by Robyn Grady
“It’s said we both look like our mother.”
“She must have been beautiful.”
As soon as the words were out, Helene wanted to take them back. But seriously, Darius must know he was a good looking man. Compliments would be thrown at him all over the place.
The stroking on her arm continued, lulling her more.
“You’ve stopped shaking,” he said.
She almost sighed. She was positively toasty now. But when he moved to release her, she snatched his big hand back and held on.
“I’m still a little shaky on the inside,” she said.
So he brought her close again, pressing her in until wiry hair on his chest tickled her nose. Glorious warmth seeped back in, flooding her to her core. Her palm gingerly splayed over a male abdomen rung with muscles.
“You’re pretty good at this,” she murmured, smiling.
“I only hope I’m good enough to get us out of here.”
As his palm slid higher up her arm, over her bare shoulder, that heat grew warmer and deeper, and Helene reminded herself to keep their physical contact in perspective. Trapped in a cave, they were utilizing body heat. Best not analyze the syrupy sensations sluicing through her system. She wouldn’t dwell on whether his lips had brushed her hair just now. Or if—her ear against his chest—she felt his heart beating harder than it had a moment ago.
Still, curious, she peered up. Darius was staring straight ahead with his focus turned inward.
Then he suddenly stiffened and abruptly set her aside. Bringing herself back with a start, Helene looked skyward.
“Is the roof caving again?”
His voice rumbled out from the shadows. “Did you feel that draft?”
Helene blinked around. Where the torchlight had seemed so bright a moment ago, now their space was dark again. Curled up against his chest, she hadn’t felt a draft but obviously it had been strong enough to snuff out the torch.
His box of matches rattled. A scratch and a flash, and that eerie glow of light was restored. Finding his feet, Darius handed over the torch.
“Hold it high,” he said. “Time to move.”
He picked his way over fallen rock into the deeper shadows and stopped at the far side of the chamber. His back expanded as he took a fortifying breath then reached for the figurine. He’d had trouble trying to shift her earlier. If she refused to budge now, he’d have to leave her behind. And if more rocks fell, she might not be so lucky next time.
In the flickering light, the muscles in Darius’s back twisted and bulged. Finally the sound of stone grazing against grit filtered back. Then he turned, beaming, with the goddess free and safe in his hands. When they stood side by side again, he locked the figurine against his ribs and reclaimed the torch.
“Follow me,” he said. “Be careful. Some rocks are sharp.”
After she’d slipped on her sandals, they headed farther into the chamber and eventually found a narrow tunnel. Somewhere ahead was the source of that draft And, hopefully, their door to escape.
Progress was slow, but the longer they traveled in the cave the less debris they encountered and the more the torchlight flickered as oxygen fed the flame. Regularly, Darius glanced behind to be certain Helene was coping. Each time, she put on a brave face.
They came to a fork. Darius hesitated then took the right hand bend. When they came to a second branch, however, he glanced behind as if wondering whether they should retrace their steps.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “How about you?” Carrying that monster of a torch as well as the goddess, he must be flagging. “I can carry her for a while, if you like.”
But when she put out her arms, his dark brows fell together, and he pulled away. “Helene, please.”
“I only wanted to help.”
“You’ve helped enough.”
Of course, he was right. They wouldn’t be stuck here if she hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. When she got back to the main island, she’d leave on the next boat out. If his subjects ever discovered the trouble she’d caused their prince, she’d be run out of town anyway.
Darius looked back and forth then made his decision.
“This way,” he said, swinging down the left tunnel this time. But before he’d taken two steps, the torch spat and threw sparks. The light flickered wildly and with a loud whoosh blew completely out.
“Reach into my pocket,” he said at once. “Find the matches.”
Her heart thumping, Helene hurried to mold her palms over his lean hips and find his pocket. But after she scooped out the box she hesitated. The torchlight was gone and yet, she could see in the misted light. Ahead of them, a wedge of sunlight slanted in from the ceiling like a greeting from the gods.
Thrilled, she almost threw her arms around him. In time she remembered the figurine and promptly stepped back. She wouldn’t risk bumping it out of his grip.
When they reached the spot of pooling light, both peered up. Natural light spilling on his handsome face, Darius laughed. She laughed, too. She could have danced. Could have cried.
“It’s wide enough,” he said. “We can get out.” Then his expression faded. “Except…”
“Except what?”
His gaze burned into hers. “I’ll lift you up. Then I’ll hand up the figurine. Put her aside somewhere safe, somewhere she can’t possibly fall. Find a vine or a strong branch and I’ll pull myself up.”
Helene did a double take. He trusted her with the figurine? Then again, he had no choice.
He set the figurine out of the way. When he returned, he locked his fingers and knelt.
“Put your foot in the net of my hands. I’ll hoist you up.”
She studied his thatched fingers, then the hole rimmed with overgrown grass, and a thousand butterflies released in her stomach. Suddenly it looked much higher than before.
Reminding herself to breathe and have faith, she placed her sole in his hands.
…
Darius straightened and steadily raised Helene until her head poked out into the outside world.
But she took too long to get a grip and lever herself out. She was like a cat clamoring to escape from the lip of a well, which made keeping a good hold of her near impossible. When her other foot balanced on his head, he called out.
“Grasp onto something.”
“Almost…” She jiggled. “Almost there.”
Finally she found leverage. Her weight lifted off him and she heaved herself into that blessed sunshine. Now came the hard part.
“Are you all right?” he shouted up.
A silky curtain of hair fell toward him at the same time as her beaming face appeared over the opening. “Uh-huh.”
His gaze slid to the figurine. Never in the history of his country had any hand other than a royal or chief aide touched her. But today was the day, it seemed, for traditions to be challenged. Collecting the figurine, he sent up a prayer then raised her high.
“Can you reach?” he called.
Helene dropped both arms down and wiggled her hands like a child begging for a toy. He remembered the bucket crashing to the ground and an image flashed through his mind—the figurine slipping through those buttery fingers, smashing into a thousand useless pieces—and his gut kicked so hard he almost groaned.
“I have my leg wrapped around a vine,” she said. “I’m anchored. Lift her a little higher.”
He rounded up on his toes, edging the figurine a couple of inches higher. Slender fingers wrapped around stone shoulders. Only when he was certain she had a good grip did he close his eyes, send up another prayer, and let go. When his eyes opened, both Helene and the goddess were gone.
He blinked twice. Waited.
“Helene?”
He heard birds outside and the distant lulling wash of waves, but from Helene he heard not a chirp. Then the grass around the opening shifted and her face popped into view again.
“I’ve got something rigged up.” She dropped a thick vine that uncoil
ed down into the cavity. “I’ll hang on here.”
“The figurine?”
“Lying beside a tree. She wants me to say she’s enjoying the sunshine.”
His grin was wry. Enjoy it while it lasts. He’d be on tenterhooks until the goddess was truly safe, locked away again.
“If this doesn’t work,” Helene said, “I’ll run and get that ladder from the stables.”
But he was already climbing, his movements swift and sure. Soon he was crawling out, filling his lungs. Fresh air had never smelled so good. The world had never looked so bright.
Crouched on his hands and knees, Darius laughed. On her knees beside him, Helene laughed too, so much that she toppled sideways. He half caught her and then they were rolling together on the ground. They’d escaped. Thank the heavens, they were alive!
By the time their laughter petered out, they lay side by side, face to face in the sparse grass, with their chests pumping from exertion and relief. His arm had fallen over her waist. One long leg was carelessly thrown over his. The late afternoon sun streamed down, warming their skin, and her crystalline-blue eyes were so close that her pants for air brushed and teased his lips.
Out the corner of his eye, he spotted the figurine lying on her side, a reflection of how he and Helene also lay. Her stone eyes were sightless and yet they seemed to see so much. As if she knew. Irrespective of the trouble she’d caused, he wanted to bring Helene close again…much closer than he had in the depths of the cave.
Not happening.
Jumping to his feet, Darius collected the figurine. He was concentrating, inspecting her in the light, when Helene spoke.
“You know, I think she’s smiling, too.”
Helene was standing now, too. A breeze lifted the sarong around and between her legs. Lycra scraps hugged the fall of each perfect breast. Mussed hair flowed, blue eyes shone, and every cell in his body begged for him to touch her again.
Figurine in hand, he crossed back. When she looked up at him, her gaze wide and expectant, he narrowed the space separating them even more. He took his time studying the smudges on her brow and jaw and then, giving in to the urge, he angled his head a notch and reached for her face. A wave of hair blew around her chin. Catching the strands, he wound them back around her ear. The pulse in his throat beat faster as he cupped her cheek and, absorbing that silken warmth, smiled into her eyes.
“If you’re up to it,” he said as his hand dropped away, “we’ll keep moving.”
“The way I’m feeling, I could run the four minute mile in two minutes flat.”
Good. Because, as much as he might not want to, the moment they reached the villa was the moment he would arrange to have Helene Masters, and her alluring diversions, shipped far away for good.
Chapter Four
“It’s been what? Maybe two hours?” Helene asked as she followed Darius over a landscape that, given his stride, he knew very well. “Alexio should be here by now. Or maybe when he couldn’t find us, he decided to go back.” Get help.
She had thought earlier that Alexio would put out an alert.
“I’ll make the call when we get to the villa.”
Helene wasn’t sure what he meant. “When you left me by the stables, you did contact the palace, didn’t you? Say I needed to be picked up?” Taken away.
“I’d barely left you on that path, splattered in blue paint, before…” His stride picking up, he blew out a loud breath. “Don’t worry. You’ll be off this island soon enough.”
Unlike their moment of celebration rolling around on the grass and meeting each other’s gazes as the laughter faded, or the few strange and wonderful seconds he had cupped her face, this trek was decidedly reserved. In the short time they’d known each other, she’d nearly dropped a bucket on his head and had almost led him to his death. Now it seemed he only wanted to see the back of her—or show her the back of him. God knows she didn’t want to cause any more hassles either. The sooner she was off this island, the better.
By the time they reached the villa at the top of the hill, Helene was hungry, thirsty, and completely exhausted. She made it through the front door with barely enough energy to drag a gaze around. However, her new surroundings were too beautiful to ignore.
High cool ceilings, an ornate spiral staircase, and heavy wooden furniture seemed to welcome her in. A bubbling indoor fountain, bougainvillea-laced trestles, and a lengthy cream and blue couch were a few paces from a balcony. With the doors wide open, a breeze gently stirred the gossamer-light curtains.
“Just how old is this place?” she asked.
Darius stood before a massive gilt-framed entrance mirror, inspecting the figurine yet again.
“The foundations predate the start of the Roman Empire,” he said absently. “It’s been refurbished many times. Some of the original stonework remains.”
She swallowed against a dry throat. “Do you have anything to drink? I’m bone dry.”
He looked up, and his tense look melted with apology. After coming to stand before the bar, he paused and glanced around. Gingerly, he set the figurine on a massive wooden table. When he was certain she was steady, he saw to drinks. They downed two glasses of water each before he filled goblets with wine.
“I’ll leave you for a moment,” he said, and nodded at the figurine. “I need to put her away.”
In a vault, locked away for safekeeping? What a waste. But, sure. None of her business.
Once he was gone, Helene drifted around the room. Like he’d said, much of the villa and its contents dated back years, in some instances centuries, but touches were contemporary. She noticed a stereo and CD system. In an adjoining room, a laptop sat on a massive wooden desk.
A portrait of the Tierenias royal family hung on the main wall. The late king’s hand rested on his wife’s shoulder as she posed on an ornate chair with two teenage sons and a younger daughter clustered around. Darius had said that after his father had passed, his mother had died of a broken heart. Having grown up appreciating that kind of bond, he must want that for himself and his own children. Helene certainly did. She only hoped that when she found the right man, he wouldn’t be taken away early like her father had been.
Yawning, muscles aching, she found a bathroom and washed up. When Darius still hadn’t returned to the main room, she drifted out onto the balcony. Looking out over the ocean, she stretched arms high and breathed in the heady scent of briny air while two wrens darted, chasing each other an arm’s length away from her.
“It’s like standing at the beginning of time,” she murmured, soaking up the glittering azure waters, the sun-drenched open space. Her thoughts turned to the figurine and her fate, which equated to an eternity of being penned in, locked up. Certainly a block of stone had no feelings. Still, Helene couldn’t help but sympathize. Why exist if you couldn’t breathe and have your freedom?
She wandered back inside. Her untouched goblet waited, but wine would only make her eyelids droop more. She walked around a comfy-looking sofa and sat down. Setting an elbow on the armrest and her cheek in her palm, she settled in and yawned again.
…
Darius allowed himself time to admire the figurine and dwell upon their lucky escape before he carefully placed her in the vault. Now he needed to make that phone call and have his adventurous guest taken away. No more surprises or distractions. However, for all the drama that seemed to surround her, he wasn’t angry. Or, at least, he wasn’t angry anymore. She felt bad enough. He simply couldn’t afford even one more mishap this week.
There was a phone extension in his bedroom, but he preferred to use his cell, which he’d left on the balcony before rushing off to find Helene.
Moving through the main room, he stopped when he spotted his guest. Helene was passed out on the sofa—eyes closed, mouth open. Her breathing was deep and regular. Asleep she looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He pitied the poor guy who fell in love her. But, hell, he envied him as well. The man Helene Masters married was in for
an eventful life.
As the palm holding up one cheek began to slide, Helene’s head lowered, coming to lie on her forearm hung over the armrest. Darius fetched a pillow and a light throw-over. After carefully slipping the pillow under her head and covering her, he stood back and ran a hand through his hair. She was as peaceful as an angel and just as beautiful, in a lost puppy, bedraggled kind of way. But he wouldn’t put off the inevitable.
He needed to make that call.
…
Helene stretched and blinked open her eyes. An instant later she recognized the room, remembered the cave—the prince— and her sense of wellbeing vanished. She’d caused that man so much trouble, and then she’d made herself right at home by falling asleep on his couch.
And where was Alexio, her ride out of here?
Jerking up, she pushed a throw-over aside and glanced beyond the balcony doors. A black satin sky laced with stars glittered back at her. A corner lamp filtered soft yellow light over the space inside. She pushed back hair that had fallen over one eye. How long had she slept?
A noise came from behind. On her feet in an instant, Helene spun around. A masculine form—Darius Vasily—sauntered toward her. When he saw that she was up, he slowly grinned.
“I wondered when you might wake. You must be hungry?”
Her stomach answered with an unfortunate rumbling growl. She winced. “Guess I am.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
He wore a white casual button-down and clean trousers. As he drew nearer, she inhaled delicious, freshly-soaped male, which only made her own sweat-and-dirt smell all too apparent. She needed a bath.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” she asked.
“You weren’t causing any harm—for once.”
He grinned again, slow and slanted. This close—in this light—her breath was taken away. When they’d first met, she’d noticed how attractive and commanding he was. After they’d escaped the cave, with his billboard-standard chest on display, he’d looked even hotter. This minute he appeared larger than life—sizzling with sex appeal and so comfortable in his own skin. Her hands bunched as fingers itched to graze over the raspy angle of his jaw. She imagined the feel and taste of his mouth and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips.
