Dagger in the Sea

by Cat Porter

  She slid onto the bar stool next to mine, and my pulse suddenly kicked up speed. “I was escaping from an ass.”

  I sat down next to her, gesturing to the bartender, bringing my wine glass closer. “Really? A donkey? Here?”

  She let out a dry laugh. “He’s the son of a man my father works with, and he always assumes that I should be infatuated with him.”

  “You must have a lot of admirers vying for your attention.”

  “I do.” Her lips twisted and she released a small sigh. She said that without a hint of egotism. It was plain, simple fact, and somehow, not a pleasant one.

  “The last time I saw him,” she continued, “I slighted him and, obviously, he’s still quite upset with me. We just had words, and I walked away a bit too enthusiastically. These new shoes I’m wearing are a bit too high.” She reached down and tugged on a strap of a gladiator sandal with a very high, very slim heel.

  My balls tightened at the sight of that webbing of straps climbing up those sexy as fuck legs, of her hand trailing up her sleek thigh.

  “Would you like me to set him straight?” I asked.

  “Oh, no.” A hand wrapped in a stack of gold bangles touched my wrist, lighting my skin with a prickle of heat. “That’s not necessary. I don’t like scenes.”

  The bartender brought over a glass of wine, and I slid it closer to her. “I hope you like wine?”

  “Very much, thank you.” She sipped. “Hmm. Good choice.”

  I raised my glass. “What does one say here in Greece?”

  “Stin iyiá mas.” She raised her glass to mine. “To our health.”

  “Stin iyiá mas,” I said, and we both drank.

  “Your accent is very good.” She licked her lip.

  “Thank you.”

  “Ah, so polite. The ass in question has no manners. I went out to dinner with him once at my father’s request, and it ended quite badly.”

  “Is he the type who behaves one way in front of parents, and another when you’re alone?”

  “Exactly. Are you that type?”

  I only chuckled.

  She drank, her eyes meeting mine. “You were right about the donkey.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

  “The ass. I don’t care for his looks either—thick brows, large ears, long face. Donkey.”

  I grinned. “Acerbic.”

  Her lips twisted just a bit. “Ah, I’ve heard women being called much, much worse.”

  “True.”

  “There he is, see for yourself.” She raised her chin in the direction of a tall thin man with indeed a long face and large ears, his hand on the back of a short, dark haired woman being led to a corner table by a hostess.

  “He’s here with another woman and he came onto you?” I was more offended than she was.

  “He’s the type of Greek man who must always have the last word. Well, that rather describes most men, doesn’t it?” A noise escaped her throat. “And you? Do you feel strongly about having the last word?”

  “No, I have no such obsession. I make my points known in other ways. Ways that echo louder than words.”

  “Hmm.” She drank, her eyes on me.

  Our gazes locked and heat seeped through me; it wasn’t only the wine having this sultry effect on my bloodstream.

  “Are you here alone or with friends?” I asked.

  “I’m here with a friend, but he’s busy now,” she gestured casually toward the tables outside, “and I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Kill some time with me.”

  She laughed. A dirty, dark laugh which made me grin. “Oh, I don’t wish to kill anything tonight.” One long finger traced over the rim of her glass as she studied me, her lips quirking up. I wanted to taste those lips, discover her tongue, suck on that finger.

  And then out of those perfect lips came the perfect reply.

  “You are a lovely distraction I’m indulging in.”

  I let out a small breath, rubbing a hand along my jaw. “I’ve never been called ‘lovely’ before.”

  “Oh yes, you’re quite lovely. Indecently lovely,” she murmured on a soft laugh that was a sincere response, not a brazen come-hither.

  A spill of heat flowed through my veins as I held her frank gaze. A gaze that flared into amusement at my surprised reaction.

  “Have you never been called indecent before either?” she asked.

  “Indecent, yes. Many times,” I replied. “But never with so much finesse.”

  Her eyes sparked, narrowed, that slight smile widening. She didn’t quite know what to make of me, but was enjoying this as much as I was.

  “Well, then—” I traced my middle finger over her hand and up her arm, and her breath caught. “Let’s indulge in some lovely indecency.”

  10

  Adriana

  “Now that’s an original proposition,” I said.

  He laughed. A warm, rich baritone laugh, and my pulse quickened at the sound. Sexy, sly. Yes, quite indecent. A crooked grin flashed over his face giving him a sudden boyish look. Just for a second then it was gone, and the lethal returned.

  Tonight, Cinderella had met a foreign prince. An indecent one. Very indecent.

  Oh, but he was lovely, handsome in an austere way. His hazel eyes had a golden glimmer that shone in the muted lighting of the club. Gleaming with precision, pinning me to the spot. Their initial cold, savage irritation at my violent interruption had transformed into a vampiric-like interest.

  I met his gaze full-on, and he only slanted his head at me. The chiseled angles of his jaw were ridiculously masculine. His slightly wavy, short hair was a light brown colour that he had perfectly slicked back with gel at the sides. He tended to every detail. Suddenly, that muscle along his jaw tensed as if something had changed, a thought had occurred to him.

  Here we go.

  I waited, but it didn’t come. That familiar cocky look hadn’t flickered across his face, that look that assumed, expected, anticipated, relished.

  None of that. I was so tired of all that.

  My face heated under his brutally fastidious gaze. A gaze that was patient, a gaze that sizzled over my flesh, that searched for signs of worthiness of his attention. Certainly, what he deemed unworthy would be charred and discarded.

  A few small lines marked the skin around his eyes, the corners of his mouth. He was older than me, but by how much? Certainly in his thirties, but he was as fit as any twenty something I knew. A defined chest, back, and shoulders were evident under that lean cut suit. A suit that was finely tailored, a very expensive suit—nothing off the rack, as they said in America. His gold wristwatch glinted in the lighting. Patek Philippe. One of the most expensive, prestigious Swiss watches, understated, lean, and classic in design, and not ostentatious in the least. Decadence packaged crisply and cleanly. Elegant sophistication with an edge.

  Oh, that edge.

  He moved closer to me and took my hand, bringing it to his lips. The barest of kisses on my skin, yet an electric charge jolted through my arm, charging any and all inanimate particles inside me into a furor. I could see him taking his time with every detail, savoring and enjoying himself, the world burning to cinders around him and he not being bothered. Not one bit.

  “I’ve never been called an indulgence before, though.” His fingertips lingered on the back of my hand and my breath caught in my throat, burning there. He lifted those eyes to mine once again and something jolted inside me.

  Indecent, lethal, and merciless as well.

  The room, the music, the chatter faded.

  “Indulgences are necessary,” I said. “After all, isn’t life meant to be enjoyed?”

  He slanted his head. “Is that a Greek philosophy?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  A quick flash of his edgy, sly smile and my stomach caved, clenching, sending waves of heat washing through me. I squirmed on the barstool. “It’s something you Americans need to learn.”

  He released my hand. “I think y
ou’re right.”

  I took another sip of wine to steady myself, the mellow flavors of berries and cocoa swirling through my mouth. The sleeve of his jacket rubbed against my bare arm, its texture more harsh and prickly than it actually was. What would his hands feel like on me? His body pressed against mine, demanding from mine?

  Tonight I’d had plenty to drink already along with that one hit of coke, all of which had blessed me with a swell of fearlessness. Or was it recklessness? All the better. I hadn’t been out to a club in a long time. Quiet restaurants and cafés with my mum and little brother or a girlfriend or two, a few shops, yes, but a full-on glam it up, loud music, party ’til you drop night like tonight? No, not in a very long time.

  The moon had risen higher in the sky, its heaviness suddenly giving way into bright, shining prominence over us. One of my favorite songs throbbed through the room, and I swayed to the music, the beat swelling inside me.

  “I love this song. Dance with me?” Touching his arm, I stood.

  He cuffed my wrist tightly and my breath caught. “Ask nicely,” he said.

  I moved closer to him. “Please dance with me, you lovely, indecent man.”

  “Better.” He took my hand in his and I led him to the dance floor. Winding his fingers in mine, we moved easily together with the pulsing beat. He pulled me in closer, his arm wrapping around my bare back, and a shiver raced over my flesh sparking through me. I pressed my fingers into the tightness of his shoulders. I didn’t take my eyes off him. I couldn’t. I had no choice. I didn’t feel powerless under their spell, but exhilaration swept through me under their heat, a different kind of arousal. The intense kind. The kind I’d always craved.

  “Do you like the song?” I said in his ear.

  “What? Yes.” His voice came out lower than usual.

  I sang the lyrics as we moved, our hips meeting, sliding against each other. Dear Lord.

  “What’s the song saying?” he asked.

  “Se thélo—it means, I want you.”

  “Hmm.” His hand gripped mine tighter, his fingers spread out over my back.

  “You’re a game of the gods…”

  “A game of the gods,” he repeated. He stroked my back, just above the slope of my rear, making an ache unwind inside me.

  “The way the current hits…” I continued translating, my voice rougher than usual. “I’m drowning, but I’m not leaving. That’s how I want you. At the edge of my life’s cliff, come and be the end. Finish me off.”

  Cliff indeed. That’s exactly how I felt right now, that breathless rush at hurtling toward the edge of a cliff.

  “Ah, poetry,” he murmured.

  “Welcome to Greece,” I replied.

  He glanced over my shoulder, something had caught his attention. Or someone. I slid my hand around his neck, and his head snapped to mine.

  “Is she there?” I asked

  A slight scowl crossed his features. A scowl sliding into that brittle, teasing grin. “Who?”

  “The woman you were—”

  “There’s only you,” he breathed against my ear.

  My heartbeat skidded. His lips took mine. Warm, demanding. Possessive. He released me much too quickly, and clinging to him, I struggled to catch my breath, licked at my bottom lip where his heat had just been.

  “What is your name?”

  He rubbed a thumb across my burning lip. “Turo,” he whispered.

  “Turo?”

  His focus remained on my mouth. “Short for Arturo.”

  “Ah.” Italian, he didn’t look Italian, yet—

  He bent his head to mine and his citrusy, musky scent filled my senses. I knew that cologne. That was Italian. His lips stole up my throat like warm silk. He nipped at my earlobe, his breath fanning my face, the side of my neck.

  “And your name?” His voice was suddenly urgent. A gentle command. As if my answer would give him the keys to a mystery that he needed to solve.

  “Adriana.”

  He stilled. I let go of a tiny breath as his hands gently cradled my face, his jaw easing. “Adriana.”

  Our bodies moved to the music once more, as if on their own, in a hypnotic trance. But I wasn’t in a trance, I was very, very aware of his keen attentiveness, his subtle yet firm touch. I felt like I was on the edge of that cliff Hatzigiannis was singing about, and Turo would push me off any second with that smile on his face. I was suspended there between wanting to run away and wanting to see over the edge of Turo’s cliff.

  The music gradually changed its beat from languorous and sensual to a more throbbing, tribal rhythm. The party gods were being summoned. People had seeped all over the terrace. Laughter and excited chatter floated in the air. We were in the thick of the throng. The DJ had begun his show, and the crowd was excited, moving to every beat he generated. Lights flashed, the wind blew at the blood colored canopies over us. The club was packed, more so than before. How hadn’t I noticed?

  Turo’s eyes flashed at me, that quick, crooked grin making him look younger yet more jaded all at the same time. A stunning combination on his handsome features. He pulled me in closer once more and that thrill of risk made my heart pound harder. Like skydiving. I was at the edge of the open plane door, taking my final breath before—

  After tonight I’d never see Turo from America again, would I?

  Stop thinking, just do. Do what you want. Jump off that plane.

  I took his hand and led him to the inner lounge where it wasn’t so crowded, darker and shadowy, the muted glow of candles in a number of wooden lanterns on the tables, larger ones hanging from the ceiling.

  I wrapped my hands around his waist beneath his jacket and his lean torso tensed, his breath cut off. I pressed against him, and yes, there…evidence of his hard arousal for me.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Indulging.”

  I moved toward him, but he lifted my chin, holding it firmly in his grip. My breath burned in my lungs as I held his hard gaze. Was he offended? Not interested? Was he going to push me away?

  A warm hand slid around my neck pulling me close, and he slanted his head over mine. His tongue flicked at my lips, and I opened up to him, my tongue reveling in its slide against his. He took my mouth. The taste of his wine filled me with unbearable heat—a sudden rush of desire, fiery and wild threaded through me and pulled tight in the very center of me, knotting, threatening to explode. Startling. Deliciously shocking.

  Dangerous.

  Yes, he was dangerous. And I was on the edge of that danger with just this kiss. This amazing kiss.

  His other hand stole down my hip to my rear, pressing there. “Tell me, Adriana…”

  That deep voice rolled out my name like a dare. The heat of his closeness overwhelmed me, the musk in the shadow of the citrus scent coming off his throat whipped my senses into a riot.

  “Yes?” my voice shook.

  “Did you like that?” he breathed.

  Ach, I like it all. I kissed him in reply, and his eyes flared. He nipped at my already swollen lower lip, his forehead sinking against mine. A new rush of warmth enveloped me, cocooning us.

  What would it be like to have sex with this man? Intense, animal-like. And something told me that if he gave a damn about the woman in his bed, his attentions would be exacting, blistering, soul squeezing. He was discerning. He would know precisely what to offer and take his time doing it, relishing it.

  A shiver raced through me.

  I’d never initiated anything with any man ever before. I’d never felt this sort of bold reaction to a man before. Even him. This was beyond the alcohol, the coke. It was Turo who intoxicated me. This stranger I’d just met.

  He was a tourist on a short visit. Was that what was so appealing about this? All the more reason to—

  A small, ominous noise unfurled in his throat, and his tongue commanded I deepen the kiss. I did, and he fucked my mouth. There was no other description for it. Carnal. Ruthless. The dynamite he’d set along my veins s
parked and lit as he molded our bodies together with his hands, the press of his hard form against mine. I was all sensation. Need.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  A slight groan from his lips vibrated against mine. Was he surprised by his own response? Was he as overwhelmed as I was?

  Give in, indecent Turo. Give in as I am.

  “Adri.” A familiar Italian accented voice sliced through our sensual fog, and I flinched.

  Turo tore his lips from mine, his brow furrowed, his grip on my waist tightened possessively, his fingers digging into my flesh. He swung his head sharply to reprimand whoever had interrupted us. His body went rigid at the sight of Alessio.

  Cinderella’s midnight bell had tolled.

  11

  Turo

  Alessio Aliberti stood there, shooting me a hard look. My fingers only dug deeper into Adriana’s waist.

  He sniffed in air, his chin lifting at Adriana. “Tu viene?” Are you coming? he asked her.

  What. The. Fuck.

  They were together?

  No threats, no anger, no explosion. Only a muscle along his tightly set jaw ticked, his built shoulders rigid under his open to the waist dress shirt.

  “Si,” she replied glancing at him, then back at me as casually as if her chauffeur were picking her up from a playdate.

  A hand went to my chest and, leaning her cheek against the side of my face, she whispered, “Adío, Lovely.” Her exotic accent laced with wistful regret drilled deep into my chest, burrowing there on a burn. Her eyes glimmered, she swept past me, and they were gone. They wove through the crowd. His arm around her. Adriana and Alessio Aliberti.

  Alessio Aliberti.

  My pulse heated. He was the “friend” who was busy and she hadn’t wanted to intrude? Had she been trying to make him jealous all evening with me? What the fuck did I get myself into? Well, I’d gotten his attention, hadn’t I?

  I wiped the side of a thumb across my upper lip. Just a little girl looking for a good time. Just a girl looking to make a boyfriend jealous and she’d chosen me to indulge in a little quid pro quo. Drama.