The Right Path

by Nora Roberts

  actually fainted? Had she simply fallen asleep and dreamed it all? Rubbing her fingers against her temple, she wondered if her fantasies about pirates had caused her to hallucinate.

  A small sound brought her swiftly to her feet. No, it had been real, and he was back. Morgan hurled herself at the shadow as it approached. She’d accepted the inevitability of death once without a struggle. This time, he was going to have a hell of a fight on his hands.

  The shadow grunted softly as she struck, then Morgan found herself captured again, under him with the sand scraping her back.

  “Diabolos! Be still!” he ordered in furious Greek as she tried to rip at his face.

  “The hell I will!” Morgan tossed back in equally furious English. She fought with every ounce of strength until he pinned her, spread-eagle beneath him. Breathless, fearless in her rage, she stared up at him.

  Looking down, he studied her with a frown. “You’re not Greek.” The statement, uttered in surprised and impatient English, stopped her struggles. “Who are you?”

  “None of your business.” She tried, and failed, to jerk her wrists free of his hold.

  “Stop squirming,” he ordered roughly, as his fingers clamped down harder. He wasn’t thinking of his strength or her fragility, but that she wasn’t simply a native who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. His profession had taught him to get answers and adjust for complications. “What were you doing on the beach in the middle of the night?”

  “Swimming,” she tossed back. “Any idiot should be able to figure that out.”

  He swore, then shifted as she continued to struggle beneath him. “Damn it, be still!” His brows were lowered, not in anger now but concentration. “Swimming,” he repeated as his eyes narrowed again. He’d watched her walk out of the sea—perhaps it was as innocent as that. “American,” he mused, ignoring Morgan’s thrashing. Weren’t the Theoharises expecting an American woman? Of all the ill-timed . . . “You’re not Greek,” he murmured again.

  “Neither are you,” Morgan said between clenched teeth.

  “Half.” His thoughts underwent some rapid readjustments. The Theoharises’ American houseguest, out for a moonlight swim—he’d have to play this one carefully or there’d be hell to pay. Quite suddenly, he flashed her a smile. “You had me fooled. I thought you could understand me.”

  “I understand perfectly,” she retorted. “And you won’t find it an easy rape now that you don’t have your knife out.”

  “Rape?” Apparently astonished, he stared at her. His laughter was as sudden as the smile. “I hadn’t given that much thought. In any case, Aphrodite, the knife was never intended for you.”

  “Then what do you mean by dragging me around like that? Flashing a knife in my face and nearly suffocating me?” Fury was much more satisfying than fear, and Morgan went with it. “Let me go!” She pushed at him with her body, but couldn’t nudge him.

  “In a moment,” he said pleasantly. The moonlight played on her skin, and he enjoyed it. A fabulous face, he mused, now that he had time to study it. She’d be a woman accustomed to male admiration. Perhaps charm would distract her from the rather unique aspect of their meeting. “I can only say that what I did was for your own protection.”

  “Protection!” she flung back at him and tried to wrench her arms free.

  “There wasn’t time for amenities, fair lady. My apologies if my . . . technique was unrefined.” His tone seemed to take it for granted that she would understand. “Tell me, why were you out alone, sitting like Lorelei on the rock and combing your hair?”

  “That’s none of your business.” His voice had dropped, becoming low and seductive. The dark eyes had softened and appeared depthless. She could almost believe she had imagined the ruthlessness she’d glimpsed in the shadows. But she felt the light throbbing where his fingers had gripped her flesh. “I’m going to scream if you don’t let me go.”

  Her body was tempting now that he had time to appreciate it, but he rose with a shrug. There was still work to be done that night. “My apologies for your inconvenience.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Struggling to her feet, Morgan began to brush at the sand that clung to her skin. “You have your nerve, dragging me off into the bushes, smothering me, brandishing a knife in my face, then apologizing like you’ve just stepped on my toe.” Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. “Just who are you and what was this all about?”

  “Here.” Stooping, he picked up the wrap he had dropped in order to hold her off. “I was bringing this to you when you launched your attack.” He grinned as she shrugged into the wrap. It was a pity to cover the lengthy, intriguing body. “Who I am at the moment isn’t relevant. As for the rest”—again the smooth, easy shrug—“I can’t tell you.”

  “Just like that?” With a quick nod, Morgan turned and stalked to the beach steps. “We’ll see what the police have to say about it.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  The advice was quiet, but vibrated with command. Hesitating, Morgan turned at the base of the steps to study him. He wasn’t threatening now. What she felt wasn’t fear, but his authority. He was quite tall, she noticed suddenly. And the moonlight played tricks with his face, making it almost cruel one moment, charming the next. Now it held all the confidence of Lucifer regrouping after the Fall.

  Looking at him, she remembered the feel of hard, wiry muscles. He was standing easily, hands thrust into the pockets of jeans. The aura of command fit him perfectly. His smile didn’t disguise it, nor did his casual stance. Damn pirates, she thought, feeling a quick twinge. Only lunatics find them attractive. Because she felt vulnerable, Morgan countered with bravado.

  “Wouldn’t you?” She lifted her chin and walked back to him.

  “No,” he answered mildly. “But perhaps, unlike me, you look for complications. I’m a simple man.” He took a long, searching look at her face. This is not, he decided instantly, a simple woman. Though in his mind he cursed her, he went on conversationally. “Questions, reports to fill out, hours wasted on red tape. And then, even if you had my name”—he shrugged and flashed the grin again—“no one would believe you, Aphrodite. No one.”

  She didn’t trust that grin—or the sultry way he called her by the goddess’s name. She didn’t trust the sudden warmth in her blood. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Morgan began, but he cut her off, closing the slight distance between them.

  “And I didn’t rape you.” Slowly, he ran his hands down her hair until they rested on her shoulders. His fingers didn’t bite into her flesh now, but skimmed lazily. She had the eyes of a witch, he thought, and the face of a goddess. His time was short, but the moment was not to be missed. “Until now, I haven’t even given in to the urge to do this.”

  His mouth closed over hers, hot and stunningly sweet. She hadn’t been prepared for it. She pushed against him, but it was strictly out of reflex and lacked strength. He was a man who knew a woman’s weakness. Deliberately, he brought her close, using style rather than force.

  The scent of the sea rose to surround her, and heat—such a furnace heat that seemed to come from within and without at the same time. Almost leisurely, he explored her mouth until her heart thudded wildly against the quick, steady beat of his. His hands were clever, sliding beneath the wide sleeves of her robe to tease and caress the length of her arms, the slope of her shoulders.

  When her struggles ceased, he nibbled at her lips as if he would draw out more taste. Slow, easy. His tongue tempted hers, then retreated, then slipped through her parted lips again to torment and savor. For a moment, Morgan feared she would faint for a second time in his arms.

  “One kiss,” he murmured against her lips, “is hardly a criminal offense.” She was sweeter than he had imagined and, he realized as desire stirred hotly, deadlier. “I could take another with little more risk.”

  “No.” Coming abruptly to her senses, Morgan pushed away from him. “You’re mad. And you’re madder still if you think I�
�m going to let this go. I’m going—” She broke off as her hand lifted to her throat in a nervous gesture. The chain that always hung there was missing. Morgan glanced down, then brought her eyes back to his, furious, glowing.

  “What have you done with my medal?” she demanded. “Give it back to me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have it, Aphrodite.”

  “I want it back.” Bravado wasn’t a pose this time; she was livid. She stepped closer until they were toe to toe. “It’s not worth anything to you. You won’t be able to get more than a few drachmas for it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take your medal. I’m not a thief.” The temper in his voice was cold, coated with control. “If I were going to steal something from you, I would have found something more interesting than a medal.”

  Her eyes filled in a rush, and she swung out her hand to slap him. He caught her wrist, adding frustration to fury.

  “It appears the medal is important,” he said softly, but his hand was no longer gentle. “A token from a lover?”

  “A gift from someone I love,” Morgan countered. “I wouldn’t expect a man like you to understand its value.” With a jerk, she pulled her wrist from his hold. “I won’t forget you,” she promised, then turned and flew up the stairs.

  He watched her until she was swallowed by the darkness. After a moment he turned back to the beach.

  Chapter 2

  The sun was a white flash of light. Its diamonds skimmed the water’s surface. With the gentle movement of the yacht, Morgan found herself half-dozing.

  Could the moonlit beach and the man have been a dream? she wondered hazily. Knives and rough hands and sudden draining kisses from strangers had no place in the real world. They belonged in one of those strange, half-remembered dreams she had when the rush and demands of work and the city threatened to become too much for her. She’d always considered them her personal release valve. Harmless, but absolutely secret—something she’d never considered telling Jack or any of her coworkers.

  If it hadn’t been for the absence of her medal, and the light trail of bruises on her arms, Morgan could have believed the entire incident had been the product of an overworked imagination.

  Sighing, she shifted her back to the sun, pillowing her head on her hands. Her skin, slick with oil, glistened. Why was she keeping the whole crazy business from Liz and Alex? Grimacing, she flexed her shoulders. They’d be horrified if she told them she’d been assaulted. Morgan could all but see Alex placing her under armed guard for the rest of her stay on Lesbos. He’d make certain there was an investigation—complicated, time-consuming, and, in all probability, fruitless. Morgan could work up a strong hate for the dark man for being right.

  And what, if she decided to pursue it, could she tell the police? She hadn’t been hurt or sexually assaulted. There’d been no verbal threat she could pin down, not even the slimmest motivation for what had happened. And what had happened? she demanded of herself. A man had dragged her into the bushes, held her there for no clear reason, then had let her go without harming her.

  The Greek police wouldn’t see the kiss as a criminal offense. She hadn’t been robbed. There was no way on earth to prove the man had taken her medal. And damn it, she added with a sigh, as much as she’d like to assign all sorts of evil attributes to him, he just didn’t fit the role of a petty thief. Petty anything, she thought grudgingly. Whatever he did, she was certain he did big . . . and did well.

  So what was she going to do about it? True, he’d frightened and infuriated her—the second was probably a direct result of the first—but what else was there?

  If and when they caught him, it would be his word against hers. Somehow, Morgan thought his word would carry more weight.

  So I was frightened—my pride took a lump. She shrugged and shifted her head on her hands. It’s not worth upsetting Liz and Alex. Midnight madness, she mused. Another strange adventure in the life and times of Morgan James. File it and forget it.

  Hearing Alex mount the steps to the sun deck, Morgan rested her chin on her hands and smiled at him. On the lounger beside her, Liz stirred and slept on.

  “So, the sun has put her to sleep.” Alex mounted the last of the steps, then settled into the chair beside his wife.

  “I nearly dozed off myself.” With a yawn, Morgan stretched luxuriously before she rolled over to adjust the lounger to a sitting position. “But I didn’t want to miss anything.” Gazing over the water, she studied the clump of land in the distance. The island seemed to float, as insubstantial as a mist.

  “Chios,” Alex told her, following her gaze. “And”—he gestured, waiting for her eyes to shift in the direction of his—“the coast of Turkey.”

  “So close,” Morgan mused. “It seems as though I could swim to it.”

  “At sea, the distance can be deceiving.” He flicked a lighter at the end of a black cigarette. The fragrance that rose from it was faintly sweet and exotic. “You’d have to be a hardy swimmer. Easy enough with a boat, though. There are some who find the proximity profitable.” At Morgan’s blank expression, Alex laughed. “Smuggling, innocence. It’s still popular even though the punishment is severe.”

  “Smuggling,” she murmured, intrigued. Then the word put her in mind of pirates again and her curious expression turned into a frown. A nasty business, she reminded herself, and not romantic at all.

  “The coast.” Alex made another sweeping gesture with the elegant cigarette held between two long fingers. “The many bays and peninsulas, offshore islands, inlets. There’s simple access from the sea to the interior.”

  She nodded. Yes, a nasty business—they weren’t talking about French brandy or Spanish lace. “Opium?”

  “Among other things.”

  “But Alex.” His careless acceptance caused her frown to deepen. Once she’d sorted it through, Morgan’s own sense of right and wrong had little middle ground. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Bother me?” he repeated, taking a long, slow drag on the cigarette. “Why?”

  Flustered with the question, she sat up straighter. “Aren’t you concerned about that sort of thing going on so close to your own home?”

  “Morgan.” Alex spread his hands in an acceptance of fate. The thick chunk of gold on his left pinky gleamed dully in the sunlight. “My concern would hardly stop what’s been going on for centuries.”

  “But still, with crime practically in your own backyard . . .” She broke off, thinking about the streets of Manhattan. Perhaps she was the pot calling the kettle black. “I supposed I’d thought you’d be annoyed,” she finished.

  His eyes lit with a touch of amusement before he shrugged. “I leave the matter—and the annoyance—to the patrols and authorities. Tell me, are you enjoying your stay so far?”

  Morgan started to speak again, then consciously smoothed away the frown. Alex was old-world enough not to want to discuss unpleasantries with a guest. “It’s wonderful here, Alex. I can see why Liz loves it.”

  He flashed her a grin before he drew in strong tobacco. “You know Liz wants you to stay. She’s missed you. At times, I feel very guilty because we don’t get to America to see you often enough.”

  “You don’t have to feel guilty, Alex.” Morgan pushed on sunglasses and relaxed again. After all, she reflected, smuggling had nothing to do with her. “Liz is happy.”

  “She’d be happier with you here.”

  “Alex,” Morgan began with a smile for his indulgence of his wife. “I can’t simply move in as a companion, no matter how much both of us love Liz.”

  “You’re still dedicated to your job at the U.N.?” His tone had altered slightly, but Morgan sensed the change. It was business now.

  “I like my work. I’m good at it, and I need the challenge.”

  “I’m a generous employer, Morgan, particularly to one with your capabilities.” He took another long, slow drag, studying her through the mist of smoke. “I asked you to come work for me three years ago. If I hadn�
��t been”—he glanced down at Liz’s sleeping figure—“distracted”—he decided with a mild smile—“I would have taken more time to convince you to accept.”

  “Distracted?” Liz pushed her sunglasses up to her forehead and peered at him from under them.

  “Eavesdropping,” Morgan said with a sniff. A uniformed steward set three iced drinks on the table. She lifted one and drank. “Your manners always were appalling.”

  “You have a few weeks yet to think it over, Morgan.” Tenacity beneath a smooth delivery was one of Alex’s most successful business tactics. “But I warn you, Liz will be more persistent with her other solution.” He shrugged, reaching for his own drink. “And I must agree—a woman needs a husband and security.”

  “How very Greek of you,” Morgan commented dryly.

  His grin flashed without apology. “I’m afraid one of Liz’s candidates will be delayed. Dorian won’t join us until tomorrow. He’s bringing my cousin Iona with him.”

  “Marvelous.” Liz’s response was drenched in sarcasm. Alex sent her a frown.

  “Liz isn’t fond of Iona, but she’s family.” The quiet look he sent his wife told Morgan the subject had been discussed before. “I have a responsibility.”

  Liz took the last glass with a sigh of acceptance. Briefly she touched her hand to his. “We have a responsibility,” she corrected. “Iona’s welcome.”

  Alex’s frown turned into a look of love so quickly, Morgan gave a mock groan. “Don’t you two ever fight? I mean, don’t you realize it isn’t healthy to be so well balanced?”

  Liz’s eyes danced over the rim of her glass. “We have our moments, I suppose. A week ago I was furious with him for at least—ah, fifteen minutes.”

  “That,” Morgan said positively, “is disgusting.”