curls. “It matters more than I can tell you.”
“It doesn’t.” He stroked her shoulder and noticed absently that his hand was trembling. “I’ll tell you something, it’s even better now than it ever was in the past. It’s more…I can’t explain. But I can’t seem to get enough of you. The taste of you, the feel of your body up against mine. I want you, Gemma. Badly.”
“Believe me, that’s not good.” The smile she gave him was wan.
“It will be very good,” he promised, “you’ll see.”
“I can’t.” Her expression grew resolute. “Angelo, I can’t make love to you-”
Irritation twisted inside Angelo. He wanted her. He wasn’t accustomed to women saying no. “Why? You want to.”
“That’s arrogant.” But true. She was terrified she was going to cave in to his demand. She drew a ragged breath. There was one thing he would understand. “I can’t make love with you until my memory returns.”
He cursed.
“Who knows,” she added, “there might be someone else-”
“Someone so important that you don’t remember him?” he sneered. “Someone like Jean-Paul Moreau?”
That only made her expression harden. “That’s it. Good night. I’m finished with trying to talk to you. I’m going to bed. Alone.”
Six
The ringing of the phone woke Gemma. Any plans she’d harboured to sleep late on Thursday-her day off-fell apart when Mark Lyme, the manager of the entertainment complex, told her that Lucie had come down with a flu- like virus. Immediately Gemma offered to take over some of Lucie’s performances and arranged a time to meet with Mark to discuss a suitable program.
The Dionysus was a very different set-up to the Electra Theatre, and it had been years since she’d worked in a bar environment. Most of the day was spent putting together the program with Mark and Denny, another performer, for the first fill-in performance early that evening.
The substitute show was rough and ready but it was enough to satisfy the crowd. They sang a couple of duets, Denny told some jokes and they invited some of tourists to sing along karaoke-style.
Gemma caught a brief glimpse of Angelo in the back of the bar halfway through the evening. He was waiting for her and she found herself accepting his invitation to dinner. At first she fretted that he might try to kiss her…seduce her…but her worries proved to be unfounded. Angelo behaved like the perfect gentleman.
Lying in bed that night, Gemma covered her eyes and moaned out loud. She was so confused. Who was the real Angelo Apollonides?
By Friday Lucie’s temperature was raging and Dr. Natos, the resort doctor, had prescribed bed and rest.
Gemma and Denny met for another rehearsal. During a brief break, she found Angelo at her elbow, holding two paper cups. “Coffee? I’m sure you could use it.”
“What’s that saying about not trusting Greeks who come bearing gifts?” She slanted him a provocative glance.
“Hardly a gift. Consider it an apology.”
After a moment’s pause she took the paper cup. “An apology?”
He looked abashed. “For my behaviour the other night. I should have apologised over dinner yesterday. But I didn’t.”
“Oh.” She took a sip. It was strong and sweet and pungent.
He frowned. “I’m confused.”
That made two of them! She slanted him a wary glance. “Why?”
“I had no intention of having anything to do with you. But I keep thinking you’ve changed. Then something happens-like seeing you with Jean-Paul-and I think I’m wrong. You’re still the same.” He raked his fingers through his golden hair. “Have you changed?”
She shut her eyes. God. How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? Not honestly. It was too late for that. She had to soldier on. And then there was the fact that she wasn’t ready to face the rage and scorn in his eyes when he discovered her treachery. Not yet.
She’d tell him when she was about to leave. When her contract had ended. And she had uncovered the truth about Mandy. Whatever that might be.
He waved a hand. “Forget it. That’s a stupid question. Sit down, you could probably use the break.”
Gemma followed him dragging her feet as he led her to the cluster of seating in a small lobby.
His cell phone rang. Fishing it out his pocket, he studied the caller ID. “My mother,” he said. “Excuse me.”
Angelo could feel Gemma’s eyes resting on him as he responded to his mother’s well wishes. He listened with half an ear to a story about the car her latest husband had bought, laughed when expected. Conscious of keeping Gemma waiting, he cut the conversation short.
“For a playboy, you have a good relationship with your mother,” Gemma said, her eyes curious.
He didn’t rise to the bait. “Even playboys have mothers. And, despite all the wealth in the world, her life has not been easy,” he answered guardedly. “She fell pregnant with me when she was very young. The man abandoned her. I never met him.”
Not my father, but the man, Gemma noticed.
“Oh.”
It must have been hell for a young boy.
“So is today your birthday?”
“Yes-I’m blessed with two celebrations in one month. Last week it was my name day.”
“Name day? What’s that?”
“A day all people bearing the name of a particular saint celebrate. So on the eighth of November anyone called Angelo celebrates. My mother thought I was an angel when I was born.” He gave her a sardonic smile.
She laughed. “Did you get gifts?”
“Most people simply called to send greetings-that’s what my cousins, Tariq, Zac and Katy did. My mother sent a gift. Some of the villagers who’ve known me all my life baked for me.”
“O-kay.” She suppressed a smile. From what she’d seen of him so far, he’d struck her as a jet-set prince. “I didn’t have you pegged for the kind of guy who received home baking.”
“I love home baking. But you didn’t-too fattening, you said. In fact, you hardly used to eat at all. Your appetite is better now. You’ve stopped all those diet pills.” He gave her a frank, appreciative look. “Now that I think about it, you’ve picked up a couple of pounds. It suits you. Makes you sexier than ever.”
The air sizzled between them.
When she saw Mark waving, Gemma wanted to swear. Angelo had been opening up. She drained the cup and threw it in a trash can. “I have to go,” she said to Angelo.
“I’ll see you later.” He gave her a wry smile. “And I won’t try to seduce you. At least not until your memory returns-unless you ask me very nicely.”
That night Gemma and Denny delivered a far more polished show. Her own Friday night show in the Electra Theatre followed, and Gemma returned to her unit exhausted but more than satisfied with how the evening had gone. Kicking off her shoes, she switched on the kettle and made for the loveseat in the sitting area.
The knock on the door came as a total surprise. More surprise followed when the handle rattled and Angelo walked in, clad in dark trousers and a white dress shirt with black snaps. “You’ve forgotten to lock your door.”
“Good evening,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be partying?” Surely there was no shortage of supermodels or starlets who he could’ve flown in to help him celebrate.
His gaze went past her to the bare table and neat kitchenette. “I take it you haven’t had a chance to eat since your show?”
“No.” She liked to wind down first. Then realization dawned. “I’m not having dinner with you. I’m tired.”
“You need to eat.”
“It’s too late to go out.”
“Who said anything about going out? We can eat right here, have a picnic on the bed, just like old times. I’ve ordered some of your favourites from room service. Bollinger, caviar, some crackers.” He flashed her a triumphant smile, his teeth white and even against his tanned skin. “And you can’t refuse-it’s my birthday.”
Her favourites.
Mandy’s favourites. Suddenly she was wide-awake and very, very edgy. A picnic on a double bed with Angelo
