by Linda Barlow
I slid naked into bed beside her. As I threw my thigh over her legs, I reveled in the smooth, silky feel of her bare skin against mine. Oh, God, she was sweet. Small, slim, light boned and lovely. She smelled like summer. Her fragrant hair was like wine.
Impatient, I stroked her breasts. Beneath my fingers, her skin felt warm and smooth, but she didn't stir as I caressed her.
"Ellie?"
No reply. Her chest moved slowly up and down with her breath.
"Ellie?" I groaned, realizing that her climax and the alcohol combined had sent her plunging into sleep.
Fuck! I could probably wake her, but damn, look at me. Condom on and ready to go. It was fucking hilarious. What the hell was happening to me? I knew myself for a worshiper of mind, of intellect, yet here I was, just as much as any other man, held in thrall to the demands of my unruly flesh. With Ellie, especially. She drove me nuts.
What was it about her? I couldn't recall ever having felt like this.
Oh, Ellie. Asleep. Why did I let her drink so much raki? Why had I swallowed so much myself? And why the fuck had I stopped her when she was giving me one helluva great blowjob? I should have just let myself come in her mouth.
I rolled off her, ripped off the condom and tossed it on the floor. Then I stroked myself with my trusty right hand, because there was no way I was falling asleep beside her with a hard-on this fierce. She didn't wake as I desperately got myself off. Not even my loud groan as I came made her stir. Damn. It was better than nothing, but it wasn't what I wanted. Even after I was empty, the feel of her beside me started stoking me right back up again.
Curling myself around her, I began conjugating Latin verbs—the least erotic pastime I could imagine. Amo, amas, amat, I muttered over and over until sleep came at last to end my torment.
Chapter 18
ELLIE
I awoke with a start, vaguely aware that something was wrong. I felt cold. Rolling more snugly into the blanket, I opened my eyes and gazed around the bare room. I could tell from the amount of light coming through the window that it was early morning. Nick, with his back to me, was just stepping into his jeans. I got a yummy flash of naked limbs before the blasted clothing covered his legs and ass.
Evidently, he had just left the bed. The sheets were still warm from his body. I was cold because he was no longer there beside me.
Nick zipped his jeans and snapped them, then, still shirtless, he dropped to the floor and did a series of push-ups. I blinked at the sight of the powerful muscles in his arms flexing as they absorbed his weight. He obviously had no idea I was awake. He worked out hard and fast, doing press after press, until droplets of sweat shone on his back.
He rolled over and did a bunch of sit-ups, hands behind his head. Then he raised his legs and bicycled. I was leaning on my elbow, watching and enjoying as he sprang to his feet and began punching the air and moving in a silent martial arts drill. His face had grown intent, his dancelike movements clean and graceful, his concentration complete.
I tried to recall the feel of that strong, lithe body covering me, separating my thighs, holding me still and thrusting inside. Had it happened? Surely not. I remembered drinking; I remembered dancing; I remembered his carrying me back to this room. I remembered the thrill of his cock filling my mouth, and the intense pleasure of his fingers and tongue on my sex. I remembered a powerful, mind-spinning orgasm. But after that? Shit, I didn't know what had happened next.
"Nick?"
He broke off in the middle of a stylized lunge and turned to face me. He was breathing rapidly from the exercise, but he had no difficulty talking. "You're awake? After last night, I figured you'd sleep till noon."
I groaned and massaged my aching head with my palm. "What happened last night?"
"You mean you don't know?"
"Um, not entirely. Did we, you know..."
"Did we fuck?" Nick pushed a floppy lock of sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes and hunkered down beside me. He bent over and kissed me lightly on the side of one cheek. "For shame. I exert myself all night on your behalf, going page by page through the Kama Sutra, and it makes no impression upon you at all?"
I laughed. "I'm sure I'd have remembered that." A vague image of him wearing a condom came back to me, and I winced because that was as far as my memories seemed to stretch.
"But you don't? Ha. I'm insulted."
I noted the merriment in his sea-green eyes. It was so unusual to see such a thing in him that I wondered if I had wandered into Bizarro World. I reached under the sheets to feel myself down there. If we'd fucked all night, I'd have been a bit sore, surely. "Did I fall asleep on you?"
He sighed, his gold-dusted chest fascinating me. "You had a massive orgasm and fell unconscious. We slept together as chastely as if we'd taken holy vows. Just imagine how pissed you'd be if our roles had been reversed."
"Oops. Sorry. And you didn't..." My question trailed off as his merriment was replaced with a look of irritation.
"No. Unconscious is not willing."
I didn't know how to respond to that. For an amoral criminal, he was surprisingly faithful to the promise he had made to me.
"It's pouring rain," he said, opening the shutter on the window. "I was going to take you to the excavation site, but it's a bit of a hike. I'm going to go myself, though. I want to see exactly what the crew has discovered in the way of 'Trojan treasures,' and where they're finding the stuff."
I did my best to cope with the change in mood and subject. If he'd wanted it, I would have let him join me in bed now. But it didn't sound as if he cared much about the pleasure he'd missed. What a contradictory man he was! "You sound more skeptical today, as if you're in doubt about the find."
"One gold earring doesn't prove much. It may have come here through other means entirely." After a moment, he added, "I'll leave you with my grandfather, if you think you can handle that."
I wasn't thrilled with the prospect. After discovering Nigel's two-faced nature, I wasn't sure how I felt about Sir Avery. His attempt last night to justify himself hadn't succeeded. I felt sorry for his straitened circumstances, yes, but surely that was no excuse for thievery. "I thought I wasn't safe without you nearby to protect me."
"My claim on you has been clearly established, I think, after last night. No one'll dare molest you."
"Not even Nigel?"
"Nigel will be with me," he said grimly. "Do you play chess? My grandfather loves to play."
"I'm not that good, but, sure, I can probably give him a game."
He smiled the sweet and sunny smile that was so rare—and thus so devastating. "O, thou fair Helen, that can tempt me with thy beauty and thy wit."
I flushed. "What's that from, professor?"
"I made it up," he said, pulling on his shirt.
"So you're a poet, too, as well as a crook?"
He snorted.
Tilting my head to one side, I said, "You're a puzzle. You translate ancient texts, you steal, you read Homer, and you knock people unconscious with a flick of your wrists. You're a versatile dude. Will you play your flute for me sometime?"
He raised his eyes from his buttons to stare at me. "How do you know about that?"
"You played upon Pan's pipes last night, remember?"
"Yeah, and you must have found my flute when you searched my drawers. Looking to understand me."
"But I still don't understand you at all."
He grimaced. "Why don't we keep it that way?"
He finished dressing and left me alone in the room.
Chapter 19
ELLIE
I played three games of chess with Sir Avery and beat him once, which seemed to gratify the old man. "It's rare that I find a woman who can defeat me at chess, my dear," he told me, grinning as he turned over his king. "No wonder Nick's fond of you. Do you beat him too?"
"We've never played."
"He's good. Taught the lad myself. He's patient, you see, and able to plot his moves out well in advance. Nigel was too re
ckless to play well, especially against careful, plodding Nicholas-of-the-poker-face. When it was obvious he was losing, Nigel would upset the board and stalk away. He could never stand to be bested by Nick."
"Did Nick best him often?"
"At some things—studies, mostly, or music."
"Does he play other instruments besides the flute?"
"Yes, several. Damn well, too. Nigel always made fun of his playing the flute."
More reasons to despise Nigel. "Did that bother Nick?"
"Hard to tell. You never know with Nick, do you?" He stared at me for a moment in silence, and then continued, "Nigel was better at sports. He was bigger and brawnier. He could batter Nick if he wanted to, and did. Nigel has a temper. So does Nick, when he's pushed. But whenever they'd descend to physical blows, Nigel would emerge the victor."
I doubted that would still be the case. Was being battered by Nigel the reason Nick had taken up hand-to-hand combat? I envisioned the grace of his practice session this morning. Was Nigel aware of his cousin's finely honed skill? I fiercely hoped not.
"Tell me more about Nick's childhood," I urged him. "It's not easy prying information out of him."
Sir Avery was not averse. The picture he painted was of a bright and perhaps too-sensitive boy who had grown up in the shadow of his more outgoing older cousin. "Nick's always been a bit of a mystery, my dear. Self-contained and intense. You never really know what he's thinking, do you?" Here a shadow seemed to pass over the old man's face. "You never really know how he feels."
It struck me that Sir Avery loved his younger grandson, but wasn't confident that the feeling was returned. I reached out and touched his hand. He smiled and patted my wrist. "No doubt he's the same with you, eh? Not overly affectionate, that's our Nick. Yet he's very taken with you, Ellie. That was evident when you danced. Maybe you didn't notice how everything in the room came to a standstill. Watching you, we were all transfixed. It was as if you and he were the axis upon which the whole world spun."
"Whoa!" I interrupted, embarrassed.
"I know, I know, I'm being silly. But it was remarkable. Nobody's ever seen Nick behave like that."
It hadn't been normal behavior for me, either. Nothing in my life had been normal since he and I met.
"Oh, to be young and in love," said Sir Avery.
Ha! As if I would ever fall in love with a criminal.
Sex, on the other hand...he was smokin' hot and my hormones, at least, were in love.
Later in the day, Sir Avery asked me about my photography. I was taken aback when his questions grew technical, asking how I would light an archaeological exhibit to get the sharpest and most colorful close-ups.
"Why?" I asked. "Were you thinking of offering me a job?"
To my dismay, he nodded. "Our photographer had to leave the island. We could use a replacement. Do you have your equipment with you?"
"Not exactly. That is, it's on Nick's boat."
"Excellent. Let me tell you what we need."
Shit. The last thing I wished to do was take photographs for a bunch of crooks. I didn't want to help them in any way. But I had to listen and pretend to be enthusiastic while Sir Avery explained his plan for disposing of the stolen objects that they'd had been scavenging from the Aegean coast of Turkey.
"We'll be removing them, slowly, one by one, over the next year or two," he explained. "Most items are small—coins and potsherds and such—but there are also some larger pieces. These will be more difficult to export."
"I see." Nobody wanted to get caught with the loot.
"The objects must be properly photographed. It will make it easier for us to sell them. The pictures should be of the highest quality."
"So you can command the highest price."
"We did try to take some shots, but they didn't come out well. Nick says it's something to do with the lighting. Does that make sense to you?"
"Well, yes. Lighting is important."
"Here, have a look." He handed me several prints.
I flipped through them. "Who took these?"
"Nick."
Well, well. Versatile though he was, I'd finally found an area where his talent was lacking. The pictures were atrocious.
"Do you think you can do any better?" Sir Avery asked me.
"I don't know," I said noncommittally. If I can't, I'll swallow my camera. "I'd have to see what you have to work with."
"Nick can take you to the site tomorrow if the rain stops. Inshallah it will clear up. The damp is bad for my bones and muscles."
I didn't want to do it. Playing a role to save my own life was one thing. Becoming an accessory to a crime was something else. At this rate, Nick and I would be doing time together. I'd have to tell him that this was where I drew the line.
But Nick didn't return to the compound all day, nor did he show up for dinner. When he did come in late that night, just as I was preparing for bed, he was wet and filthy and in a foul mood. Ordering me to sleep, he disappeared down the hallway into the shower, where he remained for a long time.
I lay stiffly under the blanket on our mattress, armored in my clothes, half fearing, half desiring his presence beside me. I'd opened the curtains on the window to let in some light, and I wondered if this would annoy him. When he finally returned to the room, I didn't stir, pretending to be asleep, even though I expected him to come check me and find me faking.
But he didn't check me. He didn't come anywhere near me. He got himself another blanket and rolled up on the floor as far away from me as possible. He left the curtains open.
This sucks, I thought, as I huddled, shadowed by moonlight, in my cold and lonely bed.
Chapter 20
NICK
I was feeling edgy the next morning as we hiked toward the excavation site in the company of Metin and half a dozen workers. It wasn't far, but the mountainous track was more suitable for goats than humans. The sun was shining brightly, but the ground was still a little wet from yesterday's rain. Ellie and I were lagging behind the others because I had to compensate for her shorter stride. Although she was fit, she wasn't accustomed to steep hikes over rough terrain.
I'd asked her to check out the site so she could determine how to take the photographs we needed. She'd promptly objected, insisting she wasn't going to become an accessory to antiquity theft. I told her to have some faith in me and follow orders¸ which was not exactly warmly received.
She was curious about the site, though—that much was evident. "So, if there really is something there, it might testify to the historical accuracy of Homer's writings about the storm that drove the Greek ships to disaster after the sacking of Troy, right?" she'd asked me.
"That might be one interpretation, yeah," I'd admitted.
"If it was a shipwreck, why is the site so far inland?"
"It's not far inland. You'll see when we get over this rise. The coastline curves sharply, and the site is close to the bay where we left Voyager. The excavations are located on a small plain nestled between two promontories, and the island's only freshwater source is nearby. If their ship was destroyed and the survivors faced with the necessity of setting up an encampment, the valley's a likely spot."
"Is that why your grandfather decided to dig there?"
"Partly. He uses common sense as well as pure gut feelings. He trusts his instincts. That's why he's always been so good at this. I've seen him sniff out a find that many a more scientific archaeologist has missed."
"It must upset him that he can't work on the actual site."
"It's hell. There's nothing in life he loved more than puttering around in the excavations."
"I can see why he can't cross this mountain in his wheelchair, but couldn't he have some of his men carry him here?"
"He does that occasionally, but he's proud, and it's hard for him to admit that he needs to be carried."
"Is that why you're helping him with the illegal excavations? Because you feel sorry for an old man whose career has been destroyed?"
<
br /> And she was off again. I gave her a scowl. "Do we need another session with my belt around your neck?"
"So why do you steal things?" she retorted. I was obviously losing my ability to scare the shit out of her. "I can't figure it out. How do you justify it?"
"Have I ever attempted to justify it?"
"Not to me, but—"
"Maybe I'm an amoral bastard who's in it for the rush of adrenaline it produces."
"And maybe you're a liar. Maybe you have reasons—and plans—that you're keeping secret."
I reached for her, stopping us near the edge of a fifty-foot drop. "Maybe you'd be wiser to keep your speculations to yourself, slave. Before I begin to regret that I didn't shoot you the other morning."
She smirked. Fuck. Look at her—those violet eyes flashing with confidence. In the beginning she'd stood up to me in spite of her fear. Now she had no fear. I must have revealed more to her about myself than I'd intended.
She was starting to trust me. Even though she believed I was a thief, she liked me. Well, I don't know about liking me, but she wanted to fuck me. She'd fuck me right now if I pulled her behind a boulder and laid her down in the sun.
I pushed her ahead of me along the track with a little more roughness than the situation called for. I couldn't let up on her. If she saw through me, so might everyone else. "Don't press your luck, sweetheart. There are limits to my good humor."
I meant it. The pressure was getting to me. Grandfather was showing no signs of being ready to leave the island, and Nigel had dogged my footsteps yesterday, asking too many fucking questions. I'd done my best to allay his suspicions, but I didn't feel safe. Late last night Metin had heard a noise on Voyager and awakened to see somebody—Nigel or one of his men—swimming away from the boat. He'd been snooping, obviously, and had managed to do some minor damage to the electrical system, damn him.
