Lie With Me / Destiny's Hand: Lie With Me

5

DURING THE TWO HOURS Roman and I had spent in the company of Inspector Ionescu, I’d learned he was a very professional and thorough man. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’d expected someone who was a bit more of a hick—or at the least someone more rumpled or cranky. The inspector was none of the above.

He sat across a table from me in a shaded and isolated part of the terrace flipping through a small notebook. The first word that had popped into my mind from the moment I’d seen him was dapper. He reminded me a bit of the actor who’d starred as Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot in the British television series. His build was thin and wiry. He wore neatly pressed khaki trousers, a short-sleeved shirt and tie and sturdy boots that had served him well when he’d accompanied Roman and me to the crescent-shaped beach where I’d last seen the body. I was hoping that I might catch a glimpse of Ariel on the way down, but I hadn’t.

Before we’d climbed down the cliff path, Ionescu had questioned Roman and me separately in Miranda’s office. Once we returned to the villa, he’d separated us again. Roman now sat several tables away, sipping coffee and chatting with Demetria.

Ionescu closed his notebook and glanced up at me. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Ms. Angelis?”

I pretended to think for a moment, and then I said, “No.”

Ionescu said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Roman was perfectly at his ease while my stomach was knotted with nerves. I’d been lying to the inspector for two hours.

“You don’t have any idea of the identity of the young man you saw talking with the victim?”

“No.”

He was looking right into my eyes, and I prayed that he couldn’t read my mind. Because I did have an idea of who the younger man was. Still, I didn’t know for sure that it had been my cousin Alexi.

“Is there anything about what you’ve told me that you’d like to change?”

“No.” That was a lie also. Because I wanted very badly to tell him that Roman wasn’t my brother Kit. Roman and I had argued about that point on the beach while Ionescu had been some distance away searching the promontory of rocks near the Castello. I’d pointed out that the inspector was going to discover that Roman was lying anyway. He was definitely going to check our passports. Or he could privately Google Kit’s name if he didn’t want us to know he was curious about us. My brother Kit had two different Web sites—one for his P.I. business and the other for his novels. His picture was prominently displayed on both. All Roman had said was that he’d handle that when the time came.

Somehow I didn’t think Ionescu was going to approve of Roman’s timing.

When Ionescu slipped the small notebook into his pocket and rose, Roman walked to the table to join us. “All finished, Inspector?”

“For the moment. Have you thought of anything else I should know, Mr. Angelis?”

“No—I believe we’ve covered it all. What will you do next?”

“I’ll trace the owner of the cell phone Ms. Angelis found. Then we’ll have a name. Whether or not it belongs to the victim is another question. By tomorrow, I may have a report of a missing person, either from here or the Castello Corli. I’d like the two of you to keep yourselves available.” He handed Roman his card. “And if you think of anything else I need to know, please call me at once.”

After nodding at me, Ionescu moved toward the lobby. Roman and I watched him stop and speak to Miranda. To my surprise, he reached out and touched her arm in a gesture that spoke of comfort.

I murmured to Roman, “They know each other more than professionally.”

“If that’s true, then he knows Alexi also.”

“And probably recognized him from the description I gave of the younger man on the beach.” I rose from the table. “I’m worried about Ariel and Caliban.”

“I spoke to Demetria about the cats. She says that ever since Caliban went missing, Ariel disappears for long periods of time. She may be with Alexi.”

I thought of the image of the white cat lying in the shadowy place. He was awake, just not moving. Maybe he couldn’t. “Perhaps she goes to her brother. That would make sense especially if she’s a worrier like my Pretzels is.” I recalled the remains of the small animal. “She may be bringing him food. And I saw water.”

“There’s nothing you can do right now. Not until Ariel returns.”

When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Ionescu was still talking to Miranda. “The inspector suspects we’re lying about something. You should have told him you’re not Kit.”

“Miranda wouldn’t approve of my staying in your room if she learned the truth right now. I’m sure she feels that while you’re at the Villa Prospero, she’s standing in for your father. I wouldn’t want to add to the stress she’s under by insisting that I stay in your room as Roman Oliver.”

I met his eyes steadily. “I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions about who stays or does not stay in my room.”

Though his expression didn’t change I could tell he was amused. “That doesn’t alter the way your brothers would feel if they knew we were sharing a room. I know what I’d feel about my sisters.”

My brows shot up. “Theo is sharing a room with your sister Sadie on a pretty regular basis.”

“That’s different. There’s a commitment between Theo and Sadie.” All trace of amusement disappeared from his eyes. “I’m not a man who can make that kind of commitment, Philly. Running Oliver Enterprises is much more than a full-time job to me. It’s something I’ve worked for all of my life. I’ve watched my father try to juggle the responsibilities of business and family and now he’s heading for his third divorce. I decided some time ago that it wouldn’t be fair to ask someone to share my life when I would have so little time to devote to the relationship.”

With my temper surging, I closed the distance between us and poked a finger into his chest. “Let’s clear something up right now. I’ve never mentioned the C or the M word. I told you in your hospital room exactly what I wanted. I want to make love with you. Period.” Warming to my theme, I poked him again. “For two cents—”

Just in time, I reined in my anger and clamped my teeth together. I’d nearly threatened to expose his identity to Miranda and insist that she find him a room in the village. Thank heavens my more rational side prevailed. Because I didn’t want Roman staying someplace in the village. I wanted him in my room tonight. I was going to take what the Fates were offering me. I was going to take Roman Oliver.

Roman was looking at me as if he was seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “For two cents, you’d what?” he asked.

“Knock you on your ass again,” I said.

He chuckled then, and the sound had the rest of my temper draining away.

“C’mon.” He took my arm and led me toward the lobby. “Demetria said that our room is ready, and we’ll want to freshen up. Drinks are served at seven, dinner at eight.”

It was almost six. I figured that would give me plenty of time to implement stage one of my plan.

HANDLING PHILLY was going to be a problem. Roman knew it in the same gut way that he always knew when a business deal threatened to go south. He stood on the small balcony that opened off the living room of Philly’s suite. The rooms were small but well appointed, and the view of the sea below was one of the best that the villa had to offer. The sun was lowering in the sky and the scent of lemons filled the air.

But it was Philly’s scent that lingered in his mind. It had been haunting him ever since he’d kissed her. She’d used the shower first, so when it was his turn, each breath he’d inhaled had filled his mind with images of how it might feel to have her standing in the shower with him. He’d imagined running his hands over that slender body that he’d just begun to explore on the cliff path. Of molding her slick with soap against him. Hardness to softness. Heat to heat.

Spinning the fantasy out in his head, he’d lifted her and once she’d wrapped her legs around him, he’d pressed her against the wall and entered her slowly, drawing out the pleasure for them both until her wet heat totally engulfed him.

He’d very nearly come just thinking about it.

Turning, he glanced at the closed door to the bedroom. She’d been throwing him one curveball after another ever since she’d walked into his hospital room and propositioned him. And he could admit now that it had been a mistake to follow her here—the result of acting on impulse—something he rarely did. And now he felt trapped. How could he leave her? She was in trouble, and so, however distant the connection might be, was her family.

Someone had been murdered. Ionescu was a good man, competent. But there was no way to tell how successful the investigation would be or how long it would take. In the meantime, Philly had planted herself firmly in the middle of whatever was going on. If the young man she’d seen arguing with the dead man turned out to be her cousin, Ionescu would have a lot of questions for him. Then there were the cats.

Though he’d done his best to calm her worries about them earlier, there was no way she’d butt out until she was sure that both of them were safe. There was no way she’d butt out, period. The one thing he’d noticed about Philly was that once she set her sights on a goal, she always achieved it. Since she’d finished her degree in psychology, she’d slowly but surely built up her pet-psychic business while juggling part-time jobs at a veterinary hospital and filling in as hostess at her family’s restaurant. Kit bragged to him about each new client she got.

He glanced at his watch—a little after seven. She’d been getting dressed for over half an hour. He turned his attention back to the view. While Philly had been talking to Ionescu, Demetria had filled him in on the local legend that there was a kind of magic on the island that people could tap into. What you wished for could come true.

Standing on the balcony and watching the sun lower in the sky, Roman could almost believe the legend was real. Demetria’s English was more enthusiastic than clear, but from what he’d pieced together it was based on the belief held by many that Corfu had been the inspiration for the setting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Perhaps some of Prospero’s magic still lingered and that was why he was feeling so bewitched.

Philly had made it pretty clear what she’d come to the island wishing for. Sex with a stranger. Recalling how she’d talked so casually of making love with some man she hadn’t even met yet, jealousy once again sliced through Roman with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. He was getting tired of the sensation and damn tired of wanting someone he’d told himself he couldn’t have.

He turned when the door opened and watched Philly step into the room. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe and his mind emptied. The one stray thought that tumbled into the void was that this wasn’t the Philly he’d known for years. Either it was the new haircut or she’d done something to her eyes that made them look larger. And her lips were a siren red. But it was the dress—or the lack of it—that had his throat going dry. The silky material that dropped from thin straps at her shoulders to stop well above her knees and hugged every curve of her body.

He had to work to keep from staring at her legs. Then she turned around and he gave up the battle. The dress was backless, and the combination of white skin and black dress had him thinking of magic again.

“What do you think?” she asked. “The saleslady guaranteed this dress was male bait.”

His only thought was that he would have to fight each and every one of those men off.

“Well?” Philly prodded, turning in another circle. As she did, the dress flared and revealed more leg.

“The saleswoman was right.” Roman was surprised that he’d actually formed words. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the door and gave her a wide berth as he led the way. If he stayed in this room one second longer, the fantasy he’d indulged in earlier during his shower would become a reality. Once in the hall, he drew in a deep breath and stifled an impulse to run. As they made their way down the hall, he hoped that the drinks on the terrace would include something much stronger than wine.

“I THINK THIS PLACE is a magical spot, don’t you?” Roman and I were seated on the terrace, lingering over a final glass of wine and some pastries. The sun was sinking into the sea and the sky was streaked with shades of blue and rose.

“The cuisine certainly is,” Roman said.

I was sure that the food was excellent, but I’d hardly tasted any of it. Our conversation had passed the time pleasantly enough. We’d avoided the topics of the dead man and the sniper and my still-missing cousin Alexi. And talking to Roman earlier about the cats had eased my mind—I was convinced that Ariel was with her brother just as Pretzels would be with Peanuts if she were injured and in need of help.

Instead Roman and I had talked about our work. I’d learned that he was on his way to Athens where he was negotiating a deal with a Greek millionaire and entrepreneur, Gianni Stassis, to buy into select privately owned hotels in Greece. The Villa Prospero was a prime example of the type of place they would approach with their offer.

My contribution to the dinner conversation had been to describe some of the more eccentric animals and owners that I worked with. But all the time what I really wanted was dessert, and he was sitting directly across from me.

Nerves jittered in my stomach, but I was determined to overcome them. I was just not going to let myself waste this opportunity. I ran my finger around the top of my wineglass, just the way I’d seen Linda Hamilton do it in a made-for-TV movie called Sex & Mrs. X. After dipping my finger into the glass, I raised it to my mouth and licked the wine off. In the film, Linda was a journalist who was writing a story on the most famous madam in Paris, and she’d picked up several tricks on how to attract and seduce a man. This particular one seemed to be working on Roman.

Sexy seductress was not my usual role, but I was beginning to think that I might have a knack for it. The dress was helping. I’d never before worn anything quite like it, and the look right now in Roman’s eyes was anything but brotherly. However, the man seemed to have a talent for running hot one minute and cold the next. Prime example—the kiss on the cliff path. I was still annoyed with him for pulling back.

Tonight, I wasn’t about to leave anything up to chance. Roman Oliver was a businessman, so I’d decided that it might be a good idea to offer him a deal.

Leaning forward, I said, “I’ve been thinking. As I told you earlier, I came here to Greece to have a fling. But I haven’t changed my mind about wanting to make love with you.”

He didn’t reply, but the look in his eyes could have liquefied my bones.

“Clearly, your story about your feelings for me being brotherly—well, that was an out-and-out lie. The way you kissed me on the cliff path wasn’t brotherly.”

He didn’t deny it. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

Encouraged, I took a sip of wine and went on. “It occurred to me at some point during our individual sessions with Inspector Ionescu that any reservations you might have about having a sexual relationship with me because of my family don’t apply here.”

His eyes narrowed then. “They sure as hell do.”

I raised a hand, palm out. “On the contrary. My father and brothers are back in San Francisco. We’re thousands of miles away on a magical Greek island. They’ll never have to know. And you’ve told my cousin that you’re my brother. So all we have to do is be discreet in public.”

“Philly—”

I ran a finger down the back of his hand (another Sex & Mrs. X tip). Not only did the gesture shut him up, but he turned his hand over and gripped mine. My throat went dry, and I felt the heat streak right to my center. Roman Oliver was going to be some dessert all right.

“You’re a businessman, so I’m going to make you a deal. We’ll have an affair, but it will only last as long as we’re here on Corfu. And it will remain our secret. No one ever has to know. When we meet again in San Francisco, we’ll go back to our old relationship—big brother, little sister.”

He still said nothing. He merely looked at me. But the hunger in his eyes had my toes curling. I debated. I could just stand and take him with me to the room. But I wanted to nail down the deal first.

“Why don’t we pretend we’re strangers? We’ve just met for the first time tonight. I want you and you want me, and for the time we’re here at the Villa Prospero, we’ll enjoy each other. No strings. And no holds barred. Deal?”

There were three beats of silence and each one seemed like a mini-eternity. Finally Roman released my hand and rose. “I want to kiss you, and we can’t do that here.”

I couldn’t feel my legs as we started back to the room.

“I hope that you don’t regret this, Philly.”

I wasn’t sure about the regrets part, but I would worry about that later. What I had to concentrate on now was making sure that Roman would never forget me.

6

ONCE INSIDE THE ROOM, Roman moved fast, using his hands and body to trap me against the door. He threaded his fingers through my hair, then merely studied me. The light was dimming, but I had no trouble seeing his eyes. The heat had my breath catching, my body trembling.

He slid his hands to my shoulders, then down my arms. Flames licked along my nerve endings.

“Second thoughts?”

“No.” Saying the word aloud only heightened my certainty that this was what I wanted. He was what I wanted. The need that had been building inside of me all through dinner was bordering on pain. “Touch me.”

Settling his hands at my hips, he moved in closer. “I’ve been waiting all evening to do this.” He traced a finger up my spine. I trembled. Then he spread his palms against my bare back and slowly ran them down to my waist. Fire shot through my veins. His eyes stayed on mine as he moved his hands again, faster this time, sliding up my sides until his palms pressed against the sides of my breasts. I was throbbing at every point a pulse could beat.

“Last chance, Philly.” His voice had roughened. He was trying to be a gentleman, but I wasn’t in the mood for one tonight.

“I’m not Philly, and you’re not Roman, remember?”

I locked my arms around his neck and dragged his mouth to mine. It was hard and hot and I tasted barely leashed hunger. The flavor was so unique that I had to have more. His tongue took possession of my mouth, his teeth scraped my bottom lip, and the kiss teetered toward pain. And all the while those clever hands raced over me, tracing the curve of my throat, cupping my breasts, digging into my hips. The speed had my head spinning. Sensations swamped me as he lowered the zipper on the back of my dress and stripped me out of it.

I struggled with the buttons on his shirt. The sound of one dropping to the floor only made me more desperate. Finally, I ran my hands up that damp smooth skin, absorbing the hard ridge of muscles on his back.

He nipped at my bottom lip, then deepened the kiss until I felt as if I were drowning—sinking fast into someplace where the air was too thick to breathe. Wild fists of need battered at me, and the heat building inside me grew brutal. There was only one answer. I dragged my mouth from his. “Now. Right now.”

I cried out in protest when he set me against the door and stepped away. But then he took his gaze on a searing journey over my body. He’d never looked at me that way before, and every muscle in me quivered with fresh delight. When he met my eyes again, I saw a simmering violence. Still, it wasn’t fear or even apprehension I felt. It was a wild, hot thrill.

HE HAD TO GET a grip. Catch his breath. Think. This was Philly. She deserved gentleness, seduction. That had been his intention, but it had evaporated the instant she’d exploded in his arms. Even now that he wasn’t touching her, tasting her, he couldn’t get his head clear. The experience was unprecedented.

He prided himself on being a gentle, considerate lover, and he’d been about to mindlessly pound himself into her against a door. He still wanted to.

Stepping away from her wasn’t doing a damn thing to cool his blood. The dress had been bewitching enough, but what she was wearing under it was designed to bring a man to his knees. All Roman could do was stare. Hopefully, his mouth hadn’t dropped open and his tongue wasn’t hanging out.

He was going to have to turn and walk away if he wanted to regain control. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t—any more than he could prevent himself from reaching out to run a finger over the black lace that topped one thigh-high stocking.

Meeting her eyes, Roman watched them darken as he trailed a finger up to the hint of a thong that barely covered her. Never would he have imagined Philly wearing anything like this. As he lingered there, barely touching her, the sound of her breathing—or was it his own?—grew ragged.

“Very nice.” Still using a featherlight touch and keeping his gaze locked on hers, he moved his finger over her abdomen and up her midriff to hook it beneath the swatch of lace that barely covered her breasts. She was trembling now, and those brown eyes had misted over. He could see his own image reflected there and knew that she thought only of him.

Triumph raced through him along with a ferocious surge of need. To hell with seduction. He had to have her. The whispery sound of lace ripping only added fuel to the flash fire threatening to consume him. Lifting her, he took his mouth on a desperate journey from her breasts down the path his finger had traced. Her skin was damp, hot, her flavor so…necessary. But there was no time to savor, not when his blood pounded with such overwhelming greed. Lace tore again as he straightened and pressed her back against the wall. Then he found her center and pierced her with two fingers.

Here was a heat that matched his own. He felt her inner muscles tighten around his fingers and watched her eyelids lower.

“No,” he said. “Look at me when I make you come.”

Then he absorbed each separate sensation—each tremor, each hitch of her breath as he shot her up, watched her ride the crest and shudder down. Her eyes blurred and went glassy. His name was a whispered moan that sent a fresh wave of heat slamming into him. He nearly came right then.

“Again.” He didn’t know who said the word as her fingers tore at his belt.

“This time…I want you inside me.”

“Yes…” He wasn’t sure he could survive another ten seconds if he wasn’t inside of her. With whatever thin grip he had on his control, Roman managed to retrieve a condom from his pocket before his pants and belt hit the floor.

Her arms locked around his neck, her teeth sank into his shoulder. Then she whispered into his ear, “Make me come again.”