by Wendy Rosnau
"It doesn't matter anymore. I was going to give you all the reasons why we couldn't…" She shrugged. "It seems my explanation comes too little, too late. It's over."
Sly shook his head. "It's not over, Evy. Not nearly over."
"You move fast, Sly McEwen. Too fast for a woman like me."
He shoved away from the door and started across the room, watching her with every step he took. "I can move slow if you like that better."
She hadn't cracked a smile since she'd arrived, but she did now. But when her eyes lowered to his crotch, the smile faded.
"You said you're not afraid of me."
"It's not fear that I'm feeling."
"Then what is it?"
"You want something from me and you think by seducing me you're going to get it. But—"
"I told you I don't need the Chameleon's location from you any longer. I already have it. He'll be here tomorrow."
"Continuing this would be a mistake."
"I think the only mistake so far was letting you off my lap." With that, Sly took three steps and pulled her against him. This time, however, when he kissed her, he didn't take. He teased her lips into joining him, into sharing the moment.
He felt her shiver, and on her breathless sigh, he slid his tongue inside, while she wrapped her arms around his waist. When she grazed the bandage, she stopped suddenly and tried to pull away.
"Easy."
"You've been shot. You need to be in bed."
"I agree. In bed with you."
"Sly, please. This is real, not some crazy dream."
The word dream caught him by surprise. "Explain that."
"Explain what?"
"What you just said. Have you been dreaming about me?"
"No, of course not."
"Spoken too fast, with guilty eyes. Have I been visiting you while you sleep, Evy, like you've been visiting me?"
His confession seemed to surprise her. "On the balcony at the taverna you kissed me like you had kissed me before. Like I had already given you permission. Did I give you permission in your dream?"
"Yes."
"Was it over there?" Her eyes focused on the bed in the corner.
"Yes."
"In my dream there was music playing."
"Mine, too."
"Do you have it? The music in your dream?"
"Yes."
"Put it on."
Her body had relaxed, and she was no longer looking at the door like she could bolt any second. Sly stepped away from her and walked to the built-in entertainment center and opened the cupboard. He put the music on that he used at night to relax. A favorite was an instrumental CD that was a mix of guitar and ocean waves rushing a lonely shoreline. When he turned around Eva was taking the clip from her hair and shaking it out to fall around her shoulders.
"This is a mistake. I'll tell you that up front. But I want more than the dream to remember you by. And I'm prepared to live with the consequences. But you have to promise me something first."
"What's that?"
"Simon is somewhere in the city tonight, but he'll be back in the morning to take me to breakfast. He'll be back to pick me up on the Ventura's deck at eight o'clock. Do you promise to wake me if I fall asleep?"
"I promise. You'll be there." Sly held out his hand.
"And so the stranger seduces the fox and she willingly lets him devour her in a single bite. Did you get yourself a copy?"
"As a matter a fact, I did."
She looked as if she didn't believe him. He pointed to the bookshelf within arm's reach of the berth. "Red spine."
She glanced at the book, her expression a little puzzled. "Come here."
She looked at his hand stretched out to her, then walked to him slowly and clasped it, the other hand sliding up his chest. She leaned in, swayed to the music.
"Did we dance before you put me on the bed?"
"No," Sly admitted. "I don't dance."
She rubbed herself against him, then turned her back into him and brushed her sexy ass against his crotch. "When we were on the balcony I liked the way your arms felt around me. Put your arms around me, Sly McEwen, like you want to protect me from everything bad and ugly."
Her words reminded him of how she'd been forced to live, and he vowed that before this was over, he would find a way to protect her.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she countered his move by sliding her hands along his thighs. She angled her head and he lowered his to cover her open mouth. Still holding on to the kiss, she turned in his arms and pressed herself to him.
"What's next, Sly? How did the dream start?"
He scooped her up into his arms and strode to the bed. "My dream starts and ends here. You came to me while I slept."
She smiled. "So I pursued you? And I suppose I was naked."
"No. You were wearing white satin. You looked like an angel come to rescue me."
"And did I rescue you?"
"Yes, you did."
"Did we do it more than once?"
Sly smiled, laid her down on the bed. "Do it?"
"Or were we animals all night long?"
His smile spread. "Something like that."
"I like your smile."
He gave the bed his weight and rested his hands on either side of her slender waist. "Are you through talking?"
"When I'm nervous I talk."
"Nervous, not afraid?"
"No, but by the size of that stick you carry around in your jeans, maybe I should be?"
Sly laughed out loud. He hadn't done that with a woman in a long while. He stretched out beside her and pulled her close. "In my dream you liked my stick."
"Mine, too," she said, softly searching his eyes.
He kissed her nose, then her mouth again, his need for her driving him forward to the next level. She responded by caressing his bare chest, then curling her finger around his neck to pull him closer.
He deepened the kiss, his hand slipping underneath her dress to touch her satin-smooth thigh. The room turned hot as passion smoldered between them. Sly was breathing heavily and Eva was clinging to him when he pulled away and climbed off the bed. When he came back to her, he made a point of letting her see the condom he'd pulled from the dresser beside the bed. Tucking it in the bookshelf, he lay down beside her again and gathered her close once more.
She shoved him to his back, her mouth moving over his chest with featherlight kisses. When her hand again brushed over his crude bandage along his ribs, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I—"
"Shh…"
She sat up and untied the wrap belt and slowly slid the dress off her shoulders leaving her in a black camisole cut low enough to expose a generous amount of cleavage. She stretched out on his bed again beside him and said, "Show me how we made love, Sly. Make the dream real."
He rolled to his side, her request sending him on a mission. He lowered his head, kissed her pretty mouth, then began to touch her in all the ways he had touched her in the first dream.
Caressing her breasts, he said, "You liked me touching you."
"I do like you touching me," she confessed, arching up when he pulled her camisole aside and tasted one ripe perfect breast. Gathering the nipple into his mouth, he sucked and licked, stroked and nipped until she was shivering and moaning.
He slid lower, shoved the camisole high and kissed his way past her sexy navel. Anxious to put his mouth on her where his fingers had been, he shoved her panties past her hips. She sucked in her breath as he worked the elastic past her knees.
"In all my dreams you like it when I taste you here." With his words, he sent his thumb over her slit encouraging her to open her legs for him. He slid the thick pad of his thumb over her clit and as he did, he looked up at her.
She hadn't closed her eyes, and he liked the way she was watching him.
Sly lowered his head, ran his tongue over her. She gasped. Moaned. He urged her to open for him wider, sliding his hands beneath her ass. "This is a
bout you, Evy. This is for you."
Then he was there, stroking and licking, and bringing her quickly to another explosive climax. She arched her back, dug her fingers into the mattress. Her body convulsing, his name on her lips as she reached for that perfect pleasure.
She was spiraling back to earth when Sly felt something wet along his side. He eased back from loving her and saw that he'd reopened his wound.
"Shit," he muttered.
"Sly?"
He pressed his hand along his side, shifted forward. "I'm sorry, baby, but my side's bleeding. Don't move. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
It was perhaps the most delicious feeling Eva had ever experienced in her life—Sly McEwen's mouth adoring her flesh.
If she lived to be an old woman with a cane, she would never forget this moment in time. Sly had just shattered her reality, and doomed her for all eternity. As the saying went, you can't miss what you've never had.
But now she'd experienced the fantasy, knew it was possible to feel cherished outside of the dream. Knew why women gambled, and were willing to play life's unfair games.
This is about you. This is for you.
His words fed her like none other could. He wasn't even aware of it, but he had reached down inside her and touched her deepest secret, arresting her darkest fears. It was like he'd always known her. Had tapped into her most private desires.
Who would have thought this man could be so gentle and unselfish. A man who had spent years in prison. A man reported to be the most vicious rat fighter in the business.
Eva stretched like a cat and sat up slowly. She looked around the room, saw her dress on the floor not far from her sandals. The room was quiet. The music had stopped.
Sly was in the bathroom with the door closed.
She slid off the bed and walked to where she'd seen him retrieve the CD from the cabinet. She opened it and stared at his collection. It wasn't much of a CD collection, but he seem to have a large variety of cassette tapes.
Curious, she began to sift through the cassettes. They were labeled and dated. "C is for Closet," she read.
Suddenly her heart rate picked up and then her throat closed off making it hard to breathe.
She picked up two more, read the titles. The cassettes she realized, were copies of her sessions with Dr. Fielding.
This is about you. This is for you.
No wonder he was so in tune to what she needed. What she feared. Every secret. Every private thought.
Eva felt sick. So used and violated that it made her nauseous.
She flipped through the tapes, selected "S is for Survival and Shackles," and popped it into the recorder.
"When the game is over and the predator has caught his prey, what are you thinking about, Eva?"
She hit Stop, then Fast Forward. Stop. Play.
"I'm off to Greece again."
"Will you see your father?"
"He'll be at Simon's party."
Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. Sly had copies of all her private sessions with Fielding. Knew everything. Everything…
She suddenly felt cold. Cold and so sick she covered her mouth to keep from retching.
She crawled to her dress and scooped it up along with her shoes. Slipping it on, she dismissed her underwear and slid on her shoes.
She had to get out of there before he came out of the bathroom. She scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door. Before she reached the companionway tears were stinging her eyes, making the stairs a blur. She stumbled up them, bile filling her throat.
It was all a game. Everything in her life was a game. Nothing was real. Nothing.
Not even Sly McEwen.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
"I've waited a long time for this day. Of course we have a deal," Holic said. "Evka has been in my thoughts since the day I laid eyes on her. She is worth any price. A few worthless lives? Certainly."
"It will be more than a few," the Chameleon assured.
"Ten, twenty. A hundred. The number is insignificant for someone who enjoys his work as much as I do."
Holic Reznik was a man who had made his mark early in life. By age twenty-five every government agency in the country had put him on their most-wanted list Now at age forty, with hundreds of kills to his credit, he was not only a legend in his own right, but the most feared international assassin across the country.
The Chameleon smiled. "Simon assures me that Evka is more beautiful than last year."
Holic's dark eyes danced with lust. "It is hard to imagine that she could be more magnificent than the last time I saw her."
The Chameleon handed Holic a glass of his best brandy, then raised his own glass. When Holic followed suit, he toasted, "To our alliance, and to my Evka."
"Prost!" Holic cheered in his Austrian accent. "To our mutual business, and to the most beautiful woman I have seen in years."
"I have registered you at Cupata under the name Edwin Casta, as you instructed. After midnight I will bring Evka to your unlocked room. At twelve-thirty you will enter and find her there waiting for you."
"Naked in my bed."
The Chameleon thought about arguing, but he didn't. Once their deal was made she would be Holic's property. "As you wish. Evka will be in your bed."
"Excellent." Holic set his glass on the table. "Do you have the list?"
The Chameleon reached into his pocket for the small canister. "The names are in order, with a date and location behind each one. Several months' work."
He handed over the microfilm—marked men and women who had found their way on to his kill list. All powerful people on both sides of the spectrum from government agents to underworld associates who could become potential threats to the Chameleon's self-proclaimed destiny.
Holic pocketed the canister. "Is your old enemy, Adolf Merrick, on the list?"
"I killed Merrick years ago, and though he still breathes, he is a walking corpse. I rejoice in that. It is the ultimate victory to know that your most hated enemy's suffering will never end."
"I've heard he is dying. Maybe Fate will end it for him."
The Chameleon's lip curled. He knew Merrick had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. But Adolf wouldn't die. He wouldn't dare.
His curiosity piqued, he asked, "Is there a reason you're watching him?"
"I watch everyone. Even you, my friend." Holic rarely smiled, but he did now. "That is, when I can find you. Your name is appropriate. You can vanish with the wind in a blink of an eye."
"Invisible men live long fruitful lives," the Chameleon acknowledged. "I will see you tonight at Cupata."
"Tonight," Holic agreed. Raising his glass from the table, he swallowed the brandy then left the compound balcony and headed down the trail to the hidden lagoon where he'd docked his boat. His stride was long and as confident as a panther's, his flowing black hair as shiny as a raven's wing.
The Chameleon watched Holic leave. It was done, then. Evka would soon have a new home, and he would soon be able to sleep better knowing that his enemies were about to be thinned down to a comfortable number that would be more manageable.
Again he acknowledged that patience was the key to success. In this case, patience had allowed him to exploit Holic's weakness. Smiling, his thoughts returned to the night three years ago when he had invited the assassin to one of Simon's birthday parties for one very specific reason—to introduce him to Evka. The man known to be a connoisseur of beautiful women had not been able to take his eyes off her the entire night. That's when he had known it was within his power to buy Holic Reznik, and his talent. And today he had done just that.
The Chameleon poured himself another glass of brandy, then relaxed in a chair on the balcony to enjoy the morning sunrise. He would never leave the Greek Isles, he vowed, slowly sipping the expensive brandy as his gray hair caught the morning breeze.
Yes, he thought, he was truly invisible here. Invisible and invincible for as long as he wished
. And he wished it forever.
Not even God dared alter his plans. Not even God, or Fate.
Eva stood on the deck of the Ventura wearing a white strapless dress, matching sandals and red lipstick. It was 8:00 a.m., and she had taken great pains with her appearance to please Simon. By the look on his face she had succeeded, and she pasted a smile on her own as he came toward her.
"Happy birthday," she said.
He tipped his wide-brimmed white hat and offered her a childish grin. Then without warning, he pulled her into his arms, and again, for the second time in four years, he kissed her. Only this time he moved his lips with a concentrated effort to make the kiss more enjoyable—it appeared as if he'd been practicing since yesterday.
As he stepped back, his smile disappeared. "Nemo said there was an intruder on board last night. That he was in your room."
"Yes, but I wasn't hurt."
"I can see that you weren't. What did this man say to you? Did he tell you what he wanted?"
"He didn't say anything. I surprised him when I went below to go to bed. I think he was a thief."
"What makes you think that? Was something taken?"
"No."
"But you still think he was there to steal something?"
Eva shrugged, not wanting to be reminded of what Sly had come to steal. I have no other reason to be here but one. You.
"I don't know what he was there for."
"Nemo should have called me after it happened."
"He wanted to, but I told him not to disturb you. I knew you would be busy getting things ready for the party."
"That was considerate of you, but your safety means more to me than a party."
"I'm sorry."
"Next time, Nemo calls, understood?"
"All right."
"Now then—" his smile was back "—the party begins in eight hours. I thought I'd take you to breakfast, then give you a tour of our hotel before the guests start arriving and the games begin."
The word games sent a chill up Eva's spine. What would the evening hold? she wondered, dread seeping into her bones, as well as an anxious need to see her father.
Simon took her arm and led her off the Ventura. "I have rented the Hotel Cupata for my party. In the thirties and forties it was a private pleasure palace. Like so many of the buildings here on Santorini, the Cupata was partially destroyed by a volcanic eruption. Restored, it is now listed as one of the island's most beautiful tourist attractions. Some say in all of Greece. Many of the rooms have been returned to their original grandeur, but others have been left uniquely primitive as a memorial to what Cupata survived when hot lava nearly smothered the entire city of Fira. Cupata's grand ballroom is spectacular. It has cavelike petrified walls and is open to expose all four balconies on each level. Come. Breakfast awaits us at a lovely little bistro overlooking the harbor. We'll walk. It isn't far."
