.”

Lucio didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, I noticed.”

There was a moment of silence following Lucio’s answer and as the silence lengthened the Count’s expression grew wary. “What happened? How did she react to you when you arrived—”

Dante was interrupted by a scream from upstairs, the shout carrying down the stone stairwell into the high ceilinged living room. Dante jerked but Lucio’s features remained hard, impassive. In the six hours he’d been home, he’d heard every sound imaginable.

“What the hell was that?” Dante demanded, his gaze lifting to the ceiling where the beams had been stenciled in cream, red and green designs.

Lucio moved swiftly towards the stairs. “Anabella.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE furious cry was followed by the sound of bare feet running down the stairs. Anabella practically jumped down the last two stairs, her white shirt untucked, her long hair flying. “What do you want, Dante? What are you planning now?”

Dante took a stunned step backwards, hands rising to calm his youngest sister. “I came to see you.”

“And do what?” Her fine aristocratic features were pinched and her dark-lashed eyes bright. She reached up and swiftly knotted her hair into a rough ponytail. “Or do you not think I know what you want to do, what you intend to do?”

His expression hardened. “I have no intentions,” he said impatiently. “I’m here because you’ve been sick and I’ve been worried.”

Ana made an indignant sound and her hands flew in quick Italian gestures. “I haven’t been sick. I’ve just been upset. I missed Lucio, but he’s back now.” She drew a quick breath, eyes blazing even hotter. “And no one can keep us apart now. No one, Dante. Not you. Not Mama. Not even all of Mama’s hired soldiers.”

“You’re being irrational, Ana. I have no desire to keep you apart—”

“Liar!”

The color drained from Dante’s face. “Ana.”

Brilliant tears filled her eyes. “Don’t say my name like that. Don’t say anything to me at all. Ever since Tadeo died you’ve tried to control me. You’re so scared that I’ll turn into Tadeo—but I’m not Tadeo! I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I just love Lucio. But even that makes you crazy.”

“No, Ana.”

“Yes, Dante. Yes.” She jabbed his chest with the tip of her finger. “You and Mama. Always interfering. Never able to leave me alone.” She broke off, eyes filling with tears, and she looked at him, hurt, confused, angry. “Why can’t I want something different from the rest of you?”

Dante said nothing and the two stared at each other as if enemies instead of brother and sister.

She was living in the past. She’d forgotten that she and Dante were the best of friends, forgotten that it was Dante she confided in now.

“If you don’t go, Dante, I will.” Anabella threw back her head and swiftly wiped a tear from her eyes. “I don’t want to be in the same place with you.”

Dante looked helplessly at Lucio. “Por Dios. She’s lost her mind!”

“This isn’t the Anabella you saw a week ago, was it?” Lucio asked grimly.

“No.”

“Well, it’s the one I came home to this morning.”

Anabella grabbed Lucio’s arm. “Don’t talk to him. Have nothing to do with him. He’s not to be trusted.”

“It’s okay, Ana.”

“No, it’s not. He’s going to get rid of you. He’s going to do something to make sure you stay away—”

“Ssssh, chica,” Lucio interrupted soothingly. He cupped her cheek, stroked the warm softness. “It’s all right. You go upstairs. Wait for me. I’ll handle this.”

Anabella still clung to his arm. “And you won’t leave me?”

“No. I promise.”

Reassured, Anabella climbed the stairs but then pausing halfway, leaned over the banister to shoot her brother a contemptuous glance. “I know you,” she challenged Dante. “I know how you think.”

Lucio had had enough. He headed up the stairs and swung Anabella into his arms. He couldn’t handle much more of this today.

“Let’s run away,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, her breath warm against his skin. “Let’s leave tonight. When the others are asleep.”

He said nothing. He let her keep talking as he finished climbing the stairs. The world she lived in right now confounded him. Where was she? What was going on in her head?

“They’ll hurt you, Lucio,” Ana said, her hands tightening around his neck. “I heard them talking. They want to keep us apart. They want to make sure we’ll never be together again. Whatever you do, don’t trust Dante. He’s not your friend. He won’t be fair with you.”

Lucio gritted his teeth, wanting her to be quiet, wanting her to stop with all this chatter. These nonsensical words were like a hammer to his brain. She was dredging up old memories, wretched memories, memories of the night when he’d been beaten so badly that it had been weeks before his broken bones healed, months before he could stand properly.

“Ana, no one can take you from me,” he said gruffly, walking through her bedroom to the ensuite bath. He placed her in the center of the black marble counter. “We’re together now. You belong with me.”

“Dante doesn’t think so!” She scooted backwards on the counter until her back bumped the mirrored wall and she stared up at him, eyes dark with anger, her black lashes still matted with tears. “Dante will never accept that I’ve a mind of my own…that I’m capable of making decisions on my own.”

She looked so small on the counter, and yet so feisty. A caged jaguar.

He reached up to lightly touch her temple. How much did she remember? How much did she know? “Ana—where are you?”

Her dark green eyes shone with fresh tears. Her hands fluttered in his. “I am here, Lucio.”

This was bizarre, he thought. It was like being in a science fiction movie. He was living two lives at one time—the one before and the one right now and it was the oddest, most uncomfortable sensation. “You don’t need to fear Dante,” he said slowly. “And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not as naive as I used to be.”

She slid forward on the counter and wrapped her legs around him, almost catlike in her grace. Lightly she ran her hand up his thigh. “He’ll try to pay you off. He’ll give you anything you want because he wants to keep you away from me.”

Lucio tensed as her fingers trailed across the taut muscle of his thigh. She was stirring his body and he grew hard at the light, teasing touch.

“That’s all in the past,” he said, trying to remove her hand from his leg without hurting her. It was one thing to return home and provide some stability. It was another to pretend they were still…intimate.

But she wouldn’t move her hand and she raked her nails against his dark trousers, her nails sharp enough to make him feel their hard edge through the stiff fabric. “But you do believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because if you don’t, I’d have to punish you.” And her tone lightened, becoming almost teasing and she was smiling at him, smiling playfully, happily, the way she once had all those years ago when they used to have so much fun together. “Maybe I’ll punish you anyway.”

Her teasing tone, the rake of her nails against his thigh made him ache. It’d been so long since they’d made love. And Anabella was the only woman he wanted in his bed. Anabella was the only woman he’d ever wanted period.

“Those delights will have to wait,” he answered, fighting the urge to touch her, fighting the need to draw closer, to part her thighs and press against her.

He shouldn’t be surprised she could still make him feel so much. She was impossible. Incorrigible. No one stood a chance resisting Anabella. He’d never wanted to resist her before. “How does your head feel?”

“Better. Headache’s all gone.” And she raked her nails across his butt before tucking her fingers into his belt loops. “See, all I needed was you to find me. Be with me. We belong together.”

Studying her clear bright eyes, her olive complexion with just a hint of dusty pink in the cheeks, he silently agreed with her. Yes, they did belong together and suddenly Lucio desperately wanted to make everything the way it once was, the way it had been between them when they wanted nothing but each other. Life had been so simple then. Life had made such perfect sense.

“Why don’t you take a shower and dress for dinner,” he said, resisting the desire to put his hand on her hip, resisting her sweetly tempting curves.

She leaned against him, her breasts brushing his chest and grinned. “Yes. Dinner. Sounds wonderful. I’m starving.”

But from the wicked gleam in her eyes he knew she wasn’t just asking for steak and fries.

His body grew hotter, harder, the softness of her breasts imprinted on his chest.

“Great. I haven’t had much today, either.” His voice sounded hoarse. He felt utterly exhausted. Resisting Anabella was going to kill him. “You shower. Dress. Take your time. Then we’ll have a nice meal together downstairs.”

He leaned forward to kiss her temple but Ana wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and slid forward yet again, bringing her in full contact against his groin. He inhaled sharply as he felt her everywhere—her full soft breasts, the warmth of her thighs where they wrapped around his hips, the slender shape of her pressed against him.

She looked up at him, her green eyes vivid and with one hand she reached for his thick, tightly bound ponytail low at his nape. He felt her fingers slide through his hair and then the cool brush of fingertips against his neck. Her light knowing touch shot a ball of fire through his groin. He was already hard but he felt close to exploding now.

“Do not,” she whispered fiercely even as her green eyes sparkled with humor and mischief, “kiss me as if you are my grandmother.”

Lucio choked on a laugh. He brushed his lips across her forehead before firmly pushing her away and taking a step back.

She sat tall on the counter. “You’ll pay for that.”

He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. This was so Anabella, so perfectly like his Anabella that he couldn’t help the great wave of relief riding through him. Anabella would recover. Anabella would be herself. “Can’t wait,” he replied before he turned away and headed downstairs.

Dante hadn’t gone. He was pacing the living room as Lucio descended the stairs.

“She’s mad,” Dante said, meeting Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s lost her mind.”

“She’s not crazy,” Lucio answered almost cheerfully, tying his hair back again. His body hummed, and he felt hot, hungry and more than a little relieved. He was only just beginning to understand. It had taken him a while, but it was starting to add up, starting to come together.

She hadn’t lost her mind. She’d lost her memory.

“Anabella has gone back in time,” Lucio said, mentally sorting through his observations, piecing together all the conversations he’d had with her since returning. “And she seems to be living in the past right now.”

Dante looked even more appalled. “She’s back in time? But where? When?”

“That I haven’t figured out yet.”

“But you do think she’s gone back a number of years?”

“Well, certainly back to a place where she felt you were oppressive—”

“I was never oppressive!”

Lucio laughed without the least bit of humor. Dante was kidding himself. “You sent the police after us. Your mother’s hired guns nearly killed me.”

“My mother just wanted Anabella home.”

“Enough said.”

Dante sighed, ruffled the back of his hair, clearly at a loss. None of this was easy. None of this made sense. “So you really don’t think she’s gone over the edge?”

“No. She just needs time and a little less pressure. And frankly, I think your visits are harming her more than they’re helping. You need to give her space. She needs to recover at her own pace.”

“I think her doctor can be the judge of that.”

“You forget, her doctor works for me, Dante. Ana might be your sister, but she’s my wife.”

Dante’s dark head jerked up. “Your wife? She’s divorced you!”

“The divorce isn’t final.”

“But legally—”

“Legally she’s still my wife.”

The two men stared at each other for a long unending moment before Dante gave his head a bitter shake. “So you’re back in charge, are you?”

Lucio hated the violence of his emotions, hated that he wanted to grab Dante and do bodily harm to him. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, fighting for control.

Slowly he exhaled. He had to stay calm. It wouldn’t be fair to Anabella to get into a shouting match with her brother now. She was just upstairs and it’d be far too easy for her to overhear things she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Dante. This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted the divorce. That was her decision, her doing. And she might not remember the present, but I do. I know her feelings changed for me. I know how miserable she was with me.”

Dante’s narrowed glance met Lucio’s. “Yet she doesn’t remember any of that now.”

“She will.”

“And until then? From what I saw here, Anabella still imagines the two of you wildly in love.”

Lucio’s hard smile faded. “Then I guess I’ll have to play along.”

Dante’s lashes flickered, concealing his expression. “And you can do this? You can stay here and put yourself in the middle of her drama?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice! You have another home, another life. You could be there instead of here.” The Count turned away, passed a hand over his eyes. “You hope to use her illness to your advantage. You’re going to try to win her back.”

“And is that such a crime?”

Dante’s head lifted and his cynical gaze clashed with Lucio’s. Lucio didn’t blink. He’d pledged himself to Anabella five years ago, three years before they married. His love had nothing to do with a ceremony and a piece of paper.

He loved Anabella simply because she existed.

“She’s never been happy living with you,” Dante said at last. “It’s the idea of you she loves. Not the reality.”

It’s the idea she loves. Not the reality. The words repeated in Lucio’s brain. He held still, flinching inwardly as the words sank in.

Dante’s assessment was harsh, sharp, and his words wounded. But Lucio kept the hurt from his expression. “I will call you with updates,” he said evenly. He wouldn’t say more than he already had. “I promise to phone the moment she begins to improve.”

“But otherwise you’re telling me to stay home?”

Lucio managed the briefest of smiles. “I’m asking you to give Ana time.”

After Dante left, Lucio stepped into the kitchen and requested that dinner be served in the small study downstairs instead of carried to Anabella’s room. Then Lucio headed upstairs to check on his wife.

“He’s gone?” Anabella asked hopefully as Lucio entered the room. She was sitting on the foot of her bed, wrapped up in a thick bath towel, her wet hair slicked back from her beautiful face.

Lucio felt a craving to touch her, and he suppressed the craving just as quickly as it flared. “He’s returning to Buenos Aires. He’s going home and back to work.”

“Good. I don’t like him!”

“Ana, you adore him.” He stared down at her, arms folded over his chest and for a moment he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. What if she never did improve? What if she never regained her memories? Never regained her independence? What then?

But Lucio wouldn’t think that far. No reason to go there yet. He reminded himself that she was young and strong and intelligent. Of course she’d improve. They’d just have to take it slowly. They’d have to be patient.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, trying hard to make it sound as if everything was normal, that everything would eventually be normal. “Except you’re still wearing a towel.”

“You don’t think it’s romantic?”

“Not unless you’re the matching bath mat.”

He was rewarded with a laugh. Grinning, Ana slid off the edge of the bed. “Actually, I did want to dress but I couldn’t find my clothes. Do you know where Dante put my suitcase?”

Lucio cocked his head a little. Was she serious? “They’re in your closet, Ana.”

“Where’s my closet?”

“There. In your room.”

“Show me.”

He walked her to the massive walk-in closet across from her en suite bath. Flicking on the closet light he gestured to the rods of hanging clothes and the long wall lined with shoe boxes. “This is your closet.”

Ana peered in. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the racks of suits, dresses, long evening gowns. “Very funny. Now where are my clothes? My shirts, my shoes, my jeans?”

It hit him all over again.

She didn’t know. She didn’t recognize anything here, didn’t realize that she wasn’t Anabella the teenager but Anabella the woman. The last five years hadn’t happened yet…at least, not in her mind.

He looked down at her, his chest tight with wildly contradictory emotions. This was going to be so difficult. He didn’t know how to deal with her…interact with her. He’d come to think of her as remote, sophisticated, self-contained but right now she was as bubbly and effervescent as a bottle of sparkling wine.

Again he told himself not to look ahead, not to think too much. All he could do was take life with Anabella one step at a time. He had to deal with one crisis before facing the next. And right now the girl wanted clean jeans.

In the bottom drawer of the dresser in her room he found old clothes that Anabella didn’t wear anymore, but clothes she hadn’t discarded, either.

Ana beamed. “Thank you.” She grabbed a pair of jeans and an old cropped sweatshirt once a bright cherry red but through repeated washings had faded to brick. “I’ll be ready in just a second. Should I meet you downstairs?”

He agreed and when she appeared fifteen minutes later she was dressed, her hair blow-dried, eye lashes thickened with mascara and lips darkened with a soft rosy lip gloss. “Better?” she teased.

“Much,” Lucio nodded.

He wanted to smile at her but he couldn’t. He was feeling so much, remembering so much. She exuded sweetness and spice, innocence and bravado. This was the Anabella he’d fallen in love with. This was the one he couldn’t imagine living without.

But feeling this much was dangerous. He couldn’t let his emotions get the upper hand and he clamped down hard on all the chaotic, turbulent feelings rushing through him. What Anabella needed now was practical, rational support. She needed him calm. She needed him to remain firmly in control.

“We’ll be eating in here,” he said, steering her into the library. “I thought we could eat by the fire. It seemed cozy.”

She blushed. “And intimate.”

Intimate. Right. Not exactly the mood he was going for. But he let Anna’s comment slide, focused instead on putting her at ease. It’d been a month since she sat at a real table for a meal, and Lucio hoped that this dinner together would be a first step for her on the road to recovery.

Neither said much during dinner but Ana ate nearly everything on her plate. It was a simple, traditional Argentine meal—grilled beef, pommes frites, green salad. “Thank God,” she said, curling up in her wing chair, legs under her. “Real food again.”

He was curious about her memory, about the past month and exactly what and how much she recalled. “What were you eating before?”