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 l
egs 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.
Dangerous.
The word pops unbidden into my mind and I try to shake it off.
He killed a spider, not a person or a puppy. I have no basis for thinking that he is dangerous. But as he turns his eyes toward me, there is something there, something in the dark depths that I can’t define, something dangerous.
And so I reluctantly add it to his list. This is just my first impression after all. It remains to be seen if my instinct has any validity whatsoever. I can just as easily take it off the list as I put it on. I look up to find him staring at me with his dark and fathomless eyes. Those are eyes that a person could lose themselves in.
Why does it seem like everything has turned tense? I didn’t mean for that at all. I was just surprised by the turn of events. So I tell him that. And then I hold out my hand.
“It was really nice to meet you, Luca. Thank you so much for taking care of the spawn of Satan. I really appreciate it.”
He nods, relaxed once again. “Anytime. I’m a spawn of Satan specialist. I’m just happy that I was nearby and heard you scream.”
“Yes,” I agree. “That was very lucky for me.”
“Hmm,” Luca says, drawing out the sound. “Let’s leave that verdict out for now, shall we?”
I stare at him, wondering what that means and why he seems so mysterious when he suddenly turns and walks out. I trail weakly behind him, trying to figure out what I had missed.
And then he is gone.
He is such a commanding presence that his absence is noticed immediately. The air around me lightens and the charged atmosphere is gone, like a thunderstorm that has abruptly moved on. I stand at the front door, watching him jog lightly down to the beach where he continues running in the wet sand. I watch his broad shoulders ripple as he moves until he is gone from my sight.
And I’m holding my breath. I realize it in an instant and inhale deeply.
Luca Minaldi, whoever he is, is intense.
I add that to the list and then examine it in my head.
Rich
Formal
Gentleman
Jaded
Unafraid
Intense
Mercurial
Dangerous
I have no way of telling at this point if these descriptors are accurate. In order to know for sure, I’ll have to interact with Luca Minaldi again. Luckily, as part of my research, I have vowed that if I have meaningful interaction with anyone this summer, I must follow-up with them in a second or third meeting so that I can ascertain if my initial theory on his or her character was correct. It’s the only way I can test my hypothesis in a practical sense.
But something deep inside of me tells me that my hypothesis should be damned in relation to Luca. I shouldn’t pursue another meeting with him. There’s something about him, something secretive and troubling, that I know I should steer clear of. My trained intuition is shouting at me.
And although I don’t have any basis other than my own intuition for it, I add secretive to the list. Because one thing is clear. Luca Minaldi is an enigma. I shake my head and lock my door before going back to bed.
Chapter Two
The Beast
My vision tunnels as it always does when I lose myself.
I only have a split second, a moment, really; before I am overtaken by the basest of instincts, by the blurs of reds and blacks. I can’t fight it. I have tried before and it is useless.
My periphery is vanished now, absorbed by the darkness. I can focus only on what is in front of me. My subconscious is gone, my guilt is gone, my logic is gone.
There is nothing left.
Except for a driving need.
As always, I succumb to it.
I can do nothing else.
My feet thump onto the twisted path to the beach and my head snaps to attention in the breeze. Someone in the near distance is cooking dinner.
Oregano, oil, beef.
I pivot and move into the shadows where I belong.
My nerve-endings are standing at attention. I can smell everything, see everything. I can feel everything. It is exhilarating and smothering at once. I breathe deeply and attempt to harness it. And then I charge ahead into the night, through the trees.
A house comes into focus. Small and neat. I pad lightly up the path and the ocean crashes behind me as I linger at the door. Dinner smells drift from the window and I inhale, allowing the breeze to wash over my skin as I stand still.
I am only hungry for one thing.
There is not the bustle of family from within these walls. There is no noise at all.
I don’t knock.
I move silently through the rooms until I find what I am looking for.
She turns, startled.
But she doesn’t scream. She looks curious; wondering why I am here, what I want from her. I don’t hesitate to show her.
I cross the room in two strides.
Her throat is in my hands.
My tongue is in her mouth, her teeth scrape against mine.
She is screaming now because she can see what I want, but my mouth quickly muffles the noise.
I enjoy the vibration of the sound against my lips, the heat of her breath against mine. Everything is visceral now, an explosion of sensations and my vision blurs.
She is soft and I am hard and I rage against her, taking her over and over until her eyes glaze and her screaming stops.
Her heart is pounding against my chest and her body is so very fragile.
So I break it.
Chapter Three
Eva
A knock on my cottage door wakes me from sleep. I lie still for a moment longer, clearing my mind from sleep-induced fog. There is another knock and I climb from the bed, only just now remembering that I am still fully dressed, as I answer the door.
An elderly man is on my stoop with grayed hair and warm brown eyes.
He looks at me and grins.
“Dr. Talbot! You look just like your papa! But for your eyes and red hair.”
I shake my head. This is something that I’ve heard my entire life. I do resemble my father with my straight Roman nose and delicate features. My father has dark eyes though, and I have inherited my mother’s instead, as well as her pale skin and red hair.
“You must be Tomas,” I observe. He grasps my hand and squeezes it while he nods.
“Yes, bella mia. I’m so sorry that I was unable to meet you yesterday. I’m an old man and I had a doctor’s appointment to keep. I do hope that my friend Alanzo didn’t ramble too much with his stories.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, Alanzo was charming. Thank you for sending him.”
Tomas smiles. “I’m so happy to finally see you again. You probably don’t remember me, but I knew your papa very well when you and he lived here so many years ago.”
I laugh. “I don’t remember much from that long ago, Tomas. But I’m very happy to meet you now.”
Loyal, friendly, open.
I begin my mental list of Tomas’ traits.
“Your bags arrive
d,” he tells me, motioning to a stack of luggage outside of the door. “You must have been sleeping.”
“I was very tired,” I explain as we begin lugging the bags through the door. He clucks as he hands me a heavily loaded crate.
“I know,” he tells me. “I was here earlier and saw you sleeping through the window. I didn’t want to wake you because you seemed very tired. You will have to take care of yourself, bella,” Tomas says as he eyes me. “Your papa wants me to look after you. I promised him that I would make sure that you slept enough and that I would keep all of the boys away so that you could finish your research project.”
I laugh again. I’m still tired enough that everything seems funny, particular when he refers to men my age as ‘boys’. At twenty-nine, I’m just a minute away from thirty. If boys aren’t men by this point, they never will be.
“I’m not too worried about the boys, Tomas,” I tell him. “I’m not here to find a husband.”
I decide to get that out of the way right off the bat. Like their close neighbors, the Italians, family is very important to the Maltese. I know that I will be prodded the entire summer by well-wishing people who want to see me married off and happy.
I sigh at the thought because right now my only wish is to finish my dissertation and start my career. I’ve worked long and hard for it and I’m right at the cusp. Just this summer and I will be done with all of the academic red tape. It’s almost surreal.
Tomas shakes his head.
“You’re a pretty girl, bella. You will not have a problem finding a husband. I don’t worry about that one bit.”
I refrain from telling him that I’m not worried, either.
My stomach growls loudly, rudely interrupting our conversation, and I suddenly realize that it has been hours and hours since I have eaten. I look at Tomas.
“Tomas, where is the closest place to eat?”
“Now you’re talking,” he beams. “Your father also made me swear that I would make you eat this summer. He’s afraid you are growing too skinny.”
I self-consciously wrap my arms around my waist. It’s true. While I was finishing up my residency this year, I worked many, many twelve and sixteen hour shifts in the Psych unit at the Oregon Health and Science University in Portland. There were times that food just wasn’t that high on my priority list. Sleeping became the most important thing in the world, second only to breathing.
Of Blood and Bone (The Minaldi Legacy) Page 2
