Authors: Fiona Brand
The words But what if I change my mind? balanced on the tip of her tongue. She hastily withdrew them as he padded across to the ornate liquor cabinet and splashed more brandy into a clean glass.
She had already made a string of rash decisions with regard to Zane. Before she made even more of a fool of herself, she needed to think things through.
Although the fact that she
was
going to make a fool of herself again was suddenly, glaringly, obvious.
Eleven
The folowing morning, Lilah woke, exhausted and heavy-eyed after a night spent tossing and turning.
She had lain awake for hours, listening to the sounds of the sea and Zane’s footsteps when he had final y gone to bed in the smal hours. Aware of Zane, a short distance away in the next bedroom, she had eventual y dropped off, only to wake periodical y, thump her pil ow into shape and try to sleep again.
Kicking the sheet aside, she padded to her bathroom and stared at her pale face and tangled hair in the mirror.
Zane’s withdrawal had created an odd reversal in her mind. Sexual y, the bal was in her court. If she wanted him, it was clear she would have to make the first move. No more excuses or deception about who was driving what.
His demand had succeeded in focusing her mind. Now, instead of trying to talk herself out of a wild fling with Zane, she was consumed with how, exactly, one went about asking a man for sex.
Lilah showered and dressed in a white camisole and a pair of board shorts, a bikini beneath, in case she felt like a swim.
After applying sunscreen, she walked out to the kitchen, only to discover that the nervous tension that had dogged her al morning had been unnecessary. Zane had left the house early. According to Marta’s gestures and the few words Lilah could recognize, he had gone sailing.
Feeling relieved and deflated at the same time, she walked out on the deck where the table was set for breakfast. One glance at the empty sweep of the bay confirmed that the yacht was gone.
After breakfast she walked down to the beach and went for a swim. After sunbathing until she was dry, she walked back to the house, showered off the salt and changed back into the camisole and boardies.
To fil in time, she strol ed through the house, examining the art on the wal s, pausing at the watercolor that had been done by Sebastien Ambrosi.
Zane had said the painting was an actual place on the island, behind the vil a. From the distant peaks included in the landscape, the cave was set on high ground. On impulse, she decided to see if she could find the cave and, at the same time, see if her cel phone would work.
Pul ing on a pair of trainers, she slipped her cel in a pocket and indicated to Marta that she was going to walk to the place in the painting.
A few minutes exploring around the old vil a site and she found the entrance to a narrow track that ran up through the steep hil s behind the vil a.
Twenty minutes of intermittent walking and climbing and she topped a rise. The view was magnificent. In the distance she could even make out hazy peaks that formed part of the mountainous inland region of Medinos. She hadn’t seen any evidence of the cave.
Sitting down on a rocky outcropping, she tried the phone, but the screen continued to glow with a “No Service”
message.
Instead of feeling trapped and frustrated, she felt oddly relieved. She had done her duty, attempted to make contact with the outside world, and had failed.
She was clambering down a steep, rocky slope when she saw Zane’s yacht dropping anchor in the bay. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched Zane toss the inflatable over the side. In the same instant her foot slipped. A sharp pain shot up her ankle. She tried to correct her footing and ended up sliding the rest of the way down the bank.
Sucking in a breath, she tested her ankle, the same one she’d turned in Sydney. Annoyed with the injury, which, while minor, would make the trip down slow, she began to hobble in an effort to walk off the injury.
It started to rain. She was congratulating herself on traversing the narrowest, most precipitous part of the track with steep slopes on both sides, when she glimpsed Zane walking toward her and slipped again, this time landing flat on her back. She lay on the wet ground, eyes closed against the pelting rain, and counted to ten. When her lids flipped open, Zane was staring down at her, water dripping from his chin, wet T-shirt plastered to his torso faithful y outlining every ridge and muscle. “Two days. Paradise, you said.”
“It would have been if we’d spent the time in bed.”
“Huh.” She pushed into a sitting position and checked her ankle and in the process realized that the white camisole she was wearing was now practical y invisible.
Zane crouched down beside her. Lean brown fingers closed around her ankle.
“Ouch. Don’t touch it.” Despite the slight tenderness, a jolt of purely sensual awareness shot through her.
His expression was irritatingly calm. “It’s not swol en, so it can’t be too sore. How did you do it?”
“I saw you and slipped. Twice.”
The accusation bounced off him. “Can you walk?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad.” He pul ed her up until she was balanced on one foot then swung her into his arms.
The rain began to pelt down. She clutched at his shoulders. “I’m heavy.”
He glanced pointedly at her chest. “There are compensations.”
He continued on down the hil but instead of taking a broad track to the beach, he veered left heading for a dark tumble of rocks. They rounded a corner and a low opening became visible. “Sebastien’s cave.”
“I thought it might be near.”
The mouth to the cave was broad, al owing light to flow into the cavern. Ducking to avoid the rock overhang, Zane set Lilah down on one of the boulders that littered the opening. He shrugged out of the rucksack he had strapped to his back, unfastened the waterproof flap and extracted a flashlight. The bright beam cut through the gloom, revealing a dusty brass lantern balanced on a natural rock shelf and an equal y dusty brass lighter lying beside it.
He crouched down and examined her ankle again. “A bandage would help.”
She retracted her ankle from his tingling grip. “I can wait for a bandage. Real y, it isn’t that bad.”
“Bad enough that it’s starting to swel .” He peeled out of his T-shirt.
Murky light gleamed on ridged abs and muscled pecs, the darker striations of the two thin scars that crisscrossed his abdomen. One was shorter and lighter, as if it hadn’t been so serious, the other more defined and longer, curling just above one hip.
She dragged her gaze from the mesmerizing expanse of bronzed, sculpted muscle, abruptly aware that he knew exactly the effect he was having on her and that he was enjoying it. “Don’t you need to wear that?”
“It’s either my T-shirt or your top. You choose.”
She concentrated on keeping her gaze rigidly on the wadded T-shirt. “Yours.”
“Thought you’d say that.”
Using his teeth, he ripped a smal hole near the hem of the shirt then tore a broad strip, working the tear until he ended up with a continuous run of bandage. Clasping her calf, he began to firmly wind the bandage around her ankle.
“Don’t tel me, you were a Boy Scout.”
“Sea Scout.” He ripped the trailing end of the bandage into two strips and tied it off.
“
Ouch
. Figures.”
He wound a finger in a damp strand of her hair and tugged. “Goes with the pirate image?”
She reclaimed her hair and tried to repress the brazen impulse to wal ow in the jolt of kil er charm and flirt back.
“Yes.”
Rising to his feet before he gave in to temptation and kissed Lilah, Zane examined the lantern, which stil contained an oily swil of kerosene.
He found a plastic lighter in the rucksack and tried to light it. Frustratingly, the lighter wouldn’t ignite. On closer inspection he discovered that the cheap firing mechanism had broken. Tossing the lighter back in the rucksack, he tried the old brass lighter, which had to date back before World War I . It fired instantly. Seconds later, the warm glow of the lantern lit up the cave. “Close on seventy years old and it stil works. They should keep making stuff like this.”
Zane caught the quick flash of Lilah’s smile, and held his breath at the way it lit up her face, taking her from pale and gorgeous to high-voltage, sexily gorgeous.
She held his gaze with a boldness that took him by surprise and made his heart race then looked quickly away, her cheeks pink.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I forget you’re an Atraeus.”
He shrugged, his jaw clenched in an effort to control the sudden hot tension that gripped him, the desire to compound his sins by grabbing her and kissing her until she melted against him. He had to keep reminding himself he was trying for a measured, adult approach, in line with his desire to try an actual relationship. “Before I was an Atraeus I was a Salvatore. In L.A. that meant pretty much the opposite of what Atraeus means on Medinos.”
“And that’s when you got the scars?”
He found himself smiling grimly. “That’s right. Pre-Spiros.”
Picking up the lantern, he held it high. “Wait here. I’m going to check out the rest of the cavern.”
And take a few minutes to regain the legendary Atraeus control that, lately, was losing hands down to the hotheaded Salvatore kid he used to be.
When he returned, Lilah was on her feet. Automatical y, he set the lantern down and steadied her, his hands at her waist.
She released the rock shelf she’d grabbed and clutched at his shoulders. “Every time I see you lately, I seem to lose my balance.”
“I’m not complaining.”
With a calm deliberation formulated during a sleepless night and several hours out on the water, he eased a half step closer, encouraging her to lean more heavily on him.
“That’s better.”
She wound her arms around his neck with an automatic, natural grace that fil ed him with relief. Despite the disastrous conversation the previous night, she stil wanted him.
Her breasts flattened against his chest, sending another jolt of sensual heat through him, but he couldn’t lose his cool. He had said that the next time they made love they were going to go about it in a rational, adult way, and he was sticking to that.
Lilah met his gaze squarely. “Why did you sail away on your own?”
A chil y gust of wind laced with rain swept into the cave.
“I wanted to give you time to think things through. If you had wanted off the island that badly, I would have taken you, but—”
“I don’t.”
His mouth went dry at her capitulation. A split second later thunder crashed directly overhead.
Lilah lifted a brow.
“Come and see what I found.” An uncomplicated satisfaction flowed through Zane as he picked up the lantern and helped Lilah through to the rear part of the cavern, which narrowed and curved then widened out to form a second room.
The cavern was furnished with a table and two chairs, a smal antique dresser and a chaise longue. As dusty and faded as the furniture was, the overal effect was elegant and dramatic, like a set for an old Valentino movie.
“What is this place?”
Zane set Lilah down on one of the chairs and stripped what proved to be a dustcover off the chaise longue revealing red velvet upholstery. “I’d guess we’ve found the location of Sebastien Ambrosi’s love nest.”
Lilah touched the velvet. She had heard the tale from her grandmother, who had known Sebastien quite wel .
According to Ambrosi family history Sebastien had asked for Sophie Atraeus’s hand, but in order to save the then failing Atraeus finances, Sophie had been engaged to a wealthy Egyptian businessman. “Where he was supposed to meet with his lover, Sophie Atraeus.”
“You know your history.”
Zane’s gaze was focused and intent as he pul ed pins out of her hair. Heart pounding, she clutched at his sleek shoulders. With slow deliberation, his mouth settled on hers. Automatical y, she lifted up on her good foot and wound her arms around his neck.
The kiss was firm, but restrained. After a night of tortured wrestling with her values, al undermined by a fevered anticipation that had kept her from sleeping, it was not what she had expected.
Wry amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’m trying to slow things down a little.”
“Under the circumstances, it’s a little late to worry about being PC.”
His hands closed on her hips, pul ing her in close against him. “Is that un-PC enough for you?”
She buried her face against his throat, breathing in his scent, reassured by his tentativeness, charmed by his consideration and the touches of humor. “What are you afraid of? That you might lose control and we’l end up having unprotected sex?”
He reached into his pocket. Moments later he pressed a foil packet into her hand. “That won’t happen again.”
Suddenly the murky afternoon was hot and airless.
His mouth captured hers again, this time frankly hungry.
She felt the hot glide of his palms on her chil ed skin as he peeled the damp camisole up her rib cage. Obligingly, she lifted her arms so he could dispose of the garment altogether. Moments later her bra was gone.
She braced herself against his shoulders as he unfastened her shorts and peeled them along with her panties down her legs.
When he straightened, she unfastened and unzipped his jeans. He assisted by toeing off his trainers and stepping out of damp, tight denim.
Lacing her fingers with his, he pul ed her close. Heat flooded her at the intimacy of skin on skin.
The sound of the wind increased, damp air stirred through the cavern, raising gooseflesh on her skin. Zane wrapped her close. “This is no place to make love.”
She buried her face in the muscled curve of shoulder and neck and breathed in his scent. “It was good enough for Sebastien and Sophie.”
“Almost seventy years ago.” He cupped her nape and fastened his teeth gently on the lobe of one ear, sending a bolt of heat clear through her. “I was thinking modern-day bed, silk sheets, soft music.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Back in L.A.,” he said drily.