by Dana Marton
Cloud cover made the night too dark to see beyond a few feet. Tree branches rubbed together in the woods, moved by the breeze coming off the ocean. Now and then bugs chirped nearby. Or the screech of an owl interrupted the silence. She kept listening for other kinds of noises, those that would tell her if someone was out there.
The night before, her biggest problem had been the rain and Lazlo’s fury at being stranded on the island. Amazing how much could change in just twenty-four hours. Two people had been killed. And the killers were somewhere on the island.
Forget sleep. She was too scared to even close her eyes. The rocks under their bedding dug into her side. She shifted. Sighed. She’d come to Valtria to save her business and get her life back on track. She didn’t want to die here, like some sacrifice to the Etruscans.
“Are you all right?” Lazlo asked, without turning.
“Can’t sleep.”
“Stop thinking.”
“Sure.” If only it were so easy. “Those men are probably sleeping for the night. Right?”
“Of course they are.” He didn’t sound convincing. “Think about something else.”
His nearness and kisses came to mind, but she didn’t want to think about that, either.
“So everyone in your family is a matchmaker?” he asked after a minute, to distract her.
“Marital consultants. All seven of my sisters. If I can’t make this work, they’ll be coming over to help me,” she said matter-of-factly. “We’ve been e-mailing almost every day.”
He gave a choked sound that made her smile into the darkness. But then she felt bad for putting him on. It had been partially her fault that they were here on this island, in danger, in the first place.
“Take it easy. I’m an only child. The only Milas left, actually. I am the family,” she confessed.
“What happened to the rest?”
“My parents died in a train accident when I was four. They were visiting Lithuania. Kaunas, where my family is from.” She barely remembered them, which bothered her a lot. She clung to the few hazy memories. A visit to the zoo and her fourth birthday party were pretty much all she had. “My grandmother raised me. She passed away a couple of years ago.”
Her grandmother had been the one to tell her about her parents’ death, had shown her the city of Kaunas on the map. She hadn’t understood how her mother and father could have died on that piece of paper, kept looking behind it to see if they were there. To this day, the sight and sound of an unfolding map filled her with anxiety.
“I’m sorry,” Lazlo said.
He probably couldn’t imagine what it was like to be truly alone. He had a large family; and a prince would never be alone, anyway. The palace staff numbered in the hundreds.
“What’s it like to have five brothers?”
“I’m reevaluating my feelings about that, since mine saw fit to set me up.”
“They were only trying to help.”
A groan was his only response.
“Must have been great growing up.”
“You cannot underestimate the trouble we got into.”
She didn’t have a hard time picturing that. Although the Kerkay princes always behaved impeccably in public, there was something about them that suggested they could raise considerable hell if they put their minds to it. Those lively dark eyes they’d inherited from their mother had plenty of mischief and sparkle in them. There was Lazlo, for example. The paparazzi didn’t call him “the Rebel Prince” for nothing.
“Who was the worst?” she asked, although she had her own suspicions.
He thought for a second. “I was the loudest for sure. And the quickest. Took everything for a joyride, from the golf carts when I was six, to the royal ceremonial limousine when I was eight.” There was a smile in his voice. “I think Istvan did the most damage. He was always quiet, but rather destructive. He always fancied being an archaeologist. I don’t know how many times he dug up the palace gardens. And if he ever got his hands on any tools left lying around, he would hide in some quiet corner and go to work on the wall. One time, he caused a collapse in the royal chapel. He always wanted to know what was under and behind everything.
Even back then, in his own mind, he was this great explorer.”
Istvan was so reserved and withdrawn, she laughed out loud at the picture of him as the budding Indiana Jones of Valtria.
“Don’t laugh. He ended up becoming a cultural an thropologist, and goes on digs every chance he gets.
He’s made some incredible discoveries in Valtria and abroad. You probably heard of those thirteenth-century royal graves up north.” Warmth and pride came through Lazlo’s voice; he obviously loved his brother. “I’ll take you when we get out of here, if you haven’t seen them yet.”
For a moment, she was stunned by what he was saying. That he would want to spend time with her without being forced to. Normally, he did his best to avoid her at the palace.
“Actually, you should work on matching Istvan, not me,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t have any trouble getting my own dates.”
That last bit was the truth and then some, even if he only said it to get rid of her. “I hardly think Istvan would have trouble getting a date if he wanted one. He’s just focused on his work.” He was just as handsome as the rest of the brothers. “I’d have a hard time believing that the ladies of the court aren’t standing in line to go to dinner with him.”
“He prefers people who’ve been dead for a few centuries. His nanny is to blame. The woman read him nothing but books on history and the adventures of famous explorers. She was the biggest know-it-all. I used to feel sorry for him.”
“Who was your nanny?” She could easily picture him as a child who was more than a handful.
“A former model. A very distant cousin who got the job as a favor. She shaped my tastes considerably.”
I’ll just bet, she mused.
“How about Arpad?” That one looked as remote and withdrawn as Istvan on the few occasions that she’d seen him.
“Arpad was the big brother who taught us everything.
And Miklos was born for the military. Even as a little kid, he always played soldier,” he reminisced.
She didn’t envy his wealth or power, but just a little, she did envy his family. The princes were really some thing. She couldn’t remember ever seeing this many strong, honorable, outrageously gorgeous men all in one pack. The women of Valtria must have walked around in a continuous daydream.
Lazlo shifted next to her, causing the blanket to slip off. She reached out to cover herself again, her hand briefly brushing against his chest.
And because she was so ridiculously aware of even that small contact, she forced herself to focus on something else. Like his childhood. Maybe thinking of him as just a little boy would help. “So, did you ever crash any of the vehicles you misappropriated?”
He made a noise in his throat. “Are you trying to insult me?”
ROBERTO WALKED into the tent and caught Marco hiding something under his shirt. He glanced around. Nothing obvious was missing. The pile of food at the head of his sleeping bag looked undisturbed.
The tent provided cramped quarters for the three of them, but they made do. Only two slept at a time, anyway. One was always on guard—José was due to come in, and Marco was supposed to take over.
Still, the tent could have been bigger. He could always kick Marco out. Especially if the little bastard kept stealing food. Marco could go back to the cave where they’d spent the first night. Unease skittered down Roberto’s spine at the thought of the cave. He hated bats. As perfect as the damn cave would have been for a hiding place, he was unlikely to go back there. Cramped or not, he preferred the tent.
“Hey, boss. I’m ready to go play night guard,” Marco said, with a little too much enthusiasm, stepping toward the exit.
Roberto blocked his path, keeping his right hand near the gun tucked into his belt. “What have you got there?”
“What are you talking abou
t, this?” Marco pointed to the blanket at his feet. He scooped it up. “José said the mosquitoes were killing him out there, so I came back to grab it up. You want it?”
“What’s under your shirt?”
Marco paled. “Nothing.”
Roberto waited. Held his left hand out after a few seconds.
Marco’s lips tightened, hate narrowing his eyes as he handed over two black leather wallets.
Where the hell did these come from? He didn’t have to ask the question. Marco must have lifted them off the dead men. Roberto flipped one wallet open, then the other, saw the money with some disappointment. Valtrian currency. He would have preferred euros, that they could have used once they reached the mainland.
Then his eyes fell on the ID. Valtrian Royal Security.
For a second or two, he couldn’t figure out what this meant, what those men were doing here. Why would “royal security” guard an inhabited island? Then he felt a smile spread on his face. “Find José and get ready. There is another man and a woman on the island.”
“Do we have to go now? How long is this gonna take?”
“We’ll go now and keep looking till we find them,” Roberto snapped, dropping his voice into a warning growl. “And if you ever take anything without telling me again, I’ll cut you open.” He was on the younger man instantly, his knife at his throat, up against his Adam’s apple.
Marco’s eyes went wide as he stumbled back.
Roberto grabbed him by the arm and shoved him toward the opening of the tent. “Be ready to go in two minutes.”
SHE WOKE TO THE SUN caressing her face and remembered only remnants of the stories Lazlo had entertained her with during the night. She loved it when he talked about his family. The love was palpable in his voice. Made her wonder what it would have been like to grow up knowing her parents, have siblings….
Whether intentionally or not, he’d done a good job of distracting her from her fears and setting her mind at ease. The awareness between them never did lessen, but she’d fallen asleep anyway, once she became completely exhausted.
Now she was alone again, like the morning before. Then, as she crawled from their shelter, she spotted the prince sitting on a rock not far from the crevice, surveying the sea.
The very last of her dreams still lingered. Of him. Kissing her again. She stifled a groan, but had a hard time putting the images and sensations out of her mind, couldn’t shake the way he’d made her body feel. She’d never been this aware of a man before. This must be what people called blind lust. All he had to do was look at her and a zing went through her body.
It was exciting, but she would have appreciated if the source of her body’s awakening had been anyone but the prince.
“Good, you’re awake,” he said, without turning. “Come look at this.”
She finger-combed her hair and rubbed the last of the sleep out of her eyes, adjusted her pants and top, which were hopelessly wrinkled at this point. Then she walked up behind him, doing her best to forget her dreams. “What are we looking at?”
“There.” He pointed.
And she saw, at last, a small, square shadow under the surface of the sea, at the rocky edge of the beach. “Is that…”
“One of our supply bags got stuck among the rocks. I didn’t want to leave you here alone. Get ready as fast as you can. Before a wave washes it out to sea.”
Her heart immediately thrilled. She practically ran into the bushes to complete her morning toilet. She was finished in under two minutes.
“Have you seen the others, the men who…” She couldn’t finish.
Lazlo was covering their sleeping nook with some leafy branches. “No movement so far. They’re probably on the other side of the island.”
She hoped they would stay there until she and the prince had a chance to recover their bag from the sea. They needed some real food desperately. Plus they needed to find that creek. And one of the radios the criminals had taken. Sure looked like they were going to have a busy day.
Which was fine with her. The less time she had to think about the prince’s kisses the better. Because, now that her mind was fully awake, she was remembering that not all contact between her and Lazlo had been in her dreams. The prince had kissed her.
And even he couldn’t claim, this time, that it hadn’t been a real kiss.
Thank God he didn’t seem inclined to bring up the issue this morning. She would have died of embarrassment.
She’d about melted in his arms, forgetting all her reasons to resist. She had lost all ability to think, could only feel a fiery need that she had never felt before with any man. And she’d been willing to forget all the rules she had lived by until now. She would have been willing to give up everything.
But not him.
He had coolly pulled back. “Desert Island Syndrome,” he’d called it.
And she called herself a hundred kinds of fool for falling for that kiss.
It wasn’t going to happen again, he’d promised.
Damn right it wouldn’t. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Temporary setbacks or not, she had to see the prince married. Her business and the rest of her life depended on it. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she had appreciative clients. But not enough. These days, most of the people who came calling were mothers and grandmothers, asking for her help with their offspring. But today’s young people didn’t want to be married. They wanted to “hook up.” They wanted to keep their options open. And as the years went by, Milda had to admit that she was part of a dying breed.
Hardly anyone believed in true love anymore. Few people wanted “happily ever after.” For the short-attention-span generation, a lifetime with just one person didn’t seem all that appealing.
She needed to succeed with Prince Lazlo. She needed it badly.
She followed him down the hillside, looking behind every few minutes. When they walked by a wild orange tree, she broke off the tip of a branch, chewed it up a little and used it for a toothbrush on the go.
They could have gotten down to the beach faster, but they walked slowly, making sure not to make too much noise, and stopped every once in a while to listen to see if anyone might be following.
“Stay in the cover of the bushes,” Lazlo told her when they finally reached the sand. “We shouldn’t both be out in the open.”
“I don’t want to separate. You might need help in the water.”
He considered her for a moment. “All right. Let’s make a run for it.”
They did, choosing the shortest path to the large pile of rocks that edged the sandy beach. Some were as big as nine or ten feet tall, others were the size of an overgrown otter. They got behind them and down as fast as they could, easing into the water.
The bag that had been easy to see in the clear, shallow sea from above was now harder to find among the rocks. But Lazlo did spot it after a few minutes. It was in deeper water. Not too deep, but above their heads, which complicated things.
He went under first, tugged at the bag. Came up for air. “Wedged in tight.”
Made sense. That was why the waves hadn’t washed it out to sea.
She went under to help him.
Trouble was, the bag was zipper side down, so they couldn’t even open it.
They came up for air again.
“Hope whatever is in there wasn’t ruined by water and we’re not doing this for nothing,” Lazlo was saying.
“I had to arrange for food that’d last you and the ladies two weeks without refrigeration. A lot of it is canned. The rest was sealed in airtight containers.”
He gave an approving nod before going for another try. He was a stronger swimmer than she was, so it took her a few seconds to catch up with him.
He pointed to the bag then to her. Then he pointed to one of the rocks and to himself. Okay. She got it. He was going to roll the rock and she was to pull the bag.
She put all her strength into it, her lungs bursting. Then the rock did move, and
Lazlo was there helping her. Between the two of them, they dragged the bag toward the surface without much trouble.
She grinned at Lazlo and he grinned back. For the first time since they were left behind on the island, she was feeling optimistic. The food in the bag might last them a full week. Surely, help would come by then. She couldn’t believe no boat had come for them yet. The ladies were taking their revenge too far. Maybe she’d been wrong about their character.
Then her head broke the surface and the first thing she heard was people talking.
“Where the hell are they?” a deep voice asked.
Another man answered him in a language that sounded Spanish. Or maybe Portuguese.
Definitely not a search crew that had come to save her and the prince.
“They went this way. Look at the footprints in the sand.”
Lazlo grabbed her and pulled her tight against the rocks. She grabbed his arm as the sound of the men came nearer. They were walking onto the rocks. Before long, she and Lazlo would be seen.
He let her go and went under. He only broke the surface long enough to take a deep breath when he came back. Then he grabbed her and took her with him under the surface of the water.
She had to trust him against her most basic instincts.
Since she was a poor swimmer, she didn’t feel all that comfortable in the water. Going under scared her. But she followed him.
They came out just as her lungs began to ache, in a small crevice created by the haphazardly piled rocks. Their bodies were submerged, but at least they were breathing.
“Maybe they went for a swim,” the deeper voice said.
A short response came in whatever language the other guy was speaking.
Something large moved next to her head. She nearly screamed. A moment passed before her eyes better adjusted to the semidarkness, and she realized that a turtle was wedged between the rocks that were covered with sea moss and even some clam shells here and there. Wedged tightly. The poor thing looked half-dead.
She signaled with her head toward the turtle.
Lazlo nodded.
Shoes scraped above.
Didn’t seem like the men were going anywhere. Probably decided to wait out her and Lazlo until they came back from their supposed swim.