Lie with Me. Cara Summers

date. He didn’t possess any of the Angelis psychic powers, but his instincts seldom failed him in business. Right now his gut was telling him that Philly was in some kind of trouble. Was he too late?

      In spite of the rugged terrain, the question had him stepping up his pace. He nearly stumbled when he saw the white cat burst out of the woods and streak across his path. Philly appeared next. There were pine needles in her hair and fear in her eyes. He barely had time to absorb those details before she crashed into him, threw her arms around him and held on for dear life.

      At last. Roman threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed her close against him. For the first time since he’d landed on Corfu, he felt his anxiety ease. For a few seconds, there was only the sound of Philly’s ragged breathing and the rustle of the wind in the trees. He’d never held her like this before, never felt that slender, firm body pressed to his. She fit perfectly.

      “There’s…a man,” Philly said, her breath hitching.

      “Did he hurt you?” Roman drew her away so that he could study her face. “Are you all right?”

      “Yes. I’m…” Her breath hitched again. “…fine. He’s on the beach. He’s…”

      “Shh,” he murmured. She wasn’t hurt, he told himself. Frightened, yes. Fury at whatever—or whoever—had scared her threatened to rise up, but he tamped it down. Something had happened on that beach, and as soon as she settled he’d get it out of her. Then he’d handle it. But for now, she was safe. She was here. For the first time he noticed that she’d cut her hair very short. The curls and even that straight sophisticated bob were gone. In the dappled light, filtering through the trees, she made him think of one of Shakespeare’s more ethereal woodland creatures.

      For a moment, neither of them spoke, but Roman felt the air around them grow thick and charged. Desire sprang from the same place the fury had a moment ago, and he couldn’t block it. Or he didn’t want to.

      “Why are you here?” she asked.

      For this. Unable to stop himself, Roman lowered his mouth to hers.

      Her lips parted. In surprise? In acceptance? Roman couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t care. Kissing her was a mistake, and there would be consequences. But he’d waited forever to really taste her. Just this once, he told himself. But once her flavor flooded his mouth, he knew that was a lie. And he could have sworn that the rocky ground beneath his feet shifted.

      She was sweeter than he’d imagined, but there was a bite beneath the sweetness. As he took the kiss deeper, he discovered a dark richness that he’d never experienced before. Then her scent wrapped around him and it wasn’t sweet at all. It was exotic, erotic, and it made him think of the Sirens who’d lured sailors to their deaths. For the first time, Roman understood why they would have gone willingly.

      AT LAST. That was the only coherent thought that formed in my mind once Roman pressed his mouth to mine. I felt as if I’d come home. Then he nipped at my bottom lip, changed the angle of the kiss, and I felt as if I’d just entered a brave, new world.

      The sound of the sea, so muted before, grew louder. The breeze so gentle just seconds ago whipped around us, a storm seemed to be brewing.

      I could feel everything so acutely. One of my hands was trapped against his chest and his heart hammered frantically against my palm. His taste—I’d imagined it so often, but it was so…potent. His touch burned my skin and sent thrill after thrill rippling through me. But it was his mouth I craved more of. It was so tempting that I took and took and took.

      Still, I wanted more. I strained closer. As if answering my demand, he slipped one hand between us and covered my breast. Pleasure so sharp that it bordered on pain arrowed through me.

      His other hand gripped my hip and lifted. Wrapping arms and legs around him, I scooted up until we were pressed center to center, heat to heat. It still wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get close enough. My heart was beating so hard, so fast that I was surprised it didn’t burst right out of me.

      Then suddenly, abruptly, he set me down on the path. I cried out in protest, but he took a quick step back.

      “No. I can’t. We can’t.”

      “What?” I gave my head a shake, trying to clear it. “What?”

      “I’m sorry. I never should have—” He broke off to run a hand through his hair. The other one was clenched at his side.

      Anger shot through me, and some of my brain cells clicked on. He was apologizing! Again! Suddenly I wasn’t just mad, I was furious. “You never should have what? Followed me here to Greece? Looked at me as if you wanted to eat me whole? Kissed me?”

      “It was a mistake.”

      This time it was pain that shot through me. But I pushed it away, fisted my hands on my hips and sent him a killing look. “A mistake?”

      Roman said nothing. He was staring at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. But I was seeing red. Over the years, I’d worked on controlling my temper, but at times it slipped away from me. Usually right after I saw red.

      I lunged at him and shoved him hard enough to make him fall on his butt. “What you are, Roman Oliver, is a big fat liar.”

      I wanted to jump him. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his head rattled. But if I went near him again, even for a moment, I was afraid that I would simply beg him to finish what he’d started.

      I summoned up all the pride I could muster and pointed a finger at him instead. “Maybe you think it was a mistake to kiss me. Your loss. And you can stuff your apology. But don’t you ever try to tell me that you think of me just as a sister.”

      I wanted to leave then. But my dramatic exit was impeded by the fact that Roman was blocking my path. His eyes never left mine as he rose and brushed off his pants. “Tell me about the man on the beach.”

      My anger drained away as all the terror and panic I’d felt ever since I’d seen the bullet send up that telltale spray of sand came flooding back. “He’s dead.” I glanced around, looking for Ariel, but there was no sign of her. And I couldn’t feel her, either. I had to hope she’d headed for the Villa Prospero and safety.

      Roman’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a dead man on the beach?”

      I lifted my chin. “I’ll show you.” Then, whirling, I started through the woods, retracing the route that the cat and I had taken up the hill. So I was able to execute my dramatic exit after all.

      TEN MINUTES LATER, I stood next to Roman on the white sand, exactly where the man in the wide-brimmed hat had been lying when Ariel had led me to him. Only he wasn’t there. The red stain caused by his blood was gone, too. There wasn’t even a depression in the sand where his body had been. Roman and I hadn’t spoken on the climb down the hill—not even when I’d slipped and fallen and he’d helped me up—but as much as I hated to admit it, I was glad that he was here. I felt a lot less spooked than I would have otherwise.

      “He’s gone,” I said, stating the all too obvious.

      “You’re sure this is the spot?”

      Since it was a legitimate question and there was no trace of skepticism in his tone, I kept the annoyance out of mine. “I’m positive.”

      “Any chance that there’s another little cove similar to this one and we angled down the wrong way?”

      I’d already asked myself that question. I pointed at the Castello. “There’s only one cove that’s flanked by a fourteenth-century fortress.”

      Roman glanced up at the towers. “Good point. And the man was lying right here?”

      I squatted. “His feet were about here, and he was medium height.”

      “Could you tell how he’d died?”

      I drew in a deep breath as the image of the man’s