The Right Path

  sun, Morgan went through to his bedroom and opened his balcony doors. She could hear the sea hissing before she reached the rail. With a laugh, she leaned farther out.

  Oh, she could live with the challenge of such a view every day, she thought, and never tire of it. She could watch the sea change colors with the sky, watch the gulls swoop over the water and back to the nests they’d built in the cliff walls. She could look down on the Theoharis villa and appreciate its refined elegance, but she would choose the rough gray stone and dizzying height.

  Morgan tossed back her head and wished for a storm. Thunder, lightning, wild wind. Was there a better spot on earth to enjoy it? Laughing, she dared the sky to boil and spew out its worst.

  “My God, how beautiful you are.”

  The light of challenge still in her eyes, Morgan turned. Leaning against the open balcony door, Nick stared at her. His face was very still, his gaze like a lance. The passion was on him, simmering, bubbling, just beneath the surface. It suited him, Morgan thought, suited those long, sharp bones in his face, those black eyes and the mouth that could be beautiful or cruel.

  As she leaned back on the railing, the breeze caught at the ends of her hair. Her eyes took on the color of the sky. Power swept over her, and a touch of madness. “You want me, I can see it. Come and show me.”

  It hurt, Nick discovered. He’d never known, until Morgan, that desire could hurt. Perhaps it was only when you loved that your needs ached in you. How many times had he loved her last night? he wondered. And each time, it had been like a tempest in him. Now, he promised himself, this time, he would show her a different way.

  Slowly, he went to her. Taking both of her hands, he lifted them, then pressed his lips to the palms. When he brought his gaze to hers, Nick saw that her eyes were wide and moved, her lips parted in surprise. Something stirred in him—love, guilt, a need to give.

  “Have I shown you so little tenderness, Morgan?” he murmured.

  “Nicholas . . .” She could only whisper his name as her pulses raged and her heart melted.

  “Have I given you no soft words, no sweetness?” He kissed her hands again, one finger at a time. She didn’t move, only stared at him. “And you still come to me. I’m in your debt,” he said quietly in Greek. “What price would you ask me?”

  “No, Nicholas, I . . .” Morgan shook her head, unable to speak, nearly swaying with the weakness this gentle, quiet man brought her.

  “You asked me to show you how I wanted you.” He put his hands to her face as if she were indeed made of Dresden porcelain, then touched his lips almost reverently to hers. A sound came from her, shaky and small. “Come and I will.”

  He lifted her, not with a flourish as he had on the porch, but as a man lifts something he cherishes. “Now . . .” He laid her down with care. “In the daylight, in my bed.”

  Again, he took her hand, tracing kisses over the back and palm, then to the wrist where her pulse hammered. All the while he watched her as she lay back, staring at him with something like astonished wonder.

  How young she looks, Nick thought as he gently drew her finger into his mouth. And how fragile. Not a witch now, or a goddess, but only a woman. His woman. And her eyes were already clouding, her breath already trembling. He’d shown her the fire and the storm, he thought, but not once—not once had he given her spring.

  Bending, he nibbled lightly at her lips, allowing his hands to touch no more than her hair.

  It might have been a dream, so weak and weightless did she feel. Nick kissed her eyes closed so that Morgan saw no more than a pale red glow. Then his lips continued, over her forehead, her temples, down the line of her cheekbones—always soft, always warm. The words he whispered against her skin flowed like scented oil over her. She would have moved to bring him closer if her arms had not been too heavy to lift. Instead, she lay in the flood of his tenderness.

  His mouth was at her ear, gently torturing with a trace of tongue, a murmured promise. Even as she moaned in surrender, he moved lower to taste and tease the curve of her neck. With kisses like whispers, and whispers like wine, he took her deeper. Gentleness was a drug for both of them.

  Hardly touching her, he loosened the buttons of her blouse and slipped it from her. Though he felt the firm pressure of her breasts against him, he took his mouth to the slope of her shoulder instead. He could feel the strength there, the grace, and he tarried.

  Morgan’s eyes were closed, weighed down with gold-tipped lashes. Her breath rushed out between her lips. He knew he could watch those flickers of pleasure move over her face forever. With his hands once more buried in her hair, Nick kissed her. He felt the yielding and the hunger before he moved on.

  Slowly, savoring, he took his lips down to the soft swell—circling, nibbling until he came to the tender underside of her breast. On a moan, Morgan fretted under him as if she were struggling to wake from a dream. But he kept the pace slow and soothed her with words and soft, soft kisses.

  With aching gentleness he stroked his tongue over the peak, fighting a surge of desperation when he found it hot and ready. Her movements beneath him took on a rhythmic sinuousness that had the blood pounding in his brain. Her scent was there, always there on the verge of his senses even when she wasn’t with him. Now he wallowed in it. As he suckled, he allowed his hands to touch her for the first time.

  Morgan felt the long stroke of his hands, the quick scrape of those strong rough fingers that now seemed sensitive enough to tune violins. They caressed lightly, like a breeze. They made her ache.

  Soft, slow, gentle, his mouth traveled down the center of her body, lingering here, exploring there until he paused where her slacks hugged across her stomach. When she felt him unfasten them, she trembled. She arched to help him, but Nick drew them down inch by inch, covering the newly exposed flesh with moist kisses so that she could only lie steeped in a pool of pleasure.

  And when she was naked, he continued to worship her with his lips, with his suddenly gentle hands. She thought she could hear her own skin hum. The muscles in her thighs quivered as he passed over them, and her desire leaped from passive to urgent.

  “Nicholas,” she breathed. “Now.”

  “You’ve scratched your feet on the rocks,” he murmured, pressing his lips against the ball of her foot. “It’s a sin to mar such skin, my love.” Watching her face, he ran his tongue over the arch. Her eyes flew open, dazed with passion. “I’ve longed to see you like this.” His voice grew thick as his control began to slip. “With sunlight streaming over you, your hair flowing over my pillow, your body trembling for me.”

  As he spoke, he began the slow, aching journey back, gradually back to her lips. Needs pressed at him and demanded he hurry, but he wouldn’t be rushed. He told himself he could linger over the taste and the feel of her for days.

  Her arms weren’t heavy now, but strong as they curled around him. Every nerve, every pore of her body seemed tuned to him. The harmony seemed impossible, yet it sung through her. His flesh was as hot and damp as hers, his breath as unsteady.

  “You ask how I want you,” he murmured, thrilling to her moan as he slipped into her. “Look at me and see.”

  His control hung by a thread. Morgan pulled his mouth to hers and snapped it.

  ***

  Nick held Morgan close, gently stroking her back while her trembles eased. She clung to him, almost as much in wonder as in love. How was she to have known he had such tenderness in him? How was she to have known she would be so moved by it? Blinking back tears, she pressed her lips to his throat.

  “You’ve made me feel beautiful,” she murmured.

  “You are beautiful.” Tilting her head back, Nick smiled at her. “And tired,” he added, tracing a thumb over the mauve smudges under her eyes. “You should sleep, Morgan, I won’t have you ill.”

  “I won’t be ill.” She snuggled against him, fitting herself neatly against the curve of his body. “And there’ll be time for sleeping later. We’ll go away for a few day
s, like you said.”

  Twining a lock of her hair around his finger, Nick gazed up at the ceiling. A few days with her would never be enough, but he still had the night to get through. “Where would you like to go?”

  Morgan thought of her dreams of Venice and Cornish moors. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and drew in Nick’s scent. “Anywhere. Right here.” Laughing, she propped herself on his chest. “Wherever it is, I intend to keep you in bed a good deal of the time.”

  “Is that so?” His mouth twitched as he tugged on her hair. “I might begin to think you have designs only on my body.”

  “It is a rather nice one.” In a long stroke, she ran her hands down his shoulders, enjoying the feel of firm flesh and strong bone. “Lean and muscled . . .” She trailed off when she spotted a small scar high on his chest. A frown creased her brow as she stared at it. It seemed out of place on that smooth brown skin. “Where did you get this?”

  Nick tilted his head, shifting his gaze down. “Ah, an old battle scar,” he said lightly.

  From a bullet, Morgan realized all at once. Horror ripped through her and mirrored in her eyes. Seeing it, Nick cursed his loose tongue.

  “Morgan—”

  “No, please.” She buried her face against his chest and held tight. “Don’t say anything. Just give me a minute.”

  She’d forgotten. Somehow the gentleness and beauty of their lovemaking had driven all the ugliness out of her mind. It had been easy to pretend for a little while that there was no threat. Pretending’s for children, she reminded herself. He didn’t need to cope with a child now. If she could give him nothing else, she would give him what was left of her strength. Swallowing fear, she pressed her lips to his chest then rolled beside him again.

  “Did everything go as you wanted with Captain Tripolos?”

  A strong woman, Nick thought, linking his hand with hers. An extraordinary woman. “He’s satisfied with the information I’ve given him. A shrewd man for all his plodding technique.”

  “Yes, I thought he was like a bulldog the first time I encountered him.”

  Chuckling, Nick drew her closer. “An apt description, Aphrodite.” He shifted then, reaching to the table beside him for a cigarette. “I think he’s one of the few policemen I find it agreeable to work with.”

  “Why do you—” She broke off as she looked up and focused on the slim black cigarette. “I’d forgotten,” Morgan murmured. “How could I have forgotten?”

  Nick blew out a stream of smoke. “Forgotten what?”

  “The cigarette.” Morgan sat up, pushing at her tumbled hair. “The stub of the cigarette near the body.”

  He lifted a brow, but found himself distracted by the firm white breasts easily within reach. “So?”

  “It was fresh, from one of those expensive brands like you’re smoking.” She let out an impatient breath. “I should have told you before, but it hardly makes any difference at this point. You already know who killed Stevos—who runs the smuggling.”

  “I never told you I did.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Annoyed with herself, Morgan frowned and missed Nick’s considering look.

  “Why didn’t I?”

  “You’d have told me if you hadn’t seen his face. When you wouldn’t answer me at all, I knew you had.”

  He shook his head as a reluctant smile touched his lips. “Diabolos, it’s a good thing I didn’t cross you earlier in my career. I’m afraid it would have been over quickly. As it happens,” he added, “I saw the cigarette myself.”

  “I should have known you would,” she muttered.

  “I can assure you Tripolos didn’t miss it either.”

  “That damn cigarette has driven me to distraction.” Morgan gave an exasperated sigh. “There were moments I suspected everyone I knew—Dorian, Alex, Iona, even Liz and Andrew. I nearly made myself sick over it.”

  “You don’t name me.” Nick studied the cigarette in his hand.

  “No, I already told you why.”

  “Yes,” he murmured, “with an odd sort of compliment I haven’t forgotten. I should have eased your mind sooner, Morgan, about what I do. You might have slept better.”

  Leaning over, she kissed him. “Stop worrying about my sleep. I’m going to start thinking I look like a tired hag.”

  He slid a hand behind her neck to keep her close. “Will you rest if I tell you that you do?”

  “No, but I’ll hit you.”

  “Ah, then I’ll lie and tell you you’re exquisite.”

  She hit him anyway, a quick jab in the ribs.

  “So, now you want to play rough.” Crushing out his cigarette, Nick rolled her beneath him. She struggled for a moment, then eyed him narrowly.

  “Do you know how many times you’ve pinned me down like this?” Morgan demanded.

  “No, how many?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her smile spread slowly. “I think I’m beginning to like it.”

  “Perhaps I can make you like it better.” He muffled her laugh with his lips.

  He didn’t love her gently now, but fiercely. As desperate as he, Morgan let the passion rule her. Fear that it might be the last time caused her response and demands to be urgent. She lit a fire in him.

  Now, where his hands had trailed slowly, they raced. Where his mouth had whispered, it savaged. Morgan threw herself into the flames without a second thought. Her mouth was greedy, searching for his taste everywhere while her hands rushed to touch and arouse.

  Her body had never felt so agile. It could melt into his one moment, then slither away to drive him to madness. She could hear his desire in the short, harsh breath, feel it in the tensing and quivering of his muscles as she roamed over them, taste it in the dampness that sheened his skin. It matched her own, and again they were in harmony.

  She arched against him as his mouth rushed low—but it was more a demand than an invitation. Delirious with her own strength and power, Morgan dug her fingers into his hair and urged him to take her to that first giddy peak. Even as she cried out with it, she hungered for more. And he gave more, while he took.

  But she wasn’t satisfied with her own pleasure. Ruthlessly she sought to undermine whatever claim he still held to sanity. Her hands had never been so clever, or so quick. Her teeth nipped at his skin before she soothed the tiny pains with a flick of her tongue. She heard him groan and a low, sultry laugh flowed from her. His breath caught when she reached him, then came out in an oath. Morgan felt the sunlight explode into fragments as he plunged into her.

  ***

  Later, much later, when he knew his time with her was nearly up, Nick kissed her with lingering tenderness.

  “You’re going,” Morgan said, struggling not to cling to him.

  “Soon. I’ll have to take you back to the villa in a little while.” Sitting up, he drew her with him. “You’ll stay inside. Lock the doors, tell the servants to let no one in. No one.”

  Morgan tried to promise, and found she couldn’t form the words. “When you’re finished, you’ll come?”

  Smiling, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I suppose I can handle your window vines again.”

  “I’ll wait up for you and let you in the front door.”

  “Aphrodite.” Nick pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Where’s your romance?”

  “Oh, God!” Morgan threw her arms around his neck and clung. “I wasn’t going to say it—I promised myself I wouldn’t. Be careful.” Biting back tears, she pressed her face against his throat. “Please, please be careful. I’m terrified for you.”

  “No, don’t.” Feeling the dampness against his skin, he held her tighter. “Don’t cry for me.”

  “I’m sorry.” With a desperate effort, she forced back the tears. “I’m not helping you.”

  Nick drew her away and looked at the damp cheeks and shimmering eyes. “Don’t ask me not to go, Morgan.”

  “No.” She swallowed again. “I won’t. Don’t ask me not to worry.”

  “It’s the last time
,” he said fiercely.

  The words made her shudder, but she kept her eyes on his. “Yes, I know.”

  “Just wait for me.” He pulled her back against him. “Wait for me.”

  “With a bottle of Alex’s best champagne,” she promised in a stronger voice.

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “We’ll have some of mine now, before I take you back. A toast,” he told her as he drew her away again. “To tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. It almost reached her eyes. “I’ll drink with you to tomorrow.”

  “Rest a moment.” With another kiss, he laid her back against the pillow. “I’ll go bring some up.”

  Morgan waited until the door had closed behind him before she buried her face in the pillow.

  Chapter 13