by Diana Duncan
She gulped. “You can let go of me now.”
He slid his arm from around her, then reached out to stroke her cheek. “You look…tousled. Sei bellissima.” The sleep-warmed timbre of his voice, the flare of heat in his eyes said he would have liked to have been the one who’d rumpled her.
If he didn’t stop talking to her in that erotic voice and watching her as if he wanted to devour her, she was going to combust.
She stepped away and shakily poured a cup of coffee. In spite of herself, she inventoried him from gorgeous head to beguiling bare toes. “Why didn’t you get dressed?” Embarrassment burned her face. “Aren’t you…chilly?”
His dark-as-sin eyes were anything but cold. “The fire died after we went to bed and our clothes are still damp.”
“Splendid.” More torturous time together in practically nothing. “The drawbacks of hand-washing clothes. If it’s not raining, we could hang them outside in the wind.”
“It’s not raining yet. Our underclothes are dry. So are our shoes, thanks to your clever idea of stuffing old newspapers inside to absorb moisture.”
“Survival tricks from living through Philly’s winters.” As she savored the steaming coffee, she stared at Dante’s lean abdomen, her gaze followed the enticing treasure trail of dusky hair leading from his navel down beneath his towel. If their underwear was dry, had he donned his black briefs, or was he still naked?
He cleared his throat. Caught ogling, she jumped and her flush burned hotter. “Um…what’s for breakfast?” she asked.
His grin broadened, white and wicked in his stubbled pirate’s face. “What are you hungry for?”
Nothing I can risk having. “Well, room service at the Waldorf is out.”
He handed her a bowl of eggs. “Can you scramble these without incinerating the kitchen while I make bread?”
“Very funny.” As long as he didn’t kiss her again, she’d be fine.
He disappeared into the pantry and she stacked eggs on the counter, filled the bowl with water and then piled them back into the bowl.
Dante returned and paused to peer over her shoulder. “I know you said you are not much of a cook, but really, cara…”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m absentminded, but I do have decent practical knowledge. Since these didn’t come packed in a carton with a handy ‘use by’ date, the bad ones will float to the top.” She pointed. “See?”
“Much better than finding out by smell.” He playfully tugged a lock of her hair. “If I forget myself and start to sing, you will have rotten eggs to pelt me with.
His good humor warmed her as she placed the bad eggs in a separate bowl. “Someone woke up on the right side of the bed.”
“I awoke with you in my bed.” Surprised, she glanced at him, and his roguish grin sizzled warmth to steam. “And we are still alive. In my job, I never know which day will be my last.”
The cold slap of reality subdued her, and she returned to her task. “Why do you risk your life?”
She felt him tense. “Because I must.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble? Do you owe money?” She cracked shells with more force than necessary. “No matter what it is, there’s another way out. Goals can change. People can change. I’ll help you.”
“You said you have no money.”
“But I have contacts. You’re intelligent and capable. I can get you a legitimate job.”
“You pity me? Wish to ‘rehabilitate’ me?” His hands settled on her shoulders, and she fumbled with an egg. He sounded puzzled. “Am I the next candidate for your crusade?”
“No.” She accidentally crushed the egg, splintering the shell. “You’re smart and kind…and determined and fearless enough to do anything. In many ways, I admire you.”
Heart aching, she wiped her hands and turned to face him. She stared into his beautiful, astonished eyes, and the thought of the light being permanently extinguished from them tore her apart. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His measuring gaze assessed her for long moments, and then he shrugged. “I will live the number of days I’ve been given, and no more.” He picked up the bowl of rotten eggs and set them outside the back door. “I will bury these later.”
“Dante.” Blinking back tears, she bit her lip. “You’re not a bad person. I see so much good in you. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but it’s not too late to go in a different direction.”
Tenderness wreathed his smile, and more encouraging, hope. “I don’t intend to toss my life away.”
“Just because you don’t have family anymore doesn’t mean your life isn’t precious to—to…other people.”
Watching her intently, he cupped her cheek in his hand. “What is it worth, I wonder?” Leashed hunger glinted in his dark gaze, and Ariana’s heart leaped with anticipation as he lowered his head.
As soft as a sigh, his lips gently caressed hers. “You have a generous heart, tesoro mio,” he whispered. When she would have dropped everything and flung herself into his arms, he gently set her back from him. “Perhaps we will speak of this again.”
He pivoted and began mixing the dough. “Now we must focus on survival.”
Ariana forced her unsteady fingers to pick eggshells from broken yolks. She worried about his fate after they escaped the island. She had family, friends, a job. What would happen to him?
She inhaled quivering breaths. He’d called her his treasure. And the reverent way he’d looked at her made her want to believe he saw her as worth more than money. That he would eventually talk options because he believed his life was worth starting over. Hope and happiness began to weave a tapestry of faith inside her.
She was getting through to him.
Perhaps she could influence him to change his mind and change his direction. Survive not just today or tomorrow, but live a long, healthy life.
Over breakfast, Dante outlined his plans to scout the area and build a signal fire. After they ate, he rose and went to the fire to check his boots. Humming, Ariana rinsed and stacked dishes in the sink.
“‘Ode to Joy.’ An interesting choice to wash dishes by.” Dante appeared carrying a tan blanket. He was wearing dark wool socks, boots and the leather coat with his towel.
Her song broke off, and she choked back mirth. “If you want interesting, let’s discuss that ensemble.”
“It is cold out.” He smirked. “If you laugh, I will be forced to shoot you.”
“Neat trick without a gun, tough guy.” Her laughter fought to escape, and she turned away. “I can’t help it. You look like biker Tarzan.”
“I’ll be warm.” Big, gentle hands draped the blanket around her. “And so will you.” He brandished safety pins. “I found a sewing kit in the linen closet.” He tucked the folds around her and pinned the blanket. Her head knew his touch wasn’t meant to arouse, but her body received a sensual message.
When he finished, she was trembling. She pulled away and went to the fireplace to retrieve her deck shoes.
Outside, brisk wind buffeted steely clouds, and foamy gray waves crashed against the bluff’s base. Chickens pecked in the courtyard. The birds hadn’t ventured far today because the storm must be near. Ariana was careful not to betray where she’d hidden her iPod and notebook. She’d retrieve them when Dante was occupied.
She clutched the kerosene lamp he’d given her. The glass globe protected the flame. “What’s the lamp for?”
He leaned the ax beside doors set into the ground next to the foundation. “We are going into the cellar, and I need my hands free.” He pulled the handle, and rusty hinges shrieked in protest.
She peered at the stone staircase descending into blackness. “Cue the mask-wearing, chain-saw-wielding lunatic.”
Dante hefted the ax over his shoulder and flashed her a lethal grin. “One cannot operate a chain saw without arms.”
“Grazie. Lovely mental image.” But she was comforted all the same. Dante wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
Hold
ing the lamp aloft, she reluctantly trailed him down the stairs. The spooky stone enclosure was cool but dry.
Like a tomb.
A labyrinth of ghostly cobwebs entangled the ceiling beams, and she shivered. Power-tool-toting maniacs only existed in movies. Rodents and giant spiders, though…
She froze on the bottom step. “Um…an ax doesn’t deter rats and spiders.”
Dante turned. Lamplight glowed in his eyes as he offered her an encouraging smile. “I was down here when I checked out the cottage yesterday. It is pestilence free.” He extended his left hand. “Come, mia cara. Let’s see what riches we can discover.”
Ariana refused to behave like a baby in front of him. As she walked toward him, a specter leaped from the shadows, and she yelped.
“Easy, Ariana,” Dante soothed. “It is merely a mirror image.”
She pressed a hand to her hammering heart. A large, cracked mirror leaned against the wall. The frame matched the bedroom bureau. She studied her disheveled reflection in dismay. How could Dante wake up on a deserted island looking as scrumptious as Eros, while she rivaled Medusa?
“Ariana?” Dante smiled. “Look, a taste of civilization.”
She crossed the room and held up the lamp to examine wine bottles nestled inside a wooden rack. “All premium labels.”
“Va bene.” Smiling, Dante set several bottles on a bench. He rifled nearby boxes. “Canning jars, useless. Playing cards, books, gramophone records…entertainment.” He put that box beside the wine and then opened another. “Ah, clothing.”
Ariana added extra kerosene, bottled water and matches to their stash. Dante parked the lamp at the foot of the staircase. He hefted the big box onto his shoulder, picked up the ax and ascended the stairs. Ariana followed with the lighter box of clothing.
They carried their burdens into the house. Ariana set hers on the table and dug into the box. “Someone has champagne taste.” She lifted out several black ladies’ suits. “Ooooh. Gianfranco Ferré. And a Fendi handbag!” She sighed. “This purse probably cost three grand!”
Dante leaned over her shoulder in that masculine way, making her feel both unsettled and protected. His superheated energy sent awareness prickling over her skin, and her nipples tightened.
She couldn’t move away because she was trapped between his big body and the table. At least that’s what she told herself.
Dante snorted. “Is there anything useful…other than overpriced orgasmic handbags?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “So I’m a girl.”
“Sì.” His smoky baritone tickled her ear, making her tremble. She would know his warm leather and spicy bay scent blindfolded. “I have noticed.”
Ariana sucked in a steadying breath. “Here.” She extracted a pair of women’s black wool skinny leggings and two V-neck cashmere pullovers, one black one, one ivory.
“They are not my size.”
She laughed. “There’s more. Be patient.”
“Patience is not one of my stronger virtues.”
She unearthed a man’s black-and-gray tweed sport coat, the same color as the glowering clouds outside, two pair of black dress slacks and a burgundy cashmere mock turtleneck sweater. Dubious, she eyed the coat. “Far too narrow in the shoulders.” Then she examined the pants. “The waist measurement might adjust, but the length is too short.”
“Better than a towel. I’ll let you have the washroom.” He scooped up the sweater and slacks and strode into the bedroom.
She retrieved her underwear from in front of the fire and went into the bathroom. She put on the apricot satin strapless bra and matching panties. During her captivity, Dante had bought her underwear along with other clothes. The man’s taste in undies was exquisite. Gossamer wisps of creamy satin and hand-embroidered lace in mouthwatering pastels. She didn’t even want to contemplate how he’d known her perfect size.
The wool pants were really tight. She had to lie on the floor to zip them. She was a curvy woman with actual hips, unlike the current crop of emaciated actresses and models.
Ariana got up, struggled into the cream sweater, and then looked in the mirror. Holy cannoli. The clingy garment made her breasts jut out. But as Dante had stated, any clothes were better than a towel.
She took a minute to brush her wild mane of hair. Warmer, but feeling awfully exposed in the formfitting clothing, she emerged from the bathroom.
Dante fed several logs into the fire and then stood. Her breath snagged in her lungs. The silky cashmere hugged his broad shoulders and wide chest, delineating every muscle. The dark, rich red shade of aged claret perfectly complemented his olive complexion and black hair and teased golden highlights from his deep brown eyes. Her mouth watered with a sudden, fierce craving for wine and chocolates.
Her gaze drifted lower. His borrowed slacks were sized for a short, stout guy. They gaped at the waist, and the hem stopped at midcalf. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Dante didn’t strike her as the type of man who appreciated being laughed at.
He looked down at himself, and then surprised her by laughing himself. “I look like a dimwitted schoolboy.”
“If you were a girl, those pants would be called capris. Maybe you could start a new fashion trend.”
His glance cruised over her. “You are a trendsetter, as well.”
Flushing, she wrapped her arms around herself. “This outfit is cut for a sleeker figure.”
Heated appreciation fired in his eyes. “I prefer a woman who doesn’t resemble a signpost. I like your curves, Ariana.”
How could he incite her hormones into a riot simply by looking at her?
After discovering the designer jackets wouldn’t button over her breasts, Ariana donned the man’s sport coat. She rolled up the sleeves as she and Dante went outside again.
The breeze smelled damp with imminent rain. Dante rescued the lamp from the cellar and shut the doors. Chickens squawked and flapped as she and Dante crossed the courtyard to explore the stone shed.
The door and shutters were the same cerulean blue as the cottage door. Dante passed her the lamp and preceded her inside. Shrouded silence hung in the gloom, and a horrible stench assaulted her nostrils. Eyes watering, she raised her arm to cover her nose with her sleeve. “Ugh, what died in here?”
“It didn’t smell this way before.” Dante’s face was grim as he rounded a tool-littered workbench. He thrust out his hand to keep her back. “Put down the lamp and wait outside.”
“Dante?” She caught sight of the tarp-draped object on the floor, and dread swelled in her throat. “What is that?”
CHAPTER NINE
DANTE BLOCKED Ariana’s view. “Go.”
“I’m…” She swallowed nausea. “If that’s something…bad, I’m not leaving you to deal with it alone.”
“You are not used to such things.” He herded her toward the door.
She dug in her heels, forced him to stop. “And you are?”
“Ariana.” He gripped her shoulders, turned her around and propelled her onto the stoop. “Outside, per favore.”
He slammed the door, shutting her out. She leaned against the wall, flinching at the ghastly scraping noises. Denial tangled inside her. She didn’t want to hear the calm confidence in Dante’s voice. Didn’t want to watch him nonchalantly handle what she suspected might be a corpse.
She pressed icy fingertips to her temples. Get a grip. Dante had proven he was a man who knew how to deal with a crisis.
The door opened, and the appalling stench oozed out. She pinched her nose and spun away as Dante’s head appeared in the doorway. “I am bringing it outside. Do not look.”
She cringed. “Then it is something dead?”
“Sì.” Amusement tinted his voice.
“What’s so darned funny?”
“It’s not as sinister as we suspected.”
“What do you mean?” She glanced around to see him carrying a shovel heaped with the decaying remains of a huge rat. Gagging, she whirled back to face the shed.
>
“I told you not to look. Curiosity killed the cat, yes?”
“Apparently, nosiness isn’t healthy for rats, either.”
The shovel chopped into the ground, and she walked to the edge of the bluff while he buried the body. Ariana studied the leaden horizon and turbulent sea. “This isn’t the cove where they first stranded us, right?”
“No, we hiked up from the other direction. Why?”
“Because there’s crude steps cut into the rocks leading down to the beach.”
“Va bene.” He appeared at her side. “That will make it easier to launch the boat.”
“Boat?” Elation and regret churned inside her as she followed him into the shed. She wanted off the island. Yet that meant her interval with Dante was over. And she wasn’t crazy about the idea of sailing into the unknown. Physically or emotionally.
She passed nets and fishing equipment hanging from pegs. “Where is it?”
He pulled the draped tarp aside with a flourish. “Here.”
“That’s not a boat.” Spirits sinking, she stared at the tiny, dilapidated wooden vessel. “That’s a sieve with oars.”
“I will repair it.”
She shot him an appalled glance. “Surely you don’t expect us to sail the open sea in that death trap?”
“We barely have enough food to last a week.” He shook his head. “Which is better, starvation or a chance at rescue?”
Sophie’s choice. She looked out the window at the wild Mediterranean, then back at the rot-ridden rowboat and gulped. “We can fish. And there’s bound to be wild greens, berries, mushrooms in the woods. Maybe even game.”
Dante’s sensual mouth firmed in the stubborn line she’d come to know well. “I am not a puppet to sit and wait for Megaera to fetch us.” With a finger under her chin, he raised her gaze to his. “I will keep you safe. After all this time, everything we have been through, do you still mistrust me, Ariana?”
“No.” Not with her physical safety. And the more time she spent with him, the more her trust grew.
“First things first.” He sliced rope on the ax blade to tie into a makeshift belt for his pants. “If we can signal a passing ship, we will not need the boat.”
