to sound like a fractured version of ‘Who’s on first?’ Just listen for a moment. Don’t talk.”
Ah, yes, she had to admit, this sounded like the Marco Smith she’d known and loved. All that Italian brashness and arrogance came out in flashes now and then, and this was one of them. Lucky she had a sense of humor, she decided, and then she pretended to zip her lips together and looked at him mockingly while she folded her hands in her lap.
He gave her a fretful look, then went on. “When I’m working, I’m always jotting down specifications, looking for new combinations, figuring the math, checking the statistics on temperatures, wind, tides and so on. And I’m always sketching. Then, when my ideas begin to gel, I draft out more formal blueprints. And as I work, I constantly make copies of everything I do. In the end, I’ll always have two sets of plans.”
He looked at her and she nodded helpfully, her lips still zipped. He rolled his eyes and went on.
“I usually carry the originals with me in a portfolio and mail the copies to myself in a cardboard mailing tube. Just in case. This time, I ended up without either copy.” He looked at her expectantly and she smiled, her lips still pressed together.
“Shayna, speak,” he ordered impatiently. “I didn’t mean it. I only wanted you to give me a chance to explain.”
“Ahhh,” she said, as though she’d just been released from holding her breath. “Thank you.” She couldn’t resist a grin.
“Okay, here’s all I know. I only went up to your room in the hotel once, and that was on the morning of the day you were to leave. And when I walked into your room, I saw the floor covered with blueprints and other design papers.”
He nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, that is how I usually organize them, and put them in order, especially if there are a lot of them. I was obviously preparing for the trip.” He frowned. “And you never saw me working on any of them before that?”
She paused to think. Was it going to be giving anything away to tell him the truth? Wouldn’t he begin to wonder why he had kept this from her? But there was no way to hide what actually happened. “No. I’d never seen any of them before.”
“I never talked to you about them?”
“No.” She thought back for a moment. “You were obviously interested in yachts and sailing, but you never told me why.”
He shook his head. “Strange. I can’t imagine why not.”
Because you didn’t want me to realize who you were, she could have told him, but she held her tongue.
“What was the room like? How did it seem to you?”
She closed her eyes, trying to remember what the room had looked like. She had walked in, full of anticipation. She was going to tell Marco that she would find a way to go with him. He’d been sitting at the small hotel room desk, working on something, and he’d looked up at her and grimaced. He knew what was coming next—just as soon as she looked down and saw the logo of her father’s company on many of the papers. She knew in an instant that this was a major betrayal—that Marco was not who he had pretended to be, that he was not really the person she’d fallen in love with. The pain of that realization still tortured her. You didn’t forget a moment like that easily.
Opening her eyes again, she looked at the man who had engineered that dishonesty. “It was just a normal room,” she told him crisply. “There were papers all over the floor. That’s all I know.”
She began to gather her things together. He watched, puzzled. There it was again, that moment in the hotel room. Something had happened, something that had ruined their relationship. Why didn’t she just come out with it and stop wasting time?
He grabbed her wrist, fingers circling it, to get her full attention.
“Shayna, tell me what happened that day.”
She glanced at him and then away. “Nothing happened,” she said shortly, pulling away from his touch. “It’s getting late. I’m going to have to go.”
He rose. “I’ll see you back to the house.”
“No need. I’ve got my Vespa.” She threw him the briefest of smiles. “I do this all the time. The island is safe. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Her lacy wrap fell down onto the chair as she rose and he picked it up, reaching out to put it back around her shoulders. As he did so, his hands lingered on her upper arms. Her bare skin felt smooth and firm and fabulous, and for a long moment, he couldn’t pull his hands away.
And then she turned and looked at him and he winced, realizing he was reacting to her like a lover, not a new acquaintance. And that made him wonder—just how close had they been? He knew what the photograph he carried with him presented. He knew what his instincts told him. But she hadn’t said a word. And she was avoiding the issue, even now.
“Tell you what,” she said, pointedly moving away from him. “I’ve got to work the breakfast shift tomorrow. If you can be ready at about ten-thirty, we’ll go hunting for your plans.”
That sounded promising. “Where do you propose to go?”
She eyed him coolly. “Everywhere you went when you were here before. We can retrace your steps and check it all out. You’ll touch base at every point of the past you’ve forgotten.” She shrugged. “At least, every point I know about. I’ll give you a chronological tour in one day.”
“That would be terrific.”
“I’ll be at Kimo’s Café in the morning,” she said over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. “Meet me there at ten. I’ll help you retrace your steps from your visit. Who knows? Maybe we’ll figure out what happened to your plans.”
He wanted to thank her. He thought he should say something. But she didn’t give him a chance. She sailed down the wide staircase and out into the parking lot before he realized what she was doing, and by the time he reached her, she’d started the Vespa and was backing out of the parking space. With a cheery wave, she was off, and all he could do was stand there and watch her go.
Chapter Five
MARCO SAT drinking black coffee and trying to stop staring at Shayna as she made her rounds of the tables, smiling and laughing with the customers. Today she was dressed in a brightly colored pareau, a Tahitian wrap skirt and a matching halter top, leaving a beautiful expanse of silky bare skin between the two. As he watched her, he had a twinge of unease. She was always lovely to look at, but today there was the hint of something more. Hadn’t he seen her somewhere before?
Well, of course, there was yesterday, and then there was the time his mind had stolen from him. Those were givens. But something else, something older and longer ago teased at him. He wished he could think of what it was. But even more, he wished he could get back his two missing weeks.
Maybe if his brain were clearer. He’d had a horrible night, tossing and turning, and it had nothing to do with drinking too much. Dreams had slithered in and out of his sleep and then he’d woken and tried to capture the fleeting images his dreams had left him with. He had a feeling the dreams were built out of those missing memories, and if he just woke up in time, he could pin the facts to the wall and then he would be able to unravel the truth.
