Lie With Me / Destiny's Hand. Lori Wilde

up right now. I’ve never mentioned the C or the M word. I told you in your hospital room exactly what I wanted. I want to make love with you. Period.” Warming to my theme, I poked him again. “For two cents—”

      Just in time, I reined in my anger and clamped my teeth together. I’d nearly threatened to expose his identity to Miranda and insist that she find him a room in the village. Thank heavens my more rational side prevailed. Because I didn’t want Roman staying someplace in the village. I wanted him in my room tonight. I was going to take what the Fates were offering me. I was going to take Roman Oliver.

      Roman was looking at me as if he was seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “For two cents, you’d what?” he asked.

      “Knock you on your ass again,” I said.

      He chuckled then, and the sound had the rest of my temper draining away.

      “C’mon.” He took my arm and led me toward the lobby. “Demetria said that our room is ready, and we’ll want to freshen up. Drinks are served at seven, dinner at eight.”

      It was almost six. I figured that would give me plenty of time to implement stage one of my plan.

      HANDLING PHILLY was going to be a problem. Roman knew it in the same gut way that he always knew when a business deal threatened to go south. He stood on the small balcony that opened off the living room of Philly’s suite. The rooms were small but well appointed, and the view of the sea below was one of the best that the villa had to offer. The sun was lowering in the sky and the scent of lemons filled the air.

      But it was Philly’s scent that lingered in his mind. It had been haunting him ever since he’d kissed her. She’d used the shower first, so when it was his turn, each breath he’d inhaled had filled his mind with images of how it might feel to have her standing in the shower with him. He’d imagined running his hands over that slender body that he’d just begun to explore on the cliff path. Of molding her slick with soap against him. Hardness to softness. Heat to heat.

      Spinning the fantasy out in his head, he’d lifted her and once she’d wrapped her legs around him, he’d pressed her against the wall and entered her slowly, drawing out the pleasure for them both until her wet heat totally engulfed him.

      He’d very nearly come just thinking about it.

      Turning, he glanced at the closed door to the bedroom. She’d been throwing him one curveball after another ever since she’d walked into his hospital room and propositioned him. And he could admit now that it had been a mistake to follow her here—the result of acting on impulse—something he rarely did. And now he felt trapped. How could he leave her? She was in trouble, and so, however distant the connection might be, was her family.

      Someone had been murdered. Ionescu was a good man, competent. But there was no way to tell how successful the investigation would be or how long it would take. In the meantime, Philly had planted herself firmly in the middle of whatever was going on. If the young man she’d seen arguing with the dead man turned out to be her cousin, Ionescu would have a lot of questions for him. Then there were the cats.

      Though he’d done his best to calm her worries about them earlier, there was no way she’d butt out until she was sure that both of them were safe. There was no way she’d butt out, period. The one thing he’d noticed about Philly was that once she set her sights on a goal, she always achieved it. Since she’d finished her degree in psychology, she’d slowly but surely built up her pet-psychic business while juggling part-time jobs at a veterinary hospital and filling in as hostess at her family’s restaurant. Kit bragged to him about each new client she got.

      He glanced at his watch—a little after seven. She’d been getting dressed for over half an hour. He turned his attention back to the view. While Philly had been talking to Ionescu, Demetria had filled him in on the local legend that there was a kind of magic on the island that people could tap into. What you wished for could come true.

      Standing on the balcony and watching the sun lower in the sky, Roman could almost believe the legend was real. Demetria’s English was more enthusiastic than clear, but from what he’d pieced together it was based on the belief held by many that Corfu had been the inspiration for the setting of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Perhaps some of Prospero’s magic still lingered and that was why he was feeling so bewitched.

      Philly had made it pretty clear what she’d come to the island wishing for. Sex with a stranger. Recalling how she’d talked so casually of making love with some man she hadn’t even met yet, jealousy once again sliced through Roman with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. He was getting tired of the sensation and damn tired of wanting someone he’d told himself he couldn’t have.

      He turned when the door opened and watched Philly step into the room. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe and his mind emptied. The one stray thought that tumbled into the void was that this wasn’t the Philly he’d known for years. Either it was the new haircut or she’d done something to her eyes that made them look larger. And her lips were a siren red. But it was the dress—or the lack of it—that had his throat going dry. The silky material that dropped from thin straps at her shoulders to stop well above her knees and hugged every curve of her body.

      He had to work to keep from staring at her legs. Then she turned around and he gave up the battle. The dress was backless, and the combination of white skin and black dress had him thinking of magic again.

      “What do you think?” she asked. “The saleslady guaranteed this dress was male bait.”

      His only thought was that he would have to fight each and every one of those men off.

      “Well?” Philly prodded, turning in another circle. As she did, the dress flared and revealed more leg.

      “The saleswoman was right.” Roman was surprised that he’d actually formed words. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the door and gave her a wide berth as he led the way. If he stayed in this room one second longer, the fantasy he’d indulged in earlier during his shower would become a reality. Once in the hall, he drew in a deep breath and stifled an impulse to run. As they made their way down the hall, he hoped that the drinks on the terrace would include something much stronger than wine.

      “I THINK THIS PLACE is a magical spot, don’t you?” Roman and I were seated on the terrace, lingering over a final glass of wine and some pastries. The sun was sinking into the sea and the sky was streaked with shades of blue and rose.

      “The cuisine certainly is,” Roman said.

      I was sure that the food was excellent, but I’d hardly tasted any of it. Our conversation had passed the time pleasantly enough. We’d avoided the topics of the dead man and the sniper and my still-missing cousin Alexi. And talking to Roman earlier about the cats had eased my mind—I was convinced that Ariel was with her brother just as Pretzels would be with Peanuts if she were injured and in need of help.

      Instead Roman and I had talked about our work. I’d learned that he was on his way to Athens where he was negotiating a deal with a Greek millionaire and entrepreneur, Gianni Stassis, to buy into select privately owned hotels in Greece. The Villa Prospero was a prime example of the type of place they would approach with their offer.

      My contribution to the dinner conversation had been to describe some of the more eccentric animals and owners that I worked with. But all the time what I really wanted was dessert, and he was sitting directly across from me.

      Nerves jittered in my stomach, but I was determined to overcome them. I was just not going to let myself waste this opportunity. I ran my finger around the top of my wineglass, just the way I’d seen Linda Hamilton do it in a made-for-TV movie called Sex & Mrs. X. After dipping my finger into the glass, I raised it to my mouth and licked the wine off. In the film, Linda was a journalist who was writing a story on the most famous madam in Paris, and she’d picked up several tricks on how to attract and seduce a man. This particular one seemed to be working on Roman.

      Sexy seductress was not my usual role, but I was beginning to think that I might have a knack for it.