Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

She’s carrying the billionaire’s child...

But he seems like a stranger!

Brooding Pietro Agosti was stunned when his sizzling fling with vibrant teacher Molly Armstrong resulted in her pregnancy. Finally, the merciless Italian would be able to continue his legacy—but then an accident left Molly with no memory of him! Pietro must help Molly remember the fierce attraction that drove them together, and the fact that the baby she’s carrying is the Agosti heir...

Experience the emotion in this dramatic amnesia romance!

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07274-8

HER FORGOTTEN LOVER’S HEIR

© 2018 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

This story is for all those readers who tingle with

anticipation at the thought of an amnesia story.

Thank you for your enthusiasm for my earlier book,

Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child. Your feedback is what prompted this new story. I hope you enjoy it!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

SHE WOKE TO a sense of disorientation.

Blinking, she took in the dimly lit room. The visitor’s chair, bedside table and small window. Now she knew where she was. Rome. The hospital they’d brought her to after she’d been knocked down on the street.

Yet, instead of feeling calmer, her pulse quickened. The sense of disorientation didn’t ease. How could it when everything beyond this room was a blank?

Her name.

Her nationality.

What she was doing in Rome.

She didn’t recall anything.

Impulsively, she reached out to the bedside table, fingers running over the small comb and vanilla lip-balm that were the only possessions she could call her own. Her clothes had been so torn and bloodied they were unwearable and whatever bag or wallet she’d carried was missing.

She shut her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow. Forcing down the fear at not knowing anything.

After all, she did know some things.

She wasn’t Italian. She spoke English, with only a smattering of tourist Italian.

She was in her twenties. Pale-skinned with regular, if ordinary, features. She had grey-blue eyes and tawny hair that looked limp after the blood had been washed out.

And she was pregnant.

Her breath hissed in as she struggled with fear at the thought of being pregnant, nameless and alone.

The amnesia would pass. The doctors were hopeful. Well, most of them were hopeful. She was determined to cling to that. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. She’d feel better in daylight when the medical staff bustled around the ward. Even the continual barrage of tests would be a welcome change from lying here, utterly alone and...

Something tugged at her senses. The hairs on her nape rose and her skin tickled with the awareness someone was watching her.

Slowly, since quick movement made her head ache, she turned towards the door.

She blinked, then blinked again. Wasn’t it enough that her memory was shot? Had she begun hallucinating too?

In the shadowed doorway stood a man who surely didn’t belong here. Tall, broad-shouldered and lean enough to wear his dark suit to elegant perfection, he looked like a model for designer menswear. That square jaw, the hint of a groove low in each cheek and those soaring cheekbones were all ultra-masculine and stunningly attractive.

A fillip of emotion stirred in her belly. Surprise, obviously. And attraction. As a distraction from self-pity he was perfect—the epitome of the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ cliché.

Except, as he stepped into the room, she discovered he wasn’t anything so simple as a pretty face.

There was an underlying toughness about him that made her skin prickle. He was the sort of guy who made designer stubble sexy instead of effete. His nose was strong rather than suave and his eyes hinted at shrewd, calculating intelligence. His height made him dominate the room and the effect was magnified when he stopped by her bed.

She tilted her head up, heart pounding.

‘Who are you?’ It seemed vital she sound calm, though everything inside her quickened.

Maybe he was some fancy consultant. That might explain his lack of bedside manner. No cheery smile, no platitudes about time being a great healer. No stethoscope. She couldn’t picture anything so mundane draped over that superbly fitted suit.

His eyes bored into hers and she saw now why they looked so unusual. They were brown flecked with gold and glowed with an inner fire, their colour unexpected given his olive skin and dark hair.

His silent scrutiny made her uncomfortable. ‘I said—’

‘You don’t remember me?’ His voice was honey and whisky, velvet and steel, and it would have made her hang on his every word even if he’d recited from a phone book. But when he implied...

She scrambled to sit up then winced as the movement made her head pound.

‘Are you all right? Should I call someone?’

Not a doctor, then.

‘Should I remember you? Have we met?’

Something she couldn’t identify flared in those golden eyes.

‘Do you know me?’ She leaned towards him, silently pleading for him to say he did.

Someone somewhere held the key to her identity.

‘I—’

There was a bustle in the doorway and one of the doctors entered. The chubby one with the kind eyes who’d reassured her when the fear she’d never regain her memory had grown close to terror. He burst into excited Italian, questioning the man at the bedside. The stranger responded, those grooves in his cheeks more pronounced, as if carved by concern. Back and forth they talked, the doctor voluble, the stranger answering with terse responses.

As if she weren’t there!

‘Can one of you please explain who this man is and why he’s here?’

Instantly the doctor turned towards her. Which was when she registered that the tall stranger hadn’t once taken his eyes off her. Even as he’d spoken with the medico his scrutiny of her had been constant.

She shivered, pulling the light cotton blanket higher up her body.

There was something about the intensity of his regard that made her feel naked. Not simply naked beneath the flimsy hospital gown, but as if he could strip her character back to the private self she kept hidden from the world.

Which was completely fanciful, as she had no idea what sort of person she was! If he could read her innermost character... Good—maybe he could enlighten her!

‘My apologies.’ It was the doctor who spoke. ‘We should have spoken in English.’ Then he smiled, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘But we have excellent news for you.’

She swung her gaze back to the man standing silent at her side. Her tongue swiped her suddenly dry lips. ‘You know me?’ Despite her best efforts the words were shaky.

Abruptly he nodded. ‘I do. Your name is Molly. You’re Australian.’

Molly. An Australian.

She sank back, barely aware of the doctor leaning in to prop up some pillows behind her.

Australia. That explained why she spoke English, not Italian.

Molly? She frowned. She didn’t feel like a Molly.

Did she?

Her frown became a scowl as she tried and failed to feel any familiarity with the name.

She swallowed, petrified as she realised even her own name was foreign to her. She’d assumed that, once she had more information about herself, her memories would kick into gear. But the revelation of her name hadn’t worked any magic at all. There was still nothing but that dreadful foggy nothingness.

‘It probably sounds strange, hearing it for the first time again, but you’ll get used to it.’

She stared up at the tall stranger, registering his reassuring tone. How had he known about her panic when she didn’t recognise her own name?

‘Are you a doctor too?’

He shook his head and she heard the doctor murmur something under his breath.

‘Yet you know me?’

Gravely he nodded. Why didn’t he look happy or at least relieved to help her discover her identity?

‘And?’ She gritted her teeth. Did she have to plead for every nugget of information?

‘You came to Italy working as an au pair for an Italian-Australian couple.’

‘An au pair?’ She tested the idea on her tongue. Yet, once again, there was no spark of familiarity.

‘A nanny. A child minder.’

She nodded impatiently. She knew what an au pair was. Yet, how did she know, when even her own name was totally unfamiliar?

Molly. Was that really her name?

‘You’re sure you know me? You’re not confusing me with someone else?’

Was that sympathy in his eyes? Whatever his expression, it was swiftly masked.

‘Absolutely sure. You’re a teacher but gave it up for the chance to come to Italy.’

‘A teacher...’

‘You love children.’ Something in his voice, something sharp and hard, snagged her attention. Was it imagination or was the golden light in his eyes more pronounced than before?

Yet for the first time she accepted his words without question. Yes, she did love kids. She could visualise herself as a teacher. Not that she could remember any individual children, but for the first time in this odd conversation his words struck a resonance deep within her.

She’d been dumbstruck to discover herself pregnant in such extraordinary circumstances. Terrified at the idea of bringing a child into the world, not knowing who she was or who the father was. Yet even her fear couldn’t completely obliterate her wonder at the new life she carried. Maybe, once her memory returned, she’d actually be excited about it.

She sank back against the pillows and offered a tentative smile.

Instantly he reacted. His nostrils flared, as if he drew in extra oxygen, and his eyes...

She didn’t have time to worry about his eyes, no matter how gorgeous they were. This was about her. Molly... Molly what?

‘What’s my last name?’ Once she had that she could find her past, locate her family and friends and begin to knit her life together again. Her fingers tightened, clenching the thin blanket. If she could get her memory back. If she wasn’t doomed to lose her past for ever.

The idea sent a shaft of fear right through her.

The tall man’s gaze flickered towards the doctor, who nodded.

‘Agosti. Your name is Molly Agosti.’

She frowned. ‘Agosti?’ Once more she waited for her subconscious to recognise the unfamiliar name. Nothing. Not even the faintest quiver of recognition. ‘Are you positive? That sounds Italian. But I’m Australian.’ And her colouring wasn’t typical of someone descended from Italians.

‘Absolutely sure.’

She’d have to take his word until she had proof to the contrary. ‘And you are...?’

Did he stiffen? No, he didn’t look at all put out. Yet something had changed. Surely the vibration in the air between them grew charged?

She blinked. Vibrations? Charged air? Was she a person who thought in terms of auras and unseen forces? Or was she just preternaturally attuned to this man?

‘I am Pietro Agosti.’

She stared up past the disturbingly powerful hands resting on the rail at the edge of her bed and that long, elegant body.

‘Agosti. But that’s the same name.’

He inclined his head. ‘It is.’ Then the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile that made the breath stop in her lungs, even though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. That golden-brown stare remained watchful, assessing.

Deep in her subconscious, an alarm bell sounded.

‘That’s because I’m your husband.’

CHAPTER TWO

HER PULSE SLAMMED past fast to frantic as she gawped up at the imposing man before her. One part of her mind atrophied in shock, another part raced in circles trying to make sense of his words.

Her husband? This unnerving man?

It wasn’t possible.

Even forgetting for a moment his air of cool assurance and those honed, handsome features, everything about him screamed money and power. His suit must have been made for him, it fitted so perfectly. His shirt was snowy, nothing as average as mere white, and his subtly gleaming silk tie was the sort that came in a designer box. At his wrists were discreet yet intricately crafted gold cufflinks.

His hands... Her heart gave a sharp thump as she concentrated on his hands. They were large and strong but well-shaped. Seductive hands, the sort that would know their way around a woman’s body. Hands adept at giving a woman pleasure.

She had a thing for sexy hands?

Of all the things she needed to know about herself, that had to be low down on the list. Except, staring at Pietro Agosti’s hands, such knowledge suddenly seemed of paramount importance.

Heat flared in her cheeks and she kept her gaze fixed there rather than meet his stare, worried what he might read in her eyes. It seemed...wrong to feel that squiggle of strong reaction deep in her feminine core just looking at this man. Despite his words, he was a total stranger to her.

The hands in question were well-cared-for and there was a heavy gold signet on one finger that looked old and expensive.

He came from money, lots of it. She’d guess, based on his ingrained air of command and that ancient ring, he’d probably been born to it.

But she wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew, but in that moment she was convinced of it.

Her face, when she’d scrutinised it in the bathroom mirror, had been ordinary. Not beautiful or intriguing. Her hair was lank and a shade somewhere between caramel and dirty blonde that surely was too ordinary to have come out of a bottle? Her hands weren’t scarred or rough, but nor were they manicured. And her only jewellery was a pair of tiny gold stud earrings.

She and Pietro Agosti didn’t match. How could they be married?

If it were true, then it must be his child she carried. The idea sent a tumble of unsettling emotion through her.

‘Signora Agosti.’

Her head jerked up at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She opened her mouth to reject the title he’d given her.

That wasn’t her name, was it? And as for being married...

She shot a sideways glance at the tall man standing beside her bed, utterly unmoving. There was something about his stillness that unnerved her. He was waiting for something.

For her to acknowledge him?

Or for her to declare she couldn’t possibly be his wife?

She frowned, the tightness in her head turning into a thump of pain in time with her quickened pulse.

When she winced the doctor bustled forward, murmuring in Italian beneath his breath as he checked her pulse and got her to lie back.

Yet all the time she was aware of Pietro Agosti looming silently beside her, tall, dark and dauntingly handsome. If the doctors hadn’t assured her she’d recover fully physically, she might have wondered in her confused way if he was the Angel of Death come to take her.

She lifted her head and caught him staring. He didn’t look away and she sank into the surprising warmth of his bright gaze.

Heat flared anew, this time not in her cheeks but deep, deep inside. In those female organs where her tiny embryo of a baby was lodged.

Was this the father?

Emotion sliced through her. Excitement or fear?

She settled for disbelief.

‘You’re sure I’m married to this man?’ It didn’t seem likely. Surely he spent his time with gilded socialites, not au pairs?

The doctor’s eyes rounded and he darted an apologetic look at the taller man.

Was Pietro Agosti so important that no one ever questioned him?

A shiver snaked through her. For some reason she hadn’t a hope of identifying, she baulked at the idea of being at his mercy.

His mercy? Surely that wasn’t how a wife thought of her husband?

‘Signora Agosti.’ The doctor’s reassuring tone broke across her thoughts. ‘There was no doubt about the identification. Your husband was able to describe you in perfect detail before he arrived, right down to your appendix scar.’

Which only meant he was intimately acquainted with her body.

A sizzle of sensation prickled her skin. Was it a remnant of memory? The legacy of intimacy with this man? Or anticipation at the idea of him stroking those big hands across her bare skin sometime in the future?

She sneaked another look up at the sombre man beside her. As if on cue his sculpted lips turned up into a smile that would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been for the shadow that looked like calculation in his eyes.

Her throat was gritty as she swallowed. Her eyelids flickered down as she fought off the headache beginning to beat in time with her pulse. It was all too much to take in.

‘Let me assure you that your husband is most respectable and esteemed—’

‘I think that’s enough for now.’ The deep voice with that sexy, husky edge interrupted the doctor’s encomiums. ‘Molly’s obviously too tired for this tonight. It’s all been a shock. Maybe we should leave her to rest.’

He was going?

Her eyes snapped open as fear hurtled through her.

What if he left and didn’t come back?

What if he left her alone again, like an unclaimed piece of luggage?

What if, tomorrow, this proved to be a dream? If there was no one who knew who she really was?

Reason told her that wouldn’t happen. He’d identified her and the hospital staff would know how to reach this man who was so well-regarded and respectable.

Yet the well of fear that had threatened to suck her down for days swirled anew. She couldn’t face the idea of being abandoned here again.

‘No! Please, don’t go!’

There was a flash of something in those uncanny eyes but this time it looked like sympathy.

‘Perhaps, doctor, you might give us some time alone together? I know there’s paperwork to complete. I’ll see you after Molly and I have spoken.’

‘Of course. Yes, an excellent idea.’ The doctor clearly didn’t mind being dismissed. Which told her he was either glad to hand her over to someone else or that Pietro Agosti was a VIP with considerable influence. The medico nodded to Molly, assured her all would be well and left the room.

Now, alone with the man who said he was her husband, her relief dissipated. But instead of towering over her any longer he reached for a visitor’s chair and sat by the bed.

‘That’s better. Now you don’t have to crane to look up at me.’

His mouth crinkled up at one corner in the smallest of smiles but this time, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt a tug of response. Her lips twitched and her taut muscles eased a little. It was only now that she realised her shoulders had crept up towards her ears and her hands had curled into taut fists. She looked down and smoothed her hands across the bedspread.

* * *

She looked so damnably pale. Fragile in a way he hadn’t expected, even when he’d heard about her injuries. He’d come immediately, riding a wave of shock and relief at the news that she’d been found.

Something inside Pietro stretched tight and hard, tension twanging like a plucked string. His chest squeezed as he read the pain etched in Molly’s tired eyes.

One of the things that had attracted him to her was her warm, sunny disposition. Her ready smile and the way her eyes danced. Seeing her so frightened made him want to break something. Preferably the motorbike rider who’d knocked her over. Who, it seemed likely, had targeted her for her bag with its wallet and passport.

His staff was liaising with the police. If the person responsible was located, he’d pay dearly for his actions.

Pietro’s jaw tightened at the idea of Molly lying unconscious on the road. Of her waking to the horror of not even knowing her own name.

The doctor had said her memory loss might partly be due to shock. From the fall? Or from what had happened before she’d come to Rome?

Icy fingers of guilt gripped his throat.

Pietro swallowed hard. The accident or assault wasn’t his fault. As for what had happened before...

‘I’m glad you found me.’ Solemn eyes held his. ‘It’s...worrying, not knowing who you are.’

She looked so lost, yet so determined to be brave, downplaying the fear she must feel. A wave of protectiveness washed through him.

Pietro froze. He’d thought himself immune to feminine vulnerability. He’d been inoculated against it by brutal experience. But the circumstances here were different.

He reached out to grasp Molly’s hand and reassure her then stopped himself. Better to keep his distance. She looked so frail, her eyes huge in her pale face, watching him warily.

She noticed the movement but said nothing, though her brow knitted, as if she had catalogued the abortive gesture for future consideration.

It was a reminder that he needed to be careful how he proceeded. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

‘I can’t begin to imagine how it feels not to recall anything,’ he admitted. He half-expected her to confess it wasn’t true, that she remembered something, even just the reason she’d left on the spur of the moment for Rome. ‘But you don’t need to worry. I’ll take good care of you.’

‘You will?’

He couldn’t work out if she looked pleased about that or petrified. Did he scare her? He knew his size could be daunting...

‘Of course. You can count on me. Everything will be all right, Molly. Just give it time. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’m trying to contact your sister in Australia, to bring her over to see you.’

The tightness around the corners of her generous mouth eased and a little colour returned to her wan face, making her look more like the woman he knew.

‘I have a sister?’ She sounded so excited, so wistful.

‘Her name is Jillian.’

‘And my parents?’

Pietro shook his head, wishing he could give her better news. ‘I’m sorry, Molly. There’s just the two of you.’

Her face fell and Pietro felt his chest squeeze. He remembered loss only too well. Molly’s pain reinforced his determination to do everything he could for her.

‘But I’m very lucky to have both a husband and a sister.’ Her gaze dropped from his, as if she were fascinated by the movement of her hand plucking at the bedclothes. ‘I wondered if anyone would ever come along and identify me.’

There was a wealth of repressed fear behind her words and Pietro felt a surge of relief that he’d mobilised a search for her. If he hadn’t, if he’d ignored that belated voice of logic telling him he’d made an appalling mistake, how long would she have been stuck here alone in frightening limbo?

The knowledge strengthened his determination. He’d acted impulsively tonight but he didn’t regret it, or any complications that might arise from it. Molly needed him.

‘You’ll feel better when you’re out of here.’

‘Out of here? You mean out of the hospital?’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Really?’ Her tentative smile reached her eyes, making them shine more blue than grey. ‘They’ll let me go?’

Again Pietro felt that strange sensation in his chest as he looked into her hopeful eyes. He told himself it was only satisfaction that this would be so straightforward.

‘You’re not a prisoner, Molly.’

* * *

‘I know that. I know they’ve been doing their best for me.’ She looked up into that brown-gold gaze and told herself there was nothing to be frightened of now. Her husband was here. The person she presumably trusted above all others.

Yet still that nervous tingle of energy ran from her nape to her fingertips and down her spine as her gaze collided with his. Each time it felt like a shock, an assault on her senses.

There was definitely a sizzle of awareness as she took in his proud features and the strength of his rangy, powerful form. Yet shouldn’t there be something more? A sense of relief and comfort; of...homecoming...when she looked at him?

It wasn’t relief she felt, at least not solely. There was something else mixed in there too. Something her subconscious tried to tell her, except she wasn’t very good right now at reading subliminal messages.

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t much good at anything. Complex thought made her head spin and any attempt at delving into the past made the grey walls around her close in.

Defeated, she shut her eyes as her struggle to remember failed and pain rose once again.

‘Molly? What is it?’ His tone was sharp. Even with her eyes closed she clearly caught his sense of urgency.

Which was natural for a man seeing his wife in these circumstances. It was absurd for her to think there was something not right here.

The only thing not right is you. Your brain isn’t working properly. You don’t even recognise your own name! Did you really think one sight of the man you love would bring your memory flooding back?

Logic told her she’d expected too much. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

The chair scraped across the floor and she opened her eyes to see Pietro Agosti striding towards the door.

‘Don’t go!’ Was that desperate voice hers? She shot forward to sit straight up in the narrow bed, ignoring the way the movement slammed the ache in her skull from dull to throbbing.

So much for masking her fear. Faced with the prospect of being alone again, the strength she’d relied on to see her through this nightmare evaporated. ‘Please stay.’

‘I was just getting the doctor. You’re in pain.’ Yet he stopped on the threshold, his dark eyebrows tilting down in a frown.

‘Please don’t leave.’

Was she always this needy? She hoped not.

How did she explain to this sexy, forbidding stranger that she’d give anything for a little ordinary human comfort instead of more medication?

Pietro Agosti’s gaze dropped from her face. She followed the direction of his stare and saw her hand was raised, stretched towards him. Her fingers trembled. She hadn’t been aware she’d reached for him.

She let her hand fall and swallowed hard. Her desperation for his presence, his touch, disturbed her. Maybe because it proved she’d finally reached the end of her tether. She couldn’t face being alone with her fears any longer.

‘Aren’t you going to take me home?’ She gave up worrying about how weak that made her sound. She needed to know.

‘Of course.’ His voice came from right above her. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. Still, she didn’t lift her face to look at him. She felt as if that searing golden gaze could see right inside her, that she was vulnerable to this man in ways she didn’t understand. While he, with his air of control and unreadable expression, was a closed book to her. Surely lovers, husbands and wives, were more...equal?