Mediterranean Men & Marriage. Raye Morgan
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you could help me map out a sense of what I did and where I did it.”
No, she could not. She had to nip this idea in the bud. “Are you serious? I’m a waitress. I was working at Kimo’s during that time. You came in for breakfast every day. We said hello.”
He stared deep into her eyes for a moment, then turned away, groaning. “Shayna, don’t try to snow me with this ‘I was too busy to pay any attention to you’ nonsense.”
“What do you mean?” She coughed nervously, then tried again. “We had a laugh or two together. We went on a couple of jaunts around the island. And that’s about it.” She shook her head emphatically, her hair slapping her on the cheek. “I can’t help you.”
He stared at her. “Then who can?”
She avoided his gaze. “I really don’t know.” She made a show of glancing at her watch. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to cut this short. I’ve got some things I need to do. I’ll get you a ride back to the hotel.”
“Shayna…”
She looked up at him and attempted candor—or at least the appearance of it. “I can’t help you,” she said again.
He held the picture up, not saying a word.
She flushed. “We weren’t that close,” she insisted. “Nothing happened.”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. “That’s not really true. Something happened.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away. “I guess I’ll ask around at the hotel,” he said. “Maybe someone there knows something.”
“Good idea.” She could hardly wait to get him out of her house. A flash of color from outside caught her eye and she saw a couple of neighbors passing by. “Oh, there’s Jilly,” she said, moving quickly back onto the lanai. “Hi there,” she called out.
A young girl of about fourteen turned and waved. “Hi, Aunty Shayna,” she said, her short dark curls bobbing about a pretty, tomboyish face. She had the mixed-race look of someone with the strains of almost every continent and culture creating the young, coltish beauty of her appearance. Walking with her was her constant shadow, Kali, a boy of about twelve who lived nearby.
“Jilly, do you remember Marco?” She gestured toward the man as he came out to stand beside her.
“Howdy, Mr. Smith.” Jilly gave him a grin and a sort of salute. “You’re back. Great. Wait until I tell Eddie.”
“Who’s Eddie?” Marco asked out of the side of his mouth.
“Her little brother,” she responded softly. “He took a special liking to you when you were here before.”
Marco gave her a skeptical look. “Really? I usually don’t get along with little kids all that well.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I know,” she said, then more loudly, to the young girl, “Do you and Kali have time to give Mr. Smith a ride back to the hotel? You can take my dinghy.”
“Yahoo!” Jilly celebrated with a whoop. “I will be so careful, Aunty Shayna, honest I will.”
Shayna had to laugh at her enthusiasm. Jilly was as expert a boat handler as anyone else on the island. Her father had taught her well before he’d disappeared on a fishing trip. Now he was gone and there was no boat for Jilly, so she cherished every chance she got to take out Shayna’s dinghy.
“Okay. Just as long as you two stay inside the reef and bring it right back and don’t go joyriding with your friends.”
Jilly’s face became very serious. “I no longer have any friends. I’ve given all that up. Those kids in town are just too childish for me.”
Shayna stifled the laugh that threatened to reveal how seriously she took that statement. “Good. That’s fine, then.”
“Okay. I’m good with boats, Mr. Smith,” Jilly professed earnestly. “I’ll keep you dry. Honest.”
Shayna laughed softly, then turned to Marco while the two youngsters ran down to the pier to prepare for shipping out.
“Mr. Smith?” he asked her questioningly.
“You might as well face it. Even if you don’t remember doing it, you told everyone your name was Smith. That’s how they know you.”
“Smith,” he muttered disparagingly. “Not very creative.”
He went back in to grab his suit coat, then paused on his way down to the shore to catch his ride to the hotel.
“We’re not done, Shayna,” he said, his gaze traveling over her face in a way that seemed to be seeing things she didn’t really want to reveal. “I don’t give up so easily.”
She started to turn away and he reached out, fingers curling around her upper arm, and pulled her back to face him. “You haven’t even begun to tell me all you know about this,” he said softly.
She gazed back with a touch of defiance in her eyes.
Looking down into her face, he hesitated. Why not? Why not kiss her? He wanted to. Evidence suggested that they had the background for it, even if he couldn’t remember. But no, he couldn’t make a move like that until he found out just what had torn them apart at the end of his stay. And until he saw a little less of that fierce resistance in her eyes. So instead, he gave her a crooked smile.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
Then he was on his way down to the pier where Jilly and Kali were waiting with the dinghy. Shayna watched him go, rubbing her arm where he’d touched her, feeling a little shaken. She saw the hardness in him, the power that would let him sweep away all her inhibitions and take over if she wasn’t careful. That was what made him so dangerous. That was why she needed him off the island as quickly as possible.
But now that he was giving her a bit of space, she allowed herself to enjoy the look of him, just a little bit. He moved with an easy athletic grace and she felt a catch in her breathing. If only things hadn’t gotten so complicated. If only…
Shayna was busy until evening, cleaning up and then working on a new set of kitchen window curtains out of some dyed burlap material she’d picked up at the island’s one general store. She welcomed Jilly back when she returned the dinghy, then tried to get her mind back on the curtains, but her thoughts wouldn’t stay away from what had happened that afternoon.
And what had happened was all about Marco. He was here and he wasn’t going away any time soon. It was all very well to decide to ignore him, but if he really had come back to find his missing plans, he wasn’t leaving until he knew where they were. If he really didn’t remember anything about his visit, he wasn’t going to have a clue as to where to look. He couldn’t remember what he’d done or where he’d been. If he really was telling the truth. Which she doubted at times.
How could he have forgotten? The memories were so vivid in her mind. But the brain was a weird and scary place—and it contained all sorts of things its owner knew nothing about.
“Ugh.” She made a face. This was getting a bit thick, wasn’t it? Better to stick to the world she saw before her eyes. At least there, she knew what she was doing.
She fixed herself a simple meal of cheese toast and a green salad, and then found herself staring down into it, unable to eat a bite. She kept wondering what he was doing. Was he still at the hotel? Had he found someone else to talk to? He was determined to find his missing design plans. She thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could about them and how they’d looked that morning, all spread over the hotel room floor.
She’d seen her father’s company logo on a few of them—and the name Marco DiSanto right next to it From then on, she’d been on a white-hot tear, unable to process