“Perhaps. I really don’t know.” Liar. But something in his gut told him that the less anyone knew about this whole ordeal, including her, the better. She might be trustworthy, but he didn’t know for sure. Jogging her memory might be like opening Pandora’s box, unleashing a situation he couldn’t handle right now. He’d let her stay the night, then tomorrow morning he’d figure out his next move.
“God, I wish I could remember.”
“Mmm.” Luca cut some more slices of cheese and added them to the platter from earlier. Not because they needed more cheese or more food, but to give him something to do during this conversation.
“I’ve tried to remember, but...”
“It’s normal.” Luca pushed the platter closer to the woman. “To have a lapse in memory. It will return. Sometimes the more you try to concentrate, the harder it is. You need to rest. Tomorrow you will remember and be able to go back to your old life.”
“You speak as if from experience.”
Luca broke a piece of cheese and ate it, considering his answer. “I have had a concussion before.”
“How did you get yours?”
“I—” Luca paused, only for a second “—have ridden motorbikes since I was eight years old. I have had a few accidents.” The last of which ended his career. A ninety percent recovery wasn’t enough when it was your gear foot.
“Don’t you wear a helmet?”
“Of course. Helmets have saved my life. But you can still get a concussion with a helmet.”
She tilted her head as she gazed at him. Her brows drew together as if a thought—or a memory—had just come to her.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
Jasmine plucked a piece of cheese from the plate. She had nice hands, her fingers slim and delicate, her nails painted a neutral color.
“I remember flying to Paris. This was supposed to be—” She glanced up. “A girl’s trip with my best friend, but she’s expecting a baby—unexpectedly—and...”
Luca waited silently for Jasmine to continue.
“Anyway, I decided to come by myself.”
“Sometimes traveling alone is the best way.” Luca had enjoyed a few trips to Greece on his own. Just to get away from...everything.
Jasmine took a sip of water. And then another. She had one more before finishing. “Anyway, I drank a lot on the flight. And...” She massaged her neck. “I may have drunk a lot in the twenty-four hours before that.” She glanced his way. “Not sure I ate a whole lot during that time.” She rolled her shoulders and sighed. “I also haven’t slept very much. So it’s possible my head injury was simply a result of me passing out from exhaustion, hunger or the world’s worst hangover. Likely a combination of all three.”
“It is possible,” he said slowly. “But by the look of the bruise, it was probably more than that.” What was wrong with him? Why didn’t he simply agree with her, put her to bed and get rid of her in the morning?
Jasmine shrugged. “Maybe. Which would explain my missing bag. And shoes.” Her frown deepened. “Shit. What am I going to do?”
“You will have to go to the embassy. Apply for an emergency passport.”
“How can I do that when I don’t have any identification?”
“What about in your hotel room? Is there anything there? A copy of your passport? Other ID?”
The woman narrowed her eyes as she thought and then slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe. But...” She laughed awkwardly. “I don’t even know where my hotel is.”
Luca stood. This conversation wasn’t helping. “You said you didn’t sleep much.”
She nodded.
“You should get some rest. Sleep is important.”
“Let me help clean up, first.”
“Non, merci.” He indicated the hall. “There is a new toothbrush in the drawer in the bathroom. Please.”
“Okay.” Jasmine stood and Luca could see that her balance was off because she grabbed the countertop. After a pause and a couple of breaths she made her way down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door this time.
Damn.
No, not damn. What was he thinking?
When he heard the door open a few minutes later, Luca called, “Jasmine?”
“Yes?”
“I will be waking you up throughout the night. To check on you. Please, don’t be alarmed.”
I WILL BE waking you up...to check on you.
There was nothing sexual about that comment. Absolutely nothing. In fact, it was the opposite of sexual; it was merely a statement made by a man who had been forced to take care of a strange American woman he’d found passed out on the street.
So why did she feel turned on?
She stood in the bedroom doorway, staring at the kitchen. Luca stopped working at the sink to glance down the hall, and even from a distance, Jasmine was immobilized by his gaze. After an indeterminate amount of time, he looked away and the spell was broken. Jasmine hurried into the bedroom, pulled the covers back and crawled between the sheets. The cotton was cool and welcoming to her overheated body. The bed was soft, and for the first time in days, Jasmine relaxed.
Even the throbbing pain in her temple had mellowed to a dull ache.
She turned her head and breathed in. The subtle fragrance of Luca’s aftershave clung to his pillow. Spicy. Masculine. Delicious. Lying on her side, she stole the other pillow and hugged it, burrowing her nose into the faint scent. God. What would it be like to have sex with him? To feel the scruff of his unshaven jaw against her sensitive skin? His hands—those strong hands—touching her body? Exploring. Squeezing. Penetrating.
His mouth—oh, yes, she’d sneaked glances at his mouth during dinner. Full lips. Expressive. The kind of lips that were made for kissing.
French kissing.
And maybe more.
Weren’t French men known for enjoying kissing a woman...everywhere?
Jasmine rubbed her knees together.
She’d never experienced that.
Apart from some serious groping in high school with a shy cowboy, Parker had been her first and only. He had wooed her with romantic dinners and expensive gifts. He’d complimented her all the time, but with words, never touch. When he’d told her he wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, Jasmine had put her foot down and nixed that idea. She’d read an article in one of Parker’s men’s magazines about the importance of being compatible in bed and had even shared it with him.
The following night they’d had wine with dinner—lots and lots of wine, now that she thought about it—and that had been their first time. Her first time, period, so she hadn’t had anything to compare it to.
Well, except her imagination.
But she’d been too uncertain to ask for what she wanted, at first, and later Parker had been so busy with work they could never find the time. And he was so generous about everything else, she didn’t want to pressure him.
But doubts had crept in and she’d started to wonder if she was somehow inadequate.
She rolled onto her back, the pillow lying