Lovers Never Lie (10 page)

For a long moment, he stared down at them then carefully re-wrapped the package. He doused the light, not wanting to see his face in the mirror, or see reflected back at him his own certainty of Stacia's involvement.

He replaced the package in her bag then leaned his forehead for a moment against the cool metal of the cupboard door. He had promised himself to see this through to the end, and for Nancy's sake, he would, but it suddenly seemed the most difficult task in the world.

* * *

Someone had drawn the curtains. Stacia's brow creased as she stared at the offending lengths of crisp lace. They'd been open last night. The last view she remembered was the pillars of the Parthenon glowing in the distance vibrantly lit by moonlight.

Andrew. She moaned, and pressed her eyes shut. Last night she'd come near to making the biggest mistake of her life, by allowing herself to forget who she was with and why. Andrew's hard lips and slow hands made her want to forget. Hands that warmed, then burned, then drove her to desire what she couldn't have. Hands compelling her to forget what she needed to remember.

She propped herself up and twitched the curtains open. The sun swept in, stinging eyes already burning from lack of sleep. But it was perfect weather for a tourist and as soon as she got rid of the package that was what she intended to be.

Scraping her hair back from her face, she flung the covers off her legs. She'd have a shower, get dressed, and be out of this room before Andrew returned from wherever he had gone. The restaurant? The lobby? She didn't know and didn't care. Then she glanced to her right and her breath fled her lungs.

One of Andrew's long legs dangled over the arm of the sofa, while the other was bent at the knee and flopped over the side. The blanket he'd thrown over himself wasn't made to cover a man his size. It began at mid-chest and ended at his knees.

She had tried to convince herself the desire she'd felt the night before had only been a dream, but this was no dream. Her heart pounded, her pulse hammered, and her blood raged through her veins.

A tap sounded at the door. Stacia jumped, and snatched on her dressing gown, hurrying to answer before whoever it was knocked a second time.

"A letter for Roberts," the porter said, when she opened the door a crack and peeped through.

"That's me," Stacia whispered.

The young man handed her a stiff white envelope, then waited with an expectant expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, miserably aware of her empty wallet. "I don't have anything for you. I... I haven't been to the bank yet."

"No matter, madam," the porter said graciously.

Stacia eased the door shut. Her name was the only writing showing on the outside of the envelope. Unless the police had found her purse, no doubt empty of money and tickets, the letter had to be from Andropolous. She stuck her finger beneath the flap and ripped it open along the top. A single piece of note paper was tucked inside.

Dear Miss Roberts,

I apologize for being unable to meet you at the restaurant. Business necessitated that I leave for Crete immediately. Meet me in Agios Nikolaos on Tuesday. I will contact you at the Hotel Minos.

Andropolous

Agios Nikolaos! It would cost money to get there and she had none.

"Who was at the door?"

Stacia twisted around, jerking the note behind her back. A wide awake, standing-at-alert Andrew, faced her.

"No one," she said.

He stared at her in disbelief.

Heat spread across her face. She tugged at the belt of her dressing gown, attempting to tighten it, succeeding only in pulling her wrap off center.

"Just the porter," she added. With any luck, Andrew would let it go at that.

Beneath his tousled hair, Andrew's eyes narrowed. "What did he want?"

"Someone else." She crossed her fingers behind her back. She was getting good at this lying thing.

Andrew took a step closer.

It took all her determination to keep from retreating.

"This hotel is too expensive," she said. "We should check out." Her father had once told her the best defense was a good offense. He had been referring to basketball, but the principle must be the same.

"I'll let you know when money's a problem."

"I've been in your hair long enough."

"If this is about last night—"

"It isn't," she denied hastily. Maybe direct was the route to take. "I have to go to Crete."

"What's in Crete?"

"Minoan ruins." She'd seen pictures of the ruins, though she knew little else about the islands.

"There are plenty of ruins in Athens."

"Listen," she snapped, "if you're worried about getting your money—"

"I'm not worried."

"I would only need a hundred dollars or so." The request stuck in Stacia's throat. Her grandmother had petit-pointed the maxim 'Neither a borrower nor a lender be' and had hung it in her front sitting room, where it had stared Stacia in the face every time she visited.

"If you could lend me the money, I'd be grateful," Stacia went on hastily. "Once I contact the Embassy, a new passport and money will arrive in no time."

"I'll go with you."

"No!"

"I don't mind."

"Well, I do. I've burdened you long enough with my problems. Just lend me the money and I'll be gone."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Andrew said.

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.