Читать онлайн книгу «Where There′s Smoke...» автора Barbara McCauley
Where There's Smoke...
Barbara McCauley
Emily Barone could remember nothing about her near-death experience in a Boston fire - except for the rock-hard chest and strong arms of the fireman who pulled her to safety.She and Shane Cummings generated a heat hotter than any blaze. Trapped in a family full of strangers, Emily was drawn to Shane's familiar face…and oh-so-virile body. Theirs was a liaison Shane enjoyed - for as long as it lasted.For while Emily tracked her elusive memory, Shane couldn't help but fear it was the one thing that could take her away from him.
May’s menu
BARONESSA GELATERIA
in Boston’s North End
In addition to our regular flavors of Italian gelato, this month we are featuring:
Espresso laced with Irish Cream
Shane was proud of his heritage as a firefighter in his Irish immigrant family. He approached his work the same way he did his life—fearlessly. That is, until he found himself unsettled by the feelings he had for Emily Barone….
Angel food cake
Whether Shane’s kiss was her first, Emily didn’t remember. She did know it was the only one that mattered. When he took her in his arms, her virgin heart had never beat so fast, never yearned so much….
Cherries flambé, made and lit at your table
Despite their differences, Shane could not douse his desires, nor could Emily deny her burning need to be with him. Their passion threatened to blaze out of control—hot and dangerous….
Buon appetito!
Dear Reader,
Let Silhouette Desire rejuvenate your romantic spirit in May with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories.
Our compelling yearlong twelve-book series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES continues with Where There’s Smoke… (#1507) by Barbara McCauley, in which a fireman as courageous as he is gorgeous saves the life and wins the heart of a Barone heiress. Next, a domineering cowboy clashes with a mysterious woman hiding on his ranch, in The Gentrys: Cinco (#1508), the launch title of THE GENTRYS, a new three-book miniseries by Linda Conrad.
A night of passion brings new love to a rancher who lost his family and his leg in a tragic accident in Cherokee Baby (#1509) by reader favorite Sheri WhiteFeather. Sleeping with Beauty (#1510) by Laura Wright features a sheltered princess who slips past the defenses of a love-shy U.S. Marshal. A dynamic Texan inspires a sperm-bank-bound thirtysomething stranger to try conceiving the old-fashioned way in The Cowboy’s Baby Bargain (#1511) by Emilie Rose, the latest title in Desire’s BABY BANK theme promotion. And in Her Convenient Millionaire (#1512) by Gail Dayton, a pretend marriage between a Palm Beach socialite and her millionaire beau turns into real passion.
Why miss even one of these brand-new, red-hot love stories? Get all six and share in the excitement from Silhouette Desire this month.
Enjoy!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Where There’s Smoke…
Barbara McCauley
BARBARA MCCAULEY,
who has written more than twenty novels for Silhouette Books, lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. Barbara’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA
Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards.
Meet the Barones of Boston—
an elite clan caught in a web of danger, deceit…and desire!
Shane Cummings—He has no attachments, no commitments. Even his sailboat home isn’t grounded. This firefighter’s a loner who lives life for today—and he wants to keep it that way….
Emily Barone—She personifies stability. Warm and secure in her big, loving family, she’s got the powerful Barones behind her. Emily wants permanence—at least she would if she could remember who she was….
Derrick Barone—He looks out for Emily, as older brothers do. But does he have only her best interests at heart?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
One
Emily Barone stood in the small back office of Baronessa Gelati and watched the single white piece of paper slowly roll into the copy machine tray, then lie flatly on top of the three other copies she’d already made. Light flickered on the dimly lit walls; the machine shuddered, then clicked to a stop.
It’s not true, she told herself for the hundredth time. It can’t be.
But Emily knew in her heart that the evidence she’d found against Derrick was true. There was no other explanation, nothing that could absolve, or forgive, what her brother had already done.
Or what he still planned to do.
Her hand shook as she reached for the incriminating piece of paper that proved Derrick’s crime: he intended to sell secret recipes from the family gelato business to a rival company.
He’d been careful not to raise suspicion, Emily knew. Even as Derrick’s secretary, Emily might not have ever noticed anything amiss if earlier today she hadn’t accidentally overheard a few whispered words of a phone call on his private line, words that had made her uneasy. When he’d left his office a few minutes later, she’d gone in and pushed redial, only to hear a receptionist for Snowcream, Inc., Baronessa Gelati’s biggest competitor, answer the phone.
She’d had to wait until the plant had closed this evening and everyone left before she could search for evidence to confirm Derrick’s betrayal. It had taken her nearly an hour to jimmy the lock on his desk, another fifteen minutes to find the file containing detailed notes from his conversation with Grant Summers, CEO of Snowcream. The file also contained dates and times Derrick had met with Summers, listed the amount of money to be exchanged for the information and the Swiss bank account the money would be transferred into.
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears. She knew she was naive. At twenty-four, she still tried to see the good in people, still hoped that in the end a person would do the right thing. She’d prayed she’d been wrong about Derrick, hadn’t wanted to believe that her own brother would steal from anyone, let alone Baronessa Gelati.
She was glad her father, Paul Barone, had chosen to become a lawyer rather than go into the business Grandfather Marco had started over a half century ago. Just the thought of taking this damning information to her parents made Emily sick to her stomach. It would kill her mother to learn that her son was capable of such a betrayal.
But it was possible her parents might never have to know, Emily thought as she turned off the copy machine. Her father’s brother, Carlo, ran Baronessa. She knew she couldn’t look the other way, that she had to take this evidence to her uncle. She knew he would have a solution that would quietly remove Derrick from his position as VP of Quality Assurance Department and possibly even cover up any potential scandal to the company or the family.
Uncle Carlo would know what to do; Emily was certain of it. With his booming, deep voice, he was a little intimidating at times, but he was a good man, a fair man who loved his wife and children and was fiercely protective of the entire family.
At the sound of a door closing in an outer office, Emily froze. Quickly she reached across to the single table lamp she’d turned on when she came in. She stood in the dark, listening, heard a quiet shuffling sound, then nothing. Slowly she moved toward the closed blinds over the small copy-room window and peeked out through the side. She’d left the outer lights off, but she could see the outline of a tall, thin man at one of the desks.
She gasped as the man turned. Dear God! It was Derrick!
When he glanced in her direction, Emily jumped back. She’d never been a good liar. If he found her here, she knew she’d never be able to talk her way out of this mess. He’d only have to look at her face to know what she’d discovered, and he’d be furious. She couldn’t confront him yet, not until she talked to Uncle Carlo.
Pressing her back to the wall, she waited, then finally heard the outer door close. Slowly she released the breath she’d been holding. To be sure he’d left the plant, she’d wait a while before she came out. She could take no chances that he might return and find her putting the file back in his desk, or discover her on her way out with the copies she’d made.
After several minutes, there were still no sounds, except for the soft ticking of the copy-room wall clock and the beating of her own heart. The office was quiet. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d wait two more minutes and—
Once again she froze. And sniffed.
Smoke?
She flipped on the lamp again and glanced down. Thin ribbons of wispy gray smoke curled up from underneath the door.
Oh God, no…
She shoved the blinds apart and looked out. Flames shot up from the middle of the office and were spreading quickly across the room.
Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? And why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? Unless Derrick—
No! She couldn’t believe that he would do such a terrible thing. Selling secret formulas was one thing, but arson was another. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—commit such a heinous crime.
She grabbed her purse and both files. There’d be no time to replace the original back into Derrick’s desk, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get out quickly, before the fire completely engulfed the office. Since there was no window to the outside from the copy room, she had no choice but to make a dash across the outer office and hopefully skirt the flames. If she could get to the windows overlooking the street two stories below, she could attract someone’s attention. If worse came to worst—and she prayed it wouldn’t—she would have to jump.
She gulped in air, then threw open the door and ran. A blast of heat made her stumble, but she recovered and kept going. In the distance she heard the wail of sirens and the sound gave her hope. They’re coming, she thought as the wail and the deep sound of horns grew louder. They’re almost here.
The fire crackled around her, sparks flew, singeing her face and bare legs. The smoke burned her throat and her eyes. But she made it to the window, was reaching for the handle when the sound of a loud crack from behind her made her whip her head around. She watched in horror as the heavy steel bindings that supported the dropped ceiling gave way. Like a giant zipper opening, the ceiling ripped apart, raining metal and plaster tiles. Frantic, Emily turned back to the window, but the crack overhead rushed toward her like a hideous, furious monster.
Helpless to stop it, she went down.
“This is Hemming Taylor from KLRT.” The pretty blond reporter held the microphone close as she spoke to the television cameraman. “First on the scene and reporting to you live from Brookline, Massachusetts, where behind me a fire rages inside one of the buildings that make up the Baronessa Gelati manufacturing plant. It appears that flames have already consumed the third floor of the plant’s main offices, and as you can see—” Hemming pointed with one hand and the camera swept up to catch a full shot of the building “—the fire seems to have spread to the second floor, as well. Firefighters already on the scene are working valiantly to douse the flames, and an unconfirmed report of a woman inside the building has heightened the tension among the firefighters and onlookers alike. We’re told that the call came in approximately ten minutes ago and—”
An explosion from the third floor had the reporter and crew running for cover. Car alarms blared from the streets, and firefighters working outside the building dropped to protect themselves from flying debris.
Inside the building, in the smoke-filled stairwell between the first and second floors, the blast from overhead threw Shane Cummings to his knees. He recovered quickly, stood and glanced back at his partner, Matt.
“You okay?” Shane yelled over a second, smaller explosion.
Matt lifted a hand, gave Shane the go-ahead sign, then pointed to the door leading to the second story.
As a unit, Shane and Matt moved up the stairwell. Shane knew they were quickly running out of time, that they should get out now, but the security guard working the building across the street had insisted he saw a woman in a second-story window that faced the street. Two minutes, Shane told himself as he kicked the door open with his boot. Two minutes and they were out of here.
“We’ve entered the second story from the stairwell.” Shane had to yell into his radio headset over the crackle of flames and crashing debris. “The room is approximately forty by fifty, charged with heavy smoke, the ceiling is down. Female reported at east window and we’re heading there now.”
“Negative, Cummings.” Chief Griffin’s raspy voice crackled over the radio. “The third floor is engulfed. Get your butts out of there now.”
“Five minutes.” Shane glanced back at Matt, who nodded. “Then we’re outta here pronto.”
“No heroics, Cummings,” Griffin barked. “That’s a command, dammit. Get your ass out of there now.”
“Two minutes,” Shane negotiated. “Get a ladder at the window and we’ll come through there.”
While Chief Griffin erupted into a litany of expletives and threats, Shane hunkered down under the cloud of smoke and pressed forward. Matt moved with him.
Adrenaline pumped through Shane’s blood as he edged around a wall of flames, then spotted the windows across the rows of desks in the office. Between the rubble and the smoke, it was impossible to see if anyone was lying on the floor. He made his way across the room, then spotted a pair of long, bare legs protruding from under a pile of ceiling tiles.
“Found her,” Shane yelled back to Matt, then spoke into his headset again. “This is Cummings. I’ve located the female approximately six feet from the east window. She may be unconscious. Do you copy?”
The hiss of static came back, then Griffin said, “We copy, Cummings. Get her and get the hell out of there.”
“My plan exactly. Over.”
Dropping to the pile of rubble on the floor, he pitched broken tiles and chunks of plaster until he finally uncovered the woman’s still body.
She was young, probably early twenties, Shane noted as he scooped her up into his arms, and he doubted she tipped the scales past a hundred pounds. Though dust and soot covered her, he saw no evidence of burns on her clothes or her bare arms and legs.
When he stood, her hair fell away from her face and her eyelids fluttered open. He saw the confusion and fear in her eyes as she looked up at him.
“I’ve got you,” he yelled. “Is there anyone else in here?”
He couldn’t hear what she said, but he hoped like hell her answer was no. Another explosion from somewhere overhead made him stumble backward. Shane gritted his teeth and held the woman close while debris rained down on them. She buried her head against his chest.
“We have to go out through the window,” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the fire. “Can you hang on?”
She nodded, then slid her arms up and circled his neck tightly.
Holding the woman in his arms, Shane stepped to the window and opened it, felt his own lungs burn from the cloud of smoke that poured out into the crisp night air. He heard the din of men and women working below, saw the flash of red lights spinning from the trucks. There were shouts, then the ladder appeared.
“Here we go.” Shane shifted the woman to one arm so the upper part of her body draped over his shoulder. He held her tight, then backed out of the window. Matt was right behind him.
Shane had barely stepped off the ladder when another explosion blasted through the second story, blowing out the windows. He dropped to the ground, shielding the woman’s body with his own. She shuddered against him, held tightly to his jacket while glass and pieces of brick crashed down on them.
Shane quickly glanced behind him to make sure Matt was all right, then breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his partner picking himself up off the sidewalk and giving him a thumbs-up.
None too gently, Shane scooped the woman back up into his arms and made a dash to the waiting paramedics, who slid her onto a gurney and slipped an oxygen mask over her face. As they carried her away, Shane watched the woman lift her head and hold his gaze. She looked so small lying there, shivering. The sight of blood trickling down her soot-smudged forehead made Shane’s stomach constrict. He started to follow her, but was stopped short at the sound of Chief Griffin’s bellow.
“Cummings!”
Griffin, five foot ten and built like a bull, came charging at him. “I told you to get the hell out of there,” the chief roared. “I oughta suspend your ass for such a stupid stunt.”
Shane removed his helmet and wiped the sweat on his brow. “I didn’t have a—”
“Save it,” Griffin barked. “You’re bleeding, dammit. Go with the ambulance, then get your butt back to the station to file a report.”
“Yes, sir.”
The camera crews had already converged on the ambulance like spring locusts. Ignoring the microphones shoved in his face, Shane pushed his way through the crowd and climbed into the ambulance. The woman seemed to relax when he sat beside her. When he covered her slender fingers with his own and smiled down at her, she smiled weakly back, then closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.
Five seconds later, with the siren wailing and the lights flashing, they were headed for Brookline Hospital.
“Emily…Emily…”
The distant sound of a man’s voice pulled her out of the thick blanket of fog surrounding her, worsened the ache in her head and the burning in her chest. She felt as if she were floating somewhere, disembodied….
“Emily, can you hear me?”
Go away, she wanted to say, but couldn’t make her mouth move. Couldn’t make any part of her body move. She heard the ring of a telephone…a man calling for a nurse…the squish-squish-squish of rubber soles on a tile floor.
Where am I? she wondered. And why did she smell smoke? Smoke and antiseptic…and a man’s cologne?
“Emily, wake up. It’s Derrick.”
Derrick? She didn’t know anyone named Derrick. But the voice was closer now, persistent. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy and she was so tired. She didn’t know who Emily was and she didn’t care. She just wanted to sleep.
“I called Mom and Dad,” the man said, “but they’re at the opera and I had to leave a message. Emily, for God’s sake, open your eyes and talk to me.”
I don’t want to talk, she thought, and rolled her head away. The sheets underneath her were cool and crisp, the blanket covering her soft and warm. She felt soft and warm, she realized. And sleepy. So very sleepy…
“What were you doing at the plant?” The man’s voice turned to a harsh whisper. “You’d already left before me, why did you go back?”
She had no idea who was speaking to her or what he was talking about. She felt the moan vibrate deep in her throat, then the pounding in her head increased.
Slowly she opened her eyes, saw the blurred outline of a man standing over her. He was tall and thin, his hair and eyes dark brown. She blinked against the light and the pain, watched the image take shape. His features were sharp, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The black suit he wore was tailored, his tie a shimmering silver against his white dress shirt. The strong spicy scent of his cologne made her cough.
He leaned in closer and took her hand in his. She wanted to pull away but hadn’t the strength.
“Talk to me,” he said, still keeping his voice low. “Tell me why you were at the plant.”
I’m in a hospital, she realized as she saw the tube running from her arm up to the hanging IV bag beside her bed. “I—” She drew in a slow, painful breath. “I don’t know.”
His hand tightened on hers. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?”
I don’t know how I don’t know, she tried to say, but her lungs were burning and her brain felt as if there were shards of glass tumbling inside. She struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on the man questioning her, struggled to keep her thoughts from bumping into one another. Derrick. He’d said his name was Derrick.
“You left the plant thirty minutes before me.” He narrowed his gaze. “I watched you drive away. What were you doing there?”
“I…don’t know…what you’re talking about,” she managed to say, but the words cost her and she started to cough again.
“Dammit, Emily, what are you—”
A knock at the half-open door stopped him. With a frown, Derrick straightened. “What is it?”
“I came to check on Emily.”
That voice. Deep, a bit hoarse. So familiar, she thought. So comforting. Though her eyelids were heavy, she lifted her gaze toward the doorway.
“Who are you?” Derrick demanded.
“A friend.” The man wore faded jeans, a denim jacket and black boots. His gaze flicked over Derrick as he moved into the room. “Who are you?”
“Derrick Barone.” Derrick stood and squared his shoulders. “Emily’s brother.”
Emily felt her pulse skip as the man moved closer to her bed. She knew him, she was certain she did. She just didn’t know how.
He was tall, close to six feet, his chest broad and upper arms solid muscle. His sandy-brown hair was short and neat on the sides, just long enough on top to allow several thick strands to dip down in the middle of his forehead. His eyes were green—no, blue. Both, she finally decided, and held her breath as he turned his incredible gaze on her.
“How you feeling?” he asked her.
Before she could attempt an answer, Derrick stepped forward. “Excuse me. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Shane.” He kept his eyes on Emily. “Shane Cummings.”
“I know most of my sister’s friends,” Derrick said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We haven’t.” Shane moved around Derrick and came closer to the bed. “Hey, Cinderella, how you doing?”
Cinderella? Why would he call her that? she wondered. She doubted she’d left any glass slippers behind or—
Pain seized her, shot like an arrow through her temple, had her gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut.
Fire…flames everywhere…smoke…
The sounds came back to her. The crackling heat, an explosion, shattering glass.
She reached out, felt the comfort of Shane’s large hand closing over her own.
I’ve got you….
She heard Shane’s voice, felt his arms lifting her out of the ashes and rubble. He’d carried her down a ladder, covered her body with his to protect her. Stayed with her.
That was all she could remember. Nothing before that moment he’d scooped her up in his arms, nothing after he’d climbed into the ambulance with her.
As the pain eased, she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his furrowed brow.
“Shall I get the doctor?” he asked quietly.
“Now, see here.” Derrick smoothed a hand down his tie. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but my sister’s been through a terrible ordeal. I would appreciate it if you would—”
“Mr. Barone?” A redheaded nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your parents are on the phone at the desk. They asked to speak with you.”
Derrick glanced at Shane, then Emily. “I’ll be right back. If you need anything—”
“I’ll be here,” Shane said evenly.
Derrick frowned, then followed the nurse.
“You…saved me,” Emily murmured.
“You mean just now, or earlier?”
“Both.”
He smiled down at her. “Do you remember me?”
“The fire… You carried me out….”
When she started to cough, he squeezed her hand. “The doc says you’re going to be fine, but you’ve sucked some smoke into your lungs, which is going to make them burn for a day or two. And since a ceiling came down on your head, I suspect that’s gotta hurt, too.”
She nodded, then reached up and touched the bandage taped high on her temple. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you might be able to tell us. You were the only person in the building when it caught fire.”
“Building?”
“Baronessa Gelati.” When she did not respond to the name, Shane lifted a brow. “Where you work.”
She closed her eyes, felt the pounding in her brain start up with renewed vigor. Why couldn’t she remember?
“Mr. Cummings.” A blond woman wearing a white doctor’s coat and black skirt came into the room. “I believe I sent you home.”
“I was on my way, Doc.” His expression innocent, Shane stuck his hands into his front pockets and stepped away from the bed. “But when I saw Miss Barone was conscious, I thought she might be able to tell us how the fire started.”
The doctor threw a dubious glance at Shane, pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose, then looked at Emily. “I’m Dr. Tuscano. How’s that head of yours feeling?”
“Like it’s trying to hatch,” Emily said weakly.
The doctor smiled. “I had to give you a few stitches along your hairline, but they should heal without a noticeable scar. We’re giving you pain medication in your IV right now, but if you do well through the rest of the night, we’ll take you off in the morning. Other than the laceration on your head, some bumps and bruises and a little smoke in your lungs, you’re in great shape considering your ordeal.”
“Shane saved my life,” Emily whispered.
“I believe he did,” Dr. Tuscano agreed as she made a note in Emily’s chart. “Your family will be very happy to hear you’ll be all right.”
“My family?”
The doctor paused in her writing and glanced up. Frowning, she set her chart down and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket. “You don’t remember the accident?”
“No.” Emily winced at the light the doctor shone in her eyes.
“Do you know who you are, where you live?”
Who she was? The pain in her head spiraled. She gathered from the conversation her name was Emily Barone. But she didn’t know who she really was. Nor where she lived. “No.”
“Hmm. A mild concussion, but nothing severe.” Dr. Tuscano slipped the flashlight back into her coat pocket and picked up the chart again. “Except for your parents, who are on their way here now, you should have no more visitors.”
“Dr. Tuscano—” the redheaded nurse stuck her head back in the doorway “—you’re wanted on line three. Dr. Heaton.”
“Be right there.” Smiling, the doctor patted Emily’s hand. “I’ll be here in the morning to check on you. We’ll see how you feel after a good night’s rest.”
Emily watched the doctor leave, then slowly turned her head toward Shane. He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands still in his pockets. She saw the worry in his gaze, had the strangest desire to touch his cheek, to comfort as much as to be comforted.
“I better go,” he said after a long moment. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
But she wasn’t all right. She didn’t know who she was, or what had happened to her; she had stitches in her head and an IV stuck in her arm.
She felt like a child. Alone and frightened. The only person she knew, the only person she could remember, was Shane. She didn’t want him to leave. She knew if he were here that she would be all right, that she could go to sleep and nothing would happen to her.
“Thank you for coming.” She silently cursed the tears burning her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Frowning, he moved closer. “Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”
“No.” She turned her head away. “I’m sorry. It’s silly.”
“What’s silly?”
“I thought maybe…if you wouldn’t mind…”
“What?”
“Could you…” She turned her head back to face him. “Could you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and reached for a chair and sat. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I could do that.”
“Thank you.”
She knew he was watching her, but it didn’t make her feel self-conscious. It made her feel safe.
She welcomed sleep, was certain that when she woke, her world would make sense again. That she would remember. Her eyelids grew heavy, and with a soft sigh she let the darkness wash over her.
Two
In the spring, tourists came to Boston Harbor Marina in droves. Wearing their hats and sunscreen and fancy digital cameras with long-distance lens, families of sightseers converged on the docks. While dads clicked away, moms held on tightly to impatient little hands more eager to test the water rather than look at it. They ate foot-long hot dogs from Arnie’s Dog Cart at the end of the pier, ice cream cones from a vendor nicknamed Marty the Mariner, who entertained his clientele with stories of mermaids and ghost ships, then they took a two-hour tour of Boston Harbor.
From the deck of his sailboat, Shane watched the first tour bus of the day pull into a parking lot on the other side of the marina. A great place to visit, he thought, taking a long sip from the mug of steaming black coffee in his hand.
An even better place to live.
Half the year he lived in an apartment over his uncle’s pub, the other half he lived here in the marina. He’d used the money from his mom’s life insurance policy to buy the Free Spirit, a thirty-six-foot single-mast sloop. Marjorie Cummings had loved the ocean, had enjoyed the sailing trips her son had taken her on before and even after she’d fallen ill. Shane liked to think that he’d made her smile when he’d bought the boat and moved in.
Damn, but he missed that smile.
The sound of a powerboat pulling away from its slip caught his attention, and he lifted a hand in greeting as The Sea Breeze passed by. She was a pretty little yacht. Built for show as well as speed. And while Shane admired the shiny chrome and custom paint, the fancy boat with all its bells and whistles and oversize stateroom was simply not his style. What would he do with all that space? he thought in amusement. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife, though a few of the women he’d dated had made it clear they’d be happy to change his marital status.
But he was content with his life just the way it was. He came and went as he pleased, sometimes for days at a time. Other than his uncle, Shane had no one to answer to. No one checking up on him, wondering where he was, whom he was with or what he was doing. And that was fine with him.
He glanced up at a pair of seagulls flapping noisily overhead, screeching at each other in argument over a chunk of bread scavenged from a nearby trash can. The damp, salty air was crisp and cool, but the early morning fog had already begun to lift and the weather promised to be clear and warm. A good day for sailing, he mused, briefly considered taking the boat out, then decided against it. He’d promised his uncle he’d come by and help out with the lunch crowd, and he still needed to revarnish the last section of deck he’d been sanding for the past few days. He had plenty to do to keep his hands and mind occupied.
So why, then, had he spent most of last night and this morning thinking about a pretty brunette with velvet-brown eyes and a wide, luscious mouth that would tempt a monk?
After he’d been booted out of Emily’s room last night, Shane had gone home, poured himself a cold beer, then sat on the deck of his boat in the darkness and sifted through what he’d learned about Emily Barone from the nurses.
The Barone family and their gelato empire, Baronessa Gelati, had been in the papers quite a bit lately, he’d been told. Tabloid stuff, most of it revolving around some rather risqué photographs of one of Emily’s cousins taken with a Baronessa public relations man, and something about a batch of gelato that had been tainted with habaneros. He’d also learned that Emily had an older sister and two older twin brothers, one of whom he’d met last night and instantly disliked. When he’d walked in and found Derrick bullying Emily, it had been all Shane could do not to grab the jerk by the scruff of his neck and throw him out on his butt. Fortunately, the nurse had interrupted with the phone call, then the doctor had banned all visitors.
Still, Shane had been restless all night, had felt uneasy knowing that Emily might wake and still not know who she was or what had happened to her. He knew, of course, that her parents would be there, that she’d be well cared for. But strangely, it didn’t ease his concern.
Shane scrubbed a hand over his face, then tossed back the rest of his coffee. He had no business thinking about Emily, wondering what was going to happen to her. He’d simply done his job by pulling her out of the burning building. Her injuries weren’t life-threatening. She had her family to take care of her now.
She’d be fine, he told himself with a shrug. Emily Barone wasn’t his concern any longer, and she most certainly wasn’t his problem.
“Emily, can I get you something, dear? Some water, or another pillow?”
Emily glanced at the woman sitting beside her bed. Her hair was a soft blond, the style short and chic, her eyes pale blue with fine webs of wrinkles in the corners. She was still dressed in the sleek black suit she’d worn to the opera the evening before, but she looked as though she’d just stepped out of a limousine. The single strand of pearls resting at the base of her slender neck suited her porcelain skin, Emily thought. She was tall and elegant, and quite beautiful.
The woman was her mother, Emily knew, but there was nothing remotely familiar about her.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Emily said. “Really.”
“Exactly what she told you five minutes ago when you asked,” a man said as he turned from the window where he’d been quietly standing. “Let her rest, Sandra. Let her think.”
The man who spoke was her father, Paul Barone. For a man, he wasn’t tall, maybe around five nine, but he was stocky, with a thick chest and neck. If her mother hadn’t told her that he was a lawyer, Emily would have guessed him to be a well-tailored bouncer. His hair was dark and thinning, his brows low and thick over deep brown eyes. He’d barely said more than a dozen words since they’d arrived, had preferred to let his wife do the talking while he took everything in.
There’d been a battery of tests when Emily had awakened this morning. A brain scan, more blood work, blood pressure. Dozens of questions about her past that she hadn’t been able to answer. Dr. Tuscano had been thorough with her prodding and probing, and had pronounced her patient to be in excellent health. Except for one little thing.
Amnesia.
It had taken quite some time to digest the word. It was one thing to know what it meant, Emily thought, to know that such a thing existed, and quite another to live it.
Dr. Tuscano had reassured Emily and her parents that a loss of memory following a head trauma was nothing to worry about. Plus there was the emotional trauma to consider, as well, the doctor had said. Though no one knew exactly what had happened, it was reasonable to presume that Emily had been terrified, running to escape the flames and smoke when the ceiling had collapsed.
When—or if—her memory would return remained to be seen.
A young man brought a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers into the room, the second bouquet she’d received this morning. Her mother accepted them, then looked at the card.
“They’re from Claudia,” Sandra said and glanced at her watch. “She was in a meeting in Washington, D.C., but caught the first plane out this morning when we called. She’s worried sick about you, and Daniel is, too, of course. He’s driving down from Manchester now. It took me forever to reach him, but then, you know how he is.”
No, she didn’t know how he was. She didn’t know him at all, or anyone else. She’d been told she had a sister named Claudia and a brother named Daniel— Derrick’s twin—but she didn’t know them. And the thought of all these people coming to see her, asking her questions, trying to make her remember, made her head start to pound again.
Emily closed her eyes and thought of Shane. He was her only connection, the only familiar person in what felt like a foreign land. He’d stayed with her last night until she’d fallen asleep. She knew it was silly of her, but she’d wished he’d been there when she’d woken this morning.
The thought that she probably wouldn’t see him again made her chest ache.
“I’ve said something wrong,” Sandra said. “I’m so sorry. I—I’m a little tired and seeing you lying here like this, knowing that you almost—” Sandra’s voice faltered, then she sucked in a breath and blinked back the threatening tears. “I just love you so much.”
“Thank you.” Though she couldn’t return the sentiment, Emily reached for her mother’s hand. “It’s nice to know I have a family, people who care about me. Why don’t you and…Dad go home and rest. Come back this afternoon.”
“I can’t leave you like this, all alone, not knowing—”
“Sandra.” Paul Barone moved beside his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. “Emily needs to rest, too. She can’t do that with us hovering. We’ll come back later.”
“I suppose you’re right.” But there was still reluctance in Sandra’s tired eyes. “We do need to shower and change. Lord knows, these heels are killing my feet.”
“I’ll be fine.” Emily forced a smile. “Really.”
With a sigh, Sandra leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “If you need anything, just call the house. We can be back here in twenty minutes. I’ll leave instructions with Annie to wake me if I’m sleeping. Don’t worry about—”
“Sandra, enough.” Paul took his wife’s arm, then bent and gave Emily a peck on her forehead. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Sleep. You’ll need your strength when the rest of the troop gets here.”
Alone, Emily released the breath she’d been holding. The crescendo of pain in her temple had risen from a slow, irregular pulse to a steady, crashing throb. She wasn’t tired, but it hurt to think. Simply anticipating all those people coming to see her, people she couldn’t remember, made her anxious.
She needed to move, she decided, to get out of this bed. If she felt more in control, she was certain she could deal with her impending visitors and all the questions they would ask.
Slowly, she slid her legs out from under the sheets and over the side of the bed. She sat, felt her blood pound in her head, then slowly subside. Satisfied with her progress, she edged her bare feet to the cool tile, waited a moment and stood.
The floor felt steady under her, solid. Not so bad, she thought, even though her legs did feel a bit shaky and her head a little fuzzy. She was certain she could manage a few steps, stretch a few muscles, then slip back under the covers.
She made it to the end of the bed and her success made her a little too smug. She turned—or at least she thought she was turning.
Instead, her knees buckled.
She was a split second away from meeting the floor when a strong pair of arms scooped her up.
“Whoa.” Shane lifted her, held her firmly against his chest. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I—I just wanted to stretch my legs.”
And what great legs they were, Shane thought, letting his gaze sweep down the long length of slender curves to her soft-pink-painted toes. The white cotton hospital gown that covered her from neck to mid-thigh was as far from sexy as it got, but that didn’t seem to matter. His blood stirred at the sight of her, and his pulse quickened.
It was the second time he’d held her in his arms. The first time had been professional; he’d had a job to do and he’d been completely focused on getting her safely out of the building. This time he felt anything but professional and his focus was not on his job, but on Emily herself.
“Is this a habit of yours, Mr. Cummings?” she asked. “Rescuing maidens in distress?”
“I was just passing by.” She weighed next to nothing, he thought. Quickly he realized that was what she was wearing, as well. Her skin was soft and silky. Warm. He really should put her down, he told himself. He really should.
“Just passing by my room?” she asked.
“The hospital. The doc thought I should have my lungs looked at today.”
Which was true. Dr. Tuscano had told him to have someone look at his lungs. But he could have gone to any number of clinics or over to Carney Hospital, which was much closer to the marina. Instead, he’d come back to Brookline.
“How are they?”
Damn, but she was pretty, he thought. Not like a supermodel. Just pretty. Delicate and soft. “How are what?”
“Your lungs.”
“Oh. Right. Fine.”
“Shane.” Her thick lashes dropped and a blush rose on her pale cheeks. “I’m all right now. You can put me down.”
Reluctantly, he laid her back in bed, then stepped away. “So, how are you doing?”
“Not so bad now.” On a sigh, she drew the covers up over her legs. “Though when I first woke up I was wondering if you’d thrown me out of that window last night rather than carried me. Is that for me?”
Shane glanced at the single red rosebud lying on the foot of her bed. When he’d walked into the room and seen her falling, he’d tossed it there. Now that he saw the two enormous bouquets she already had in her room, he felt more than foolish he’d brought it to her.
“There’s a stand downstairs that sells them,” he said with a shrug, and handed the flower to her. “The profits go to the children’s ward. For toys and games.”
“It’s beautiful.” Lifting the flower to her nose, she breathed in. “Thank you.”
The deep red of the rose against her smooth, creamy skin made his throat go dry. Dammit, anyway. What the hell was he doing here? It wasn’t as if this could go anywhere. He knew who the Barones were. Hell, anyone who lived in Boston had heard of them. What he made in six months was pocket money to Emily’s family.
“I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving my life.” She smiled at him, then extended her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Like the rest of her, Emily’s hands were fine-boned and graceful. Her fingers were long and slender, nails neat and short. Her skin soft and cool.
The jolt of lust that shot through him had Shane quickly releasing her hand. “I should let you rest.”
“No, please stay.” Looking suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so needy. It’s just that I…that you’re the only person who’s familiar to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“You still can’t remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Just what my parents told me. The doctor was hoping they might be able to help me by telling me about myself, that I worked as a secretary at Baronessa Gelati for my brother Derrick, that my mother and I had gone to lunch and shopping for my father’s birthday only a few days ago. That I live in an apartment in Brookline not too far from the plant. I like pasta and chocolate éclairs, and my nickname is Em.”
Closing her eyes, she laid her head back against her pillow. “It just made my head hurt.”
“So stop thinking.” He turned the chair beside her bed, then straddled it. “Just let your mind go somewhere else you’d rather be.”
“Like where?”
“How ’bout a quiet cove somewhere? No, keep your eyes closed,” he told her when she started to open them. “Or maybe an island in the Caribbean.”
“An island would be nice.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she shut her eyes again. “What does it look like?”
“Lots of tall palm trees. You can hear the fronds rustle in the balmy breeze and the waves lap on the shore. The water is so clear you can see a school of small yellow fish darting back and forth right off the shoreline. The sky is deep, deep blue.”
“There’s a puffy white cloud overhead.” Emily furrowed her brow in thought. “It’s in the shape of a butterfly.”
He watched her shoulders relax, the slow rise and fall of her breaths, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The sand is soft and warm against your back. There’s no one around for miles and miles.”
“You’re there.” Her voice was a little breathless. “You’re swimming.”
The thought of being alone on an island with Emily made his blood heat up. “The water feels great,” he murmured. “Maybe you should come in and join me.”
“I don’t know if I can swim. I—I can’t remember.”
“I’ll teach you if you—”
“Emily?”
Ripped from her island fantasy, Emily opened her eyes and watched as a young woman pushed open the door. When she hurried forward, Shane quickly stood and moved out of the way.
“Emily, thank God you’re all right.” The woman reached for Emily’s hand. “I’ve been so worried since Mama called. Daniel’s here, too, but I made him drop me off downstairs before he parked his car. Oh, sweetheart, you’re so pale.”
Her eyes were the same deep blue as the silk suit jacket and skirt she wore, Emily noted. Tall and slender, probably in her late twenties. She’d pulled back her mass of blond hair in a clip on top of her head, but several thick strands escaped in a riot of loose curls around her strikingly beautiful face.
A man entered the room then, around six foot, with brown hair and the same blue eyes as the woman’s. She knew this man was her other brother’s twin, but they were obviously too different in appearance to be identical. Though his clothes were casual—black slacks and a white polo shirt—he had an air of old money about him.
“Hey, Em.” His tone was easy, but there was concern in his steady gaze. “How’s the head?”
It was starting to throb again. “It’s all right.”
“Do you know who I am?” he asked carefully.
“You’re my brother. Daniel.” Emily studied the handsome man’s face, recognized the similarities between him and her father, then looked at the woman who was sitting on the side of her bed. With her hair and eyes, she looked more like their mother. “And you’re Claudia. My sister.”
Smiling brightly, Claudia gave Emily a gentle hug, then shot her brother a look. “I told you she’d know who we are.”
“Of course she knows who we are. Mom told her we were coming. The question is—” Daniel lifted a brow “—does she remember us?”
“Well, of course she does, silly. How can she not remember her own brother and—” Claudia went still, then narrowed her eyes. “Omigod, you don’t remember who we are, do you?”
Desperately Emily wanted to be back on that beach with Shane. Away from all the questions and the stares. “I—I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s just temporary.”
“Of course it’s temporary.” Claudia squeezed Emily’s hand. “We’re just so relieved you’re all right, that the firemen were able to get you out in time.”
“Shane found me.” Emily glanced over to where he’d been standing only a few moments ago.
He wasn’t there.
“Who?” Claudia looked over her shoulder.
“Shane. The fireman who carried me out of the building.”
“Where is he?” Daniel asked. “I’d like to thank him for saving my baby sister.”
Clutching the red rose he’d given her, Emily stared at the open doorway. “He’s gone.”
Three
A glass of mint iced tea in her hand and a paperback book in her lap, Emily lay on the chaise longue beside her parents’ swimming pool. The May day was warm, the air scented with roses and a vine of blooming jasmine that spilled over a wrought-iron trellis leading to her mother’s newly planted vegetable garden. Pots filled with white phlox and purple petunias surrounded the brick patio, while water bubbled from the mouth of a leaping bronze dolphin, then trickled down into a three-tiered fountain.
Emily had been told that the fountain had been last year’s birthday gift from her to her mother, that two weeks ago she’d helped plant bulbs in the garden, that only three days before her accident she’d stopped by after leaving work to drop off some pictures she’d taken at Easter.
They’d shown her photo album after photo album, videotapes of parties and family barbecues, pictures of her own apartment in Brookline. They’d made her favorite foods and played the music from Carmen, the last opera she’d attended with her parents.
She remembered none of it.
She’d been released from the hospital five days ago. After two days of tests and monitoring, Dr. Tuscano had concluded there was nothing physically wrong with her patient. The cut on her temple was healing well, her headaches were gone and all vital signs were normal. This morning she’d noticed that even the bruises scattered on her body were beginning to fade to pale yellow and soft blue.
How odd it had been to look in the mirror that first time and see a stranger staring back. Even though she’d prepared herself, she’d still been startled and a little frightened. She’d touched her chin-length dark brown hair, her cheeks, her lips, needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that all of this wasn’t a dream.
Or a nightmare.
But Shane had been real. That much she knew. He hadn’t returned to the hospital after that last visit, or called her, either. She’d wanted so badly to see him again. Just one more time. Her family had meant well by fussing over her, but she was still confused by what had happened, still unsure of herself and what she was going to do. When Shane had been there, she’d felt calmer, more in control.
Let your mind go somewhere else, he’d told her.
She went there now. Back to her Caribbean island. The birdsong from her mother’s maple tree and the trickling water from the fountain made it easier to visualize her tropical paradise. She could feel the warm sand on her back. Hear the waves lap at the shore, see the yellow hibiscus sway in the breeze. The sun had begun to dip low on the horizon, turning the ocean into a sea of dancing stars. Shane rose up from the silvery water, his muscled shoulders and arms rippling as he dragged his hands back through his hair. He had the body of an athlete, a swimmer, lean and solid, defined.
Very well defined, she thought as he walked toward her. The tan cutoffs he wore were plastered to his hips and thighs, leaving little to her imagination. She smiled. Or should she say a lot to the imagination.
He stood over her, held out his arm to her. She placed her hand in his and rose up to meet him, then lifted her face as he lowered his. His mouth was gentle and tasted of salt and fresh air. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she opened to him, leaned into the warmth of his body and the heat of his kiss. His arms, wet and strong and so powerful, enclosed her, pulled her firmly against him—
“Emily.” Sandra Barone’s cheerful voice rang out. “I’ve brought you some soup and a sandwich.”
Jolted out of her fantasy, Emily spilled the iced tea she held in her hand. Her heart pounded as much from being startled as from her daydreaming about Shane.
“Oh, dear.” Sandra set down the tray on a small glass patio table and quickly handed her daughter a linen napkin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I thought you heard me coming.”
“It’s all right.” Emily set her glass on the brick decking, then dabbed at the spilled tea on the chaise cushion. “I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Her mother slid the table closer to the chaise. “I hear you walking the hallways and downstairs at night, plus you’ve barely eaten enough to keep a kitten alive. I made you egg salad today and minestrone. You used to love my minestrone.”
Despite the fact she wasn’t hungry, Emily tasted a spoonful of the soup and forced a smile. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“Emily.” Sandra sat down on the chaise beside her daughter. “You were never one to hide your feelings very well. You may not remember me right now, but I’m still your mother. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“It’s been a week.” Emily stared at the spoon in her hand, then looked into her mother’s soft blue eyes. “I haven’t remembered one thing. Not you, not Dad. Not this house. Nothing.”
“It’s going to get better, sweetheart,” Sandra said. “Easier. Some things just take time.”
“And what if it doesn’t get better?” Emily asked quietly. “What if I don’t ever remember?”
Sandra reached up to smooth her daughter’s hair, then tucked a loose strand behind her ear. A mother’s gesture, Emily thought. Caring and tender. And still, Emily thought miserably, she felt nothing for this woman beyond appreciation.
“Why don’t we just take one day at a time right now?” her mother suggested. “I know we’ve all been smothering you these past few days. Maybe it’s time we all give you some breathing room, let you work this out yourself. If your head isn’t speaking to you, why don’t you just listen to your heart?”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled at her mother, not a forced one this time. “I would appreciate that.”
Sandra kissed Emily’s cheek, sighed, then stood. “Don’t think this means I’m not worried about you, or that I won’t fuss over you at least a little. You might as well tell the sun not to rise or Mrs. Carmichael not to walk her Pekinese through my front flower beds. It will simply fall on deaf ears. Now, I’ll leave you to eat your soup. At least be polite and make an attempt at the sandwich. If I’ve done nothing else, I’ve raised my children with manners.”
Her back straight, Sandra walked back through the patio French doors. Because she wanted to please her, Emily picked up the sandwich, then nibbled at it while she watched a sparrow splash in the fountain, then shake its feathers and fly away.
Why don’t you just listen to your heart?
And what did her heart tell her?
To take action. Not to sit around. To do something.
What?
The answer came to her easily, and quite loudly.
Cookies.
Smiling, she quickly gathered up her things, then headed for the kitchen.
“For God’s sake, Shane, when the hell are you gonna learn how to cook?”
Shane turned the large firehouse oven to 425©, then tossed a box of frozen pepperoni pizza to Matt. “I am cooking,” he said, and grabbed another box. “And at least it’s recognizable. We’ve still got bets going whether that meat you served last week was beef or chicken.”
“Very funny.” Offended, Matt ripped open the box of pizza. “You know damn well it was fish.”
“Fish? Damn, I just lost five bucks.”
“That recipe dates back to my great-grandmother,” Matt said with a scowl. “She prepared that dish every spring to ensure a bountiful harvest.”
“Well, see, that’s where I think you’ve got it wrong,” Shane said cheerfully. “You weren’t supposed to eat it, you were supposed to bury it.”
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Barbara McCauley
Emily Barone could remember nothing about her near-death experience in a Boston fire - except for the rock-hard chest and strong arms of the fireman who pulled her to safety.She and Shane Cummings generated a heat hotter than any blaze. Trapped in a family full of strangers, Emily was drawn to Shane's familiar face…and oh-so-virile body. Theirs was a liaison Shane enjoyed - for as long as it lasted.For while Emily tracked her elusive memory, Shane couldn't help but fear it was the one thing that could take her away from him.
May’s menu
BARONESSA GELATERIA
in Boston’s North End
In addition to our regular flavors of Italian gelato, this month we are featuring:
Espresso laced with Irish Cream
Shane was proud of his heritage as a firefighter in his Irish immigrant family. He approached his work the same way he did his life—fearlessly. That is, until he found himself unsettled by the feelings he had for Emily Barone….
Angel food cake
Whether Shane’s kiss was her first, Emily didn’t remember. She did know it was the only one that mattered. When he took her in his arms, her virgin heart had never beat so fast, never yearned so much….
Cherries flambé, made and lit at your table
Despite their differences, Shane could not douse his desires, nor could Emily deny her burning need to be with him. Their passion threatened to blaze out of control—hot and dangerous….
Buon appetito!
Dear Reader,
Let Silhouette Desire rejuvenate your romantic spirit in May with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories.
Our compelling yearlong twelve-book series DYNASTIES: THE BARONES continues with Where There’s Smoke… (#1507) by Barbara McCauley, in which a fireman as courageous as he is gorgeous saves the life and wins the heart of a Barone heiress. Next, a domineering cowboy clashes with a mysterious woman hiding on his ranch, in The Gentrys: Cinco (#1508), the launch title of THE GENTRYS, a new three-book miniseries by Linda Conrad.
A night of passion brings new love to a rancher who lost his family and his leg in a tragic accident in Cherokee Baby (#1509) by reader favorite Sheri WhiteFeather. Sleeping with Beauty (#1510) by Laura Wright features a sheltered princess who slips past the defenses of a love-shy U.S. Marshal. A dynamic Texan inspires a sperm-bank-bound thirtysomething stranger to try conceiving the old-fashioned way in The Cowboy’s Baby Bargain (#1511) by Emilie Rose, the latest title in Desire’s BABY BANK theme promotion. And in Her Convenient Millionaire (#1512) by Gail Dayton, a pretend marriage between a Palm Beach socialite and her millionaire beau turns into real passion.
Why miss even one of these brand-new, red-hot love stories? Get all six and share in the excitement from Silhouette Desire this month.
Enjoy!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Where There’s Smoke…
Barbara McCauley
BARBARA MCCAULEY,
who has written more than twenty novels for Silhouette Books, lives in Southern California with her own handsome hero husband, Frank, who makes it easy to believe in and write about the magic of romance. Barbara’s stories have won and been nominated for numerous awards, including the prestigious RITA
Award from the Romance Writers of America, Best Desire of the Year from Romantic Times and Best Short Contemporary from the National Reader’s Choice Awards.
Meet the Barones of Boston—
an elite clan caught in a web of danger, deceit…and desire!
Shane Cummings—He has no attachments, no commitments. Even his sailboat home isn’t grounded. This firefighter’s a loner who lives life for today—and he wants to keep it that way….
Emily Barone—She personifies stability. Warm and secure in her big, loving family, she’s got the powerful Barones behind her. Emily wants permanence—at least she would if she could remember who she was….
Derrick Barone—He looks out for Emily, as older brothers do. But does he have only her best interests at heart?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
One
Emily Barone stood in the small back office of Baronessa Gelati and watched the single white piece of paper slowly roll into the copy machine tray, then lie flatly on top of the three other copies she’d already made. Light flickered on the dimly lit walls; the machine shuddered, then clicked to a stop.
It’s not true, she told herself for the hundredth time. It can’t be.
But Emily knew in her heart that the evidence she’d found against Derrick was true. There was no other explanation, nothing that could absolve, or forgive, what her brother had already done.
Or what he still planned to do.
Her hand shook as she reached for the incriminating piece of paper that proved Derrick’s crime: he intended to sell secret recipes from the family gelato business to a rival company.
He’d been careful not to raise suspicion, Emily knew. Even as Derrick’s secretary, Emily might not have ever noticed anything amiss if earlier today she hadn’t accidentally overheard a few whispered words of a phone call on his private line, words that had made her uneasy. When he’d left his office a few minutes later, she’d gone in and pushed redial, only to hear a receptionist for Snowcream, Inc., Baronessa Gelati’s biggest competitor, answer the phone.
She’d had to wait until the plant had closed this evening and everyone left before she could search for evidence to confirm Derrick’s betrayal. It had taken her nearly an hour to jimmy the lock on his desk, another fifteen minutes to find the file containing detailed notes from his conversation with Grant Summers, CEO of Snowcream. The file also contained dates and times Derrick had met with Summers, listed the amount of money to be exchanged for the information and the Swiss bank account the money would be transferred into.
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears. She knew she was naive. At twenty-four, she still tried to see the good in people, still hoped that in the end a person would do the right thing. She’d prayed she’d been wrong about Derrick, hadn’t wanted to believe that her own brother would steal from anyone, let alone Baronessa Gelati.
She was glad her father, Paul Barone, had chosen to become a lawyer rather than go into the business Grandfather Marco had started over a half century ago. Just the thought of taking this damning information to her parents made Emily sick to her stomach. It would kill her mother to learn that her son was capable of such a betrayal.
But it was possible her parents might never have to know, Emily thought as she turned off the copy machine. Her father’s brother, Carlo, ran Baronessa. She knew she couldn’t look the other way, that she had to take this evidence to her uncle. She knew he would have a solution that would quietly remove Derrick from his position as VP of Quality Assurance Department and possibly even cover up any potential scandal to the company or the family.
Uncle Carlo would know what to do; Emily was certain of it. With his booming, deep voice, he was a little intimidating at times, but he was a good man, a fair man who loved his wife and children and was fiercely protective of the entire family.
At the sound of a door closing in an outer office, Emily froze. Quickly she reached across to the single table lamp she’d turned on when she came in. She stood in the dark, listening, heard a quiet shuffling sound, then nothing. Slowly she moved toward the closed blinds over the small copy-room window and peeked out through the side. She’d left the outer lights off, but she could see the outline of a tall, thin man at one of the desks.
She gasped as the man turned. Dear God! It was Derrick!
When he glanced in her direction, Emily jumped back. She’d never been a good liar. If he found her here, she knew she’d never be able to talk her way out of this mess. He’d only have to look at her face to know what she’d discovered, and he’d be furious. She couldn’t confront him yet, not until she talked to Uncle Carlo.
Pressing her back to the wall, she waited, then finally heard the outer door close. Slowly she released the breath she’d been holding. To be sure he’d left the plant, she’d wait a while before she came out. She could take no chances that he might return and find her putting the file back in his desk, or discover her on her way out with the copies she’d made.
After several minutes, there were still no sounds, except for the soft ticking of the copy-room wall clock and the beating of her own heart. The office was quiet. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d wait two more minutes and—
Once again she froze. And sniffed.
Smoke?
She flipped on the lamp again and glanced down. Thin ribbons of wispy gray smoke curled up from underneath the door.
Oh God, no…
She shoved the blinds apart and looked out. Flames shot up from the middle of the office and were spreading quickly across the room.
Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? And why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? Unless Derrick—
No! She couldn’t believe that he would do such a terrible thing. Selling secret formulas was one thing, but arson was another. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—commit such a heinous crime.
She grabbed her purse and both files. There’d be no time to replace the original back into Derrick’s desk, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get out quickly, before the fire completely engulfed the office. Since there was no window to the outside from the copy room, she had no choice but to make a dash across the outer office and hopefully skirt the flames. If she could get to the windows overlooking the street two stories below, she could attract someone’s attention. If worse came to worst—and she prayed it wouldn’t—she would have to jump.
She gulped in air, then threw open the door and ran. A blast of heat made her stumble, but she recovered and kept going. In the distance she heard the wail of sirens and the sound gave her hope. They’re coming, she thought as the wail and the deep sound of horns grew louder. They’re almost here.
The fire crackled around her, sparks flew, singeing her face and bare legs. The smoke burned her throat and her eyes. But she made it to the window, was reaching for the handle when the sound of a loud crack from behind her made her whip her head around. She watched in horror as the heavy steel bindings that supported the dropped ceiling gave way. Like a giant zipper opening, the ceiling ripped apart, raining metal and plaster tiles. Frantic, Emily turned back to the window, but the crack overhead rushed toward her like a hideous, furious monster.
Helpless to stop it, she went down.
“This is Hemming Taylor from KLRT.” The pretty blond reporter held the microphone close as she spoke to the television cameraman. “First on the scene and reporting to you live from Brookline, Massachusetts, where behind me a fire rages inside one of the buildings that make up the Baronessa Gelati manufacturing plant. It appears that flames have already consumed the third floor of the plant’s main offices, and as you can see—” Hemming pointed with one hand and the camera swept up to catch a full shot of the building “—the fire seems to have spread to the second floor, as well. Firefighters already on the scene are working valiantly to douse the flames, and an unconfirmed report of a woman inside the building has heightened the tension among the firefighters and onlookers alike. We’re told that the call came in approximately ten minutes ago and—”
An explosion from the third floor had the reporter and crew running for cover. Car alarms blared from the streets, and firefighters working outside the building dropped to protect themselves from flying debris.
Inside the building, in the smoke-filled stairwell between the first and second floors, the blast from overhead threw Shane Cummings to his knees. He recovered quickly, stood and glanced back at his partner, Matt.
“You okay?” Shane yelled over a second, smaller explosion.
Matt lifted a hand, gave Shane the go-ahead sign, then pointed to the door leading to the second story.
As a unit, Shane and Matt moved up the stairwell. Shane knew they were quickly running out of time, that they should get out now, but the security guard working the building across the street had insisted he saw a woman in a second-story window that faced the street. Two minutes, Shane told himself as he kicked the door open with his boot. Two minutes and they were out of here.
“We’ve entered the second story from the stairwell.” Shane had to yell into his radio headset over the crackle of flames and crashing debris. “The room is approximately forty by fifty, charged with heavy smoke, the ceiling is down. Female reported at east window and we’re heading there now.”
“Negative, Cummings.” Chief Griffin’s raspy voice crackled over the radio. “The third floor is engulfed. Get your butts out of there now.”
“Five minutes.” Shane glanced back at Matt, who nodded. “Then we’re outta here pronto.”
“No heroics, Cummings,” Griffin barked. “That’s a command, dammit. Get your ass out of there now.”
“Two minutes,” Shane negotiated. “Get a ladder at the window and we’ll come through there.”
While Chief Griffin erupted into a litany of expletives and threats, Shane hunkered down under the cloud of smoke and pressed forward. Matt moved with him.
Adrenaline pumped through Shane’s blood as he edged around a wall of flames, then spotted the windows across the rows of desks in the office. Between the rubble and the smoke, it was impossible to see if anyone was lying on the floor. He made his way across the room, then spotted a pair of long, bare legs protruding from under a pile of ceiling tiles.
“Found her,” Shane yelled back to Matt, then spoke into his headset again. “This is Cummings. I’ve located the female approximately six feet from the east window. She may be unconscious. Do you copy?”
The hiss of static came back, then Griffin said, “We copy, Cummings. Get her and get the hell out of there.”
“My plan exactly. Over.”
Dropping to the pile of rubble on the floor, he pitched broken tiles and chunks of plaster until he finally uncovered the woman’s still body.
She was young, probably early twenties, Shane noted as he scooped her up into his arms, and he doubted she tipped the scales past a hundred pounds. Though dust and soot covered her, he saw no evidence of burns on her clothes or her bare arms and legs.
When he stood, her hair fell away from her face and her eyelids fluttered open. He saw the confusion and fear in her eyes as she looked up at him.
“I’ve got you,” he yelled. “Is there anyone else in here?”
He couldn’t hear what she said, but he hoped like hell her answer was no. Another explosion from somewhere overhead made him stumble backward. Shane gritted his teeth and held the woman close while debris rained down on them. She buried her head against his chest.
“We have to go out through the window,” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the fire. “Can you hang on?”
She nodded, then slid her arms up and circled his neck tightly.
Holding the woman in his arms, Shane stepped to the window and opened it, felt his own lungs burn from the cloud of smoke that poured out into the crisp night air. He heard the din of men and women working below, saw the flash of red lights spinning from the trucks. There were shouts, then the ladder appeared.
“Here we go.” Shane shifted the woman to one arm so the upper part of her body draped over his shoulder. He held her tight, then backed out of the window. Matt was right behind him.
Shane had barely stepped off the ladder when another explosion blasted through the second story, blowing out the windows. He dropped to the ground, shielding the woman’s body with his own. She shuddered against him, held tightly to his jacket while glass and pieces of brick crashed down on them.
Shane quickly glanced behind him to make sure Matt was all right, then breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his partner picking himself up off the sidewalk and giving him a thumbs-up.
None too gently, Shane scooped the woman back up into his arms and made a dash to the waiting paramedics, who slid her onto a gurney and slipped an oxygen mask over her face. As they carried her away, Shane watched the woman lift her head and hold his gaze. She looked so small lying there, shivering. The sight of blood trickling down her soot-smudged forehead made Shane’s stomach constrict. He started to follow her, but was stopped short at the sound of Chief Griffin’s bellow.
“Cummings!”
Griffin, five foot ten and built like a bull, came charging at him. “I told you to get the hell out of there,” the chief roared. “I oughta suspend your ass for such a stupid stunt.”
Shane removed his helmet and wiped the sweat on his brow. “I didn’t have a—”
“Save it,” Griffin barked. “You’re bleeding, dammit. Go with the ambulance, then get your butt back to the station to file a report.”
“Yes, sir.”
The camera crews had already converged on the ambulance like spring locusts. Ignoring the microphones shoved in his face, Shane pushed his way through the crowd and climbed into the ambulance. The woman seemed to relax when he sat beside her. When he covered her slender fingers with his own and smiled down at her, she smiled weakly back, then closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.
Five seconds later, with the siren wailing and the lights flashing, they were headed for Brookline Hospital.
“Emily…Emily…”
The distant sound of a man’s voice pulled her out of the thick blanket of fog surrounding her, worsened the ache in her head and the burning in her chest. She felt as if she were floating somewhere, disembodied….
“Emily, can you hear me?”
Go away, she wanted to say, but couldn’t make her mouth move. Couldn’t make any part of her body move. She heard the ring of a telephone…a man calling for a nurse…the squish-squish-squish of rubber soles on a tile floor.
Where am I? she wondered. And why did she smell smoke? Smoke and antiseptic…and a man’s cologne?
“Emily, wake up. It’s Derrick.”
Derrick? She didn’t know anyone named Derrick. But the voice was closer now, persistent. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy and she was so tired. She didn’t know who Emily was and she didn’t care. She just wanted to sleep.
“I called Mom and Dad,” the man said, “but they’re at the opera and I had to leave a message. Emily, for God’s sake, open your eyes and talk to me.”
I don’t want to talk, she thought, and rolled her head away. The sheets underneath her were cool and crisp, the blanket covering her soft and warm. She felt soft and warm, she realized. And sleepy. So very sleepy…
“What were you doing at the plant?” The man’s voice turned to a harsh whisper. “You’d already left before me, why did you go back?”
She had no idea who was speaking to her or what he was talking about. She felt the moan vibrate deep in her throat, then the pounding in her head increased.
Slowly she opened her eyes, saw the blurred outline of a man standing over her. He was tall and thin, his hair and eyes dark brown. She blinked against the light and the pain, watched the image take shape. His features were sharp, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The black suit he wore was tailored, his tie a shimmering silver against his white dress shirt. The strong spicy scent of his cologne made her cough.
He leaned in closer and took her hand in his. She wanted to pull away but hadn’t the strength.
“Talk to me,” he said, still keeping his voice low. “Tell me why you were at the plant.”
I’m in a hospital, she realized as she saw the tube running from her arm up to the hanging IV bag beside her bed. “I—” She drew in a slow, painful breath. “I don’t know.”
His hand tightened on hers. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?”
I don’t know how I don’t know, she tried to say, but her lungs were burning and her brain felt as if there were shards of glass tumbling inside. She struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on the man questioning her, struggled to keep her thoughts from bumping into one another. Derrick. He’d said his name was Derrick.
“You left the plant thirty minutes before me.” He narrowed his gaze. “I watched you drive away. What were you doing there?”
“I…don’t know…what you’re talking about,” she managed to say, but the words cost her and she started to cough again.
“Dammit, Emily, what are you—”
A knock at the half-open door stopped him. With a frown, Derrick straightened. “What is it?”
“I came to check on Emily.”
That voice. Deep, a bit hoarse. So familiar, she thought. So comforting. Though her eyelids were heavy, she lifted her gaze toward the doorway.
“Who are you?” Derrick demanded.
“A friend.” The man wore faded jeans, a denim jacket and black boots. His gaze flicked over Derrick as he moved into the room. “Who are you?”
“Derrick Barone.” Derrick stood and squared his shoulders. “Emily’s brother.”
Emily felt her pulse skip as the man moved closer to her bed. She knew him, she was certain she did. She just didn’t know how.
He was tall, close to six feet, his chest broad and upper arms solid muscle. His sandy-brown hair was short and neat on the sides, just long enough on top to allow several thick strands to dip down in the middle of his forehead. His eyes were green—no, blue. Both, she finally decided, and held her breath as he turned his incredible gaze on her.
“How you feeling?” he asked her.
Before she could attempt an answer, Derrick stepped forward. “Excuse me. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Shane.” He kept his eyes on Emily. “Shane Cummings.”
“I know most of my sister’s friends,” Derrick said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We haven’t.” Shane moved around Derrick and came closer to the bed. “Hey, Cinderella, how you doing?”
Cinderella? Why would he call her that? she wondered. She doubted she’d left any glass slippers behind or—
Pain seized her, shot like an arrow through her temple, had her gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut.
Fire…flames everywhere…smoke…
The sounds came back to her. The crackling heat, an explosion, shattering glass.
She reached out, felt the comfort of Shane’s large hand closing over her own.
I’ve got you….
She heard Shane’s voice, felt his arms lifting her out of the ashes and rubble. He’d carried her down a ladder, covered her body with his to protect her. Stayed with her.
That was all she could remember. Nothing before that moment he’d scooped her up in his arms, nothing after he’d climbed into the ambulance with her.
As the pain eased, she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his furrowed brow.
“Shall I get the doctor?” he asked quietly.
“Now, see here.” Derrick smoothed a hand down his tie. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but my sister’s been through a terrible ordeal. I would appreciate it if you would—”
“Mr. Barone?” A redheaded nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your parents are on the phone at the desk. They asked to speak with you.”
Derrick glanced at Shane, then Emily. “I’ll be right back. If you need anything—”
“I’ll be here,” Shane said evenly.
Derrick frowned, then followed the nurse.
“You…saved me,” Emily murmured.
“You mean just now, or earlier?”
“Both.”
He smiled down at her. “Do you remember me?”
“The fire… You carried me out….”
When she started to cough, he squeezed her hand. “The doc says you’re going to be fine, but you’ve sucked some smoke into your lungs, which is going to make them burn for a day or two. And since a ceiling came down on your head, I suspect that’s gotta hurt, too.”
She nodded, then reached up and touched the bandage taped high on her temple. “What happened?”
“We were hoping you might be able to tell us. You were the only person in the building when it caught fire.”
“Building?”
“Baronessa Gelati.” When she did not respond to the name, Shane lifted a brow. “Where you work.”
She closed her eyes, felt the pounding in her brain start up with renewed vigor. Why couldn’t she remember?
“Mr. Cummings.” A blond woman wearing a white doctor’s coat and black skirt came into the room. “I believe I sent you home.”
“I was on my way, Doc.” His expression innocent, Shane stuck his hands into his front pockets and stepped away from the bed. “But when I saw Miss Barone was conscious, I thought she might be able to tell us how the fire started.”
The doctor threw a dubious glance at Shane, pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose, then looked at Emily. “I’m Dr. Tuscano. How’s that head of yours feeling?”
“Like it’s trying to hatch,” Emily said weakly.
The doctor smiled. “I had to give you a few stitches along your hairline, but they should heal without a noticeable scar. We’re giving you pain medication in your IV right now, but if you do well through the rest of the night, we’ll take you off in the morning. Other than the laceration on your head, some bumps and bruises and a little smoke in your lungs, you’re in great shape considering your ordeal.”
“Shane saved my life,” Emily whispered.
“I believe he did,” Dr. Tuscano agreed as she made a note in Emily’s chart. “Your family will be very happy to hear you’ll be all right.”
“My family?”
The doctor paused in her writing and glanced up. Frowning, she set her chart down and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket. “You don’t remember the accident?”
“No.” Emily winced at the light the doctor shone in her eyes.
“Do you know who you are, where you live?”
Who she was? The pain in her head spiraled. She gathered from the conversation her name was Emily Barone. But she didn’t know who she really was. Nor where she lived. “No.”
“Hmm. A mild concussion, but nothing severe.” Dr. Tuscano slipped the flashlight back into her coat pocket and picked up the chart again. “Except for your parents, who are on their way here now, you should have no more visitors.”
“Dr. Tuscano—” the redheaded nurse stuck her head back in the doorway “—you’re wanted on line three. Dr. Heaton.”
“Be right there.” Smiling, the doctor patted Emily’s hand. “I’ll be here in the morning to check on you. We’ll see how you feel after a good night’s rest.”
Emily watched the doctor leave, then slowly turned her head toward Shane. He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands still in his pockets. She saw the worry in his gaze, had the strangest desire to touch his cheek, to comfort as much as to be comforted.
“I better go,” he said after a long moment. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
But she wasn’t all right. She didn’t know who she was, or what had happened to her; she had stitches in her head and an IV stuck in her arm.
She felt like a child. Alone and frightened. The only person she knew, the only person she could remember, was Shane. She didn’t want him to leave. She knew if he were here that she would be all right, that she could go to sleep and nothing would happen to her.
“Thank you for coming.” She silently cursed the tears burning her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Frowning, he moved closer. “Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”
“No.” She turned her head away. “I’m sorry. It’s silly.”
“What’s silly?”
“I thought maybe…if you wouldn’t mind…”
“What?”
“Could you…” She turned her head back to face him. “Could you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and reached for a chair and sat. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I could do that.”
“Thank you.”
She knew he was watching her, but it didn’t make her feel self-conscious. It made her feel safe.
She welcomed sleep, was certain that when she woke, her world would make sense again. That she would remember. Her eyelids grew heavy, and with a soft sigh she let the darkness wash over her.
Two
In the spring, tourists came to Boston Harbor Marina in droves. Wearing their hats and sunscreen and fancy digital cameras with long-distance lens, families of sightseers converged on the docks. While dads clicked away, moms held on tightly to impatient little hands more eager to test the water rather than look at it. They ate foot-long hot dogs from Arnie’s Dog Cart at the end of the pier, ice cream cones from a vendor nicknamed Marty the Mariner, who entertained his clientele with stories of mermaids and ghost ships, then they took a two-hour tour of Boston Harbor.
From the deck of his sailboat, Shane watched the first tour bus of the day pull into a parking lot on the other side of the marina. A great place to visit, he thought, taking a long sip from the mug of steaming black coffee in his hand.
An even better place to live.
Half the year he lived in an apartment over his uncle’s pub, the other half he lived here in the marina. He’d used the money from his mom’s life insurance policy to buy the Free Spirit, a thirty-six-foot single-mast sloop. Marjorie Cummings had loved the ocean, had enjoyed the sailing trips her son had taken her on before and even after she’d fallen ill. Shane liked to think that he’d made her smile when he’d bought the boat and moved in.
Damn, but he missed that smile.
The sound of a powerboat pulling away from its slip caught his attention, and he lifted a hand in greeting as The Sea Breeze passed by. She was a pretty little yacht. Built for show as well as speed. And while Shane admired the shiny chrome and custom paint, the fancy boat with all its bells and whistles and oversize stateroom was simply not his style. What would he do with all that space? he thought in amusement. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife, though a few of the women he’d dated had made it clear they’d be happy to change his marital status.
But he was content with his life just the way it was. He came and went as he pleased, sometimes for days at a time. Other than his uncle, Shane had no one to answer to. No one checking up on him, wondering where he was, whom he was with or what he was doing. And that was fine with him.
He glanced up at a pair of seagulls flapping noisily overhead, screeching at each other in argument over a chunk of bread scavenged from a nearby trash can. The damp, salty air was crisp and cool, but the early morning fog had already begun to lift and the weather promised to be clear and warm. A good day for sailing, he mused, briefly considered taking the boat out, then decided against it. He’d promised his uncle he’d come by and help out with the lunch crowd, and he still needed to revarnish the last section of deck he’d been sanding for the past few days. He had plenty to do to keep his hands and mind occupied.
So why, then, had he spent most of last night and this morning thinking about a pretty brunette with velvet-brown eyes and a wide, luscious mouth that would tempt a monk?
After he’d been booted out of Emily’s room last night, Shane had gone home, poured himself a cold beer, then sat on the deck of his boat in the darkness and sifted through what he’d learned about Emily Barone from the nurses.
The Barone family and their gelato empire, Baronessa Gelati, had been in the papers quite a bit lately, he’d been told. Tabloid stuff, most of it revolving around some rather risqué photographs of one of Emily’s cousins taken with a Baronessa public relations man, and something about a batch of gelato that had been tainted with habaneros. He’d also learned that Emily had an older sister and two older twin brothers, one of whom he’d met last night and instantly disliked. When he’d walked in and found Derrick bullying Emily, it had been all Shane could do not to grab the jerk by the scruff of his neck and throw him out on his butt. Fortunately, the nurse had interrupted with the phone call, then the doctor had banned all visitors.
Still, Shane had been restless all night, had felt uneasy knowing that Emily might wake and still not know who she was or what had happened to her. He knew, of course, that her parents would be there, that she’d be well cared for. But strangely, it didn’t ease his concern.
Shane scrubbed a hand over his face, then tossed back the rest of his coffee. He had no business thinking about Emily, wondering what was going to happen to her. He’d simply done his job by pulling her out of the burning building. Her injuries weren’t life-threatening. She had her family to take care of her now.
She’d be fine, he told himself with a shrug. Emily Barone wasn’t his concern any longer, and she most certainly wasn’t his problem.
“Emily, can I get you something, dear? Some water, or another pillow?”
Emily glanced at the woman sitting beside her bed. Her hair was a soft blond, the style short and chic, her eyes pale blue with fine webs of wrinkles in the corners. She was still dressed in the sleek black suit she’d worn to the opera the evening before, but she looked as though she’d just stepped out of a limousine. The single strand of pearls resting at the base of her slender neck suited her porcelain skin, Emily thought. She was tall and elegant, and quite beautiful.
The woman was her mother, Emily knew, but there was nothing remotely familiar about her.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Emily said. “Really.”
“Exactly what she told you five minutes ago when you asked,” a man said as he turned from the window where he’d been quietly standing. “Let her rest, Sandra. Let her think.”
The man who spoke was her father, Paul Barone. For a man, he wasn’t tall, maybe around five nine, but he was stocky, with a thick chest and neck. If her mother hadn’t told her that he was a lawyer, Emily would have guessed him to be a well-tailored bouncer. His hair was dark and thinning, his brows low and thick over deep brown eyes. He’d barely said more than a dozen words since they’d arrived, had preferred to let his wife do the talking while he took everything in.
There’d been a battery of tests when Emily had awakened this morning. A brain scan, more blood work, blood pressure. Dozens of questions about her past that she hadn’t been able to answer. Dr. Tuscano had been thorough with her prodding and probing, and had pronounced her patient to be in excellent health. Except for one little thing.
Amnesia.
It had taken quite some time to digest the word. It was one thing to know what it meant, Emily thought, to know that such a thing existed, and quite another to live it.
Dr. Tuscano had reassured Emily and her parents that a loss of memory following a head trauma was nothing to worry about. Plus there was the emotional trauma to consider, as well, the doctor had said. Though no one knew exactly what had happened, it was reasonable to presume that Emily had been terrified, running to escape the flames and smoke when the ceiling had collapsed.
When—or if—her memory would return remained to be seen.
A young man brought a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers into the room, the second bouquet she’d received this morning. Her mother accepted them, then looked at the card.
“They’re from Claudia,” Sandra said and glanced at her watch. “She was in a meeting in Washington, D.C., but caught the first plane out this morning when we called. She’s worried sick about you, and Daniel is, too, of course. He’s driving down from Manchester now. It took me forever to reach him, but then, you know how he is.”
No, she didn’t know how he was. She didn’t know him at all, or anyone else. She’d been told she had a sister named Claudia and a brother named Daniel— Derrick’s twin—but she didn’t know them. And the thought of all these people coming to see her, asking her questions, trying to make her remember, made her head start to pound again.
Emily closed her eyes and thought of Shane. He was her only connection, the only familiar person in what felt like a foreign land. He’d stayed with her last night until she’d fallen asleep. She knew it was silly of her, but she’d wished he’d been there when she’d woken this morning.
The thought that she probably wouldn’t see him again made her chest ache.
“I’ve said something wrong,” Sandra said. “I’m so sorry. I—I’m a little tired and seeing you lying here like this, knowing that you almost—” Sandra’s voice faltered, then she sucked in a breath and blinked back the threatening tears. “I just love you so much.”
“Thank you.” Though she couldn’t return the sentiment, Emily reached for her mother’s hand. “It’s nice to know I have a family, people who care about me. Why don’t you and…Dad go home and rest. Come back this afternoon.”
“I can’t leave you like this, all alone, not knowing—”
“Sandra.” Paul Barone moved beside his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. “Emily needs to rest, too. She can’t do that with us hovering. We’ll come back later.”
“I suppose you’re right.” But there was still reluctance in Sandra’s tired eyes. “We do need to shower and change. Lord knows, these heels are killing my feet.”
“I’ll be fine.” Emily forced a smile. “Really.”
With a sigh, Sandra leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “If you need anything, just call the house. We can be back here in twenty minutes. I’ll leave instructions with Annie to wake me if I’m sleeping. Don’t worry about—”
“Sandra, enough.” Paul took his wife’s arm, then bent and gave Emily a peck on her forehead. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Sleep. You’ll need your strength when the rest of the troop gets here.”
Alone, Emily released the breath she’d been holding. The crescendo of pain in her temple had risen from a slow, irregular pulse to a steady, crashing throb. She wasn’t tired, but it hurt to think. Simply anticipating all those people coming to see her, people she couldn’t remember, made her anxious.
She needed to move, she decided, to get out of this bed. If she felt more in control, she was certain she could deal with her impending visitors and all the questions they would ask.
Slowly, she slid her legs out from under the sheets and over the side of the bed. She sat, felt her blood pound in her head, then slowly subside. Satisfied with her progress, she edged her bare feet to the cool tile, waited a moment and stood.
The floor felt steady under her, solid. Not so bad, she thought, even though her legs did feel a bit shaky and her head a little fuzzy. She was certain she could manage a few steps, stretch a few muscles, then slip back under the covers.
She made it to the end of the bed and her success made her a little too smug. She turned—or at least she thought she was turning.
Instead, her knees buckled.
She was a split second away from meeting the floor when a strong pair of arms scooped her up.
“Whoa.” Shane lifted her, held her firmly against his chest. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I—I just wanted to stretch my legs.”
And what great legs they were, Shane thought, letting his gaze sweep down the long length of slender curves to her soft-pink-painted toes. The white cotton hospital gown that covered her from neck to mid-thigh was as far from sexy as it got, but that didn’t seem to matter. His blood stirred at the sight of her, and his pulse quickened.
It was the second time he’d held her in his arms. The first time had been professional; he’d had a job to do and he’d been completely focused on getting her safely out of the building. This time he felt anything but professional and his focus was not on his job, but on Emily herself.
“Is this a habit of yours, Mr. Cummings?” she asked. “Rescuing maidens in distress?”
“I was just passing by.” She weighed next to nothing, he thought. Quickly he realized that was what she was wearing, as well. Her skin was soft and silky. Warm. He really should put her down, he told himself. He really should.
“Just passing by my room?” she asked.
“The hospital. The doc thought I should have my lungs looked at today.”
Which was true. Dr. Tuscano had told him to have someone look at his lungs. But he could have gone to any number of clinics or over to Carney Hospital, which was much closer to the marina. Instead, he’d come back to Brookline.
“How are they?”
Damn, but she was pretty, he thought. Not like a supermodel. Just pretty. Delicate and soft. “How are what?”
“Your lungs.”
“Oh. Right. Fine.”
“Shane.” Her thick lashes dropped and a blush rose on her pale cheeks. “I’m all right now. You can put me down.”
Reluctantly, he laid her back in bed, then stepped away. “So, how are you doing?”
“Not so bad now.” On a sigh, she drew the covers up over her legs. “Though when I first woke up I was wondering if you’d thrown me out of that window last night rather than carried me. Is that for me?”
Shane glanced at the single red rosebud lying on the foot of her bed. When he’d walked into the room and seen her falling, he’d tossed it there. Now that he saw the two enormous bouquets she already had in her room, he felt more than foolish he’d brought it to her.
“There’s a stand downstairs that sells them,” he said with a shrug, and handed the flower to her. “The profits go to the children’s ward. For toys and games.”
“It’s beautiful.” Lifting the flower to her nose, she breathed in. “Thank you.”
The deep red of the rose against her smooth, creamy skin made his throat go dry. Dammit, anyway. What the hell was he doing here? It wasn’t as if this could go anywhere. He knew who the Barones were. Hell, anyone who lived in Boston had heard of them. What he made in six months was pocket money to Emily’s family.
“I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving my life.” She smiled at him, then extended her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Like the rest of her, Emily’s hands were fine-boned and graceful. Her fingers were long and slender, nails neat and short. Her skin soft and cool.
The jolt of lust that shot through him had Shane quickly releasing her hand. “I should let you rest.”
“No, please stay.” Looking suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so needy. It’s just that I…that you’re the only person who’s familiar to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”
“You still can’t remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Just what my parents told me. The doctor was hoping they might be able to help me by telling me about myself, that I worked as a secretary at Baronessa Gelati for my brother Derrick, that my mother and I had gone to lunch and shopping for my father’s birthday only a few days ago. That I live in an apartment in Brookline not too far from the plant. I like pasta and chocolate éclairs, and my nickname is Em.”
Closing her eyes, she laid her head back against her pillow. “It just made my head hurt.”
“So stop thinking.” He turned the chair beside her bed, then straddled it. “Just let your mind go somewhere else you’d rather be.”
“Like where?”
“How ’bout a quiet cove somewhere? No, keep your eyes closed,” he told her when she started to open them. “Or maybe an island in the Caribbean.”
“An island would be nice.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she shut her eyes again. “What does it look like?”
“Lots of tall palm trees. You can hear the fronds rustle in the balmy breeze and the waves lap on the shore. The water is so clear you can see a school of small yellow fish darting back and forth right off the shoreline. The sky is deep, deep blue.”
“There’s a puffy white cloud overhead.” Emily furrowed her brow in thought. “It’s in the shape of a butterfly.”
He watched her shoulders relax, the slow rise and fall of her breaths, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The sand is soft and warm against your back. There’s no one around for miles and miles.”
“You’re there.” Her voice was a little breathless. “You’re swimming.”
The thought of being alone on an island with Emily made his blood heat up. “The water feels great,” he murmured. “Maybe you should come in and join me.”
“I don’t know if I can swim. I—I can’t remember.”
“I’ll teach you if you—”
“Emily?”
Ripped from her island fantasy, Emily opened her eyes and watched as a young woman pushed open the door. When she hurried forward, Shane quickly stood and moved out of the way.
“Emily, thank God you’re all right.” The woman reached for Emily’s hand. “I’ve been so worried since Mama called. Daniel’s here, too, but I made him drop me off downstairs before he parked his car. Oh, sweetheart, you’re so pale.”
Her eyes were the same deep blue as the silk suit jacket and skirt she wore, Emily noted. Tall and slender, probably in her late twenties. She’d pulled back her mass of blond hair in a clip on top of her head, but several thick strands escaped in a riot of loose curls around her strikingly beautiful face.
A man entered the room then, around six foot, with brown hair and the same blue eyes as the woman’s. She knew this man was her other brother’s twin, but they were obviously too different in appearance to be identical. Though his clothes were casual—black slacks and a white polo shirt—he had an air of old money about him.
“Hey, Em.” His tone was easy, but there was concern in his steady gaze. “How’s the head?”
It was starting to throb again. “It’s all right.”
“Do you know who I am?” he asked carefully.
“You’re my brother. Daniel.” Emily studied the handsome man’s face, recognized the similarities between him and her father, then looked at the woman who was sitting on the side of her bed. With her hair and eyes, she looked more like their mother. “And you’re Claudia. My sister.”
Smiling brightly, Claudia gave Emily a gentle hug, then shot her brother a look. “I told you she’d know who we are.”
“Of course she knows who we are. Mom told her we were coming. The question is—” Daniel lifted a brow “—does she remember us?”
“Well, of course she does, silly. How can she not remember her own brother and—” Claudia went still, then narrowed her eyes. “Omigod, you don’t remember who we are, do you?”
Desperately Emily wanted to be back on that beach with Shane. Away from all the questions and the stares. “I—I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s just temporary.”
“Of course it’s temporary.” Claudia squeezed Emily’s hand. “We’re just so relieved you’re all right, that the firemen were able to get you out in time.”
“Shane found me.” Emily glanced over to where he’d been standing only a few moments ago.
He wasn’t there.
“Who?” Claudia looked over her shoulder.
“Shane. The fireman who carried me out of the building.”
“Where is he?” Daniel asked. “I’d like to thank him for saving my baby sister.”
Clutching the red rose he’d given her, Emily stared at the open doorway. “He’s gone.”
Three
A glass of mint iced tea in her hand and a paperback book in her lap, Emily lay on the chaise longue beside her parents’ swimming pool. The May day was warm, the air scented with roses and a vine of blooming jasmine that spilled over a wrought-iron trellis leading to her mother’s newly planted vegetable garden. Pots filled with white phlox and purple petunias surrounded the brick patio, while water bubbled from the mouth of a leaping bronze dolphin, then trickled down into a three-tiered fountain.
Emily had been told that the fountain had been last year’s birthday gift from her to her mother, that two weeks ago she’d helped plant bulbs in the garden, that only three days before her accident she’d stopped by after leaving work to drop off some pictures she’d taken at Easter.
They’d shown her photo album after photo album, videotapes of parties and family barbecues, pictures of her own apartment in Brookline. They’d made her favorite foods and played the music from Carmen, the last opera she’d attended with her parents.
She remembered none of it.
She’d been released from the hospital five days ago. After two days of tests and monitoring, Dr. Tuscano had concluded there was nothing physically wrong with her patient. The cut on her temple was healing well, her headaches were gone and all vital signs were normal. This morning she’d noticed that even the bruises scattered on her body were beginning to fade to pale yellow and soft blue.
How odd it had been to look in the mirror that first time and see a stranger staring back. Even though she’d prepared herself, she’d still been startled and a little frightened. She’d touched her chin-length dark brown hair, her cheeks, her lips, needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that all of this wasn’t a dream.
Or a nightmare.
But Shane had been real. That much she knew. He hadn’t returned to the hospital after that last visit, or called her, either. She’d wanted so badly to see him again. Just one more time. Her family had meant well by fussing over her, but she was still confused by what had happened, still unsure of herself and what she was going to do. When Shane had been there, she’d felt calmer, more in control.
Let your mind go somewhere else, he’d told her.
She went there now. Back to her Caribbean island. The birdsong from her mother’s maple tree and the trickling water from the fountain made it easier to visualize her tropical paradise. She could feel the warm sand on her back. Hear the waves lap at the shore, see the yellow hibiscus sway in the breeze. The sun had begun to dip low on the horizon, turning the ocean into a sea of dancing stars. Shane rose up from the silvery water, his muscled shoulders and arms rippling as he dragged his hands back through his hair. He had the body of an athlete, a swimmer, lean and solid, defined.
Very well defined, she thought as he walked toward her. The tan cutoffs he wore were plastered to his hips and thighs, leaving little to her imagination. She smiled. Or should she say a lot to the imagination.
He stood over her, held out his arm to her. She placed her hand in his and rose up to meet him, then lifted her face as he lowered his. His mouth was gentle and tasted of salt and fresh air. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she opened to him, leaned into the warmth of his body and the heat of his kiss. His arms, wet and strong and so powerful, enclosed her, pulled her firmly against him—
“Emily.” Sandra Barone’s cheerful voice rang out. “I’ve brought you some soup and a sandwich.”
Jolted out of her fantasy, Emily spilled the iced tea she held in her hand. Her heart pounded as much from being startled as from her daydreaming about Shane.
“Oh, dear.” Sandra set down the tray on a small glass patio table and quickly handed her daughter a linen napkin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I thought you heard me coming.”
“It’s all right.” Emily set her glass on the brick decking, then dabbed at the spilled tea on the chaise cushion. “I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Her mother slid the table closer to the chaise. “I hear you walking the hallways and downstairs at night, plus you’ve barely eaten enough to keep a kitten alive. I made you egg salad today and minestrone. You used to love my minestrone.”
Despite the fact she wasn’t hungry, Emily tasted a spoonful of the soup and forced a smile. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“Emily.” Sandra sat down on the chaise beside her daughter. “You were never one to hide your feelings very well. You may not remember me right now, but I’m still your mother. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“It’s been a week.” Emily stared at the spoon in her hand, then looked into her mother’s soft blue eyes. “I haven’t remembered one thing. Not you, not Dad. Not this house. Nothing.”
“It’s going to get better, sweetheart,” Sandra said. “Easier. Some things just take time.”
“And what if it doesn’t get better?” Emily asked quietly. “What if I don’t ever remember?”
Sandra reached up to smooth her daughter’s hair, then tucked a loose strand behind her ear. A mother’s gesture, Emily thought. Caring and tender. And still, Emily thought miserably, she felt nothing for this woman beyond appreciation.
“Why don’t we just take one day at a time right now?” her mother suggested. “I know we’ve all been smothering you these past few days. Maybe it’s time we all give you some breathing room, let you work this out yourself. If your head isn’t speaking to you, why don’t you just listen to your heart?”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled at her mother, not a forced one this time. “I would appreciate that.”
Sandra kissed Emily’s cheek, sighed, then stood. “Don’t think this means I’m not worried about you, or that I won’t fuss over you at least a little. You might as well tell the sun not to rise or Mrs. Carmichael not to walk her Pekinese through my front flower beds. It will simply fall on deaf ears. Now, I’ll leave you to eat your soup. At least be polite and make an attempt at the sandwich. If I’ve done nothing else, I’ve raised my children with manners.”
Her back straight, Sandra walked back through the patio French doors. Because she wanted to please her, Emily picked up the sandwich, then nibbled at it while she watched a sparrow splash in the fountain, then shake its feathers and fly away.
Why don’t you just listen to your heart?
And what did her heart tell her?
To take action. Not to sit around. To do something.
What?
The answer came to her easily, and quite loudly.
Cookies.
Smiling, she quickly gathered up her things, then headed for the kitchen.
“For God’s sake, Shane, when the hell are you gonna learn how to cook?”
Shane turned the large firehouse oven to 425©, then tossed a box of frozen pepperoni pizza to Matt. “I am cooking,” he said, and grabbed another box. “And at least it’s recognizable. We’ve still got bets going whether that meat you served last week was beef or chicken.”
“Very funny.” Offended, Matt ripped open the box of pizza. “You know damn well it was fish.”
“Fish? Damn, I just lost five bucks.”
“That recipe dates back to my great-grandmother,” Matt said with a scowl. “She prepared that dish every spring to ensure a bountiful harvest.”
“Well, see, that’s where I think you’ve got it wrong,” Shane said cheerfully. “You weren’t supposed to eat it, you were supposed to bury it.”
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