by Ann Major
Teresa was so beautiful and golden, so saintly. Had the child inherited his daredevil vitality and darkness from his father?
Were Nickie and Teresa the reason Nicholas hadn't wanted Eva up here? But if that were true, how could Teresa be so kind and accepting of her?
Maybe their affair was over and their only connection now was their child.
Eva remembered the wanton ecstasy of Nicholas's recent lovemaking, his fevered mouth against her skin, the torrid thrill racing through her veins at every lightest touch of his lips.
Teresa stood before her looking lovely and troubled. Still, even if Teresa no longer loved Nicholas, her presence was like a knife through Eva’s heart.
Eva stood there, staring at the other woman. “I…I’d better go.”
Before Teresa could say more, Eva thanked her and said a hasty goodbye and departed.
The sky was vivid violet and gold as Eva stumbled away from Nicholas’s house. The Mediterranean had been painted with the same brush, but Eva was no longer of a mood to appreciate the island’s savage beauty.
Maybe Nicholas hadn’t lied when he’d told her they couldn’t share a future.
*
Nicholas found Eva hiding among the bleached piles of boulders on the remote windward side of the island. Had she been huddled beneath the shade of a lone carob tree for hours? When he called her name, she didn't answer or look up.
Then he knelt beside her, and she jerked away. "Don't touch me.”
“What the hell’s wrong now?”
“That little boy…Nickie…is he your son?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
"Right.” Nicholas’s jaw clenched. “So he's got to be mine?" He unclenched his fingers. "And you were the one woman who would stand by me."
"What is Teresa's last name? And Nickie's?"
"Why ask, when you have it all figured out?" Nicholas’s voice was deadly calm. "It's Jones, of course. The same as mine."
Eva shrank against the white rock. "Are you married? Is he your child? Are they the reason you kept telling me we had no future?"
"Eva! Damn it! If I answer, will you even listen?" He took her hands, his gaze pleading. But when he saw himself tried and condemned in her eyes, he let her go.
"Teresa—what kind of woman is she that she can endure this kind of treatment? A saint?" Eva asked bitterly.
"Probably." Wearily he stared past her, scanning purple sky and sea for a long moment. “Nothing ever changes, does it?”
"You don't deserve a wife like her."
"No, I don't." He spoke in a flat unemotional tone.
"How could you mistreat a child...Nickie..."
"Damn it. As always, when it comes to me, you see but you don't see. Teresa is not my wife. She was the real Nicholas Jones's wife. Not mine. When he died, there was very little insurance. I took care of her. It was the least I could do. I would have died but for him. When I built this house, I hired her brother to see after it."
"She's not your wife?"
He sucked in a breath and looked away. “That’s what I said.”
"How old is Nickie?"
"Nine," he replied coldly.
"But he's so small. I thought he was five or six."
"You've been wrong—about a lot of things."
When she stared bleakly into his eyes as if too apologize, he was still too angry to offer her comfort. He’d been a fool to let himself care…even briefly. She would never believe in him.
"Don't stay up here too long," he said, ice lacing his tone. "It's too dangerous. Too exposed."
Whitening at his coldness, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. She started to say something, maybe to apologize, but then stopped herself. Maybe she sensed his mood and realized how impossible it would be for him to forgive her at present.
The sun was sinking into a darkening sea as he turned to walk away.
She stood up, maybe to call after him and then thinking better of it, sank back to her knees.
Had he found her only to lose her all over again?
Chapter Ten
After their misunderstanding, the last thing Eva expected was for Nicholas to wave at her as he rowed the dinghy across the dark glimmering water toward Rogue Wave. She jumped up and dashed to the stern before she caught herself. Salvaging a remnant of pride, she slowed her pace.
But he’d seen.
Polishing chrome, pretending to read, she'd been waiting on deck practically the whole afternoon—waiting for him to return from the house. Hours ago when he'd carried his briefcase up to his house, Victor had padded after him. To work, Nicholas had explained grimly, and to see if he could learn anything of von Schonburg.
For two long days, she'd lived without his kisses, his smiles, his touches. Maybe that was why just the sight of him twisted her in knots inside, that and the fact his simple white T-shirt and tight jeans molded his lean brown body to perfection.
He cut the engine and let the dinghy glide silently toward her. The slanting sun came from behind him and cast an iridescent gleam upon his black hair. As he approached, her pulsed raced faster.
When she leaned down to help him secure the painter, he didn’t smile. Instead, he snapped the line out of her hand and looped it around the cleat by himself.
Her face froze. She turned away, but not before he glanced at her again and stilled, his gaze roaming over her, taking in the bright head with her curls ruffling in the breeze, her brilliant eyes, her trim body in her lavender suit.
Even as her heart flooded with tenderness, he flushed and averted his gaze as if he resented whatever he felt for her.
"Where's Victor?" she dared to ask.
"He wouldn't come when I called him." Nicholas bent to stow the oars. "I have more important things on my mind than your cat."
"He won't just come. You have to go get him. You can't treat him like a dog."
"He'll climb down the path in the cave and yowl from the ledge when he's ready to come on board."
"That probably won't be till the middle of the night."
"He'd better come before then," Nicholas said abruptly. "Where's Zak?"
"Below."
Nicholas and she spoke as formally and politely as if they were strangers, trading necessary information.
"He damned sure better have the transmission fixed."
Nicholas climbed up the ladder, managing to hold on to his thick briefcase at the same time. She expected him to walk past her.
But he stopped, his great body coiled and tense. "Good news, chere."
Sensing doom, she held her breath.
“The war between Otto and me is over."
"What?"
"The deadline for Otto's interest payments is past. He defaulted on his creditors, so his ships are being seized. His empire is collapsing like a house of cards, and there will be immense international legal repercussions. He's cheated important people who are high up in governments, and he's sold arms to the wrong people, as well. Your former fiancé will be too busy talking to lawyers and trying to stay out of jail to take an interest in you. Since the story about Otto broke, your running away with me has made headlines in all the European papers.
"My men have informed the proper authorities of my real name, of the fact that I once worked for Otto. They explained I was betrayed in Africa and that I own Z.A.K. World and that I am Otto's archrival. I think Otto is boxed in too tightly to borrow more trouble by coming after you. So, you can go home—back to your shop, your world. Back to your safe, respectable life.”
“Only it won't be quite so respectable after all the headlines.”
He smiled ruefully. “No, I'm afraid you may get a taste of what it's like to live with an undeserved reputation."
She was free, and yet sorrow welled up in her as she thought of leaving him. Didn't he understand that he’d become the center of her world?
"So, just like that it's over?" she whispered. "We’re over? And it's…it’s goodbye."
When a mu
scle in his jawline tensed, and he glanced past her, she jumped up.
"Do I mean nothing to you?" she pleaded, touching his arm.
His eyes fastened on her face.
"How do I know I wasn't part of your revenge plan? How do I know you didn't just take me because you thought I was his? Maybe that was the only reason you made love to me—to get revenge!"
His face darkened. "You would think that," he said quietly.
Suddenly her eyes felt hot and she was afraid she’d cry and make a fool of herself. "No, I don't think it. I just said it. I don’t know why I said it. I…I love you. I do. I believe in you. This past week has been like a miracle. I never want to go back. All my life I’ve wanted the one thing you alone can give me—to be loved, truly loved."
"Don’t start." He cut her off. "It's not in me to give anything more to you, and even if it were, you'd never believe in me, chere. Maybe I have Otto where I want him, but the damage he did to me in Africa will always be there between us. I can't ever be the man I was before. No matter how all this comes out, there's no way I can ever completely clear my name. We can't live on an island for the rest of our lives, cut off from the world. There'll always be those who believe the worst of me. If I married you, everything I was accused of would taint you, too. You have always wanted approval."
"I want your love."
"Maybe, but not enough to live without the other things you want as well. I don’t want my wife feeling ashamed of who I am and doubting me. And I can't be some lawyer with some safe career. I'm not a Martin, I'm a Girouard. I’ve always lived a freer, more reckless life than you."
Wife. She caught her breath. Before her ghastly mistake about Teresa, had he been thinking of marriage?
Eva had come so close, and that made everything so much worse.
He saw the sparkle of tears on her lashes. "Don't cry," he whispered. “Don't waste tears now when it was over between us a long time ago."
Not for her. For years she'd grieved for him and put her life on hold.
"No...you're a part of me. If you leave me, I’ll lose part of myself."
"I will leave you, but for your sake more than mine."
It was no use. He was too terribly disillusioned, and she’d played a part in his disillusionment. But she wouldn't beg. "When...when are we going?"
"Zak?" he shouted past her, relief in his voice now that she’d accepted the worst. "When will the transmission be repaired?"
"I think I've got it."
Nicholas turned back to her. "We leave in an hour."
Lonely black despair closed around her. "Then I’d better find Victor."
"Nickie went into the cave, and Victor followed him."
"That place gives me the creeps. The cliffs are so steep. Sometimes the footpaths are wet. The water—" she broke off, unwilling to even think about the water.
"I'll go," he said.
"No. You see to the boat. Sometimes it takes some doing to talk Victor into coming."
"Take a can of sardines," he suggested.
For a man who didn't understand cats, he was making progress.
"I want to say goodbye to Teresa and Nickie, too."
"Okay, but hurry."
Was he that anxious to be rid of her?
Kneeling, he untied the dinghy for her and helped her cast off. Vaguely she was aware of him watching her row to the beach. Of him watching her even when she began to climb. Indeed his eyes remained on her until she disappeared behind the boulders at the top of the cliff high.
No sooner had she topped the ridge, than a sullen man with lush Mediterranean good looks dressed in black leapt from his hiding place and pointed a loaded automatic at her.
When she shrank from him, Paolo laughed and reached for her.
Shaking him loose, she scrabbled across the hard dry earth, stumbling and falling. He grabbed her, slammed her against a rock wall, and shoved the barrel of his gun against her cheek. Clawing at him, she scratched his face and ripped his black shirt.
"It’s no use. We've got the boy," he said.
“Nickie?”
Laughing softly, he nodded. “I will hurt him if you scratch me again.”
Her hands fell away, her nails curling into her own palms, slashing deep, vivid half-moons into her soft flesh. Writhing inside, she allowed Paolo to push her toward the house.
When Paolo shoved Eva through the door beneath the white vaulted ceilings that arched over the cool blue tiles, she found the house in disarray. A couch was overturned and a lamp shattered. The Aubusson carpet was red with blood.
Otto reclined in a white chair, with the arrogance of a warrior-king celebrating a victory. Behind him, the Mediterranean gleamed like turquoise jewels.
Paolo pitched Eva down onto the hard tiles at Otto's feet.
Their eyes wide, Teresa and Nickie sat huddled in a corner. A dark bruise marred Teresa's blond brow, and blood streaked her cheek and blouse. Marcos lay as still as death beneath the overturned couch.
Otto stared down at Eva indifferently. "We don’t need her after all."
"What?" Paolo's brutal hand fell away.
"All we need is Mrs. Jones and the boy—his son. But we’ll use her… Eva, go down and tell Raoul we’re here and that we have his woman and child," Otto commanded.
Like Eva, Otto had jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Paolo’s eyes glittered with bloodlust as he regarded Eva. Would they use her to lure Nicholas to his death, and then kill her along with everyone else?
"Tell him to come alone and unarmed," Otto ordered, "or the boy and the woman will die."
When Eva stumbled outside, she was momentarily blinded by the brilliance after the darkness inside the house. She blinked, willing the nightmare away. Five minutes later when she reached the entrance of the cave, she saw Nicholas emerging. Although he had taken the elevator, even the short assent necessary to climb from the cave to the house had made his limp more pronounced. He looked tired.
"Go back!" she screamed when she saw that he was unarmed.
"Stay right where you are!" Behind her Otto's voice was soft with menace as he aimed his automatic at Raoul’s heart.
Paolo laughed as he dragged Nicky and Teresa out of the house.
"You did well, Liebchen." Otto's feral gaze blazed.
They were all going to die.
"You thought to ruin me, Girouard, but you’re not the only one who desires revenge. You made me. You destroyed me. But I'm not going down alone. I’m taking you, too. But first, your woman and your child will die. Then you—and I promise, you, my friend, you will die slowly."
"This is between you and me, von Schonburg. Let them go," Nicholas said.
Otto laughed.
"It was clever of you to find the island." Nicholas stalled, deliberately trying to keep Otto talking.
"When Eva radioed for help,” Otto said, “she gave your position, your heading. Everything we needed. It was an easy matter then, after talking to Anya. She had seen a chart once on board Rogue Wave with this island marked on it. She wasn't quite sure of its location. But she was humiliated after you ran away with Eva. A woman scorned... Anya was quite anxious to help me find you. Still, we must have searched a dozen islands before we spotted this one."
Eva felt fresh anguish when anger at her betrayal flared briefly in Nicholas’s eyes.
"Nicholas, I swear it was days ago that I made that call!"
His face frozen, he refused to look at her.
Nickie's tiny hand found hers and clung. Victor slunk nearer but kept to the rocks where he began to yowl plaintively. She felt Nickie's pulse beneath her fingertips—the delicate throb of his young life.
This was all her fault. If she didn’t at least try to get this boy to safety, they would all be shot like Nicholas's men in Africa.
She eyed the black cave that was less than thirty feet away.
Even though logic told her that the thirty feet might as well have been a million, something snapped inside her. In the next seco
nd she scooped Nickie up. Shielding him with her own body, she began to run. Ahead of her, Victor sprinted for the cave as Otto yelled at her to stop. When she sped up, he started shooting. Bullets bit the dirt all around her and shattered the rocks on all sides of her. When one struck her arm, she ignored its fierce sting and the blood pouring from her shoulder and sped up.
It was as if she was a child again running beneath the cypresses with Noelle along the bayou. Grand-mère was there in her black dress, scolding them for playing in their white lace Sunday clothes. They were laughing at their stern grandmother as she wiped their muddy feet before they could enter Martin House.
The picture changed and Eva wore a gown of gold. Raoul was bending over her in the candlelight in a New Orleans restaurant, his dark eyes filled with love as his hand slipped an onyx ring onto her finger.
The black entrance to the cave loomed one step away when another bullet splintered against stone and sent bits of rock into her face. She heard Raoul's ravaged shout, his voice, above the others, calling her name.
Was he dying? She couldn't look back.
Her memories faded into a blur. Miraculously she and the child were in the cool, all-enveloping darkness of the cave. Eva couldn't see anything, so Nickie had to pull her along the narrow path.
It was cold inside, so cold. Since she didn’t have Nicholas's key to the elevator, there was no way down except the path.
When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she looked over the sheer rock wall that tumbled away into nothingness. Feeling faint, she stumbled but caught herself. The pain in her arm was searing now, and everything seemed to be slipping away. Nearly unconscious, she collapsed against cold wet rock and sucked in a long breath.
Then Paolo's muttered curse behind her prodded her not to give up.
Was Paolo there because he'd already killed Nicholas?
Paolo would kill the boy, too, if she didn't stop him.
She didn't know if Nicholas was dead or alive. If he was dead, part of her wanted to die, too. But first she had to save Nickie. First, she had to avenge her love. Her emotions were so fierce and terrible they brought her back to consciousness. For the first time she could almost understand the darkness in Nicholas, the savage desire for revenge.