Lovers Never Lie Page 7

  Chapter 6

  She looked lonely standing all by herself at the ship's railing. Andrew knew what it was to be lonely. Usually, he was able to ignore such feelings and throw himself into his work, his only salvation since Nancy had died. Work had been the only thing keeping guilt at bay. But this time, it was different.

  He moved to stand next to her.

  She eyed him warily.

  "Did you get what you wanted?" he asked.

  "Yes," she answered shortly.

  "Steerage?"

  Her smile was faint, but it softened the barrier of her eyes. "They call it standard."

  "Standard," he repeated. A ridiculous category for a woman like her. "So what does that give you? A chair in the cafeteria?"

  "One on deck," she said, shrugging.

  Andrew took a deep breath, determined to keep the anger from his voice. "There's no need for this."

  "There's every need." She stared at the water again, closing him out.

  "Sleeping on deck isn't safe."

  Her skin pulled taut over her cheek bones. "That's not your concern."

  She was right. Her safety should mean nothing to him. Not if she was the enemy. And if she was the enemy, why did he want her so?

  Stacia took a deep breath. She couldn't afford to let Andrew see she was afraid. Her father had said animals could sense fear, and when they did, they'd go for your jugular.

  No doubt Andrew would too.

  "Do you plan to visit your mother while you're in Greece?" she asked, forcing her voice to sound normal.

  "My mother?" he repeated, looking at her as though she was demented.

  "You said she was Greek."

  "She's dead." His eyelids half-closed but not before she caught a glimpse of the sadness lurking behind.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly. She knew what death was, knew it was impossible to hang on to anyone, no matter how much you needed them.

  He shrugged, but his shoulders seemed stiff. "It was a long time ago." His lips were stiff too.

  "And your father?" For a moment, Stacia didn't think he would answer.

  "God knows," he said finally, his face dark as thunder. "I haven't seen him in years."

  She frowned.

  "He walked out on my mother and me twenty years ago, and took my older brother along for the ride."

  She could feel his pain as though it were inside her. She pressed her eyes shut and fought it the only way she knew how, the way she had fought the agony when her own mother had died, by forcing it into a small corner of her heart and ruthlessly pretending it didn't exist.

  Her method didn't work any better now than it had before, and her hand stole sideways to cover his long fingers with her shorter ones. His hand rested, for an instant, under hers, so strong and hard it was impossible to believe he was capable of feeling distress. Then with a fierce glance in her direction, he snatched it away.

  Stacia stared at her hand, a numbness spreading through her as she realized what Andrew had just admitted. Somehow, feeling his pain, she had missed the implications of that statement. He did have an older brother! Perhaps a brother named Andropolous, making old Mr. Andropolous, Andrew's father. What if Andropolous senior was about to hurt Andrew all over again by leaving everything to Andrew's older brother?

  She shook her head. It couldn't be. It was not Andrew's father who was Greek, but his mother. Doubt crept over her. She had only Andrew's word that any of what he said was true.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "No," she replied, a lump blocking her throat.

  "Thirsty?" he persisted.

  "No," she answered. "I want to get settled for the night."

  He touched her shoulder with his hand. "Take my cabin," he growled. "I'll sleep on deck."

  "No!"

  "Why are you so damned stubborn?"

  "I'm not stubborn."

  "Afraid then?"

  She wrenched away from his hand and faced him, seeing a strange expression in his eyes, as though he wanted her to say something, but didn't believe she would.

  "I'm not afraid of anything," she whispered.

  He stepped closer. "I don't think that's true."

  Feeling dizzy, she turned away, not daring to risk the hypnotic pull of his eyes. The last of the day's light sank into the Mediterranean like a lance thrown by Zeus. Lights sparkled in the east, twinkling like fireflies with the movement of the ship. Other people's homes on islands she'd only dreamed about, where families gathered around the table, talking and sharing, where everybody was safe within the light, the darkness at bay.

  When she faced Andrew once more, his eyes, black in the fading light, made her mouth go dry.

  "Admit it," he insisted, "or someday you'll wish you had." He tilted up her chin. "Someday you'll tell me the truth."

  "You're a fine one to talk." She wrenched her chin from his hand. "If anyone's been avoiding the truth, it's you."

  "What do you mean?" A warning light appeared in his eyes.

  Too late, she realized she couldn't do this now, didn't want to know what he had to tell her, couldn't bear to discover he was the man she'd been warned against... couldn't bear to find out her fears regarding him were real.

  "We're both saying things we don't mean," she said shakily. "I suggest we go back to how it was before."

  "And how was that?" His voice seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere, to be a series of disembodied sounds in the blackness surrounding her.

  "Fellow travelers on vacation. Out to have a good time and to see the sights."

  "Is that how you want it?"

  "Yes." Her heart died within.

  "Then that's how it'll be."

  * * *

  The wooden slats of the deck lounger dug into Stacia's spine and a film of dew glistened on the blanket pulled up around her chin. She frowned. There had been no blanket over her when she'd thrown herself onto the chair the night before, still shaking from her exchange with Andrew.

  Her package. Panicky, she pushed the blanket down to her waist and felt beneath her chair.

  Nothing.

  She was unable to catch her breath, her heart pounded so frantically. Scissoring her legs, the blanket dropped to the ground beside her. Something rough scraped against the underside of her knee.

  Her bag was safe, lodged between her legs at the foot of the lounger. She snatched it up. It seemed to weigh the same. She unclasped the catch and peered inside. Thank God, the package was still there. It felt as if flannel surrounded her brain, blocking all her senses. Only one thing was clear. She had not been the one to put her bag between her legs.

  "Morning," Andrew drawled.

  Stacia jerked her head in the direction of his voice. A few yards down the deck, Andrew lay sprawled on a lounger identical to hers. His face was beard-stubbled and his eyelids heavy with sleep, but the eyes behind the lids were razor sharp.

  "Sleep well?" he inquired. His gaze scanned the length of her, from crumpled blanket on the deck, to clutched bag, to her doubtless frantic face.

  "Did you put the blanket over me?" she demanded. And moved her bag? Had he looked in it?

  "A little nippy out last night," he said, with a shrug.

  "If I needed a blanket I'd have fetched one myself."

  "Except you did need it and you didn't fetch it."

  "What are you doing here anyway? Did you sleep in that chair all night?"

  "Would you rather I left you to the mercy of every low life on board?" His eyes took on fire. "And let your precious bag be stolen as well as your purse."

  "That wouldn't have happened."

  "You were sleeping when I checked on you, curled up in a ball, with your back to your bag." He snorted. "Next time I won't bother!"

  Stacia clenched her hands into fists. He was so damn protective. It was so damn irritating. And she hated like hell to admit this time he'd been right.

  "Thank-you," she said finally, but spoke the words softly. Courtesy was satisfied, but maybe he wouldn't he
ar.

  "You're welcome."

  He had heard. Suddenly, he grinned, his smile unexpectedly diffusing the worst of her outrage.

  "Just don't do it again," she admonished. "I might not be so grateful the next time."

  He chuckled. The sound warmed her. It seemed days since she'd last laughed, since she'd begun this 'so-called' vacation in fact. She couldn't prevent her own chuckle from escaping.

  "Now we're friends again," Andrew said, his laughter fading, "where are we headed when we get off this tub?"

  Friends? The word was sobering. Is that what they were? How could she be friends with a man she knew so little about, wasn't sure she should trust? He could be the younger son of Mr. Andropolous, just stringing her along. Besides, no friend dreamed about kissing and touching the other person.

  "You don't have to go anywhere with me." If only she could forget how it felt when his lips touched hers. "You're spoiling your own trip."

  "Not true!" His smile teased. "I've come close to being blown to kingdom come, I've chased a purse snatcher, booked into the honeymoon suite of an expensive hotel with a beautiful young woman, chased a knife-wielding yahoo, seen the Acropolis in the moonlight—" He spread his hands out before her. "Traveling with you is an adventure."

  She looked at him dubiously. He made it sound as though he was enjoying himself, while she....

  "Miss Roberts!"

  Stacia swung around. "Miss Argyle!" she said, stunned to see the older woman.

  Miss Argyle shuffled along the deck toward them, clutching the rail with one hand and her cane in the other.

  "Fancy meeting you again, my dear. And your young man, too." She smiled at them both. "Although, why I'm surprised, I can't say. I keep bumping into the same people over and over, as though the same travel agent prepared our itinerary. It's very pleasant, really." She frowned. "Although there was that nasty young man I met in Paris who turned up in Rome as well. I can't say I was happy to see him again! He wanted me to lend him money or some such nonsense." She drew her shoulders back and her mouth pursed. "For a real emergency, I wouldn't have minded, but—" She inclined her head toward them. "—I rather suspect he intended to buy drugs."

  "Oh," Stacia said faintly. "I didn't see you on board last night."

  Miss Argyle gestured toward the sea. "I'm not a very good sailor. I kept to my cabin, ordered a pot of tea and a plate of dry toast and tried to make the best of it."

  "Are you feeling better now?" Stacia glanced out past the railing toward the water. There was a faint chop on its surface.

  "Not much," Mary Argyle admitted. Her fingers tightened on the railing. "But the steward told me we would be docking soon so I thought I would venture out."

  "Have a seat," Andrew offered. He got to his feet and gestured to his chair.

  "How kind."

  The ship suddenly rolled and the deck shifted. With a moan, Mary scuttled toward Andrew's chair. She settled there, and shut her eyes.

  Stacia glanced at Andrew over the older woman's reclined form. It seemed easier all of a sudden, with Mary Argyle there, to avoid answering uncomfortable questions.

  Without warning, the older woman opened her eyes. "What part of Crete are you visiting?" she asked Stacia.

  "We were just thrashing that out," Andrew said. "What about it Stacia? Where do you want to go next?"

  She ran her tongue over her lips and wished the answer were simple. If she could have given Andropolous the package, she'd now be in tourist mode.

  "Agios Nikolaos," she said, trying not to sound dubious, wishing she knew exactly where it was.

  "Agios Nikolaos." Andrew regarded her thoughtfully. "There's nothing there but a village."

  "Great beach, I understand." She could only hope that was true, that the town wasn't in some remote mountain aerie.

  "Not particularly," he countered.

  Stacia's heart sank.

  "It's a fishing village. Good harbor, small beach."

  At least it was on the coast.

  "Lovely coastline outside of town," he added. "Plenty of hotels."

  "A friend recommended it," Stacia said firmly. "That's where I'm going."

  * * *

  Contentment bubbled forth from Stacia's lips in a sigh. Nothing could interfere with her enjoyment of this moment, not Andrew, not the package, not Mr. Andropolous. This was the reason she'd come to Greece; this scenery, these people, this clarity of air.

  Stacia leaned far over her hotel balcony railing. In order to see everything, she had to lean.

  The Hotel Minos didn't face the sea, but even that was perfect. Her room overlooked an emerald lake locked behind the crowded harbor, joined to the sea by a narrow canal. Hotels and restaurants stretched to her right, while across the water and to her left rose a hill, mirrored in the lake as a smoky blue shadow.

  Below, next to the water's edge, fishermen gathered in the morning sun around spindly-legged tables, drinking thick, black coffee from doll-sized cups. Knots of women in black wool shawls and dark skirts falling below the knee clustered outside the narrow doorways leading into the shops. Their roughly woven baskets overflowed with fruit, cheese and inexpensive wine.

  Stacia heaved another happy sigh. The scene was just as she'd expected from the books she'd read, just as she had seen on the library travel videos. Only better.

  She would straighten her room, then go out and explore, buy her own bread, and some pungent goat's cheese. Perhaps she'd even purchase a bottle of wine. She hugged herself in anticipation, resolutely determined to keep at bay all worries connected to the undelivered package.

  There'd been no note waiting for her when she checked into the hotel, no cryptic message from Andropolous telling her to leave Agios Nikolaos and go on to the next town, the next island. So for the next few hours, at least, she planned to enjoy herself.

  If only she could stop thinking about Andrew. It was one thing to put the package out of her mind, eradicating thoughts of the man was quite another! Images revolved through her brain of Andrew's hard body pressed against her own, the laughter in his sapphire eyes scattering her suspicions, and his chuckle rumbling up from his chest like water from a well, refreshing... sustaining.

  Doubt clouded her thoughts. No matter how terrible it felt believing Andrew was the youngest Andropolous son—deep inside, when she was with him, she felt safe. A shiver skittered across her shoulders as she acknowledged the dreaded word. Safety had always been a delusion in the past.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  She cast a last, longing glance at the scene below then hurried through the balcony doors into her room. She winced at the sight of her clothes strewn over every available surface. Her wet stockings were draped over the top of the closet door and dripped onto a folded towel below, her linen dress was flung over the wooden back of a chair, and her white cotton pants peeked from between box spring and mattress in her desperate attempt to flatten the wrinkles her borrowed travel iron couldn't smooth.

  At the hotel in Athens there had been no privacy to sort through her things, to shake out her clothes and wash those made dirty from their tumble along the airport floor. But here in Agios Nikolaos, she had her own room. She had insisted on that and Andrew hadn't protested.

  She had even handed him a list of what she owed him so far, everything neatly entered and tallied on a page. He had simply raised one eyebrow, folded the paper twice then tucked it away in his wallet.

  Another knock, louder this time. She swept her hand along the accordion-shaped top of the metal heating pipes and retrieved a fistful of rainbow-colored underwear. She plunged them into the voluminous pocket of her skirt and cautiously opened the door.

  "Ready to go?" Andrew said, flashing a smile.

  "Go where?" she asked, standing as tall as she was able, wishing she could somehow hide the chaos behind her.

  "On a picnic," he replied, holding up a basket.

  Inviting scents filtered through the gaily painted handkerchief on top. Stacia lifted one en
d and peeked inside. Dolmades, Feta cheese, a jar of olives, fresh red tomatoes, and a loaf of crusty bread took up most of the space, along with a bottle of chilled white wine. Local, from what she could see of the printing on the label. No doubt delicious, as was everything she had tasted in Greece so far. In one corner of the basket, barely visible beneath a bunch of plump red grapes, lay two honey drenched squares of baklava.

  She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the sight and smell of the food made her mouth water. She glanced up at Andrew and without warning was claimed by a hunger of a different sort.

  "So grab your bathing suit—" Andrew's blue gaze shifted off her and examined the room beyond.

  Stacia felt a jolt of loss.

  "—if you can find it."

  "I know exactly—"

  "Is this—"

  His fingers brushed her elbow. Before she could protest, a pair of her silk panties had been whisked from her pocket and now hung from his fingers.

  "No!" She snatched the wisp of fuchsia from his hand and lay her underwear back on the heater. "It isn't." She took a step backwards and reached toward a pile next to her pillow. "This is." She held up two scarlet strips. "Now get out of here and let me change."

  His smile deepened and, for an instant, she fancied it was approving, but he turned and left before she could tell for sure.

  * * *

  The sun was hotter in the open, much hotter than in town where whitewashed buildings cast slivers of shade. Out here, there was nothing to cut the glare except the occasional tree standing alone. On the hillside beyond, an olive grove grew, the trees' leaves shimmering silver in the breeze.

  Stacia streaked her hair back from her face, surprised, in the dry air, to find the strands damp against her fingers. She liked the heat, enjoyed the warmth on her toes and legs, on her fingers and arms.

  Like the touch of a lover.

  Heat flushed her face, and she glanced at Andrew, her body suddenly burning with a deeper heat, one she dared not examine too closely.

  "We're almost there," Andrew said. The warmth seemed to affect him, also. His hair curled damply around the edges, and his cheeks were a ruddy brown.

  "Almost where?" She made herself stare past him to the sea beyond. The water enticed, seemed as cool and unattainable as a mirage.