by Diana Duncan
Her breathing sped up. Was he using seduction to befuddle her? He was willing to walk into a dicey situation unarmed, but in the battle between the sexes, he was loaded with lethal weaponry.
She thrust the staff at him. “You need this more. I’m hiding in the bushes. You’re about to confront unknown people with unknown motives.”
He shook his head. “I can handle myself.”
“You testosterone jockeys are all alike.” She barely resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “You think you’re invincible.”
A glossy brow arched again. “Better to live one day as a lion than a hundred as a sheep.”
“Nobody thinks sheep’s heads are trophies.”
“I plan on keeping my head firmly attached.” His amazing grin flashed. “Besides, I have incentive to return, yes?”
What did that mean?
Between that thought and the next, he slipped away. Ariana peered through foliage, saw nothing. The big guy moved with the silent grace of smoke.
Her nerves jittered. Who would he face inside the house?
Though her limbs ached from abuse and exhaustion, she was too anxious to sit. Her ears strained for sounds of conflict, but only picked up the sea’s distant rumble and the wind scratching at the bay leaves.
Ariana slid her chilled arms inside Dante’s coat and hugged the leather garment around her. In ancient Greek, bay laurel was called daphne, after the nymph Daphne, whose mother turned her into a laurel bush to escape Apollo’s brash advances. Apollo then developed the habit of wearing bay twigs in memory of his missing love.
For Ariana, the laurel’s fresh, earthy scent was a poignant reminder of Dante. She’d never again smell it without thinking of him. She peeked out, searched for him. Saw only sullen gray clouds and wild, windswept landscape.
Alone in this primitive land, it was easy to believe ancient legends might have been true. That gods and goddesses had trod the craggy terrain, searching for truth, redemption and love—the same intangible treasure sought by centuries of mortals.
She took another nervous survey of the area, then fished her iPod from her pants pocket and checked the clock. The glowering sky made it seem much later than one in the afternoon. She would give Dante thirty more minutes.
Then the lamb was going in after the lion.
She fidgeted. What if Dante had walked into a trap? What if there had been a fight, and he’d lost? What if he were beaten, tied and helpless?
She swallowed panic. What if he were dead?
Ariana could not deny the fact that while she didn’t fully trust him, or understand his motives, she cared about his welfare. A difficult dichotomy to reconcile. One that couldn’t fit neatly into a database or be explained by any reference book. Her crazy, disparate feelings couldn’t be alphabetized or cataloged. She was adrift, and floundering so far out of her comfort zone, she was in another universe.
How much time had crept past? As she reached for her pocket again, a large hand gripped the back of her neck. Yelping, she spun, swung the staff.
Dante caught it in midair. “Attenti. It’s me.”
She pressed her palm over her racing heart. “I hope you know CPR.”
A slow smile curved his full lips. “I am proficient in mouth-to-mouth.”
No doubt. Her worried gaze spun from his thick tousled hair to the toes of his large boots. He didn’t appear to have additional injuries, and she whooshed out a breath. “Cute. Too bad innuendoes don’t cure heart failure.” She lowered the staff. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What about the house?”
“I have, as you say, good news and bad news.”
“Why am I not surprised? I could really use some good news about now.”
“The house is unoccupied.”
“Okay.” She heaved a relieved sigh. “And the bad?”
“The island appears to be deserted.”
She started. They’d been abandoned? Great, other than scaly or furry critters, they had no enemies to battle. And not-so-great. How would they survive? Who would rescue them? She gulped. And what was she going to do stranded alone on an island with Dante? “How can you tell?”
“The top of the bluff affords a panoramic view. I saw nothing but woods and sea.” He bent to retrieve the ax he’d dropped to block her blow with the staff.
Uneasiness assailed her. Did he expect to run into trouble? “If there’s nobody here, what’s the ax for?”
He shrugged. “Insurance.”
“At least we’ll have shelter while we plan our next move.”
“Even better, there is food.” He offered her his hand along with a roguish wink. “I’m certain I spied a jar of olives in the pantry.”
Ariana considered the enigmatic man for a span of heartbeats, then placed her hand in his. “I prefer them in martinis.”
His huge hand enveloped her smaller one in strength and warmth while they walked up the trail. All right. She would give the charismatic Napoletano her hand, her cooperation, even an odd, bewildering friendship forged by extreme circumstances. But she would guard her secrets, protect her heart.
She would not allow him her trust.
With that issue settled, some of her tension drained, making her shoulders sag. Stress and exhaustion had taken a toll.
They trudged around the final bend. She was prepared for a haunted house, but instead saw a small stone cottage. The lone dwelling was adorned with sturdy wooden shutters and a front door painted the cerulean blue indigenous to Greece. Surrounded by cypress trees, native foliage and banks of scarlet and orange chrysanthemums, the house exuded an aura of rustic charm. She glanced at Dante. “Sure it’s empty?”
“It appears to have been vacated for some time.”
Grapevines entwined a wooden portico and spread an emerald canopy over the door. Fragrant burgundy grapes dangled from the branches. Her stomach growled at the fruity scent, and she twisted off a handful. She paused and smiled at Dante. “Know anything about the evils of wild grapes?”
He returned her smile as he rotated the iron knob and swung open the front door. “Unlike olives, the perils of grapes become apparent only after they are fermented.”
Chuckling, she held them up. “Here. You have to be as starved as I am.”
“I am used to doing without. I will eat after we are settled and safe.”
She eyed his tall frame. He didn’t look malnourished. Perhaps he meant in the past. The thought of him lacking food as a child weighed heavily as she stepped across the threshold and leaned the staff against the doorjamb.
Dante strode to a huge flagstone fireplace in the far wall and set down the ax. While he squatted to stack kindling and logs, she devoured grapes and glanced around.
The interior was cold and dim, with arched doorways, flagstone floors and rough-hewn ceiling beams. Dark wood trim contrasted rough, whitewashed plaster walls. The furniture was an eclectic mix of antiques, including an authentic gramophone. The rustic paintings and plastic-draped furniture cushions reflected a warm combination of dark blues, golds and reds. “Do you suppose this is a rural vacation cottage?”
“Perhaps.”
“If we can’t get off the island, maybe all we have to do is survive until the owner shows up.”
“Vacation season is over. It could be next summer before anyone ‘shows up.’” He frowned. “Megaera purposely stranded us here. Rescue is unlikely. We must find our own way off.” He started to say more, but a log shifted and he turned back to the fireplace.
Her gaze traveled across the room. A rectangular table with four chairs separated the sitting area from a small kitchen. With a squeak of delight, Ariana rushed to the sink and pulled the handle. Crystal water gushed out of the faucet, and she thrust her hands beneath the chilly stream. “Indoor plumbing!”
“There is a well. You will be happy to hear that I also discovered a propane water tank, which I lit earlier. And the kitchen range operates on propane.”
She rummaged in a cabinet for drinking glasses and rinsed two. S
he gulped two full glasses, then filled the other tumbler and carried it to Dante. “A hot bath? I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Grazie.” He drained his glass and handed it to her.
“Do you want another?”
“Not at the moment.”
She had to admire his self-discipline. She set the glasses on a table next to a walnut sofa bench. To the left of the fireplace, an open arched doorway revealed a bedroom. A second doorway was square with a closed door. “That’s the bathroom?”
“Sì.” He struck a match from the box on the hearth and held it beneath the kindling. A plume of smoke furled upward and yellow flames crackled.
She headed toward the door. “You checked it out?”
He nodded. “It is clear of inhabitants.”
She lurched to a halt. “Would you please inspect it for spiders?”
Dante gave her a crooked grin as he rose. “My courageous signorina who took on two hired killers and a deadly Levant viper armed with only an oar is afraid of bugs?”
“Counting Heckle and Jeckle, I’ve tangled with my quota of hairy creeps this week.”
“The war is far from over, cara.” One corner of his mouth curved in a rueful smile. “And to my detriment, I would lay odds on your victory.” Leaving her to ponder another obscure statement, he strode into the bathroom.
She frowned. He was the most puzzling, fascinating man.
Before long, he returned. “You may bathe without companions. Hairy or otherwise.”
“Terrific. Did you happen to see any clothes around?”
“No, but I noticed towels in the washroom cupboard.” He indicated an empty iron box on the hearth. “While you are bathing, I’ll get more wood.”
The bathroom sported the same rustic whitewash and dark wood, and patterned tiles in jeweled colors. She cranked open the faucets in the deep, claw-foot bathtub. Megaera didn’t seem like the roughing-it type, and if she stayed at the cottage, she’d have basic supplies. While the tub filled, Ariana opened the cupboard beside the sink, happy to find bath towels and travel sizes of soap and shampoo.
She peeled away her sandy, salt-stiffened clothes and undergarments. No way was she putting the disgusting things back on until they were washed. A search of the single bedroom had turned up one set of sheets and two cotton blankets. Autumn nights were chilly, and she didn’t want to drag around the only bed linens. Towels would have to do.
Rhythmic thumps from outside made her stand on tiptoe to peek out the high window. Dante was in the courtyard behind the cottage. Stripped to the waist, he was chopping wood. He turned to select a log from the pile, and bronzed muscles rippled in his back. He swiveled forward and positioned the log on a chopping block. Long legs spread wide, he raised the ax with corded arms. His biceps flexed, then he swung the blade and sliced the log in half with one powerful blow.
Perspiration glistened on his sculpted torso, and a droplet of sweat meandered through the dark hair on his wide chest. It trickled over his hard abs and shimmered down the fine trail of hair that delineated his flat stomach before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
He selected another log, and every cell in her body ignited as he repeated the primal male dance. Her belly tightened and she clutched her towel. How could she possibly be attracted to such a dangerous man?
Dante leaned his ax against the block and picked up a glass of water. Tipping back his head, he gulped. Liquid spilled down the strong column of his throat, and he rubbed it into his tawny skin.
Ariana moaned. How could she not?
Behind her, bathwater cascaded over the tub and splashed onto the floor. She dropped the towel and sprinted to shut off the faucet and pull the plug to drain the overflow.
Tingling everywhere as though Dante had touched her, she stepped into the steamy pool and leaned back, immersing herself to the neck in languorous heat. She sighed with longing and closed her eyes. Rhythmic thuds from outside inspired sensual visions of shirtless Dante, hard and hot and handsome. He would need the tub next.
And she would love to join him.
DANTE PICKED UP THE AX and then glanced at the cottage. Ariana was inside, bathing. Naked. Warm. Wet. Her feminine curves creamy with fragrant lather. He pictured himself stepping into the tub with her and pulling her into his lap. Running his hands over her soap-slicked skin, cupping her full breasts in his palms.
His body hardened. Swearing, he viciously halved a log. That runaway train was on a crash course to damnation and ruin.
He’d let greed swallow his honor once…and ended up in jail. Where he’d discovered what was truly important. Integrity. Dedication. Freedom—physical and emotional. Over the years, he’d learned to make do, go without.
To live with all kinds of hunger.
He cleaved another log. He’d seen what had happened to his cohorts who surrendered to the glittering lure of temptation. Some were in prison. Many were dead.
He refused to cross that line.
Dante shut down his feelings, channeled energy into chopping. He stopped only when his exhausted muscles protested. He swiped a forearm across his sweaty brow and barked out a wry laugh. He’d whacked enough wood to heat the cottage for half the winter.
“Dante?”
His gaze jerked up to see Ariana standing at the back door, flushed and damp, with only a towel wrapped around her lush figure. His body tightened, killing his mirth. That she’d managed to sneak up on him unaware was one more rusty nail hammered into his coffin. “What?” he growled. “Is there a gnat in the kitchen?”
Her eyes widened, then she planted her hands on her hips, disturbing him with the possibility of towel slippage. “Don’t bite my head off. I thought you might like to know the bathroom is free.”
She spun and stomped into the cottage, leaving him with the enticing image of a waterfall of chestnut hair tumbling over her bare shoulders and the curve of damp towel cupping her bottom. Need slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball.
Gripping the ax handle so hard his knuckles hurt, he ruthlessly squelched desire. He had to find a way to escape the island long before the firewood ran out. They barely had enough food to survive a week.
Dante kicked a log from his path and stalked toward the house. And his resistance to temptation was in even shorter supply.
CHAPTER SIX
HOT AND ITCHY, and not just from physical exertion, Dante strode inside and thrust the ax into Ariana’s hands. “Here.”
She gaped at him. “You want me to chop wood while you bathe?”
He snorted. “We have enough to last months. The ax is for self-defense.”
“If you say so.” Her startled glance assessed his set face, glided over his sweaty bare chest and then shot south, where the troops were at full attention. She gulped. “Um…defense against whom?”
“I believe the island is deserted, but am not one hundred percent certain. I won’t take chances with your safety.”
“I’m not sure I could…” She looked at the blade and grimaced.
He spoke with the ominous conviction of experience. “You’d be amazed what you can do when the need arises.”
“True.” Her delicate chestnut brows tilted. “I never imagined I could set foot on a cruise ship. Or that I possessed the courage to challenge two thugs and a poisonous reptile.”
Her passionate nature had also supercharged his imagination. Dante rolled his tight shoulders. He knew better. “You have done an exceptional job. Your courage is admirable.”
Delight lit her eyes. “Thanks. You’re not lacking in the bravado department yourself.”
Dante inclined his head at the door, disconcertingly pleased. He was normally immune to what others thought of him. In his line of work, he had to be. “I have improvised a barricade bar. However, if anyone breaks through, strike first.”
“I’ll try my best.” She gingerly set the ax down and leaned the handle against the wall. “But I’m not exactly proficient with sharp implements.”
&n
bsp; He grinned. “With that reassuring knowledge, I will sleep more soundly tonight.”
“Don’t get any ideas. A girl can always change her mind.”
He already had ideas. And seeing her rosy from her bath, knowing she was naked beneath the towel inspired more. All bad.
He stacked wood beside the fireplace, attempting to ignore the way her sapphire gaze lingered on his torso when she thought he wasn’t looking.
As he headed for his bath, Ariana walked into the stone pantry off the kitchen. “Toss your clothes outside the door,” she called. “I’ll scrub them in the kitchen sink when I do mine.”
“I’ve been doing my own laundry since I could reach the washtub.”
“You chopped the wood.” She sounded miffed. “It makes sense to divvy up the chores.”
Inside the washroom, Dante stripped off his filthy garments, then piled them outside the door. Letting Ariana tend to his clothes felt uncomfortably intimate. He was accustomed to taking care of himself. Trusted only himself. Attachments led to weakness. The sharks he swam with tracked the scent of weakness like blood in the water. To exploit. To destroy. He was self-sufficient not only by nature, but circumstance. His survival depended on it.
He rummaged through the cupboard. Not that he had a choice. His work was hell on relationships. He’d never dated anyone who wanted to invest in a man who was out of contact for indefinite lengths of time, often had to leave without notice, and was constantly a single wrong word away from being killed.
On the rare occasions when he was able to disclose the truth about what he did for a living, women ran out on him faster than a felon eluding bail. He got lonely at times, especially since he had no family. But he’d never met a woman worth giving up everything for.
Dante hardly recognized himself in the mirror. His shaggy hair could use a trim, and his face was a mess of cuts and bruises, his mustache and beard encrusted with sand and blood. Megaera’s hired thugs had expressed dismay over the yacht explosion. They hadn’t caused it, which left one possibility. The Camorra had discovered that Dante hadn’t fulfilled his promise to murder Ariana.