by Rebecca York
The old steps creaked a couple of times on the way down. So did the floorboards in the hall. He stopped, afraid that he might have awakened Elizabeth. But he didn’t hear any movement from the upper floor.
Her purse was right where she’d dropped it. Picking it up, he carried it through an archway into the living room. From old habit, he closed the blinds before turning on a lamp and sitting on the couch. In the weak circle of light, he unwrapped the knife. The blade was smeared with dried blood, his blood, he noted with a grimace. And maybe Demos’s. In the fight, he’d driven the weapon toward Sebastian’s side. He didn’t know if he’d done any damage.
Grasping the blade in the towel, he held the gold hilt under the light. Either it was an authentic fifteen-hundredyear-old piece from the Roman occupation of the island or a very good copy. More than a weapon, it was a work of art, the kind of masterpiece that would generate high excitement at an archaeological dig and command hundreds of thousands of dollars if it was smuggled out of Mythos and offered to the right collector. The observation made him think about his father. Old news, he told himself.
Sebastian must have chosen the weapon for the symbolism, he decided, as he ran his thumb over the delicate work. An expert craftsman had depicted a miniature scene from mythology. On one side of the hilt was the beautiful Persephone, who had been abducted by Hades, the god of the underworld. He was on the opposite side, a dark, ugly presence waiting to swoop down on the fragile young girl and drag her off to his bed. Odds were that was how Sebastian had seen his relationship with Sophia, Zeke thought. What Sebastian didn’t know was that Sophia had been the seducer, not he.
In the silent living room, Zeke turned the knife in his hand, remembering Sebastian’s attack and the events leading up to it. His thoughts were so intently focused inward that it took several minutes before he heard an intermittent squeak.
When the noise finally registered, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in reaction. Raising his head, he listened intently. The sound came again, and he realized what it was-the same clandestine creaking his own feet had made on the old floorboards when he’d been trying to move silently.
He swiveled his head, appraising his options. There were two entrances into the room-the archway through which he’d come and the doorway to the dining room. All he saw in either direction was darkness. Every muscle tense, he waited. The squeak came again. Stealthy. Closer. From the hallway.
Sebastian. He’d appeared out of nowhere yesterday evening. Now he was back, as if Zeke’s very thoughts had drawn another attack from his old enemy. He had only seconds to react. In one fluid motion he sprang off the sofa and pressed into the shadows at the side of the archway. Whipping the towel from the knife blade, he raised the weapon in his right hand, ready to strike.
Chapter Four
A figure glided into the archway-a figure holding a baseball bat. A split second after Zeke brought the knife down, he realized with horror that it wasn’t Sebastian. Somehow he changed the angle of the blow even as he gasped her name. “Elizabeth.”
She leaped back, and he wasn’t sure in the dim light whether the blade had missed her neck. Overbalancing, she landed heavily on a braided rug. He dropped the knife as if it had suddenly turned red hot in his hand and went down after her.
“Elizabeth, are you all right?” he shouted as he scrambled over her and turned her head. When he ran his hand along her neck, he felt smooth, warm skin, and thanked God that he had missed.
“Zeke,” she breathed, staring up at him with large, rounded eyes. “I heard someone down here. I didn’t know who it was.”
“Why didn’t you check in my room?”
She looked confused and slightly abashed. “I did. I stuck my head in your door. It was dark, and all I could see was the comforter on the bed. I thought you were still there. Sleeping. After last night, you needed to sleep,” she added in a small voice.
“Elizabeth, if you thought someone was in the house, you should have gotten me up, not tried to handle it on your own. It wasn’t very smart coming down here by yourself.”
“But you were wiped out. You needed—”
He cut her off with a sharp exclamation. “Don’t you understand that I could have killed you just now? And what if it hadn’t been me? Did you think you were going to beat off Sebastian with a baseball bat?”
“Why not? I beat him off with a poker,” she said defensively, but some of the strength had gone out of her voice. Probably she had come down here without thinking clearly-the way she’d reacted when, she’d grabbed the poker. Now she was starting to realize she could have made a fatal mistake.
A roiling mixture of anger and fear made his voice harsh. “You could get in a couple of licks with the poker because he was fighting me, too,” he choked out, still grappling with what had almost happened.
“You didn’t hurt me, Zeke,” she whispered.
“I could have killed you. God help me, I could have killed you,” he said in a strangled voice.
She lay there on the rug staring up at him, her hands on his shoulders. His right hand was still pressed to her neck where he’d been afraid he’d struck her. Without conscious thought, he stroked a path down to her collarbone and back up to the tender skin just behind her ear, awestruck that her body was so delicately made. So fragile. So vulnerable.
Under the slight pressure of his fingers he felt her pulse accelerate, and he was suddenly filled with a primal need to make her understand how much she meant to him, and how thankful he was that he hadn’t harmed her.
Her lips parted. So did his as they touched down on hers and brushed back and forth over soft, warm flesh.
When she made a tiny incoherent sound, feelings he’d struggled to hold in check spiraled through him. They were fueled by his previous anger, by her misguided heroics and by his fears for her. The kiss changed from gentle to urgent in the space of a heartbeat. His mouth pressed hard against hers, greedy for the taste of her. He kissed her until they were both trembling and breathless in the darkened hallway.
He hadn’t meant to lose control like that. When he started to pull away, he felt her hand in his hair, pulling him to her, urging him closer. Unable to turn away, he feasted on her, first with his lips, then with his tongue. It was impossible to deny himself the sweet pleasure of her mouth. He wanted her-had wanted her for too long. Now she was soft and pliant under him, telling him wordlessly that she craved this as much as he did.
With his tongue, he traced the outline of her lips, feeling her shivering reaction like an electric charge through his body, jolting his heart.
She was still wearing the T-shirt she’d put on earlier. But not her bra. Through the knit fabric he felt her breasts strained upward against his chest. Her nipples were hard points that tantalized him almost beyond endurance.
“Ah, Elizabeth,” he breathed. He wanted more, needed more.
Shifting to one side, he propped himself on his elbow. Their eyes locked. Hers were large and bright, following the movement of his hand as he slowly pushed up her shirt. She went very still as he gazed down at her breasts, mesmerized by the way the dark tips crowned her rounded curves. They seemed to beg for his touch. Gladly he obliged, brushing his fingers back and forth across one and then the other, feeling them bud even more tightly. His own body tightened in response-even as she sighed in pleasure.
She didn’t speak, and he wondered if she was afraid to break the spell. He stopped thinking clearly, as he felt her fingers on the hem of his shirt. A smile played around her lips as she slipped her hands inside and slid them upward, winnowing through his chest hair. She did what he had done, only with both hands, gliding her fingers across his hardened nipples until he groaned softly. He lowered his head again, giving her small kisses that sipped at her lips. Gradually they deepened, until he was taking hot, greedy drafts of her. When he lifted his head, she gave him a bemused look. He had imagined making love to her many times, but this was so much sweeter that he could hardly breathe.
&
nbsp; “I wanted to do that before,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“In the bathroom. When-” She stopped short and gasped. “Zeke!”
He knew from her indrawn breath and the alarm on her face that she’d suddenly remembered why they’d come to her house in the first place. It wasn’t so strange that she’d forgotten. He’d been suffering from the same memory loss.
“I’m sorry. I-I forgot all about your shoulder.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He tried to gather her close, but she was no longer pliant in his arms.
She looked down at her front, her cheeks reddening. Quickly she tugged at her shirt, covering her breasts. “We can’t. You can’t do this.”
“Want to bet?” he murmured, shifting so that his erection was pressed into the cleft between her thighs.
She shook her head, the color in her face deepening. “I mean you shouldn’t.”
Right, he thought, giving himself a mental shake. But his reasons were different from hers. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t take advantage of her, and the first chance he got, he was doing just that.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a gruff voice. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back, his breath uneven as he tried to remember all the reasons making love with her was a bad idea.
She followed him over, reversing their positions. “I should have remembered,” she said in a small voice.
He tangled his fingers in her silky hair, pressing her cheek against his chest, needing to hold her.
“When you kissed me,” she whispered, “my head started spinning.”
His, too, he thought. But he wasn’t going to admit it. Besides, he had another problem. He could either break his promise to Thorn or lie to Elizabeth. He didn’t like either alternative. But he forced himself to choose.
“You stopped…” he caught his breath “…making love with me because you were worried about my shoulder. It’s…healed.”
“It couldn’t be!”
“Remember when your friends at 43 Light Street helped Thorn and Cassie Devereaux?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Thorn and I have a number of mutual interests, so we’ve stayed in touch. He knew I was going places where I might not have access to medical facilities, and he gave me some drugs he’s developing with Medizone Labs, stuff that’s a long way from FDA approval. I forgot some of it was in my first-aid kit. There’s a salve to heal wounds. I used it before I went to sleep last night.”
She listened impassively but still looked skeptical. “Let me see your shoulder.”
He sat up and tugged at his shirt, pulling it upward until the shoulder was exposed. Her eyes widened as she peered at the place where the slash should have been. With her finger, she traced the red line that was the only marker of where he’d been cut. Her touch was light, yet it was enough to start his pulse racing again.
“I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it,” she said, her gaze focused on the knit flesh. Then her eyes met his before flicking away. She didn’t say what they were both thinking. There had been no medical reason to stop what they were doing.
“I’m lucky to have the stuff,” he said in a thick voice. “I agreed not to tell anyone about it until it’s on the market. But I told you.”
She held his gaze for several heartbeats. “A man can tell his wife things he can’t tell anyone else,” she whispered. “So pretend we’re already married.”
He looked away, thinking about what else a man might share with his wife. “And when the marriage is over?” he asked, reminding them both that it wasn’t for keeps.
Her eyes turned guarded.
He climbed to his feet. When he held out his hand, she declined the offer and pushed herself up.
He knew from the way she turned her head away that he’d hurt her again. This time it had been deliberate, and he felt a fist-sized knot constrict within his chest. It took a great deal of willpower to keep himself from reaching out, dragging her into his arms and telling her that he was only trying to protect her. Instead he cleared his throat and said in an almost normal voice, “You get dressed, and I’ll fix breakfast. What do you want?”
“Surprise me,” she whispered, before turning toward the stairs.
QUICKLY ELIZABETH CLIMBED the steps, feeling Zeke’s gaze drilling into her back. She kept her shoulders straight and her head high as long as she thought he was watching her. But as soon as she knew she was out of his line of sight, she started to shake. She’d done a pretty good job of holding herself together while she was with him. Now she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and leaned against the wall, wondering if her legs would support her weight.
A rush of color came into her face. He’d almost made love to her. He would have if she hadn’t stopped him. She pressed her fist against her lips. At least one of her questions had been answered. She knew that Zeke wanted her. That was something she could hang on to. The sexual attraction wasn’t one-sided.
She drew in a quivering breath and let it out slowly, trying to find the calm center of herself that had eluded her since Zeke’s outrageous marriage proposal. She rarely lost her cool or got angry. And she’d certainly never thrown herself at a man like that. But she’d been on an emotional roller coaster since the previous evening—alternately angry or frightened or turned on. Now she was upset that Zeke was pushing her away again. Yet she knew he was trying to grapple with his own emotions.
He’d never been married. He’d never been a father. In fact, he’d never been responsible for anyone except himself. He was alarmed at the prospect of raising a child—particularly a child who legally belonged to another man. Even so, he was going to Mythos to rescue his daughter and bring her home. He was so panicked in the process that he’d broken what appeared to be one of his most unbreakable rules. He’d let another human being see his vulnerabilities.
Her face softened. Last night she’d lain awake for a long time thinking about how to help him—and Ariadne. Inevitably, her thoughts had drifted to a picture of herself, Zeke and a little girl who looked a lot like him, all happily sitting around a breakfast table. Or on the way to school in the morning. Or at the beach. All the things a family did together. Only they weren’t a family and might never be.
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to blot out the tantalizing images. It was simply a fantasy, like making love with Zeke or imagining a future for the two of them. And fantasy was a luxury until they brought Ariadne safely home.
In the bedroom, she turned on the intercom she’d installed when her father was sick. Downstairs in the kitchen, she could hear Zeke open the refrigerator and various cabinets and wondered what he was going to fix.
Her mind still on him, she started to pull up her T-shirt. She went very still, her breath hissing out, as she remembered the feel of his hands on her breasts and his lips on hers—and the warm look in his eyes. Well, she could lecture herself about fantasies all day, but it didn’t change the fact that something powerful was building between them, something that could easily explode out of control again. If she had any sense, she’d run in the other direction. Yet she couldn’t. She’d given him her word that she’d help him. Quickly she pulled off the shirt and threw it on the chair. Grabbing a robe, she headed for the shower. A cold shower.
IIRENA TIPTOED INTO THE tiny room where the little girl was sleeping. Ariadne was lying on a low cot, curled on her side, one chubby hand clutching the quilt that covered her. Irena’s chest tightened as she gazed at the child’s dark lashes and features that were so like Sophia’s. “You remind me of your mother when she was your age,” she whispered. “Peaceful. Innocent. Before disaster struck.”
Irena sighed. Life was a series of disasters. She’d done her best to cope, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.
The child didn’t stir. She had no inkling of the trouble she’d caused simply by existing. She knew nothing of Zeke Chambers. All she knew was that her mother had gone away on a long trip, and Theia Irena was taking care of her.
And everything would be all right.
The trusting naiveté made Irena’s heart squeeze. The child was too young to know that things didn’t always work out the way you wanted.
Irena had been twelve and Sophia had been six, when their parents had been killed by terrorists. They’d been taken in by relatives who resented the responsibility of two more girls to raise; girls who would need dowries if they were going to make a good marriage. Sophia had been so sad and afraid, and Irena had made herself the strong one. She had to give her sister special care. She had to make things right for her, because there was no one else to do it.
By the time Sophia began to mature, Irena could see that she’d made a terrible mistake. She’d made her sister selfish, taught her to want more than she should expect. Irena married and was obedient to her husband, but little by little her sister had crossed a line into territory where no woman should tread. No woman of Mythos, at any rate. Perhaps in America it was all right for a woman to make love before her marriage. Or to choose her own husband. Or to think of ways to hurt the man she married. But not in a land where she was supposed to take care of her home and obey the men in her family.
Ariadne stirred, cried out in her sleep, and Irena was instantly at her side. Coming down beside the bed, she stroked the dark head and whispered soft words. The little girl’s lids blinked open. For a moment panic filled her eyes. Then she focused on her aunt and quieted.
“Go back to sleep,” Irena crooned.
“Where’s Mama, Theitsa Irena?”
“I told you. On a trip.”
Ariadne looked down at her chubby little hands. “Did she send me away because I was bad?” she asked in a small voice.
Irena took the child in her arms, rocking her. “Oh, no. Of course not. Something wonderful is going to happen. You’re going to have a new father,” Irena whispered. “A man named Zeke Chambers.”
Ariadne lifted her head and blinked. “You can’t get a new father.”
