Lovers' Reunion

“Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue Copyright

“Hello, Marco. I heard you were home.”

He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, as his gaze took in the woman he’d never forgotten.

“You look fantastic,” he said, and she smiled.

“Sophie. . .” He hesitated. “About the way things ended between us—”

“It was a long time ago, Marco, and I’ve forgotten it. I still consider you a friend.”

He frowned. That wasn’t the response he’d expected or hoped for.

“Have a nice visit,” she said as she walked back toward her house.

Her voice brought reality crashing down on his head. She had been his once, but he’d left her. And now he would have to do all he could to win her back....

Dear Reader,

The joys of summer are upon us—along with some July fireworks from Silhouette Desire!

The always wonderful Jennifer Greene presents our July MAN OF THE MONTH in Prince Charming’s Child. A contemporary romance version of Sleeping Beauty, this title also launches the author’s new miniseries, HAPPILY EVER AFTER, inspired by those magical fairy tales we loved in childhood. And ever-talented Anne Marie Winston is back with a highly emotional reunion romance in Lovers’ Reunion. The popular miniseries TEXAS BRIDES by Peggy Moreland continues with the provocative story of That McCloud Woman. Sheiks abound in Judith McWilliams’s The Sheik’s Secret, while a plain Jane is wooed by a millionaire in Jan Hudson’s Plain Jane’s Texan. And Barbara McCauley’s new dramatic miniseries, SECRETS!, debuts this month with Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge.

We’ve got more excitement for you next month—watch for the premiere of the compelling new Desire miniseries THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB. Some of the sexiest, most powerful men in the Lone Star State are members of this prestigious club, and they all find love when they least expect it! You’ll learn more about THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB in our August Dear Reader letter, along with an update on Silhouette’s new continuity, THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS, debuting next month.

And this month, join in the celebrations by treating yourself to all six passionate Silhouette Desire titles.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Lovers’ Reunion

Anne Marie Winston

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE MARIE WINSTON has believed in happy endings all her life. Having the opportunity to share them with her readers gives her great joy. Anne Marie enjoys figure skating and working in the gardens of her south-central Pennsylvania home.

For Mary Alice

My roomie

“Few delights can equal the mere presence of one whom we trust utterly.”

—George MacDonald

Prologue

Had he heard voices?

Slowly, Marco Esposito opened his eyes, dreading the sight of the dappled shades of the jungle surrounding him. God, if he got out of here alive, he’d never wear green again.

He held his breath, straining to hear above the warbling, whistling clamor of the creatures in the canopy above his head. Must’ve been wishful thinking. Or hallucinating.

His tongue felt thick and swollen. It took effort to unstick it from the roof of his mouth. He was dying for a drink, but he’d finished the last of the water late yesterday. Kind of ironic, since he was soaked from head to toe by the steamy humidity in the air.

Something was crawling over his hand. He fought back a shudder and hoped it wasn’t one of the brilliantly colored little tree frogs whose poison would finish him off a lot faster than the blood he’d already lost, considerable as he thought it was.

He knew better than to move, and not just because of threatening creatures. The pain was bearable as long as he lay completely still. He wanted to check his watch, but even the movement of his arm sent hot daggers of fire lancing up his right leg, so he didn’t. He squinted up through the leafy veil of the rain forest that soared in a tangled jumble of vines, thick tree trunks and leaves overhead.

Daylight. Unless he’d been dozing a lot longer than he thought, this was the second day, then. Relief swamped him. By day the jaguar he so feared would be lying low, waiting for night, when its sharp predator’s vision was unparalleled in the close, black regions of the terrain through which it passed.

He’d kept the flashlight on last night, shining it at random spots around him until the battery weakened and finally died. If he wasn’t found today, the jaguar would find him tonight.

By rolling his eyes to the left, he could just see the humped outline of what had been a small plane, wingless and shattered among the ferns. The pilot was still inside, dead since the moment of impact. The other body lay on the ground beside the plane. He’d covered it as best he could with a heavy tarp, broken open a couple of capsules of ammonia and prayed that any passing predators would be too afraid of the strange scents to come too close for a while.

Grief tightened his chest. Stu had been a good researcher, a trusted friend and damn good on expeditions like this. He’d died less than an hour after Marco had pulled him from the plane.

Marco hoped he’d get the chance to talk to Stu’s family one day, give them the final few words his colleague had sent to those he was leaving. Dammit! Stu had a wife, two kids, one of whom was still in high school. Life really sucked sometimes.

Family. His own family was going to be devastated if he didn’t make it out of this green hell. He hadn’t been home more than a handful of times in fifteen years. But in his heart, they were always close. His mom, dad, grandparents, four sisters... At least he wouldn’t be leaving a wife or kids to mourn him, to try to get along on their own.

And just like that, she was with him.

Sophie. He’d tried to forget her, to keep her out of his head for nearly six years now.

He hadn’t succeeded.

He could see her clearly: soft bouncy curls, laughing dark eyes, those full, pouty lips he’d so loved to kiss. He’d had no business kissing her, but his willpower hadn’t been up to the task of holding her at bay after the first time he’d tasted her. They’d had only one time together but still he could call up the images, the scents, tastes and touches as if it had been yesterday. And the raw, naked longing that had sprung from nowhere had spooked him.

His only defense had been to stay away. Away from Chicago, away from his own home, away from the girl next door who’d said she loved him.

But she’d been too young to love anybody. He’d told himself that more times than he could count.

Sweet Sophie. Would she miss him if he died? Did she even think of him anymore? She surely was married by now, with a family of her own.

And that might be his biggest regret. He’d never thought he was a family man. But the thought of dying, of leaving nothing of himself behind to carry on his name, his blood, his life....

He hadn’t let himself think of a family in years. It was funny, though, that he’d never been able to envision children of his own unless they were being held in Sophie’s soft arms. She was the only woman who’d ever even tempted him to think “family.”

“Ho-o-o!”

The voice was close. It had to be, to carry so clearly through the sodden, sound-swallowing vegetation.

“Hello! I’m here!” He made the mistake of turning his head, and the movement jarred his body just enough to arouse the beast gnawing on his leg. He gritted his teeth; a guttural sound rose from his throat, and every muscle in his big body went rigid.

“Marco! Keep talking! We’re coming.”

He recognized the voice an instant before a head topped with flaming copper hair appeared from around one of the immense tree trunks. Rescue! Relief, excitement, panic that had been held at bay, all surged forth.

As soon as Jared Adamson saw him, he broke into a jog. “Here,” he called over his shoulder. “Esposito’s over here. The plane’s over here, too.” Jared leaned over him, shining a horribly bright light in his eyes, and Marco knew he was checking his pupils. “Hey, buddy. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Wanna bet?” He was shocked to hear how hoarse and weak he sounded, but he tried to smile.

Jared dropped to his knees beside him, his face grim as he ripped an enormous backpack off his shoulders and began pawing through it. “What the hell happened? This wasn’t in the plan.”

Marco wanted to say something flippant, but suddenly he was on the verge of tears and he swallowed several times before he could trust his voice. Over his friend’s broad shoulder, he saw several other rescuers moving toward the plane, unrolling body bags and transport stretchers.

“Engine failure. The pilot couldn’t do a thing.” He was able to speak again. “The others are dead. My leg...is bad.”

Jared nodded, his hazel eyes sober. “I can see that. How did Stu manage to get out of the plane?”

“I pulled him out. He died after that.”

Jared gave a low whistle. “You pulled him out? With this leg?” He shook his head. “Only you could manage a feat like that,” he muttered as he bent to examine the injury. “You bandage this yourself?” he asked as he put one hand behind Marco’s head and held a metal cup of water to his lips.

Pain threatened again, and he gritted his teeth. When it passed, he drained the cup before he answered. “Had to. Losing a lot of blood.”

Jared grimaced, and his face contorted for an instant as he fiddled with gauze and antiseptic. “You did a good job.” He took a deep breath, blew it out. “I’m going to have to stabilize your leg before I move you. Brace yourself, bud. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.”

His friend’s eyes met Marco’s, and Jared went silent for a moment, looking away, struggling for composure. Finally he said, “It looks ugly. I wouldn’t be surprised if the doctors want to amputate.”

Marco froze. Deep inside, he’d known it was bad. He just hadn’t let himself think about the mangled flesh and bits of bone he’d dragged together and bandaged the day before. “Save it,” he whispered. His whole life was centered around the reputation he’d built exploring, researching and documenting geological environs. He’d suffocate in a sedentary job, a single location. “Please tell them to save it if there’s any chance....”

“Will do.” His friend’s big hand came down over his and squeezed once. “I’m going to have to touch your leg now.”

“S’okay—” His voice rose to a scream as pain’s teeth bit deep, and then the world spun in a red cyclone of agony that sucked consciousness from him.

One

Marco pulled the dark blue rental car to the curb a few yards from his parents’ house in Elmwood Park, Illinois. He’d grown up in the Chicago suburb in this same house, and the familiar sight of his mother’s red geraniums cascading from the window box above the single-car garage brought back a cascade of warm memories. The memories lightened the dark despair with which he had grappled since a doctor had told him his right leg would never regain more than a bare minimum of flexibility.

He reached for the manual shift, and then remembered he couldn’t drive a clutch yet. Shoving the automatic gear into park with more force than necessary, he opened the door and swung his legs out of the car, being careful not to bang his stiff knee. It was pretty good most of the time now, as long as he wasn’t reckless.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the mild air. Early May in Chicago wasn’t usually this pleasant. Better enjoy it while it lasted. As a geologist who frequently traveled the globe on scientific expeditions, he’d spent far more time in tropical climates than any other, and he much preferred the warmth.

His mood darkened again as he took his cane and walked slowly around the car. He hated using the crutch and rarely needed it for short distances anymore, but the flight from Buenos Aires had been long and tiring, and when he was tired, the leg was apt to give way without any warning. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he started up the walk toward his house.

“Marco!” A screech of delight warned him a moment before the door banged open. Dora Esposito rushed through the screen door and off the small stoop with a speed that gave no hint that she was the mother of five grown children.

Her arms were around him before he could respond, and he put his free arm around his mother, hugging fiercely as he looked down at her ebony curls that had yet to see a strand of gray. “Still coloring your hair, Ma?”

His mother drew back, squeezing his shoulders and laughing. “Still as disrespectful as ever, I see.” She wiped her eyes as she smiled at him. “I’ll have to work on that while you’re home. How long can you stay?”

He hesitated. “I’m not really sure.”

Dora’s face fell. “Don’t tell me you’re rushing off tomorrow like you always do,” she scolded. “Sometimes I think you only stop by because it’s cheaper than a hotel room when you’re passing through Chicago.”

He laughed, keeping his arm around her shoulders affectionately as they turned toward the door. “I’m not stopping off this time, Ma. I’m staying.”

Dora Esposito was rarely at a loss for words, but his news struck her dumb—for a moment “You’re teasing your old mama.”

“Never.” He removed his arm from around her as they reached the stoop and juggled his cane into position. He’d learned the hard way that he needed all his concentration for stuff like steps, however small. “I have a temporary position at Purdue for the summer and fall semesters. I’ll be around so much you’ll be sick of seeing me in a few months.”

His mother pressed a hand to her breast. “I can’t believe it!” Then she realized what he was doing. “Oh, here, bambino, let me help you.” She put an arm under his elbow and he stopped, forcing a smile. “It’s okay. Ma, I can do it. It just takes a little time. Besides—” he forced himself to grin “—there’s well over two hundred pounds of me and less than a hundred of you, so I’m not sure what you’d do if I started to fall.”

His mother smiled back, although her eyes were shadowed. “I’ll just go ahead and get your room ready.”

“Thanks.” Reaching the top of the steps, he grabbed the door before she could, holding it open for her. “I’m going to start looking for apartments tomorrow, so I shouldn’t be under your feet past the end of the month.”

“Under my feet?” His mother flapped a hand at him as she started up the stairs. “Since Teresa moved out, it’s been too quiet around here. It’s wonderful to have you home.”

As Dora bustled up the steps, he set down his bag in the front entry and moved through the tiny house he’d shared with his parents and four sisters. The living room, on the left, was dominated by the large television he’d bought his father a few years ago, the better to view the Chicago Bulls during basketball season. The furniture was homey and practical, and his mother’s needlework peeped out of a basket beside the sofa. Pretty crocheted doilies still covered the pie-crust tables.

In the dining room a lacy cloth lay over the table. One wall was covered with familiar framed photos: himself and his sisters, Camilla, Elisabetta, Luisa and Teresa as babies, at First Communion, graduating from high school; his grandparents and his aunts and uncles; his parents on their wedding day. A vase of tulips from his mother’s flower beds brightened the room, and a crucifix hung above a small table that served as an altar.

It was strangely reassuring to see that nothing had changed.

The kitchen, too, was much as he remembered, except that his father had installed the dishwasher all the kids had given them for Christmas ... two years ago? Had it really been two years since he’d been home?

Yes, he realized with chagrin. It really had been. Last Christmas he’d been in a hospital in Paraguay, fighting an infection that threatened to undermine any chance of saving his damaged leg. There probably had been ten tons of bacteria, at least, running around in the damned rain forest—it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten anything worse.

He wandered to the window over the sink and pulled aside the lacy curtain, idly scanning the block of quiet, well-tended backyards. All the neighborhood kids had grown up and moved away—the once-lively street was now a sedate community of grandparents who talked incessantly about selling their little brick or locally mined lannenstone homes and moving to sunny Florida.

As far as he knew, not one house had changed hands in well over twenty years.

A movement in the next yard caught his eye.

My, oh, my. His male instincts snapped to attention. A slender girl with shoulderlength dark curls was standing on the little patio, her back to him, face raised to the early spring sun, while a black and white cocker spaniel ran mad circles around the perimeters of the yard. The woman had a gorgeous figure, petite and full, long-legged and curving in all the right places. She must be one of the Domenico boys’ wives. Though why a gorgeous package like that would tie herself to Stef, Tommie, Vincente or Geordie was beyond him. Grinning at his own wit, he treated himself to another leisurely perusal of the woman as more memories from his childhood swam through his head.

The Domenicos had lived next door his whole life. Their parents had bought the houses in the same year, and the next, each family had their first baby. He and the Domenico boys had been an unbeatable informal basketball team when they’d played pickup games with other guys on the block. He and his sisters had played and fought with the seven young Domenicos like one big family.

But they hadn’t been one big family. And there hadn’t been anything the least bit sisterly about his feelings for the youngest member of the Domenico clan.

Sophie.

Exhaling heavily, he leaned against the sink as pleasure faded. He still felt bad about the way he’d ended things with Sophie. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her at the surprise anniversary party his sisters were planning for his folks in two weeks. It was bound to be awkward.

Part of him hoped she’d married and had babies with some guy who loved her like she deserved. The other part...well, it didn’t matter. If he’d dreamed of Sophie more times than he cared to admit over the past six years, it was nobody’s fault but his own. He never should have allowed things to get so hot and heavy between them, and he never should have let her harbor any silly dreams about marriage. He’d known even then that the world’s seductive call was stronger than any woman’s allure. He was a traveler, loved nothing better than—

Sophie! He stood straight up and all but pressed his nose to the glass above the sink. The woman on the patio had lowered her face and turned his way, and he’d seen what he’d missed before. It was Sophie!

Blood rushed to his head, and his pulse sped up. God, she looked wonderful. She’d been a plump little dove as a teen and young woman, pretty enough but hardly a stunner like this. He’d always wondered at the irresistible attraction she held for him, the strong reaction of his body to her nearness, to even the thought of her. She was nothing like most of the girls he had dated before her, the homecoming queens and cheerleaders who’d been happy to be on his arm.

Sophie, shy and quiet, was not like them.

But he’d discovered he rather liked his sweet little secret. Sophie, with her silky skin, little love handles and the abundance of soft curves she’d possessed, turned into a shameless wildcat in his arms. After he’d discovered her charms, the other women might as well not even have existed.

He stared through the window at her again. She had stuck her hands in the back pockets of the slim jeans she wore, and her body thrust forward in a way that outlined the plane of slender hips and flat belly and breasts that still looked lush and full. She was thin, much thinner than he remembered, but thank God she still had those beautiful—

Hey, buddy. What’s it to you?

Sophie called to the cocker spaniel, who came bounding up the steps. As she turned and opened the door, the little dog disappeared into the house. A moment later Sophie followed.

His whole body sagged. He’d told her flat-out that marriage wasn’t in his plans, had hurt her deeply and left her to deal with her hurt alone. He’d be the last person she’d welcome home with open arms.

A sound behind him alerted him to his mother’s entry into the kitchen.

“Marco. Sit. I’ll feed you.” She paused, taking in his proximity to the window. “See something out there you like?” Her tone was sly, and her eyebrows arched.

“Very funny, Ma.” He limped to the little table and parked himself in one of her cushioned chairs. “I’m thirty-six years old, not eighteen. I doubt there are too many teenage girls around for me to drool over these days.”

“So who said anything about teenagers?” His mother’s tone was all innocence. “A man needs a woman, not a teenager. You should settle down, Marco. Especially now that you—”

“Ma.” His tone was flat enough to stop her in mid-ramble. “We’ve had variations on this chat too many times already.”

She smiled, coming over to pinch his cheek as she set the table. “All right, all right. I just want to see my boy happy, is all.”

“Hah. You just want to have more grandchildren than any other woman on the block.” He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “No matchmaking. Promise?”

Dora heaved an exaggerated sigh and sketched the sign of the cross. “Promise.”

But as he dipped into the minestrone soup that no one else could make as well as his mother, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying next door. He hadn’t seen a man, and besides, his mother surely would have told him if Sophie had married. He wondered if she worked, if she had a steady beau, if she’d still melt in his arms the way she always had. No doubt about it, Miss Sophie Domenico was just what he needed to keep his mind off the inescapable fact that his days of exploring and roughing it in some of the earth’s most inaccessible spots were over.

Sophie Morrell started when the telephone rang. Darn it, she’d just gotten comfortable after returning from her folks’ home. Rising from the couch in her little condo where she had settled in to read a romance novel by one of her favorite authors, Sophie switched on the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, kid sister, whatcha doin’?”

“Hi, Vee.” Sophie’s tone reflected her delight. At thirty, her sister, Violetta, was only two years older than Sophie, and she had been Sophie’s best friend since their childhood growing up in Elmwood Park. “I’m doing nothing, if you want the truth. I spent the afternoon with Mama and Daddy, then I decided to come home and prop up my feet and read the evening away.”

“Did you eat?”

“Of course I ate.” She laughed. “You worry too much.”

“As your big sister, it’s the job I take most seriously,” Violetta said. Then the flippancy left her voice. “I don’t mean to bug you, Soph. It’s just a habit, I guess.”

“It’s okay.” Sophie knew exactly what her sister meant During her husband’s illness, she’d spent all her time attending to him, pushing aside her own grief. Many days, she’d simply forgotten to eat, or been too tired to worry about food. By the time he died, she’d lost twenty pounds. She’d lost more weight after Kirk’s death and only slowly had gained back enough that she didn’t look like a walking skeleton.

While the method of weight loss wasn’t one she’d recommend to anyone, she rather liked the end result. In the two years since she’d been widowed, she’d acquired eating and exercising habits that had kept her trim. She was proud that she hadn’t strayed more than three pounds from her desired weight in those years.

Actually, it wasn’t much of an effort. The clinic where she worked, in a poor Hispanic neighborhood down in the city, kept her so busy that she often didn’t get home until six or seven. And half the time, the workday ended before she remembered that she hadn’t eaten lunch.

She liked the busy-ness of the clinic, though. Her work teaching young mothers how to care for their babies and be successful in the job market gave her many moments of joy. There was little she loved more than handling wide-eyed babies with mops of black curls.

And if she occasionally shed tears of anger at the unfairness of the life that had left her a widow with no babies of her own, she never, ever let anyone see them.

Of course, her work had its sad moments, too. But she’d lived through sorrows of her own, and, though she still missed Kirk, she felt that her life was richer for the experiences she’d had. She knew grief and rage and despair intimately, so she could offer the comfort of a kindred soul to others when those emotions came knocking at their doors.

“I have big news,” Violetta said, breaking into her silent thoughts.

“What?”

“You have to guess.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, though Vee couldn’t see her. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’ll give you a hint. Whose anniversary party is coming up?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Esposito’s. But what—”

“And what handsome family black sheep has come home to help them celebrate?”

Marco was home. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and before she thought, she automatically defended him. “He isn’t exactly a black sheep. He just travels a lot.” Sophie wished she could call the words back the minute they hit the air, but too late. The realization that he was already in Chicago was more unsettling than she wanted to admit, even to herself.

“Sophia Elenora, don’t you dare defend that man.” Violetta’s tone was heated. “He led you on and then dumped you for his silly little research trips, remember? You haven’t seen him in close to five years—”

“Almost six.”

“Okay, six, but my point is—”

“I get your point, Vee.” Sophie sighed and raked her long hair away from her face. “I did manage to marry someone else, remember? You don’t have to worry—my feelings for Marco were just a juvenile crush. They disappeared ages ago.” She made herself continue in a light tone. “But it will be nice to see him again. He’s been away a long time. Do you realize that this party might actually get all the Esposito and Domenico kids back together?”

“It’s going to be wonderful.” Violetta’s tone had softened and she accepted the change of topic. “I talked to Camilla yesterday. She asked if we could spare a few hours that Saturday afternoon to help decorate the church hall.”

“Tell her I’ll put it on my calendar.” Camilla was Marco’s older sister, the one who’d done most of the arrangements for the upcoming party.

Violetta changed the subject then, and they chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye.

But as Sophie hung up the phone, she knew her peaceful evening was at an end. Most of the time, she deliberately refused to think of Marco. It was the safest way. But knowing that he was home, here in the very same city, had every nerve cell in her body dancing a kick line, and the memories came flooding back fast and hard through the gates that Vee’s words had opened.

Marco.

Her stomach fluttered. She could picture his face as if he were standing before her, dark eyes gleaming with goodnatured amusement at the world, well-sculpted lips and classic Roman nose, his black curls cropped ruthlessly short and dimples winking in his lean cheeks. His sisters had teased him about being a “chick-magnet” years ago—did he still project that same irresistible aura? Did those eyes still promise a woman secret pleasures beyond all imagining? He’d curled her toes every time she so much as looked at him.

And look she had.

She’d longed for him ever since she’d started to notice boys. Marco was seven years older than she was, and at eighteen, he’d already had girls lined up around the block. If he thought of little.Sophie Domenico at all, it was only as the neighbor guys’ kid sister.

But that hadn’t mattered to her adolescent heart. He’d bestowed a casual kiss on her cheek at the party they’d thrown him before he left for college, and at the ripe old age of eleven, she’d been his forever. No teen idol’s face had ever adorned her bedroom walls; Marco was the only man she’d fantasized about. At her Sweet Sixteen party, she’d been on cloud nine all evening simply because Marco had been home. He’d already finished his undergraduate work and had his first assignment as a research assistant under his belt.

That time, he’d kissed her lips before he left. Just a friendly, brotherly peck, to be sure, but to her it had been as good as a proposal of marriage. Though she’d dated through high school, she’d never gotten serious with anyone. Compared to Marco, all the boys she’d gone out with seemed like . . . well, like boys. Marco was all man, and her breath grew short and her heart beat faster every time she thought about him.

It had been the silliest thing, she thought, looking back. He’d gotten home maybe four times a year and most of the time, he’d barely noticed her. If he had, it was to tug on her hair and tease her. She’d watched through her curtains jealously when he brought girls home to family picnics, and she’d cried after she saw him kissing stupid Ella Pescke at the Espositos’ annual New Year’s party, a rowdy neighborhood event complete with dancing and enough wine to float a boat.