The Latin Lover's Secret Child

“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?”