I'd like to take this opportunity to erase the oversight I made posting the first chapter: A huge thanks to my beta reader, Lady Black Malfoy! Girl you rock! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone!

Chapter 2

It was early; he could tell by the dim light filtering into the room that the sun hadn't fully risen yet. He ran a hand through his hair and realized that instead of the intense shooting pain he'd previously experienced, the sensation had subsided to a throbbing, burning ache. He then ran his hand along his jaw and the stubble scratched against his skin. 'Need to shave.' He thought to himself.

He sat up gingerly, surprised that he felt much better. Throwing back the covers he swung both legs over the edge of the bed. He stood slowly, and was overcome with a wave of dizziness as his body adjusted to the action. He reached out, and steadied himself with a hand against the wall. The sensation passed and he looked around the room, noting the bathroom door was open.

He made his way to the door and stepped inside. The muted hues of cream, tan and chocolate covered the space, it was not what he would have expected from a single woman.

The granite tile under his feet was cold as he made his way to the sink. He looked into the mirror and the face that stared back at him was as unfamiliar as his surroundings. "Who are you?" he asked the man staring back at him.

"You're up."

He heard Kyra's voice behind him and met her eyes in the mirror. "Yeah, I feel a lot better."

"I'm glad to hear that. Do you think you'd be okay on your own for a couple of hours? I need to go into town and get some supplies. We need food and you need clothes. I'm afraid the ones you were wearing are ruined." As much as she was enjoying the sight of him standing in her bathroom, in nothing but his underwear, he couldn't run around like that all the time.

"Yeah, I think I can handle that. I'd like to shower and shave. A toothbrush wouldn't hurt if you have an extra one."

"A shower might be a bit ambitious, but you can take a bath." She entered the room, coming to a stop behind him. Then she reached around him and opened the mirrored cabinet door. "Fresh razor and toothbrush," she said reaching for the items as her arm brushed against his shoulder.

Neal felt the now familiar arc of electricity he experienced every time she touched him, and closed his eyes, swallowing the groan that rumbled in his throat. Now wasn't the time to explore the physical attraction he felt toward the pretty redhead.

She stepped back, clearing her throat. "I'll start you some water." She went over to the tub and sat on the edge, reaching for the taps. "I have a robe you can borrow until I can get you some clothes," she said not looking at him.

"Thanks Kyra," he murmured as he watched her.

"Let me get you the robe."

He watched her go, then with a sigh he turned back to his reflection. His eyes went to the small neat stitches on his chest. "Nice work," he said to himself.

"Here you go." She hung the white terry robe on a peg. "The towels and washcloths are in the cabinet there." She indicated a slim carved cabinet between the sink and the tub. "Shampoo and soap on the shelf in the tub. I'll make us some breakfast while you get cleaned up. Do you want to try and eat at the table?"

"That would be great, thank you Kyra...for everything," he said sincerely.

Her eyes searched his face before she nodded. "What else could I do?"

A lot of things, he knew. She could have called the cops, an ambulance...or simply turned away from him. But she hadn't done any of those things. She'd taken him in and taken care of him, and for that he'd be eternally grateful.

He shed the boxers and stepped into the warm water, sinking gratefully into the deep tub. He closed his eyes and let the hot water ease the aches and tension from his muscles.

Kyra bustled around the kitchen, making a mental list of the things she needed to get in town. She knew that the American woman, as the locals called her, buying men's clothes and necessities would cause talk, but there was no help for it. She didn't have time to hire a car and drive to a neighboring town; she didn't want to leave Neal alone that long.

Neal leaned in the doorway watching Kyra, his hair wet and tousled, and face freshly shaven. He wore nothing but the white robe, and he couldn't help but wonder why she had done all she had for him.

"Is that coffee I smell?" he asked, making his presence known.

She looked up and swallowed hard at the picture he made. She wished she had her camera handy. "Yes, would you like some?"

"More than anything at this moment," he answered, moving into the wide open space that housed not only the kitchen, but the dining area and the living room also. He looked around at the tastefully decorated area, his eyes coming to rest on a painting opposite the small dining table. "Monet."

She finished pouring the coffee. "Sit Neal. Yes, Monet is my favorite. It's only a reproduction. You'll find several reproductions around here. I love art."

He pulled out one of the chairs and sat as she placed the cup in front of him. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No, this is fine. Something else smells great too."

She smiled. "Fresh brioche. We have fruit too. Grapes and peaches," she said as she went back to the counter to cut the bread into slices. She filled two small plates with bread and fruit before going back to the table, she sat one in front of Neal before taking her own seat.

"You look like you are feeling better," she said, sipping her coffee. She noted the bruises on his face had faded so that they were hardly noticeable. Most of the abrasions and scrapes had healed, and only a couple of the deeper cuts remained visible on the handsome features.

"I do feel better. The pain is much better, and I can actually use this arm," he said, demonstrating by picking up a piece of the bread with his right hand.

She watched as he bit into it and smiled. "Delicious."

"Thanks. So, the shops don't open till nine," she said, picking up the pen on the table. "I'll leave after breakfast and walk down to the village. I should be back by eleven." She started transferring her mental list to the paper. "I need to get some idea of what sizes you wear. I can't say that I've ever bought clothes for a man before, except for the occasional tie for my father," she told him as she wrote.

The desired information rolled off his tongue before he even realized it, leaving her looking at him in stunned silence. He shrugged- it surprised him as much as it did her. She jotted the information at the bottom of the list and returned to her meal.

"Maybe it's a good sign. Your memory will probably return in stages. If it was going to be a flood, it would most likely have already happened," she told him.

"And you know this how?" he asked.

"I'm a nurse, or I was. My father was a doctor," she explained.

"Wow, lucky me."

She laughed. "Yeah."

"So, where are you from Kyra?"

"New York. Manhattan to be exact."

"So what brought you to Italy?"

"My dad died..." she trailed off as she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

Neal reached out and covered her hand with his own. "I'm sorry Kyra."

She was surprised by the comfort she felt at his touch. She looked up at him and he could see the tears in her eyes. "He wanted me to explore myself, to find out what I really wanted to do with my life...I hated being a nurse and he knew it."

"Have you figured it out?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd try art but..."

"But what?"

"I'm horrible at it," she said with a soft chuckle. "Definitely not my talent."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," he said, and pulled his hand away from hers. They both felt the disconnection acutely.

She stood and took the empty plates to the sink. She refilled his coffee. "I should get going. It's a three mile walk to the village. Make yourself at home here Neal."

"Be careful Kyra," he said quietly, and watched her walk to the door. He sat staring at it long after it had closed behind her.

Finally he pushed himself to his feet, going to pour another cup of coffee before wandering around the house. He studied the paintings on the walls, noting reproductions by several famous artists. He wondered exactly how he knew exactly what the titles were as well as who the artist was. It just came to him, with no effort. He also noted a couple of sculptures that sat in the living room that were familiar. Then he walked to the bookshelves that flanked the open fireplace and perused the titles, again wondering why it was that many of them were familiar to him. He pulled a slim volume down and settled on the couch with it.

The familiarity washed over him as he read Poe's words.

Once in town Kyra went about her tasks as quickly as she could. By the time she was finished, she wished she had hired the car after all. She trudged home, weighted down by the bags.

Entering the villa she sat the bags down immediately inside the door and looked around. Spying Neal lying on the couch she smiled, his eyes were closed and a book lay open across his chest. She walked over and pulled the blanket she had used the night before to cover him before going to unload the groceries.

Once that task was accomplished, she decided to run the new clothing through the washer and dryer. On her way to the laundry room she picked up a few of her own things that needed to be laundered.

Kyra was standing in the laundry room folding the t-shirts she had purchased for Neal when she heard him moving around. "Back here Neal!" she called, to let him know that she was back.

He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the door jam as he watched her.

"I just got you casual clothes- t-shirts, jeans. There are couple of button down's over there." She indicated the spot where she'd hung the shirts and jeans. "I'll clear out a drawer for the rest as soon as I finish this."

"Let me help you." He moved to stand next to her and reached for a shirt.

They finished the task and carried the clothes to her room. He sat on the bed after hanging the clothes up in the closet and watched as she pulled things out of one of the drawers in the dresser. He caught sight of bits of lace and satin and groaned inwardly as she pushed her under things into another drawer.

"Really Kyra, I can't thank you enough for everything you are doing for me."

She turned and reached for the socks and underwear next to her. "It's not that big of a deal, really. Any decent human being would do the same."

"Not everyone is that decent," he muttered.

She finished putting the clothes away and stood. "I suppose that is true enough. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll go make us some lunch."

He nodded and waited until she exited the room, closing the door softly behind her. Standing he untied the robe and let it fall onto the bed as he stretched. His chest and shoulder were still extremely sore but he definitely felt better. He walked over to the dresser and pulled out clothes, then to the closet for a pair of jeans and a shirt.

She busied herself in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for a salad and preparing meat and cheese for sandwiches.

When Neal appeared, it was all she could do not to stare at him. He'd pulled on a white t-shirt and a pair of jeans, not bothering with shoes or socks. The dark slate blue shirt hung open and accentuated his impossibly blue eyes to perfection.

"Can I help?" he asked moving into the kitchen.

"Make coffee?" she suggested. "The rest is almost done."

They finished the tasks in silence and were soon seated at the table ready to eat. "I see you were reading Poe," she observed as she picked up her sandwich.

"Yeah, it was odd."

"Not everyone gets Edgar Allan," she said laughing.

"It's not that. As I read it I knew that I had read it before. No memory of when or where, but the words were so familiar I just knew that it was something I'd encountered before. It's been an ongoing theme for me this morning."

Kyra cocked her head. "How so?"

"I wandered around the house after you left and I can tell you that you have reproductions of paintings by Monet, Rembrandt and Renoir. There is another Monet in your bedroom as well as a replica of Rodin's The Kiss." He paused, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I can't tell you how I know- I just do." He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I can tell you the who and what of every reproduction you have here."

She reached across the table, her hand covering his. "It will come back to you," she reassured him.