Suspicion because he knew her too well. He’d be crazy to believe her tale of accidentally washing up on his beach.
Fascination—his breath snagged—thatwas unexpected. Every time he was with her he was aware of her femininity, her feistiness and stoicism, completely at odds with the hatred he’d harboured for years. He admired her spirit and, more worryingly, the curl of her mouth when she smiled unexpectedly or the sound of her voice with its familiar accent that somehow wasn’t quite the voice he recalled. As for his response to her flagrantly feminine and alluring body...no, better not to think of that.
Doubt. Now that was a surprise. Because, despite his well-grounded suspicion, he’d begun to wonder if, whatever her original scheme, she really had lost her memory.
She’d asked how he knew her and he’d told her. Then watched the colour flare in her cheeks before receding. Surely that wasn’t an act. Her eyes had darkened, pupils too big against those vivid irises. He’d read stress in her restless hands and tense jaw and despite himself he’d felt pity. Perhaps this really was all new to her. He wouldn’t bet money on it. Nothing would convince him to trust Alexa again, but maybe he’d been unnecessarily harsh. Certainly he had been if she truly suffered from amnesia.
Which led to guilt. Because he hadn’t been gentle or conciliatory but driven by emotion. He’d made no allowance for the fact she was injured and that shamed him.
It wasn’t enough to admit that he hated being reminded of their past. Of how easily she’d played him. Their fiasco of a marriage was as much his fault as hers. Because he should have known better.
He had a reputation for clear thinking. For cutting through complex situations. It had helped him turn the family’s bank into an international powerhouse. It had helped him support his mother and sister, taking on the mantle of head of the family before his time. Yet still Alexa had deceived him spectacularly. And that had had awful consequences for those he loved.
Setting his jaw, Angelo clambered onto the rock platform at the end of the beach and looked out to sea. Even in this weather it was spectacular, his private slice of heaven.
He turned to go and paused, noticing something wedged in a crevice. A flash of yellow and aqua. Curious, he climbed down and retrieved it.
It was a long paddle designed for use with a stand-up paddleboard. The logo of a hire store on the mainland was emblazoned on it, a place that rented jet skis and windsurfers to tourists. There was a chunk out of the blade and a crack up to the haft. Not surprising if it had been adrift during the storm.
Or involved in an accident.
The hairs on Angelo’s nape stood on end as he wondered what accident might cause such damage.
He thought back to the afternoon before last. To the speedboat racing too close to shore. If someone had been swimming off the beach, or balancing on a paddleboard when it rounded the point...
Surely the boat would have stopped. Unless they hadn’t realised there’d been an accident. If Alexa had been coming in to shore and lost her balance in the wake of the boat she could have knocked her head on a submerged rock.
Angelo’s blood chilled. It was feasible. If true, she was lucky to be alive.
He spent another half-hour combing the rocks at either end of the beach for signs of a paddleboard, or other detritus. Finally the worsening weather forced him back up the cliff, paddle in hand.
Was that how Alexa had reached the island? She’d have to be proficient to do it and he’d never thought of her as athletic. On the other hand, she’d proved herself capable of anything in pursuit of her goals. Only someone reckless or utterly determined would make for the island with a storm bearing down.
Ten minutes later he was speaking to the owner of the marine rental shop. Yes, they were missing a paddleboard. They’d raised the alarm for a missing tourist but emergency services had been so busy on the coast there’d been no news yet.
No, they didn’t have a name for the woman. The owner confirmed itwasa young woman, his tone proof that she’d been attractive.
She’d rented a locker for her belongings while she was out on the water, but it had revealed nothing useful. They’d opened it to search for evidence of her identity when she hadn’t returned. But, unlike every other tourist, she had no luggage or identification with her. There’d been a bag with water, a change of clothes, sun cream and some cash. No credit card, no passport. Not even a hotel room key. Nothing to show her name or where she was staying.
As if she didn’t want to be identified.
The thought took hold as the other man expounded on how strange it was that she’d travelled so light. To Angelo, who knew the lengths Alexa would go to in order to get what she wanted, it confirmed his suspicions.
Amnesia or not, his ex was up to no good.
Angelo knocked on the door to her suite but got no answer. He waited and tried again.
‘Alexa?’ Silence. Yet she couldn’t be asleep. Rosetta had spoken with her mere minutes earlier, sitting by the window. He knocked again, concern rising. Had something happened to her? Some medical complication? ‘Alexa?’
Turning the handle, he stepped inside. The bedside lamp was on against the afternoon gloom but there was no sign of Alexa. His gaze swung towards the bathroom door as it opened.
A waft of fragrant air preceded her. His nostrils twitched as the scent of neroli reached him, rich and citrusy. Then she was in the doorway, wet hair combed back from her face, her feet bare and body covered past the knees in a white towelling bathrobe.
‘You!’ She faltered on the threshold, eyes rounding.
As if he didn’t have a right to be in his own home. He ignored the fact he’d never normally walk into a guest’s suite uninvited, especially a female guest’s.
Angelo was about to say he’d worried something had happened to her but stopped himself. Better not to let her know of his concern. The woman he’d known would see that as weakness and twist it to her advantage.