Lovers Never Lie (22 page)

Andrew eased away the hindrance of her blouse, his desire quickening as his hands stroked her naked flesh. Womanly curves met his touch, with womanly dips and hollows. He unhooked her bra to release her breasts, took a nipple into his mouth and caressed its nub with his tongue. With a moan, she pressed closer and moved above him.

He needed her, wanted her; her skin and her breasts, as well as the moist folds between her legs. He cupped the curve of her buttocks and pressed her closer, her warmth penetrating through the panties she wore. She lifted her hips and he eased her panties off.

One moment her breasts were close enough to kiss, the next out of reach while she kissed him. Her tongue was hot and moist, fanning his flame.

When she drew near his bandaged shoulder, her kisses slowed, and she looked at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. Capturing her lips, he kissed her worry away, feather kisses to heal, hot kisses to arouse.

With a smile, she moved lower, her hair a perfumed waterfall as she trailed kisses along his chest. Within and without, his heat flamed to fever pitch, then she pulled off his undershorts and the fever became an inferno.

The goddess that was Stacia slid damply along his chest, her skin silkily, burningly sensuous. Scarcely able to breathe, he slipped his hands along her thighs, and brought her legs forward, his manhood reaching for and finding her. She pressed against him as he entered, urging him to drive.

But he moved slowly. Her pelvic muscles squeezed, released, then squeezed again, trapping them both in a rhythm beyond control. Soft sounds escaped her lips, and she arched upward, her eyelids dropping over her expressive eyes.

Overwhelmed by her heat, he thrust upward once more. Her lips parted and her breathing grew shallow. A sheen of perspiration appeared on her skin. Slowly... sensually, she opened her eyes and stared in wonder down at him, as her body joined with his on a roller-coaster ride to the stars. In an ecstasy of sensation, they moved together to the magical moment of release.

Tears dropped from Stacia's cheeks and hit his chest, mingled with his sweat and christened their love. With a final convulsive shudder, her body stilled, and her breathing deepened to a slower rhythm.

Andrew held her close, wishing they could remain like this forever, suspended in the giving and taking of pleasure, able to laugh and love and forget the world and its danger. But it wasn't possible to forget. With a sigh, he kissed her hair in a final caress.

Stacia had never felt so alive, so strong, so beautiful, so perfectly content. Then she smiled into Andrew's eyes, and her happiness died.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, propping herself up, then rolling off him as though they had never touched. The lost contact with his warmth chilled her to the bone.

"We have to leave," Andrew replied. He winced as he swung his legs off the bed and with effort managed to tug on his pants.

"Leave?" she asked, not able to hide her disbelief.

Andrew turned to her, his eyes clear and very blue. "I'll go to the travel agent. You pack."

"Where are we going?"

His lips tightened. "We were shot at yesterday."

"I know." She glanced at his bandage. "That bullet was intended for me."

"Which is why I'm booking a flight to Athens," he said grimly.

Relief washed over her. They were going to Athens. Away from Crete. Away from Maria Argolis.

"I'll give you some money for a hotel there—"

"Me?" Her head began to spin. "What about you?"

He picked up his shirt from the floor. "I'll join you in a day or two."

"Where will you be until then?" She pulled her legs loose from the covers.

"I'll be tying up loose ends."

"There are no loose ends. Maria Argolis has your diamonds, but she got away. That's the end of it."

Instead of answering, he chose an orange from a bowl on the dresser. "Eat this," he said, tossing it to her.

She flung it back at him, refusing to be side-tracked.

"No telling when your next meal might be," he told her lightly, though his taut shoulders denied the lightness of his words.

"What do you intend to do?" she persisted.

He shrugged, didn't answer.

Realization and fear pressed in together, turning her skin clammy. "You're going after Maria," she whispered.

He pulled his shirt over his head and struggled through the neck opening.

She grabbed hold of his wrist. "If
you're
going,
I'm
coming too."

"Not this time," he said his eyes deadly serious.

"You're going to Athens. This doesn't concern you."

"Of course it concerns me. I brought those diamonds into Greece. I'm going to help you get them back."

"This isn't just about the diamonds."

"What then?"

"You were almost killed."

She felt suddenly breathless. Perhaps now he would say the words of love he hadn't yet spoken. She was ready now to hear them and say them in return.

"I was afraid—" he began.

Her heart soared. These were not words of love, but she could tell that he cared.

"I wish to hell you hadn't been on that island. We'd made our plan," he growled, "and that wasn't it."

Her heart stopped in mid-flight, plummeted straight back to earth.

"I couldn't let you go alone," she protested. "When I thought that's what you'd done, I had to follow."

"Which is why you're going to do exactly as I say now." Andrew stared at her with determined eyes. "I need to know you are safe. I want you to go to Athens."

"No," she said fiercely. Her fingers formed fists. She would never be safe if the man she loved was in danger. "I won't go without you," she added quietly, "especially as it's my fault Maria's got the diamonds."

"If you had been hurt, it would have been
my
fault." He gripped her shoulders. "Maria Argolis and her gang are deadly serious. I have one death on my hands already. I won't have another." He let go of her suddenly and Stacia jerked backward.

"It was your wife who died," she said numbly, wondering why it had taken her so long to figure that out. Perspiration formed between her shoulder blades and slid damply down her back.

"Yes," Andrew answered.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

"Nancy," he replied.

"How did she die?" Stacia asked, bracing herself for the answer.

Andrew's eyes went blank, as though he were looking inward, then he shuddered and re-focused on Stacia's face. "Maria Argolis did it," he said, his expression turning to stone. "I knew there had to be someone else, that the fellow the police caught was too stupid to pull off such a theft on his own. But I didn't know who killed Nancy until I heard Maria talking in the fortress."

All sound had died except for the thumping of Stacia's heart, and it filled her ears until she heard nothing else. Heat pricked her body. Every nerve-ending pulled taut.

Andrew passed a hand over his brow then, as though his strength had left him, sat abruptly on the bed. Stacia touched his knee, but if he felt the pressure of her fingers, he gave no indication.

"When did this happen?" She didn't take away her hand. He needed her even though he made no sign.

"Eight years ago."

"That's a long time."

"Not long enough."

Stacia's chest tightened. He obviously loved Nancy as much now as he had when she was alive. "How?" she asked. Maybe talking about it would give him some release, would dispel the demons eating his soul.

"I had begun the Brokerage the year before," Andrew answered, "worked night and day to make ends meet. I cut corners, cut costs, but bought only the best gems." He stared down at Stacia's hand, didn't look into her eyes. "People began to notice my work, began to trust my word. They knew if they asked for a particular stone, I'd either have it or could get it for them."

"It became a point of pride to deliver what people wanted. I went abroad for my gems to Africa, India, and Australia." A yoke of sweat turned the neckline of his tee-shirt damp.

"And your wife?" Stacia asked, a chasm opening in her heart, the love inside disappearing from sight.

Pain savaged Andrew's eyes. "Her father was one of my best customers. I supplied the diamonds for the necklace he gave her on her twenty-first birthday. Went to the party to watch him present it to her...."

And fell in love, Stacia realized numbly. She stared at the sunlight shimmering in through the window, not wanting to hear how much he loved another woman.

"We got married two months later."

She glanced back at Andrew, found his face ashen.

"A year after that, she was dead."

She might be dead, but she was still loved. Stacia's heart ceased its wild racing, leaving nothing behind but a hollow echo where the pounding had been. The swish of the ceiling fan was the only audible sound.

It was revenge Andrew was after, as well as the diamonds. Revenge for his wife and the love he had lost.

Stacia felt as though her heart had been flung into a void. She would never be alive in the same way again. Would never laugh, never love, never lay her head on Andrew's chest and know when she was with him, what it was like to be home.

"It was my fault she died," Andrew continued, the pain in his voice penetrating her despair.

"How?" she asked again.

"I left her alone too much, for weeks at a time sometimes."

"You were building your business. You had to do what you did."

"That's what I told myself. I pretended it was for us, for our future together, for our children and a secure home. I didn't admit the reality to anyone."

"What reality?"

His eyes were black pits. "That I loved what I was doing, loved the adventure and danger, the wheeling and dealing, the high-flying life. And Nancy let me do it. She let me pretend." His shoulders sagged. "Because she loved me."

"Her death wasn't your fault."

"I was at a client's home when Maria and Kosta Argolis broke into our house." Lines scored Andrew's forehead, added age to his face. "My office at that time was in our home. I kept everything there. I stupidly thought it was safe." He swallowed hard and stared at his hands. "When I came home, I found her dead."

Stacia took his hand in hers, found it icy cold.

"Maria got away unseen. Kosta was captured. A neighbor had seen him leave and gave a good description to the police. They soon picked him up. But catching him didn't save Nancy." His eyes filled with rage. "Only I could have done that and I wasn't there."

Nothing she could say would make any difference. Nothing she could do would erase his guilt. No matter how much she loved him, he couldn't love her back. All she could do was stroke his hand, and that was as much to comfort herself as it was to comfort him.

"So you're going to Athens," Andrew finished, slowly extricating his fingers from hers. The tenuous link between them broke with the movement.

Sorrow filled Stacia, for Andrew and his wife, but also for herself and her broken dreams.

She'd been right about love. It didn't keep you safe. She wrapped her arms around her chest, cold beyond shivering.

Chapter 14

She should be upstairs packing. If she was going to leave, she should just go, not wait for Andrew to come back from the travel agent with her ticket. He intended she go by plane this time, wanted her off this island as quickly as he could remove her. Wanted her out of his life.

She should want that, too. Stacia stared at the postcards in the rack in front of her, unable to keep her brain from playing back everything Andrew had said, everything he had done, how he had touched her, kissed her....

Fool! She riffled the cards impatiently, their pictures blurring from the tears in her eyes. It didn't help remembering how Andrew's lips had scorched her breasts, or feeling, still, his hardness inside her, full where she had been empty, joyous where she had been sad.