I remember Italian ices, shell-hunting by the sea and long periods of boredom during which I entertained myself as my father played poker. Poker is, and always has been, Eric Talbot’s life’s blood. It is how he makes his living, how he gets his blood flowing. It also allows him to be very, very mobile. Each summer that I spent with him was in a different place, from Portland to Taiwan. But I remember Malta as being my favorite, because of its easy way of life and happy people. It is why I am here now.
Alanzo and I slip inside the air-conditioned interior of the car. I lean my head against the seat for a moment. I am so tired. Tired enough, actually, that I find myself waking up as the taxi comes to a stop outside of a little bungalow.
I blink the sleep from my eyes and open the door.
“It’s perfect,” I breathe as I step from the car.
Alanzo beams. “You like it?”
“Of course,” I nod.
The small flat is made from stucco and is situated on a bluff overlooking the sea. I can see for miles and miles here and the beach below us beckons to me. The sand is pristine and perfect, the sun beautiful and cheerful and there doesn’t appear to be anyone else for at least a mile. I have surely found paradise. I will have to watch myself to make sure that I don’t succumb to the temptation of lying on the beach all day. I have work to do.
“Come, Dr. Talbot,” Alanzo beckons.
“Please,” I call from behind him. “Call me Eva. Everyone else does.”
He smiles. “Alright. Come, Eva.”
I follow him up the winding path to the door. Green vines and fragrant white flowers are tangled on each side of the little walk and I pass a motorized scooter leaning against the house in the shade. I raise my eyebrows.
“It’s for your use,” Alanzo explains. “You can ride it almost anywhere that is too far for you to walk and for other needs, you can ride the bus.” I nod as I file the information away.
He unlocks the door and hands me the key, then steps aside so that I can enter.
“One bedroom, one bath, kitchenette,” he says. “Just as you asked for.”
It is clean, cozy and efficient.
I nod. “It’s perfect.”
“Linens and towels are included. You will have a cleaning lady come once a week. You will not need to care for the house. If you require something or if something breaks, call Tomas and he will contact your land lord.”
I nod again.
I don’t bother insisting that I can take care of it myself. Malta is a very patriarchal society. The men enjoy being caretakers. I don’t wish to intrude on that. I only wish to study their behavior when I meet them.
I walk through the small flat, taking note of the cozy furnishings, the open back doors that lead to a little patio area surrounded by a garden and the very small bed. I cringe.
“Not what you are used to?” Alanzo guesses.
I shake my head. “I haven’t slept in a twin bed since I was a kid,” I tell him. “But it’s okay. I’ll make do.”
Because I definitely don’t want to sound like a spoiled, self-entitled American
Alanzo looks at me kindly.
“You seem very tired, Eva,” he observes. “You should rest. Tomas will be along in the morning to welcome you.”
I nod again. “You’re right. I am tired. Thank you so much, Alanzo. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
He smiles, a wizened old grin, and then he is gone and I am alone.
I look around at the quiet little cottage with the dusk settling in and I know that I won’t be able to hold my eyes open for much longer.
I curl onto the skinny little bed and close my eyes. I have a scant few minutes to appreciate the ocean crashing outside of my open window before I drift into a dreamless sleep.
***
It is dark when I wake.
I lie still for a moment because I know that something has woken me, but I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary in this unfamiliar house. Shadows fall in angular slants against my wall but nothing is moving. The silence is still.
And then I feel it again, a tickling on my arm. My stomach sinks with dread as I brush at my skin and come into contact with something moving; something thin and fleshy.
I scream and leap from the bed, fumbling for the light switch on the wall.
There, sitting on my bed atop twisted sheets, is the largest, scariest looking spider I have ever seen in my life. Its hairy leg-span must be four or five inches. It is black and white striped and has a huge bulbous abdomen with some bright yellow stripes thrown in. I scream again just looking at it. It is so horrifying that I’m too terrified to even squash it with a shoe. I don’t want to get my hand that close.
I stand still, breathing harshly as I try to decide what to do. There’s no way that something that terrifying isn’t poisonous.
Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.
I hate spiders. I’m not thinking clearly now. I’ve barely woken up and I’m faced with this spawn of Satan sitting on my bed. I’m all alone in a strange and foreign place and there is a killer on my bed.
And then there’s a voice.
“Miss, is everything alright?”
A deep voice is calling from outside of my house. And before I can think about it and remember that I don’t know anyone here and that a stranger really shouldn’t be outside of my house, particularly in the middle of the night, I answer.
“No. I’m not.”
In a scant moment, a man bursts into my bedroom.
He looks startled to see that I am alone.
And I am startled because he’s alarmingly handsome.
So it appears that we are both startled as we stare at each other.
He’s dark haired, tanned, and has dark eyes. His bangs are hanging artfully in his eyes, although the hair on the back of his head is a little shorter. It’s a style that works for him. He’s got broad shoulders, slim hips, chiseled yet graceful features and Sweet Merciful Mary, he’s beautiful. He’s dressed in jogging shorts and running shoes and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. I don’t even have time to wonder why he’s out for a run in the middle of the night before I notice that he’s also got that sexy, day-old stubble that I so love on a man.
I swallow and realize that my mouth has gone dry.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes skimming over me, assessing the situation. It’s a valid question. I
had
been screaming bloody hell, after all.
I nod. Then shake my head.
“Spider,” I whisper.
His dark eyes widen and he follows my pointing finger with his gaze.
Then he laughs, husky and rich.
“Spider,” he confirms with a nod, his dark eyes sparkling in amusement. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a perfect specimen of the Writing Spider.”
“Writing Spider?” I repeat, watching it nervously, making sure it doesn’t try to run across the bedroom floor and up my leg. “Is it poisonous?”
Handsome Running Guy nods solemnly.
“Oh, it’s a known killer, alright.”
I gasp and lurch even further away from the hairy creature on my bed and Handsome Running Guy laughs.
“I’m sorry. I’m only joking. I couldn’t resist. It’s not poisonous. I think its scientific name is Black and Yellow Argiope, or something like that. They are all over here. But you wouldn’t know that because you’re not from here, are you?”
I shake my head again, trying not to be overly enthralled with his charming accent.
“Is it that obvious?”
He smiles and suddenly it seems like all natural sources of light are pouring into my room, originating from this man. He’s got such a strong presence that it makes my spine tingle. And my stomach is fluttering in a way that it hasn’t fluttered since high school. Interesting.
He shakes his head and then holds out his hand.
“Luca Minaldi,” he tells me and his fingers are cool as he shakes my hand.
“Evangeline Talbot,” I answer. “But my friends call me Eva.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” and his eyes agree with him as he stares at me. “The question now is would you like for me to kill your uninvited guest or should I release him into the wilds?”
“Kill it,” I say firmly. Slight disapproval passes over Luca’s face like a shadow.
“Are you certain?” he asks. “It’s an amazing specimen and they do eat bugs. Bugs can get pesky here in Malta, Evangeline.”
“You can call me Eva,” I answer. “And if we release it into the outdoors, he might come back in.”
I shudder again at that thought.
“True,” Luca agrees. “And so might anyone else. Your door wasn’t locked. And I can’t call you Eva. We’re not yet friends.”
There is disapproval on his face again and I find his manner of speaking intriguing.
Rich, formal, gentleman
, I list in my head as I stare at his manicured hands. Then I add
jaded
to the list. There’s also something else about him, something that I can’t put my finger on yet. I make a note of that. It’s a little discouraging since my thesis is based on the notion that an intuitive person can peg someone on the first meeting. However, our first meeting isn’t over yet and I return my attention to him.
“I was so tired when I got here that I barely remember walking through the house,” I admit to him. “It doesn’t surprise me that I left the door open.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” Luca answers. “Jet lag is miserable. But do be more careful. You are in a strange place.”
“So you’ve said,” I nod, slightly impatient with the safety lecture. I’m a grown woman. I know how to take care of myself. “Now will you kill the spider or do I need to call my landlord?”
Luca smiles and the room brightens once again.
Interesting, both that this man’s mood can change the atmosphere in my entire bedroom and that his mood changes so quickly. Should I add
mercurial
to the list?
I hold off on that one as he raises an eyebrow at me.
“You’d really call your landlord this late after business hours for an insect?”
I eye the spider. “That is not an insect,” I tell him. “That’s a monster. I’ve been told that I’m always welcome to call him in an emergency. I’d say this qualifies.”
Luca chuckles and shakes his head.
“I hate to kill something that isn’t hurting us,” he tells me. “Let’s find a jar. A large jar.”
I shake my head and slip out to the kitchen, bringing him back a large canning jar that I found beneath the sink. I hand it to him and he quickly scoops the large spider into the jar, then covers it with his hand, unafraid.
I shudder on his behalf as I watch the long hairy legs twitching against his palm.
“How do you stand that?” I demand as I trail him to the back door. He walks a few feet into the night and releases the spider into the grass. It quickly scurries away into the darkness although I’m sure it will find its way back into my house soon enough.
“It wasn’t going to hurt me,” he told me. “Because I wasn’t hurting
it
. That’s usually how nature works.”
“Not so,” I counter. “Not always. I’m sure that a gazelle hunted by a lion would beg to differ with you.”
Luca’s lip twitches. “Lucky for us, this isn’t the Serengeti. If you don’t provoke something here, you will generally be left alone.”
I smile. “Well, good. I’m not in the habit of provoking people. Unless they are lying on my couch, anyway.”
Luca’s eyebrows raise again. “Pardon?”
I laugh when I realize what I must have sounded like. “I’m a psychiatrist. Almost. I’m here for the summer to finish my dissertation. People pay me to probe at their secrets.”
Luca seems interested now. I add
unafraid
to his list. People are generally a little put off when I tell them what I do which is why I like to get it out of the way right off the bat. It’s like they are afraid that I will dissect their brains during casual conversation. And in all honesty, I sort of do. It’s an occupational hazard. I can’t turn it on and off.
“You’re a psychiatrist?”
I nod. “Are you afraid?”
It was a joke. But he pauses for a moment before he smiles.
“Very, very afraid.”
There is electricity between us. And I’m not sure if it is because he’s so very handsome or if it is simply because he is a strange man standing in my bedroom. Either way, I can feel it and I smile.
“You should be.”
He smiles back, a guarded smile. “Noted.”
Luca hands me the jar back and when he does, his hand brushes mine. His touch is feather light but I can feel exactly where our skin comes into contact and it feels as though I will have a permanent impression of his fingers on my own. My eyes dart up and meet his, which are a turbulent black, full of charged energy.
Our gazes lock and I am speechless, utterly engrossed in the power of this moment. I’ve never been so instantly attracted to a man. I don’t know if it is simply a by-product of my jetlag or if it is real.
However, I don’t get a chance to ponder it. Out of my periphery, I notice a movement out of the corner of my eye and glancing down, I find that the spider, probably disoriented from this whole ordeal, is scurrying back across the lawn and is aimed directly at my feet.
It is moving fast and I barely have time to gasp or scream before Luca’s foot slams down upon it with a sickening crunch.
Its long broken legs stick out from under the sole of his running shoe as I stare at him uncertainly.
“I thought you said it wasn’t going to hurt me? That we shouldn’t kill it because it meant no harm?”
Luca shrugs. “I changed my mind.”
And something about this moment and his words and his nonchalant attitude sends goose bumps forming up and down my arms, although I don’t know why. I’m shocked that he killed it, but it was just a spider. An insect. But it somehow seems strange. Five minutes ago, he was dead set against hurting it and then he turned around and killed it without a second thought.
I think I should add
mercurial
after all.
I glance at his face and now it seems as though shadows have passed over it, thunderous and dark. I inhale sharply as I watch him gracefully wipe his shoe off in the grass. He’s lithe and muscular, like a lion, and I suddenly realize that a jungle cat is exactly what he reminds me of. He is sleek and powerful and masculine.