 
# Love's Heat

# Italian Nights
## Book One

# Ophelia Sikes

Copyright © 2014 by Ophelia Sikes /

Minerva Webworks LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ophelia Sikes.

Book design by Ophelia Sikes

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Printing: June 2014

\- 5 –

Half of all author's proceeds from this book benefits battered women's shelters.

Set Yourself Free.

Love's Heat

# Chapter 1

" _I ache with the eagerness of love's heat."_

\-- Vittoria Colonna, Carnal Knowledge (1492-1547)

I gazed in awe at the Roman Coliseum, its arches encompassing us in an elegant, ancient ring. To think that two thousand years ago slaves had struggled and died within these stone walls, the crowd cheering them on with wild abandon. Here, in this very spot that I stood, the emperors sat, dressed in luxurious silks, the finest delicacies from around the known world arrayed in golden bowls by their side.

I turned to my sister, brushing my long, blonde hair from my face. "Megan, isn't this amazing?"

Megan nodded, her phone held out before her as she turned to get a panoramic shot. Her hair was as blonde as mine, but she wore it in a spiky crop. "You said it, Hannah. Just like in _Gladiator_. And then the crowd would give its thumbs-up signal to save the guys they liked."

The tour guide looked over with a smile. Her grey eyes twinkled as she shook her head. "It was the opposite," she corrected. "They'd put their thumbs up for death. They were a brutal lot back then. Women and men both crowded the seats around us to watch slaves be torn apart by lions. They'd use Christians as human torches to light the night."

Megan shivered. "Seems like a nightmare. And to think it all happened right here." She looked over to the large cross at the opposite side of the oval, which legend said had been put in place to commemorate the many Christians persecuted. "Maybe it's good to keep history alive so we remember not to repeat it."

"You're the history major," I pointed out. "That's your job."

She grinned. "And you're music. So you can write songs to celebrate the present."

I shrugged. "Right now I'd just be happy to find a job. Working at Whole Foods isn't awful, but it's not what I thought I'd be doing with my life."

Megan swept her gaze around the weathered stonework. "Let's not worry about that right now. Now that we're both out of college, Mom was nice enough to take us on this trip as our graduation present. Let's savor it!"

I smiled. "You're absolutely right. We're in Rome. We're about to get on a cruise ship to explore the Mediterranean for eleven full days. This is a trip to treasure."

Our tour guide waved her hand in the air, moving effortlessly in her thigh-high, spike-heeled leather boots. "And we're walking!"

* * *

The Trevi fountain was more spectacular than any movie had captured. Gushing water sparkled in the April sunshine while crowds of tourists from Japan, France, Germany, and countless other countries jostled for a place along its edge. iPhones, Droids, tablets, and numerous other cameras were held high to catch its imagery.

Megan nudged me in the side. "You have to toss coins in, over your shoulder," she instructed me. "It's supposed to bring you good luck in love."

"I could use some of that," I agreed. I'd had a series of casual boyfriends during college, but once I graduated, they all moved on to New York City or L. A. to seek their fortune. I'd stayed behind in Miami. And somehow I just hadn't met up with someone who interested me in the past year since I graduated. Lots of club-hoppers out to get drunk every night, but nobody you'd want to wake up next to in the morning.

Megan dug into her pocket, coming out with a trio of euros. "Here, use these."

I chuckled. "I think you're supposed to use cheap coins."

She winked at me. "We've just graduated. We're on the trip of a lifetime. And you deserve a man who has it all." Her eyes swept the crowd. "Maybe we'll find you an Italian knight."

I laughed. "Oh, right, and take him home with me in my suitcase?"

Her eyes danced. "You never know!" She placed the coins in my hand. "If you're going to have any chance of success, you have to at least try."

We wriggled our way through the crowd to the front railing. The massive fountain was even more impressive right up close; I could feel the power in the surging water - the history in the ancient carved stone. How many other hopefuls had stood in this very spot, dreaming of timeless love?

I turned so my back was to the fountain and closed my eyes. The hubbub of the crowd faded away, and only the rush of the water sounded in my ears. I could have been in the Renaissance period, a young noblewoman in an elegant gown of crimson and gold. I could be standing here desperately wishing my father would betroth me to someone at least younger than he was.

I tossed the coins over my shoulder and opened my eyes.

There.

He was standing near the back wall of the plaza, halfway between the Ferrari clothing store and Colors of Benetton. His sun-bleached hair, an alluring shade of tawny brown, caught the light just so. His skin was nicely tanned. He was tall and well built, as if he led an active life.

But it was his eyes that had me catch my breath. They were dark amber, full of depth, rich with meaning.

And they were staring right at me.

I felt the connection like a powerful wave cascading through my body, one which spread into every toe, down every strand of hair. He was within me and part of me, and I would never be free of him. Even if I never saw him again, this moment would be seared in my memory.

Megan pulled my arm. "Hey, the tour guide is ready to move on. We wouldn't want to be left behind here, as lovely as it is."

I wanted nothing more than to stay here. Screw the tour - I could take a taxi back to the hotel. This Italian god before me was a once-in-a-lifetime blessing. I wasn't going to miss my chance.

A tour group of young boys wearing matching tangerine caps streamed across my path, a trio of adults shepherding them along with the patience of saints. I bit my lip in frustration, waiting for them to move through, before pushing my way up the steps toward the main level. I barely heard my sister's protestations behind me as I came up ... looking ...

He was nowhere to be seen.

My heart fell. I spun in place, desperately seeking those eyes amongst the elderly women with crocheted shawls, the young girls with matching pink gelatos, and the trio of police attentively sweeping their eyes across the mobs.

He had vanished.

My sister appeared at my side, pulling on my hand again. "C'mon, Hannah. They're nearly gone."

Every cell in my body screamed for me to stay here, to figure out where he'd disappeared to. A connection like this might never happen again. This could have been my one chance at something I had craved my entire life – and I could regret missing out on it for the rest of my days.

Megan's voice edged with a nervous tremor. "Hannah?"

I closed my eyes in acceptance. I had no right to ruin Megan's day over a phantom sighting. I tried to convince myself that this was just another handsome face, one seen on the first day of a once-in-a-lifetime vacation. Of course I was caught up by him. Undoubtedly there'd be hundreds more just the same in the coming days.

I put on a smile and turned in the direction she pointed. "Sorry, just a little sun-struck, that's all. C'mon. Let's go see the Pantheon."

* * *

I took a bite of my pasta carbonara, sighing at the flavors. The Italians definitely knew how to do food right. We were sitting under starlight at the outdoor patio of one of the thousands of street-side restaurants that filled Rome. The eating area was ringed by a waist-high iron fence with flower boxes along its length. Across the cobblestone street a stand-up bass player and accordion player serenaded us with Italian folk tunes.

Our mom turned to us with a smile. "So, how was your day?" Her blonde hair was cut short, framing her face, and she wore a pale rose blouse over capri pants. At her side my father was darker, a testament to his Sicilian roots. He shared a matching warm smile.

Megan took another bite of her wild boar dish before answering. "It was fantastic. We saw the Coliseum, the Forum, the Pantheon, and all sorts of other sites." Her eyes twinkled. "Although we almost got lost at the Trevi fountain. I think Hannah was swept away by it."

I blushed, the memory of his eyes coming back to me. I could visualize them precisely, the depth in them, the power. Even now, I had a wild desire to go back to the fountain, just in case he lived in the area. Maybe we could exchange email addresses, and Skype ...

There were blue flashing lights; a police car quietly eased its way down the narrow street next to us, pulling up at the front corner. We looked over with interest.

Megan turned in her seat and pointed back up the road. "Oh, look! Nuns! It must be something for Lent."

We all turned and, sure enough, a group of people were forming at the next block up. They held candles surrounded by paper tissue in blue and red. It gave the impression of luminescent tulips.

Then they began to sing.

It was hauntingly beautiful, the rich sounds echoing down the cobblestone streets, rising up in a harmony which undoubtedly traced back for centuries. They began walking toward us, a group of parishioners of all shapes and sizes. An elderly nun took each step with care, her eyes on the flame in her hands. A pair of young girls scampered hand in hand, their candles unlit. A couple in their Sunday best strode side by side, with the man occasionally glancing at the woman with a fond smile.

It could have been the sixteenth century, with devout Catholics enacting this very same scene along these same cobblestone roads. The timelessness of the place staggered me. I closed my eyes, soaking in the rich sound of their voices. The procession sang out praise and adoration in the romantic richness of the Italian language.

Warmth flooded me, and I opened my eyes.

He was against the opposite wall.

The ebony night was lit by twinkling stars, the flow of worshippers streamed between us with their candles in blue and red, and yet I was positive beyond all doubt that it was him. His hair ruffled in the light breeze, and his black shirt fit his body's muscles as if tailored for him. I took in the rest ephemerally, as if none of it mattered, because it didn't.

It was his eyes.

They held me, caressed me, and filled me with a sense of completeness that I had never felt before. Well, perhaps I had when caught up in my music - when fully entranced in a song which filled me with longing, hope, or even despair. But never before had another person given me this same soul-deep sense of connection.

An amused laugh came from over my shoulder. "Hannah, are you that transfixed by the singers? Maybe we should attend a mass tomorrow morning before we get on the ship."

I turned back to Megan to smile at her jest, then grabbed my purse. Maybe I'd just pop across the street to say hi. Maybe he spoke a few words of English and I could ask him about the singers. Maybe –

I turned, and he was gone.

# Chapter 2

I stopped in front of the first buffet station, my eyes wide, soaking in the delicious aromas. There was everything I could imagine – cold cuts, potato salad, curry, macaroni, taco fixings, roast chicken, and more. To one side spread chocolate cake and a rainbow of Jell-O. To another was a roast carving station. A central bartender stood at the ready with wine, beer, and soda.

Megan's eyes lit up as she spotted the self-serve soft-serve ice cream fountain. "I'll meet you at the table!" She was off like a shot, focused on her destination.

I grinned as I headed toward the bartender. I knew my priorities. I'd get us both a glass of Champagne, to have our celebratory toast, and then I'd go back for the food.

The voices around me were rich with accents and languages. Living in Miami, we were in a cruise hub. It seemed like every six months we were hopping on a short weekend cruise to celebrate a birthday, anniversary, or wedding of some friend or another. But this was the first time we'd been on a European cruise, and the difference was startling.

Where the short Miami trips were mostly populated by Americans, and mostly Floridians at that, there was a true melting pot on this ship. On the way up the stairs I'd nearly been plowed over by a trio of laughing Chinese girls in pink pigtails. Getting my dose of hand sanitizer at the buffet entrance, it'd been a friendly Hungarian couple behind me chatting enthusiastically to each other in their rich language. And now, as I carefully negotiated the busy aisle with my two flutes of Champagne, it was a large family of Italians who bustled past me on the way to the pasta, calling out "Scuze! Scuze! Scuze!"

The little boy, perhaps three years old, smiled up at me with large, brown eyes, and I gave him a warm smile in return.

Slam!

I plowed full-on into the person before me. Both glasses of bubbly waterfalled over their body. I looked up in chagrin, calling out, "Scuze!"

It was him.

He wore a black shirt which emphasized his strong, lean form, along with jeans and dark sneakers. His tawny hair had those golden highlights, and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he brushed down his shirt.

"Nessun problema," he assured me as he finished wiping off the drops. His eyes drew back up to mine and caught for a long moment, flaring in surprise. Then a richer warmth entered them, and his voice added resonance. "In verita, nessun un problema a tutti. Mi permetta il privilegio di acquistare voi Champagne." His eyes focused on the two glasses in my hands for a moment, and his next speech had a layer of tightness in it. "Sei in viaggio con tuo marito?"

I flushed in a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. I knew that word _marito_ ; it meant husband. "I think you asked – well, I'm not sure, I don't really speak Italian. But I'm here with my sister and parents."

He blinked, looking back up at me in surprise. He spoke in flawless English. "You're from the U.S.?"

I nodded. "Yes, I'm from –"

"South Beach, Miami," he finished, an amused grin spreading on his face.

I laughed despite myself. "How in the world could you know that?"

"Reeeeely," he gently teased. "All you Southies do that. It's like an affliction or something."

"Hey," I retorted. "Southies, is it? And where are you from?"

"From the Coast Guard station, out by Dodge Island," he responded. "I live in Kendall."

I grinned. "Oh, so you're a coastie, are you? Make a living fishing drunken tourists out of the seas when they fall off those charter cruises?"

"Actually, I –"

Megan popped up at my side, her eyes bright with interest. "Hey, where are our drinks?"

I handed her one of the half-empty glasses. "And this is my sister, Megan."

He put out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Megan. My name is Brandon. I'm a fellow Miami native."

Her eyes traced down his form, soaking him in. "And to think we had to travel three thousand miles to meet you," she murmured. "What brings you out to the sunny Mediterranean?"

His gaze shadowed, and he looked away. "It's a long story, and you guys look hungry. Enjoy your meal. I'm sure we'll run into each other at some point."

He nodded to me, then slipped away in the crowd.

My heart constricted as he vanished in the swarms of people, and then I rounded on Megan, my voice sharper than I intended. "Hey, why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" she retorted. "I was just curious, that's all. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, but clearly he doesn't want to talk about it."

She shrugged. "How was I supposed to know that?" She downed the rest of her Champagne. "And thanks for drinking these rather than bringing them over." She grabbed the other glass out of my hand. "I'll go handle the drinks this time. You just get your food and then head to the back deck. We have the perfect table in the sun."

* * *

The lifejacket drill went by smoothly. I had been ecstatic a few years ago when cruise ships changed their drill setup. It used to be that the safety talks were held out on deck where the sharp breeze and standing around could be fairly tedious. Now the crew simply presented the details in one of the lounges. And then we were off!

The day flew by in drinks and dancing. Dinner with our parents was delicious. Now Megan and I were in the spa area, changing into our swimsuits.

Megan looked over as she shut her locker. "It was nice of Mom to add this serenity package to our cruise. I know we'll be making good use of the hot tub, sauna, and steam room!"

I nodded. "My feet can definitely use some time in the hot tub, after yesterday's long hours climbing every hill in Rome." I nodded my head. "OK, showers first."

The spa area was designed in turquoise-green tile with an open layout. There was a cold pool, the steam room nearby, the sauna with its gorgeous teak wood, and some tropical shower stalls in the center. Then, along a bank of windows, was a hot tub and four padded lounge chairs.

Megan nudged her head at the door at the far end. "Did you want to stay in here with the women only or venture out into the co-ed area?"

"I'm willing to try the co-ed," I offered. "If there's a creepy guy in his fifties who wants to give us back massages, we can always retreat back in here."

"Fair enough!"

We stepped through into the central area of the spa. This also had an enormous bank of windows along one wall, and before it lay five "heat rocks" for humans. They were shaped like beds with curves in them – a depression for the butt and a hill for supporting the knees. They were made of green mosaic, and they were heated from within. The result was serenity.

The hot tub was, blissfully, empty for now.

We climbed in, sighing in contentment as the warm water bubbled up around us. Megan looked over at me. "This is the perfect reward for all those years of college. We'll have to thank Mom again for this gift."

"She's probably just happy we're both staying around Miami for now," I pointed out. "So many of her friends are struggling with empty nest syndrome. She's still got us to talk with and shop with."

She grinned. "So this is a bribe, then? Well, I'll accept bribes like this whenever she offers them."

We closed our eyes. Time swirled by in bubbling water and soothing heat.

At last my sister stirred. "I'm heading over to the sauna for a while. Care to join me?"

I shook my head. "I'm completely content right here. Let me know when you're ready to head out."

She climbed out of the hot tub, draping her robe around her. "Sure thing!"

Silence descended on the room, and for the first time for as long as I could remember, I had openness before me. My school schedule had always been packed – classes, after-school work, and weekend projects. Even after I graduated, work had piled on as many hours as I could stuff in. But now, on the Mediterranean Sea, disconnected from the Internet, my mind was free to roam.

What was I going to do with my life?

When I was in college, things seemed so simple. I'd get my degree. That meant I'd get a job. I'd begin to pursue the dreams I'd nursed for so long. That's just the way things went.

But now that I was out, life was suddenly much more complex. So many experienced people were out of work that competing with them for jobs was a challenge. I was always the least experienced person. My energy and ideas never made up for the ten, twenty, or thirty years of valuable knowledge that others held. And how could this get any better? How could I ever take that first step?

A soft, warm voice sounded from before me.

"Hey, there."

I blinked my eyes open in surprise. Brandon stood before me in black trunks, his expression hidden in shadows. In just a swimsuit his physique was even more stunning than I'd imagined. Whatever he did with his life, it had sculpted him like one of those statues I'd seen by Michelangelo.

He tilted his head to one side. "Are you all right?"

I closed my mouth, nodding. "It's just been a long day."

He smiled. "I know what you mean." He nudged his head toward the water. "Mind if I join you?"

I slid in along the bench. "Not at all; I'd love some company."

He climbed over the edge and settled in opposite me. The water swirled around us, ebbed, and finally stilled again. Then he looked up to me.

"I want to apologize for before. It was a simple enough question you asked. I just wasn't quite ready to answer it."

I flushed. "I'm sorry for my sister, she –"

"No, no," he reassured me. "It was me who was rude. The truth is, I was supposed to be bringing someone on this trip with me."

A knot clenched in my stomach. "Oh?"

Tension rippled through his jaw, and I saw him deliberately release it. "My girlfriend. I was going to propose."

A flush hit me hard, coursing from my face down. I wasn't quite sure what to say. "I'm sorry."

He made a waving motion with his hand. "It's better that she didn't come," he stated tightly. "It was never meant to be. I just hadn't quite realized that yet."

Every ounce of my being wanted to know what had happened, but I could see it in his eyes. The shadows – the sharp hurt. I knew that feeling all too well.

I let out a long breath, leaning back against the hot tub. "Well, whatever happened in the past, I'm glad you're here now."

He glanced up at that, first in surprise, then in growing warmth. He nodded, and a smile almost came to his lips.

"So am I."

I nudged my head toward the window. "So, are you staying up to see Montecristo Island? I hear we're passing it about midnight."

A shadow drifted across his gaze, and he shook his head. "That used to be one of my favorite stories, but no. Just as well – I have to wake up early in the morning. We ... I ... have a tour booked to Florence and Pisa. I suppose I might as well go."

My heart lifted. "Really? I'm on that tour as well!"

A true warmth came into his gaze, and it seemed since the first time I'd met him that an ease came into the set of his shoulders. "Well, then, I'm actually looking forward to it. Shall I see you in the morning, then?"

I looked into his eyes, eyes I could easily lose myself in forever.

"Absolutely."

# Chapter 3

I glanced again in the direction of the ship, shifting nervously in the plush seat of the tour bus. It was now 7:45 am and the bus was nearly full. We had an elderly couple from Okinawa, a newlywed pair from Alabama, a family from Sicily, along with numerous other happily babbling travelers.

Brandon was nowhere to be seen.

Megan yawned in the seat next to me. "It's a good thing we got these seats right behind the driver – it's going to be a full hour and a half before we get to Florence. At least we get to enjoy the scenery along the way."

The guide, Stephanie, was a perky Italian woman in her mid-forties. She was exquisitely dressed in a black suit, with short, reddish hair and a wide smile. She stood from her jump-seat at the front of the bus and turned to the rest of us. "Just one more person missing. We'll wait for this next shuttle bus, in case he's on it, and then we go!" Her smile's wattage kicked up a notch. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

A chorus of "Yes!" in a variety of languages echoed throughout the bus, and my heart fell. Why wasn't he here? Had he over-slept? Changed his mind about coming out on the tour? Had he gotten embarrassed about our long conversation last night and decided he didn't want to face me again?

There was a motion, and a white shuttle bus did the loop around to the "transportation hub" of Livorno where the various non-cruise-ship tours had their start. Apparently if you paid the higher price of buying your tour directly from the ship you received the benefit of getting onto your tour bus right from the disembarkation point. Those of us who opted for the non-ship choices had to ride a free, six-minute shuttle out to this barren parking lot.

The shuttle pulled to a stop next to us and people sleepily stepped off. A large group of Chinese moved over to one of the other tour buses. A middle-aged couple stretched their arms over their heads. My heart constricted –

There.

He was even more handsome than I remembered, in a dark blue top and jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, then spotted the sign in our bus window and strode over to us. He stepped up the stairs and his eyes caught mine. A warm smile spread across his face, and my worries melted away.

His voice was rich. "Good morning, ladies."

My cheeks flushed with heat. "Good morning."

The tour guide was climbing on behind him, so he nodded at us, then walked to the lone open seat at the very back of the bus.

The tour guide waved her hand over her head. "And here we go!"

The drive flowed by in beautiful scenery and fascinating narrative about the efforts Mussolini made to combat the scourge of malaria. But I could barely focus on any of it. All of my thoughts turned to the man who sat far behind us. The vision of walking through the romantic streets of Florence with him sent butterflies through my stomach.

Finally we were there. Stephanie gave each of us a small receiver unit on a neck strap along with a single earbud. We piled off the bus with her rolling Rs echoing in our heads, telling us about the fine architecture and delicious food we would soon be experiencing. And then Brandon stepped off, and it was as if the voice faded away into the distance.

He nodded as he came over to join us, and my heart thudded hard against my ribs. I looked away toward the tour guide, my face flushing. I was acting like a teenager! I didn't want to scare him off with starry-eyed antics.

Stephanie's voice poked back into my awareness. "Don't buy from these street vendors," she warned us, pointing at a man who had art prints laid out before him on the ground. "They're all illegal immigrants, taking money from the hard working natives. Only buy from the stalls and shops. They are the ones licensed to sell in this area."

And then we were in motion.

Florence was stunningly beautiful. The carving in the church facades, the detail on the houses, everything sung of romance. And it was Palm Sunday, too, so the church bells rang out in joyous celebration. We walked down the curving avenues, and it was just like stepping back in time.

Stephanie pointed. "Ah, look over here! We have a marathon coming through!"

Sure enough, a pair of police cars cleared the way before them, and then a trio of motorcycles shepherded what must have been the lead runners as they raced along the streets. We cheered as they went past, followed in straggling lines by the remaining runners.

Another corner, another street, and a procession of men dressed in colorful medieval outfits marched past, singing and playing trumpets. It seemed that celebration was all around us.

We came up to a large bridge with shops along either side of it. "This is the Ponte Vecchio," informed Stephanie. "During World War II, Hitler had wanted to bomb this bridge for strategic reasons. However, Gerhard Wolf was assigned to investigate it. He so fell in love with the bridge and its beauty that he refused to destroy it. His name is now commemorated beneath the bridge."

She looked around to us. "Why don't we take our break here. I'll give you two hours to find food and take photos. Meet back at this location at 1:30 pm, and we'll move on to Pisa. Make sure you keep your earbuds in, so you can hear when I call you all back."

Megan came over to me with a mischievous smile. "I'm going to go have lunch with Stephanie," she offered. "If you don't mind, of course."

My eyes glowed with thanks. "Not at all. Have fun!"

She winked at me, and then she was gone.

The various group members faded off in different directions, and Brandon and I were left in the flowing crowd which was Florence. He seemed lost in thought; he walked over to the edge of the bridge, looking out at the flowing river, at the gorgeous tan, amber, and ivory buildings lining the opposite side.

His voice was low. "This is where I was going to do it. This is where I was planning on proposing to her."

My throat grew tight. What an amazing guy he was, to have arranged this all for her. Just behind us was the hotel where _A Room with a View_ was set. This was the very landscape the heroine would have taken in. A short block away was the piazza where she saw the stabbing. Another block reached the church where she encountered her new life.

The place blossomed with romance. Flowers cascaded from windows. Jewelry glistened in shop windows. Countless lovers walked hand-in-hand lost in the beauty of their surroundings.

And all of Brandon's dreams had been dashed.

He shook himself. "I'm sorry. I'm not much of a traveling companion right now."

I gave him an encouraging smile. "That's quite all right," I reassured him. "How about we find some food? I'm starving after all this walking. The city's beautiful, but it doesn't nourish the stomach."

A hint of a smile came to his face. "Absolutely. How about that street-side restaurant we passed near the Piazza della Signoria?"

"Sounds perfect."

There were four small tables within the iron fencing in front of the Ristoranti Paoli. We seated ourselves at one, looking around us at the beauty of even this small street. Windows had flower boxes, a guitar player was serenading us from the corner, and fragrant smells wafted through the air.

The waiter, a handsome, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, came over with our menus. "Vino?"

Brandon glanced at the list, then turned to me. "Do you like Barolo?"

"I'll give anything a try," I assured him. "I want the full experience!"

Brandon looked up to the man. "Two Barolos, please."

I looked down the menu, my mouth watering. Every item looked better than the previous. I finally settled on chicken with truffles.

The waiter was back with the wine; he laid down a basket of fragrant bread as well. "Have you decided?"

"Chicken with truffles," I reported.

Brandon handed over his menu. "The veal, please."

Brandon took up his glass, and I did as well. He held it forward to me in a toast. "To Florence, in all its timeless beauty."

"To Florence," I echoed. I took a sip.

The wine was stunning. Rich, smooth, cinnamon and cherry. I closed my eyes and let its flavors soak into me. "Now this is the life."

He chuckled, making me open my eyes. "So you approve?"

"Absolutely!"

"Is this your first time to Italy?"

I nodded. "I've never been to Europe before. I've been on cruises – it's so easy, living in Miami, to hop on one for a weekend getaway. It seems my parents, aunts, or uncles throw a party every year for this anniversary or that birthday. We go out for two or three days to visit an island and come back."

I looked around me. "But this is just amazing. You can sense the history here. All the people who laughed, loved, and fought. People just like us."

He nodded, sitting back in his chair. "There are few new things under the sun," he mused. "The same problems Shakespeare wrote about, we still have them today. We never learn."

He blinked, forcing a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry again. I'll do better, I promise."

"Really, that's all right." I leaned forward, putting my hand over his. "I can't even imagine what I'd be like in your place."

The warmth of his hand sent tingles through my body, a flush of heat which had little to do with the shimmering April sun drifting down all around us. He was like the richest chocolate and the smoothest wine, all wrapped together in a body Adonis would crave.

He looked up into my eyes, seemed lost for a moment, then blurted out, "I found her in bed with my best friend."

My breath caught in shock. "Wow."

He nodded. "I haven't talked to anybody about it. It's all been ... just chaotic. Our flight to Rome was scheduled for this past Wednesday afternoon, so three days ago. It gave us a buffer in case of flight problems. My work schedule had me out to sea right up until Tuesday. It was going to be tight. So my commander took pity on me and got me back to shore Sunday afternoon, so I'd have more time to pack and prepare. I didn't tell Jessica because I wanted it to be a surprise."

He took a long drink of his wine. "She was surprised, all right."

He shook his head, looking down the cobblestones dappled in the afternoon sun. "When I saw the two of them in bed, I turned right around and left our apartment. Went to a local hotel with my bag of gear still on my shoulder. She tried to call, of course, but I didn't answer. I got on the plane with that week's worth of clothing, my passport, and little else."

"I'm so sorry."

He rolled his shoulders. "It's still sinking in," he admitted. "It seems like a nightmare. Like it's not quite real, and when I get home everything will be like it was before." He looked down at his wine. "The funny thing is, I always loved the story of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. I often wondered what I'd do if I discovered my girlfriend had run off with my best friend. If I'd be able to forgive her or to listen to her excuses." He gave a dry chuckle. "I guess I know my answer now."

"It's unlikely your ex thought you were dead," I pointed out. "This sounds more along the lines of a reality show, with a woman not ready for commitment."

He nodded. "Undoubtedly a story told a thousand times."

The waiter came over with our plates, and I took a bite of my chicken. It was absolutely stunning. I found myself eating every bite and even using the bread to sop up the remaining sauce on the plate. By the time Brandon signaled for the bill, I was beyond stuffed.

He grinned at me as we stood. "Do I need to carry you back to the meeting point?"

"Maybe roll me," I teased. "If I keep this up, I'll be a blimp by the time we reach Rome again."

"You'd be a beautiful blimp," he offered with a wink.

I flushed, but before I could answer, a voice chirped in my ear. "Everybody gather 'round! It's time for us to move on!"

Brandon looked at me with a smile. "I suppose you'll want me to take a photo of you 'holding up the tower' once we get to Pisa?"

I grinned. "It's the dream of every tourist, isn't it?"

"Absolutely."

# Chapter 4

The bus ride from Florence to Pisa was fairly uneventful with one exception – it began to shower. Not a heavy, pounding rain with dark, roiling clouds, but more a gentle, steady sprinkling. Megan and I had light rain jackets with us, but I wondered about the rest of the members of our group.

The bus parked in a public lot, and again there were street merchants set up on the periphery. Stephanie sounded in our ears. "Remember, don't support the illegal vendors! It's about a ten minute walk until we get to the Pisa square, so let's move quickly to minimize the time we're in the rain."

The group set out at a quick march, Megan and I with our hoods up, the rest in various states of cover. Brandon didn't attempt to hold back the water. If anything, he seemed to relish it. The rain slicked his shirt down close against his body, and I could see the carved beauty of his muscles. It sent warm waves of longing through my core.

Stephanie moved past us as she continued to shepherd us all along the dingy suburban streets that lay between us and our destination. "Brandon, you're sure you won't want an umbrella or something once we get there? There are several proper shops where you could acquire one."

He shook his head, a sparkle in his eye that warmed me to see. "Not at all. If I didn't like the water, I'd be ill-suited for my profession."

She shrugged, then moved up to check in with the front of the group.

I looked over at him. "You said you were with the Coast Guard, yes?"

He nodded. "I'm a rescue diver."

My eyes went wide. "Really? Like in that movie _The Guardian_ with Kevin Costner?"

He chuckled. "Well, not exactly like that," he cautioned. "Movies tend to take a lot of liberties with the facts. But yes, that's the general idea. If there's a ship in trouble, they call me in. I do everything I can to get those people out to safety."

"You must have quite a lot of call for that in Miami," I mused. "With all the boat traffic in general, and then with the Cubans coming in as well."

He nodded. "But if you think we have it bad in the states, you should hear about Italy's situation. They are a massive peninsula, with over one thousand miles of coastline. All around them are poor countries where people have little opportunity for advancement. Waves after waves of desperate refugees launch out in boats, on rafts, and in every other way imaginable to get to Italy's shores. They figure, once they're here, that life will be paved with gold."

I looked at the young, dark-skinned man we passed on the corner. He held a row of watches in his hand and glanced up at us with hope.

Brandon shook his head. "If they're lucky, they hook up with an unscrupulous merchant who pays them a tiny commission by the piece sold. If they're unlucky, they drown during the crossing." He sighed. "Mothers put their children and even newborns on these boats. They think landing on Italian soil is that magical."

"I suppose people feel that way about the United States, too," I sighed. "And if they come from a place with no indoor plumbing, with gruel for dinner every day and no jobs, then maybe they do have a point. We can take our lifestyle for granted sometimes. Food is just there for the taking on every corner."

We crossed the street, and I had to chuckle. There, across from a row of souvenir stands, was a Burger King. "Just like this," I pointed out. "We expect there will be fast, easy food nearby. We complain if that food isn't just right. But for most of the world, they'd be happy just to have food, period."

Stephanie swung by. "Sure you two don't want an umbrella? That third stall on the left has a wide selection!"

Brandon brushed his hair back, water trailing down his spine. "Being wet is my natural state," he reassured her. "Unless you think the bus driver would mind."

She grinned. "We're all soaking," she pointed out. "The bus will be wet one way or another. If you're happy, I'm happy!"

She turned to the group. "The tower is just over the city wall to the left. It's actually the bell tower for a church, so you'll find both side by side. Let's meet back here in thirty –"

One of the elderly women piped up. "Can we make it twenty minutes? I don't want to risk missing the ship."

"We have plenty of time to get back," Stephanie assured her. "But twenty is fine, too. Especially with this rain. Is that all right with everybody?"

There were relieved nods from several sides, so she waved her hand. "Remember, there are no public bathrooms. If you need to go, buy something from the Burger King or one of these other shops and they'll give you access to their toilets. See you back here in twenty!"

Brandon looked to me. "Did you need to stop, or shall we go look at a tower?"

I waved a hand toward the gate. "Lead on!"

The city wall was probably fifteen feet tall and massive. It looked like it could withstand a substantial onslaught from barbarians or warring Italians. We stepped through the arch and immediately grinned as the tower stood – at its unique angle – before us.

Brandon studied it as we approached. "Did you know that it began tilting even while they were building it? The soil was too soft. They finally got it stabilized. Then, a few decades ago, the Italian government gave thought to fixing it permanently, to get it straight again. But by then it had gained such attraction as a leaning tower that the locals worried, if it were straight, that nobody would come to see it any more." He looked around the square. "After all, it's really the only reason people drive all the way out here."

I nodded. There were the walls, the church, and the tower. And a flock of souvenir sites set up along the wall's edge. I was sure that the vast majority of people here were solely visiting to see that slanted construction.

Then I laughed. Ahead of us, it seemed that every single person posing was doing so with their hands out to the side, as if they were holding up the tower. I had known it was a classic pose – but to see it in action like this was quite another thing altogether.

Brandon raised an eyebrow. "Still sure you want to follow the masses?"

"Absolutely," I agreed. "It has to be done."

He waved a hand toward the fence. "All right, then. Assume the position."

I stood with my left hip facing him, holding my hands out before me as if I were a mime holding up a falling rock. "How's this?"

He peered at the phone he held up before him. "Move your left hand higher ... that's it. Just like that." He snapped a few photos.

I came around to take a look. It actually was quite fun. It did seem, through the trick of perspective, that the tower was leaning on my hands and I was keeping it in place.

I grinned. "OK, your turn."

He glanced doubtfully at the tower. "I'm not sure that –"

I gave him a playful push. "No, no, you're here. You have to participate in the madness. Let loose a little."

A smile danced on his lips. "All right, then." He moved over to the fence and put up his hands.

I brought up my camera and aimed it at him. "Smile!"

He smiled.

It was as if the sun eased through the clouds on a gloomy, rainy day, and my breath caught. He was handsome. No, it was more than that. He wrapped around my heart. I could see his strength, his warmth, his compassion, all shining through. I wanted to just stay here forever.

His eyes twinkled. "Did you get the photo?"

I blushed, fumbling for the button. I took two just in case and then rotated it to show him. "See how strong you are?"

He chuckled. "I'll have to show that to my brothers. See if they can top that feat."

"Oh? How many brothers do you have?"

"I have four brothers, plus one sister. My parents were Irish, out of Connecticut, and believed in large families."

"Do you get to see them often?"

"Every few months," he explained. "We're fairly close knit. We like to stay in touch."

"We're the same way," I commented. "My mother is thrilled that my sister and I haven't moved away after college. I think she'd love for us to settle down in Miami ourselves and raise our own families here."

He looked over. "And what do you think?"

I looked at the tower with its lopsided angle. Somehow it had managed to stay aloft over the long centuries despite its challenges. "Miami isn't perfect, by a longshot, but I do love it. It's got a great mix of cultures. Black, white, Hispanic, Japanese, gay, straight – you name it, we have it. We all celebrate life together in one big hodge-podge. I've watched the news enough to know that many other parts of the world don't enjoy that same openness."

I grinned at him. "I could have Italian food one night and Brazilian the next. Go out for '70s disco dancing on Friday and club techno on Saturday. We have everything. Music, art, shopping, and of course the beaches."

The voice in our head came to life. "Come on back to me! We're getting ready for the bus."

Brandon put out his elbow. "Shall I escort you back to our carriage?"

I hooked my hand into the nook. "I would be honored."

Holding onto him felt just right.

* * *

We rearranged ourselves to have cross-aisle seats and found ourselves deep in conversation the entire ride back. The hour-plus seemed to fly by. Fortunately, while the tour bus hadn't been allowed to enter the ship's immediate area to pick us up, the dock security team was apparently a bit more lenient on the drop-off end. We were waved through the security gate and, as we neared the ship, the guard pointed to a parking spot at the far end of the lot. We weren't allowed to drive right up to the ship, but at least we were close.

We waved in thanks to the tour guide, then started the final trek across the pavement to the dock building.

Brandon's steps slowed as we drew closer to the large, square structure. "You go on ahead; I'll catch up with you."

My interest piqued and my steps slowed to match his. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," he murmured, clearly distracted. His eyes were focused on something to the right of the building.

I turned to Megan. "You go on back to the room; I'll catch up with you." Then I was skipping to rejoin Brandon, whose long stride had already put him a distance ahead of me.

He was rounding the corner as I got to him. My breath was a bit quick. "What –"

"Shhh," he said, putting his hand out to hold me back.

I bit back my question, coming in alongside him.

A crew member was at the edge of the pier. He was large, swarthy, with a southern Italian look to his face. He was talking with another Italian man in a black windbreaker and jeans. Both were agitated, their hands flying in a series of gestures as they spoke. Then the crew member glanced over his shoulder. His shoulders slumped and he reached into his jeans, pulling out a folded wad of euros. He handed it over to the other man, nodding. The two slipped away in opposite directions, the crew member reaching the thick crowds of boarding guests in just a few minutes and melding in with them.

I looked up at Brandon. "What was that about?"

His brow creased. "I'm not sure. I saw that same crew member along the docks in Rome when we were boarding. I'm around ships all the time, so I have a sense of their rhythm and activity. He just didn't seem to fit in then, and when I saw him again here, I was curious."

I shrugged. "Maybe he's new?"

His lips pressed together. "Maybe." He gave himself a shake, then looked down. "But I'm not on duty, and you need to get back on board before you're abandoned in Florence."

I grinned. "There are worse places to be stranded."

He chuckled. "I suppose so, but let's not find out right now. You can always come back."

I glowed with that thought, and the glow expanded as he put his hand on my shoulder to guide me home.

# Chapter 5

Dinner was delicious, with French onion soup and prime rib. My mother, father, and sister all chatted away merrily, talking about the things we'd seen and done in Florence. But it seemed like a distant landscape swirling around me. All my attention was focused on finishing this part of the day off so I could head up to the spa. He'd been there last night. With any luck, he'd be waiting for me again tonight.

My mom laughed, waving her hand in front of my face. "Earth to Hannah."

I blushed. "Sorry, just thinking about things."

My sister nudged me in the ribs. "Would he be about six-foot-one and have the build of an Italian knight?"

My face warmed even further. "Well, he is quite a nice person," I pointed out. "We've spent hours talking today – and that's on top of the time we chatted together last night."

My mom's eyes lit up. "A shipboard romance? How fun! Your father and I met on a ship, you know."

"Yes, yes, a sight-seeing tour around Miami, and all you two wanted to do is look at each other," I teased. "We've heard the story a thousand times. Heck, we've been on that run ourselves at least once a year."

"Just saying to keep your options open," my mother laughed. "You never know. Where is he from?"

"Actually, he's from Miami. Works with the Coast Guard."

My father nodded his head. "A good group of men. Several of my friends have been bailed out by them, for one reason or another. The waters around Miami can be tricky."

I took the last bite of my chocolate cake, then looked around the table. "If you don't mind –"

My mother made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go, go. I know what it's like to be young."

I smiled, then hopped up, reining in my desire to race back to the room. In only a few minutes I had gathered up my navy-blue bikini, navigated my way up the ship to the spa area, and was trading in my key card for the rubber wristband they used to identify paid patrons of the area.

I changed in minutes, took a quick shower to wash away the grime of the day, and then glanced at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were pink from today's sun, and my blonde hair was slicked back. I gave myself an encouraging smile, then pushed open the door to the co-ed section.

He wasn't there.

My heart fell as my gaze swept the empty room. The five undulating tile heat-rock benches were like a row of slumbering snakes. The bank of windows looked out over smooth seas under a darkening sky. In its back corner, the hot tub burbled away, empty, hollow.

An ache pulsed within me.

I pushed it away with a scold. This was silly. Clearly he was on the boat somewhere – and he probably had lots of other things to do with his time. Maybe he'd gone to eat at a later time. Maybe he'd gotten caught up watching a movie in his room or was out jogging around the track.

I put down my towel on the teak edging to the hot tub, then stripped off my robe and added it on top. I climbed into the water, sighing as it came up around my shoulders. If he wasn't here yet, I'd just have to wait.

I grinned. This wasn't such a bad thing.

Time drifted by, the sky eased from crimsons to dark blues, and I was startled when footsteps sounded from the men's area. I looked over, my heart buoyed with hope. The door handle turned ...

A pasty man in his late forties wearing a neon-green set of swim trunks stepped into the room. His mouse-brown hair was standing at every angle, and he had a Fu Manchu moustache. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he made a beeline for the hot tub.

I cringed. I had the strong urge to retreat back to the women's private hot tub. I didn't know if I was up to dealing with this kind of attention right now. But I took in a deep breath, steeling myself. If I left, I might miss out on a chance of spending time with Brandon. I just had to tough it out until he got here.

The man climbed up the stairs and half-jumped into the center of the tub with a rippling splash. He grinned widely as he settled himself opposite me, looking me up and down as if I were the prize catch of the day. "My name's Charlie," he said with a West Coast accent. "And, let me guess. You must be Angel."

I flushed, looking away. This is usually how it began. Why did older men think they were so suave, calling younger women "Angel," "Beautiful," or "Goddess?"

He stretched his arms out on either side of the hot tub. "Ah, we're in Italy. How silly of me. You're Bella."

I held in the sigh. "My name is Hannah."

"Oh, American!" he crowed. "I'd know that accent anywhere. I'm from California myself. Land of sun. Best place on Earth. Los Angeles, don't you know. Movie stars." He leant forward. "Hey, you could do well in the movies. You should come out to visit, and look me up. I'd know all the right people for you to talk to."

"No, thank you," I stated. I glanced at the door, but it showed no sign of opening.

He slid a few inches toward me along the bench. "So, you're not from California, no, no. And not the Midwest or Texas. Hmmm. Say 'Southern Comfort.'"

I thought of resisting, but decided that playing along might keep him occupied long enough for Brandon to appear and rescue me.

"Southern Comfort."

His eyes lit up. "That you are, my dear, but you're not from the Deep South, are you. No, no. Not the south." He slid closer again. "OK, say 'I gotta go to Long Island.'"

I dutifully repeated the phrase.

He shook his head. "Not New York or New Jersey. I have an ear for this kind of thing. You could say ole Charlie's an expert at getting into a person's insides. So ... hmmm ..."

It was taking all my effort not to just tell him where I was from and get him to stop. But I knew if I did, he'd just start an even more personal line of attack. The longer I could hold him off on this level, the better.

Another slide. "All right, then, how about 'Park the Car at Harvard Yard.'" He was nearly touching me now.

A low rumble of a voice sounded behind us. "How about I let your wife know where to find you. She's outside looking for you."

Charlie half leapt out of the water, his head rotating as he nervously scanned the area. On seeing only Brandon at the side of the tub, he relaxed and looked back to me. "The girl and I were just chatting."

Brandon took a step forward. "I think you were just leaving."

Charlie turned at that, a retort on his lips, but it died as he more fully took in Brandon's physique. His face turned petulant, but he slogged his way up out of the tub. He turned to me as he reached the ground. "We'll pick this up again, later. I'll figure you out!"

Brandon stepped between him and me.

Charlie's shoulders slumped, and he stalked back into the men's area.

Brandon turned to me. "You're lucky I got here when I did. Usually once he figures out where a woman's from he moves on to guess her skin type. It tends to involve a lot of touching and examining."

I shivered in revulsion. "And his wife lets him do this?"

He shook his head, climbing into the tub. "His wife is usually scouring the ship for him. I get a sense they don't have a happy relationship."

I smiled over at him. "Well, then, thank you for rescuing me."

His eyes warmed me, filled me. "It was my pleasure."

I glanced out the windows, and my eyes widened. "Oh, come over here and look! You can just see it at the last window. The sun's hit the horizon. It's gorgeous."

He slid around the bench to come to my side, and his arm lay against the back of my neck as he settled into place there. Suddenly the beauty of the scene before us intensified. The sun glowed tangerine, crimson, then languidly slipped into the turquoise sea.

I sighed at the beauty of it, leaning back. I fit into the crook of his body with gentle precision, and for a long moment time stood still.

The last glow of light blinked away.

I turned to him, and my breath caught. He was staring down at me with a look which filled me completely. One hand raised to gently ease back my hair, and I leaned into it, tilting my head up.

He groaned, his hand caressing my neck. "Oh, Hannah, I don't know what I'm doing," he murmured. "I wish I'd met you four years ago. In the state I'm in, I –"

"Shhhh," I murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle into the crook of his arm. "I know. You didn't deserve what happened to you. You deserve –"

It was his eyes – the soul-deep hurt which swelled so richly in them. The pain called to instincts deep within my core.

I gently pressed my lips onto his.

His groan deepened, and then he was pulling me in against him, wrapping his arms around my body, returning the kiss with rich aching. It was as if he had been flayed alive and was coating his wounds with healing salve.

His entire body seemed to soak me in.

He drew his head back for a moment, staring into my eyes with haunting longing. "God, Hannah, you are just amazing. These long talks we've had the past two days – it feels like I've known you forever. How did it take me traveling three thousand miles to find you?"

"Maybe we were lovers in another lifetime," I murmured. "We adore the same music, treasure the same movies, even stock the same books on our shelves." The corner of my mouth quirked up. "Heck, we laugh at the same jokes."

His gaze was caught in mine. "Even with my ex, it didn't feel this way. With her we were always two separate people who negotiated a way to carefully compromise in the middle." He traced a finger down my cheek. "With you, it's ... like you were meant for me. Like you and I have known each other since childhood and are parts of a whole."

My body shimmered with fire. The romantic beauty of the past few days already had my heart aching – and that look in his eyes was sending me over the edge. My voice shook as I caressed my fingers into his hair. "And now we're all grown up."

His breath shuddered as I twined closer against him. His voice was hoarse. "Hannah, I'm a mess. I don't know where I live, I don't know –"

I brushed my lips against his ear. "A shipboard romance," I murmured. "What happens on the ship stays on the ship." Even as I said it, a stabbing pain lanced through me at the thought of him walking away when the cruise was over.

I closed my eyes and pushed away the pain. Brandon already had enough of that. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in the timbre of his voice. There would be plenty of time later to properly rebuild his life, to weave our songs into a rich harmony. What he needed now was something more ancient, more basic.

I brought my lips to his again, pressing them against his, and then I parted them slightly. I let my tongue delicately trace his soft skin.

He gasped, and his mouth opened.

I slid my hands around to the rippled muscles of his back, pressing my body closer into his. I fit as if he had been carved from the finest marble to my exact specifications.

His tongue swirled into my mouth, teasing mine, tantalizing me with its movements. The world fell away and only he and I existed. The water swirling around me echoed the need building in my veins, and I wanted ... I wanted ...

There was a noise from the women's side, and he slid me off him to the spot beside him on the bench.

My body ached with desire, and I strove desperately to get my breathing under control as the Malaysian spa attendant came in, her white uniform pressed and neat. She smiled warmly at us both as she carried a fresh stack of towels over to the shelves. Then she retreated the way she had come.

Brandon's gaze was a swirl of emotions, desire mixed with tight restraint, and I eased in the water to sit alongside him. His arms came up around me as if we'd always been together.

He let out a long, contented sigh which seemed to come from his very core.

At last he pressed a tender kiss against my forehead, drawing me in close. "Thank you."

I nestled in against his sturdy chest. My mouth quirked into a smile. "You're an amazing kisser. I'm the one who should be thanking you."

His gaze was steady. "I mean it. Thank you for these past two days – for our long talks. Thank you for your patience and understanding." His voice went hoarse. "Thank you for reminding me that there are still women out there who treasure compassion and loyalty. I needed to know that."

I curled up against him. "If this is the way I'm rewarded, I'll be happy to remind you every day of my life."

He stilled at that, and I glanced up, my throat tightening. "I'm sorry, I only meant –"

"No, no, that's all right," he gently assured me. He eased back against the side of the hot tub. Outside, the glistening light of the moon shimmered at the edge of the horizon, and the sky sparkled with stars.

His voice was low and resonant. "Everything is just right."

# Chapter 6

The sun was brilliant overhead, the yachts glistened in white beneath us in the bay of Monte Carlo, but it was the sight before me that took my breath away. Nestled along the shoreline of this beautiful city was a Japanese garden, and Brandon and I stood at its gates. To the left was glistening white sand raked into gentle waves. To the right, beautiful flowers in pale pink and deep crimson stood in lines like obedient schoolchildren. Up ahead was a small koi pond, and, as I watched, six little ducklings raced along its surface, voicing "peep! peep!" calls before they vanished into the shadows again.

I turned to Brandon, my voice rich with emotion. "This is stunning!"

He caressed my face with one hand, his eyes warm. "I knew from our talks about Japanese culture that you'd love it here." His look clouded for a moment. "Jessica had mapped out all the stores she wanted to go shopping at, for me to buy her gifts from. Hermes, Cartier, Coach, they're all on a strip around the main casino." The hint of a smile eased onto his face. "Somehow I knew that wouldn't be your focus."

A large bumble-bee drifted past us, settling down to nestle into one of the tangerine blossoms. I knelt down to take his photo. "I'm content with these souvenirs," I murmured to him. As I climbed to my feet, my eyes danced. "I thought you were a Coast Guard diver? How could you afford shops like that, anyway? Or are you a secret billionaire, disguising yourself as a humble sailor in order to find true love?"

He laughed out loud at that, and I was caught up by the change in his features when he let himself be happy. He went from just being handsome to being the most amazing man I had ever seen. I suddenly was deluged with gratitude that he was here, with me, in such a beautiful place. I was the luckiest woman in the world.

His eyes caught mine, and he tilted his head to one side. "What is it?"

"I'm ... I'm just happy."

His gaze thickened with passion, and when he spoke again his voice was hoarse. "So am I."

He drew me in to a kiss. It was rich, warm, and we fit together like two pieces from a puzzle which had been stored in separate boxes for long decades. At last, at shimmering last, they had landed by happenstance in the same location, and all that came before suddenly seemed inconsequential. All that mattered was that he was here for me, and I for him.

A bustle of PEEP!ing broke us apart, and we laughed in merriment. The little ducklings were swirling at the base of the pond, rooting through the new grass there for who knew what. Brandon smiled at me, taking my hand. "Come, let's explore this paradise."

The gardens were serene, lunch on the pier overlooking the magnificent boats was breathtaking, and now we were at the small zoo to the western side of the tiny country. We had paid the extra money for small bags of all-natural popcorn, and Brandon sprinkled a few down into the enclosure of wallabies. The little marsupials hopped eagerly over to it. One mother had an infant tucked into her pouch, and we watched as the baby eyed the popcorn with curiosity.

Next up was a massive cage full of chirping parakeets. When I held a popcorn against the cage, suddenly there were six different birds in sunshine yellow, moss green, and turquoise, all crowded around trying to get their taste. I laughed in delight.

Brandon leaned against the cage, watching me. "Thank you."

I looked over to him, still chuckling as the birds jockeyed for position around my hand. "Thank you for what?"

He gave a hint of a smile, but his gaze was serious. "For being you."

I grinned. "I can hardly be someone else, can I?"

A shadow drifted across his face. "That is a very good thing. Not everyone is like you."

I pulled another popcorn piece from my bag, putting it against the cage. "I imagine everyone is unlike everyone else, when you come down to it. We're all different, with our unique quirks and habits."

"Still, you don't try to deceive people by being someone you're not."

I shrugged. "I never saw the point in it. If I tried to pretend I was a die-hard bullfighting fan, for example, at some point I'd trip up. I'd run into someone who really was enraptured with bullfighting and my fakery would be found out. And those I'd fooled would never trust me again. It'd be the same with anything I tried to be fake at. It's just not worth it."

I looked at the eager little parakeets before me. "These guys, they're simple. They love popcorn. They let you know they love popcorn. So you feed them popcorn! How easy is that?"

He chuckled. "And apparently you love parakeets."

"We've always had them in my house," I agreed. "They're friendly and offer unconditional love. When I get home from work, my parakeet flies over to me and snuggles against my neck. She can talk, too! She's quite smart." I grinned. "Unlike a few of the guys I'd dated in the past."

The shadows were back. "Relationships can be complicated."

I left the parakeets in their roiling, colorful mass and came over to hook my arm in his. "C'mon. I think there are some peacocks up ahead, and I bet they just adore popcorn."

The clouds passed, and he was my Brandon again. "Yes, my darling, let's do that."

The animals were fed, the popcorn was gone, and we were walking hand in hand out of the zoo when he looked down to the left at the small harbor below us. This was a tiny nook in the coastline, tucked with a flurry of smaller sailboats and dinghies. The homes here probably cost mere millions and not the billions of some of the larger estates speckling the hillside behind us.

Brandon leant on the wall, his gaze sharpening. "Look at that man, there."

I followed his gaze. The harbor was a fair ways away, and I could only see a figure in a white outfit, his features a blur. But his walk seemed familiar. For each step taken with the left foot, the right did a double-hop to catch up. Step, double-hop. Step, double-hop.

I raised an eyebrow at Brandon. "Is it that crew member from our ship?"

He nodded, not moving his gaze. "I think it is. Crew members are given shore leave, of course. It's one of the perks of working on a cruise ship. But why is he in this little harbor?"

As we watched, he went to the far corner where a tree overhung the water. It would be shielded from the surrounding homes, but from our oblique angle we could still see what he was doing. He glanced around, then stepped down to a twenty-four-foot Sea Ray cabin cruiser. He disappeared inside. And then he reappeared - followed by six dark-skinned men dressed in rough clothing. He hurried off into the twisting streets, the men following behind him like the tiny ducklings we'd seen in the Japanese gardens.

The scene, once again, was quiet and placid, as if nothing at all had happened.

I turned to Brandon, my brow knit in confusion. "What was that all about?"

His lips were pressed into a thin line. "If I had to guess, I'd say the man is involved in illegally smuggling people into Europe. It's a serious issue here along the coast. With the borders so open now, once someone gets onto land, they can go anywhere. Often they drive hard for Lapedusa – an island in the Sicilian archipelago. One in a thousand then get to the mainland. They become a street vendor, sleep under the bridges, or if they're less lucky they get dragged into crime and prostitution."

He nudged his head in the direction the crew member had gone. "With this man working on the cruise ship, he has an ideal cover. He's always in a port town. He has a legitimate reason for being around the restricted dock areas. If he times it right with local contacts, he could be earning easy money every day at each new location."

I looked up at him. "What should we do?"

He blinked at that, gazing down at me. "We?"

"Of course," I responded. "We're here together, aren't we? We both saw it?"

He shook his head in surprise. "Jessica would have wanted nothing to do with this," he murmured. "She'd say it was the problem for the poor people to figure out, and then demanded we go buy her a diamond necklace to wash away the stench of the situation."

"But why –"

I shut my mouth. I just couldn't understand why a handsome, smart man like him would stay with a woman like that.

I turned to the escalator which led from the zoo area back up to street level. "C'mon. Let's go home to the ship."

He grinned. "You just want to climb into that hot tub again."

I flushed with heat, remembering with exquisite precision just how amazing his kisses had been. "It's the middle of the day – what if someone walks in?"

He ran a hand along my arm, and shivers followed its every move. "Maybe we should try my cabin, then, where we have a _Do Not Disturb_ sign."

My mouth went dry, and we were off.

# Chapter 7

"Wow."

I turned in place, looking around his suite. It was absolutely stunning. A bank of windows overlooked the Monte Carlo harbor. A mahogany table sat to one side with fresh irises in a porcelain vase. Through a door I could see the bedroom; the king-sized bed in its center had a downy white blanket and four fluffy pillows.

He reached into the fridge, drawing out a heavy bottle. "Some Champagne?"

The reason he had all of this suddenly hit me full force. I flushed with embarrassment.

His brow creased. "I'm sorry, if you'd rather not –"

"No, no," I assured him. "It's just ... well, I imagine you had other ideas for how today would have gone, just two weeks ago."

He nodded, undoing the wire cage, then easing the cork off with a soft sigh. He swept up two flutes from the side board and placed them on the low table before the couch. "One thing I've learned in my years as a rescue diver is that life changes, minute by minute. The smallest decision, the shortest change, can make everything else spiral in a completely new direction."

He poured out the bubbly, and we sat side by side on the couch. He looked at me, raising his glass in a toast. "To our new direction."

I clinked my glass against his, and we drank. The wine was soft and delicious, with almond hints.

He looked at his glass for a moment. "I hear it from nearly every person I rescue. It usually isn't something large that goes awry. It's just something small. The radio goes on the fritz. The storm comes up a little quicker than they expected. The sailfish fought for just that extra half hour. They turned left rather than right at a marker. And then a cascade of events follows."

His eyes rose to mine. "Like with me and Jessica, we –" He cut off. "I imagine you don't want to hear about her."

"It's all right," I assured him. "If you want to talk about her, I'm happy to listen."

He rolled his shoulders. "It's just been so much to take in," he admitted. "We met back when we were freshmen at the University of Miami. I'd come down from Connecticut, while she was an international student from Italy. She was beautiful, adventurous, fun – everything I thought I wanted out of life. We'd dance all week and then go out to Key West for the weekend to watch the sun set. She was all for my plans to go for the Navy SEALs once I graduated."

I looked at him with respect. "You were going to be a SEAL?"

He nodded. "It'd been my dream since I'd been a young boy. Help defend the weak, be with the best of the best, all of that. I ran five miles a day with a weight vest, swam laps in the evenings, you name it. I wanted to be absolutely prepared."

I took another sip of my Champagne. "Then what happened?"

He gave a wry smile. "Those little changes began. She started suggesting we eat at nicer restaurants, so I had to cut back my pool time and take on more hours at work to pay for it. She began asking for gifts – jewelry, clothes, shoes. I was in love; I wanted her to be happy."

He looked out at the yachts floating in the harbor. "By the time we graduated, she made it clear that she didn't want to be left alone when I went off on assignment. She wanted me to do something local; something that would keep me in the Miami area." He shrugged. "It was a blow, but I tried to put it into perspective. I had a beautiful woman who adored me. She didn't want me far away, in danger."

I could see the tension snaking through his muscles. His voice grew rough. "Certainly that was reasonable? I gave up on my dreams. I accepted being a rescue diver."

His shoulders fell. "It seemed like she'd accepted that trade-off."

I looked down. "Until you came home early."

He nodded, letting out his breath. "Until I came home early and found her astraddle my ex-best-friend, Mark. Mark's a local playboy – son of an art gallery owner. He's got a yacht, a Ferrari, that sort of thing. He and I hooked up four years ago fishing off the pier, and in that arena we're perfectly matched. Sure, he'd take me out on his yacht sometimes, but we were just as happy fishing from the pier or out on the flats of Islamorada. I never thought ..."

He shook his head. "I blame her far more than him. No doubt she saw her opportunity to 'trade up' and went for the guy with the deeper pockets. I'm sure most women would have."

"Hey!" I snapped, a bit sharper than I intended. "Not all of us are like that."

He looked up at me. "Look at that movie coming out. _Fifty Shades of Grey_. It's always a billionaire. Always someone who can give the woman diamonds, pearls, minks, and anything else she wants. A sugar-daddy to take care of everything for them." He snorted. "Heck, they seem to _want_ a daddy. So they can be a little girl, opening present after expensive present."

I gave him a poke. "What about men watching movies like _Iron Man_ and _Batman_ , where the guy is incredibly strong, stunningly handsome, highly intelligent, and also a billionaire? Oh, and the hero has barely-adult stripper-shaped women crawling all over him, eager to do any sexual task he has in mind. Twice."

Brandon chuckled. "Touché. I suppose there is escapist fantasy on both sides."

I nodded my head toward the window. "Right there is one of the most expensive places on earth. Just look at those yachts. The people there have billions. But are they really happier? I'd bet they have their fair share of betrayals and loss, of anger and disappointment. They probably wonder if a new friend really likes them as a person or just wants access to their money. They have to worry about being kidnapped every time they step out of their home. They have their own set of problems."

Brandon nodded. "And then you look at Toulon, France, where we'll be landing tomorrow. A dock town. People there struggle to pay the rent. They look at us travelers as the wealthy ones – the ones able to afford such a life of luxury. We are as far above them as those yacht-owners are to us. It's so easy to gaze up and long for things we don't have. But we should also look down and realize how blessed we are with the things we already possess."

I put my glass on the table. "Brandon, you are an amazing person."

He placed his glass next to mine. "Why didn't I meet you back when I was eighteen?"

I chuckled. "Well, first, I would have been fourteen. Second, you would have been star-struck by that Italian model girlfriend of yours and not given me a second glance."

He twined his fingers into my blonde hair, pulling me to him. "Then I'm glad I have you here now, when I can finally appreciate you for the amazing person you are."

My mouth quirked into a grin. "Oh? And just how much do you appreciate me?"

His lips met mine, full, warm, and I closed my eyes at the intense pleasure they brought. He leaned me back down the length of the sofa, pressing down on me, and I welcomed his weight, wrapping my arms around his back.

He trailed kisses down my neck, his mouth nuzzling along the neckline at the edge of my breast. I moaned with the sensation coursing through my veins, desire mixing with the Champagne to create a romantic richness I had not thought possible. His fingers slid to the hem of my shirt and I put my arms over my head, giving him the universal signal that _I was all in_. The moment the shirt touched the carpet I was pulling him back down onto me, relishing his weight, my nipples pushing hard against the thin fabric of my bra.

His mouth was on mine again, delving deeper, his tongue tantalizing me in ways I hadn't known were possible. One hand traced spirals down my chest, following the edge of my bra cup, teasing just beneath its fabric. I ached with need. My nipples were rock hard, alive to every slight movement of our bodies. I arched up against him, and he slid one of my bra straps off my shoulder. He moved his lips down, nuzzling them in beneath the bra cup, and his tongue danced out across the tip of the nipple.

I groaned with desire, arching harder, desperate to have those lips fully on my breast.

He smiled, one hand supporting me from behind, the other peeling my bra cup back from my breast like the rind from a bursting-to-fullness orange. His mouth teased ... brushed ... and then his lips closed down over the red peak.

My groan was deeper, longer, as he drew me into his warm mouth, as his tongue danced, as his lips sucked and pulled. I dove both hands into his thick hair, holding his head in place.

His mouth released, and I gasped at the cool air on my wet nipple, on the sudden absence of the waves of pleasure. His lips met mine again and we delved into the pool of desire, my body twining with his, the balance of the moist nipple and dry one sending counterparts of sensation through my brain.

His hand behind my back moved to the clasp of my bra, and some tiny semblance of sanity struggled to rise up out of the all-encompassing need which deluged me.

I nudged my head at the bank of open windows looking out over the yachts of Monaco in the distance. We were in a tender port, so we weren't right up against a dock here. We were out in the harbor, and passengers were coming and going on small, eighty-person boats. Still, if someone in one of those yachts had a telephoto camera ...

"We ... should close ... the curtains ..." I gasped as his other hand slid along the curve of my untouched breast.

He chuckled, his fingers dancing inches away from the aching peak. "You're sure you want me to get up and stop doing ..."

His hand at my back released the clasp, my bra fell free, and both breasts shone firm and full in the golden afternoon sunshine. His mouth lowered to the one which had, until now, been neglected.

All other thought was completely lost as I twined my hands into his hair and held his head in place. It was exquisite. It was pleasure and beauty and joy all spiraling into a tornado laced with effervescent Champagne. It was wild abandon and carefully controlled tempo. I wanted nothing at all but this. Just this, just this pleasure, just this moment in time.

I wanted –

He lifted his head, and I gasped at the absence. The ache which pulsed within me was more powerful than anything I'd ever felt before. I could barely get the words out. "Brandon – don't –"

He stood before me, looking down at me with shining eyes. "God, Hannah, you are absolutely glowing. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

He took me by my hand, pulling me to my feet, and I stumbled, awash in sensation and need. He guided me over to the bank of windows, to the glistening wealth of Monte Carlo in the distance. I put my hands out on the glass, feeling naked and alive and craving all at once.

He slid his hands down my hips, murmuring in my ear. "You are a goddess. You are a princess. All of this is yours, and more, because you are ..."

His hand undid the button of my jeans, then slid down the zipper. He slid his fingers within my panties, groaning as he felt how soaked I was. And then he began thrumming against my clit while his other hand came up to gently work my nipple.

I was beyond words. I leant my head back against his shoulder, his mouth came down to my neck, and the sensation of his sucking there brought me arching back hard against his body. His hands held me in place as the feeling rose ... cascaded ...

A thousand pieces burst away from me: alabaster bows of yachts, the bright sapphire of pennants dancing in the wind, and it was all alight with the brightest of brilliance. I soared and shuddered, ached and released in the glistening azure sky. The waves beneath me echoed the clouds above.

I was his.

Time ... time stood ... time stood still.

At last my legs gave way and he gathered me up in his arms, carrying me over to the bed. He laid me down on it, then lay next to me, looking down my length with a fierce glow. Finally his gaze came back up to my lips, and he pressed a gentle kiss there.

A heavy lassitude filled all of my limbs. I looked up at him. "But you haven't –"

"Shhhhh," he reassured me. "You rest now."

I wanted to say something else, but my eyes eased shut, and I was blissfully asleep.

# Chapter 8

I blinked my eyes open, and for a moment confusion set in. I was sprawled on a large, white bed in an elegant suite. Rosy shades of sunset were drifting through the windows. A vase of tropical flowers sat on a table to one side. And through the door ...

I self-consciously pulled the sheets up over my chest and pushed myself up to sitting as Brandon came in carrying a tray with a plate of grapes, pineapple, cherries, and melons. He put it down next to me. "Thought you might be hungry." He nudged his head at the table on the side of the bed. "Your Champagne is over there."

I reached over and picked up a grape, popping it into my mouth. I downed it with some of the Champagne. "Aren't you supposed to peel those for me with your teeth?" I teased.

He grinned. "I think that's your job. I'm supposed to lounge in a toga in a chair, while half-naked women wave fans of ostrich feathers over my head."

"Only half-naked?"

"Well, we do have our sense of propriety, after all."

I ate another grape. "These are good."

"Well, if you want, we can skip the Italian dinner I had planned."

My eyes lit up as my stomach grumbled into life. "Italian dinner?"

He nodded. "I'd reserved a table for two at La Cuchina in about half an hour. But if that's not enough time –"

"That's perfect," I interrupted. "I am absolutely starving."

His smile widened. "I wonder why?"

I grinned, rolling out of bed, pulling the sheet around me like a robe. "And I also need a shower. If you don't mind –"

He waved a hand. "Not at all. Although I should stay out here. Otherwise I might be tempted to join you, and we might not make it to dinner at all."

My stomach rumbled again, louder this time, and I was under the streaming water in seconds flat.

The restaurant was lovely, done in gold and crimson, and the atmosphere was pleasantly quiet compared with the loud, babbling noise of the larger dining rooms. I could actually hear Brandon speak as he ordered us a bottle of Champagne.

The waiter left, and Brandon took up my hands in his. "We've talked so much over the past few days, and yet there's still so much I want to know about you. What was your childhood like? How was it, growing up in Miami?"

I shrugged, relishing the feel of his strong fingers against mine. "I think most people think of their own childhoods as natural, because it's what they are used to. It's what is normal to them. So to me, my childhood was always just the way a childhood should be. I had my two parents. I had my younger sister. We went to the beach in the summer and wore long-sleeve shirts in the winter. We had friends who were black and white and yellow and red and it never made any difference to us. People spoke Cuban or French or Cantonese and it was simply a part of life."

I buttered a piece of fresh Italian bread, popping it into my mouth. "I think it was only when I got into high school, and started getting more into current events, that I realized just how different other parts of the states were, never mind the world. I saw how gays were bullied and even abused. I saw how those of different skin colors were looked down on. I remember how much it baffled me. To me, that was like bullying someone for having a different hair color or for having freckles. It just made no sense."

He gave a wry smile. "It sounds like a nice way to grow up."

"I suppose, but it also meant I was oblivious to so many things. Maybe it meant I wasn't as active as I could have been in causes, because they just didn't stand out to me. One of my best friends in high school was a lesbian. It's just part of who she was, like her red hair or her green eyes. But I think of what she might have gone through if she'd been born somewhere less tolerant."

"The world is improving, but you're right, those of us who care do need to keep helping with that forward progress. There are places where it's illegal to be different."

"I suppose that's why there's still so many people fleeing where they live," I mused. "Sometimes it's not just a matter of making more money to afford better clothes. Sometimes it's a matter of life or death."

I looked at him. "Do you think that could be why those people we saw in Monte Carlo earlier were trying to get to Europe?"

He shook his head. "Not likely. Those were probably young men coming over from Carthage, simply looking for better jobs. They hear about the easy money in Europe – how anybody with clothes on their back can get a job and get rich. They don't realize the dangers involved."

"Do you think we should tell someone about what we saw?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. We have very little to go on, right now. Just a man handing another man money, and then a man walking with six dark-skinned people. Neither one is a crime. We would need much more than that in order to be helpful."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we do a bit of sleuthing?"

His brow creased in concern. "I don't want to get you into any danger. It'd be best if –"

"It'd be best if I stayed with you, where I'd be safe," I finished. "Or are you saying you're going to abandon me to my own devices? I'd just go snooping on my own."

His brow creased further. "You wouldn't –"

"Not if you keep me by your side," I finished with a smile.

He sighed, then gave my hands a squeeze. "Don't go off on your own," he warned me. "I've been in this line of work for a while. The men involved in this area can be tough. Very tough."

"I'll stay right by your side," I promised. My grin grew. "When, of course, I'm not beneath you ... or ..."

Desire flared in his eyes, he leaned forward – and the waiter appeared to lift the bottle of Champagne out of its frosty bucket.

I flashed Brandon a warm smile. We had all the time in the world.

# Chapter 9

I stalked back and forth in front of the water shuttle loading area, glancing at my watch for the ninetieth time. It was nearly ten a.m. Brandon had said he'd meet me here. Last night after dinner he'd walked me to my room, quite gentlemanly, and kissed me good night before leaving me to my sister. I had been disappointed, but I'd swallowed my emotions and followed his lead. I couldn't even imagine what a whirlwind of emotions he was dealing with right now, and I didn't want to do anything to disturb our delicate balance. If he needed the night alone to think things through, I could get through that.

The poor man was on a romantic cruise that he'd – just weeks ago – expected to be spending day and night in with the fiancée of his dreams. And now everything had been shattered. Perhaps, in his mind, to sleep with another woman in that room was crossing a line.

It hadn't escaped my notice that he had not found any release for himself. He had only pleasured me.

I blushed at my use of "only" in my thoughts – surely what I had experienced was far from an "only" feeling. But, still, he was holding back, and it seemed clear why. I resolved to be patient and to wait it out, as long as it took. Brandon was a man worth the effort.

"Hannah!"

I turned and smiled as Brandon came striding toward me. He was impossibly handsome in a tan shirt over dark blue jeans. The dark sunglasses made him seem a model out of a magazine. I stretched up to kiss him on the lips, then wrapped my arm around his waist as we walked toward the boat.

He gave me a gentle pat on the hip. "Sleep well?"

I bumped hips against his. "Not as well as I would have if ..." I looked up and caught a ghost of a shadow in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I slept fine."

He brought a smile on his lips. "No, no, that's all right. I would have liked ... but, I'm just not ready yet. Not so soon."

We stepped down into the darkness of the shuttle boat, finding a pair of seats along the window. I gave his hand a squeeze as I sat down. "You take your time. I can't even imagine what you're going through. If it had happened to me, I'd have gone home to my parents' house and curled up in bed for a month."

He gave a wry grin. "I'm sure my mother would have loved to have me back home. She's only got one son nearby, and even he's a half-hour away." He shrugged. "But the tickets were paid for, and I hated to see them go to waste. And so I climbed on the plane, and here I am."

"You've got a lot of hang-in-there," I murmured. "Not many people could have just kept going."

He shrugged. "It was my self-imposed training, to get in the SEALs, and then it was reinforced by all the Coast Guard training. You do what you have to do. The weather is going to be torrential, the conditions are going to be nasty, and you just plow ahead. You do what has to be done. And, one little step at a time, you get through it."

I gave his hand another squeeze. "Well, I'm glad you did."

The tension in his face eased, and he gave me a hint of a smile. "So am I." He stared at me with a distant look on his face. "You know, when I was sitting in the Miami airport preparing to fly to Rome, I was thinking about asking my boss for a transfer to Fairbanks, Alaska. A complete change of scenery, something new." He ran a hand down my cheek. "I would have missed you entirely. You were right there the entire time – but I would have lost my one chance."

I leaned against him. "I'll count my blessings every day that fate gave us this opportunity."

* * *

Our lunch at the Carthaginian restaurant had been absolutely delicious, with chicken and lamb served over couscous. Now we had walked a few blocks west. The brochures had promised that the Photography Museum in Toulon featured famous works by Man Ray and other historical greats. However, today it had been taken completely over by old, black-and-white photos of Istanbul. They were interesting, certainly, with shots of the Orient Express and tourists posing alongside locals. But it wasn't quite what I had hoped to see.

The elderly curator was sitting in the lobby as we left, and I looked over to him. "Just these two floors?" I asked. "No other rooms?"

He shook his head and spoke with a heavy French accent. "No, no. Small museum." His grey eyes lit up, and he hobbled with us to the door. "There, down street. Another gallery. Go look."

"All right, thank you," I offered, and we stepped out into the narrow alley.

The roads in Rome had often been just wide enough for a car, certainly, but here in Toulon it seemed they were barely passable for a motorcycle. There was a dingy square with a black mutt lounging in one corner, graffiti on several of the walls, and a trio of young men lounging against a doorway, talking with each other animatedly in French.

As we approached them, they looked up in interest. One, a handsome man with dark hair and a beard, smiled warmly at me. "Interested in the gallery?"

I nodded my head. "Yes, please."

He waved a hand to the frosted glass door on the opposite wall. "Enjoy – it's free. Take photos if you wish."

Brandon pulled open the door for me, and we stepped into a narrow space.

It was a long, thin rectangle of a room. If Brandon and I stood side by side, and each stretched out an arm, we could probably touch both walls. It was probably three times as long as it was wide.

And it wasn't showing classic Man Ray photos.

I looked around. "Wow."

This was definitely a far more cutting-edge gallery than the one we'd just come from. Rather than staid images of Istanbul landscapes across serenely flowing rivers, here we had barbed wire curled to form the word "Incha'Allah." A series of six paintings showed a single apartment room decorated in a variety of styles – half involving nude pictures or nude inhabitants. There were a pair of skis made out of turquoise glass and a book with most of its letters blacked out.

A video screen on the far wall caught my eye, and I walked toward it. It showed six hands sliding slowly up, then down. As I got closer, I blushed. I realized that the first hand was sliding up and down a marble penis. The second was moving along a wooden rod of some sort. Another moved along a tower, much like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Brandon was beside me, raising an eyebrow. "Some sort of commentary that sex is power, and that a man's drive for sex is like his drive to build things and take command?"

"I suppose," I murmured, fascinated by the video despite myself. "I guess I don't see sex like that. Sex is about sharing. It creates a connection between two people that is unlike any other. You have to trust the other person. For a moment, you're completely open and vulnerable."

Brandon's eyes shadowed. "For more than a moment."

We turned and came back out to the street again. The French man came over with a sparkle in his eyes. "So, mademoiselle, what did you think of our exhibit?"

I smiled at him. "I had a question about one of the items in there."

His face warmed with delight. "Oh? Which one?"

Brandon eyed me, but I plowed on. "The book – the one that has sectioned blacked out. What is that about?"

He grinned, apparently pleased that someone was taking note of the items. "Here, let me show you." He put his hand on my back as he guided us into the gallery. "This show is all about perceptions and assumptions. Those skis, for example. Skis should be sturdy, but these are made of glass. They are the right item but the wrong composition. That barbed wire phrase 'Incha'Allah'. The phrase means 'If God Wills' – but it's written using a substance that tells of danger and harm."

He walked to the book. "So here we have a book of words, yes? A book that tells a story. But the artist blacked out most of the letters. What is left behind spells out musical notes. So now this is a song. The content changed based on what the artist did to it."

I looked in awe at the book. "That is so neat!"

He beamed. "We have another room, next door. Would you like to see that as well?"

"Oh, absolutely!"

He opened the door for us back to the street, and in a moment we'd entered the second room of the gallery. It was laid out just like the first, with a narrow, long room. To the right, on a pedestal, was a book laid open with white pages. A small flashlight stood on the edge of the pedestal.

I stared at the book with interest, then picked up the flashlight and turned it on. Immediately, French words appeared on the page, illuminated by the black light in the flashlight.

I laughed. "Oh, very cool!"

Another book was titled as a song book, but rather than notes or words inside it, it held the wave-form shape of the phrases. I stared at it, mesmerized. The artists truly were playing with the concept of how we think about things.

I turned to find Brandon staring at a work on the opposite wall. It was a butcher's cleaver stuck deep into the wood beam. Stencil-cut through the blade were the letters I ♥ YOU.

I blinked. "Wow."

He gave himself a shake. "Yeah, not what you expect, huh. But I guess that's the point." He nudged his head at the table the book lay open on. "And if the cleaver had just been sitting on a table, it'd be one thing. But to see it driven into the beam of the wall, as if in anger – well, that's quite another."

I tugged on his arm. "C'mon, let me show you the black light book. You'll like it."

He came along with me, and his brow quirked up as I showed him how the letters appeared and disappeared with the flashlight's action. But I had a sense that cleaver was still resonating in his mind, with its mix of emotions.

The French guy came over to me and handed me a card. "We have a website. Maybe you could visit it and tell others about us."

"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "You have some fascinating things here."

He grinned. "So much of Toulon is about ancient history. Old art, old architecture. We're trying to add something new to it. Something to help people think."

I nodded. "You certainly did that!"

Brandon pushed open the door. "Thank you for your time." He escorted me out, and we headed back down the tiny alley. A pair of bird cages hung high overhead from an apartment window, the birds singing enthusiastically to the flock of pigeons which lounged just across the way.

Brandon glanced at me as we walked. "That guy was flirting with you."

I laughed. "Oh, was he? I didn't really notice."

"Not that I blame him, of course. A beautiful woman shows interest in his artwork – he'd have to be dead not to respond."

I blushed. "I'm hardly beautiful, but I was intrigued by what they were doing there."

He turned against me, pressing me into the stone wall, twining his fingers into my hair. "God, Hannah, you have me all wrapped up. I barely know you, and I feel like I want to be with you every minute. When that French guy was talking with you, it took every ounce of my strength not to push him away. I want ... I want ..."

He pressed his lips onto mine, hard, fierce, and I could feel the desperate need within him. I answered the kiss, opening my mouth fully to him, and he groaned beneath his breath. His body melded to mine, his cock throbbing hard through his pants, and my leg slid up his of its own accord.

A trio of young girls ran past us, laughing and pointing, before racing around the corner.

Brandon pulled back with effort. "Not here," he growled, brushing back his hair. "Back to the ship."

I matched him stride for stride as we crossed the cobblestone, heading for the water.

# Chapter 10

The same water taxi – or another boat just like it – was waiting exactly where we'd left it, moored to a dock facing the wharf with its long line of souvenir shops and bars. We paid them no heed. We showed our ship key cards to the attendant and stepped into the boat. The seats were nearly half filled with passengers, so we found a pair by the port window and settled in opposite an older couple.

My body was flaring with heat for him, and every brush of his arm against mine sent new waves of longing throughout me. I looked up at him and could see in his eyes that he was fighting the same struggle. Every ounce of me wanted to climb into his lap, to wrap my arms around him, and to lose myself in him.

He leaned over to put his lips against my ear. "Fifteen more minutes, and I will have your body arching against my tongue, desperate for release."

I could feel my panties soak at his words, and I pressed my legs together against it.

He chuckled low in his throat, and his tongue darted out to lick at my ear. The sensation was beyond description. I bit my lip to hold in the groan.

His whisper dropped into a lower register. "Maybe I'll tie your hands to the headboard, so I can have my way with you. And, once you're helpless, and just in your bra and panties, I'll circle my hand around your breast, spiraling up ... up ... closer to that rosy peak ... just about ..."

The boat rumbled into life, and I gasped, sure that my entire body was glowing white hot. I didn't dare look at him. I might lose all control, and I didn't want to be thrown off the ship, not this early in the voyage. I steadfastly kept my gaze on the sailboats and shoreline as we pulled away from the dock.

Brandon leaned over to press a kiss against my neck. I could feel it resonate throughout my body. He murmured in my ear, "And then my fingers would finally reach your nipple, would tweak it, ever so slightly ..."

He leaned across me, as if to look out the window at something, and his hand came up between us and gently, firmly, slid against my nipple.

I was lucky I was sitting. I closed my eyes at the sensation, becoming lost.

His body stilled suddenly, and when he spoke his voice was more serious. "Hand me your camera."

I blinked my eyes awake. Was he really going to try to take photos of me in this crowded boat? I pulled the camera from my lap and handed it over to him.

He brought it to his face, still leaning against me, and zoomed it in as far as it could go. I turned against him, following his eyes.

There was a fishing boat a ways from us, deep in the mouth of the harbor. I could see a pair of men on its deck, but it was too far for me to pick out any details. The boat was probably twenty-five feet in length and looked quite sturdy. It was riding low in the water.

Brandon snapped a few photos. "I wish I'd brought my own camera," he muttered. "I'd be able to get closer photos."

Our water taxi banked to the right, and he sat back, bringing the camera down and hitting the playback button.

I looked at the screen in curiosity. "What was it?"

He paged through the images, and I blinked. It was that same crew member. This time he was talking to an equally swarthy man in a black jacket and black pants. The man had a scar cut down one cheek.

Brandon's voice was tense. "I think I've seen photos of this other man before. He's Bernardo Pesci, and he's wanted by Interpol. Smuggling, drugs, that sort of thing."

"And he's talking to that same crew member."

Brandon paged to the last image – and the crew member was staring right at the camera.

I shuddered. "Do you think he saw you?"

Brandon glanced at the window of the boat. "We're inside, in the dark, and the glass is reflective. Hopefully all he saw was the boat moving past; nothing else."

He turned off the camera, tucking it into his pocket. "I'll get these pictures off onto my laptop, and I'll be able to use the ship's wi-fi to do some searches. I should know soon enough if this is the man I think he is."

"And then what?"

He chuckled, turning to me. He nuzzled his head in against my ear. "And then, my dearest lover ..." He nibbled along my neck, sending frissons of sensation down through my body. "My darling ... I will lay you on the king-sized bed. I will tantalize your breasts until you are soaking wet and unable to think."

His breath came in a long draw, and I felt it resonate throughout my body. His voice was hoarse when he continued. "I will tease you, and tease you, and tease you, until you are begging me to take you. Because your body will ache ... it will ache ..."

I was already aching for him, and each word he spoke sent me deeper into my spirals of desire.

By the time we reached the docks, it took all my energy to wait my turn to climb up out of the water shuttle, to wait in the line to go through security. We didn't wait for the elevator – we raced up the stairs, chasing each other like children, laughing and pulling at each other as we rounded the corners. And then we finally reached the door. He fumbled for his key card, and I pressed up against him, kissing him deeply, feeling his hardness against me. I looked up into his eyes, and was blown away by the power there.

I knew there would be no holding back now.

He found the key card, stuck it in its slot, and pushed open the door.

She was standing in the middle of the room.

Tall, elegant, she was dressed in nothing but fine black lingerie which perfectly molded to her long, curvaceous form. Her shimmering black hair draped along her back to her waist. Her crimson lips were artfully pouted to just the right plumpness. Her long fingernails looked as if they dripped blood.

She turned on her impossibly high black heels and looked over Brandon, her smile growing to rich desire.

"There you are, my husband-to-be. You can send away your playmate. I am back."

Hannah and Brandon's story continues in Book 2 of this Italian Nights series – _Carved Into My Heart_!

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/carvedintomyheart

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# Dedication

To Ruth, who inspires me daily.

To Toni, who has believed in me and this series from the very beginning.

To George and Bob, who encourage me in all my dreams.

Sandra Baublitz does a fantastic job of tracking down fixes that nobody else has seen! Highly recommended.

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And, most of all, to my loyal fans who continue to encourage me in the cause. Whether you're on GoodReads, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or my blog, together we help make the world a better place!

# About the Author

I come from a family which adores Italy. My parents strive to go every year, and I've been several times there myself. I took this very cruise through the Mediterranean Sea and wrote my notes while I traveled. The sights, sounds, aromas, and atmosphere of this exotic region is just as I personally experienced them.

If you haven't been to Italy, Monaco, Spain, or France, I highly recommend it. Even if you have to save a little each year to make it a trip of a lifetime, it is well worth it. These locations are the cradle of civilization. The art, food, and culture they created resonate throughout time.

There is nothing in the world like being there.

Half of the proceeds of this book's sales benefit battered women's shelters.

Please send along as much feedback and suggestions as you can. The more we can polish these worlds and characters, the more we can help the cause.

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Worcester Nights series:

Kate's life sucks. She's tending bar at a run-down dive. Her immoral boss fondles every co-ed within reach. The clientele is made up of TV-glazed zombies, drunkards, and ... who is that in the corner?

The Thunderbolt Hits.

She hadn't thought it was real. But when she looks into Sean's eyes, the force of the connection staggers her. Her mind desperately seeks to pull her back - he's an ex-felon. Far too talented with those rippled muscles and toned fists. He's everything she should be staying away from.

She craves him from the depths of her soul.

His touch smolders her skin; his fingers expose her to worlds she never dreamt existed.

But when his secret is ripped free from the dark shadows, their lives teeter on the brink of destruction.

Book 1 - Dwell in Possibility

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/dwellinpossibility/

Book 2 – A Soul Ajar

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asoulajar/

Book 3 – A Song of Soul and Hope

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/asongofsoulandhope/

Book 4 – Stop One Heart from Breaking

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/stoponeheartfrombreaking/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/WorcesterNights/

Bermuda Nights series:

Amanda desperately needed to get away. Her whole life had been about pleasing others - her straight-laced parents, her rule-bound teachers. When her best friend, Kayla, suggested they hop a cruise from Boston to Bermuda, Amanda leapt at the chance. This was her one chance to light the night on fire.

And then Evan stepped on stage.

Evan was exactly the man her country-club parents would have disapproved of. Ripped abs and soul-deep eyes. Lightning-fast fists. One glance and she knew she has to be his - if just for these seven brief, torturously-exquisite days.

And, oh, Evan could play her. His fingers were connoisseurs of her body, drawing out her deeper notes, sending her soaring to heights she barely knew existed. She lost all sense of self, of rules.

Until the day she saw what she was never meant to see - and her world changed forever.

Book 1 – Resonating Souls

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/resonatingsouls/

Book 2 – Wine-Dark Dreams

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/winedarkdreams/

Book 3 – The Soulless Abyss

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/thesoullessabyss/

Book 4 – Wanting All

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/wantingall/

Boxed Set of Books 1-4

http://OpheliaSikes.com/BermudaNights/

Italian Nights series.

Hannah and her sister, Megan, have been given the trip of a lifetime. They are cruising the Mediterranean Sea. Starting at Rome, they are working their way counter-clockwise through Florence, Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Sardinia, Sicily, and Pompeii. Life is their playground.

And then Hannah meets Brandon.

Brandon is strong, intelligent, loyal, and everything Hannah could possibly dream of in a man. He has also just walked in on his fiancée in bed with his best friend. Hannah is willing to wait as long as it takes for him to work his way through this betrayal.

And then all Hell breaks loose ...

Book 1 – Love's Heat

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lovesheat

Book 2 – Carved Into My Heart

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/carvedintomyheart

Book 3 – Lost In Darkness

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/lostindarkness

Book 4 – Love's Labyrinths

 http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/loveslabyrinths

Book 5 – Flames and Tears

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/flamesandtears

Boxed Set of Books 1-5

http://OpheliaSikes.com/ItalianNights/

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