“If you’ve no objection to some company…”

Simon had always been considerate that way, Annabel remembered with a bittersweet pang. At least, until the tragedy of Lily’s death had changed him, turning him into a closed, distant stranger.

“Let’s just play it by ear,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Is your hotel far from here?”

The firm, well-shaped lips she’d always found so irresistible—and still did, she realized with a tremor—eased into the familiar curved smile she’d thought lost forever, at least to her. Seeing it again gave her spirits a lift. “Actually, I’m staying here,” he said. “Fourth floor.”

She almost missed her step. Staying here? On the floor above hers? Maybe his room, his bed, were directly over hers. How would she ever be able to sleep, knowing he was so close to her, just a few floorboards separating them?

Dear Reader,

Well, as promised, the dog days of summer have set in, which means one last chance at the beach reading that’s an integral part of this season (even if you do most of it on the subway, like I do!). We begin with The Beauty Queen’s Makeover by Teresa Southwick, next up in our MOST LIKELY TO… miniseries. She was the girl “most likely to” way back when, and he was the awkward geek. Now they’ve all but switched places, and the fireworks are about to begin.…

In From Here to Texas, Stella Bagwell’s next MEN OF THE WEST book, a Navajo man and the girl who walked out on him years ago have to decide if they believe in second chances. And speaking of second chances (or first ones, anyway), picture this: a teenaged girl obsessed with a gorgeous college boy writes down some of her impure thoughts in her diary, and buries said diary in the walls of an old house in town. Flash forward ten-ish years, and the boy, now a man, is back in town—and about to dismantle the old house, brick by brick. Can she find her diary before he does? Find out in Christine Flynn’s finale to her GOING HOME miniseries, Confessions of a Small-Town Girl. In Everything She’s Ever Wanted by Mary J. Forbes, a traumatized woman is finally convinced to come out of hiding, thanks to the one man she can trust. In Nicole Foster’s Sawyer’s Special Delivery, a man who’s played knight-in-shining armor gets to do it again—to a woman (cum newborn baby) desperate for his help, even if she hates to admit it. And in The Last Time I Saw Venice by Vivienne Wallington, a couple traumatized by the loss of their child hopes that the beautiful city that brought them together can work its magic—one more time.

So have your fun. And next month it’s time to get serious—about reading, that is.…

Enjoy!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

The Last Time I Saw Venice
Vivienne Wallington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

VIVIENNE WALLINGTON

lives in Melbourne, Australia. Previously a librarian and children’s writer, she now writes romance full-time. Reading, family and travel are her other main interests. She has written nineteen Harlequin Romance novels under the pseudonym Elizabeth Duke and now writes for Silhouette Books under her real name. Vivienne and her husband, John, have a daughter and son and five wonderful grandchildren. She would love to hear from readers, who can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279 or e-mail viv.wallington@bigpond.com.

To Karin, who loves Venice, too.

Contents

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

Chapter One

Annabel gazed across the sparkling Venetian Lagoon and couldn’t believe she was here, that she’d actually come back.

Romantic Venice…city of dreams and fantasies.

Crushed dreams, fizzled fantasies.

No! Her chin came up. She’d thrashed all this out in her mind before leaving chilly, wet London, and decided it was worth risking a few bittersweet memories. Venice was where she’d been happy once, where she and Simon had met and shared the most rapturous few days—and unforgettable nights—of their lives. All her memories of Venice were joyful ones. It was the trauma and heartbreak that had followed later in Sydney that she didn’t want to dwell on.

And she wouldn’t! She was here to relax, to recuperate from the flu and pneumonia, and to luxuriate in the soothing magic of Venice.

Everything was just as she remembered, just as magical…the quaint canals and arched bridges, the ever-changing light, the graceful Gothic palaces and grand churches, the buzzing water traffic—and the same hordes of swarming tourists.

And this time she was one of them. Four years ago, she’d been here for a law conference, to learn more about her chosen career. To an ambitious, hardworking Sydney lawyer who’d never been to Europe, it was a dream come true when her firm had sent her to Venice for a week.

A dream in more ways than one, she thought, her eyes misting. On her very first day in Venice, another more heart-stopping dream had materialized.

Painful as it was to think of Simon, her memories of their first meeting and their blossoming romance in Venice were still sweet, still as filled with a piquant nostalgia as a dim, happy dream. The unbelievable way they’d met still brought a smile to her lips, even now.

She let her gaze veer back across the water, seeking out the glossy black gondolas moving with leisurely skill between the other faster boats.

Four years ago, she’d taken a gondola ride along the Grand Canal with a group of fellow conference delegates. If she hadn’t stupidly decided to stand up on the seat to take some photographs, she might never have met Simon. A water taxi had swished past at the vital moment, creating a wave that made the gondola rock precariously. She’d lost her balance and tumbled overboard, landing with a splash and a gasp of shock in the cold, deep green water of the Grand Canal.

It was Simon, the sole passenger in the water taxi, who had dived in to save her as she surfaced, his boat having immediately circled and come back. With a strong arm clamped round her waist, he’d dragged her to his hovering water taxi. Her friends in the gondola had cheered and waved before continuing on their way, confident they were leaving her in good hands.

She smiled, remembering her first proper look at her husky, dark-haired rescuer as he’d helped her into a seat. He had the physique of an Olympic athlete and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen; he looked incredibly sexy, with his black hair still dripping and sunlit rivulets running down his strong, chiseled face.

She recalled how she’d blinked up at him as he’d checked her over, mesmerized by the beads of water sparkling on the ends of his dark eyelashes, above the brilliant sheen of his eyes. Water was streaming from her own hair and rolling down her face and shirt, making her acutely conscious that her soaked T-shirt, with only a flimsy sports bra beneath, did nothing to hide the nub of her nipples or the rounded curve of her breasts.

She’d thought him Italian at first sight, a classic Romeo with that black hair and those piercing blue eyes. But the moment he spoke, she realized he was Australian, just like herself. An Australian with an Italian name— Pacino—and an Italian grandfather. He was working in New York at the time, training with one of the world’s top neurosurgeons. He’d come to Italy to give a medical lecture at Padua University and was only in Venice for four days before heading back to New York, while she had to go back to Sydney at the end of the week.

But they’d had four days, and she’d willingly skipped the odd lecture or two for the chance to see more of him…

“Annabel?”

A woman’s voice—as Australian as her own—intruded on her pleasantly poignant memories. For a moment, she failed to respond, her mind still far away. Four long years away.

“Annabel…it is you, isn’t it?” A hand touched her arm, a very real hand, its cool intrusion dragging her back to reality, dissolving her wistful dreams of Simon and a romantic world that no longer existed. “Remember me? We met at breakfast this morning. At our hotel. I was there with my husband Tom and our baby daughter Gracie.”

Annabel turned slowly, reluctant to let the warm memories fade away.

“Oh…hi, Tessa. Sorry…I was miles away.”

Tessa laughed, her blond curls bobbing. “Venice affects people like that.” She glanced over her shoulder at her baby daughter, fast asleep in a sling attached to her back. “I, um…look, since I’ve found you, could I ask a special favor?”

“Sure,” Annabel said, but her heart gave a tiny jump. She had a feeling the favor had something to do with Tessa’s baby, and anything to do with babies, especially baby girls, still brought a painful tremor, a tightening in her chest. “What can I do?”

“Could you hold Gracie for me, just for a few minutes, while I try on a dress? I’ve just fed her, so she should stay asleep.” The rest came out in a breathless rush. “We’ve a special dinner tomorrow night—my husband’s here for an orthopedics conference—and I’ve seen this fantastic dress in a boutique window just up the next lane. I’d love to try it on, but Gracie—”

“I’d be happy to look after her,” Annabel said, trying to sound as if she meant it. She did mean it. She loved babies. It was just that she hadn’t held a baby since the traumatic day she’d lost her precious daughter. Even now, she could feel her body shaking, her heart squeezing at the agonizing memory.

“Oh, thank you, you’re an angel!” Tessa was already tugging her away, dodging the tourists swarming along the famous sweeping promenade known as the Riva degli Schiavoni, before dragging her into a nearby lane. “You must have dinner with us tonight at the hotel, Annabel, Tom has a free evening, no conference commitments. Please say you will. It’s my way of saying thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, but…all right, I’d love to,” she said. Tessa and Tom were a bright, friendly couple, and spending an evening with them might give her something else to think about than Simon and…all that she’d lost.

“Great! Let’s meet in the dining room at seven-thirty.” By now, they were halfway along the bustling lane. Tessa paused outside an upmarket boutique. “The dress is in this window. See? Isn’t it divine? They may even have others equally as fantastic that I could try on…” She looked hopefully at Annabel.

“You take your time. Give Gracie to me,” Annabel said, steeling her heart for the ordeal ahead. “Here. I’ll help you undo the sling. I’ll do my best not to wake her.”

“Thanks. If she does stir, just take her for a walk. That should do the trick. St. Mark’s Square is just along a bit, round the corner. If she stays awake, she’d love to see the pigeons.”

“No worries,” said Annabel, worrying regardless. As she helped Tessa transfer Gracie onto her own back, just the sweet smell of the sleeping baby was playing havoc with her senses, bringing back nostalgic, heartbreaking memories of her precious one-year-old daughter. Lily would have been three years old by now.

How Annabel missed her! Before succumbing to the flu and pneumonia, she’d been able to bury the worst of her grief in her work, taking on more and more demanding assignments to blot out the unbearable agony of her private heartbreak. But since her illness had forced her to take several weeks off work, she’d had the time, finally, to think and grieve, and she was missing Lily more than ever.

It made her realize—especially now that she was back in Venice—how much she’d been missing Simon, too. Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Dredging up memories of Simon and happier times was hardly likely to help her recovery. She didn’t want to think of Simon! In all this time—nearly two years—she hadn’t seen or heard a word from him. He hadn’t cared enough about her even to make inquiries about her…let alone seek her out and maybe even begin to forgive her.

She flinched as a piercing stab of pain revived other hurtful memories. Simon had barely been able to speak to her, or even to look her in the eye, in the weeks before she’d walked out on him. His neurosurgery demands and his patients had been his only solace, his only escape. Though he’d never accused her to her face, she knew he blamed her for Lily’s death, and he still blamed her, obviously, or he would have come after her long before now. And she was to blame. Her blind trust, her slow reactions, had been responsible for the loss of their beloved baby daughter. She still had nightmares about that speeding car…visions of her baby’s pram flying into the air…

Tessa’s baby whimpered, jolting her back to her present dilemma. “I’d better go for that walk,” she said, and swung away, leaving Tessa to her evening gowns. Thankfully, the baby quickly drifted back to sleep under the rhythmic movement of her swaying stride.

Crossing St. Mark’s Square, Venice’s famous piazza, was as exhilarating as it always was, despite the crowds of tourists who loved to flock there and get in the way. Every speck of space in that huge square seemed to be taken up with people or pigeons, the pigeons so thick on the ground and so tame they barely fluttered into the air when intruders threatened their space.

Annabel tried to ignore the crowds by looking beyond them, admiring the arcaded buildings on either side, lined with expensive jewelry shops, boutiques and cafés. At the far end of the square she could see the towering brick bell tower—the Campanile, as the Italians called it—and the Byzantine splendor of the glorious, dominating Basilica, with its bulbous domes and the four bronze horses of St. Mark looking ready to prance off the grand facade.

The trouble was, seeing the Basilica made her think of Simon again. They’d explored the impressive building together four years ago, but there’d been almost too much magnificence to take in at one visit and they’d vowed to meet up again one day and come back for another look.

But she’d found herself pregnant instead, which had changed everything, opening up a whole new life for both of them. A life they’d shared happily and chaotically with their baby daughter…until it had ended suddenly, tragically.

Now she was back in Venice…alone. She felt the hot sting of tears and resolutely blinked them away. As her eyes cleared, her gaze settled on a group of white-clothed outdoor tables, mostly unoccupied. And no wonder, she thought with a rueful half smile. Few tourists could afford even to sit down at Caffè Florian’s elite tables, let alone to buy the famous café’s astronomically expensive coffee.

But one dark-haired man obviously could. He was sitting alone, lounging back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to indulge in outrageously expensive coffee at Florian’s.

Something about him, as he watched a pigeon land at his feet, made her eyes snap wide and sent her heart to her throat. The strongly carved profile, the familiar shape of his head, the thick dark hair curling over his ears, the imposing breadth of his shoulders…

No! She tried to blink the disturbing image away. It was impossible! Was she going to see Simon Pacino in every dark-haired, good-looking hunk she came across in Venice just because she’d met him here once before?

And then he glanced up, turned and looked straight at her, his gaze boring through the milling crowd as if only she existed. Dear heaven, it was Simon!

She nearly tripped, but managed somehow to keep on walking, still not believing it, her mind scattering in panic. How could he be here, of all the places in the world he could have chosen…that she had chosen, too? Coincidences like this just didn’t happen. Besides, he was still back in Sydney…wasn’t he? Or had he left the hospital where he’d been working—the hospital that must hold so many painful memories for him—and moved overseas himself? Maybe…maybe he’d hitched up with someone new and was waiting for her to join him.

Oh God…

She had to put distance between them!

With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, determined not to give way to panic, she veered sideways, forcing her legs to carry her to the far side of the square, well away from Florian’s elegant tables, before turning and making her way back in the direction she’d come from. Tempted as she was to break into a run she resisted the urge, partly to avoid jolting baby Gracie awake, but mostly to avoid attracting attention. Simon’s attention.

Maybe he hadn’t recognized her. It was almost two years since he’d last seen her, and she wore her deep auburn hair short these days, in a smooth, head-hugging bob, with a few golden highlights to brighten it up. He’d only ever seen it long, falling over her shoulders in thick russet waves, or swept back in a ponytail. He’d loved to run his fingers through her hair—one of the reasons she’d cut it.

She’d also lost a lot of weight recently, due to her illness. Even before she’d fallen sick, she’d shed weight, too busy most of the time to eat properly and barely interested in food anyway.

“Excuse me.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and knew instantly whose hand it was. Light as the touch was, could any other hand have this instant, electrifying effect on her, scalding her skin through her thin layer of clothing and sending shuddering shock waves through her body?

She turned, deliberately slowly, masking her features as she tried to still her wildly fluttering heart. Compelling blue eyes, sharpened by the sun, devoured her tense face.

“It is you.” He spoke in a quiet, velvet-edged tone, showing no visible surprise, as if they were old acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other in a while, who’d never suffered a common pain and grief, who’d never grown apart until there was nothing left between them. At the time she’d walked out on him, he’d barely been speaking to her, his eyes flat and remote whenever they’d come into close contact, a man in torment, coldly shutting her out, holding back the words of blame and anger he must have longed to hurl at her.

Now, two years later, his face was deeply bronzed, accentuating the intense blue of his eyes, and he looked amazingly toned and fit. How had he managed to get so tanned and superfit when he worked such long days, and often nights, too, in a brightly lit operating room? Did his hospital have a gym now, with suntanning facilities?

She felt his piercing gaze sear over her face, her hair, her far-too-thin body. “You look different,” he said. “Different, yet…just the same.”

“I’m far from the same.” She spoke sharply, unable to keep a tinge of bitterness from her voice. Oh yes, she was different. More battle-hardened, more in control of her emotions and her life, more determined than ever to reach her ultimate goal—a partnership in her highly respected law firm, which was all she had to look forward to now.

His dark-lashed blue eyes veered to the baby in the sling. They flared for a second, then died. “Yes…so I see.” The cold remoteness she’d last seen two years ago was back in force. “You didn’t waste any time replacing your child…or your lover.”

His scorn lashed her in two. Stung, she lashed back. “I see time hasn’t changed you in the least.” He was still as coldly distant and unfeeling as he’d been when she walked out on him two years ago. The realization brought an odd quiver of regret. Feeling the effect his touch still had on her, she’d hoped for a second…

Stupid of her. Futile. Nothing could ever heal the bitter scars of the past, could ever bring them back together…not after all they’d been through.

“I have to go,” she said bleakly. “I have someone to meet.”

“Your lover?” This time he caught her arm with just enough force to prevent her from walking off without having to forcibly break free. There was something else in his eyes now, a dangerous glint in the icy depths. Anger. A cold, deadly anger. “He can’t be your husband. We’re still married. You’ve never sought a divorce.”

Neither had he, but she didn’t say it. “Marriage isn’t high on my list of priorities anymore,” she said, her voice tight. She’d never even considered divorce, knowing she’d never want to marry again—or, at least, never want to marry any other man. Though if he’d demanded a divorce…

“No…it never was, was it?” His own voice held a note of weary resignation, though his broad shoulders were stiff with tension, as if that icy anger still simmered below.

She recoiled at the harsh words, hurt piercing her at the reminder that they’d only married because he’d made her pregnant, the legacy of their last rapturous night together in Venice four years ago. It was something they hadn’t expected would happen, naively hoping it wouldn’t happen after only that one time…even after finding that the condom he’d used that night had split.

Attracted as they’d been to each other, they’d been virtual strangers at the time, both immersed in their high-powered careers, blazing ambition driving them equally—she striving to reach the top of her field in a male-dominated corporate law firm, he determined to be the best in his own demanding field of neurosurgery. Neither had been ready for marriage or commitment, let alone children. Finding herself pregnant after returning to Sydney from Venice had come as a shock. She’d only called Simon because she’d needed someone to confide in after making the difficult decision to keep the baby. Even though he was working in New York at the time, she’d felt it was right that he, as the child’s father, be aware of the situation.

“You only married me because I insisted on coming back to Australia and giving our child a name and two married parents,” the deep, relentless voice went on. “I’m not even sure you would have gone ahead and had the baby if I hadn’t persuaded you to marry me.”

She jerked back, horrified that he could believe such a thing. Her heart cried out to him. No! I’d already fallen in love with you, Simon, even though we barely knew each other! Having already decided to keep the baby by then, she’d hoped he would stand by her, though it had come as a shock when he’d asked her to marry him. That had been the last thing she’d expected, after what he’d said in Venice about not being ready for marriage or children, wanting to reach the top of his specialized field before settling down. After she’d said the same thing. She’d hesitated at first, but when he’d refused to take no for an answer, she’d surprised herself by agreeing to marry him, knowing in her heart, after only that short time together in Venice, that she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Simon had been her rock back then. He’d given up his work at the hospital in New York and returned to Sydney to be with her, taking up a post at a top Sydney hospital. He’d supported her through her pregnancy and made it possible for her to keep on working after the baby arrived. A daily nanny and a housekeeper twice a week had allowed them both to keep on working at the same frenetic pace, each determined not to allow a baby, even a much loved baby, to disrupt their high-flying ambitions.

Now, forcing herself to look into his eyes—coldly glinting and remote as they were—she said evenly, “There was never any question of not having the baby, once I knew I was pregnant. I—I would have managed somehow.” But as a struggling single mother, what would have happened to her lofty hopes of a partnership and a brilliantly successful career at the top of her elite field? And oh, how her father, back in Queensland, would have crowed as it all crashed down around her! I told you you’d never make it. Careers are for men, love, not for women. Women belong in the home. Mothers belong at home with their children.

“But you didn’t have to manage on your own, did you?” Simon reminded her tonelessly. His hand had dropped to his side. “I flew back from New York and we got married. But marriage didn’t change your life, did it, Annabel? Having a baby didn’t change anything. You didn’t even change your name. Your career still came first. Never our marriage.” Or me, he might as well have added.

She almost moaned aloud. How could she dispute it? But she hadn’t been the only one obsessed with a demanding career. “It didn’t change your life, either,” she reminded him. “We both messed up big time. Neither of us was ready for marriage.” Or for babies, she thought, feeling the old hollow pain inside. But she wasn’t brave enough to mention Lily. Since the accident, neither of them had been able to talk about their daughter…least of all Simon. And here in crowded St. Mark’s Square certainly wasn’t the time or place.

“No.” Simon puffed out a sigh. “And marriage is still not a priority with you…obviously.” He glanced again at the sleeping baby nestled against her. “But having another child is?” This time he didn’t hide the bitterness, the raw pain in his voice. “Or was this one a mistake, too? Where is the father, by the way? Did he hang around? Or have you had to manage on your own this time?”

The baby started making whimpering sounds, and Annabel, losing her nerve, seized her chance to make a run for it. Let him think what he liked…it was over between them. Nothing could ever change what had happened or repair the damage from the past. Or make him love her again. “I must go. What I do is no longer any of your business.”

“You’re still my wife.” His hand caught her arm again, his fingers scalding her bare skin, his intense blue eyes far too close, burning into hers.

She felt another surge of panic. “We’re separated. I’m free to see any man I please.”

“Separated!” He made a sound that was almost a snarl. “We never even discussed it. You just walked out. No warning, no discussion, nothing.”

She turned on him. “You’re pretending to care now?”

He flinched. “And you did? It didn’t seem that way when you left without a word, except for a brief Dear John letter saying our marriage was over and you were leaving Australia to work in London. You couldn’t even face me. You didn’t explain…or ask for any help…for a settlement…for anything. You just cut me out of your life.”

She steeled her heart, holding herself together with an effort. “I didn’t need anything from you. We were both financially independent. Our marriage was dead. What was the point in going on?”

His hand slid away. “No…you never needed anything from me, did you? Not after…” His voice cracked.

He still couldn’t say Lily’s name. Since the day their baby had died, he hadn’t even been able to talk about her, let alone discuss what had happened. Annabel felt the old anguish, the deep, suffocating hurt of two years ago, swell in her throat. He was still suffering from what she had done. Still blaming her. What hope did they have? Blinking, she swung away, plunging into the crowd, scattering pigeons as she left him standing.

Chapter Two

Good grief, what have I done to her? Scowling at the fluttering pigeons, Simon trudged back across the crowded square, his heart twisting with guilt and self-loathing.

Oh, Annabel… Still as beautiful, as desirable as ever, but so thin and pale, the lovely green eyes smudged and clouded with pain, her cheekbones too stark, a shadow of her old vibrant self. Even at the time she’d walked out on him, she hadn’t looked as frail as this.

Of course, she’d been sick. She’d had pneumonia, her secretary had told him last week when he’d finally taken the bit between his teeth and called Annabel’s London office to inquire about her. But he’d started her on her downward slide, crushing her last desperate hope, breaking her heart and spirit. He’d wrecked her life, as he’d wrecked…their child’s. As well as his own, for what it was worth.

Damn damn damn. He’d thought that after this long healing break away from each other, and by taking the plunge finally and pursuing her to Venice, where they’d first fallen for each other, she might have been prepared to thaw a little and feel more forgiving, maybe even give him another chance. But he’d come back for her too late. She’d found someone else. She’d even had another man’s child!

He groaned aloud. How the hell had she been managing, working long demanding hours in a strange city, and having to care for a baby? The guy must still be with her. Some wealthy, high-powered legal hotshot, no doubt, who was supporting not only her and their baby, but her dream of a partnership in her prestigious law firm. A man who could give her everything she’d ever wanted.

Not a broken-down brain surgeon like himself.

He swore. What a humiliating comedown! From a stunningly successful neurosurgeon, brimming with self-confidence and his own lofty importance, treated almost like a god who could do no wrong, he’d sunk to this. A failure—despite what others might have tried to tell him. His pride and his confidence had taken a beating, but that was nothing compared to what else he’d lost. His child, his wife, his marriage.

He shouldered his way through a Japanese tour group clustered round a guide with a yellow umbrella, barely seeing them, only knowing they were in his way. He could only see Annabel. His wife. The thought of her making love to another man was like a knife twisting in his gut.

Who was he, this jerk who’d come between them? A close colleague at her London law firm, as likely as not, knowing how hard she worked and how determined she was to reach her longed-for goal. Maybe even a senior partner at Mallaby’s. What better, quicker way to achieve her coveted ambition?

Unless they’d made her a partner already. The legal secretary he’d spoken to had not been communicative. It had taken all his charm and persuasion just to find out that Annabel had been ill and was recuperating in Venice.

“Well! Simon Pacino! I don’t believe it!”

The tormenting images in his mind disintegrated as a vaguely familiar face materialized out of the crowd. The sandy hair…the cocky grin…the short, stout body…

“Remember me, mate? Tom Robson. We were at med school together in Melbourne. Many moons ago, before you moved to Sydney and we lost touch.”

The years rolled back. “Tom! Of course I remember. You planned to specialize in orthopedics.”

“And you in neurosurgery.”

They both gave a laugh, a chopped-off laugh, eyeing each other as if wary of asking if the other had achieved his goal.

“You didn’t change your mind?” Simon asked finally, getting in first as he prepared his own answer in his mind. The fewer details, the better. It was no one’s business but…Annabel’s. If she wanted to hear. And if he had the chance to open up to her…finally. And could open up, spill his guts, lay himself bare. Hell! Why was exposing his darkest feelings and private hells always so damned difficult for him?

“No way,” said Tom. “I’m considered a top orthopedic surgeon these days.” False modesty had never been Tom’s way. “I work in Chicago now, by the way. I’m here in Venice to give a presentation at an orthopedics convention.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to rush off now, but how about joining us for dinner? My wife’s here with me and we’ve a free night. We could catch up on everything then.”

Everything? I don’t think so. Simon hesitated, searching for an excuse. He wanted—needed—to be at a particular hotel tonight…to look out for Annabel. Annabel and her…lover.

“We’re staying at the Gabrielli Sandwirth, on the Lagoon.” Tom was already backing away. “Say you’ll join us. Seven-thirty in the dining-room? Hope that’s not too early? We’ve a new baby and my wife prefers early nights.”

Another baby? Simon groaned inwardly. Just what he needed. More reminders of…

“Congratulations, Tom.” He mouthed the platitude while his mind was racing off at a tangent, having seized on the name of the hotel. The Gabrielli Sandwirth…the very hotel where Annabel was staying! He’d spent all morning checking out the hotels until he found out. Annabel’s secretary wouldn’t divulge that information when he’d called London, only relenting enough to mention that she was in Venice. Learning she’d already left the hotel for the day, he’d hung around St. Mark’s Square in the hope of finding her. And by some miracle, she’d shown up there. With a baby. He grimaced.

“I’ll be there,” he promised, his mind on his wife, not on meeting up again with Tom. Dining at the Gabrielli with other people would give him some cover if Annabel walked in with…lover boy. If she walked in alone— he sent up a silent prayer—he’d excuse himself as soon as he could and join her…if she would let him. He wasn’t going to give her up without a fight, without thrashing things out…not this time. He’d already lost her once.

And he would lose her again if he couldn’t face up to his demons and deal with them.

“Great. See you tonight, mate.” Flashing a broad grin, Tom strode off.

Simon had a satisfied smile on his lips and almost a skip in his step as he walked on. Dinner at the Gabrielli? What a stroke of luck. He would have to see if the hotel had a spare room. If they did, he’d retrieve his bag from the railway station and move in there. Annabel was still married to him and, new lover or not, baby or not, he was damned well going to win her back and convince her they could make it work. Somehow. He had nothing to lose.

Hell, he’d lost enough already.

Annabel came down to the dining room early, not wanting to keep Tessa and Tom waiting. But only Tom was there, at a table set for four. Four? Oh well, she hoped that whoever else they’d invited would keep the conversation rolling, because she didn’t feel like being the life of the party herself. She was weary after sightseeing all day and emotionally drained after bumping into Simon.

“Annabel! Glad you could join us. Tessa’s just feeding the baby. She’ll be down in a minute.” Tom settled her into a chair. “We owe you for what you did for Tessa this afternoon. She’s bankrupted me, but hey, she tried on her new dress for me and she looked a dream. She’ll knock everyone’s eyes out tomorrow night.”

He chatted on easily until Tessa arrived, carrying a portable crib. “Gracie’s been well fed and is fast asleep already,” she said, slipping into the chair beside her husband and placing the baby capsule on the floor beside her. “Now we should be able to have dinner without being disturbed.”

“Ah, and here’s Simon,” said Tom, raising his arm.

Annabel glanced round, expecting to see a fellow delegate of Tom’s from his orthopedics conference. She froze, her eyes flaring in shocked dismay. The last person she’d expected to see was Simon Pacino! How did Tom know him?

As Simon’s gaze flicked to hers, she saw her own shock mirrored in the blue of his eyes—only maybe without the same dismay. More surprise, bemusement, than dismay.

“You already know each other?” Tom eyed them uncertainly—maybe because of their obvious shock and the fact that neither was smiling.

“We met earlier today, in St. Mark’s Square,” came Annabel’s quick reply. “By accident.”

“We knew each other back in Australia,” Simon said deliberately. “Only we lost touch. She’s living in London now.”

Annabel tensed, willing him not to say more. He didn’t…for the time being, at least.

“Well…old friends. That’s great.” Tom, sensing some tension, didn’t push it. “This is my wife Tessa,” he said, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Simon, summoning his familiar lopsided smile for the first time—a smile that twisted Annabel’s heart, making her wonder if he’d ever again smile like that for her—skirted the table to shake Tessa’s hand. “And this must be…your new baby,” he said when he saw the baby beside her.

Annabel held her breath. Had Simon recognized the baby from this afternoon? Fast asleep and bundled up in different blankets, with only her tiny face visible, would he be able to tell?

“Our baby daughter Gracie,” Tom said proudly from behind. “Take a seat, Simon. Here, between the two ladies.”

As the men settled into their places, Annabel gulped in some much needed breaths of air. Was Simon wondering where her baby was? And where her so-called lover was? Any minute now, she expected him to ask if her baby’s father would be joining them—or if he was remaining upstairs to babysit while she was down here socializing! Husbands and wives often did cooperate that way. Wistfully, she recalled the evenings when she’d had a legal function or dinner meeting to attend and Simon had babysat Lily. Or the evenings when she’d minded Lily while he was operating throughout the night. Busy as they’d both been, mutual give-and-take had made their marriage work.

A marriage without a lasting, solid base…as time had shown.

Oh, this was a nightmare! How was she going to survive dinner, making polite conversation with an estranged husband who thought she was tied up with another man and already had a new baby? An unplanned baby…

History repeating itself, he must be thinking, and hating her for it. But then, he hated her already. In their last painful weeks together, even on the few occasions they’d had sex, there’d been no comforting words of love, no whispers of forgiveness or understanding, none of the old intimacy they’d once shared. Not since he’d lost his precious Lily. Her precious Lily, too…

“Well, this is amazing,” Tom said, rather too jovially. “Fancy all of us meeting up here in Venice, after all this time! Simon and I studied medicine together, you know. We were at Melbourne Uni together, and haven’t seen each other since. We both have lots to catch up on. But first, tell us about yourself, Annabel. What brings you to Venice?”

The last thing she wanted was for the focus to be on her. Luckily, the arrival of a drink waiter gave her a moment’s reprieve, a chance to put her chaotic thoughts in some sort of order. As they ordered drinks, she could feel Simon’s eyes boring into her face, sense him waiting for her answer.

“Okay, Annabel,” said Tom, after they’d raised their glasses and sipped dutifully. “You have the floor.”

She managed a smile, urging herself to keep her answer light and brief. “I’ve had time off work with pneumonia,” she said. “I’m better now, but my law firm refused to let me come back until I took a short break away from London. The weather’s been really foul there lately.” She shrugged. “That’s about it. The minute I heard it was sunny and warm in Venice, I headed here.”

Maybe she’d been searching for something more than just sun and warmth. Redemption, maybe. Peace. Hoping that the memories of her first visit to Venice, when she and Simon had met and had such a blissful time together, might have given some balm to her soul, reminding her that they’d been happy together…once. She needed some happy memories…not only of their carefree romance in Venice, but happy memories of their daughter, too…memories of the short, beautiful time they’d had her. Memories to cherish.

So much for finding peace or salvation in sunny Venice! Simon’s unexpected arrival and the hostile confrontation that had followed had shattered any soothing calm she might have found here. Stung by his bitter attack on her, she’d let him believe his ready assumption that she’d found another man…that she’d had another man’s baby, for heaven’s sake. As if they didn’t have enough real issues to deal with!

“You didn’t bring your baby with you, Annabel?” Simon asked her, his gaze pinning hers so that she could catch the ominous glint in his eye.

Her heart dipped. He wanted to confront her now, in front of Tessa and Tom? He’d be asking her about her phantom lover next! If they’d been alone, she might have been tempted to string out the elaborate fiction a bit longer, as a self-protective mechanism, but with witnesses here, she knew she would have to come clean.

“Baby?” Tessa looked at her in confusion.

Annabel sighed, resigned to the inevitable, but needing to take another quick breath before answering. She didn’t want to talk about babies, fictitious or otherwise. It might lead to painful revelations about her own lost baby. Our baby, she corrected herself, sliding another veiled glance at Simon. He wouldn’t say anything about their daughter if she didn’t.

“The baby you saw me with this afternoon was Tessa’s.” Her voice caught a little, as it always did when she had to say the word baby. “I was minding Gracie while Tessa did some shopping.” She waved a hand in the direction of the sleeping baby in the capsule on the floor. “Didn’t you recognize her?” she asked, trying to make light of it, even managing a teasing note.

She was relieved when Simon’s gaze swiveled round, away from her. “Babies look different when they’re hidden in blankets, fast asleep,” was all he said. If he felt any anger at her subterfuge, or any triumph at her forced confession—or any relief—he wasn’t showing it, his tone coolly impassive.

She drew in another fractured breath. At least he hadn’t said, All babies look alike. But then Simon wouldn’t. Not after having a baby daughter of his own. Losing a much loved baby of his own. Emotion welled up inside her, and she grabbed at the menu like a life-line.

Even with her nose buried in the menu, she could feel Simon’s probing gaze on her. Finally, risking a glance up, ready to defy any condemnation she saw in his eyes, she was surprised to see a glimmer of concern in the piercing blue, when he had good reason to be gloating at catching her out. She felt a shivery tremor run through her.

“Well, what are we going to have to eat?” Tom asked cheerily, and the awkward moment passed.

Over their meal, Tom kept the conversational ball rolling with tales of knee operations and amputated legs, and how he’d met Tessa while she was working as a physiotherapist and how he’d proposed to her within weeks. By the time their dessert arrived, the wine had loosened Tom’s tongue enough for him to risk getting personal again and quizzing Simon about his life.

“Enough about us…tell us about your brilliant career, Simon. I don’t doubt it has been brilliant. You were always so determined to be the best in your field one day. You must be a top neurosurgeon by now.”

“Actually, I gave up neurosurgery eighteen months ago,” came the cool response. As Annabel’s head snapped back in shock, Simon, in the same impassive tone, explained. “I damaged my hand and couldn’t operate. I worked as a neurologist while I was having treatment, then took a year off to sail around the world.”

The room spun. Annabel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Simon, the dedicated, hardworking neurosurgeon, unable to operate? Being forced to give up neurosurgery? Her heart went out to him. It was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. He’d devoted his life to it.

She’d once asked him why he’d decided on neurosurgery, wondering what had motivated such a demanding choice of career. Knowing little about him at the time, she’d assumed it must have been the money, or the prestige, or even a secret passion for fancy cars and the good life. But his answer, when it eventually came, had shown he hadn’t done it for himself at all.

“My mother died of a brain tumor. The doctors couldn’t save her, even though it was operable.” He’d shown no emotion, no anger, no resentment, clearly well-practiced at hiding his feelings. “We couldn’t afford the best neurosurgeon…we had to make do with the specialist chosen for us. He was…inexperienced and inadequate. I swore the day my mother died that I was going to study medicine when I finished school, then specialize in neurosurgery and become the top brain surgeon in the country. It was too late for my mother,” he’d added heavily, “but hopefully I could help others with a similar need for the best skills and care.”

And he’d succeeded brilliantly, despite the fact that he’d had to do it entirely on his own. His father had walked out on his family when Simon was only seven, and he’d had no brothers or sisters or other family support. He’d never given her a reason for his father leaving home, always withdrawing and closing up when she asked about that obviously painful time in his life.

Simon had always found it hard to open up, even to her, she mused with a tug of regret. He’d kept his emotions and past hurts locked away somewhere deep inside him. Even when Lily died, at a time when she’d most needed his support, and he’d most needed hers, he’d shut himself off from her. She’d known he was silently condemning her for what had happened to Lily, for letting the accident happen—just as she’d blamed herself, and still did. He’d thrown himself even deeper into his demanding surgical work, the one thing left that meant something to him. That meant everything.

And now, apparently, he’d lost that, too

She ran sympathetic eyes over his right hand as it curled round his wine glass, then over his other hand resting on the table—the hands she’d once longed to feel on her body—noting the long, sensitive surgeon’s fingers that had healed so many. Both hands looked fine to her. As they must be by now if he’d been able to sail around the world for the past year.

Sail! She’d never known Simon to sail a boat before.

She had so much she wanted to ask him! But she could sense him retreating again, could read the signs she’d come to know so well. And perhaps it was just as well. She didn’t want to ask him personal questions in front of Tom and Tessa, two people she barely knew. Yet she did want to ask him…sometime. Which meant she would have to see him again.

But would he want to see her?

“So…what have you all seen of Venice so far?” Leaning back in his chair, Simon deftly changed the subject, shifting the focus away from himself. As he’d been doing from the day she’d first met him, she thought wistfully, seldom opening up fully, never telling her more than he thought she needed to know. Or more than he wanted her to know.

She had a feeling there was something in his past— long before she’d met him—that was secretly tormenting him, and she suspected it might have something to do with his father, who’d walked out on his family when Simon was barely seven years old. She remembered asking him once if he’d ever tried to seek out his father, a man he hadn’t seen or heard of in all the years since, and his answer had been harsh and unequivocal. “No, and I never will. My father is dead as far as I’m concerned.”

Simon, when badly hurt by something, or somebody, could be a closed, hard, unforgiving man, she’d concluded sadly when he’d shut her out as well after Lily died.

Tom and Tessa, sensing Simon’s reluctance to talk about his changed circumstances and loath to probe any deeper, leapt at the chance to talk about Venice’s many attractions. Soon they were all talking at once, swapping notes and suggesting places the others simply must see.

The magic of Venice had come to the rescue. Just as Simon, diving into the Grand Canal like a wildly romantic, heroic Italian Romeo, had come to her rescue once, Annabel mused, a pensive smile curving her lips.

Simon saw Annabel’s smile and wondered if she was thinking back, too, remembering the day they’d first met, when she’d fallen overboard and he’d jumped into the Grand Canal to save her, sweeping her into his arms and pulling her out of the water…a flowing-haired, dripping water-nymph with the most wondrous green eyes he’d ever seen.

A touch of cynicism quirked his lip. It was more likely she was wondering why he was here now and how she could avoid seeing any more of him. She’d already tried her best to get rid of him by letting him believe she’d had another man’s child. Thank God, it hadn’t been true. If he hadn’t reacted so violently to seeing her with a strange baby, hadn’t hurled those bitter accusations at her, maybe she would have told him the truth from the start.

Now that they’d both had time to cool down a bit and at least had that complication out of the way, he’d be wise to curb his impatience and give her time to adjust to having him back in her life. Or if not in her life, at least to seeing more of him.

He had to stop her turning away from him again, running off again without even making an effort to resolve what had gone wrong between them. If it meant avoiding any rash confrontations or sore points for the time being and just enjoying each other again, the way they’d managed to do four years ago, he’d damned well do his best to curb his impatience. Gaining her trust again, her confidence, was top priority and he mustn’t rush things and risk wrecking everything.

And regaining her love? Would that be possible as well? Or was it too late for that?

He recalled the shocked concern in her eyes when he’d announced that he’d injured his hand and given up neurosurgery. It gave him a flare of hope. Maybe she still felt something for him. She’d always encouraged him in his career, as he’d supported hers. The thought that she could feel some concern for him now, after what his so-called surgical skills had done to their lives, to their precious daughter, was like a glimmer of sunlight through dark clouds.

And what about her brilliant legal career? He hoped her recent illness hadn’t jeopardized her chances of a partnership, after she’d worked so hard to reach her cherished goal, assuming she hadn’t achieved it already. She’d given away nothing about her current status at work over dinner, and he hadn’t wanted to ask in front of Tom and Tessa. He needed to be alone with her, to find out everything she’d been doing in the past two years.

When she was ready… He’d be mad to put any pressure on her. She’d already run away from him once…he didn’t want to lose her again.

At a thin cry from the baby in the capsule, Tessa pushed back her chair. “I think Gracie’s ready for a change of nappy…and maybe another feed. Would you mind if I called it a night? Tom, you stay and have coffee…”

But Tom was already on his feet. “I’ll come with you. I’ve some notes to look at before tomorrow…”

“Time I went, too,” Annabel said at once, rising swiftly to her feet as a rush of nervous tension gripped her. Despite all the questions she longed to ask Simon, particularly about his injured hand and his disrupted career, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him just yet. Especially not late in the evening, in romantic, moonlit Venice…

Tomorrow, perhaps…in more calming daylight…if he wanted to see more of her.

She saw a dark eyebrow rise ever so slightly as Simon stood up, too, but other than that he showed no reaction, no trace of the disappointment she’d expected—or perhaps had hoped—to see. It threw her a bit, making her conscious of a contrary sense of pique. If he pressed her to stay, or even invited her to join him for an evening stroll along the Riva, she wasn’t sure she would have the willpower to resist.

“Have you been back to the Basilica yet?” he asked her, and she paused, her heart picking up a beat. Was he remembering the vow they’d made four years ago?

“I’ve only seen it from the outside. I was thinking of going there in the morning before the queue grows too long.” She spoke carelessly, glancing away to hide any hint of an invitation in her eyes. He’d hurt her badly in the last weeks of their marriage and she wasn’t going to easily fall back into his arms, if that was what he was hoping. Her heart couldn’t bear any more hurt.

“I had the same idea,” he said in a similar offhand tone, with no sign of a suggestive glint in his eye as she flicked her gaze back to his. At one time, there would have been a distinct roguish twinkle evident. She wondered pensively if he’d lost it forever.

“If you’ve no objection to some company,” he was quick to add. “I’ll get there well before the doors open at nine-thirty and hold a spot for you at the front of the queue. That’ll give you a chance to sleep in a bit and not rush your breakfast.”

He’d always been considerate that way, she remembered with a bittersweet pang. At least, until the tragedy of Lily’s death had changed him, turning him into a closed, distant stranger.

“Let’s just play it by ear,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Is your hotel far from here?” she asked, expecting him to head for the lobby, while she took the lift up to her room.

The firm, well-shaped lips she’d always found so irresistible—and still did, she realized with a tremor— eased into the familiar curved smile she’d thought lost forever, at least to her. Seeing it again gave her spirits a lift. “Actually, I’m staying here,” he said. “Fourth floor. We can ride up in the lift together.”

She almost missed her step. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Staying here? On the floor above hers? Maybe his room, his bed, were directly over hers. How would she ever be able to sleep, knowing he was so close to her, just a few floorboards separating them?

“After you,” he said, his voice sounding dangerously seductive all of a sudden.

As she stepped into the empty lift ahead of him, she realized that his room on the fourth floor was the least of her worries. The walls of the tiny lift seemed to close in on her as he followed her in, standing far too close, filling the small space with his tall, potent presence, surrounding her with his familiar male scent, the heady warmth of his breath.

Inwardly, she felt herself gasping for air, clutching for normality and reason. They were only sharing a lift, for heaven’s sake.

Maybe it was her heightened imagination, but it seemed to take an age to reach the first floor, another age to reach the second, and finally, with her heart thumping so loudly by then she was sure he must hear it, the lift doors swung open.

“Good night, Simon!” Her voice was a ragged gasp as she lurched out without looking back.

So much for acting cool! She’d failed dismally, and now he’d know she wasn’t indifferent to him. He’d been indifferent to her for so long, withholding the love and warmth he’d once shown for her, that she should be guarding her heart a whole lot better than this.

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