Full Exposure Read online

  “I could eat.”

  She headed for the kitchen, relieved to have a task. Without the stress of Dante injured and bleeding, she was able to uncork a bottle of white wine. Ariana poured a glass to soothe her stomach and nerves and went out to refill Dante’s.

  He was leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed. Good, he should rest.

  She tried not to dwell on what would have happened if he hadn’t hit the brakes when she’d propositioned him. She didn’t merely desire a hot affair. She craved an emotional connection with Dante. Needed to know what made him tick. How he thought. What he felt.

  He was still guarded around her. Wasn’t yet ready to share the mysteries hidden inside his heart.

  Ariana sighed. Maybe not ever.

  She completed the grisly chore of mopping up his blood, and then retrieved her notebook and iPod from beneath the table. Dante wasn’t the only one not talking. Though she’d come to a stunning realization about her feelings for him, she still clung to her secrets. Harbored uncertainty.

  Their clothing was finally dry, and she brought her cargo pants and shirt into the bathroom. Tucking her notebook and iPod safely into her hip pocket was small solace.

  She tiptoed past Dante, into the kitchen. She chopped a salad of wild greens from the garden. Boiled eggs, olives and crumbled cheese went on top. A dressing of olive oil and vinegar accented with herbs made her feel quite accomplished.

  Dante’s sinfully long eyelashes drifted up as she approached with the plates. “You changed clothes.”

  “Stop looking disappointed. I like being able to breathe.” She inclined her head. “Dinner is served.”

  He smiled. “Looks delicious.”

  “Thanks for not complaining about my culinary skills.”

  “When you have gone without, you do not complain about food.”

  “Have you often been hungry, Dante?”

  “Sì.” He slowly straightened. “When I was young.”

  “After losing your parents, that must have been traumatic.” She sat beside him, passed his plate. “Would it help to talk about it?”

  He propped his bandaged arm stiffly on his thigh as he accepted his food. “I have never seen the point in rehashing the past.”

  “Keeping your emotions bottled up isn’t healthy.” She touched his hand before releasing his plate. “I’m a good listener.”

  He simply ate doggedly, as if he wasn’t hungry but knew he needed sustenance.

  She picked at her salad and watched him wrestle with the decision. Knew when the tension eased from his broad shoulders and he set his empty plate aside that he’d made his peace.

  He inhaled. “Zia Ines worked like a dog, and we were barely making it when she got sick. She bartered away her few family heirlooms, but the antique dealer cheated her. We were left destitute.” Dante lowered his glance to his injured arm. “She needed food. Medicine. I was twelve. And desperate.”

  Her throat stung with empathy, making eating impossible. “That’s when you first got involved with criminal activity.”

  “Sì. I hustled a job gutting fish at the market, but it did not pay much. And I could not attend school.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I wanted something better. Wanted more than to spend every waking hour of my life eking out a miserable existence. I started as a pickpocket. Then the Camorra offered me a great deal of money to run a few errands.”

  No. She gripped her plate. “You work for the Camorra?”

  “Not anymore.” He stared into the fire. “I don’t condone the way they operate, nor do I like it. However, at times, I am forced to deal with them.”

  “I see. You’re independent now.” A trickle of relief diluted her anxiety. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

  “Do not thank me—” His breathing was jagged. “You aren’t shocked to hear these things?”

  “After what happened to my father, I don’t trust the cops any more than I do the criminals.”

  He slowly turned his head and looked at her. The grief in his eyes staggered her. “There is much more than you know. Things I cannot say.”

  “I realize that.” She abandoned her plate. “I’ve never suffered hunger or deprivation. I have no right to judge.” She covered his uninjured hand with hers. “You had to survive.”

  Wonder washed sorrow from his face. “You don’t condemn me.”

  “You’re a good man, Dante.” She squeezed his fingers. “I haven’t been poor, but I understand what it’s like to have your back to the wall. I know about feeling desperate to help your loved ones.”

  “Because of your father.”

  “Yes.” Taut lines around his mouth told her he was repressing both physical and emotional suffering. Dante understood her drive to clear her father’s name because he, too, had been hurt. Her heart ached for both the hungry boy he had been and the man enduring quiet pain. “I’m sorry you and your aunt had such a rough time.”

  “Destino. It is the way of life. Things do not change by wishing them to be different.”

  Apprehension niggled. “I get the impression that what you’re not saying is more important than your words.”

  “You are perceptive.” His watchful eyes studied her, much as he might appraise a painting or a sculpture to assess authenticity. “When you are unsure—and the doubts will come, bella—listen to your heart. It speaks the truth.” He turned his hand palm to palm with hers and held on tightly. “Look with your soul-sight. Intuito. What do you call it…intuition. It will lead you to do what is right. Promise me.”

  He was trembling, and cold fear rolled over her. “Dante, what are you planning?”

  “Promise, Ariana.” His low voice vibrated with intensity.

  “All right, I promise.”

  “Grazie. You are a woman of your word.” His thumb stroked her hand. “Now I ask you to be honest with me.”

  Apprehension surged back. “I’ll try my best.”

  “How far will you go to protect your father’s name?”

  She stared at their linked fingers. His hand was so large, hers fit completely into his palm. She knew from experience his hands were capable of shattering tenderness. And shattering violence. Could she say the same about hers? “Megaera asked me that question.”

  “And your reply?”

  Her glance jerked upward to the fierce intent on his face. “Are you asking if I’d break the law?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Would you?”

  She couldn’t be sure. And that scared her more than any darkness she’d confronted in him. At least he was honest about his choices. “Would you judge me?”

  “The wrong side of the law is not a life I would choose for anyone.” Compassion glinted in his gaze. “I would not judge you, mia cara. I would bleed for you.”

  Her heart turned over. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Don’t want you to. It’s my choice.”

  She carried plates to the kitchen. The wind slapped the cottage, whispered dark warnings. Impending doom chilled her with foreboding, and she hurried back to huddle near the flames. She turned to study Dante. “How are you feeling?”

  His eyes were weary, his mouth drawn. “I am fine.”

  “You’re beat. And hurting. You should go to bed.” When his sharp glance snagged hers, she smiled ruefully. “Alone.”

  “So, you have made your decision.” He got up and walked into the bathroom. After she heard him climb into bed, she brought him two more ibuprofen with a glass of water. He thanked her, and she felt his gaze linger on her as she left.

  She washed dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Then she curled on the settee in front of the fireplace where she could see Dante sleeping in the next room in case he needed her.

  Ariana decoded files for several hours, growing increasingly troubled. The Greek culture minister’s name popped up. Derek had done business with him for years…but the phone number and address weren’t the official ones. She also found confusing discrepancies in inventory and sales.

  Misgivings assailed her.
What if she was wrong? What if her investigation proved her father guilty? No one would know. She wouldn’t have to turn him in. Her fingers crumpled the page. No. He was innocent. Her glance shot to the slumbering Dante. And until she had the evidence, she would keep her secrets.

  When the letters blurred, she gave up. She carried a lamp into the bedroom and set it on the nightstand. Fully clothed, she eased into bed beside Dante. He stirred, rolled on his side toward her. She studied his sleeping face, warmed by lamplight. His color was good, his breathing steady. Full, dark lashes rested on his cheeks and his sensual lips were slightly parted. Free from tension, pain and his usual fierce expression, he looked younger. Vulnerable.

  Tenderness softened her heart. She didn’t believe he was a hard-core criminal, any more than she believed her father was a smuggler. Circumstances had put Dante in a difficult position, but he had the smarts and resolve to change his life. Whether pain, wine, or the combination had loosened him up, he’d finally opened a part of himself to her. Or maybe he’d finally begun to trust her.

  “Sogni d’oro,” she whispered. They hadn’t shared physical intimacy, but he’d given her the most valuable gift of all: emotional intimacy.

  She smiled at Dante sleeping peacefully beside her. Golden dreams. It was a start.

  ARIANA AWOKE EARLY. Her sleeping Roman god looked fine. Okay, he looked scrumptious. Pleased that he showed no signs of a fevered flush or rapid respiration, she slipped out of bed. She lit the fire and brewed a pot of coffee before she heard him moving around.

  He prowled into the kitchen barefoot, a stubbled outlaw wearing nothing but jeans. His hair was mussed, his caramel espresso eyes languid with sleep. Acres of hard muscle rippled as he yawned and stretched. “Buon giorno. I missed seeing you when I awoke.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Stiff, but not enough to hinder me.” He rotated his shoulder, flexed his forearm. “What is left for breakfast?

  They consumed a hasty breakfast of canned peaches and plain oatmeal with honey for sweetener. Dante murmured appreciation as he spooned up his cereal. “I like this wild honey. It tastes like summer meadows and sunshine.”

  “What a beautiful description.”

  He actually flushed before returning his concentration to his cereal. Her tough guy didn’t often show his sensitive side, though she’d caught intriguing glimpses before. He hadn’t won her heart with charm and sonnets, but selflessness and courage. As she’d learned the hard way, sometimes charm could be faked.

  But courage was proven under fire.

  He hastily consumed his breakfast, telling her they were running out of time. He could feel the storm brewing and vowed to finish the boat this morning. Personally, she’d be fine if Titanic II never got done. Call her a coward, but she was leery about tackling the ocean in such a wreck.

  The still air hung ominously in the courtyard, and tasted heavy with dampness. Gray-green clouds bruised the sky, and the ocean roared in restless anticipation. The goat and chickens huddled around the shed.

  Dante had made good progress before he’d sliced his arm. They finished the hull repair and then slathered the bottom and sides of the boat with pitch. Her anxiety built with each brushstroke of the pungent sap, but Ariana kept her misgivings quiet. Dante knew how she felt, and she counted on him not to recklessly endanger her life.

  He pondered the horizon for several moments after they’d completed the task. “I think the weather will hold long enough for us to reconnoiter the beach.” He retrieved two fishing poles from inside the shed and rigged them with lines. “And secure more food.” When he started to dig grubs from beneath a rotted log, she fled to the house to pack a lunch.

  Worry weighted her shoulders as they descended the slope to the cove. The closer down the beach she trudged to the churning water, the more rampant her fear. How would Dante navigate to civilization? What if they got lost and died in an agony of thirst and starvation? Or another storm hit and swamped the boat? She shuddered. She’d be a huge liability to Dante, and he could die attempting to save her.

  “My audacious librarian is too quiet.” He propped the poles against a boulder and shrugged off the pack containing the food.

  “And you’re complaining?”

  He caught her hand, tugged her close. “You are tormented by doubts.”

  She ducked her chin. “I’m scared.”

  “Yet I know you will step into the boat when the time comes. That is true courage.” He wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug. “Release your worries for now. Concentrate on catching our dinner.”

  “Dinner it is.” She squared her shoulders. Destino. Worrying wouldn’t help.

  He impaled a fat, slimy grub on his hook, and she nearly lost her breakfast. “I don’t think so.” Clutching her pole, she backed away. “I’m not exactly a frontier gal.”

  “Cosa?” He chuckled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’ll try this, instead.” She tore off a small piece of tinfoil she’d used to wrap their lunch and twisted it around her hook. “Fish like shiny things.”

  He grinned. “Va bene. We’ll see how it works in practical application.”

  “Dare to put your money where your ego is, tough guy?”

  “A wager?” His grin went wide and wicked. “How certain are you?”

  She couldn’t help but return his smile. “I’m not sure I like that evil glint in your eye, but I’m game. Are you willing to pull dish duty for the rest of our stay?”

  “Non c’è problema.” Long legs spread, he tilted his head and tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “And you, bella? Do you dare pay with a kiss?”

  Well, she’d strolled into that trap. Her dismayed gaze shifted to his mouth, and her breath jammed. “I’d prefer something less costly.”

  His lips curled into a seductive smile. “Whose ego is bankrupt now?”

  That smile and the knowing glimmer in his eyes fired her competitive streak. He thought she would back down? Wrong. She planted her hands on her hips. “Bring it on, signore.”

  His confident laugh made her snatch up her pole and stride to the surf’s edge. Ariana cast her hook into the foamy waves and scowled. He’d known exactly what he was doing. She’d snapped at his bait faster than a hungry sea bass, and he’d reeled her in.

  He sauntered up beside her and flipped his hook into the water. “You can only be irritated if you think you will lose.”

  His teasing was impossible to ignore, his rare playful mood contagious. Over the next few hours, they fished—without luck—snacked on the last of the smoked pork and crackers and talked.

  Dante ramped up his considerable charisma. If he was on a mission to boost her spirits, it worked. She delightedly discovered his childhood hadn’t been all dreary, and he amused her with boyhood misadventures.

  She was fascinated by the changing facets of Dante’s personality. The enigmatic, guarded man she’d first met was the part of him that kept him alive when he worked in the shadows. But now he let her past his defenses, let her inside and showed her the humor, compassion and integrity in his heart.

  And made her care about him all the more.

  Neither caught a fish, in spite of their competitive rivalry. Dante theorized the sea creatures had gone deep to ride out the coming storm.

  So, no fresh seafood dinner. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to kiss him. At least that’s what she convinced herself as she pulled in her line.

  As Dante reeled in his line for the final time, it jerked. “I snagged one!”

  She watched him reel in a small flopping fish and snorted. “A little minnow hardly counts.”

  He gravely examined his tiny catch. “I have heard size does not matter.”

  His overly innocent countenance made her laugh. She’d bet a thousand kisses he’d never had that said to him. “Converting centimeters to inches loses something in translation.”

  “It’s enough to win.” Grinning, he squatted and released his wriggling captive back into the
ocean, then washed his hands.

  “I’m not a welsher.” She steeled herself. “You won, I pay.”

  His warm glance stroked over her. “Should I be insulted that you appear less than enthusiastic?” He chuckled. “I didn’t say I required immediate payment.” He gathered up their poles and the pack and strode toward the path.

  She followed. Wonderful. Along with the approaching storm, she had a kiss hanging over her head. Her pulse sped. Kissing Dante on impulse was vastly different from anticipating his embrace.

  He waited for her at the base of the hill and clasped her hand in his as they toiled up the incline. No matter how roughly the wind buffeted her, his touch made her feel safe. Anchored.

  Almost to the top, she stopped to catch her breath and looked up at Dante. He’d set down the poles and pack and stood above her at the crest of the bluff, staring out to sea. The wind tugged at his dark locks and fanned out his long coat. A crack of lightning speared the horizon, chiseled his masculine profile in seductive shadow. Thunder rumbled, and he raised his face to the storm-clad sky, exposing the strong column of his throat. He spread his arms and leaned into the lashing wind as if he could harness the storm and ride it to freedom. Powerful and confident, Zeus calling down thunder and lightning.

  Ariana’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, and she forgot to breathe. He’d sprung from this untamed land. Wild and dangerous, he would hate being caged. Chafe against restraints. She tried to picture her dangerous outlaw in a suit, parked in an office or carpooling little girls to ballet practice—and failed wretchedly. Settling down would bore him into misery.

  For him, his job wasn’t only about money. Attempting to change him could destroy the man he was.

  Dante looked down at her and gave her a smile of pure joy. He loved the risk. Realization slammed her, and pain exploded inside her, sending her reeling.

  And she loved him.

  His eyes glowed with fierce pleasure as he reached out his big hand to pull her into his realm. To experience the storm from his perspective.

  Her heart lodged in her throat and she swallowed around the ache. She wavered, hesitant to leave the sheltered hillside and step into the gale’s sharp teeth. The Fates had brought them together. To help each other. And possibly hurt each other.