Heart of Stone (10 page)

Since she started having erotic dreams about Darius Montana, that's when.

The memories of her nocturnal imaginings came rushing back. She'd been wondering what he was doing in that cabana. She'd sensed the energy of healing stones and had drifted to sleep to the lullaby of their songs. Then, apparently, her subconscious had taken over and manifested the various fantasies she'd been secretly weaving about Darius.

She dropped her face into her hands, cheeks burning as the carnal images replayed in her mind. Clearly, three years was too long for a healthy young woman to go without any kind of sex at all if healing energy could get her hot … and for a Seer, at that.

This had to stop. If he even invaded her dreams, no telling what could happen if she allowed herself to think of him as anything but an employer … or a potential threat. She'd bought into Michael's lies all those months, willfully believing whatever he told her, and look how that had ended. Her gullibility had turned her into a killer.

Even today, she could still see Michael's staring eyes.

That couldn't happen again. Better to stay neutral—businesslike—here in the lion's den. Keep alert. She had no intention of being fooled again. Or of hurting anyone else.

She glanced at the clock: 8:00 a.m. She and Cara were supposed to meet downstairs at nine to go shopping for clothes. She slid off the bed. She had just enough time for a shower.

She'd make it a cold one.

*   *   *

Darius woke up, put on a swimsuit and a T-shirt, and made his way to the kitchen. He found his father at the kitchen table, dressed for work in his business suit and with a cup of coffee and a file folder on the table in front of him.

“Good morning,” his dad said. He gave an approving look at the cane. “I see you are, literally, up and about early today.”

“Yeah, I feel tons better.” Darius sat down across from his father. “I'm going to swim my laps, but before I get started, why don't you tell me what you're waiting here to tell me?”

John Montana regarded his son with a half smile and took a sip of coffee. “Guess I can't hope to put one over on an empath. But you could at least pretend once in a while.”

Darius leaned his cane against the table and sat back in his chair. “I used to when I was a teenager. I knew you wanted to feel like you had some kind of control over us kids.”

His dad laughed. “Gee, thanks. And you're the oldest. Maybe that's why you always seemed to be the good, well-behaved child compared to your brother and sister? Inside intel?”

Darius kept his poker face and shrugged. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, okay. Play it that way.” The senior Montana pushed the file folder across the table, his face falling into more sober lines. “You know I wasn't about to let anyone who even smelled suspicious in this house, not after what happened back in September. Especially not someone who was part of that Mendukati group.”

Darius laid a hand on the file but didn't open it. “This is your background check on Faith?”

“Delivered to me early this morning.”

“Look, I know you were against bringing her here, Dad, but we need her. We're getting dragged into a war, and if we have any chance at surviving it, we need every advantage we can get.”

The senior Montana shrugged. “Well, if the other side wants her, then it's definitely good strategy to get her on our side first. I can live with that, as long as she doesn't betray us.”

“About that. She didn't want to come at first.”

His dad's brows lowered. “Is she still loyal to that other group?”

“No, it's that she doesn't want to choose any side. She wants to stay out of this thing.”

“And how does she think she can do that? From what Adrian has told us, the Stone Singer is a key player in this fight.”

“She doesn't want to be. I had to provide incentive.”

His father narrowed his eyes. “What kind of incentive?”

“Money. And the promise we'd help her disappear after her part is over.”

His father stayed silent for a long moment, then got up. “I'm getting another cup. You want one?”

“Not before I swim. Dad—”

“You know how your mother and I feel about monetary compensation for using your powers.” His father poured himself another cup of coffee and reached for the sugar. “We've always been against it. We believe these gifts were created to help people, not to get rich. You may recall how angry we were at your brother for using his abilities to work as a bounty hunter in Vegas.”

“Well, he had separated himself from us. He had no other marketable skills and didn't want to touch his trust fund. But, Dad, Faith is desperate. She wants nothing to do with the Mendukati. The offer I made her gives her the resources to disappear. And that's what she wants more than anything.”

His father added cream and stirred his coffee. “I can't argue with her desire to avoid war, but like I said, it may be a little naïve of her to think she
can
avoid it, especially if she's the only Stone Singer alive, as we've been told. Then again, what if this is all an act? What if it's a ploy by the Mendukati to get their hands on our stone?”

“I'd know,” Darius said. “She wouldn't be able to hide that from me.”

“Which is the only reason she's here. Read the file, son. Then tell me what you think.”

Darius flipped open the pages of the report. Much of it was stuff he already knew about Faith. Born in New Mexico, father died when she was five, mother when she was nine. Raised in foster care. Married just under five years ago to Michael Wakete, son of Ben. Widowed three years ago.

His dad and Alishka came to stand beside Darius's chair, his dad sipping his coffee as he regarded the file over his son's shoulder. “Looks like she didn't get involved with the Mendukati until she got married, so it was a short time. Go to the last page. That's where the interesting stuff is.”

Darius skipped to the last page as instructed and found himself looking at a coroner's report for Michael Wakete. “Twenty-eight years old, and his heart just stopped?”

“He died up there on that cliff with no one but Faith around. Even if we were talking about normal humans, it would seem suspicious. Atlanteans? We don't know exactly what she can do.”

Darius closed the file and looked up at his father. “You think she killed him? Is that what you're saying?”

His dad shrugged. “I'm saying I don't know what happened. But you should be careful.”

Darius got up and grabbed his cane. “Thanks for the warning, but like I said, Faith doesn't mean us any harm, at least none that I can sense.”

“Still, be on your guard.”

Darius scowled. “There's one thing you're forgetting in your little conspiracy theory: Atlantean powers don't work on other Atlanteans. Gray told us that.”

“Yours does. So does your mother's.”

“We're exceptions. We've always known that. There's a reason Tessa doesn't see anything about either of us, why Rafe couldn't locate us if we were lost. Both Mom and I have powers that stem from empathic abilities, and those work on everyone.”

“I'm only saying be careful. You're our best defense against betrayal.” His father sipped at his coffee, appearing unruffled by his son's reaction, but Darius could feel the concern he kept deep inside.

“I don't think Faith will betray us.” Darius headed for the patio doors. “I'll be in the pool, just in case anyone else wants to warn me about our houseguest.”

His father said nothing, but he didn't have to. Concern followed Darius outside and lingered long after he'd left his dad standing in the kitchen.

*   *   *

Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed in Cara's borrowed jeans and shirt, Faith made her way downstairs. She wandered into the kitchen, hoping for coffee, and found Lupe sitting at the informal kitchen table, writing a grocery list.

“Good morning,” Faith said.

Lupe looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Karaluros. Can I get you something for breakfast?”

“Coffee, if you have it,” Faith said. “And please, call me Faith.”

“Coffee is made early around here, Miss Faith.” Lupe indicated a coffee machine on the counter. Beside it stood a stack of disposable cups with lids, a sugar bowl, and creamer. “Help yourself. There are muffins there, too, and cereal, or I can make you some eggs.”

“Coffee and a muffin sound great. I didn't think anyone else would be up this early.”

“Mr. Montana just left for his office, and Mr. Darius is always up with the sun.” She laughed. “That one gets grumpy without his morning coffee.”

Faith paused in reaching for a cup. “Darius is up?”

“Oh, yes, always this early. He's in the pool.”

Faith poured her coffee and added sugar and creamer. Putting a lid on the cardboard cup, she used a napkin to grab a blueberry muffin out of the basket on the counter. Despite her efforts to resist, she found her gaze drifting toward the windows overlooking the pool.

“You can eat on the patio if you want,” Lupe said. “It's a beautiful morning.”

“Thank you,” Faith replied, and found herself sliding open the glass door leading outside.

The brilliant Arizona sun shone in a cloudless blue sky, revealing the stunning view of flat-topped red rock mesas and craggy buttes in the distance, which had been hidden by darkness the previous night. The formations rose like monoliths from the lush green sea of juniper, oak, and pine trees that carpeted the landscape. No matter which direction she turned, the panorama took her breath away.

A splash caught her attention and she turned her gaze to the large, natural rock pool in front of her and the man swimming laps in the clear depths. He sliced through the glittering water like an arrow, his wake sending ripples across the pool. Unable to tear her eyes away, she managed to sit down at a wrought-iron table in the shade of an umbrella before her knees gave out.

Difficult to believe the guy speeding through the water was the same man who'd required a wheelchair the night before. She looked around and saw no evidence of the chair, but his cane rested against a nearby table. A dark blue towel had been tossed over a patio chair, and a pair of men's flip-flops lay kicked aside on the ground nearby.

He completed his lap and pushed off the far side of the pool, streaking toward her, tanned, muscular arms propelling him through the water toward the shallow end where she sat. He came to a stop and stood, water swirling around his waist. He shoved his long wet hair back from his face with both hands.

She'd known he had a powerful build, but the muscles rippling beneath the sun-kissed skin of his naked shoulders and chest sent a little tingle through places inside her that hadn't tingled in years. He strode toward the steps, a half-nude personification of Neptune with his dripping long hair and blue eyes that matched the sky above him. He climbed the stairs, slowly, deliberately, grasping the metal rail with one strong hand. Water whooshed over him, running down that hard body to puddle on the patio. He picked up the towel and rubbed it over his face.

Faith took the opportunity to check out the rest of him, her gaze hovering over the no-nonsense navy blue swimming trunks, clearly designed for aerodynamics and not fashion. The close cut of the bathing suit left little to the imagination, and she swallowed hard as she realized her estimations of his physique in the dream seemed to be pretty close to reality.

And her estimations had been generous.

She darted her gaze lower, touching briefly on the scars on his one knee. Clearly the injury had been traumatic. The crisscrossed white lines from surgeries stuck out like chalk marks in his dark tan, bisecting a thick starburst of a scar that could only have come from a bullet.

He slung the towel around his neck. “Do they bother you? The scars,” he clarified when she didn't answer. “I usually keep them covered up, but I wasn't expecting company out here this morning.”

“No, they don't bother me.”

“You sure?” He turned his back and braced himself on the sturdy iron table as he slid his feet into his flip-flops. Two more puckered bullet scars marred his otherwise smooth back, one near his hip and one closer to the base of his spine. More white scars from surgeries crisscrossed the smooth, rippling muscles of his lower back.

What fortitude it must have taken to recover from such crippling injuries. What strength of character. That he had suffered and come out on the winning side only made him more attractive in her eyes.

She lifted her gaze to his face as he turned around. “I'm sure. You seem better.”

“Compared to yesterday? Oh, yeah. Sorry to disappear like that, but I needed privacy for my ritual.”

“I understand.” She flashed another quick glance over his physique. “Seems to have worked.”

“So far, so good.” He scrubbed the towel over his face and goatee. “I hope you slept well last night after all the excitement. I know I did.”

“Um … yes. Yes, I did. Sleep well, that is.” She followed the play of his muscles on his chest and arms as they flexed and flowed, clenched and relaxed. “The room is very comfortable.”

“Hope you had sweet dreams.”

Heat surged into her face. “I don't remember.”

“I did. At least I think I did.” He flashed a grin at her. “It's all kind of a blur, but I woke up very relaxed. De-stressed. They say some dreams do that.”

“I don't know. Like I said, I don't remember.” She cleared her throat and looked down at her muffin.

*   *   *

Darius ducked his head and rubbed the towel against his hair, hiding his face. He knew Faith was lying.

While the Seer ability to see truth or lies in another's eyes did not work on other Atlanteans, his empathic powers did. And his senses told him she'd not only remembered her dreams of last night, but was aroused by them. Aroused by
him,
right here, right now.