The Prince's Secret Bride. Raye Morgan

been sitting. Marisa’s Flowers it said, along with an address and telephone number.

      Marisa’s Flowers. He turned slowly and watched as she walked ahead of him out of the café, and that feeling in the pit of his stomach got sicker.

      CHAPTER TWO

      MARISA.

      It wasn’t her name but it felt like a near fit. Close enough—for now. Her real name was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but every time she thought she had it, it slipped away again. But it would come. She had no doubt about that. She’d hit her head pretty hard and it had knocked her silly for a moment. Give her a little time and a bit of rest and it would all come back. If only she could find her suitcase….

      She glanced at the man walking beside her. He was near thirty, large and hard and there was something just a little bit dangerous about him. There was something appealing, too, despite his icy demeanor. But she needed to be careful. She’d been wrong about men before. Hadn’t she? She couldn’t think exactly how, but she knew it was true. She wasn’t thinking too clearly right now but she did know one thing: men were nothing but trouble. She’d best get away from this one as soon as possible.

      “Thanks for the late-night snack,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I’m sure you’ve got places to go and people to meet, so I’ll just say goodbye here.”

      She stuck out her hand. He took it but not for the handshake she’d expected.

      “Where are you going?” he said, looking down at her, his hand warm on hers.

      She tugged, but he wasn’t letting go. Looking up, she winced—partly at how tall he was, but mostly for the look of resolve in his silver-blue eyes. The man wasn’t going to go gently into the dark and foggy night, was he?

      She hesitated. What she really wanted to do was get back to looking for her suitcase. She needed that bag with an urgency she wasn’t really clear on—but she needed it badly. She wanted to comb both sides of the river until it turned up. But something told her he wasn’t going to go for that.

      “I know where I’m going,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got…uh…someplace to stay.”

      He cocked one dark eyebrow, and it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen a man do. She gaped at him, astonished at her own reaction. He was masculine magic—a gangster right out of a thirties film, a movie star dining at the Copa in the forties, a military commander from the fifties, a rock star from the sixties, Italian royalty from any decade at all. He had the presence common to all those icons, a sort of magnificent sense of command that took her breath away.

      And he didn’t believe a word she’d said, making her shiver with the sort of expectant chill she only got from a really good thriller.

      “Fine,” he was saying as she was pulling herself back down to earth. “I’ll go with you to make sure you get to your destination without any more bridge diversions.”

      She felt that under ordinary circumstances, she would have talked back and insisted on going her own way, but she was still getting over the shock his insolent eyebrow had given her, so she nodded and began to make her way along the riverfront sidewalk, her companion beside her, and not an idea in her head as to where she would go.

      She had to make up her mind soon. They couldn’t just wander around the city. She bit her lip and tried to think of some way to get into a doorway that would pass muster as her final objective.

      Meanwhile, they walked.

      It was late and the streets were deserted, but there was a man in the block ahead, leaning against the wall of a building, playing his guitar. As they got closer, she could see that he was standing near the entrance to a sort of nightclub. Music and laughter floated out, but the man was playing to his own muse, standing under a light. He wore dark glasses and there was a cup on the ground near his feet. Maybe he was blind.

      Maybe. But she shivered. Something about him…

      Maybe it was just the night. As her mother used to say, nothing good happens out there after midnight.

      Her mother? She tried to grab hold of that concept, tried to see a face, but it slipped away before she could focus. A feeling of loss filled her, but she tamped it down. Never mind, she would think of it soon enough.

      Turning to her companion as they reached the crosswalk, she put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go this way,” she said, nodding down a direction that would avoid the guitar player. “I think this is quicker.”

      He came along without comment and in a moment or two, she was breathing evenly again. Funny. She didn’t know why, but the man playing his guitar on the previous block had reminded her of something…something she didn’t want to remember.

      Which shouldn’t be a surprise, she supposed wryly. After all, she wasn’t remembering much. Was this going to be a long-term problem? Possibly. But right now it was mostly annoying. And her mind was full of so many things, she didn’t have time to worry about it.

      The first order of business was to get rid of this man so she could go back and find her suitcase. Something told her that was the key to getting herself back to normal. As they came to another corner, she stopped and smiled at him quickly.

      “There it is,” she said, gesturing down the block. “I can handle the rest of this on my own,” she added breezily. “Thanks again.”

      She turned to hurry off, but his hand stopped that, his long fingers curling around her upper arm.

      “Marisa,” he said, a smile teasing the corners of his wide mouth as he looked down into her wide eyes, “this is Embassy Row.”

      She turned and looked. Sure enough, the street was lined with stately mansions, and even in the dark, she could see the placards identifying the countries.

      “So?” she said, trying to remain nonchalant. “I…I’m staying with the Hungarians for now.” She looked up to see if he was buying it.

      He laughed shortly. “Liar,” he said calmly. “The Hungarian embassy has been closed down for years and they haven’t sent a new delegation yet.” He shrugged. “Want to try again?”

      She glared at him. He was becoming insufferable.

      “Look, I don’t want to argue about this. I appreciate your concern, but you have no hold over me.” Very deliberately, she peeled away his fingers, making a graphic statement to back up her words. “And I’d like to be on my own.”

      “You can’t be.”

      She wrinkled her nose, frowning up at him. “What are you talking about?”

      That wonderful eyebrow rose again. “You’re carrying a baby with you, no matter what you do,” he said flatly. “And that means you need to take a little extra care, don’t you think?”

      Looking down, she bit her lip. He was right. She could see the slight bulge of her tummy. She was pregnant! It startled her every time she remembered. How had this happened?

      Well, she supposed it was in the usual way. Still, you’d think she would remember something like that. At least, she should remember the man involved.

      She wished her mind would clear. She was so confused. She knew it would be crazy to go with this man she didn’t even know. Of course, in some ways it was even crazier to go roaming the streets when she didn’t know where to go or what to ask for. What was she going to do, sleep under a bridge or in a doorway like a homeless person?

      But that seemed to be what she was right now. Until she figured out who she was and where she was going, she was homeless.

      “I’ll be honest with you, Marisa,” he went on. “You’re a grown woman. If you want to wander the streets of this city at all hours, ordinarily you could be my guest. But right now, things are different. You’ve got to think about that baby you’re carrying.”

      She blinked at