Andrew shifted the picnic basket to his other hand and pointed. His knapsack, bulging with a blanket and two towels, traveled up his back with the movement.
"There," he said, indicating a white-plastered, low-ceilinged building in the distance.
"What is it?"
"A villa. A hotel at the top of the season. This time of year—" He shrugged, "—it should be deserted."
Deserted. Stacia's steps faltered. Where she would be alone with a man she probably shouldn't trust, a man she was starting to care about.
"You've been here before?" She hoped her question would cover the sudden thumping of her heart.
"Once," he said, his voice distant. His eyes, when she ventured another look, seemed to be focused inward to some other time.
Slowly, she moved toward the villa, not asking any more questions.
The closer they got, the larger the building loomed. It turned out not to be a single building at all, but separate structures attached by covered walkways. In the morning sun, the red tile roofs were bright against the white walls, the blue sea visible through the walkways.
Andrew stopped all of a sudden and Stacia stopped, too, entranced by the villa's charm. Unexpectedly, he took her hand. It felt good, as though hand in hand was the only way they could enter such a magical place.
"This way," Andrew said.
Stacia followed him beneath a late blooming orange tree. The tangy bouquet of its blossoms tickled her nose and followed her into the passageway, where it lingered around her as they walked.
It was cool beneath the red tile roof. A relief after the heat. Even so, her breathing had become irregular and shallow, and some emotion of Andrew's had transmitted itself to her. Perhaps it was the way he held himself so stiffly that made her apprehensive, for she suddenly longed to stay where they were, safe in the cool darkness, out of the light.
Incomprehensibly, Andrew moved faster, pulling her along with him. As swiftly as they had entered the passage, they were suddenly out again. Stacia blinked as the glare bombarded her eyes before settling into shape and form.
The villa was not one level as she had thought, but rather three. Large shady rooms were sunk deep into the cliff face high above the sea, like the mountain top aeries of eagles. A single balcony stretched the length of each level, its marble floor showing up blue-veined against the darker rock of the cliff. A railing of wood and plaster rose chest high, tall enough to lean and dream against.
Flowers, as profuse in quantity as they were in variety, grew up from red clay pots, well placed to catch whatever rainwater fell. Flowering vines twined up the posts of the balcony and along the lattice-work at the top.
Stacia let go of Andrew's hand, felt the loss of the connection the moment she had done so. She walked swiftly to the railing, praying the hair falling around her face would cover her confusion. The railing's plaster was cool against her arms, welcomingly, blissfully, cool.
The levels below were identical to the one they were on; all cunningly cut into the cliff side, all fronted by a flower-filled balcony, and all joined one to the other by a twisting marble staircase.
But it was the sea that drew Stacia's eye, stretching before her in shimmering variations of aquamarine, turquoise and green, the color changing with the water's depth and the way the sun struck its surface.
"Beautiful," Andrew said, his hands appearing next to hers on the railing.
Taking in a deep breath, Stacia faced him. A smile spread slowly across his lips and she went weak at the knees.
He gazed at her for one endless, breathless moment, until such a pressure build within, she felt she might explode from its exquisite agony. Then his gaze shifted and moved beyond, seemed to encompass everything at once; the balconies, the sea, even the rocks below.
"Seems smaller," he murmured.
"Smaller?" Stacia asked. "What is?"
"Everything." Again he bathed her with his smile.
"When were you last here?" She knew she had to ask, but was unable to halt the constriction of her heart.
"When I was five." His lips drooped ruefully at the corners. "That explains it, I suppose."
She forced herself to smile back, forced herself to relax. "Everything seems enormous when you're little," she agreed.
Grandmother Roberts' house had seemed cavernous and terrifying. It wasn't until she was older that the building shrunk to a normal size.
"Were you here with your mother's family?" Stacia asked.
Andrew's eyes softened. "No. There was just my mother, father and brother."
This was the moment she'd both anticipated and dreaded. The moment he told her who he was and what he wanted. She glanced wildly around, first at the sea then at the flowers, hoping somehow their normality would keep her worst fear at bay—that he was after the will.
People killed for money.
Sweat beaded her forehead and rolled down her temples, the world seeming suddenly filled with silence, a particularly loud and terrifying silence. She could no longer hear the drone of the honey bees hovering over the scarlet petals of the hibiscus. The lap of the waves onto the rocks below became muted. The only sound penetrating her consciousness was the thump of her own heart battering against her chest.
"It was fabulous," Andrew added, when finally, inevitably, his eyes focused on hers. He swallowed hard. "The last good time we had together." The animation in his face disappeared, leaving his features flat.
Stacia knew all about last times. Before her mother died.... With a shudder, Stacia jerked herself free of memories. This wasn't about her mother, or her father, either. This was about Andrew, an unexpectedly vulnerable Andrew, of whom she still knew virtually nothing. "I—"
He turned to her again, cutting off her words and the sympathy she knew must be in her eyes. His smile blazed down upon her, burning her with its heat.
"It was a very good time." He reached out and touched a chalky-blue flower on a trailing vine. His hand seemed enormous, the flower incredibly fragile, but his touch was so gentle the petal fluttered back into place. "A magical time." His eyes were bluer than she'd seen them before, so blue the flower looked white by comparison.
He brought his fingers to her cheek and rested them against her skin. Every nerve-ending in her body was centered on his touch. Vaguely, she was aware of a butterfly fluttering overhead and one settling on the flower next to her hand, but a fairy sprinkling magic powder couldn't have torn her attention from the man at her side.
His eyes told her that she was magic, too.
"I'm glad to be back—" He cupped her chin in his hand, "—this time with you."
He was going to kiss her again. She could see it in his eyes, and in the tension of the muscles along his jaw. If he kissed her now, she would kiss him back, for he had warmed her heart and brought her soul to life. The possibility he was the enemy seemed meaningless compared to that.
But that was her heart speaking.
Her only salvation lay in listening to her head.
She drew back a fraction of an inch, and mustered all the strength she possessed not to raise her lips to his.
His eyes clouded over and he, too, pulled away. "I almost forgot—"
His words were all but lost in the buzzing in her head.
"—friends. Fellow tourists." A pulse throbbed at the base of his neck, and his hand dropped to his side. "Probably better that way." He took her hand again, held it impersonally this time.
Perversely, the pain that caused was more terrible than fear.
He stared down at her fingers with a wrinkled brow, as though he didn't know to whom her hand belonged. Then he glanced along the balcony and his frown deepened.
"There used to be a trail down to the sea." His gaze returned to hers. "Shall we go?" he challenged.
Chapter 7
Stacia tried to pretend she felt nothing. She moved carefully as she followed Andrew through a narrow archway and out onto the stone steps leading to the rocks below. She didn't want to fall, didn't
want there to be a reason for Andrew to hold her in his arms again.
A huge boulder stood at the foot of the steps, a monolith standing guard to the paradise beyond. With a faint smile, Andrew edged around the rock to the right and led her along with him.
The path was little more than a goat trail. Stacia held tightly to Andrew's hand and pressed her free hand against the rock, gripping its smooth surface as best she could.
Once around the corner, Andrew halted so abruptly she almost trod on his heels. She stood on her tiptoes and peered over his shoulder.
A boulder lay ahead, as large as a small patio and perfectly flat. The sea lapped at its edges on two sides, occasionally throwing up spurts of water which dried the instant the liquid touched the surface of the warm rock. The large boulders formed a rock wall on the other two sides, sheltering the flat area from the wind.
It was as if this private place had been put there for their pleasure alone.
She glanced suspiciously at Andrew, but from the expression on his face, he was as surprised as she. She turned quickly away again, before the dangerous warmth flooding her body showed in her eyes as well.
"Magic," Andrew asserted. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled her back around. "Now do you believe in it?"
"Yes," she whispered. Staring into his eyes she could believe in anything.
He leaned forward, and this time his lips, warm from the sunshine and salty like the sea, brushed against hers. Her own lips parted, her defenses melting.
"Friends?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers, the word he spoke a mockery given the desire rampaging through her.
"Friends," she agreed, all but choking on the word. She didn't dare tell him it wasn't enough. She didn't dare tell him anything at all. He drew away again, leaving her tingling, but alone.
How could he so easily turn away, take the blanket from his knapsack and lay it on the rock? How could he kiss her as he had and not want more? She rubbed her hand down her arm to prevent herself from reaching out to him. How could they be friends?
"Let's swim," Andrew suggested. He dropped the picnic basket in a shady crevice beneath an outcrop of rock, then unpacked the bottle of wine and laid it in a cool pool of water captured between two rocks.
"Yes," she agreed. Perspiration trickled uncomfortably between her breasts. She needed to cool down.
The sea, an incredible indigo in the high noon sun, was so clear Stacia could see the bottom. It appeared shallow, but given the size of the rocks lining the shore and clearly visible both above and below the water, it must be well over her head.
Andrew suddenly stripped off his shirt, exposing his muscular chest. But when he tugged down the zipper on his shorts and revealed a tight black swim suit underneath, Stacia flushed and turned away.
With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned her blouse and slipped out of it. She felt vulnerable and exposed in her bathing suit, not the experienced traveler she'd had visions of becoming.
When she glanced back toward the villa, she was astounded to discover she couldn't see it at all. The boulder marking the entrance to the flat rock blocked her view, and at the same time guarded them from the sight of any onlooker above.
They were truly alone.
Stacia's pulse raced.
She slipped out of her shorts, conscious that Andrew, who stood on the edge of the rock ready to dive into the sheltered cove, was watching her as closely as she had him. He held out his hand.
"Coming?" he asked. His eyes reflected the light bouncing off the water.
With a nod, she took hold of his hand.
They dove together, plunging deep, then deeper yet into the welcoming silky coolness of the Mediterranean. It wasn't until Stacia's fingertips met the fine sand on the sea's floor, that Andrew's kick thrust them back toward the surface. She moved her feet slowly, convinced she could stay below the surface for hours if only she tried, suddenly wanting to do just that.
It was so peaceful down there, so silent. No pressure to think, to decide, or even to feel. With her eyes shut against the sting of the salt water, no weakness could invade her body with one glance from Andrew's deep blue eyes, and no pangs could pierce her heart when he spoke.
With a splutter, she broke the surface of the sea, her lungs ready to burst from lack of air. Andrew pulled her to him, his eyes filled with concern.
"I'm fine," she choked out, but with his hands around her waist, she felt anything but fine.
Beads of water dropped from his hair to his face and shoulders, each drop a prism in the overhead sun. They blinded and confused her.
Her legs drifted between his and she kicked her feet furiously, perversely coming up hard against him instead. One touch of his body told her he had reacted to her nearness as much as she had to his. Cool water might separate them, but the distance between them closed to nothing.
The length of his body stretched along hers, his torso lean and muscular and his hips taut. He caressed her back, fanning heat to flame.
Stacia gazed into his eyes and as suddenly as the wind dies after a storm, she no longer wanted to escape. Gripped by desire, she raised her lips to his.
He tasted of the sea and sunshine and exhilarating male. She met the hunger of his mouth with a rush of passion, wanting more than his lips and the touch of his hands. She twined her arms around his neck and pulled him nearer, choking as the sun-warmed water closed over them both.
With a powerful kick, Andrew propelled them back to the surface. With a gasp, she shook the water from her eyes.
"Kissing you can be dangerous," Andrew murmured hoarsely.
Breathless, she pushed him away again.
"Just friends?" he asked. His eyes told her how crazy he thought that particular pretense was. She stroked toward the flat rock. If she was to resist the lure of his eyes and body, she had to keep moving.
"Lunch," she said, in a voice as firm as possible, thinking that if she spoke more she might break the spell.
He caught up to her and swept past, found the footholds in the rocks before she did and pulled himself out. He turned and offered his hand, but she got out herself, trying not to look in his direction.
She raised her face to the sun instead, and prayed its brilliance would hide the flush heating her cheeks.
A warm, fluffy towel dropped over her shoulders.
"I hate to cover you up," Andrew said, "but you mustn't catch cold." He ran his hands down her arms.
His touch drew fire, making her understand it wasn't the cold causing her to tremble, but the heat that flowed from his body to hers.
"Lunch," she repeated, the word more an entreaty than a suggestion.
"Soon," he said, stepping in front of her, his eyes darkening to the color of the sea at midnight. "Later," he amended. He stared at her hungrily, as though she stood before him naked.
She knew she should protest, should insist they stop tantalizing each other with what could never be, but the words wouldn't come.
He slowly leaned toward her, so slowly a drop of water rolled down his temple and was caught in the blue-black shadow of his chin. As though she were a puppet in the hands of a master, she met his lips with hers.
His kiss stole her breath.
He explored her mouth, softly, at first, then with increasing urgency. She held herself stiffly, knowing if she reached for him, she would be lost.
She shut her eyes. Surely nothing that felt this wonderful could be wrong. Then slowly, dazedly, she opened them again, and slid toward passion on the wings of enchantment.
His eyelashes brushed her cheek as he nuzzled his way to her hairline. Something within exploded that was too powerful to ignore and too wonderful to wish away.
The distance between them closed and the hairs on her arms rose as though reaching for him.
He pulled her closer, stroking her back in a long caressing sweep. Her skin on fire, her body melted against his harder edges. His fingers slid beneath the edge of the towel and unhooked her bikini top.
Uncountable nerve-endings blasted their message to her head and heart. From both the response was immediate. She wanted him, needed him, no matter who he was or what he was. She wanted to lie with him here under the Mediterranean sun and feel his hands on her breasts and along her body, wanted danger, and excitement, and an end to all safety.
She moaned and the sound seemed to intensify Andrew's passion. He pulled her bikini straps away from her shoulders and slid them down her arms. Then catching her to him, his hands cradled her bottom. Her nipples hardened, then squashed flat against his chest. His pelvis thrust against hers, filling her with fire.
His lips traveled across her temple to the pulse below her ear, trailing a line of heat. He gently nibbled her ear lobe, the soft pain stoking her desire. She arched against him, wanting him closer, needing him to be a part of her.
With a groan, he rained kisses down her neck to the base of her throat. At the swelling of her breasts, he lifted his head and stared deep into her eyes. He seemed to be giving her the final choice, seemed to demand she meet his lovemaking with desire of her own.
With a smile she kissed the line of his jaw, giving him her answer with her lips.
He cupped her breasts with his hands and pressed them to his mouth, stroking her inflamed and hardened nipples with his tongue. Then he swept her into his arms and deposited her gently on the sun warmed blanket. He lowered himself beside her, his body blocking the sun. But the heat blazing through her did not diminish. It came from him and from her, from both of them together, a furnace of fiery flesh and desire.
Her breath, when it came, erupted in short gasps. She was not even certain she was breathing at all. Andrew breathed for her, his mouth covering her lips as his length did her body, pinning her to the ground. But she was a willing prisoner, one whose only punishment would be his departure.
He placed one hand beneath her head, cradling and protecting her from the ground. The rock on which she lay should have been hard, but its hollow contoured her curves, provided the most natural of mattresses.
Andrew lingeringly explored her body from her breasts to her belly then moved to the scrap of cloth lying wetly between them. He eased her bikini bottoms over her hips, then down her legs and off.
Lovers Never Lie Page 8