The Goddess (3 page)

“You’ve helped enough.”

Of course, he was right. They wouldn’t be stuck here if she hadn’t been in the wrong
place at the wrong time. When she got back to the main island, she’d leave on the
next boat out. If his subjects ever discovered the trouble she’d caused their prince,
she’d be run out of town anyway.

Darius looked back and forth then made his decision.

“This way,” he said, swinging down the left tunnel this time. But before he’d taken
two steps, the torch spat and threw sparks. The light flickered wildly and with a
loud
whoosh
blew completely out.

“Reach into my pocket,” he said at once. “Find the matches.”

Her heart thumping, Helene hurried to mold her palms over his lean hips and find his
pocket. But after she scooped out the box she hesitated. The torchlight was gone and
yet, she could see in the misted light. Ahead of them, a wedge of sunlight slanted
in from the ceiling like a greeting from the gods.

Thrilled, she almost threw her arms around him. In time she remembered the figurine
and promptly stepped back. She wouldn’t risk bumping it out of his grip.

When they reached the spot of pooling light, both peered up. Natural light spilling
on his handsome face, Darius laughed. She laughed, too. She could have danced. Could
have cried.

“It’s wide enough,” he said. “We can get out.” Then his expression faded. “Except…”

“Except
what
?”

His gaze burned into hers. “I’ll lift you up. Then I’ll hand up the figurine. Put
her aside somewhere safe, somewhere she can’t possibly fall. Find a vine or a strong
branch and I’ll pull myself up.”

Helene did a double take. He trusted her with the figurine? Then again, he had no
choice.

He set the figurine out of the way. When he returned, he locked his fingers and knelt.

“Put your foot in the net of my hands. I’ll hoist you up.”

She studied his thatched fingers, then the hole rimmed with overgrown grass, and a
thousand butterflies released in her stomach. Suddenly it looked much higher than
before.

Reminding herself to breathe and have faith, she placed her sole in his hands.

…

Darius straightened and steadily raised Helene until her head poked out into the outside
world.

But she took too long to get a grip and lever herself out. She was like a cat clamoring
to escape from the lip of a well, which made keeping a good hold of her near impossible.
When her other foot balanced on his head, he called out.

“Grasp onto something.”

“Almost…” She jiggled. “Almost there.”

Finally she found leverage. Her weight lifted off him and she heaved herself into
that blessed sunshine. Now came the hard part.

“Are you all right?” he shouted up.

A silky curtain of hair fell toward him at the same time as her beaming face appeared
over the opening. “Uh-huh.”

His gaze slid to the figurine. Never in the history of his country had any hand other
than a royal or chief aide touched her. But today was the day, it seemed, for traditions
to be challenged. Collecting the figurine, he sent up a prayer then raised her high.

“Can you reach?” he called.

Helene dropped both arms down and wiggled her hands like a child begging for a toy.
He remembered the bucket crashing to the ground and an image flashed through his mind—the
figurine slipping through those buttery fingers, smashing into a thousand useless
pieces—and his gut kicked so hard he almost groaned.

“I have my leg wrapped around a vine,” she said. “I’m anchored. Lift her a little
higher.”

He rounded up on his toes, edging the figurine a couple of inches higher. Slender
fingers wrapped around stone shoulders. Only when he was certain she had a good grip
did he close his eyes, send up another prayer, and let go. When his eyes opened, both
Helene and the goddess were gone.

He blinked twice. Waited.

“Helene?”

He heard birds outside and the distant lulling wash of waves, but from Helene he heard
not a chirp. Then the grass around the opening shifted and her face popped into view
again.

“I’ve got something rigged up.” She dropped a thick vine that uncoiled down into the
cavity. “I’ll hang on here.”

“The figurine?”

“Lying beside a tree. She wants me to say she’s enjoying the sunshine.”

His grin was wry.
Enjoy it while it lasts
. He’d be on tenterhooks until the goddess was truly safe, locked away again.

“If this doesn’t work,” Helene said, “I’ll run and get that ladder from the stables.”

But he was already climbing, his movements swift and sure. Soon he was crawling out,
filling his lungs. Fresh air had never smelled so good. The world had never looked
so bright.

Crouched on his hands and knees, Darius laughed. On her knees beside him, Helene laughed
too, so much that she toppled sideways. He half caught her and then they were rolling
together on the ground. They’d escaped. Thank the heavens, they were alive!

By the time their laughter petered out, they lay side by side, face to face in the
sparse grass, with their chests pumping from exertion and relief. His arm had fallen
over her waist. One long leg was carelessly thrown over his. The late afternoon sun
streamed down, warming their skin, and her crystalline-blue eyes were so close that
her pants for air brushed and teased his lips.

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted the figurine lying on her side, a reflection
of how he and Helene also lay. Her stone eyes were sightless and yet they seemed to
see so much. As if she knew. Irrespective of the trouble she’d caused, he wanted to
bring Helene close again…much closer than he had in the depths of the cave.

Not happening.

Jumping to his feet, Darius collected the figurine. He was concentrating, inspecting
her in the light, when Helene spoke.

“You know, I think she’s smiling, too.”

Helene was standing now, too. A breeze lifted the sarong around and between her legs.
Lycra scraps hugged the fall of each perfect breast. Mussed hair flowed, blue eyes
shone, and every cell in his body begged for him to touch her again.

Figurine in hand, he crossed back. When she looked up at him, her gaze wide and expectant,
he narrowed the space separating them even more. He took his time studying the smudges
on her brow and jaw and then, giving in to the urge, he angled his head a notch and
reached for her face. A wave of hair blew around her chin. Catching the strands, he
wound them back around her ear. The pulse in his throat beat faster as he cupped her
cheek and, absorbing that silken warmth, smiled into her eyes.

“If you’re up to it,” he said as his hand dropped away, “we’ll keep moving.”

“The way I’m feeling, I could run the four minute mile in two minutes flat.”

Good. Because, as much as he might not want to, the moment they reached the villa
was the moment he would arrange to have Helene Masters, and her alluring diversions,
shipped far away for good.

Chapter Four

“It’s been what? Maybe two hours?” Helene asked as she followed Darius over a landscape
that, given his stride, he knew very well. “Alexio should be here by now. Or maybe
when he couldn’t find us, he decided to go back.” Get help.

She had thought earlier that Alexio would put out an alert.

“I’ll make the call when we get to the villa.”

Helene wasn’t sure what he meant. “When you left me by the stables, you did contact
the palace, didn’t you? Say I needed to be picked up?” Taken away.

“I’d barely left you on that path, splattered in blue paint, before…” His stride picking
up, he blew out a loud breath. “Don’t worry. You’ll be off this island soon enough.”

Unlike their moment of celebration rolling around on the grass and meeting each other’s
gazes as the laughter faded, or the few strange and wonderful seconds he had cupped
her face, this trek was decidedly reserved. In the short time they’d known each other,
she’d nearly dropped a bucket on his head and had almost led him to his death. Now
it seemed he only wanted to see the back of her—or show her the back of him. God knows
she didn’t want to cause any more hassles either. The sooner she was off this island,
the better.

By the time they reached the villa at the top of the hill, Helene was hungry, thirsty,
and completely exhausted. She made it through the front door with barely enough energy
to drag a gaze around. However, her new surroundings were too beautiful to ignore.

High cool ceilings, an ornate spiral staircase, and heavy wooden furniture seemed
to welcome her in. A bubbling indoor fountain, bougainvillea-laced trestles, and a
lengthy cream and blue couch were a few paces from a balcony. With the doors wide
open, a breeze gently stirred the gossamer-light curtains.

“Just how old is this place?” she asked.

Darius stood before a massive gilt-framed entrance mirror, inspecting the figurine
yet again.

“The foundations predate the start of the Roman Empire,” he said absently. “It’s been
refurbished many times. Some of the original stonework remains.”

She swallowed against a dry throat. “Do you have anything to drink? I’m bone dry.”

He looked up, and his tense look melted with apology. After coming to stand before
the bar, he paused and glanced around. Gingerly, he set the figurine on a massive
wooden table. When he was certain she was steady, he saw to drinks. They downed two
glasses of water each before he filled goblets with wine.

“I’ll leave you for a moment,” he said, and nodded at the figurine. “I need to put
her away.”

In a vault, locked away for safekeeping? What a waste. But, sure. None of her business.

Once he was gone, Helene drifted around the room. Like he’d said, much of the villa
and its contents dated back years, in some instances centuries, but touches were contemporary.
She noticed a stereo and CD system. In an adjoining room, a laptop sat on a massive
wooden desk.

A portrait of the Tierenias royal family hung on the main wall. The late king’s hand
rested on his wife’s shoulder as she posed on an ornate chair with two teenage sons
and a younger daughter clustered around. Darius had said that after his father had
passed, his mother had died of a broken heart. Having grown up appreciating that kind
of bond, he must want that for himself and his own children. Helene certainly did.
She only hoped that when she found the right man, he wouldn’t be taken away early
like her father had been.

Yawning, muscles aching, she found a bathroom and washed up. When Darius still hadn’t
returned to the main room, she drifted out onto the balcony. Looking out over the
ocean, she stretched arms high and breathed in the heady scent of briny air while
two wrens darted, chasing each other an arm’s length away from her.

“It’s like standing at the beginning of time,” she murmured, soaking up the glittering
azure waters, the sun-drenched open space. Her thoughts turned to the figurine and
her fate, which equated to an eternity of being penned in, locked up. Certainly a
block of stone had no feelings. Still, Helene couldn’t help but sympathize. Why exist
if you couldn’t breathe and have your freedom?

She wandered back inside. Her untouched goblet waited, but wine would only make her
eyelids droop more. She walked around a comfy-looking sofa and sat down. Setting an
elbow on the armrest and her cheek in her palm, she settled in and yawned again.

…

Darius allowed himself time to admire the figurine and dwell upon their lucky escape
before he carefully placed her in the vault. Now he needed to make that phone call
and have his adventurous guest taken away. No more surprises or distractions. However,
for all the drama that seemed to surround her, he wasn’t angry. Or, at least, he wasn’t
angry anymore. She felt bad enough. He simply couldn’t afford even one more mishap
this week.

There was a phone extension in his bedroom, but he preferred to use his cell, which
he’d left on the balcony before rushing off to find Helene.

Moving through the main room, he stopped when he spotted his guest. Helene was passed
out on the sofa—eyes closed, mouth open. Her breathing was deep and regular. Asleep
she looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He pitied the poor guy who fell
in love her. But, hell, he envied him as well. The man Helene Masters married was
in for an eventful life.

As the palm holding up one cheek began to slide, Helene’s head lowered, coming to
lie on her forearm hung over the armrest. Darius fetched a pillow and a light throw-over.
After carefully slipping the pillow under her head and covering her, he stood back
and ran a hand through his hair. She was as peaceful as an angel and just as beautiful,
in a lost puppy, bedraggled kind of way. But he wouldn’t put off the inevitable.

He needed to make that call.

…

Helene stretched and blinked open her eyes. An instant later she recognized the room,
remembered the cave—
the prince
— and her sense of wellbeing vanished. She’d caused that man so much trouble, and
then she’d made herself right at home by falling asleep on his couch.

And where was Alexio, her ride out of here?

Jerking up, she pushed a throw-over aside and glanced beyond the balcony doors. A
black satin sky laced with stars glittered back at her. A corner lamp filtered soft
yellow light over the space inside. She pushed back hair that had fallen over one
eye. How long had she slept?

A noise came from behind. On her feet in an instant, Helene spun around. A masculine
form—Darius Vasily—sauntered toward her. When he saw that she was up, he slowly grinned.

“I wondered when you might wake. You must be hungry?”

Her stomach answered with an unfortunate rumbling growl. She winced. “Guess I am.”

“I’ve already eaten.”

He wore a white casual button-down and clean trousers. As he drew nearer, she inhaled
delicious, freshly-soaped male, which only made her own sweat-and-dirt smell all too
apparent. She needed a bath.

“Why did you let me sleep so long?” she asked.

“You weren’t causing any harm—for once.”

He grinned again, slow and slanted. This close—in this light—her breath was taken
away. When they’d first met, she’d noticed how attractive and commanding he was. After
they’d escaped the cave, with his billboard-standard chest on display, he’d looked
even hotter. This minute he appeared larger than life—sizzling with sex appeal and
so comfortable in his own skin. Her hands bunched as fingers itched to graze over
the raspy angle of his jaw. She imagined the feel and taste of his mouth and her tongue
flicked out to moisten her lips.

Then he disappeared down a hallway—the one where he’d taken the figurine hours ago—and
the beating of a pulse at the apex of her thighs dropped away. A couple of minutes
later, he returned carrying a plate laden with food that was apparently all for her.

“Simple fare.” He set the plate on the table then pulled out a heavy chair.

She wanted to know whether a boat had been organized but the aroma stole her attention—grilled
eggplant, zucchini, and potato filled with tomato and peppers. Her mouth began to
water.

“Did you make this yourself?” she asked, taking the seat.

“I put together some ingredients and slid them in the oven. That was a couple of hours
ago.” He brought over a carafe and two glasses. “But this dish is even tastier cold.”

After taking a seat, he poured wine. Helene swallowed two mouthfuls. Trying to hide
her flinch, she apologized.

“I’m told traditional Greek wine is an acquired taste.”

The bouquet was pine but the taste reminded her a little of her turpentine.

She polished off some eggplant and potato while Darius sipped his wine and surveyed
the silver-ribboned sea beyond the balcony doors. When she’d eaten her fill, she dabbed
the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin.

He eyed her plate. “Had enough?”

“I was thinking you must have had enough of me.” She flicked a glance down the hallway.
“Is your goddess safely tucked away?”

He gave her a knowing look. “She’s safe.”

“Then next week you’ll be able to take her home. Before you know it, she’ll have worked
her magic and you’ll be married with your very own happy little family.”

“A family. Yes.” He studied his wine. “I have every faith.”

She arched a brow. “Maybe you already have a lady waiting in the wings?”

He shook his head then sat straighter. “Although there was a girl once, but she expected
too much.”

“A new palace?”

“A kiss. I was eight and wise enough not to succumb,” he smiled across at her, “even
if she could bait a hook faster than any boy I’d known.”

“So you were the one who got away.” As her grin softened, she glanced at the royal
portrait and thought of broken hearts. “Your parents must have been very much in love.”
Hers had been, too. When he didn’t comment, she prodded. “You said your mother died
of a broken heart.”

“I meant that was how her death was reported. A good story for the press, I suppose.
Actually, she’d had an aneurism from birth. It was simply her time.”

She studied the portrait again. Everyone looked so happy.

“My mother was a princess from the Middle-East,” Darius went on. “When she and my
father met at a state dinner, he knew they were well-suited. A marriage was arranged.
Even before she became queen, she stole the hearts of the people. She was refined
and gentle and kind.”

“And your father?”

“He was a strong leader. Duty always came first.”

From a child’s or wife’s point of view, Helene wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Will you marry out of obligation, too?”

Sometimes she wondered whether that right someone for her was really out there. One
thing she did know, though—she would never marry unless she was convinced they would
be happy together for the rest of their lives.

Darius’s reply was good humored. “You don’t need to concern yourself with my love
life, Helene.”

“I only meant that arranging to marry someone you don’t love would be hard.”

“Not as hard as putting your country’s peace at risk.”

“You’re talking about that rebellion all those years ago?”

“In history’s eyes, not that long ago. The king had married a woman who was rumored
to be carrying another man’s child. No images of her remain, but she was reputed to
be extremely beautiful as well as shy or perhaps haughty. She rarely went out in public.
After the child was born, unrest bubbled over. The palace was attacked. People died.”

“Still—a hundred years…”

“My uncle made a similar mistake. The woman he fell for had been married before.”

Helene deadpanned. “How shocking.”

He shrugged. “There were protests. My uncle abdicated and my father, the younger brother,
was forced to step up.”

But this was a different time. She was about to point out that even kings could marry
whomever they liked nowadays, but Darius changed the subject.

“You mentioned you finished a degree.” He slid his glass away. “What university?”

After she’d supplied the name of the institution and spoke a little about her experience
there, he pushed to his feet.

“I need some sleep,” he said. “You’ll find suitable quarters down that hall.” He gestured
to a separate hallway and said goodnight.

Then, without a word about tomorrow, he disappeared again, and she was left alone
in the soft yellow light with the people in that portrait peering down at her like
a band of ghosts.

…

Arriving back from his morning walk, Darius found Helene in the kitchen beating eggs.
Oil, crushed walnuts, milk, sugar, and half a dozen other ingredients lined the counter.
When she glanced up, he hid a grin at the pat of flour on her cheek.

“You’re back.” She glanced down at the simple white shirt she wore that, given her
height, served more as a dress. “Hope you don’t mind. I borrowed this from the wardrobe.”

He preferred her in a bikini and sarong, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

“That room’s usually used by domestic help,” he said, strolling over. “You’d have
found something different hanging in the closet if you’d stayed in my sister’s room.
She’s a fan of jeans, the rattier the better.”

“We’d get along then.” She reached for a sifter. “I wasn’t sure when you organized
for my lift back. I wanted to repay you for last night’s late supper.”

When he’d put together a quick breakfast this morning before heading out, he’d noticed
the dishes were done and bits and pieces had been put away. Now Helene was cooking.

After evaluating the ingredients, he nodded at the cake pan. “
Karidopitda
?”

“Gia, Alexio’s wife, taught me.” She added sugar, milk, and oil to the bowl of beaten
eggs.

“You’re a good cook?”

“I try.”

Earlier, Darius had learned that her story regarding college also checked out. After
finishing high school, she’d worked as a junior assistant in a travel agency. Two
years on, she’d enrolled and completed a four-year degree. Helene Masters wasn’t a
reporter. She was an ordinary woman caught up in his change of plans. He’d thought
about their situation all morning. Now he wondered if he ought to make another change.