Dearly Beloved Read online

“Normandy is part of France last I heard. But ok. I’ll play. I’m all for believing you don’t claim French ancestry. I’ve never been to Normandy but I don’t think the French are well-liked anywhere so I’m not surprised. Do they claim Scandinavian ties there? Don’t look at me like that. It’s painfully obvious. With your physique, what else could you be, but descended from Viking stock? The only other choice is Mount Olympus, and you pretty much vetoed that.”

  Stupid, Courtney . Her mouth just kept rattling off stupid things while her mind clouded with thoughts of intertwined limbs on the bed in front of her. For the life of her, she didn’t know where the instant perfectly focused view came from. Worse, it looked like he’d been involved in every step of her thought process and imaginings, and that had just loosened her tongue more.

  “My mother was full Greek.”

  “And she married a Norman. Imagine the potential lineage. Wow. Viking size and brawn mated to classic, perfect features. Stow that. No imagining necessary when the life-sized proof is sitting right there, looking at me.” Courtney bit her tongue at the end of that, but it didn’t prevent it from coming out exactly like that. Almost in homage.

  “Who said anything about marriage?”

  He skipped over the life-sized proof part. Thank goodness .

  “Right. Marriage is optional. Always was, really. You know, I’ve heard children from love-matches are the most beautiful people on the planet. I’m not arguing that anymore. That’s for certain.”

  Damn it! Her tongue just kept gushing inane words at him. He didn’t even react to them. It was probably normal for him. Although…the more she spoke, the more his brow knit as he continued his unwavering look right at her. She started to amend that. It felt more like he looked all the way through her.

  “Love was not involved. My mother was taken.”

  “Taken? Seriously?”

  He nodded.

  “How on earth could a Norman guy manage to get to Greece and take a Grecian woman? And why would he want to? Aren’t there women in his part of the world?”

  “My father was from the Norman settlement of Sicily.”

  “Norman settlement. Oh come on. There hasn’t been anything like that for…I don’t know. Eight hundred years or so.”

  He nodded. That was it. He just nodded. Then one eyebrow perked up slightly, and that little tiny thing sent her entire body into a shock-like motion of vibration. He might as well have tossed ice water all over her. If there was a hole big enough to sink into, she’d have done it. Right then and right there. And then, surprisingly, the entire view of coverlet started to rotate into a whirlpool of dark oblivion. It was perfect for losing herself in.

  “Here.”

  He dented the mattress at her side, an arm behind her back to lean her forward, while a cut-glass crystal goblet was being held to her lips. She hadn’t even seen him move. She took a swallow, gulped it, and then coughed with the reaction as brandy blazed its way down her throat again. That got her a smack of his hand on her back, and everything went into solid fire and agony.

  “Oh, no. Stop. Please. Stop. You’re hurting me.”

  She wailed it and he stopped. It still felt like he was bruising her just by the feel of his hand on her back.

  “You did that before, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Hit me.”

  He shrugged, taking her with it. Heaven. Images of entwined naked limbs assailed her vision again and she blinked until it went away. She’d almost died, the god Apollo was holding her, he talked nonsensical heritage, she was in pain from his ministrations to save her, and she couldn’t seem to prevent erotic images from filling her mind? He probably knew the last part, too.

  “You needed air.”

  “I needed…air?” She still did. There didn’t seem to be any room to get it from how he held her right against most of his body, while he’d changed the motion of his hand to a caress all along her spine. That was absolutely delicious. He probably knew that, as well.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It wasn’t going well. It wasn’t going much of anywhere.

  Dominick looked out over the same view and wondered where his ability to interrogate had gone. He wasn’t above torture. Never had been. Even if his target was a woman. Yet, with that siren sleeping now in the master bed that nobody ever used, Dominick was worse than putty in her hands. He didn’t know what was wrong with him and he really needed to ponder it. He rubbed at the slight bit of scar on his upper abdomen, evidencing her attack. Another hour or so, it would be gone completely. A finger-span higher and he’d have been eliminated.

  He turned to look through the diaphanous drapery rippling slightly in the breeze. The woman was in his bed. Asleep. Naked, and slightly tanned all over, and plastered against his form as he’d carried her swiftly right to this room. All she did was sleep. Touching her had zapped some strange sort of current clear through every pore on Dominick’s frame and yet she experienced nothing. He’d been in a fury of motion to get her out of his arms before he acted on what could only be labeled lust, and what happened? The woman slept.

  And worse.

  He hadn’t been able to simply place her between his sheets. He’d had to join her, rub against her, and groan with annoyance over his own body’s reaction. He hadn’t been able to stay his teeth from elongating, either, nor the hum of vibration as he sliced the slightest scratch all along perfect throat skin. He’d barely managed to rein in the incalculable desire to feed from her. Somewhere in his mind something worked, putting such a leash on him he’d jerked back…right from the precipice of fluid he knew would be ambrosia. And what happened? She’d slept through all of it. She’d even been doing some sort of purring noise.

  Dominick blinked on the lightening sky that heralded an awakening for every other creature and the end of his. He had some thinking to do. Planning. Plotting. This woman was some sort of new weapon. She’d been infused with some chemical that over-rode every restraint he clamped into place, making it impossible to keep his mind on anything other than pleasure. While absolutely nothing happened to her. What sort of new device were the Hunters using? And how could Dominick subvert it? He’d spend some time on research before seeking her out again. That might work. For every potion, there was an antidote. He’d just have to find it.

  But first he needed rest. And she needed sustenance. Dominick walked through the room, determined not to look at the girl. He made it to the door before failing. His own body was turning against him now? Whatever those bastards had invented, it was strong. Fast-acting. Long-lasting. Stimulating. Sense-awakening. All consuming. Overwhelming. Intense. He actually took a step toward her before the howl of frustration left his lips. Then he was in the hall and facing the white wood double doors that slammed shut against each other with his abrupt closure of them.

  “You called, Excellency?”

  Dominick turned. His servant bowed, dipping his turban with the motion.

  “We have a guest, Rashid.”

  “Very good, Excellency.”

  “She’ll be requiring breakfast. Or something of that nature. When she wakes.” Dominick stopped his own words. He was a recluse for a reason. He never explained himself to anyone and he didn’t understand why he had to start now. It was the woman and her potion. It had to be.

  The man nodded.

  “She’s not to leave the villa. I’ll hold you responsible if she does.”

  The man’s eyes shone, but nothing else changed; exactly as Dominick required in his servants. Lack of curiosity and instant obedience.

  “I understand, Excellency. It shall be as you require.”

  The man bowed again and left. And that’s when Dominick remembered his secret panel was in the room he’d just left. Blasted woman!

  o0o

  Oh…heaven truly was luxurious! Courtney arched her back and stretched, feeling vaguely sore in her back, while satin sheets smelling of sunshine slid against her skin. Rays of the same daylight were percolating through an
open patio door, giving her such a feeling of well-being the events of last night just had to be a nightmare. All except for that Dominick/Apollo fellow. Now…he was definitely not a nightmare. More like a really erotic dream.

  “Good day, Miss.”

  Courtney’s eyes flew open and she yanked on the covers to sit, staring at the strange man bowing from beyond the footboard of her bed. There was a man in her room. Her bed room. She glanced about, taking in acres of white flooring, an enormous white marble fireplace, French doors that opened to nothing but seascape, scattered, super-plush white rugs, and dark mahogany furniture that broke up the space. This was not her room. She was in another super king-sized bed. With another canopy. And still no clothes.

  “Will you be taking breakfast now?”

  “Where…am I?” Courtney’s voice came out a croak, and for some strange reason, it hurt to use her throat.

  “Villa St. Guis.”

  “Villa St. Guis.”

  He nodded and beamed a smile at her.

  “Why…am I here?” And why did her throat hurt so? She didn’t remember one thing about her neck. Her chest and lungs, yes. Choking and being forced to drink mind-numbing brandy, yes. Her neck? No.

  “You are a guest of His Excellency, Prince St. Guis.”

  “Prince? The guy’s a prince ?” Courtney didn’t believe it. No way. Not even in her inventive mind had she seen that coming.

  “Had the Turk invasion not occurred, he would still be king, as is his birth-right.”

  “Turk invasion…as in…what? The Ottoman Empire thing?”

  Courtney knew she should have paid more attention in class, but who could’ve guessed she’d need a brush-up on Mediterranean history now? The turbaned fellow nodded again and smiled, revealing perfectly spaced, white teeth. Against his dark skin, it was especially brilliant. Which was just special. The entire episode was growing into the special range. It was obvious to her now. Her brother-in-law, Shawn Elliot, was playing a truly elaborate prank. That’s what he did for a living. He’d never tried it on her before. He set up scenarios, filmed them with his crew, and then posted the resultant footage on the net, making more money than her sister, Stella, could spend in this lifetime.

  Shawn Elliott hadn’t exploded into a million bits last night. Courtney hadn’t been rescued and then beaten back to life by an absolute god of a man, and no way did she believe he was a king/prince. It was all a set-up. For Shawn. She was going to kill him when she found him.

  “So tell me…where is my host?”

  “Prince St. Guis is resting.”

  “Resting. Right.”

  The guy was probably working out in the gym, toning up that perfect physique, and doing a bit of lounging around on a pool deck chair before they sent him to make-up. She didn’t know where Shawn found an actor capable of portraying a Greek god, but she was definitely finding out. She was also playing along until then. Starting now.

  “What’s your name?” She asked it and swallowed. Her neck hurt on the motion. She ignored it. She had bigger problems.

  “Rashid.”

  “You know Rashid, breakfast does sound especially wonderful. I like my eggs fried, over-easy…some toast and marmalade, and stow that. I think I’ll take pancakes instead. A double-stack. With lots of butter and syrup. And coffee.”

  “Do you take cream and sugar?”

  “I’m about ready to take brandy again.”

  “You wish brandy? There is a decanter here.”

  He walked across the large span of flooring to show her several cut crystal decanters on what looked to be a silver tray. The mini-bar arrangement was on a high white shelf over near the patio window. Courtney set her lips. Fair enough, Shawn. You wretch . The servants weren’t in on it. Or they were especially good. They couldn’t even spot sarcasm.

  “Coffee, Rashid. Black. And…where is my wetsuit?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I was wearing a black wet-suit. Beneath that was a fairly expensive one-piece fit especially to me. You know. Stuff like that.”

  “You were not wearing anything like that.”

  No lie. She wasn’t wearing anything like anything. She was naked. As in…completely, bare-assed naked. Satin sheets felt especially decadent and sensual against naked skin now that she thought of it. Banish that! She had a vacant-faced servant looking across the room at her and revenge to plan. She didn’t have time to enjoy any of this.

  “Can I get something to wear?”

  “There is an entire closet to choose from. Right here.”

  What the man called a closet looked like expensive white paneling, with the slightest dent in it that turned into a lever. Gossamer fabrics in all shades filtered out from the space once he opened it. They’d put together an entire wardrobe of dresses. Tons of them from the looks of it. Elaborate. And almost funny. If she didn’t have to cross that span without a stitch on. In view of a hidden camera or two.

  “Could you bring me a robe or something, Rashid?”

  “You have a preference to color, Miss?”

  “Courtney. Please. My name is Courtney.”

  “As you wish, Miss Courtney. Your preference?”

  “Just make sure it’s large. And concealing. And—.” Her belly rumbled, interrupting her, and making Rashid pause at the closet with the volume of it. “Just grab anything, ok?” Her neck was really starting to ache. That was odd. Courtney reached to massage it and couldn’t prevent the cry of surprise at the evidence of blood on her fingertips when she finished.

  Blood?

  “You have hurt yourself. Here. I have a cloth. I’ll return shortly with your repast.”

  Rashid was at the table beside her bed, placing a white washcloth that was going to get stained atop a mass of purple-hued fabric. She didn’t ask where he’d gotten it and he didn’t offer. She didn’t truly want to know.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She should’ve been more specific. Courtney pushed that into her memory for later use. Don’t ask a man to bring you a concealing anything. They have strange ideas on what that means. She might as well be naked with the sheer purple thing Rashid had provided. Not that it mattered. She’d already been in that condition – and unconscious at the time - and if that image was already on the web, Shawn Elliot was getting sued and Courtney Dwyer was changing her identity with the money. That’s what was happening with that.

  Men! That’s why the top four listings on her Jerk List were men.

  Courtney had created a mental Jerk List back when Stella was all she had as a relative and a guardian. Her sister was heartless, conniving, a great actress, and beautiful enough to stop traffic. She successfully pulled off being thirty, when she’d passed that mark eight years ago. Courtney didn’t care. She had a thick enough shell around her to keep from caring about anything or anybody: bullies, teachers, counselors, Stella. But then her sister had married Elliot. Ugh. That man held the top position on the Jerk List ever since.

  This servant, Rashid, was already on the list and he was in danger of rising. The man portrayed helpfulness, and gave the complete opposite. It was a waste of time to ask him for anything useful…like a phone. Or a laptop. Or even the front door. She’d had less luck with the three women she’d come across, painstakingly dusting and polishing every inch of what was already a spotless villa. No one understood her or they were being paid too well to pretend as much. Of course, with their attire, they could be Turkish for all she knew. She could even be closer to Turkey than Greece out here, and wouldn’t know the difference. That’s what came of worrying more about the right time to ask Shawn Elliot for a loan than where he was taking her.

  Surprisingly, despite everything, she’d never felt better, but she’d never admit it.

  It started with the breakfast selection and just got better from there. The coffee was robust and hot, her eggs perfectly cooked and seasoned. She’d even managed to eat a whole pancake before admitting defeat. The moment her tray disappeared she’d hunted down a bathroom,
and got another surprise when she found it. That room was the size of her entire apartment in Seattle. The shower was a work of art fashioned into a circle of etched glass. There was a sunken pool that probably went for a tub, but Courtney wasn’t a bath person…and it probably fit two. That just got her images of naked entwined limbs she banished the moment they surfaced. She’d never been one for erotic fantasies, and if she had to start now, it was not going into Shawn’s little video.

  Floor-to-ceiling mirrors came in helpful when evaluating the state of her injuries. That was odd. She should be a mass of bruising, black and blue from waist to shoulders…but no. The slightest touch of shading evidenced where she’d been man-handled. She had a long, wicked-looking scratch on her neck, though. It wouldn’t stop bleeding. A bit of salve from the well-stocked medicine cabinet helped with the sting, and if she had to replace the bandage more than once, well…all-in-all, it was still too close to perfect to grumble much.

  The view from this balcony had been spectacular before the sun set, too. Not that she felt cheated now. Each little lamp Rashid lit before bidding her good eve gave off its own little oasis of light. Why…even the stuffing in her chair was perfect. The flute of champagne she swirled in her hand added to the effect, and quite frankly, the entire thing was divine. She’d have to give Shawn that much. He had a fantastic eye for set-up and the bank account to pay for it. No wonder Stella hated him.

  Courtney took another sip of champagne and sighed. Her time was about up. Soon that god-man was going to be with her again, mesmerizing her with the complete attention he insisted on giving her from bottomless black eyes, while tying her tongue into knots with the impact of looking at him while she tried to talk. It had to be her imagination. No man was handsome enough to scramble a woman’s wits. It wasn’t feasible and it wasn’t happening, and that was that.

  “You are rested?”

  “Cripes!”

  Courtney swiveled in her deck chair, wrapping the white dress she wore into a cocoon about her lower legs. She’d been wrong. This man was stunning enough to do anything he wanted with a woman. Any woman. Not just her. And that thought wasn’t at all comforting.