by Girard, Dara
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll get used to the idea.”
“So you’re behind this?”
“Well, your sister thought—”
“My sister, too?”
“Nikki, please give this a chance. He needs your help. He just needs a little convincing, that’s all. With you here, it will be a lot easier.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ready to go home?”
She knew it was a challenge—a dare. Was she brave enough to stay? Nikki thought about her office. Before she’d left New York, her office had been restored, she’d received a glowing report from the mistresses on their new place, she’d cleared her schedule for the next three months and she’d left Benjamin, who still expected a solid answer. No, she didn’t want to go back to her old life. At least not just yet.
She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I want to stay. Let me show you how persuasive I can be.”
Basilio smiled. “A woman after my own heart.” He took her elbow. “Come on. Let me walk you back to the house.”
She turned and saw a black animal jump from one tree to another. She stepped back.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Basilio said gently, nudging her forward. “That’s just Lethe, Lucian’s cat.”
“Wasn’t Lethe the river of forgetfulness in a myth?”
“Yes, that’s my brother’s strange sense of humor. There are many things he would like to forget.”
Nikki glanced up at the golden eyes, which seemed to be following them.
“Don’t worry. He rarely attacks.”
Rarely didn’t mean never. Nikki picked up her pace and changed the subject. “What did Callia mean when she was talking about ghosts?”
Basilio shook his head. “It’s all her imagination. Pay no attention to her. She hasn’t been the same since the fire. She sees things that aren’t there. That’s why Lucian hired Kay to stay with her.”
Nikki nodded, not knowing what else to say. If it was all just Callia’s imagination, why did Kay seem so on edge? But that wasn’t her problem. She was here to redesign the house and nothing else.
As they approached the entrance, Nikki noticed a beautiful woman spreading a tablecloth on a wrought-iron glass table on the terrace. She looked like a lovely picture, but out of place. A sullenness surrounded her. She had a wild, elemental beauty, like the gathering of storm clouds that agitate the sea and make the leaves on the trees tremble.
“Who is that?” Nikki asked, intrigued by the woman.
“Iona. One of the few servants who stayed after the fire.”
“Oh, she doesn’t look happy.”
Basilio shrugged. “It’s work. Just stay out of her way and you’ll be fine.”
Nikki definitely would. The other woman looked up with liquid brown eyes. Nikki offered a smile, but the other woman didn’t return it. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had a more pressing issue.
She had to figure out how best to handle a man who didn’t want to work with her. She had no one else to blame for the situation, since she hadn’t let her sister explain anything and had run headlong into this project without getting all the details, such as was Lucian even interested? She knew that her sister and Lucian’s brother had good intentions, but obviously there were reasons why Lucian didn’t want the house redesigned. Were there still memories? Probably. But then again, after four years it was time for him to move forward and she could do that. She would do that. This was her golden opportunity and she wouldn’t let him kick her out of paradise.
Chapter 4
“Get rid of her.”
Basilio shut the door and watched his brother take a shirt from his closet. “Lucian, she just got here.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“I was going to tell you about her.”
Lucian buttoned up his shirt. “When?”
Basilio rubbed his chin. “When the time seemed right.”
Lucian checked his reflection in the mirror. “Seems right now.”
“She’s really talented and—”
“I’m sure she’s brilliant.” He scowled at his reflection and unbuttoned his shirt. “I still don’t want her here. Get rid of her.” He tossed the shirt on the bed and grabbed another from the closet.
Basilio looked at his brother, helpless. “I can’t just tell her to go.”
“Fine. Pay her for her time.”
Basilio sighed at his brother’s tactlessness, then watched as Lucian straightened a sleeve. They had the same parents but were different in appearance due to the nearly ten-year age gap and their different skin tones from the mix of their European mother and African father. He’d gotten his mother’s hair, and Lucian her eyes. He had their father’s chin, while Lucian had his height. Basilio had only known his brother for less than a year before the fire. He’d sought him out after their mother’s death. He had just finished college and wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life yet, but one thing he did know was that he wanted to rebuild his relationship with his brother and start fresh.
It hadn’t been easy, but he was beginning to understand him. He had watched him endure painful treatments and relearn simple tasks. Seeing Lucian’s swift movements as he changed clothes filled him with pride and he knew each year his brother would get stronger, but something was different about him now. He wasn’t himself; he seemed agitated and unsure. That wasn’t like Lucian. He was always cool and certain.
Basilio started to smile. “She got to you.”
Lucian adjusted his collar. “What?”
“What came over you out there? I’ve never seen you act that way.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t expect…” He threw out his hand, annoyed. “Why was she dressed like an ordinary washerwoman?”
“Market woman.”
“They look alike to me.”
“She’s a foreigner. She probably thought it was pretty or something.”
“How like a woman to be deceitful,” Lucian said, tossing another shirt aside.
“She didn’t mean to deceive anyone. I know I should have told you about her sooner, but this is a good thing. I think she can help you.”
“Help me?” Lucian’s voice cracked in surprise. “I don’t need help.” He checked his reflection again.
“You’ve done the buttons wrong.”
Lucian scowled. “I know that.”
Basilio smiled, trying not to laugh. “She’s really gotten you rattled.”
“I’m not rattled.”
Basilio glanced at the bed. “Then how come you’ve gone through four shirts? You don’t usually care what you look like.”
Lucian tucked in his shirt, then smoothed down his hair. “I just want to make a good impression. My first one was—”
“A shock?”
“Unfortunate,” Lucian corrected.
“I don’t think you can undo a first impression.”
“I can try.”
“I haven’t seen you respond to a woman like that since—” He stopped, not wanting to bring up the past and Alana. “Not that I blame you. She’s an attractive woman. I could imagine getting my leg over that.”
“She’s engaged. I saw the ring.”
“Before or after you kissed her?”
Color swept into Lucian’s cheeks. “I’ll have to apologize about that. Perhaps I should send flowers to her room and add a diamond necklace.”
“She’ll see that as an insult.”
“I thought women liked diamonds.”
“That’s not the point. You don’t need to worry about the ring. It doesn’t mean much.”
“How do you know?”
“I know women, and the way you kissed her, I’m surprised she didn’t slap you.”
“It’s only because she knew who I was. She was being polite.”
“No, she wasn’t being polite. She liked it.”
Lucian’s face lit up. “Really?” He held up his hand before his brother could respond. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. I
don’t care. I don’t want her here. I’ve had enough trouble with designers, and things become more complicated when it comes to friends. Get rid of her.”
“She likes you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m not interested. She belongs to another man and I’ve learned my lesson. Most women can’t be trusted. Especially ones who wear one man’s ring and allow another to kiss them.”
“Like you said, maybe she was just being polite.”
Lucian frowned but didn’t reply.
“Okay, aside from your first meeting, don’t ignore this opportunity. You need to move on. Those empty rooms are a symbol of what happened. You need to think about the future.”
“Why?”
“At least think about Callia.”
“When I’m gone, she can design those rooms any way she wants.”
“At least let Nikki try one room. It shouldn’t take more than two weeks and then she’ll be gone. Just two weeks and she’ll be gone for good. No problem. We’ll all get what we want.”
“You think one room will take only two weeks?”
“I told you she’s good. It may be even less.” Basilio held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Lucian sighed. “Fine. One room, then she goes.”
Someone knocked.
“Come in,” Lucian said.
Dante Andreas, Lucian’s butler, entered. He sent Basilio a careless look, then focused on Lucian. Basilio didn’t like him. He knew he was more than just a butler, but still wasn’t sure of all his duties. He was only a few years older than Basilio, but seemed decades so. His nationality was Italian, but his appearance—tightly curled hair and dark skin—hinted at a heritage that spread far beyond those shores. At times Basilio envied the close bond he and Lucian had.
“I have Ms. Rozan waiting in the main room.”
“Fine.” Lucian looked at his brother. “Tell her I’ll meet her there.”
Basilio nodded. “Okay.”
“And stop grinning. You haven’t won yet.”
“But I’m getting close,” Basilio said, then strolled out of the room.
Dante closed the door once Basilio was gone. “She’s an unexpected complication.”
Lucian pounded his cane in exasperation. “Don’t I know it.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of what your brother was up to.”
“That’s not your job. You’re too busy with more important things.”
“My job is to make sure this place is safe. He’s causing trouble. I don’t trust him. He just showed up out of nowhere and—”
“Not out of nowhere,” Lucian carefully corrected. “And he isn’t a stranger. He’s family.”
“Yes,” Dante sighed. “But everything has gone bad since his arrival.”
“Don’t exaggerate. None of it is his fault, just a coincidence.”
“I don’t like coincidences.”
“Force yourself to like this one,” Lucian said in an unrelenting tone.
Dante heard it and changed the subject. “You have two messages from France.”
“They can wait.”
“And Wanda called.”
Lucian swore. “Keep her away from here.”
Dante noticed the clothes on the bed and began to put them away. “I have. But I can’t keep her away forever.”
“Sure you can.”
Dante smoothed out a shirt, then hung it up. “She’ll just go to the press.”
“Let her,” Lucian said. He sat on his bed and put on his shoes. “Who’ll listen?”
“If she drops your name, people will. You don’t need that kind of publicity.”
Lucian sighed. “You’re right. I don’t need another complication. What does she want?”
Dante closed the closet with a soft click. “You know what she wants.”
“Fine. Schedule a time.”
“When?”
“The sooner the better. Next month. I just want to get it over with.”
“We’ll have to tell Callia.”
“Don’t worry. I will. Thanks.”
Dante nodded, then left the room. He walked outside and lit a cigarette. He had been Lucian’s right hand for nearly seven years and had helped patrol the island for even longer than that. He knew about every coming and going. His reputation was stellar, except for one grievous stain—the fire at the Kontos mansion. He’d failed and nearly gotten his friend killed, as well as little Callia. He wouldn’t rest until he uncovered the truth. He suspected it wouldn’t be pretty. But he was used to ugly things. He’d grown up on the streets of Rome and London, before an aunt shipped him off to Greece, where he was put into an apprenticeship program with a bottling company. While it didn’t pay very well, it provided Dante with the training, discipline and work ethic he would need later in life.
Dante took a long drag of his cigarette. He didn’t like Basilio. He didn’t trust a man who smiled so easily all the time. He had something to hide. How could he not have some envy for a brother whose success overshadowed his own? No, he didn’t trust Basilio and would watch him.
Chapter 5
He still didn’t know what had come over him. Lucian walked to the room where Nikki was waiting, searching his mind for an explanation. He hadn’t been himself. All he knew was that after Nikki saved the kitten’s life, he wanted to kiss her. He’d felt a mixture of lust, amazement and awe. She’d saved the kitten’s life and made Callia happy. He’d wanted to feel that life force she’d given the kitten infuse him and make him feel whole and human again. Just one wild taste of those lips.
And she’d made him feel more than human. She’d made him feel like a god, and in a moment he knew he’d persuade her to be his lover. Whoever had laid claim to her be damned; they would have to fight him for her. He would make her his, using all the power and influence he had at his disposal.
But then he learned she wouldn’t be an easy conquest. She wasn’t some peasant woman here to work. She was J.D.’s sister-in-law. Off-limits to him. That changed everything. She didn’t belong here. And he didn’t like how she made him feel. He knew he’d agreed to let her stay two weeks, but there were other ways to break promises. He wanted her gone and he’d get his wish. He’d just have to make it look like it was her idea.
He’d been able to get rid of the other designers his brother had hired and she’d be no different. He’d be a bit more strategic, because he had to be careful with her. He didn’t want to jeopardize his friendship with J.D. and Monica. He’d keep his distance, be cold like he’d been with the others, and she’d quit out of frustration. He knew his reputation and would use it to his advantage. Yes, he’d get her to quit. That shouldn’t be too hard. Flash enough money in her face, be a jerk, and she’d be on the mainland by tomorrow.
Lucian walked into the room, expecting to see Nikki impatiently sitting and waiting for him. He’d deliberately made her wait an extra twenty minutes. Instead he saw her moving back and forth in the room like a butterfly flittering from one flower to another. She wasn’t dressed in another market-woman outfit or in a chic, expensive suit, which one would expect a New York designer to wear, but in a patterned long skirt and top that reminded him of the plains of the Southwest. He half expected to hear the sound of horse hooves and smell the scent of wildflowers. He gripped his cane. Damn, now he was getting poetic. She was so full of light and energy, and she didn’t belong here in this house. Dreams died here.
Nikki turned to him and frowned, then looked around the room again.
He guessed that she was trying to figure out from the bare furniture what the room was for. “This room used to be—”
She shook her head. “I don’t care what it used to be. What do you want it to be now?”
He walked over to a large leather couch off to the side and took a seat. Distance was essential. “The same thing. A welcoming room…area. Whatever…”
“Hmm.” To his dismay Nikki sat down next to him, her perfume drift
ing toward him like a soft mist. He shifted, surprised by her actions. He thought Americans liked space.
“Let’s get started.”
“We already have,” she said, pulling out a small suede portfolio she’d had resting on the side of the couch. “I’ve done some preliminary sketches based on the photos my sister showed me of some of your rooms.” She spread them out on his lap. “Does any of this interest you?”
Lucian absently glanced over them. They were nice, but not memorable. “No.”
Nikki gathered up the sketches, undisturbed by his abrupt response. “That’s okay. It was just a start.” She grabbed some color swatches and drapery material from inside the portfolio. “Have a look at these. Does anything strike you? Does a certain color stand out for you? Would you prefer paint or wallpaper?”
Lucian yawned, his gaze flat with evident boredom. “I don’t care.”
Nikki continued, determined not to be sidelined by his—disinterest. “Now, we haven’t discussed a budget yet. If you—”
“Money is not a factor. If I like it, I’ll pay for it.”
“Okay. So do you want to go for extravagance or simple elegance?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re the client.” She set her portfolio aside and clasped her hands together. “Since you don’t want to look at any of these, let’s just have a conversation. Tell me what this room means to you.”
“Nothing.”
“It must mean something.”
Lucian looked around and shook his head. “No.”
Nikki leaned closer. “Do you have any ideas you’d like to share?”
“No,” he said, steeling himself against her bright gaze. He couldn’t let her seep past his guard. He needed to let her know who was in charge. He held up his hand. “This is how it’s going to work. You’ll sketch three to five designs. I’ll look them over, and if I like one, you’re hired. If not, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He stood. “Excuse me.”
“Is that all you’ve got?”
He stopped and spun around. “What?”
