The Goddess (4 page)

He came to stand beside her. Her hair, freshly washed, was fragrant with a lavender
scent. Lower down, her bare feet were clean of yesterday’s grime. Each toenail was
painted iridescent pink.

“You mentioned that you work for your friend Alexio at his tarverna,” he said.

“I serve meals and drinks, wipe down tables, sometimes mop floors.”

“You like that kind of work?”

“More than painting gutters.” Holding the sifter, she squeezed repeatedly, and a mist
of flour drifted into the bowl. “I love being with people, hearing them talk and laugh
while they enjoy good food.”

“Would you like to work for me?”

She stopped sifting. “Work for you how?”

“This week. Preparing meals. Tidying up.”

She stared at him before a wry grin kicked up one side of her mouth. “You said yourself—no
one is supposed to be here now but you.”

“Nevertheless, you
are
here. And after some consideration, I’ve decided I could use the help.” He eyed the
bowl and pretended to frown. “Or perhaps I should wait to taste your cake.”

Dazed, she leaned a hip against the counter. “You want me to stay after all the trouble
I caused?”

“The paint on the path will clean off. That cave-in would have happened anyhow.”

“But not with you right there, dodging rocks.”

“Perhaps it was a good thing I
was
there. More rock could fall before I can organize to have it reinforced. If I hadn’t
gotten her out then, she may have been smashed, lost forever.”

Absently, she touched first her chin then her cheek. She looked so funny, mulling
over his offer, her face patted with white dust. He supposed he should let her know.

He indicated his own chin and cheek. “Flour,” he explained.

She smeared away the patch on her cheek but kept missing the dab on her chin.

“A little higher,” he said.

Looking at his face as if it were a mirror, she tried again.

Lifting her jaw with a finger, he stroked the spot with the pad of his thumb. As he
brushed, he felt her gaze roaming his face—his chin, his mouth. Then he recognized
a telltale stirring in his blood, the kind of pleasant steady pull that left him wanting
to lift her chin higher and graze that spot with his lips.

After taking longer than was strictly necessary, his hand fell away. Her eyes were
wide and her voice husky when she thanked him.

“Guess I’m messy in the kitchen, too,” she joked.

“We can deal with that. What’s your answer?”

“Let’s see. Start on my journey back to California and reality, or stay on a beautiful
isolated Mediterranean island doing light duties for a prince?” She laughed. “I think
I’d
have to pay
you
.”

“Then we have a deal?”

She hesitated only a moment before she stuck out her hand, and they shook on it. When
his hand came away covered in flour, Helene’s eyes rounded again, and those same fingers
covered her opened mouth.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” she said.

He went to the sink, brushed off his palm, then headed straight out. He didn’t want
to stand there contemplating the best way to brush the flour off her lips.

Chapter Five

On the third day, Darius returned late to the villa to find the main room and kitchen
empty. The sound of water pipes told him that Helene was running a bath. Having walked
around the island for hours, freshening up sounded like a fine idea.

After a cool shower, he wrapped the towel around his hips and strolled out into his
bedroom. Automatically, his gaze landed on the vault. Every day he brought the figurine
out and enclosed her again before leaving his quarters. Back at the palace, she would
also be safely locked away. By the time he needed to return her here to this island,
that cave would have been cleared and reinforced.

But more and more, Darius balked at leaving the figurine alone in that chamber again.

He could have workers sign confidentiality agreements, but he feared the cave’s location
would be leaked. Suspicion behind the reason for the reinforcement would no doubt
spread. Perhaps the press would pick up on rumors, sniff around, ask questions. Despite
a regular sea patrol to keep the island safe, it was a miracle the cave and its hidden
treasure had remained a secret this long.

Stepping into trousers, Darius recalled what Helene had said days before. These were,
indeed, different times. His people enjoyed modern conveniences, modern points of
view. They were well-educated and aware of the world. Society had evolved.

But traditions were valued and maintained because they provided some sense of stability
in an unpredictable world. Customs and beliefs were central to identity. To national
pride.

The mystery surrounding the goddess and her powers, which were linked to harmony and
longevity, was important to his heritage. Still, was it time to tweak logistics and
perhaps release the figurine from her confinement like Helene had suggested?

Darius’s father had taught his eldest never to underestimate lessons from the past,
though. The riot that had cost so many lives a hundred years ago was a perfect example.
When he’d told Yanni Kostas of his decision to keep Helene on the island, his friend
and advisor had subtly reminded him of expected tradition, too. Darius had acknowledged
Yanni’s concern, but he had no regrets where Helene was concerned. He still spent
the majority of his time here alone in reflection and appreciated her help with chores
like meals. And, yes, he appreciated her company during those clocked-off intervals
too.

Hiring some help during this time didn’t compare with altering what his father had
insisted was an essential step in maintaining the throne. Would his conscience ever
allow him to remove the fertility figurine from this island forever?

Then again, the figurine and her powers were myth as far as the masses were concerned.
Only four people in this world knew for certain she actually existed. In essence,
he was the only one who stood between what had always been and change; between listening
to common sense or bowing to superstition.

The goddess might not be able to spin a spell, but she was a treasure that deserved
to be protected and preserved in a twenty-first century kind of way.

He felt sure his father would have agreed.

Closing the door, he moved to the main room. Helene was still in her quarters, so
he put on a CD. In the kitchen he found the platter of olives, cheese, bread, and
meat, as well as
karpoozi
—watermelon—she’d prepared. On the balcony, he placed the platter between the settings
she’d arranged on the table. Balcony torches were lit. In the middle of seeing to
wine, he caught a movement and turned. He almost fumbled the carafe.

A woman stood framed by a high arched doorway, looking for all the world like a Grecian
goddess. Her abundance of flaxen hair was swept up in a classic style off the elegant
column of her throat. Her dress could tempt a priest to break his vows. The ankle-length
silk gown lay draped expertly around her breasts and fell from the high-cinched waist
in perfect folds to her dainty, unadorned feet. A glittering, palm-sized pin in the
shape of a dolphin secured the fabric at one side while the other shoulder remained
delectably bare. He didn’t care where Helene had found that outfit; he was only glad
she had.

Blindly he set the carafe down as the vision moved toward him. With each step, the
split in her gown parted enough for a tantalizing glimpse of shapely leg to be revealed.

“I found these bits and pieces in a drawer. I guess maids like to dress up, too. I
hope no one minds.” She lifted and dropped a bare shoulder. “I was sick of shorts
and baggy shirts.”

He tried to speak. Instead he cleared the knot from his throat at the same time she
spotted the food.

“You didn’t have to bring that out,” she said, coming nearer.

“I’d have to do more if you weren’t here.”

She popped a plump olive in her mouth but rather than take a seat, she moved to the
balcony rail. He followed.

“I like that music,” she said.

“It’s a Cretan lyra.”

“I recognize it. A man sometimes plays one in Alexio’s taverna.” She faced the sea.
“I wish I could play an instrument. I’m hopeless at reading those black dots and squiggles.
Reading history was always much more fun.” Leaning on the rail, her attention shifted
from the view to meet his gaze again. “What did you study in college?”

He’d been examining her profile—pert nose, dimpled chin, the slender slope of her
neck. Now he refocused.

“I went to university in England. Studied business. Economics. History too. The palace
library on the main island has some interesting volumes about these parts.”

She nodded but didn’t presume to ask if that was an invitation to inspect the library
books firsthand, which was good because, seeing her in this moonlight in that dress,
his thoughts were a little scrambled; he might have said yes. He had enjoyed their
evenings together, listening to the sea and hearing her chat on about her life in
America and how fascinating she found this part of the world.

Darius found
her
fascinating, and it was more than the outfit. She was easy to talk to. She made him
laugh. She helped him relax. He simply liked her being around.

If Helene knew, she might blame his interest in her on the goddess and her seductive
powers. She was familiar with the legend: should it serve her purpose, the goddess
was able to inspire deep—even mindless—desire between a couple, particularly here
on this island. But he had no intention of losing his heart, even though he had speculated
on testing the more physical waters. Tonight, the idea of bringing Helene close was
beyond tempting.

“I picked some fruit from the orchard this afternoon,” she was saying. “Then I found
a book in the study. A classic written in English.”

“My mother liked to read.”

She quickly added, “I was careful to put it back exactly where I found it.”

“You’re welcome to anything here, Helene.”

“You’re not worried I’ll destroy something?”

He gave her a censuring look. The only thing he was concerned about—the goddess—was
safely locked away.

She gazed out over the slopes. “I recognize the olive trees and pines. And all the
fruit trees in the orchard. What kind is that big green one over there?”

She nodded at the nearby monster.

“A hickory.” Darius leaned both forearms on the rail. “An early Greek myth surrounds
them. The story grew over time but the original version involves a woman named Carya.”

“Who was she?”

“Among other things, Carya was a virgin.”

“Not the sacrificial type, I hope.”

“Dionysus, son of Apollo, visited King Leon and fell passionately in love with one
of his three daughters,” he explained.

“Carya.”

He nodded. “Dionysus left the court but when he returned for her, Carya’s sisters
tried to stop her from leaving with him. As punishment for their jealousy, he drove
the sisters mad. Then he and Carya escaped together. Later, when she died, Dionysus
turned his beloved into a tree.”

“Why?”

As Helene gazed out at the hickory, he became more aware of the rise and fall of silk
draped over her breasts.

“I suppose a tree can still breathe,” he said. “Can still feel.”

A breeze picked up. Nearby, a torch threw sparks and Helene moved back. To shield
her, Darius skirted around to stand close on her other side—closer than he had been
to her before.

“It’s said that when Dionysus and Carya first kissed,” he went on, “all the birds
in Greece began to sing.”

The silk of her dress, moved by the breeze, fluttered against her body; every curve
and peak beneath was thrown into tantalizing relief. When his gaze met hers again,
her eyes were glistening. He tried to read the emotion waiting there. Apprehension?

No.

Anticipation.

“Maybe the birds started singing on this island first,” she said.

His hand slid along the rail toward hers. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she cast a look out over the surrounding trees
again. “All the birds are asleep now though.”

“Perhaps we should wake them.”

“Wake them how?”

His hand scooped around her waist. Bringing her close, he inhaled her lavender scent
and murmured, “I’ll show you how.”

Chapter Six

When Darius’s lips touched hers and lingered, Helene let her eyes drift shut. A heartbeat
later, he drew her closer, and she dissolved like a tablespoon of sugar in hot water.
One warm palm cupped her nape and gently angled her head. As the kiss created in heaven
deepened, Helene leaned in more. When the hand on the small of her back slid lower,
her pulse began to pound in a way that left her reeling.

Out of breath, she broke away.

His mouth found hers again and this time he held her so securely against him, every
cell in her body seemed to catch fire. Rubbing against the hard span beneath his shirt,
her breasts felt so full. Their tips felt so sensitive. Through to her core, she was
tingling. Everything, everywhere, sizzled and ached for his touch.

Darius’s mouth finally left hers, but his arms remained, iron bands supporting her.

“Listen.” His smile grazed her lips. “The birds are singing now.”

The next kiss was even deeper. A thousand times hotter. With his mouth covering hers,
his tongue parted her lips and a kernel formed, glowing and throbbing deep inside
of her. As the stroke of his tongue stirred that spellbinding beat, her head swam,
and she clung on to his shirt .

He finally drew away, and she slumped. The backs of his fingers traced her hot cheek,
gently lifted her chin.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She managed a nod.

“I should let you sit down,” he said. “Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” she got out. Just…
dizzy
.

He tilted her chin higher and searched her eyes. “Perhaps I should kiss you again.”
His slow, knowing grin left her even more light-headed. “That’s what you had planned
when you put on that dress, isn’t it? You wanted to tempt me.”

“I didn’t think I was the kind of girl a prince would want to kiss.”

“You had no idea?” He didn’t sound convinced. Then his lips brushed her temple, a
frisson of heat licked up her middle, and she melted all over again.

“I imagined,” she confessed.

She’d hoped.

As he pressed her close again, he traced soft kisses over her brow before he whispered
against the shell of her ear. “I want to do more than kiss you, Helene.”

When her knees buckled, he held her close enough to feel the ridge beneath his trousers
press against her belly. Helene cupped his bristled jaw, and this time
she
kissed
him
.

As he curled over her and his tongue pushed past her teeth, she coiled an arm around
his neck and gave herself over to sensations she’d never known before. Nerve-endings
fired, the world dropped away, and she knew. This was the emotion she’d wondered about
all this time. This was the thrill that left a woman feeling both deliciously lost
and finally found.

Here was the man who could make her fly.

When his mouth left hers, she bit her lip to stop a sigh from escaping. She was trembling.
On fire. But he didn’t sweep her up into his arms. He didn’t carry her away. Rather,
in the flickering light, his gaze seemed to have sharpened. Thoughtful, he brushed
hair back from her brow. After he kissed that spot, he took one step away.

“I ought to give you some time,” he said.

She tried to think.
Time for what?

She reached for him again, but he caught her hand, brought her wrist to his lips,
and nuzzled halfway up her arm. Shutting his eyes, he drew in a breath and groaned
it out.

“You’re difficult to resist, Helene.” He lowered her arm then raised himself to his
full height. “I’ll eat in my room tonight. In the morning, we’ll talk.”

Helene held onto the rail. She wanted him to kiss her again, to hold her until she
couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Daydreaming about Darius Vasily as a lover was one
thing. Knowing he desired her, too, felt surreal. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t
need more time.

But…maybe
he
did.

She could admit that draping herself in silk had as much to do with hoping to provoke
a reaction as finding something different to wear. Still, she’d never expected this
response. But already he’d thought ahead. Tomorrow she’d be back in denim shorts serving
meals, and he would be focused on his future, which was a royal light-year away from
hers. If they took this to the next level, in the morning he could regret it. He might
even feel uneasy enough to send her away.

Helene glanced at the food. She didn’t want to risk spoiling or losing the rest of
her time here. If he needed an excuse to douse the flames, she’d give him one.

“You’re right,” she said. “I think I do need some time. But you stay out here. I had
something to eat before you came in.” She started off. “Think I’ll just go to bed.
Lie down.”

When he caught her arm again that same delicious heat wove through her blood.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said.

“I’m not embarrassed.” Shrugging him off, she put on a smile. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

She muttered a goodnight. With his gaze burning a hole in her back, she held her head
high and walked steadily away.

…

The next morning, Helene had finished the dishes when Darius appeared, his shoulders
filling the doorway. The line between his brows said he wasn’t pleased. Was he disappointed
she hadn’t joined him for his usual late breakfast?

Last night, she’d said she wasn’t embarrassed. But later, alone in her room, she relived
again and again those dynamite kisses, how she’d practically whimpered in his arms.
Then she recalled his hesitation. His reasoning that she might need more time.

All through the night her cheeks had burned. Over and over, she’d remembered and cringed.
By the time she’d crawled out of bed, bleary-eyed, she wondered how she would face
him again.

Now, however, she steeled herself and sent an airy smile before casually wiping her
hands on a cloth. But she didn’t speak. She was almost worried what she might say.

“I thought you might like to join me for a walk?” He took his time buttoning up a
fresh shirt. “Of course, if you’re busy…”

Keeping her eyes off his exposed chest, she slid the cloth to one side. “Not particularly.”

“It’s a nice day out.”

Flicking a glance out the window, she concurred. “Clear skies. Light breeze.”

He narrowed his eyes. If he was trying to work this out, it wasn’t difficult. He might
be a prince, but if he harbored any notions about making another move, he’d better
come packing both pistols this time.

He grabbed an apple off the counter, rubbed it on a sleeve. “I missed you at breakfast.”

“The bread and preserves were on the table. Did you have trouble making coffee?”

About to bite his apple, Darius’s gaze narrowed again. Then a brow slowly arched.

“No trouble,” he drawled.

She rearranged yesterday’s flowers in their vase. “Lunch will be ready when you get
back.”

“So you don’t want to come?”

“Why don’t you decide for me?”

Before he chomped into that apple, she was certain that he grinned.

“Get some shoes,” he said, chewing and turning on his heel. “I’ll meet you at the
door.”

When she was alone again, Helene gripped the edge of the counter. Now, if only her
stomach would quit flip-flopping all over the place. She couldn’t put this off. At
some stage they had to get this “kissing in the moonlight” situation sorted. If he
apologized for his behavior last night, she would apologize for overreacting, too.

But maybe he’d decided that any fallout from a successful seduction would all be too
hard. Perhaps he’d decided to kick her off this island after all, particularly given
her “make your own coffee” remark.

Of course, there was always the chance he wanted to pick up where they’d left off.

Helene pulled the plug and tried not to jog to her quarters. She had one sneaker on
and was pushing on the other when she hopped back out of the room. At the door, before
the gilt-framed mirror, Darius stood polishing off his fruit. He gestured toward the
opened doors.

“After you.”

They strolled down the long, winding path that led to the beach. But rather than turning
right toward the cave, he veered left. They took a track that meandered through soaring
columns of pine trees and overlooked the dazzling sun-kissed sea. Other than the wash
of waves, everything was hushed.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she said as they rounded a high shoulder.

“Not too quiet?”

She gave him a look. “Why would you say that?”

“Just remembering your lust for adventure.”

She plucked a wild blueberry from a bush. “If I lust for adventure now, it’s because
I’ve been deprived.” She popped the ripe berry into her mouth.

“But you like your life in the States?”

“Sure. But it’s nothing like this. Before graduating, all I seemed to do was study
or rack up hours at my part-time job. Oh, and try to convince my mother that in my
spare time I didn’t hang with the wrong crowd smoking weed or stealing cars. I swear,
when I’m a mom, kill me if I turn paranoid about every tiny thing.”

Kicking a pinecone, he chuckled.

“But this…” Closing her eyes, Helene turned her face toward the dappled sunshine and
inhaled the crisp woodsy scent. “This is pure freedom. A slice of heaven on earth.”

Particularly with Darius walking alongside of her and that wave of discomfort from
last night gradually easing.

When the path forked, he led her down a trail that ran toward another gorgeous bay.
While the shore was laced with scallops of sea-foam, the hillside and beach were filled
with a flower Helene knew but had never seen in such a cloud—everywhere she looked
she saw tall stalks, some flopping under their own weight, covered in little white
flowers.

“These would look amazing in a vase.”

“You won’t need many to fill one.” He leaned down. “Sea squills are big this time
of year.”

While he worked to snap some stems, Helene enjoyed watching how those large hands
managed all those teensy flowers. His arm was full when he snapped a final stem, but
instead of falling in with the others, this stalk fell forward toward the ground.
He grabbed for it. So did she. At the same moment they both caught the stalk, his
hand swept over and trapped hers.

Their eyes locked. Helene’s heart began thumping in her throat while the air between
them throbbed and seemed to draw their bodies closer. Then the tip of the sea squill
tickled her chin, and, breaking his gaze, Darius let go of his grip. When his hand
dropped away, Helene noticed something else embedded in the sand near her feet. Crouching,
she scooped it up.

“A cockleshell.” Darius sat beside her as he laid down the stalks. “They’re everywhere.”

Helene turned the shell over. “There’s a letter scratched on top.” Her fingertip traced
two lines that made a V. “I’ll keep this as a memento.” She added, “If that’s okay?”

“You don’t need to ask for a shell, Helene.”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re going to change your mind, I’d rather know now.”

“You’re not talking about a shell, are you? We’re talking about last night.” He exhaled.
“We can go back to how things were before we kissed.”

“Before you kissed me,” she pointed out.

“Or I could take you in my arms again right now.” A grin curved his lips as he bent
forward. “You know I want to.”

Toying with him, she tipped back. “How would I know that?”

His brows nudged together. “You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”

“Probably nowhere near hard enough.”

Like a big cat, he prowled over. One hand reached out and curled around her waist
while the tip of his nose circled hers. When he pressed a barely-there kiss on one
side of her mouth, her insides started to heat. Her heart began to race. Somehow she
kept a poker-face and heaved out a sigh.

“That won’t do it, I’m afraid.”

His lips traced around her jaw, one way then the other. Then his mouth captured hers
in a kiss that was light as well as steeped in meaning. As much as she remembered
their caresses last night, nothing compared with this. He was tasting her—enjoying
her—as if she were a freshly plucked peach.

Gradually, his mouth left hers. His voice was deep and graveled when he spoke. “This
time, I promise, there’ll be no turning back.”

“Can I think about it?” She feigned a pensive look. “When we’re back at the villa,
we can talk more.”

A dark determination filled his eyes. Next minute his hand snaked around her nape
a heartbeat before he stole another brief but blistering kiss. Then he play-slapped
her rump and threw out a challenge.

“I’ll race you.”