by Elisabeth Naughton, Cynthia Eden, Katie Reus, Alexandra Ivy, Laura Wright, Joan Swan
The tunnel took a sharp right turn, and Lisa curved her body to mold to the space. The walls closed in tighter. The oxygen level dropped as the tube grew smaller. Her helmet hit the ceiling, both shoulders brushed the walls, and she stopped, fearing she was at the end of the line.
“Keep going,” Simeon whispered from behind.
“I can’t. It’s too tight.”
“This tunnel goes through. I checked the map before we came down.”
He had to be kidding. No way she was purposely turning into a sardine without seeing the map or tunnel for herself.
“I’m going to turn on my lantern.”
“No!” he whispered sharply. “They still back there. Go.”
Holy crap. She didn’t want to spend the next ten years in a Jamaican clink, or worse, wind up dead. She’d been warned—in no uncertain terms—not to trespass on private property again. And obviously, she hadn’t listened. But then, she didn’t exactly take kindly to unsolicited advice.
Drawing in a deep breath, she peered into the blackness ahead, contemplating her choices. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
Before she could change her mind, she kicked over onto her side, dropped her head against the floor of the tunnel and wriggled deeper into the tube. The walls pressed in on her, front and back. She couldn’t lift her head more than an inch off the ground. With the pack in front of her, she tried to slither through the shrinking space.
The tunnel took a sharp turn to the left. She folded her torso around the corner. This was it. She was going to get stuck in here and die, with the first of the Furies in her grasp.
No way. She wasn’t giving up.
Blowing out all the oxygen in her lungs, she kicked her legs and gave one last thrust into the tunnel. Her chest burned, every muscle ached, and just when she thought she was a goner, the cave widened.
Warm, sweet air filled her lungs. The steadily rising ceiling allowed her enough room to lift her head. Just ahead, the soft flicker of light shone through the darkness.
She suppressed the glee rolling through her and kept moving forward, slithering until the tunnel widened enough so she could push herself up to her hands and knees, then finally stand when the ceiling took a sharp rise.
Hands braced on her thighs, she bent over at the waist and drew in large gulps of musty air. She could hear Simeon still struggling in the cave. If she’d been stuck, he had to be in serious trouble. The man was at least twice her size.
She crouched in the darkness, calling out to him softly.
“Almost there,” he croaked. Metal scraped against rock, and then she heard him scrambling across the tunnel floor toward her.
Lisa grappled in the darkness and reached out, wrapping her fingers around his thick arms. Mud covered every part of their bodies. She helped him to his feet. His muffled coughing filled the space.
“How the hell did you get through there?” she asked in a whisper. “I barely made it myself.”
White teeth flashed in the darkness as he straightened. “I pray to Olorun to make me small as a snake to slither through the cave. He answer my prayer.”
Lisa frowned and let his answer roll right off her. She wasn’t going to get into a religious debate with him, and there was no way she was touching that one.
She slung the knapsack over her shoulder, turned and headed for the crack of light ahead. “Come on. Let’s get out of here while we can.”
“Your goddess pull you through that tunnel?”
Was he serious? She suppressed a laugh. Sheer female determination had saved her ass, as always. “No.”
“She will,” he said behind her. “You let her, and she’ll pull you to the light.”
Lisa glanced over her shoulder. In the dim light she could just make out his serious expression. “Thanks.” She shifted forward and kept walking, feeling the need to put as much distance between her and this cave as possible. “But I think I’ve got all the light I need.”
“You think that, but you don’t. You in the dark, Dr. Maxwell. Pitch dark. But things change. You see.”
Her guide had lost some serious oxygen in that tunnel, but he was right about one thing—something had definitely changed. She finally had what she’d been seeking for nearly fifteen years. With a little luck she’d be on her way to the second of the three Furies real soon. And she knew just where to start looking.
Chapter Two
Dr. Lisa Maxwell wasn’t what he’d expected.
Sitting in the back row of the massive auditorium, Rafe Sullivan adjusted his nonprescription glasses, shifted in the uncomfortable charcoal suit and leaned forward to get a better view of the speaker. The redhead wore a short black skirt and fitted blazer, and kept pointing to a map of ancient Persia. He tried to listen to her words, but that husky siren voice of hers kept throwing him off, and those sinful legs were the biggest distraction God had ever created.
No way this woman spent her life digging in the dirt, searching for artifacts worth less than the Rolex on his wrist. Though he did enjoy the image of that lean body coated in mud as she wrestled for a broken scrap of history only a handful of nerds could possibly be interested in.
Rafe hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, leaned back in his seat. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what the woman was jabbering about, but he needed to pay attention if he was going to get close to her once this boring lecture was over. And the only way to do that was to close his eyes so he’d stop fantasizing about seeing her naked.
Just as he was thinking her droning lecture would never end, sharp applause echoed through the hall. He glanced around the emptying auditorium and sat up, stretching his sore back and rolling stiff shoulders.
Showtime.
Briefcase in hand, he wandered up the side aisle past exiting attendees, taking a careful sweep of those left in the auditorium. A few people lingered near the back of the room. Dr. Maxwell stood just in front of the stage near the center aisle, talking with a small group of men and women.
Brown-nosers. Rafe frowned.
He checked his watch, bit back the impatience. He couldn’t make his move until she was alone, and he wanted to get this over with so he didn’t miss his flight.
A guy with a bad comb-over at Dr. Maxwell’s right kept cutting into the conversation. She flicked him an irritated glance, then angled her body toward the round, middle-aged man to her left. Pudgy seemed to be rattling off a dissertation about the Middle East and barely noticed her uncomfortable stance. Dr. Maxwell feigned interest, but she couldn’t hide her irritation at being trapped between the two men, or the fact she didn’t have any interest in talking with Comb-over, who continued to tap her on the shoulder in an attempt to dominate the conversation. There was no sign of the blond assistant who’d brought Dr. Maxwell water and anything else she’d requested during her presentation.
Jaw clenching, she brushed Comb-over’s hand away and took a step toward Pudgy. The small circle broke up, and Pudgy handed her a business card, thanked her with an arm-pumping handshake, then turned and walked up the center aisle, leaving Comb-over alone with the sexy doctor. His eyes took on an excited gleam. Hers screamed Get me the hell out of here.
And watching, Rafe knew he’d just been given his in. He stepped forward.
“Your discussion of the great city of Susa fascinates me.” Comb-over followed Dr. Maxwell up the steps and onto the stage. “I would very much like to continue the conversation, say, over dinner?” She stopped at the table and busied herself by stacking papers in a box at her left, but the guy didn’t take the hint. “Your insight into Darius the Great’s rebuilding of the city is riveting.”
With her back to Comb-over, Dr. Maxwell rolled her eyes. She darted a quick look around, as if searching for an escape. “That’s a very nice offer, Mr. Menlo, but I simply can’t. I already have…plans.”
A smile crept across Rafe’s face. Definitely his in.
He walked quickly up the steps, his dress shoes clicking across the shiny floor. They both
turned his direction at the sound.
“Querida, there you are. I thought you said you’d be done an hour ago.” He poured on the Spanish accent, dropped his briefcase at his feet and slipped his arm around Dr. Maxwell’s shoulders.
She looked up with a startled expression.
He pulled her against his chest and slid his other hand around her back. Man, the woman was small. Five-four, if she was lucky, but all muscle underneath. And she smelled like fresh gardenias. That was an unexpected treat.
Her body tensed in his arms. Her hand pressed against his chest, warming the skin under his cotton dress shirt. When her mouth opened in protest, he leaned close to her ear so only she could hear him. “Do you want to get away from this guy?”
She paused, as if thinking through her options, but when Comb-over coughed in annoyance, she gave a small nod.
“Good.” He didn’t hide the smile in his voice. “Then kiss me and make it look good.”
She hesitated a split second.
Comb-over coughed again and shuffled forward as if sensing something wasn’t right. “Dr. Maxwell—”
Hesitation forgotten, she quickly eased closer to Rafe, tipped her head up and rose on her toes to fit her mouth to his.
Rafe’s senses went into high gear when her lips brushed his. Soft and silky. And gone way too fast.
She dropped to her feet and eased out of his arms, but her eyes stayed locked on his. “You’re late.”
A smile curled his mouth. Quick on her feet. He liked that. And damn if those eyes weren’t the most amazing color he’d ever seen. Like emeralds polished to a high gleam.
“I arrived as soon as I could. Are you ready?”
She sent him a measuring gaze, her eyes sweeping from his tortoise-shell glasses down to the suit and tie, hovering on the soft-sided briefcase at his feet. With raised brow, she looked up, a sign of obvious interest, and his blood pulsed. Oh yeah, the accent had definitely pushed her over the edge.
Point in your favor, Sullivan.
“I think I am.”
She turned back to Comb-over, standing with wide eyes and open mouth. It was all she could do not to smile, and the knowledge tickled a nerve in Rafe’s stomach. “Mr. Menlo, thank you for your generous offer. As you can see, I already have plans. However, if there’s anything regarding the lecture you’d like to discuss in more detail, you’re certainly welcome to contact my research assistant at the university. I’ll be sure to get back to you when I return to San Francisco.”
He mumbled something Rafe couldn’t hear.
Her assistant walked across the stage. “I’ll gather the rest of your things and have them sent back to the hotel, Dr. Maxwell.”
“Thanks, Greta.”
Dr. Maxwell’s gaze followed Comb-over as he made his way down the stairs and disappeared up the aisle. When he was out of earshot, she looked back at Rafe. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t quite seem good enough.” She held out her hand. “Lisa Maxwell.”
He brought her delicate fingers to his lips. No rings. No tan lines from missing jewelry. “Helping a damsel in distress is a gentleman’s duty. And the pleasure was all mine, Dr. Maxwell.”
Her expression said You’re full of shit, but the slightest blush crept across her cheeks as his lips skimmed her fingers. She pulled her hand back when he lowered it. “It’s Lisa.”
He couldn’t help but smile. This was going to be so much easier than he’d planned. Regardless of profession, women were way too predictable.
“Rafael Garcia. You looked like you needed a quick out there.”
She leaned a hip against the table. “Some men just don’t know how to take a hint.”
She definitely wasn’t sending him the same one. Her gaze traveled the length of his body again before landing on his eyes, and from the interest flaring in those shining emeralds, she obviously liked what she saw. “Did you attend the lecture, Mr. Garcia?”
“Rafe. Yes, I did. I found it quite interesting. I’m a history professor at the University of Barcelona, and I have a personal interest in Ancient Greece. Your grasp of the Greek influence on Persia was right on.”
She grinned and eased away from the table, lifting her purse and slipping the strap over her shoulder. “Well, now. That’s a relief. I was worried for a moment.”
He didn’t miss the sarcasm. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply you’re green.”
She ran fingers through her short red hair. “I’m used to it. An American woman lecturing about archaeology in Europe is often discredited as not having a clue what she’s talking about.”
“Tough profession to be in.”
“You have no idea.” She extended her hand. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Garcia. And thank you for coming to my rescue.”
He held her silky fingers, not letting her slip away. “You realize that man is probably waiting outside for you. If you leave without me, he will probably try to corner you again.”
She tipped her head. “I’m sure I can handle him. But just out of curiosity, what did you have in mind?”
“How about a drink?”
“So you can pepper me with questions about Ancient Greece and find flaws in my research?”
His lips curled. He had something a little more enjoyable in mind. “No, so I can listen to your husky voice and stare into those gorgeous eyes for an hour before I have to catch my plane.”
She laughed. “Now that’s the most honest answer I’ve heard all day. You know what? I’m suddenly feeling rather thirsty. You’re on, Mr. Garcia.”
***
That accent was going to do her in.
Lisa lifted her wineglass and glanced over the rim at the man seated across from her. She’d always been a sucker for an accent.
It didn’t hurt he was sexy as hell—a real-life Antonio Banderas within her grasp. Dark, slicked-back hair with a touch of wave, piercing black eyes, golden skin and the cutest ass she’d ever seen in a pair of slacks. She’d almost asked him to walk ahead of her as they’d strolled through the streets of Milan, just so she could take in the view.
Rafael Garcia sure didn’t look like a boring history professor, but judging from the Greek mythological facts he was rattling off, he knew his stuff. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit she really didn’t care what he was rambling about; she’d been focused solely on the sound of his voice for the last half hour. Forget the Greeks. She could spend a whole day getting lost in that sultry Spanish accent.
Kissing him had been an impulse. She could easily have sidestepped the boring Professor Menlo from England, but she’d been intrigued by Rafe’s boldness. Not just that, but also by his spicy scent and that solid chest suddenly pressed against her. Lord, she was a piece of work. The sad truth was, she’d been buried in research too long, focused on the Furies way more than she should be. She’d neglected her personal life to the point where it was almost nonexistent.
Drinks in the hotel bar had turned into dinner, and if he kept looking at her with that roving gaze, she had a hunch it was going to turn into a helluva lot more. She had a nine A.M. flight she really didn’t want to miss, two hours’ worth of paperwork, a dozen calls to return, and a hotel suite to pack. But at the moment, she didn’t have any desire to get up and leave the table. Part of her figured she deserved a bit of relaxation after the last few crazy weeks. And there was something about this man that made her lose all sense of rational thought.
“So tell me of some of your excursions.” He lifted a spoonful of tiramisu and brought the tempting treat to his lips.
Her gaze followed, and she remembered that full mouth pressed up against hers. Heat shot straight to her belly.
She’d had enough business chitchat to last her a lifetime, and right now she was afraid she just might give in to temptation and crawl across the table to lick the frothy cream from his mouth if he didn’t do it soon himself. “Do you really want to hear about dark caves and subpar living conditions?”
He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “
I thought searching for buried treasure was romantic.”
She couldn’t stop her smile. He’d been teasing her all night, his dry sense of humor enticing her almost as much as his muscular body. “It’s dirty work. And there is no such thing as buried treasure.”
“Well, now. That’s a surprise. I didn’t expect you to be a pessimist, Dr. Maxwell.”
“No, I’m a realist. There’s a big difference.”
He leaned forward, waving a spoonful of the sinful concoction in front of her. “Why don’t you tell me just how dirty it can be?”
She hesitated, then opened her mouth and slowly used her tongue to lap the chocolate cream he’d smeared on her bottom lip. His gaze followed the movement. Her blood warmed at the heat she saw in his eyes. His foot brushed hers under the table, sending a tingle up her leg at the brief contact.
Oh, man. The wine was doing a number on her system. Or maybe it was the candlelight, or that alluring smile of his. She wasn’t sure which. At the moment though, she didn’t care. She had an overwhelming need to feel that hard body pressed up against hers again. While wild, unexpected flings had never been big on her list, the thought of one now wasn’t making her cringe. Unfortunately, some small part of her was still sane enough to know he was a distraction she couldn’t afford. Not right now.
“You missed your plane,” she said, changing the subject.
“There’ll be another.” He grinned. “Sometime.”
The waiter interrupted them. Happy for the distraction, Lisa sat back, wiped her lips with her napkin and listened as Rafe responded in fluent Italian. The waiter nodded, set the bill on the table and walked away.
Lisa reached for the leather folder. Rafe’s hand covered hers before she could lift it. Electricity ran over her skin. “Please. Let me.”
“That’s nice of you, but you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. To thank you for the most enjoyable meal I’ve had in a very long time.”
His dark eyes were filled with desire and boring a hole right into her soul, chipping away at what was left of her resolve. Her stomach quivered under his intense gaze as she contemplated her choices. The promise of passion was as plain as the tiny scar on his chin.
