Sinful Seduction (13 page)

This confession seemed to throw Nikolas for a loop. He looked to the far wall, his jaw tightening, and then to his large bare feet as they poked out from under his flannel pajama bottoms. Then—finally, reluctantly—he looked back to his father.

And gave a single sharp and approving nod.

Chapter 12

L
ater that morning, Skylar was in the foyer, closing the front door after Mickey and Nikolas, who’d just gone to the market in Mickey’s specially modified truck. The road had finally been cleared and they were badly in need of fresh groceries. Suddenly she heard distant strains of music so pure and haunting that it raised goose bumps on her arms and shivered down her spine.

She cocked her head, listening, as the music rose and coalesced into a melody: the plaintive strains of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” coming from the study.

Lured like a sailor to a siren’s song, she crept down the hallway and peered through the open door, not wanting to be seen in case she broke the spell.

The scene was extraordinary.

Sandro was there, but otherwise the surroundings bore no resemblance to what she’d walked in on her first night here. The shutters and drapes were all open, and the sun’s bright rays streamed inside, making her squint against the illumination.

The piano was uncovered, its lid propped open, and Sandro sat at the bench with his head bent and his eyes closed. The lines of his face were tight, but not with strain. By now, they’d spent enough time making love for her to recognize rapture when she saw it, and it possessed him. Swayed through him. Changed him.

If she needed proof of how far he’d come since the night she had arrived, this was it, and it warmed her heart.

As though he sensed her presence, he opened his eyes, saw her and smiled.

“Come here.” He opened his arms, beckoning her.

She was already on her way. “Don’t stop. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“It’s okay.”

“But it’s been so long since you played.”

“I’ll play again.”

“Promise?”

“As long as you keep inspiring me.”

Taking her hand, he pulled her in front of him, and she sat on the keyboard with a discordant crunch. He eased between her thighs—she had jeans on now, alas—and, planting his hands on her butt, drew her closer. His expression as he looked up into her face was more intense than the sunlight.

“What?” she wondered, fascinated by this freer version of him, the one she’d always known was trapped inside somewhere. “Tell me.”

“I never thought I’d be happy again.”

She palmed his beloved face, which was prickly with stubble. “Are you saying you’re happy with me?”

“You know I’m happy with you. Come here.”

With a contented sigh, she eased down across his lap, straddling him and ignoring the way the keyboard pressed against her kidneys. Their mouths came together, but not before she whispered out
I love you
again.

She couldn’t stop telling him how much she loved him.

They played, nipping and sucking, and then he slipped his tongue deep inside her mouth, making her hum with approval. His hands inched up under the hem of her sweater, and her skin burned. Sudden urgency made her writhe.

The floor,
she thought, need rippling through her. No one else was home, and they could stretch out right here in front of the fire—

“Is this what I come home to?”

Startled by the interruption, they broke apart and looked around. Coming out of his sensual haze and moving with a soldier’s reflexes, Sandro stood and shoved Skylar behind him, shielding her from the intruder.

A strange man stood there.

Tall, thin and haggard, he had the hollow-jawed, pale-skinned look of someone in the final throes of a terrible illness. He had skull-trimmed black hair and the scruff that came from several days of not shaving. His eyes were—

Jesus. His eyes.

They were shadowed and haunted, as though he’d seen every tragedy and cruelty the world had to offer, and yet they burned with the intensity of a zealot whose faith had been questioned.

Even though he didn’t make any threatening moves and looked far too well dressed in his sweater and dark jeans to be a homeless person who’d broken in, those eyes scared her. So did the way his fingers flexed and clenched at his sides, and the way his upper lip peeled back on one side, giving him a fearsome sneer. His chest heaved as though all his rage was a single breath away from exploding out of him.

Police,
she thought in that hushed moment.

They needed the police.

And then she looked again.

The heavy swoop of his black brows was familiar.

The straight line of his nose was familiar.

And the curve of his lips, even in their anger—that was familiar, too.

All of him was familiar, but the denial was stronger.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Tony?” Sandro reached out a hand and took a few labored steps forward, as though the invisible air all around him had turned to sludge that held him back.
“Tony?”

The man’s face contorted with a killing fury.

“Is this what I come home to?”
Tony roared.

The air whooshed out of Skylar’s lungs, and a wave of sudden dizziness forced her to drop onto the piano bench. Pressing a hand to her chest, she gasped and managed several deep breaths, clinging to consciousness only by sheer force of will. The room swam, but she blinked it back into focus.

Sandro was frozen where he was now, that hand still outstretched. His face had turned to chalk. His voice was choked. “You’re alive?”

That sneer widened. “Yeah. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“But—how?” Sandro’s voice rose and broke with emotion. “I don’t understand. I don’t—”

Tony shrugged irritably. “It’s not that tricky. Remember the IED that blew our convoy and the bridge to kingdom come? Well, maybe you don’t remember. Maybe it didn’t make that big an impression on you, since you were in one of the lucky Humvees—”

“Tony!”

“—but my Humvee flipped off the bridge. And, let me tell you, it’s a little hard to swim when you’re loaded down with fifty pounds of armor and gear and—”

“Jesus,” Sandro muttered, his face stark with horror.

“—so I said my prayers and got ready to meet my maker.” Here, Tony paused to lean around Sandro and look at her. She could hardly see him through the shame and tears. “Are you listening to this, my beautiful ex-fiancée? Huh? Does my tragic little story move you at all? Given current events, I’m guessing not, but I thought you might like to hear about it.”

Swiping at her eyes with one hand and gripping the bench for support with her free hand, she did a terrible job of pulling herself together. “Please, Tony—”

“So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up and I wasn’t dead.” He paused. “I only wished I was.”

“Tony.” Sandro’s voice was now so heavy with dread that each word seemed to weigh a ton. “Where have you been this whole time?”

Tony stared at him. “Why, I’ve been enjoying the Taliban’s first-class hospitality, of course. Where else would I have been? I did manage to escape, though. In case you were wondering.”

Sandro dropped his head. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs so excruciating that it would have been a relief if Skylar had been able to cut off her own ears.

Tony’s face twisted. “Why so sad, brother? Are you wishing you’d spent a little more time looking for me?”

“They did look for you—”

“They?”
One of Tony’s brows did a slow, cynical rise toward his hairline. “Not
you?
”

“I was injured, too, man—”

“Yeah? Broken finger? Tough break.”

Sandro kept silent, apparently deciding that his internal injuries, bad as they’d been, wouldn’t hold up against a lengthy spell as a prisoner of war.

In the harsh silence, no one spoke.

Sandro finally tried again. “When did you escape?”

Tony’s expression was cold now. Flat. “About a month ago. I had to do the debriefing thing, and the medical evaluation thing, and now here I am.”

“Why didn’t anybody notify us?”

Tony bared a few of his teeth in a feral grin that would’ve done a wolf proud. “Well, now, that’s a funny story. I asked folks to keep it quiet. I wanted the pleasure of surprising my family. Guess the surprise was on me, huh?”

Sandro shook his head and swiped his arm under his nose. He kept opening and closing his mouth, but nothing came out. Possibly because he didn’t want to ask the obvious follow-up question.

“What did they do to you, man?”

“While you were doing Skylar, what was the Taliban doing to me?” Tony’s accusatory gaze swung between the two of them, making Skylar flinch. “Is that the question? Do you really want to know?”

Sandro threw caution to the wind and stepped forward again, opening his arms to his brother. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry—”

Tony stiffened but stood his ground. “Stay away from me.”

Sandro kept coming. “I missed you. You’re my brother. I missed you—”

Still murmuring, Sandro grabbed Tony’s shoulders and tried to pull him in for a hug; Tony jerked his arms free.

“Get off me.”

“You’re my brother—” Sandro reached again, which was one time too many.

Tony erupted, lashing out with the lethal force of a cobra strike. He delivered a brutal push to Sandro’s chest that Skylar felt even from her safe distance. Sandro flew backward and hit the piano. The lid crashed, banging shut with endless reverberations so loud it was like being trapped inside a ringing gong.

Sandro dropped to his knees, wheezing.

Skylar cried out and reached for him, but Sandro pushed her hands aside, heaved himself onto unsteady legs, and reached for Tony. Again.

“You’re my brother.”

“You’re
not
my brother!” Tony went nuclear, snarling and raging hard enough to turn his contorted face a blotchy purple. “You’re
not
my brother! You thought
I
was dead? Well,
you’re
dead!”

“You’re my brother, Tony—”

“You’re dead to me!” Tony shouted. “I will kill you!”

Skylar leaped between them. “Tony!” Grabbing his arms, she gave him a jerk that seemed to snap him out of some of the darkness, although he kept straining for Sandro as though he couldn’t wait to make good on his threat. “Please! Please, Tony! Look at me!”

She jerked him again, and Tony’s gaze wavered, dropping from Sandro to her.

Maybe she was taking her life into her hands, but a little voice told her to risk it. So she ever so slowly reached out to grip Tony’s thin and grizzled cheeks between her hands and hold him while he panted.

“Tony.”

That snapped him out of it.

He winced away from the contact, but she refused to let him go. When he finally looked into her eyes, she met his glare with gratitude. “Thank God,” she said. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Tony stilled. And then his face crumpled. “Sky?”

“Thank God you’re alive.”

With a sharp breath, he snatched her into his arms and held on, burying his face into the hollow between her neck and shoulder and running his fingers through her hair. They swayed together and she squeezed his gaunt body as hard as she could for as long as he would let her, which wasn’t long enough to quiet his shudders.

When he’d had enough, he abruptly thrust her aside and strode out without a backward glance at either of them, banging the door shut behind him.

Dread swallowed her up as she did a slow turn and met Sandro’s shell-shocked gaze. She wanted to touch him, but he felt too far away, and it seemed impossible to get there from here.

“I have to go after him,” she said helplessly.

It took him a long time to answer. “I know.”

Gathering more courage than she’d known she had, she reached for his arm. It was a solid block of tension.

“This doesn’t change anything, Sandro.”

Sandro stared at her, his expression stark as he pulled free.

“It changes everything.”

Skylar followed Tony upstairs, to the bedroom she knew had been his, and tapped quietly on the door. When he didn’t answer, she slipped inside and discovered him out on the balcony, leaning against the railing. His gaze was riveted on the slate gray waves, which were hitting the beach one after the other, churning foam. Another storm was rolling in.

Or maybe it’d already arrived.

She came up behind him and was on the verge of calling his name—she didn’t want to scare him—when he spoke without looking at her.

“My mother is dead,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she admitted. “How did you know?”

He shot her a wry sidelong look. “I did a Google search for her. Some things don’t change much.”

Running a hand up his back, she squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“My sister is a lawyer now. She married some guy I’ve never met.”

“And she’s pregnant.”

“Yeah?” His head whipped around, his eyes wide with interest. “Google didn’t tell me that.”