room next to it for a book and maybe a cup of hot chocolate.
In the opposite corner, a black iron floor candelabra shaped like a tree made a bold fashion statement, even though it lacked candles. The other source of light came from black-shaded lamps with heavy brass bases on the nightstands.
And then there was the most dominant feature of the room, the bed itself. Sumptuously proportioned and extravagantly dressed in the finest linens, it brought to mind images so stirring and erotic, Maeve’s stomach turned over in a rolling somersault. Her mind might not remember writhing in ecstasy as she and Dario made love on its thick mattress, but her body certainly did.
Double en suite bath and dressing rooms opened off this room. Body lotions, bath oils and hand-milled soaps, as well as thick velvet towels monogrammed with her initials were meticulously set out in her bathroom. Those clothes not in her temporary quarters were arranged by color in the closets, along with shoes, wide-brimmed hats and other accessories.
But as with the bed and sitting rooms, they struck not a single chord of memory. And to add to the mystery of her past, a second door leading from the bedroom and connecting to who knew what, was locked, as was its counterpart in the foyer.
Disappointed, she retraced her steps throughout the entire suite. Everything was undeniably attractive, but the most important element, the one that made it home, was missing. It was all too eerily immaculate; a residence-in-waiting from which every conceivable flaw had been carefully erased. No trace of human trial and error or interaction remained. Whatever imperfections made up its past had been removed.
And she knew where they were hidden. Behind those locked doors.
Well, at least she’d narrowed down her search. Now all she had to do was find the missing key. But where to look? The most obvious places had turned up nothing. Probably Dario had a safe hidden somewhere, but even if she found it, without knowing the code to open it, she’d be no further ahead.
No, her only recourse lay with her husband. He was the real repository of her history, and one way or another she had to persuade him to share it with her.
As promised, he returned from Milan just in time to shower and change before dinner the following evening. As always, he looked divine in slim-fitting charcoal-gray trousers and a pearl-colored shirt against which his skin glowed like polished copper.
“You seem weary, Maeve,” he commented, holding her at arm’s length and inspecting her critically when he joined her. “There are dark smudges under your pretty eyes.”
Guilt welled up in her. Of course she looked weary! For a start, duplicity didn’t sit well with her. Add to that snooping through the house, then mulling over what might be behind those locked doors, and she’d managed only about four hours of sleep last night. “I missed you,” she said. That much at least was no lie.
He traced his finger over her mouth. “Did you?”
“Yes,” she quavered, finding his touch so wildly exciting that it was all she could do to breathe. “The villa isn’t the same when you’re not here. I hope you’re not planning on going away again anytime soon.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Tomorrow, in fact, to spend the weekend in Tunisia.”
All the lovely warm sensations he so easily aroused vanished as if he’d flung cold water in her face. Not bothering to hide her disappointment, she said, “A man in your lofty position having to work on the weekend? Can’t you send someone else in your place?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, filling their champagne flutes from the bottle of Cristal chilling in the wine bucket. “This trip will be strictly for pleasure.”
“I see. Well, I hope you have a very lovely time.” She tilted her chin, praying for pride to conceal her hurt, and took an inelegant but fortifying swig of champagne.
“And I hope,” he continued, amusement
In the opposite corner, a black iron floor candelabra shaped like a tree made a bold fashion statement, even though it lacked candles. The other source of light came from black-shaded lamps with heavy brass bases on the nightstands.
And then there was the most dominant feature of the room, the bed itself. Sumptuously proportioned and extravagantly dressed in the finest linens, it brought to mind images so stirring and erotic, Maeve’s stomach turned over in a rolling somersault. Her mind might not remember writhing in ecstasy as she and Dario made love on its thick mattress, but her body certainly did.
Double en suite bath and dressing rooms opened off this room. Body lotions, bath oils and hand-milled soaps, as well as thick velvet towels monogrammed with her initials were meticulously set out in her bathroom. Those clothes not in her temporary quarters were arranged by color in the closets, along with shoes, wide-brimmed hats and other accessories.
But as with the bed and sitting rooms, they struck not a single chord of memory. And to add to the mystery of her past, a second door leading from the bedroom and connecting to who knew what, was locked, as was its counterpart in the foyer.
Disappointed, she retraced her steps throughout the entire suite. Everything was undeniably attractive, but the most important element, the one that made it home, was missing. It was all too eerily immaculate; a residence-in-waiting from which every conceivable flaw had been carefully erased. No trace of human trial and error or interaction remained. Whatever imperfections made up its past had been removed.
And she knew where they were hidden. Behind those locked doors.
Well, at least she’d narrowed down her search. Now all she had to do was find the missing key. But where to look? The most obvious places had turned up nothing. Probably Dario had a safe hidden somewhere, but even if she found it, without knowing the code to open it, she’d be no further ahead.
No, her only recourse lay with her husband. He was the real repository of her history, and one way or another she had to persuade him to share it with her.
As promised, he returned from Milan just in time to shower and change before dinner the following evening. As always, he looked divine in slim-fitting charcoal-gray trousers and a pearl-colored shirt against which his skin glowed like polished copper.
“You seem weary, Maeve,” he commented, holding her at arm’s length and inspecting her critically when he joined her. “There are dark smudges under your pretty eyes.”
Guilt welled up in her. Of course she looked weary! For a start, duplicity didn’t sit well with her. Add to that snooping through the house, then mulling over what might be behind those locked doors, and she’d managed only about four hours of sleep last night. “I missed you,” she said. That much at least was no lie.
He traced his finger over her mouth. “Did you?”
“Yes,” she quavered, finding his touch so wildly exciting that it was all she could do to breathe. “The villa isn’t the same when you’re not here. I hope you’re not planning on going away again anytime soon.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Tomorrow, in fact, to spend the weekend in Tunisia.”
All the lovely warm sensations he so easily aroused vanished as if he’d flung cold water in her face. Not bothering to hide her disappointment, she said, “A man in your lofty position having to work on the weekend? Can’t you send someone else in your place?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, filling their champagne flutes from the bottle of Cristal chilling in the wine bucket. “This trip will be strictly for pleasure.”
“I see. Well, I hope you have a very lovely time.” She tilted her chin, praying for pride to conceal her hurt, and took an inelegant but fortifying swig of champagne.
“And I hope,” he continued, amusement
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