‘COFFEE TO FINISH?’
Nico’s question drew Marietta’s attention from the young couple sitting several tables away in the bistro’s outdoor courtyard. She looked across the table she and Nico shared, its surface crowded with empty platters and dishes from their delicious seafood lunch. ‘Si. Please.’
A moment later Josephine’s son, Luc, came to clear their table and take their coffee order. He was pleasant, relaxed and friendly—like the rest of his family, all of whom Marietta had met upon their arrival at the quaint seaside restaurant.
Nico’s presence had drawn the entire Bouchard clan out to greet them—Josephine and her husband Philippe from the kitchen, and her father, Henri, from the cool, shaded interior of the family-run bistro. The old man had smiled broadly and the two men had greeted each other with obvious warmth—surprising Marietta, until she’d reminded herself that people were multi-faceted and Nico was no different.
Until yesterday she would never have guessed he was a widower—a fact that stirred a pang of emotion every time she thought of it.
A burst of laughter from the young couple drew her gaze back to them. Tourists from the mainland, she guessed. The guy was good-looking, his girlfriend pretty—blonde and suntanned, her slender legs long and bare below a short summer skirt. Their faces were flushed, from the sun or maybe from the wine they were drinking, and they looked happy. Carefree. In love.
‘I spoke with Bruno this morning.’
She looked at Nico, so big and handsome here in the open-air courtyard, with its colourful potted flowers and its miniature citrus trees in terracotta planters dotted around the tables. Overhead an umbrella shaded them from the sun’s brilliance and beyond the broad span of his shoulders the water sparkled in the harbour. She couldn’t imagine him looking carefree—not with that constant air of alertness about him—but he did look more at ease than she’d ever seen him before. That rare smile—the one she’d caught her first glimpse of last night—had made a couple of stunning reappearances, and each time it had stopped the breath in her lungs.
‘Is there any news?’ she asked, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned it before now, and yet grateful that he hadn’t. For a while over lunch she’d felt like just another tourist, enjoying the island.
‘Your ex is in the clear.’
Relief surged, even though she hadn’t for a moment suspected Davide. ‘So...what now? Are there other leads?’
‘A couple.’
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she suppressed a flutter of annoyance. ‘I am going back in five days,’ she reminded him—because staying on the island beyond Friday and missing Ricci’s birthday was still a compromise too far.
Nico remained silent, evoking a frisson of disquiet. But then Luc arrived with their coffee and Josephine came out to ask if they’d enjoyed their meal.
‘Bellissimo!’ Marietta exclaimed.
Josephine beamed. ‘You will come and join us for dinner one evening before you leave, oui?’
‘Of course,’ she said, then, fearing she’d spoken out of turn, cast a quick glance at Nico.
But he simply murmured an assent that had Josephine looking pleased before she bustled back to the kitchen.
Marietta sipped her coffee and noticed the young couple get up to leave. The girl giggled and swayed, and her boyfriend caught her but he too was staggering. Grinning, he tossed some euros on the table and then guided the girl out onto the street towards a parked car—and Marietta’s belly clenched with alarm.
She dropped her cup into its saucer, reached across the table and grabbed Nico’s arm. ‘Stop them,’ she said urgently, and pointed with her other hand. ‘That couple—about to get into the red car. He’s drunk.’
Frowning, Nico glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Si. I was watching them.’ Panic tightened her grip on his arm. ‘Nico, please...’
He stood abruptly and strode out onto the street, calling something to the young man, who already had the driver’s door open. An exchange in French followed and the younger man’s demeanour morphed from jovial to belligerent—and then outright combative when Nico snatched his key away from him.
Nico, looking remarkably cool for a man who had just dodged a wildly thrown punch, pinned the tourist against the car, and then all of a sudden Luc and his father Philippe were there, helping to defuse the situation.
The tension eased from Marietta’s shoulders but an icy chill had gripped her and her hands shook. She curled them tight, closed her eyes for a minute.
‘Marietta?’
She looked up. Nico was crouched beside her chair, and she searched over his shoulder for the couple.
‘They’re inside,’ he told her. ‘Josephine’s encouraging them to stay, to drink some water and coffee, have something to eat.’
She nodded, grateful, and yet still the iciness inside her wouldn’t abate. She had been that girl once—young and beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her. If only someone had stopped her and her friends from getting into that car...
She shook her head. Dispelled the thought. She knew better than to dwell on if only. She picked up her cup, took a fortifying gulp of coffee, felt relieved when Nico stood. He returned to his chair but then studied her, and her skin heated and prickled despite the chill in her veins.
‘You did a good thing.’
‘We did a good thing,’ she corrected.
He shrugged. ‘You were the one who noticed them—and you were right. The kid’s way over the limit.’
Marietta wrapped her hands around her cup. Stared into the dark brew. ‘I couldn’t watch them get into that car.’
Nico was silent a moment. ‘Your accident?’
She looked up. ‘You know about that?’
‘Only what your brother told me—that your paralysis resulted from a car crash.’
Her stomach gave a hard, vicious twist. It always did when she recalled her fragmented memories of that night. The mangled wreckage and broken glass. The whimpers of the girl dying beside her. Her own pain and then—worse—no pain at all. Nothing but numbness and fear.
Her grip on her cup tightened. ‘I was young and stupid...drinking at a party Leo hadn’t wanted me to attend. I knew my friend had had too much to drink when he offered me a ride.’ She grimaced. It was never easy to admit your own stupidity. ‘I still got into that car.’
‘And your friend...?’ Nico asked quietly.
‘He and the two girls in the car with us died.’ She pushed her cup aside, her mouth too bitter suddenly for coffee. ‘I was the only survivor.’
‘I’m sorry, Marietta.’
Nico’s voice was deep and sincere, but she told herself the warmth spreading through her belly was from the coffee, not the effect of that rich, soothing baritone. ‘I made a mistake and I live with the consequences of that mistake every day,’ she said. ‘If I can stop someone else from suffering a similar fate, I will.’
Because no one deserved to suffer what she had. To have their life so drastically altered by one foolish, split-second decision. To have to face up to the bitter realisation that their future was going to be vastly different from the one they’d envisaged. She’d always wanted a career in art, and she’d achieved that, but as a girl she had dreamed of other things, too—love, marriage, children—things she’d eventually had to accept were no longer in her future.
Nico’s blue eyes were unfathomable, as always, and suddenly she regretted opening up to him. This man knew so much about her already, and she knew next to nothing about him—especially his past. She’d known he’d served in the French Foreign Legion—that alone was fascinating—but knowing he was a widower... It touched something inside her. Made her want to see beneath that tough, formidable exterior. And yet she couldn’t imagine she ever would. Nico guarded his privacy like a fortress—and he’d made it clear two-way sharing wasn’t on the agenda.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘the accident was a long time ago. I try not to dwell on the past.’ She brightened her voice. ‘Lunch was lovely. Thank you. Can we go and see the old ruins now?’
His thick brows drew together. ‘You really want to see a crumbling pile of ancient stones?’
‘I thought we were doing what I want to do today?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You are a stubborn woman, Marietta Vincenti.’
She raised her chin. ‘So I’ve been told.’
* * *
Nico stepped onto the terrace with a bottle and two glasses in his hands and a strong sense of déjà vu.
Tonight, however, the bottle was an expensive Burgundy rather than cognac, and the mood in the air—if not entirely tension-free—was an improvement on yesterday.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent almost an entire day with one woman. Marietta was beautiful and he couldn’t deny she made his blood heat, but she also fascinated him on a level most women didn’t. She was strong. A woman who’d fought her way back from a major life-altering trauma—a survivor.
She was different from the women whose company he normally sought and that was the attraction, he assured himself. Nothing more.
And he couldn’t deny that today had been...pleasurable.
She had charmed the entire Bouchard clan, including old Henri, and though the incident with the young couple had seemed to shake her she’d bounced back—enough to demand he take her to see the old fortress.
Her fascination with the ruins had bemused Nico. The ancient stronghold that had once defended the island against marauding pirates was, to his eye, no more than a dull, crumbling edifice, and yet Marietta had taken the time to snap photos from every vantage point her wheelchair had allowed her to reach.
Then she had asked him to piggyback her up the spiral staircase of the stone tower to see the view.
It had been torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
Those soft, lush breasts pressed into his back. Her slender arms looped around his neck. Her warm breath misting over his nape.
He had thought that lifting her into and out of his Jeep throughout the day had tested his control. Carrying her on his back, all that feminine warmth and vanilla and strawberry scent enveloping him, had been a hundred times more challenging.
She was wheeling out of the house now, a platter of cheeses, olives and cured meats expertly balanced on her lap. A bread basket filled with the fresh mini-baguettes Josephine had given them this afternoon already sat on the table.
A minute later she was piling thick slices of cheese into a baguette. ‘I shouldn’t be hungry after our enormous lunch,’ she said. ‘It must be all the sea air.’
Nico watched her bite into the baguette. He liked it that she wasn’t overly dainty in the way she ate. She tackled her food with enthusiasm. Appreciation. A sign of her Italian heritage, perhaps?
‘The air quality here is pristine,’ he said. ‘I crave it when I’ve been in Paris or New York or any major city for too long.’
She swallowed. ‘Do you have homes in Paris and New York?’
‘Apartments.’
She nodded—as if that didn’t surprise her. Her head tilted to one side. ‘So, what does a man who runs a multi-billion-dollar global security company do with his time off?’
He fingered the stem of his glass. Tried not to notice how her mouth wrapped around the end of her baguette. ‘That depends,’ he said finally.
‘On what?’
‘On what kind of recreation I’m in the mood for.’
He enjoyed the sudden bloom of pink in her cheeks more than he should have.
Her gaze thinned. ‘Holidays,’ she said. ‘Where do you go on holiday?’
‘I don’t.’
She frowned. ‘You don’t take holidays?’
‘This is where I come to unwind.’
‘Alone?’
‘Oui,’ he said. ‘Alone.’
Her eyes widened. ‘So you don’t bring your...friends here?’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Do you mean to ask me if I bring my lovers here, Marietta?’
The colour in her cheeks brightened. She picked up her wine glass, took a large sip and sat back. ‘Do you not get lonely here on your own?’
He shrugged. ‘I like the quiet.’ Which wasn’t strictly true. He craved the isolation more than the quiet itself. The disconnection from the world and the people in it.
Marietta looked towards the ocean and the setting sun. Half a dozen shades of orange and gold—colours she would no doubt give fancy names to—streaked the sky. ‘It is peaceful here. And beautiful.’ Her gaze returned to his. ‘Are there no other places you’d like to visit, though? Things you’d like to see?’
He shifted in his chair. ‘I’ve seen more things in this world than you can imagine,’ he said. ‘And most of them I never wish to see again.’
He heard something dark and bleak in his own voice then. Marietta studied him, and he shrugged off the notion that she could somehow see the darkness inside him...the emptiness he’d never been able to fill since losing his wife.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I haven’t seen enough of the world. There’s plenty of places I’d like to see...things I’d like to do.’
‘Such as...?’
‘The pyramids in Egypt.’
His brows dropped. Was she kidding? ‘Do you have any idea how volatile that region is?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘Isn’t the whole world “volatile” these days?’
‘Oui. Which is why travellers need to be more selective about the destinations they choose. More safety conscious.’
‘I agree. But no one can live in a protective bubble, can they? If people did they’d never go anywhere, never do anything. Living involves risk, whether we like it or not.’
‘Risk can be minimised through sensible choices.’
Marietta sighed. ‘You sound like my brother.’
‘That’s because Leo is a smart man,’ he clipped out.
She flicked her hair over one shoulder. She wore another halterneck top tonight, this one red and floaty and partially see-through. Nico kept his gaze above her collarbone.
‘None of that diminishes my desire to see the pyramids,’ she said. ‘In fact it doesn’t change anything on my wish list.’
His brows sank lower. ‘You have a list?’
‘Si.’
‘Tell me about it.’
Her chin notched up a fraction. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’
‘Tell me,’ he commanded.
Something flashed across her face. Annoyance, he guessed. She took a slow sip of her wine, fuelling his impatience.
‘Okay—I want to do a tandem skydive.’
Mon Dieu.
‘No.’
The word shot from his mouth of its own volition.
Her eyebrows rose. ‘I don’t need anyone’s permission, Nico.’
His jaw tightened. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘So is getting into a car and driving on the autostrada,’ she said, and the significance of that statement didn’t escape him. ‘Besides...’ She flung a hand in his direction. ‘I bet you’ve jumped out of a plane plenty of times. Don’t elite soldiers do that sort of thing?’
The reference to his soldiering days gave Nico only brief pause. His service in the French Foreign Legion was no secret. The Legion’s flame-like emblem and motto—Honneur et Fidélité—were inked on his upper left arm and had been for eighteen years. He had knocked on the Legion’s door—literally, because that was the only way to gain entry—on the day of his eighteenth birthday, gone on to serve his five contracted years, and then got the hell out.
No doubt he’d mentioned his service to her brother at some point, though Nico never spoke of those years in any detail. Trekking through humid, insect-ridden jungles and dry, shelterless deserts, defending himself and his unit against lethal attacks from rebel forces and random insurgents, policing war zones where their allies had been indistinguishable from their enemies and they hadn’t known who to trust—none of it made for idle conversation.
Still, those five years had put into perspective the many childhood injustices he’d suffered as a ward of the French state—had made them seem almost trivial. Insignificant. And, yes, during his time as a legionnaire—and as a military contractor—he’d jumped out of a few planes.
‘Irrelevant, Marietta. What else is on your list?’
She sipped her wine, took her time again. ‘A hot air balloon ride. Let me guess,’ she added. ‘That’s dangerous, too.’
‘You think floating two thousand feet above the ground in an oversized picnic basket is safe?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘This from the man who flies a helicopter?’
He scowled. No comparison. His chopper was a solid machine, designed and built by aeronautical specialists to exacting safety standards. A hot air balloon was nothing but yards of silk filled with...hot air. It would be a frosty day in hell when he climbed into one of those things.
‘Is there anything remotely sensible on your list?’
Her lips curved, as if she were actually enjoying this conversation. ‘Sensible isn’t any fun, is it? But, yes—there are things you’d probably consider low-risk.’
‘Like?’
‘Swimming in the ocean...’ That little smile continued to play about her mouth. ‘Naked.’
And just like that, the steady, persistent hum of awareness in his blood intensified—until he felt as if a high-voltage current arced through his veins.
‘Somewhere private, of course,’ she said, and then her eyes widened as if she’d had an enlightening thought. ‘Your beach would be perfect!’
All at once an image of Marietta floating naked in the clear seawater at the foot of his cliff flashed into his head. Heat and lust ignited in his belly, along with the certain knowledge that she did feel the same pull of attraction he did. He could see it—in the sudden hectic colour in her cheeks. In the way her eyes glittered and held his in silent challenge.
She was provoking him.
Playing with fire.
He lunged up out of his chair, strode to her side and seized her chin. The dark look he gave her should have subdued and intimidated. Instead her lips parted, soft and inviting, as though she were anticipating...a kiss.
Dieu.
He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to crush his mouth onto hers and let her feel the full, unleashed power of the lust she was deliberately inciting. Wanted to punish her for dangling temptation in front of him like an enticing treat he didn’t deserve.
He held himself rigid. Controlled. ‘Be very careful what you wish for, Marietta.’
And then he released her and stalked into the house, back to his study—where he should have stayed in the first place.
* * *
Nico stood near the edge of the vertiginous cliff and stared down at the small crescent-shaped beach he had never set foot upon.
On this side of the island the coastline was rocky, precipitous in places, but here and there the cliffs formed inlets with sandy sheltered beaches and calm channels of crystal blue water ideal for swimming.
Yesterday he had told Marietta the steps carved into the ancient rock face might be eroded, but in truth they appeared sturdy—probably as safe now as they had been a century ago. Until this morning he’d never thought about using them. Had never given the beach more than a passing thought.
Had he been in a war zone, he’d have cast his trained soldier’s eye over the isolated cove and deemed it a death trap—the perfect location to fall prey to ambush—but he wasn’t a soldier any longer and the island wasn’t a war zone.
And he wasn’t standing here right now thinking about danger hotspots and military manoeuvres.
He was thinking about the woman he had wanted to kiss last night and her damned wish list. About the sand down there on his beach and whether it was coarse or soft. About the temperature of the water—and Marietta’s skin... How she would feel pressed against him if they swam together naked.
Ridiculous, insane thoughts.
Thoughts he would not normally entertain.
But, by God, she’d got under his skin. Ignited a hunger that hadn’t relinquished its grip but rather had burned hotter, fiercer, during the night.
Did she understand what kind of man she was toying with? What sex with him would mean and—more importantly—what it wouldn’t mean?
He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.
He was not a tender, romantic man. He was an ex-soldier with a grisly past. A man who had loved and lost and vowed he would never again tumble into that soul-destroying abyss. His liaisons with women served one rudimentary purpose, and for that reason he chose experienced women. Never innocents.
And yet Marietta was no ingénue. She was smart and confident. Strong and resilient. A woman who didn’t fear the world, who understood what it meant to accept the consequences of her actions. A woman who knew what she wanted.
Did she want him?
He closed his eyes, searched the dark, twisted labyrinth of his conscience. Which would make him the better man? Indulging her? Or keeping his distance?
He opened his eyes and studied the ancient steps.
Were they as solid as they appeared?
He pulled his hands from his pockets and moved closer to the cliff’s edge. Only one way to find out.