LITMIR.BIZ

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this woman want?

      A silken rustle of clothing whispered in the darkness. “What is the Napoletano, Dante, to you?”

      Ariana tensed. She needed to frame her answer carefully. Was this Megaera looking for an “opportunity” to hurt Dante? The gods and goddesses of legend frequently ensnared mortals with their own thoughtless words.

      But the woman who held them captive was human…armed with intelligence and power. And the ruthlessness to wield them. Ariana hesitated. Megaera wanted Ariana to believe she was on her side. Dante seemed as if he were not. Instinct warned her to proceed with caution. “That sounds like a trick question.”

      “I’ll make it easier. Do you wish me to dispose of him?”

      An affirmative or a negative could land both her and Dante in serious jeopardy. If Megaera thought Ariana cared for Dante, the woman could use it against them. But Ariana refused to consent to hurting him further.

      “Decide quickly. Or I will decide for you.”

      “Then I…” Phrase it carefully. “In future dealings, I want you to treat Dante and me with equal respect.”

      “An answer worthy of the ancient gods.” Satisfaction swam in Megaera’s sultry reply. “You risk throwing your lot in with his? Wise. And yet…most unwise.”

      “I vote for wise.”

      “It remains to be seen whether your choice reveals mercy—or weakness.” The woman’s hand rested on the arm of her chair, and moonlight illuminated the golden circlet at her wrist. The antique bracelet adorned with bloodstones sent a shiver of recognition through Ariana. Where had she seen it before?

      “Hold fast to your secrets, Ms. Bennett. Do not reveal yourself to anyone.” Megaera rose and glided to the door. “And you may be granted a chance to even the score for your father.”

      The woman left, abandoning Ariana to the gloom.

      Her stomach heaved with the ship. What on earth had just happened?

      More importantly, what would happen next?

      The door crashed open and the Greek swaggered in. Without a word, he yanked her to her feet and marched her toward the yacht’s stern. Dread weighted her chest. Was this the end? Would he shove her into the unforgiving sea?

      The torturous walk down the rolling deck was the longest of her life.

      Clinging to her dignity—all she had left—Ariana refused to cry or beg. She shouldn’t have embarked on this ill-fated voyage. Sadie would never recover from losing both her husband and daughter.

      At the stern, Ariana braced herself for the final assault. Instead, the thug left. Bewilderment assailed her. Reeling from captivity first in the odiferous hold and then the perfumed stateroom, she inhaled the bracing night air. If these were her last breaths, she would savor them.

      Murky gray clouds scuttled across the pallid moon. The ocean churned below, where restless waves prowled to the horizon and tumbled off the earth. Shuddering, Ariana pressed trembling lips together. Don’t you dare start wailing.

      How had she landed on a yacht in the Mediterranean waiting to die? She had never taken risks. Never longed for adventure. She’d been content to experience life through the stories she adored. She had never hungered for ambition. Never burned with passion. Never melded heart to heart with a soul mate.

      At what were probably her few remaining moments before death, realization stole over her. She’d only flirted with blurry shadows of the real thing.

      She had never truly lived.

      It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t enough.

      She wanted more!

      If she made it through this, she would live her life the way she wanted…on her own terms. No more concessions. No more doubts. When she died, she wanted to leave behind no regrets.

      She heard a commotion and spun around. Which was more terrifying? Someone creeping up from behind and shoving her into the water…or watching the waves rise up to swallow her?

      The thugs struggled into view, wrestling Dante between them. The pair strove to restrain the furious Napoletano. Even tied up, he fought every step…defaming their parentage in admirably profane Italian. Relief crested over her. His injuries hadn’t disabled him as badly as she’d feared.

      Dante saw her. He stumbled, his tirade broken mid-insult. His gaze swept her body, then locked with hers. His umber eyes mirrored her relief, and her heart jolted. Then he looked away, his features hardening into his usual stony expression.

      The Russian opened a watertight door in the stern and motioned them down onto a platform. Her gaze fixated on the waves lapping at her deck shoes. “I’m sorry.” She sputtered a frantic apology at Dante.

      “Stay calm, Ariana.” His low assurance vibrated in her ear. “Get into the boat.” He gestured at a speedboat moored to the platform.

      Boat? Her limbs quivered as the spike of adrenaline ebbed. She hadn’t seen the boat.

      The Greek piloted the speedboat and the Russian rode shotgun, with her and Dante trapped in the middle. As if they’d be moronic enough to dive headlong into the ocean with their hands tied behind their backs.

      The Greek didn’t use the running lights. He either knew where they were going or was taking them farther out to sea to dump their bodies.

      Wind whipped her hair as the hull chopped through surf. Shivering, she leaned into Dante. “Will they toss us overboard?” she whispered.

      “I doubt it. They would have done it from the yacht and saved the effort.”

      “You know I can’t swim. If you get a chance to escape, go. Save yourself.”

      He angled his big frame to shield her from the wind. “I am not leaving you. And I will not let anything happen to you.”

      “You don’t lack confidence, Signor Dante. I appreciate the encouragement, but unless you have blue spandex tights and a red cape stashed in your pocket, I don’t see how.”

      It took a few seconds to translate. Then he threw back his head and laughed. His eyes sparkled and his teeth gleamed in his bearded face. Dazed, Ariana blinked at the impact of Dante’s unrestrained smile.

      The Greek turned and scowled, and Dante lowered his voice.

      “Don’t be so pessimistic, bella. Thanks to your cleverness, my ropes are weakened. I only need more time and a sharp object.”

      “Which you won’t find in the middle of the Mediterranean.”

      “We’re headed toward a destination. We wait. And watch.”

      The Greek suddenly killed the motor.

      “Shut up,” the Russian snarled. “No more talking.”

      Ariana anxiously half turned as the beefy man stood, but he merely slid the oars into the oarlocks and reseated himself. His biceps knotted as he rowed.

      She glanced up at Dante. Inscrutability shuttered his bruised face, but his forearms grazed hers as he fought his bonds. They had to be nearing their final destination. She fervently hoped he could break free.

      Trembling with cold and apprehension, she huddled into the protection afforded by his body, and he moved closer. Though he had often appeared to ignore her over the past six weeks, in reality, he was acutely responsive to her body language. A survival skill when one conducted business with the mob.

      Though their whispered conversation had been forbidden, the presence of his reassuring strength helped. The irony wasn’t lost on her. Soaking in his heat, she pressed against him, shoulder to firm shoulder, thigh to hard-muscled thigh.

      She wasn’t convinced they were headed anywhere other than the bottom of the sea. If she succumbed to her rioting fear of how it might feel, how long it might take to drown, she’d start screaming

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