to him as he quietly took in the posters advertising his many fights, his championship belts and publicity shots of himself clad in shorts and striking a fierce pose.
There was something wicked about staring at a photo of Antonio half clothed while standing next to the fully dressed version, knowing that falcon tattoo sat under his shirt, waiting to be discovered by a woman’s fingers. Her fingers. What would it feel like?
Sometimes she dreamed about that.
“Do you remember any of this?” she asked as the silence stretched. She couldn’t keep thinking about Antonio’s naked chest. Which became more difficult the longer they stood there, his heat nearly palpable. He even smelled like sin.
“Bits and pieces,” he finally said. “I didn’t know I had martial arts training. I thought I was remembering a movie, because I wasn’t always in the ring. Sometimes I was outside the ring, watching.”
“Oh, like watching other fighters? Maybe you’re remembering Falco,” she offered. “The fight club.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “I feel as if I should know what that is.”
He didn’t remember Falco, either? Antonio had lived and breathed that place, much to Vanessa’s dismay on many occasions. Her sister had hoped to see her husband more often once his time in the ring was up, but the opposite had proved true.
Caitlyn led him to a picture on the wall, the one of him standing with two fighters about to enter the ring. “Falco is your MMA promotional venue. You founded it once your career ended. That’s where you made all your money.”
“When did I stop fighting?”
“It wasn’t long after you and Vanessa got married. You don’t remember that, either?” When he shook his head, she told him what little she knew about his last fight. “Brian Kerr nearly killed you. Illegal punch to the back of your head and you hit the floor at a bad angle. Knocked you out. You were in the hospital unconscious for two days. That’s probably why your amnesia is so pronounced. Your brain has sustained quite a bit of trauma.”
Really, he should have already been checked out by a competent doctor, but he’d refused when she’d mentioned it earlier. It wasn’t as if she could make him. Caitlyn had no experience with amnesia or a powerful man who wouldn’t admit to weakness.
Deep down, she had an undeniable desire to gain some experience, especially since it came wrapped in an Antonio package.
He stared at the picture for a moment. “Falco is the name of my company,” he announced cautiously as if testing it out. “It’s not my name.”
Her heart ached over his obvious confusion. She wanted to help him, to erase that small bit of helplessness she would never have associated with confident, solid Antonio Cavallari if she hadn’t seen it firsthand.
“Falco was your nickname when you were fighting. You transferred it to your promotional company because I guess it had some sentimental value.” Not that he’d ever discussed it with her. It was an assumption everyone had made, regardless.
“What happened to my company while I was missing?”
Missing—was that how he’d thought of himself? She tried to put herself in his place, waking up with few memories, in a strange place, with strange people who spoke a different language, all while recuperating from a plane crash and near drowning. The picture was not pretty, which tugged at her heart anew.
“I, um, have control over it.” And it had languished like the bedroom and his gym.
What did she know about running an MMA promotional company? But she couldn’t have sold it or tried to step into his shoes. In many ways, his place in the world had been on accidental hold, as if a higher power had stilled her hand from dismantling Antonio’s life. It had been here, waiting for him to slip back into it.
His expression hardened and the glimpse of vulnerability vanished. “I want control of my estate. And my company. Do whatever you have to do to make that happen.”
The rasp in his voice, which hadn’t been there before he got on that plane, laced his statement with a menacing undertone. He seemed more like a stranger in that moment than he had when he’d first appeared on her doorstep, unkempt and unrecognizable.
It was a brutal reminder that he wasn’t the same man. He wasn’t a safe fantasy come to life. And she wasn’t her sister, a woman who could easily handle a man like Antonio—worse, she wasn’t the woman he’d picked.
“It’s a lot to process, I realize,” she said slowly as her pulse skittered out of control. This harder, hooded Antonio was impossible to read, and she had no idea how to handle this unprecedented situation. “But you just got back to the States. You don’t even remember Falco, let alone how to run it. Why don’t you take a few days, get your bearings? I’ll help you.”
The offer was genuine. But it also kept her in his proximity so she could figure out his plans. If she got a hint that he was thinking about fighting her for custody of the triplets, she’d be ready. She was their mother, and this man—who was still very much a ghost of his former self—was not taking away her children.
Antonio shifted his iron-hard gaze from the pictures on the wall to evaluate Caitlyn coolly, which did not help her pulse. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her to face down a man like Antonio, but she had to make him agree to a few ground rules.
“You cannot fathom what I’ve been through over the past year,” he stated firmly. “I want nothing more than to pick up the pieces of my life and begin the next chapter with these new cards I’ve been dealt. I need my identity back.”
Which was a perfectly reasonable request, but executing it more closely resembled unsnarling a knotted skein of yarn than simply handing over a few account numbers. This was one time when she couldn’t afford to back down.
Caitlyn nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand, and I’m not suggesting otherwise. The problem is that a lot of legalities are involved and I have to look out for the interests of the children.”
His gaze softened, warming her, and she didn’t know what to do with that, either.
“I’m thinking of the children, as well.”
“Good. Then, it would be best to take things slowly. You’ve been gone for a long time and the babies have a routine. It would be catastrophic to disrupt them.”
He pursed his lips. “If you’re concerned that I might dismiss the nanny, I can assure you I have no intention of doing so. I couldn’t care for one child by myself, let alone three.”
Her stomach jolted and she swallowed, gearing up to lay it on the line. “You won’t be by yourself. I’ll still be here.”
If only her voice hadn’t squeaked, that might have come across more definitively. Besides, she was still breast-feeding and didn’t plan to stop until the triplets were a year old. She was irreplaceable, as far as she was concerned.
“You’re free to get back to your life,” he said with a puzzled frown. “There’s
