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‘And what if I do see him,’ he questioned slowly, ‘and still do not believe that he is mine—then will you agree to give up this cause of yours? Give up and go away—leave me alone for ever?’
This stark demand pained her far more than it should have done because it was an indication of just how much he wanted her gone from his life. But of course he did—he’d never wanted her in any way but as a quick fling, had he? If it had been just about her then she would have walked away right then, with her head held high—but
it wasn’t just about her. And what choice did she have? Melissa knew that she was going to have to agree to his hurtful clause if ever she was going to have some sense of closure. It was a gamble, yes—but a gamble she had to take. For Ben’s sake.
Staring into the hard, golden gleam of his amber eyes, she opened her mouth to agree to his terms when something began to trouble her. Something which didn’t make sense.
Why was he agreeing to see Ben if he was so certain that the child couldn’t be his? And why couldn’t he remember her? Melissa knew that she wasn’t the kind of woman who turned heads, but this hadn’t been some forgettable one-night stand they’d shared. It had been the best part of five days and she had been a virgin. And deep down she didn’t really believe that he’d had so many partners that he couldn’t distinguish one from the other.
His face was shadowed and sombre. She looked at his thick dark hair—all ruffled where she’d been frantically running her fingers through it. At the faint scar at his temple which now lay revealed. The slightly raised little zigzagging line she had discovered when he’d been kissing her. She knew every inch of the man by heart—for hadn’t she touched him lovingly and eagerly as often as she could when they’d been lovers? And one thing was for sure—he’d never had that jagged little scar on his head back then. Which meant that it must have been a legacy from his fall.
Suddenly it all made sense. Complete and believable sense. It was so simple that she couldn’t believe why she hadn’t thought about it before.
‘That’s why you don’t remember me,’ she said suddenly.
Casimiro stilled. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘When you had your accident,’ she said slowly. ‘The one that nearly killed you. The one which meant your brother had to act as Prince Regent while you lay stricken.’
‘That’s history,’ he snapped—because the dawning look of comprehension on her face was making him uneasy. ‘Which I don’t particularly want to rake up.’
‘Maybe it is—but the past always impacts on the present, doesn’t it? You don’t remember me because you can’t. The knock on your head must have wiped the memory clean away.’ She drew a deep breath and looked at him with eyes which were suddenly soft with understanding. ‘You’re suffering from amnesia and that’s why I mean nothing to you, isn’t it, Casimiro?’
CHAPTER FOUR
CASIMIRO felt a brutal kind of rage wash over him as he stared at Melissa. At her passion-flushed cheeks and the way her eyes looked almost emerald as she levelled her accusation at him.
You’re suffering from amnesia and that’s why I mean nothing to you.
His hands clenched into fists by the tensed shafts of his thighs as fury fizzed through his veins. Because nobody but her had guessed that a brief segment of time had been shaved from his memory. Nobody. So how could such a woman as this see through to the truth where all others had failed?
‘How the hell do you work that out?’ he demanded icily.
She noticed that he hadn’t denied it. Her eyes drifted to his temple, and despite his harshness towards her, she found herself biting her lip as she imagined him lying there, hurt. ‘When I saw that little…scar.’
Casimiro’s mouth hardened as he heard the emotional break in her voice—wondering if it was spontaneous or contrived. ‘You are cleverer than I imagined,’ he said. And probably just as manipulative, he reminded himself grimly. How delighted she would be to discover that she knew more about him than his courtiers or even his brother! And yet, in some crazy way—wasn’t it something of a relief to be able to share the burden of his amnesia with someone?
‘So you’re not denying that Ben could be your son?’ she questioned hopefully.
Ben. Casimiro frowned. Giving the child a name only added another layer of complexity to the affair.
‘I am conceding that it is a possibility.’
It was better than nothing and Melissa bit her lip, wanting to blurt out her gratitude and yet some instinct stopping her from doing anything more than silently nodding her head.
Casimiro studied her. He had been about to leave—to slam his way out and to make arrangements about a trip to England to see the child at some undetermined point in the future—while still nurturing the hope that she was a complete fantasist. But her perception had changed everything.
He felt a pulse beat at his temple—because what she had learned was dangerous. Would she try to use the knowledge she’d gained to secure a place for herself in his life? he wondered. Knowledge was power—everyone knew that—and maybe it was time for a little redistribution of that power. Why waste his energy on pointless rage, when there was a much more satisfactory outlet which would serve him better…?
Slowly, he let his gaze drift over her. At the fall of dark shiny hair which was now completely dry and shimmering around her narrow shoulders. At the bare legs and the unvarnished toenails. Beneath that hideous garment, she was completely naked; he knew that for himself. And once again—despite his avowal of her unsuitability—he felt the hot, hard shimmering of desire.
‘Come over here,’ he said silkily.
Melissa blinked. She had been expecting anger—especially when she’d seen the shadowed expression on his face. But his face wasn’t looking in the least bit threatening now. On the contrary. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if she was misreading it. Seeing something there that she wanted to see rather than what really was.
But no.
His expression looked…inviting. Vital. The lips had softened—as if they were illustrating just how kissable they really were. And his eyes were dark—really dark—with that opaque kind of blackness which even someone with Melissa’s scant experience knew meant that he wanted her.
