Page 27 of Dagger in the Sea

Our eyes locked.

And in that thunderous split second, my life as I knew it changed course forever.

9

Turo

I quickly regainedmy footing and steadied the woman in one move. Coppery brown waves settled around her face and down her shoulders. Gray blue eyes held mine, and the wind sucked out of me.

My eyes roved over her. The dark purple metallic color of her dress lit up her eyes. Silky bronzed skin, full, sensual lips, a long throat, and breasts that were threatening to spill from her very short shimmery dress with split sleeves. Golden skin peeked out from slits in the shoulders down to her elbows. She righted herself, found her balance, yet her fingers still clung to my arms, and I didn’t let go of her hip and arm either.

A smile teased her lips and those large eyes widened at me. “Ach,signómi!” Greek. A breathy, rich voice.

“Are you all right?” I asked, my voice stern as I released her.

“Yes. I’m so sorry,” she said. Her Greek accent was shaded by a slight British lilt. She was young, early twenties at most. A girl woman. “Forgive me, I did not mean to—” She smoothed long fingers over my shoulders and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. “—crash into you.”

A strange warmth filtered through me at her slightly wicked intonation, that silky smile.

“Oh, I’ve annoyed you,” she said, straightening her posture, sardonic amusement in her tone. “Pardon.”

That once familiar burn flared in my chest, between my legs. I adjusted my jacket, my shoulders shifting. “No, not annoyed. I was supposed to meet with someone,” I managed to say, smoothing down the side of my hair, “But…” My eyes darted around the space. Gennaro and his bodyguard were gone.

“Ah, she did not show up?” the girl asked.

“No, she was here,” I replied.

“Oh, she left? Had you argued? You were about to chase her and I—”

My eyes narrowed at her, a smirk forming on my mouth. “Something like that.”

“No. No.” She shook her head slightly.

“No?”

Her hands fell down my upper arms, lightly squeezing the muscles. “You are much too handsome to be with a woman who does not recognize your worth.”

“Do men always recognize your worth?” I quipped.

Her features tensed, an eyebrow arched high, and for just a moment she looked a decade older. “All men in Greece know my worth,” she said.

What the hell did that mean? There was acid in those words. Not hauteur or arrogance, but a cocktail of bitterness and resignation.

Her features suddenly relaxed, her eyes glittered at me. “Must I be with a man?”

There was something familiar about the graceful slant of her head as she chuckled, that lift of her chin, but I couldn’t place it.

She touched the edges of her shiny hair. “You are American, yes?”

“Yes.”

“On vacation?”

“Yes, on vacation.”

“Other than this evening’s disappointment, you are enjoying your visit?”

“Very much.”

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