The Right Path

by Nora Roberts

  without caring what she did, Morgan framed his face with her hands for a moment before they dove into his hair. The muttered Greek she heard from him wasn’t a love word but an oath as he dragged her closer.

  How well she knew that body now. Long and lean and wiry with muscle. She could smell the sea on it, almost taste it beneath that hot demand as his mouth continued to savage hers.

  The kiss grew deeper, until she moaned, half in fear of the unexplored, half in delight of the exploration. She’d forgotten who she was, who he was. There was only pleasure, a dark, heavy pleasure. Through her dazed senses she felt a struggle—a storm, a fury. Then he drew her away to study her face.

  He wasn’t pleased that his heartbeat was unsteady. Or that the thoughts whirling in his head were clouded with passion. This was no time for complications. And this was no woman to take risks with. With an effort, he slid his hands gently down her arms. “More satisfying than a thank-you,” he said lightly, then glanced with a grin toward the bed. “Are you going to ask me to stay?”

  Morgan pulled herself back with a jolt. He must have hypnotized her, she decided. There was no other rational explanation. “Some other time, perhaps,” she managed, as carelessly as he.

  Amusement lightened his features. Capturing her hand, he kissed it formally. “I’ll look forward to it, Aphrodite.”

  He moved to the balcony, throwing her a quick grin before he started his descent. Unable to prevent herself, Morgan ran over to watch him climb down.

  He moved like a cat, confident, fearless, a shadow clinging to the stark white walls. Her heart stayed lodged in her throat as she watched him. He sprang to the ground and melted into the cover of trees without looking back. Whirling, Morgan shut the doors to the balcony. And locked them.

  Chapter 3

  Morgan swirled her glass of local wine but drank little. Though its light, fruity flavor was appealing, she was too preoccupied to appreciate it. The terrace overlooked the gulf with its hard blue water and scattering of tiny islands. Small dots that were boats skimmed the surface, but she took little notice of them. Most of her mind was occupied in trying to sort out the cryptic comments of her late-night visitor. The rest was involved with following the conversation around her.

  Dorian Zoulas was all that Liz had said—classically handsome, bronzed, and sophisticated. In the pale cream suit, he was a twentieth-century Adonis. He had intelligence and breeding, tempered with a golden beauty that was essentially masculine. Liz’s maneuvers might have caused Morgan to treat him with a polite aloofness if she hadn’t seen the flashes of humor in his eyes. Morgan had realized immediately that he not only knew the way his hostess’s mind worked, but had decided to play the game. The teasing challenge in his eyes relaxed her. Now she could enjoy a harmless flirtation without embarrassment.

  Iona, Alex’s cousin, was to Morgan’s mind less appealing. Her dark, sultry looks were both stunning and disturbing. The gloss of beauty and wealth didn’t quite polish over an edge that might have come from poor temperament or nerves. There was no humor in the exotic sloe eyes or pouting mouth. Iona was, Morgan mused, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Hot, smoky, and alarming.

  The adjectives brought her night visitor back to her mind. They fit him just as neatly as they fit Iona Theoharis, and yet . . . oddly, Morgan found she admired them in the man and found them disturbing in the woman. Double standard? she wondered, then shook her head. No, the energy in Iona seemed destructive. The energy in the man was compelling. Annoyed with herself. Morgan turned from her study of the gulf and pushed aside her disturbing thoughts.

  She gave Dorian her full attention. “You must find it very peaceful here after Athens.”

  He turned in his chair to face her. With only a smile, he intimated that there was no woman but she on the terrace—a trick Morgan found pleasant. “The island’s a marvelous place . . . tranquil. But I thrive on chaos. As you live in New York, I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, but at the moment, tranquility is very appealing.” Leaning against the rail, she let the sun play warm on her back. “I’ve been nothing but lazy so far. I haven’t even whipped up the energy to explore.”

  “There’s quite a bit of local color, if that’s what you have in mind.” Dorian slipped a thin gold case from his pocket, and opening it, offered Morgan a cigarette. At the shake of her head, he lit one for himself, then leaned back in a manner that was both relaxed and alert. “Caves and inlets, olive groves, a few small farms and flocks,” he continued. “The village is very quaint and unspoiled.”

  “Exactly what I want.” Morgan nodded and sipped her drink. “But I’m going to take it very slow. I’ll collect shells and find a farmer who’ll let me milk his goat.”

  “Terrifying aspirations,” Dorian commented with a quick smile.

  “Liz will tell you, I’ve always been intrepid.”

  “I’d be happy to help you with your shells.” He continued to smile as his eyes skimmed her face with an approval she couldn’t have missed. “But as to the goat . . .”

  “I’m surprised you’re content with so little entertainment.” Iona’s husky voice broke into the exchange.

  Morgan shifted her gaze to her and found it took more of an effort to smile. “The island itself is entertainment enough for me. Remember, I’m a tourist. I’ve always thought vacations where you rush from one activity to the next aren’t vacations at all.”

  “Morgan’s been lazy for two full days,” Liz put in with a grin. “A new record.”

  Morgan cast her a look, thinking of her nighttime activities. “I’m shooting for two weeks of peaceful sloth,” Morgan murmured. Starting today, she added silently.

  “Lesbos is the perfect spot for idleness.” Dorian blew out a slow, fragrant stream of smoke. “Rustic, quiet.”

  “But perhaps this bit of island isn’t as quiet as it appears.” Iona ran a manicured nail around the rim of her glass.

  Morgan saw Dorian’s brows lift as if in puzzlement while Alex’s drew together in disapproval.

  “We’ll do our best to keep it quiet during Morgan’s visit,” Liz said smoothly. “She rarely stays still for long, and since she’s determined to this time, we’ll see that she has a nice, uneventful vacation.”

  Morgan made some sound of agreement and managed not to choke over her drink. Uneventful! If Liz only knew.

  “More wine, Morgan?” Dorian rose, bringing the bottle to her.

  Iona began to tap her fingers on the arm of her wrought iron chair. “I suppose there are people who find boredom appealing.”

  “Relaxation,” Alex said with a slight edge in his voice, “comes in many forms.”

  “And of course,” Liz went on, skimming her hand lightly over the back of her husband’s, “Morgan’s job is very demanding. All those foreign dignitaries and protocol and politics.”

  Dorian sent Morgan an appreciative smile as he poured more wine into her glass. “I’m sure someone with Morgan’s talents would have many fascinating stories to tell.”

  Morgan cocked a brow. It had been a long time since she had been given a purely admiring male smile—undemanding, warm without being appraising. She could learn to enjoy it. “I might have a few,” she returned.

  ***

  The sun was sinking into the sea. The rosy light streamed through the open balcony doors and washed the room. Red sky at night, Morgan mused. Wasn’t that supposed to mean clear sailing? She decided to take it as an omen.

  Her first two days on Lesbos had been a far cry from the uneventful vacation Liz had boasted of, but that was behind her now. With luck, and a little care, she wouldn’t run into that attractive lunatic again.

  Morgan caught a glimpse of her own smile in the mirror and hastily rearranged her expression. Perhaps when she got back to New York, she’d see a psychiatrist. When you started to find lunatics appealing, you were fast becoming one yourself. Forget it, she ordered herself firmly as she went to the closet. There were more important things to think about—l
ike what she was going to wear to dinner.

  After a quick debate, Morgan chose a drifting white dress—thin layers of crepe de chine, full-sleeved, full-skirted. Dorian had inspired her to flaunt her femininity a bit. Jack, she recalled, had preferred the tailored look. He had often offered a stern and unsolicited opinion on her wardrobe, finding her taste both inconsistent and flighty. There might be a multicolored gypsy-style skirt hanging next to a prim business suit. He’d never understood that both had suited who she was. Just another basic difference, Morgan mused as she hooked the line of tiny pearl buttons.

  Tonight she was going to have fun. It had been a long while since she’d flirted with a man. Her thoughts swung back to a dark man with tousled hair and a shadowed chin. Hold on, Morgan, she warned herself. That was hardly in the same league as a flirtation. Moving over, she closed the balcony doors and gave a satisfied nod as she heard the click of the lock. And that, she decided, takes care of that.

  ***

  Liz glided around the salon. It pleased her that Morgan hadn’t come down yet. Now she could make an entrance. For all her blond fragility, Liz was a determined woman. Loyalty was her strongest trait; where she loved, it was unbendable. She wanted Morgan to be happy. Her own marriage had given her nothing but happiness. Morgan would have the same if Liz had any say in it.

  With a satisfied smile, she glanced around the salon. The light was low and flattering. The scent of night blossoms drifting in through the open windows was the perfect touch. The wines she’d ordered for dinner would add the final prop for romance. Now, if Morgan would cooperate . . .

  “Nick, I’m so glad you could join us.” Liz went to him, holding out both hands. “It’s so nice that we’re all on the island at the same time for a change.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Liz,” he returned with a warm, charming smile. “And a relief to be out of the crowds in Athens for a few weeks.” He gave her hands a light squeeze, then lifted one to his lips. His dark eyes skimmed her face. “I swear, you’re lovelier every time I see you.”

  With a laugh, Liz tucked her arm through his. “We’ll have to invite you to dinner more often. Did I ever thank you properly for that marvelous Indian chest you found me?” Smiling, she guided him toward the bar. “I adore it.”

  “Yes, you did.” He gave her hand a quick pat. “I’m glad I was able to find what you had in mind.”

  “You never fail to find the perfect piece. I’m afraid Alex wouldn’t know an Indian chest from a Hepplewhite.”

  Nick laughed. “We all have our talents, I suppose.”

  “But your work must be fascinating.” Liz glanced up at him with her wide-eyed smile as she began to fix him a drink. “All those treasures and all the exotic places you travel to.”

  “There are times it’s more exciting just to be home.”

  She shot him a look. “You make that hard to believe, since you’re so seldom here. Where was it last month? Venice?”

  “A beautiful city,” he said smoothly.

  “I’d love to see it. If I could drag Alex away from his ships . . .” Liz’s eyes focused across the room. “Oh dear, it looks like Iona is annoying Alex again.” On a long breath, she lifted her eyes to Nick’s. Seeing the quick understanding, she gave a rueful smile. “I’m going to have to play diplomat.”

  “You do it charmingly, Liz. Alex is a lucky man.”

  “Remind him of that from time to time,” she suggested. “I’d hate for him to take me for granted. Oh, here comes Morgan. She’ll keep you entertained while I do my duty.”

  Following Liz’s gaze, Nick watched as Morgan entered the room. “I’m sure she will,” was his murmured reply. He liked the dress she wore, the floating white that was at once alluring and innocent. She’d left her hair loose so that it fell over her shoulders almost as if it had come off a pillow. Quite beautiful, he thought as he felt the stir. He’d always had a weakness for beauty.

  “Morgan.” Before Morgan could do any more than smile her hello at Liz, Liz took her arm. “You’ll keep Nick happy for a moment; I have a job to do. Morgan James, Nicholas Gregoras.” With the quick introduction, Liz was halfway across the room.

  Morgan stared in stunned silence. Nick lifted her limp hand to his lips. “You,” she managed in a choked whisper.

  “Aphrodite, you’re exquisite. Even fully dressed.”

  With his lips lingering over her knuckles, he met her eyes. His were dark and pleased. Regaining her senses, Morgan tried to wrench her hand free. Without changing expression, Nick tightened his grip and held her still.

  “Careful, Morgan,” he said mildly. “Liz and her guests will wonder at your behavior. And explanations would”—he grinned, exactly as she remembered—“cause them to wonder about your mental health.”

  “Let go of my hand,” she said quietly and smiled with her lips only. “Or I swear, I’ll deck you.”

  “You’re magnificent.” Making a small bow, he released her. “Did you know your eyes literally throw darts when you’re annoyed?”

  “Then I’ve the pleasure of knowing you’re riddled with tiny holes,” she returned. “Let me know when one hits the heart, Mr. Gregoras.”

  “Nick, please,” he said in a polished tone. “We could hardly start formalities now after all we’ve . . . been through together.”

  Morgan gave him a brilliant smile. “Very well, Nick, you odious swine. What a pity this isn’t the proper time to go into how detestable you are.”

  He inclined his head. “We’ll arrange for a more appropriate opportunity. Soon,” he added with the faintest hint of steel. “Now, let me get you a drink.”

  Liz breezed up, pleased with the smiles she had seen exchanged. “You two seem to be getting along like old friends.”

  “I was just telling Mr. Gregoras how enchanting his home looks from the sea.” Morgan sent him a quick but lethal glance.

  “Yes, Morgan was fascinated by it,” Liz told him. “She’s always preferred things that didn’t quite fit a mold, if you know what I mean.”

  “Exactly.” Nick let his eyes sweep over Morgan’s face. A man could get lost in those eyes, he thought, if he wasn’t careful. Very careful. “Miss James has agreed to a personal tour tomorrow afternoon.” He smiled, watching her expression go from astonishment to fury before she controlled it.

  “Marvelous!” Pleased, Liz beamed at both of them. “Nick has so many treasures from all over the world. His house is just like Aladdin’s cave.”

  Smiling, Morgan thought of three particularly gruesome wishes, all involving her intended host. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  ***

  Through dinner, Morgan watched, confused, then intrigued by Nick’s manner. This was not the man she knew. This man was smooth, polished. Gone was the intensity, the ruthlessness, replaced by an easy warmth and charm.

  Nicholas Gregoras, olive oil, import-export. Yes, she could see the touches of wealth and success—and the authority she’d understood from the first. But command sat differently on him now, with none of the undertones of violence.

  He could sit at the elegant table, laughing with Liz and Alex over some island story with the gleam of cut crystal in his hand. The smoky-gray suit was perfectly tailored and fit him with the same ease as the dark sweatshirt and jeans she’d first seen him in. His arrogance had a more sophisticated tone now. All the rough edges were smoothed.

  He seemed relaxed, at home—with none of that vital, dangerous energy. How could this be the same man who had flourished a knife, or climbed the sheer wall to her balcony?

  Nick handed her a glass of wine and she frowned. But he was the same man, she reminded herself. And just what game was he playing? Lifting her eyes, Morgan met his. Her fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. The look was brief and quickly veiled, but she saw the inner man. The force was vital. If he was playing games, she thought, sipping her wine to calm suddenly tight nerves, it wasn’t a pleasant one. And she wanted no part of it—or of him.

  Turni
ng to Dorian, Morgan left Nick to Iona. Intelligent, witty, and with no frustrating mysteries, Dorian was a more comfortable dinner companion. Morgan fell into the easy exchange and tried to relax.

  “Tell me, Morgan, don’t you find the words of so many languages a bit crowded in the mind?”

  She toyed with her moussaka, finding her stomach too jittery to accept the rich sauce. Damn the man for interfering even with her appetite. “I do my thinking in one at a time,” she countered.

  “You take it too lightly,” Dorian insisted. “It’s an accomplishment to be proud of. Even a power.”

  “A power?” Her brows drew together for a moment, then cleared as she smiled. “I suppose it is, though I’d never really thought about it. It just seemed too limiting to only be able to communicate and think in one language, then once I got started, I couldn’t seem to stop.”

  “Having the language, you’d be at home in many countries.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s why I feel so—well, easy here.”

  “Alex tells me he’s trying to entice you into his company.” With a smile, Dorian toasted her. “I’ve drafted myself as promoter. Working with you would add to the company benefits.”

  Iona’s rich laughter floated across the table. “Oh, Nicky, you say the most ridiculous things.”

  Nicky, Morgan thought with a sniff. I’ll be ill any minute. “I think I might enjoy your campaign,” Morgan told Dorian with her best smile.

  “Take me out on your boat tomorrow, Nicky. I simply must have some fun.”