The Right Path

  More relaxed than she had been in days, Morgan swam back toward shore. The sand shifted under her feet with the gentle current. Shells dotted the shoreline, clean and glistening. She stood and stretched as the water lapped around her knees. The sun felt glorious.

  “So Helen rises from the sea.”

  Lifting her hand, Morgan shielded her eyes and saw Andrew. He sat on the beach by her towel, watching her.

  “It’s easy to understand how she set kingdoms at odds.” He stood and moved to the water’s edge to join her. “How are you, Morgan?”

  “I’m fine.” She accepted the towel he handed her and rubbed it briskly over her hair.

  “Your eyes are shadowed. A blue sea surrounded by clouds.” He traced her cheek with a fingertip. “Nick told me about Iona Theoharis.” He took her hand and led her back to the white sand. Dropping the towel, Morgan sat beside him. “It’s a bit soon for you to have to handle something like that, Morgan. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her.”

  “It seems to be a talent of mine.” She shook her head. “I’m much better today, really.” Smiling, she touched his cheek. “Yesterday I felt . . . actually I don’t think I felt much of anything yesterday. It was like I was watching everything through a fisheye lens. Everything was distorted and unreal. Today it’s real, but I can cope with it.”

  “I suppose that’s nature’s way of cushioning the senses.”

  “I feel this incredible sorrow for Alex and Liz—and for Dorian.” She leaned back on her elbows, wanting to feel the sun as it dried the water on her skin. “It’s so hard on them, Andrew. It leaves me feeling helpless.” She turned her face to his, pushing at her streaming hair. “I hope this doesn’t sound hard, but I feel, after these past two days, I think I’ve just realized how glad I am to be alive.”

  “I’d say that’s a very healthy, very normal reaction.” He, too, leaned back on his elbows, narrowing his eyes against the sun as he studied her.

  “Oh, I hope so. I’ve been feeling guilty about it.”

  “You can’t be guilty about wanting to live, Morgan.”

  “No. Suddenly I realized how much I want to do. How much I want to see. Do you know, I’m twenty-six, and this is the first time I’ve been anywhere? My mother died when I was a baby and my father and I moved to New York from Philadelphia. I’ve never seen anything else.” As drops of water trickled down her skin, she shook her damp hair back. “I can speak five languages, and this is the first time I’ve been in a country where English isn’t needed. I want to go to Italy and France.” She turned to face him more directly. Her eyes, though still shadowed, were huge with adventure. “I want to see Venice and ride in a gondola. I want to walk on the Cornish moors and on the Champs d’Élysées.” She laughed and it felt marvelous. “I want to climb mountains.”

  “And be a fisherman?” He smiled and laid a hand over hers.

  “Oh, I did say that, didn’t I?” She laughed again. “I’ll do that, too. Jack always said my taste was rather eclectic.”

  “Jack?”

  “He’s a man I knew back home.” Morgan found the ease with which she put him in the past satisfying. “He was in politics. I think he wanted to be king.”

  “Were you in love with him?”

  “No, I was used to him.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Isn’t that a terrible thing to say?”

  “I don’t know—you tell me.”

  “No,” she decided. “Because it’s the truth. He was very cautious, very conventional, and, I’m sorry to say, very boring. Not at all like . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Andrew followed her gaze and spotted Nick at the top of the cliff. He stood, legs apart, hands thrust in his pockets, staring down at them. His expression was unreadable in the distance. He turned, without a wave or a sign of greeting, and disappeared behind the rocks.

  Andrew shifted his gaze back to Morgan. Her expression was totally readable.

  “You’re in love with Nick.”

  Morgan brought herself back sharply. “Oh, no. No, of course not. I hardly know him. He’s a very disagreeable man. He has a brutal temper, and he’s arrogant and bossy and without any decent feelings. He shouts.”

  Andrew took in this impassioned description with a lifted brow. “We seem to be talking about two different people.”

  Morgan turned away, running sand through her fingers. “Maybe. I don’t like either one of them.”

  Andrew let the silence hang a moment as he watched her busy fingers. “But you’re in love with him.”

  “Andrew—”

  “And you don’t want to be,” he finished, looking thoughtfully out to sea. “Morgan, I’ve been wondering, if I asked you to marry me, would it spoil our friendship?”

  “What?” Astonished, she spun her head back around. “Are you joking?”

  Calmly, he searched her face. “No, I’m not joking. I decided that asking you to bed would put a strain on our friendship. I wondered if marriage would. Though I didn’t realize you were in love with Nick.”

  “Andrew,” she began, uncertain how to react. “Is this a question or a proposal?”

  “Let’s take the question first.”

  Morgan took a deep breath. “An offer of marriage, especially from someone you care for, is always flattering to the ego. But egos are unstable and friendships don’t require flattery.” Leaning over, she brushed his mouth with hers. “I’m very glad you’re my friend, Andrew.”

  “Somehow I thought that would be your reaction. I’m a romantic at heart.” Shrugging, he gave her a rueful smile. “An island, a beautiful woman with a laugh like a night wind. I could see us setting up house in the cottage. Fires in the winter, flowers in the spring.”

  “You’re not in love with me, Andrew.”

  “I could be.” Taking her hand, he turned it palm up and studied it. “It isn’t your destiny to fall in love with a struggling poet.”

  “Andrew—”

  “And it isn’t mine to have you.” Smiling again, he kissed her hand. “Still, it’s a warm thought.”

  “And a lovely one. Thank you for it.”

  He nodded before he rose. “I might decide Venice offers inspiration.” Andrew studied the protruding section of the gray stone wall before turning back to her. “Maybe we’ll see each other there.” He smiled, the flashing boyish smile, and Morgan felt a twinge of regret. “Timing, Morgan, is such an essential factor in romance.”

  She watched him cross the sand and mount the steps before she turned back to the sea.

  Chapter 10

  The villa whispered and trembled like an old woman. Even after all her promises to herself that morning, Morgan couldn’t sleep. She rolled and tossed in her bed, frantically bringing herself back from dreams each time she started to drift off. It was too easy for Nick to slip into her mind in a dream. Through sheer force of will, Morgan had blocked him out for most of the day. She wouldn’t surrender to him now, for only a few hours’ sleep.

  Yet awake and alone, she found herself remembering the inlet—the face under the water, the slim black stub of a cigarette. And Iona, pale and barely alive, with her thick mane of hair streaming nearly to the floor.

  Why was it she couldn’t rid herself of the thought that one had something to do with the other?

  There was too much space, too much quiet in the villa to be tolerated in solitude. Even the air seemed hot and oppressive. As fatigue began to take over, Morgan found herself caught between sleep and wakefulness, that vulnerable land where thoughts can drift and tease.

  She could hear Alex’s voice, cold and hard, telling her that Iona would be better off dead. There were Dorian’s eyes, so calm, so cool, as he lifted a thin black cigarette to his lips. Andrew smiling grimly as he waited for his ship to come in. Liz vowing passionately that she would protect her husband from anyone and anything. And the knife blade, so sharp and deadly. She knew without seeing that Nick’s hand gripped the handle.

  On a half scream, Morgan sat up and willed he
rself awake. No, she wouldn’t sleep, not alone. She didn’t dare.

  Before giving herself time to think, she rose and slipped on jeans and a shirt. The beach had given her peace that afternoon. Maybe it would do the same for her tonight.

  Outside, she found the openness comforting. There were no walls here or empty rooms. There were stars and the scent of blossoms. She could hear the cypress leaves whisper. The feeling of dread slid from her with every step. She headed for the beach.

  The moon was nearly full now, and white as bone. The breeze off the water was degrees cooler than the air had been in her room. She followed the path without hesitation, without fear. Some instinct told her nothing would harm her that night.

  After rolling up her pants legs, she stood, letting the water lap over her ankles, warm and silky. Gratefully, she breathed in the moist sea air and felt it soothe her. She stretched her arms toward the stars.

  “Will you never learn to stay in bed?”

  Morgan spun around to find herself face-to-face with Nick. Had he already been there? she wondered. She hadn’t heard him walk behind her. Straightening, she eyed him coolly. Like her, he wore jeans and no shoes. His shirt hung unbuttoned over his bare chest. What madness was it, she wondered, that made her long to go to him. Whatever madness drew her to him, she suppressed.

  “That’s not your concern.” Morgan turned her back on him.

  Nick barely prevented himself from yanking her back around. He’d been standing sleepless at his window when he’d seen her leave the house. Almost before he had known what he was doing, he was coming down the beach steps to find her. And it was ice, that same ice, she greeted him with.

  “Have you forgotten what happens to women who wander night beaches alone?” The words rang with mockery as he tangled his fingers in her hair. He’d touch her if he chose, he thought furiously. No one would stop him.

  “If you plan to drag me around this time, Nicholas, I warn you, I’ll bite and scratch.”

  “That should make it interesting.” His fingers tightened as she tossed her head to dislodge his grip. “I’d think you’d have had your fill of beaches today, Aphrodite. Or are you expecting Andrew again?”

  She ignored the taunt and the peculiar thrill that came whenever he called her by that name. “I’m not expecting anyone. I came here to be alone. If you’d go away, I could enjoy myself.”

  Hurting, wanting, Nick spun her around. His fingers bruised her skin so that she made a surprised sound of pain before she could clamp it down. “Damn you, Morgan, don’t push me any more. You’ll find me a different breed from young Andrew.”

  “Take your hands off me.” She managed to control her voice to a hard, cold steadiness. Her eyes glimmered with frost as they stared into his. She wouldn’t cower before him again, and she wouldn’t yield. “You’d do well to take lessons from Andrew”—deliberately, she tossed her head and smiled—“or Dorian on how to treat a woman.”

  Nick swore with quick Greek expertise. Unable to do otherwise, he gripped her tighter, but this time she made no sound. Morgan watched as the dark fury took total command of his face. He was half devil now, violent, with barely a trace of the man others knew. It gave her a perverse enjoyment to know she had driven him to it.

  “So you offer yourself to Dorian as well?” He bit off the words as he fought to find some hold on his control. “How many men do you need?”

  A flood of fury rose, but she stamped it down. “Isn’t it strange, Nicholas,” she said calmly, “how your Greek half seems to take over when you’re angry? I simply can’t see how you and Andrew can be related, however remotely.”

  “You enjoy leading him on, don’t you?” The comparison stroked his fury higher. Morgan found she was gritting her teeth to prevent a whimper at the pain. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Heartless bitch,” he hissed at her. “How long do you intend to dangle and tease?”

  “How dare you!” Morgan pushed against him. Anger, unreasonable and full, welled up in her for all the sleepless hours he’d given her, and all the pain. “How dare you criticize me for anything! You, with the filthy games you play, and the lies. You care about no one—no one but yourself. I detest you and everything you are!” Wrenching free, Morgan fled into the sea, blind and senseless with rage.

  “Stupid woman!” Nick tore through two sentences of furious Greek before he caught her and pulled her around. The water lapped around her hips as he shook her. When her feet slipped on the bottom, he dragged her back up. He couldn’t think now, couldn’t reason. His voice whipped out with the violence of his thoughts. “I’ll be damned if you’ll make me crawl. Damned if I’ll beg for your good feelings. I do what I have to do; it’s a matter of necessity. Do you think I enjoy it?”

  “I don’t care about your necessities or your smuggling or your murders! I don’t care about anything that has to do with you. I hate you!” She took a swing at his chest and nearly submerged again. “I hate everything about you. I hate myself for ever letting you touch me!”

  The words cut at him, deeper than he wanted them to. He fought not to remember what it had felt like to hold her, to press his mouth against her and feel her melt against him. “That’s fine. Just keep your distance and we’ll get along perfectly.”

  “There’s nothing I want more than to keep away from you.” Her eyes glittered as the words brought her a slash of pain. “Nothing I want more than to never see your face again or hear your name.”

  He controlled himself with an effort—for there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to crush her against him and beg, as he’d never begged anyone, for whatever she’d give him. “Then that’s what you’ll have, Aphrodite. Play your games with Dorian if you like, but tread carefully with Andrew. Tread carefully, or I’ll break your beautiful neck.”

  “Don’t you threaten me. I’ll see Andrew just as often as I like.” Morgan pushed at her dripping hair and glared at him. “I don’t think he’d appreciate your protection. He asked me to marry him.”

  In one swift move, Nick lifted her off her feet and dragged her against his chest. Morgan kicked out, succeeding only in drenching both of them. “What did you tell him?”

  “It’s none of your business.” She struggled, and though she was slick as an eel in the water, his hold remained firm. “Put me down! You can’t treat me this way.”

  Fury was raging in him, uncontrollable, savage. No, he wouldn’t stand by and watch her with another man. “Damn you, I said what did you tell him!”

  “No!” she shouted, more in anger than in fear. “I told him no.”

  Nick relaxed his grip. Morgan’s feet met the sea bottom again as he formed a brittle smile. Her face was white as chalk and he cursed himself. God, would he do nothing but hurt her? Would she do nothing but hurt him? If there weren’t so many walls in his way . . . if he could break down even one of them, he’d have her.

  “That’s fine.” His voice was far from steady, but she had no way of knowing it was from panic rather than temper. “I won’t stand by and watch you lead Andrew along. He’s an innocent yet.” He released her, knowing it might be the last time he’d ever touch her. “I don’t suppose you chose to tell him about the lover you left behind.”

  “Lover?” Morgan pushed at her hair as she took a step back. “What lover?”

  Nick lifted the medallion at her neck, then let it fall before he gave in to the need to rip it from her. “The one who gave you the trinket you treasure so much. When a woman carries another man’s brand, it’s difficult to overlook it.”

  Morgan closed her hand over the small piece of silver. She had thought nothing could make her more angry than she already was. She was blind and trembling with it. “Another man’s brand,” she repeated in a whisper. “How typical of you. No one brands me, Nicholas. No one, no matter how I love.”

  “Your pardon, Aphrodite,” he returned coolly. “An expression only.”

  “My father gave me this,” she tossed at him. “He gave it to me when I
was eight years old and broke my arm falling out of a tree. He’s the kindest and most loving person I’ve ever known. You, Nicholas Gregoras, are a stupid man.”

  She turned and darted toward the beach, but he caught her again while the water was still around her ankles. Ignoring her curses and struggles, Nick turned her to face him. His eyes bored into hers. His breath was coming in gasps, but not from rage. He needed an answer, and quickly, before he exploded.

  “You don’t have a lover in America?”

  “I said let me go!” She was glorious in fury—eyes glittering, skin white as the moonlight. With her head thrown back, she dared him to defy her. In that moment he thought he would have died for her.

  “Do you have a lover in America?” Nick demanded again, but his voice was quiet now.

  Morgan threw up her chin. “I haven’t a lover anywhere.”

  On an oath that sounded more like a prayer, Nick drew her close. The heat from his body fused through the soaked shirts as if they had been naked. Morgan’s breath caught at the pressure and the sudden gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  “You do now.”