Riptide (28 page)

“If you’re referring to the money he’s obviously socked into refurbishing the palace, I would have to agree.”

“I was actually referring to the outrageous high-interest loan that’s due shortly. The salvage operation was the only thing he’s done of late that’s made much sense, speaking purely from a financial perspective. And even that was high-risk, no offense meant, Nick.”

“None taken.” Nick leaned back in his chair. “But I have to ask, are you suggesting that I not give him his investment back?” His voice was a little cool.

“For the country, maybe,” Tonio said doubtfully. “But I can’t see that Draven will invest this money in a more conservative scheme. And nothing is going to give him a return on his investment in time to pay off this foolish loan in twenty days.”

“But?” Bria swirled her wine in her glass absently.

“But I think he doesn’t so much care about the money he invested with Cutter Salvage. I believe he has another agenda that I’m not privy to.”

Bria met Nick’s eyes over her glass. Draven’s Minister of the State didn’t have details about the country’s finances? “Do you have any idea what that would be?”

Antonio shook his head just as Nick’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, glanced at it, and frowned. “It’s my brother, sorry; I need to take this. I’ll go outside.” He got up and said, “Hey, Logan—” as he walked between the tables.

Tonio waited for him to stride out of earshot before turning to Bria. “I like him,
Fiammetta.”

Bria hadn’t had anyone call her little fiery one in more years than she could count. It was her cousin’s special pet name for her, and because of their closeness in age, he was more a brother to her than Draven was now. “I like him too. But tomorrow he goes back to his ship, and I must stay here. For a few days at least.”

“It’s not serious then? He certainly seems interested in you.”

She shrugged. “Tonio, let me show you a picture.” Bria pulled her sketch pad out of her tote. “This man worked on Nick’s ship. I thought I recognized him. But I only saw him briefly. Does he look familiar to you?” It was a long shot, but Halkias had been surprised to see her, and he had called her
Principessa
. The idea that she should’ve known him, and couldn’t place him, had niggled at Bria ever since.

Antonio took the sketch pad and turned it to the light. “The Greek? Cappi, I think his name is,
sì
?”

“Halkias,” Bria said grimly.

“You made a good likeness, especially here around the eyes. Yes. That’s him. He was Dafne’s personal bodyguard when she and Draven came home. What is he doing on Cutter’s ship?”

Put back into context, Bria
did
remember him. Vaguely. Folding the cover over the pad, she shoved it back into her tote, then met her cousin’s eyes. “Trying to kill me.”

Chapter 16

It was two in the morning. Somewhere between Pavina and the palazzo, she seemed to have removed her shoes. A sleepy guard had unlocked the door for them, then stood back to let them pass before relocking the massive hand-carved slabs behind them.

“I feel like a teenager sneaking into the house with my boyfriend,” Bria stage-whispered.

He grinned down at her. “Were you the type to sneak a boy in?”

“With Marv in the house?” She muffled her laugh against his shoulder. “Hell to the no.” She leaned against his side as she padded barefoot across the cool white Carrera marble entry hall. It was a vast, echoing space filled with the smell of fresh paint, which overpowered the scent of the large white Casablanca lilies in the man-sized urn on an enormous seventeenth-century gilded table in the center. The stone walls were hung with huge paintings and several smoke-damaged tapestries. Half the stuff Dafne had around looked familiar and just right. But the rest looked too new, too ostentatious.

The place was nouveau riche grand, and a bit gothic with all the heavy shadows. Only a couple of wall sconces had been left on to greet them.

Rows of pedestals topped with white marble busts lined the walls, empty stone eyes watching their progress as Nick guided her unsteady steps toward the wide, sweeping staircase at the far end. Bria put a finger up to her lips, “Sssh,” she told the marble heads. “Ow!”

Nick steadied her as she stumbled over the smooth floor. He had a strong arm around her waist, which was lovely, and kept her steady—steadier—on her feet, which was awesome. His splayed fingers were right under her breast. “I love your hands,” she told him, owl serious. She
loved
his hands, large and capable, and hot through the thin fabric of her dress.

She wanted those hands all over her. Now rather than later. The whole evening, while they’d had a fabulous dinner and sipped Antonio’s lovely fruity wine and talked, had translated to foreplay. At some point, Nick had bunched up the back of her dress as she sat there eating, then glided his hand across her bare bottom as he explored sight unseen. As they savored cherry cassata torte spiced with brandy, he’d slid his fingers under her dress, and over the top of her thigh. Only Bria’s quick action of tightly crossing her legs prevented him going farther. But the devil had danced in his eyes every time he flexed his fingers suggestively.

At some point in the evening, talk of Draven’s poor financial choices had faded into background noise and she’d gotten to sip her wine and study Nick over the rim of her glass as he felt her up.

“Would Marv be waiting up there at the top of the stairs with a loaded shotgun?” Nick’s quiet voice was laced with amusement. Bria shot a quick glance at his face, to see what was making him smile.

Cutter blue eyes twinkled back at her in the meager light of the sconces. A hint of the smile she heard in his voice tugged at his lips.

She dragged her slightly muzzy thoughts back from his mouth, and what she hoped he’d do with it when they got upstairs, and back to the conversation in the vast echoing space.

“Probably an automatic weapon,” she told him, turning in front of him so she was walking backward. A neat trick made possible by the strong tether of his hand. “I
am
his little princess after all. Shhh. Let’s take the servants’ stairs and fool him. Come on.” Laughing was better than remembering that there was no father waiting for her. Never had been through her teen years. Teasing was better than remembered pain.

She tugged him along, walking backward for a while, then snuggling up close beside him, pulling his arm around her shoulders. She was a little tipsy. He was steady as a rock.

Awesome.

As they took detours off the main public spaces, the hallways got progressively shabbier, until they reached the service stairs. One dim light burned at the top, leaving the base shadowy.

“No weapons,” she whispered, wiping her hand across her brow. The flares in Nick’s eyes made her steps falter and her blood race through her veins. “But if I
am
going to be grounded until I go to my marriage bed a virgin, could you kiss me again?”

“My pleasure, Princess.” This time her title didn’t sound insulting at all. His tone went smokey, his voice low, and the word sounded like an endearment. He cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek. Bria shivered deliciously. The look they exchanged sparked with electricity.

“How much of Antonio’s fine wine
did
you drink?”

Bria placed her palms on his chest. His heartbeat was steady under her hands. She stood on her toes and lifted her face. “It is most excellent wine,
sì
? You should buy cases of it to send back home.”

“I did.” He brushed back her hair. “You sounded more Italian with every glass.”

“I’m not drunk, just a little tipsy. It feels nice. I don’t want to say good-bye to you tomorrow. I think I might cry a little.” She brushed her lips against his. His were cool and dry and Bria’s lips clung as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

His voice was a little thick as he murmured, “I don’t want you to cry.”

“No. I know. It’s okay.” She shivered when he kissed her eyelid, then his lips moved to her temple where nerves pulsed. He feathered a kiss there.

“Cold?”

Blazing hot. Heart beating fast, she shook her head and slid her hands up his chest to loop around his neck as she walked backward a few more feet. Her ankle bumped the bottom stair. She stepped up. They were almost eye level, but not quite. Bria took another step. “Finally, we can see eye to eye.”

His soft laugh filled her with golden champagne bubbles. “You think so, do you?” His hands closed over her hips, bunching the thin red cotton, sliding it up her legs. The cool air from the drafty corridor washed over her exposed skin. “Want to go upstairs?”

She shook her head.

“The place is crawling with servants,” he warned, his voice raw. “Anyone can appear any time.”

Incapable of speech, she merely shrugged. She didn’t give a damn if a horde of armed gorillas suddenly materialized.

Nick nudged her arms, and when she raised them, he slid the dress over her breasts, then over her head, leaving her wearing nothing more than goose bumps. Her hair fell back around her shoulders in a cool whisper.

“Jesus,” he said reverently, holding her arms out wide as he slowly looked at her body. “You are so beautiful.”

Bria felt dizzy, then realized Nick had lowered her down on the stairs. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back and was rewarded by leaps of blue flame as his eyes stroked her from lips to knees. His jaw was tight, the skin stretched taut over his cheekbones. There was absolutely nothing stoic about him now. Spock had beamed out of the building.

Standing several steps below where she was stretched out like a virgin on an altar, Nick peeled his T-shirt over his head. She heard the soft plop as it hit the carpeted stairs behind him.

His skin looked like bronze satin in the muted light, his well-defined abs rock hard. The front of his jeans jutted out with what she knew was an impressive erection. Holding her gaze, his hand went to the button.

Bria sat up. “Let me,” she breathed, reaching for the front fastening. She managed the button with fingers that shook, then eased down the zipper. One. Tooth. At. A. Time.

He made an inarticulate sound deep in his throat. “You’re killing me, here.”

Bria wanted, in some crazy way, to imprint herself onto him, so that no matter how far away he went, no matter what sea he roamed, Nick would always take a piece of her with him.

Just as she’d always have a piece of him.

She leaned forward, sliding her hands into his open fly and spreading the edges apart. He shuddered, the muscles of his stomach tightening in response.

She stroked her fingers lightly across his hard belly, his lean waist, feeling the smooth, powerful play of layers of muscle moving and shifting beneath her exploring fingertips.

She loved the heat of him and pressed her mouth to his hot skin, kissing the tender triangle revealed, the place where his skin was paler, and silky smooth. The place where a line of crisp dark hair disappeared beneath the elastic of his black boxers. She stroked her tongue across his navel, exploring the indentation.

And studiously avoided his erect penis curved against his belly.

His hands came up to cup her head, and he guided her gently to where he needed her. Urged her with his fingers in her hair.

She used both hands to push boxers and jeans a little farther down his hips. She ran the tip of her tongue from hip to hip. A shudder traveled through him, and his entire body tensed as she whispered, “Prepare … to die … slowly.”

His fingers flexed tightly in her hair as his erect penis sprang free. “Let’s take— Jesus, Princess … Up … stairs.”

“I want to lick you all over.” Her fingers explored as her hair trailed over him. She loved the soft, suedelike feel of him, the salty musk taste. God—the sheer size of him gave her pause. She’d never done this before, and wasn’t sure if she could handle it. She wanted to try. She licked up and down the thick length, stroking her lips and tongue along the vein pulsing there. The head jerked in her hand.

“Oh, Jesus…”

She loved his unguarded response, especially when he couldn’t control his heated reaction.

She licked again. Wrapping her cool fingers around his thick hardness, she tightened her grip, squeezing and stroking. Learning him. Loving him. She took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the very tip of his penis, and was rewarded when he gave an inarticulate cry and arched his hips.

She ran her tongue up the length of him from root to gleaming tip, and then down again, knowing she was driving him insane, and loving that she had the power to do that to him. The power to shatter that Vulcan control.

She loved the hot, salty taste of him, his musky male smell. All of it called to everything sensual and female in her. She measured his rapid heartbeats against her caressing tongue, and twist-stroked her fingers up and down his length.

“Bria—!” He convulsed and came apart.

*   *   *

Bria passed a servant carrying a vase filled with pure white chrysanthemums. She’d tracked her elusive sister-in-law to the conservatory at the back of the palace. The glass-walled room ran the length of the back of the building with a panoramic view of the gardens and small ornamental pond nestled between gently rolling hills.

She remembered the dizzying delight of rolling down the springy, emerald green grass as a child, her laughter loud and carefree. She dragged her attention away from the sun-bright gardens filled with gardeners pruning and planting, another insanely expensive endeavor just for pleasure of the royal couple that Bria didn’t understand.

Golden rays of sunshine streamed through the large French doors and expansive leaded windows in blinding white squares. Crossing acres of marble and soft Persian carpets, dodging islands of gilded furniture, she walked with purpose to reach her sister-in-law.

Dafne wore a gold-toned suit, pantyhose, and medium heels. At her throat, a string of Bria’s mother’s pearls, on her ears, Bria’s grandmother’s canary diamond eardrops. To go with the ridiculously formal clothing and jewelry, her sister-in-law was incongruously wrapped in a green canvas apron as she cut and arranged flowers at a marble and gilded wrought-iron table.