Full Exposure

by Diana Duncan

“Lucky for her, Eros escaped. He found his wife unconscious in the forest and woke her with a forgiving kiss. He went over Aphrodite’s head to the gods on Mount Olympus. The star-crossed lovers’ devotion touched them, and Zeus summoned Aphrodite and put his foot down. Eros had proved his love for Psyche, and Psyche had proved her dedication, patience and obedience.

  “There was only one solution. Psyche was brought to Olympus and Zeus offered her the cup of immortality. She drank the ambrosial nectar and was transformed into the goddess of fidelity. Eros swept Psyche into his arms, and the lovers were united, heart and soul, for all eternity.”

  Ariana finished her tale and went silent. After a few moments, her soft, warm cheek rested on Dante’s chest.

  He listened as her breathing grew deep and even. The night closed around him, and the tenderness tugging at his heart turned to sharp claws of terror.

  Like Eros, he’d been sent on a covert mission to bring down a woman…and found himself confronted by a dilemma he’d never expected. Assaulted by feelings he didn’t dare investigate.

  During Ariana’s captivity, her lovely face had creased with concentration as she had listened to her iPod and scribbled in her notebook. She wasn’t merely writing stories. He’d tried to confiscate both items, but she’d thwarted him.

  He frowned. Did she still have them, or had they been lost during the explosion? Ariana murmured and snuggled closer. The fact that she’d lowered her shields and fallen asleep in his lap did something strange to his insides.

  Where there is no trust, there can be no love.

  The cold, hard truth. His stomach knotted. Deception was his job. He lied and stole and strove to earn people’s trust…so he could betray them. He was damn good at it.

  One way or another, he would obtain the information he needed. He glanced down at Ariana and his throat constricted.

  How much of his soul would it cost him to use that information against the woman sleeping trustfully in his arms?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DANTE ENDURED THE NIGHT in a restless vigil that enabled him to leap to awareness. His eyelids slitted open as an anemic sunrise crawled above the horizon.

  Gunmetal clouds glowered overhead. Wind-lashed waves reflected a leaden sky. A vile mood gnawed at his temper, and his body ached with pain…and arousal.

  In contrast to the foul elements, the sweet morsel sleeping in his lap was warm and soft and tantalizing. And off-limits.

  He scowled. It was going to be a terrific day.

  He’d been livid when Ariana’s meddling at the dig site had caused his boss to yank him out of the smuggling ring to protect her. He’d lost eighteen months of planning and groundwork. Lost his position inside the Camorra.

  Dante clenched his jaw. He’d used the resentment to sustain distance between them. But after six weeks babysitting Ariana, he’d lost his perspective. Last night when she was vulnerable, he should have targeted the opportunity to interrogate her again. Instead, he’d encouraged her to indulge in fairy tales.

  He’d lost his damn mind.

  He shifted away from the boulder digging into his spine, and Ariana stirred. Her long lashes fluttered up, and he fell into her deep, blue gaze. He hadn’t been afraid when the Greek was holding him underwater, but now fear uncoiled inside him.

  He was in over his head.

  Drowning.

  Ariana’s wary glance assessed him. She’d have to be oblivious not to notice his reaction. Signorina Bennett had plenty of smarts.

  “Hi.” Her husky contralto sounded sleepy. “I don’t think this is exactly what the cruise line intended when they offered me a job with travel and excitement.”

  He surfaced, clinging to a life preserver of irritation. Liking her would only make double-crossing her more painful. He fought the urge to smile, managed a frown. “If we’re going to survive, we cannot loll around all day.”

  “Drat, there goes my plan to stake out a beach blanket and sip lemonade.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you always Prince Charming in the mornings?”

  “There’s a reason the story you related last night is called a myth. Devoted princes, love eternal and happily ever after don’t exist.”

  “But every woman pines for a high-maintenance guy who demands she sacrifice herself.” Ariana snorted. “I don’t know why Psyche thought a man was worth that much trouble, or pain.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And Eros was foolish to sacrifice his duty and honor.”

  “Well, now that we’ve solved the imaginary problems of mythical beings, we can concentrate on escape.” She sat up, and he didn’t miss her wince of pain. “Priority one—where’s the ladies’ room?”

  Like him, she was cut and bruised and must be hungry, thirsty and sore. Some women would complain, or cry. He couldn’t help but admire her fortitude and determination. “Twelve meters down, second boulder on the left.”

  “See?” The sensual brush of her silky limbs ignited a fire in his belly. “You can smile without cracking your face. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Obviously, Ariana had chosen to ignore his blatant arousal. Hard didn’t begin to cover it.

  “Dante, would you mind indulging me again?”

  His pulse leaped, and his intent gaze held hers captive. Mia cara, I would indulge you as many times as you could handle…and more.

  Her pupils dilated and her breath hitched in a small sound that made his heart stumble. “Um…please close your eyes so I can dress?”

  Dante ground his back teeth in frustration. “Believe me, bella, you do not possess anything I have not seen before.”

  “No doubt, but I’m not in the habit of providing a free peep show. And there aren’t enough euros in the western hemisphere.” She waved. “Now close those big brown eyes.”

  Cold reality chilled his ardor. She was right.

  Involvement with her could cost him everything.

  He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to pay her price. Both of them would pay dearly—with their lives—if he botched it.

  He hadn’t survived years in a cutthroat occupation by being gullible enough to shut his eyes or turn his back on anyone. But he ducked his head when she slid off his lap—as much for himself as for her.

  He finished dressing first and shot a glance sideways. Though she blocked the furtive movements, he watched her unearth a plastic-wrapped parcel from beneath a rock and cram it in her hip pocket. She still had her secrets.

  And so did he.

  Dante averted his gaze as she rose and stepped toward him. “I’m ready.” He pivoted, and she gingerly rubbed her back. “Camping on the beach sounds so romantic in stories. I don’t know about you, but sleeping on sand redefines abrasion. When I get back, we can explore.”

  As he watched her slowly meander down the beach, a lightning bolt of desire seared him and he swore. Ariana was either remarkably naive, or the most cunning opponent he’d ever crossed blades with. And he’d parried with plenty of players.

  Either way, he was in trouble.

  He had to stay alert. Censor every word and action, so he didn’t end up speared on his own rapier.

  Then again, perhaps that was his destiny.

  But he’d prefer not to die today. Dante stalked in the opposite direction to complete morning necessities, and then strode to the foamy surf. He stepped over the abandoned oar and crouched to wash his hands. Hoping to invigorate his brain, he splashed his face with cold seawater.

  “Dante!” Ariana yelled.

  Adrenaline rocketed through his system. He snatched the oar and surged to his feet. Heart pounding, he spun, ready for battle.

  Stumbling toward him, she pointed at the bluff. “Look!”

  Dante tilted his head. At the top of the mountain, weak sunlight flickered on glass. The energy pumping through him ratcheted up a notch. “There appears to be a house at the crest of the bluff.” Set back from the hillside, the cottage was a speck in the craggy landscape.

  She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go!”

&n
bsp; “Un momento.” Dante shocked Ariana by towing her up the rocky shoals and into the lee of the cliff.

  Her temper ignited and she rounded on him. “What is your problem?”

  “You are my problem.” Dante glowered at her. “Like it or not, you are mine to protect. And I will do what I must to keep you alive.”

  Ariana inhaled a slow breath. He meant well. Dante had saved her life…several times. And taken several beatings. “I appreciate that. But I asked you to stop yanking me around like a sock puppet.”

  “I am not accustomed to decision by committee. In my world, hesitation is lethal.” Dante scrubbed a hand over his beard. “We were not left here at random. We don’t know who resides in that house. Who is watching us. Whether they will help us or try to kill us.”

  Her hopes plummeted. Absolutely right. She was in his territory, and he held the key to survival. “Valid point.” If Dante thought he felt odd making decisions by committee, he had no idea how off balance she felt at reacting with her emotions. The life-or-death events she’d faced the past few weeks, and especially the past few days, had outed a primitive facet of herself. A wildness that scared her, but once loosed wouldn’t be caged. “Now what?”

  Dante’s biceps flexed as he raised his knee and snapped the bottom off the oar. His swift, graceful demonstration of masculine power left her gaping. No one of her acquaintance could do anything as impressive.

  Dante handed her the staff and inclined his head at the twisted, vertical path scored into the bluff. “Now we climb.”

  The rugged goat track was barely wide enough for them to trudge side by side. Steely clouds crowded the sky, and as they left the beach, wind gusts buffeted them. He insisted she wear his coat, though two of her could fit inside. It smelled deliciously of supple leather…and Dante.

  She struggled to keep up his challenging pace. Dried scrub and rocks jutted from the terrain and gnarled cypress trees clung to the hillside. Her sore muscles protested every step, and the walking stick helped. During her years of asthma attacks, she had endured not feeling well, but even then, whining wasn’t in her nature. Dante had said she was his problem, and her pride refused to give him more reasons to resent her. She would not be a burden. She raised her chin and soldiered on.

  Talking would have deflected her misery as they toiled up the rocky incline, but Dante’s monosyllabic replies discouraged her numerous attempts at conversation. The only sounds were the surf’s rhythmic crash from below and squawking seagulls.

  A rabbit darted from the undergrowth. Ariana jumped and barely dodged a plant bristling with barbed spikes. Like the man beside her, the landscape was wild and dangerous—and if you didn’t understand how to navigate it—lethal.

  Ariana frowned. “It’s your fault that I’m your problem. I didn’t ask you to kidnap me.” Dante arched a silent brow, and her mind circled in the same frustrating pattern since she’d awoken in a strange house alone with him. Who was the cryptic Napoletano, and what did he want? He couldn’t be a cop. She’d witnessed the FBI’s ruthless tactics to solve a case, but law enforcement had no more interest in her. The police wouldn’t hold her hostage for weeks. And they would have sent backup after the yacht explosion.

  Was he a mobster? Maybe. If Dante had worked for the Camorra, they’d revoked his membership; the Greek had attributed the bomb that had nearly killed them to the mob.

  As they climbed higher, the briny smell of the sea blended with the pungent tang of evergreens. The theory that Dante had kidnapped her fit best, although he’d given no indication of a response to a ransom demand. Still, his overprotective streak could be motivated by reluctance to face murder charges should anything happen to her.

  But spending the night held on his lap had altered her outlook. If she was merchandise, why did he treat her so tenderly? Whenever she’d been afraid, he’d comforted her. He’d repeatedly put his body between her and harm.

  “Ransom isn’t forthcoming, I’ve made that clear. Wouldn’t it be easier and safer for you to return me?”

  He scowled.

  The grade steepened, and her breath sawed in her throat. To her left, the bluff dropped in a sharp precipice. In spite of her resolve, she began to lag. Each time she stumbled, he caught her. Every time she slipped, his palm settled on her back for support. But he continued to rebuff conversational overtures.

  A huge bird of prey startled from a treetop and soared over the Mediterranean. “Was that an eagle or a vulture?” He grunted. Whatever, it was still a big, scary hunter.

  “Who do you think is waiting for us at the summit?”

  He shrugged, and she sighed. She was chilled, exhausted and sore. Her body thrummed with pain. Even her hair follicles hurt. Sticky and grimy, she was forty-eight hours overdue for a shower, and she would wrestle a mountain lion bare-handed for a coffee and a Milky Way Midnight.

  An unpleasant thought struck her. “Dante? I remember reading that mountain lions are indigenous to parts of Greece.”

  “Sì. As are wolves, bears and wild boar.”

  She gulped. “Now you get chatty.”

  He slanted her an enigmatic look. “I don’t recall you being this relentlessly talkative in the mornings.”

  “I’m only doing it to torture you.” They’d spent over a month of mornings together. But he’d revealed more of himself during the past forty-eight hours than the previous forty days. His solicitousness didn’t match his gruff demeanor, and the dichotomy intrigued her. She pondered the puzzle as she forced one foot in front of the other. “Besides, the last several days have taught me a few things. I’m happy to be alive and ambulatory.”

  Perhaps their near brush with death had forced out attributes he normally concealed, as well.

  Sudden insight staggered Ariana, and Dante’s sure hand shot out to steady her. They had more in common than she’d dreamed possible. She wasn’t the only one who substituted anger for unsettling emotions. He also disguised his vulnerable, softer feelings, as she had done since her father died. And Dante spoke abruptly, but treated her in a solicitous way.

  Actions did not lie.

  Hurt over her father’s needless death had provoked anger in her. And the events of the past six weeks would have crushed a lesser woman. She’d had no one to depend on but herself, and had grown strong with the will to survive at all costs. Facing a string of life-threatening, frightening situations had infused her with resolve and courage she didn’t know she possessed. What was Dante’s reason for erecting a defensive wall?

  She normally avoided the strong, silent type. Way too conflicted. Then again, her relationship with Geoff had been open and easy. She’d thought it a positive sign that they’d never quarreled. The breeze snagged her hair and stirred up dust devils on the path. Chilled, she moved closer to Dante’s heat. Maybe the awareness that sparked between them wasn’t merely biology. Was it possible Dante was specifically attracted to her…and that upset him? She surreptitiously studied his imposing profile.

  What else was he masking beneath his impassive facade?

  She’d always been afraid of deep water, but now she longed to dive in. She yearned to know what made Dante tick on a primitive level she didn’t have the nerve to question. Or the strength to deny.

  Besides, she had nothing else to occupy her thoughts. Since the only thing that had drawn Dante out so far was humor, she tried a teasing tack. “So…Signor Testosterone, you’re obviously in tip-top shape. What do you do for exercise other than boss me around, catch bullets between your teeth and leap to conclusions?”

  His lips twitched, and then a reluctant grin curved his sensual mouth. “You are not about to give up, are you?” His smile changed his face. In a blink, he transformed from forbiddingly handsome to Roman sex god. Her pulse fluttered. A victorious thrill twined around her heart whenever she succeeded in coaxing Dante’s incredible smile. “I like all types of physical activity.” His smooth, deep voice was unaffected by exertion. “I enjoy challenging myself to peak performance.”

/>   I’ll bet. Her heartbeat sped from a jog to a gallop. “Um…anything special?”

  “Boxing, archery and football.”

  His big body rippled with muscles, his lightning reflexes possessed the grace of a predator. Boxing and archery explained his power and coordination. And if he played brutally competitive, grueling European soccer, no wonder he had stamina.

  She squelched wayward speculation about Dante’s stamina. Who did he compete with? “You must have been in heaven when Italy won the World Cup again. It’s at least the fourth time in a row, right?”

  “Sì,” he replied with a proud grin.

  “I do some bicycling.”

  “I have noticed you are…fit.” Dante arched a dark, glossy brow, and her stomach flipped. He surprised her by asking, “On or off-road?”

  “On. But I like touring and racing.”

  “Anch’io.”

  “Really?” His admission astonished her. He was hardly a typical cyclist. “What type of bike do you have?”

  His answer launched them into a discussion of brand names and pedal cycle configurations.

  Almost to the top, they trudged around a hairpin corner. Several trees stood sentinel over a clump of rocks surrounded by scraggly bushes. More fatigued with each upward step, she tossed her pride. She would crumple if she didn’t get a breather. “I’m exhausted. I could use a break.”

  “We’re nearly to the house.”

  “You might have the fortitude of a bull, but cut me some slack. This isn’t the Bataan Death March.”

  “It is a bad place for an ambush.” He glanced at her face, then warily around the small clearing. “Va bene. Five minutes.”

  She dropped next to a boulder. Dante sat opposite her, where he observed the track from both directions. Realization hit. His prolonged silences and seeming lack of attention during their uphill slog were because he was in guard-dog mode, watching and listening for danger.

  She set down the staff and stretched to relieve her stiffness. “These branches have ripe olives hanging on them!”

  “Probably why they are called olive trees,” he said wryly.