Spiraling Deception

by Noree Kahika

  His attention finally settled on me and he studied me for several seconds. Slowly, heat suffused his gaze. The side of his beautiful mouth hitched wryly to one side. “I was rather hoping I’d get you all to myself for the next couple of days.”

  I frowned. “Is there a difference?”

  “Yes, Princess, there is a nuance of difference.”

  I shook my head at his cryptic remark as I belted my seatbelt. The pilot’s voice sounded through the cabin’s speakers to announce our imminent departure.

  “So which hotel are we staying at in Venice?” I asked, as soon as the plane took off.

  “We’re not staying in a hotel.” He grinned. “We’re staying on a private yacht.”

  We arrived into Venice’s international airport just as the sun had begun to set: the sky was doused in vibrant hues of pink and gold. Seth led Roman and me to an awaiting limousine and ushered us into the back before he placed our luggage in the trunk and climbed in the front, alongside the limousine’s driver.

  Even though the privacy screen was up, I still felt as though I needed to whisper the question. “Does Seth always travel with you?”

  “Yes. Seth, along with being my driver, oversees both my personal security team as well as that of Knight Industries. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious, I guess.” I shrugged.

  Everything about Roman Knight was most definitely intriguing. “But when you say security team, you mean you have several men like Seth?”

  “Not exactly like Seth, but yes I do. Although Seth is extremely good at his job, he does require a day off occasionally.” His mouth curved sardonically and I shook my head at him. He really did have a dry sense of humor.

  My gaze shifted to the passing scenery out the vehicle’s window and I pondered his words. How often was Roman’s personal safety threatened that he’d require a security team in the first place? The question was both sobering and more than a little scary.

  The limo pulled up at the Venice Port Authority, where, according to Roman, the yacht, which was owned by a friend of his, and where we were to be staying for the next three days, was docked. Once we were boarded, the yacht was going to cruise around the lagoon and dock overnight just yards from St. Mark’s Square on the Grand Canal of Venice.

  Seth opened my door and I gave him a smile as I got out, suddenly appreciative of the man who ensured Roman’s personal safety. Roman placed a hand to the small of my back and guided us toward the vessel.

  Pompously docked, with small emerald waves of water lapping at its side, was an enormous luxury yacht. Painted in a pristine glossy white, the vessel stood proud, almost boastful in its magnificence against the fading sunset of the Venetian sky.

  “I’m guessing your friend…he’s, umm…he’s like you,” I mumbled as Roman dropped his hand from my back and grasped my right hand in his.

  “Like me?” He peered down at me in confusion.

  I closed my eyes in resignation, and sighed loudly. “Yes, like you…obscenely rich.”

  He chuckled dismissively. “Come on, let’s get you aboard.” Roman tugged on my hand and led us aboard the ostentatious monstrosity.

  With three deck levels, the yacht had to be at least sixty feet long. After being greeted by the captain, who was a middle-aged, robust, and very tall Englishmen named Tom, we were then introduced to a further nine other people who made up the crew of the yacht—which was so adeptly named the Conquest.

  If I thought the outside of the yacht was impressive, it was nothing compared to the inside. According to Captain Tom, the Conquest boasted six bedrooms with a guest capacity of up to twelve, an infinity pool located at the stern on the first deck level, a Jacuzzi on the top deck, two saloons, three lounges, a fully equipped gymnasium, surround-sound movie theater, and a baby grand piano.

  Who needed a freaking baby grand piano on a boat, for God’s sakes!

  “Holy moly.” I exhaled. My mouth gaped as I turned in a circle and took in the magnificent living room of the main deck. Color palettes of rich creams, soft whites, sage greens, and classical beiges dominated the furnishings and décor but the art-deco inspired polished oak wood flooring and intricate wall paneling in hues of bright golds and honeyed caramels was without question the flamboyantly shining star of the show. Art-deco inspired artwork also hung on the walls and if I didn’t see the emerald waters of Venice’s lagoons with my own eyes, then I would have sworn that I stood in someone’s luxurious home or even a trendy boutique hotel, not aboard a yacht.

  Several crewmembers silently bustled about, stowing our luggage and preparing the vessel for sailing. A young woman came into the main lounge; a large platter of food laden with various cheeses, fruits, and crackers was placed on a table before she retreated quietly.

  Roman gestured to a wide and very comfortable looking settee. “Have a seat, Princess. Drink?”

  “Just some water please.”

  As Roman handed me a bottle of water, Seth appeared at the edge of the room. He gave me a friendly wink, walked toward Roman and whispered something quietly into his ear. Roman nodded in reply; Seth turned on his heel and left without another word. I found the whole exchange more than a little intriguing.

  “Everything alright?” I noted Roman pulled his cell from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

  He scanned the small screen and then pocketed the phone. His gaze sought mine. “Everything is good. Shall we have something to eat?”

  I shrugged and turned my focus to the platter of food. My stomach growled in response. “Why not.”

  It was late into the night, well after Roman and I had devoured the scrumptious pasta dinner the chef had cooked and served us in the formal dining room. It was after we’d retired to the top deck salon for a nightcap. Both of us watched on in silent fascination as the yacht sailed through the lagoons, navigated its way to the Grand Canal and finally docked mere yards from the famous St. Mark’s Square. Once the anchor was dropped, Roman had kissed the top of my head and murmured softly that he would meet me in bed after he’d spoken to Captain Tom. And it was after I had briefly gotten lost in my search for the master suite, found it with the help of a friendly stewardess, washed my face, moisturized, brushed my teeth and discovered the huge walk-in closet where all my clothes had been unpacked and hung that I spotted the exquisitely beautiful long negligée Roman had bought me.

  It had been a long day and although I was exhausted, the sight of the negligée renewed some of my energy. I drew the delicate silk and French lace fabric over my body and returned to the bathroom to brush my hair. As I undid my braid, I looked around the lavish marbled room: its décor, too, was art-deco inspired with inlaid intricate patterns in both the Italian marbled cabinetry and flooring. The theme carried through to the bedroom. I walked out and plopped myself onto the end of the king-sized bed. It was difficult to believe people actually lived like this; the sheer scale of grandeur of the vessel was truly overwhelming.

  Obtaining wealth was not something I had ever aspired to; in truth, the level of wealth Roman and his friend obviously had made me extremely uncomfortable. No, what I secretly aspired to—deep down yearned for—was the kind of love and happiness that my parents had when I was a child. That kind of love no amount of money could buy. And yet, funny enough, it was also the thing I feared the most as well. The thought of loving and trusting someone with all your heart and happiness, and then having them mercilessly taken away from you, would be soul-destroying. I never ever wanted to experience that level of pain again in my life. The price was way too costly to pay.

  Besides, true love and happiness—albeit a wonderfully idyllic concept—in truth, probably only existed for the minority. Cynical, I know, but I had grown to be a little cynical when it came to matters of the heart.

  Jake and Courtney, however, were among the lucky few and I could not be happier for them. Maybe after I finished establishing my own path, cemented my own independence in this life, I might meet a man one day who I’d love and trust enoug
h that the risk of opening up my heart and my soul to that man would be worth the price but for now—both my heart and soul were firmly locked behind a walled fortress.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” The sound of Roman’s deep, sexy voice startled me from my thoughts.

  “Hey.” I threw him a sly smile and gestured around the room with a wave of my hand. “I don’t think you need my pennies, Mr. Knight.”

  “No, I don’t but I would like to know your thoughts, Princess.” Intense inky blue eyes probed my face and I suppressed a shiver.

  “Hmm…well, a girl has got to have a little mystery about her.”

  “And you have it in abundance.” His heated gaze raked my body from head to toe and then back again. “You look beautiful in silk and lace, Charlotte,” he murmured. His tone dropped low and husky as his eyes returned back to my face. His gaze continued to hold mine; neither of us spoke or moved. I swear, my body temperature rose by ten degrees. The man was a walking, talking aphrodisiac. Then, just as abruptly as he entered the room, he turned and strode into the bathroom; I sighed and threw myself back against the bed.

  The man makes me crazy with lust—both an uncharacteristically and novel experience for me.

  Moments later, Roman returned, shirtless; his tailored dress pants still remained but sans the belt and—Holy moly. I sucked in a breath—the top button of his pants was undone. He stopped at the foot of the bed, bent one knee to part my legs and stepped between them. He took both my hands in his and tugged me up and into a seated position on the bed.

  With a gruff tone, he ordered, “Stand up.”

  On shaky legs, I obeyed, but deliberately brushed the front of my body against his chest as I stood, smiling in satisfaction when I felt him inhale sharply at the contact.

  “Hmm…now this poses a dilemma,” he murmured. With one step back, he collected himself. The back of one hand ran teasingly across my shoulder. “When I originally chose this sexy little garment”—he purred, his eyes following the movement of his hand before coming back to rest on mine—“I had in mind to fuck you while you were wearing it.”

  “And now?” I quirked an eyebrow tauntingly; however, the slight tremor in my voice belied the false bravado I was showing. His seductive touch and his carnal tone perversely aroused every cell in my body and moisture pooled between my thighs. Every single inch of my body craved to be touched and caressed by his talented, capable hands—it was as if I were a musical instrument and he were a concert musician and tonight was the opening performance.

  Roman chuckled darkly. In a slow perusal, he circled around my body in measured steps, pausing to place several lingering kisses on my shoulders, neck, and nape, and bunched my hair in his fist along the way. With each passing brush of his lips, my skin shivered and my nipples hardened in anticipation. But I refused to move an inch in fear of breaking the spell.

  “As sexy as this is, Princess,” he whispered into my ear. His breath elicited more of those delicious shivers down my neck and along my shoulder. “Your body is far too beautiful…even to be partially covered.”

  Deftly, his fingers slipped under the thin straps of the slip, leisurely drawing them down over each of my shoulders until the material pooled at my feet.

  Roman moved to stand in front of me. A look of raw hunger shone darkly in his midnight-blue eyes. “God, I love your perfect little body,” he rasped, using the fist of my hair he still held onto to angle my head to the side. Then his tongue trailed a scorching hot path across my collarbone and up behind the back of my ear. “So much goddamn hair—so soft, so angelic,” he murmured as he traced his tongue around the shell of my ear. “Everything about you is so innocent and perfectly flawless. I want to mark you, to possess every inch of you.”

  “Roman—” I panted in protest but his name came out as a plea. His lips, his mouth, his tongue was driving me fucking insane.

  “Shh.” He silenced me with a finger to my mouth.

  I stared into his beautiful inky eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in their depths. My body shivered again but this time it wasn’t from desire or lust—it was from…fear.

  I took a step back and Roman released his hold on my hair; his eyes quizzically searched mine. I glanced away and licked my lips through the haze of emotions that tried to seep into my consciousness. When that didn’t work, I dropped to my knees in front of him, blindly reaching for the zipper of his pants in an aching attempt to physically convey all the passion and desire my body felt from his touch.

  “Charlotte?” He encircled the long fingers of both his hands around my wrists.

  “Please, Roman, I need you,” I begged.

  His hands fell away.

  “Alright, Princess.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Venice, located in the northeastern area of Italy, is made up of one hundred and eighteen small islands separated by one hundred and seventy-seven canals and linked together by over four hundred bridges,” Mario, our private tour guide, proudly informed us as we climbed over yet another small bridge.

  “And this is the world-famous Rialto Bridge.” He waved his hand around in the air for further emphasis. His expectant smile waited patiently for our reaction, and indeed the sheer beauty and grandeur of the Grand Canal, located in the very heart of the four-hundred-year-old city of Venice, was truly breathtaking.

  I was in awe of the colorful city surrounded by its emerald waters, brightly painted gondolas, chic cafes, and eclectic mix of open-aired markets and shopping boutiques that sold a variety of goods from tourist trinkets, fresh produce, handmade leather goods, and designer fashion.

  After breakfast, Roman instructed me to wear comfortable walking shoes. When I returned to the main deck wearing said shoes, Roman introduced me to Mario, our private tour guide for the day. Then the three of us boarded a water taxi to the Island of Murano, observed a glassblowing demonstration, followed by a leisurely cruise down the length of the Grand Canal before we returned back to St. Mark’s Square.

  The water taxi was great fun but the Vaporetto, Venice’s water busses, filled with locals off to work or shopping, laden with bags of goods as they generally went about their day-to-day lives, looked like so much more of an authentic experience that at one point I asked Roman if we could take one. The disapproving frown on his handsome face was a resounding no. I guessed Mr. Knight didn’t do public transport—the snob!

  Once we were back in the people-populated and pigeon-infested square, Mario took us through a guided walking tour of St. Mark’s Basilica and the Doge’s Palace that stood right next door. The unfurling history, awe-inspiring architecture, and frenetic ambiance of Venice were incredible to experience firsthand. I literally went nuts taking hundreds of photos on my camera.

  By mid-afternoon, we said our farewells to Mario, and then Roman took me to a quaint little café where we had an alfresco lunch of tasty mushroom risotto cooked with chunks of pancetta and peas and served with a glass of the local Pinot Grigio. The meal was divine; the only downside was when Roman and I got into an argument about who was going to pay the bill.

  “I’m paying for this. It’s the least I can do as a thank-you for bringing me here, Roman,” I snapped irritably as I pulled my wallet out of my bag.

  “No, you’re not, Charlotte,” he growled back. His hand slapped over mine.

  “Yes I am,” I insisted, glaring. “You’ve paid for all the meals so far and the tour I had in Paris. It’s your friend’s yacht we are staying on and it’s your plane I’ve been flying in, so paying for one meal is the least I can do.”

  “And you’re my guest, so put your fucking money away.”

  Our gazes locked in a standoff—a battle of wills I was determined to win and I thought I’d been successful when Roman’s eyes shifted from mine to over my shoulder. A satisfied smirk lifted the edges of his lips and I looked over my shoulder in the same direction. Seth. Fucking Seth stood behind us, his features stoic behind a pair of aviator sunglasses. His chin lifted to Roman in silent com
munication.

  “Seth’s settled the bill.” He returned his gaze back to mine. His lips had a curve of satisfaction about them. Rising, he held his hand out toward me. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Have I told you today how arrogant and annoyingly bossy you are?” I snapped. I hiked my purse over my shoulder, ignored his outstretched hand and started to walk away.

  Within two steps he caught up to me, wrapping an arm around my waist and drawing me into his side. “Not today.” He chuckled, completely unaffected by my bad mood.

  Surprisingly, Roman patiently followed me around as I shopped for small gifts to buy for Courtney, Jake, Uncle Mike, and several members of the troupe. Finally I settled on a beautifully hand-painted Venetian mask for Courtney and the obligatory touristy-themed t-shirts for the guys just as Roman’s patience was wearing thin.

  As he caught my hand, he tugged me to him and clipped impatiently, “Are you done?” Apparently he wasn’t into strolling the little shops and open-air market-stalls for hours like I was.

  I turned to fully face him and I smiled sweetly. “I think I might be.”

  He narrowed those inky blue eyes at me and growled. “You’re done, Princess.” Then, before I could blink, Roman grabbed me by the arm and hauled me along as he strode down the constricted winding alleyways.

  I smiled all the way back to the yacht. He-he.

  By the time we arrived back to the yacht, it was close to five in the evening. Roman excused himself to attend to some emails with an assurance he wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours and I headed back to our cabin to put all my purchases away. I showered, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a light pink sweater—delighted to find all my clothes had been laundered—and headed up to the deck to wander around for a bit. Captain Tom was perched in the bridge and jovially ushered me over to the seat beside him. The view of the emerald lagoon was stunning from the bridge and before long, I was in fits of laughter from the captain’s humorous tales of his adventures over the last forty plus years as a nautical captain on the high seas. He had a very diverse and interesting career with numerous stories to share, and he’d also been married three times and had four children who were all grown up and married with families of their own.