to watch her step. This man was trouble. He had secrets. She’d be a fool to give him her trust.
But as he stalked across the kitchen toward her, his coal-black eyes making her stomach flip, she knew she faced an even greater danger—her own reckless nature and a man who just might be too tempting to resist.
Chapter 5
S torm clouds gathered in the morning sky, their steel bottoms dragging over the mountain peaks, the cold wind heavy with the threat of rain. With Paloma seated behind him, Dante drove his motorcycle along the two-lane road toward the Roman bridge, an insistent feeling of urgency increasing with every mile.
Something strange was going on, something involving his sister’s death. But what? Nothing added up so far. Lucía had claimed that the prince was trying to kill her. The coroner said she’d died of a heroin overdose due to her discolored tongue and lips. But the way she’d bled pointed to a deadly, exotic disease—which didn’t make any sense.
Spotting the old stone bridge through the dusky woods, Dante dropped a gear to slow the bike. Everything about her death confused him, and he needed more than a hunch to go on if he hoped to figure it out. But from the nagging dread beating like a war drum on his nerves, he didn’t have much time.
Kicking his bike down another gear, he scanned the river’s banks. Deserted. Then he shifted his gaze to the bars across the road from the Roman bridge. Their doors were closed, their patio tables and chairs arranged in stacks, thanks to the off-season and early hour. Reassured that they wouldn’t have witnesses, he stopped at the café closest to the bridge and parked.
Paloma climbed off the bike, and he exhaled, relieved to put some space between them again. Having her soft, feminine body wrapped around him felt too intimate, creating a distraction he didn’t need.
Keeping one eye on the woods bordering the empty bridge, he unhooked the laptop and disks from the rack. “You stay here. I’ll deliver this to Miguel.”
Paloma pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. “I’ll go with you. I want to meet this guy.”
“He might not want to meet you. This isn’t exactly legal,” he added when she frowned.
“He didn’t mind helping us break into the casino.”
“No, but you couldn’t identify him then.”
Her lips pursed. She tilted her head, and the early morning light exposed the dark smudges shadowing her eyes. The sudden urge to protect her stirred inside him, the same push-pull of attraction he’d fought all night. He couldn’t deny her beauty. She had looked like a fantasy in the tabloids but was much more appealing in the flesh—softer, more slender and shorter, with her head coming up to his chin. More human. And she smelled good—feminine—making him want to move closer and taste the silk of her creamy skin.
But it was the anxiety in her eyes, that worry line puckering her brow that wreaked havoc on his defenses, provoking the instinct to do battle on her behalf.
He scowled, alarmed at the direction of his thoughts. She didn’t need his protection. She was a member of the royal family, the most powerful people in País Vell. He couldn’t start sympathizing with her and forget that fact, no matter how vulnerable she looked.
“I’m hardly going to turn him in when I need his help,” she argued.
Dante pulled his mind back to his hacker friend. “He might not believe that.”
She canted her head to meet his eyes. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t believe it. Why are you so skeptical of me?”
Where to start? When her father had ordered his guards to fire on his mother? When her brother had murdered his sister? But this wasn’t the time for that.
“I trusted you,” she pointed out. “I told you about the attempt to blackmail my brother. So why won’t you trust me?”
Unwilling to answer that, he adjusted his grip on the laptop and started across the road. “Fine. Come on, then.” He’d let Miguel decide
But as he stalked across the kitchen toward her, his coal-black eyes making her stomach flip, she knew she faced an even greater danger—her own reckless nature and a man who just might be too tempting to resist.
Chapter 5
S torm clouds gathered in the morning sky, their steel bottoms dragging over the mountain peaks, the cold wind heavy with the threat of rain. With Paloma seated behind him, Dante drove his motorcycle along the two-lane road toward the Roman bridge, an insistent feeling of urgency increasing with every mile.
Something strange was going on, something involving his sister’s death. But what? Nothing added up so far. Lucía had claimed that the prince was trying to kill her. The coroner said she’d died of a heroin overdose due to her discolored tongue and lips. But the way she’d bled pointed to a deadly, exotic disease—which didn’t make any sense.
Spotting the old stone bridge through the dusky woods, Dante dropped a gear to slow the bike. Everything about her death confused him, and he needed more than a hunch to go on if he hoped to figure it out. But from the nagging dread beating like a war drum on his nerves, he didn’t have much time.
Kicking his bike down another gear, he scanned the river’s banks. Deserted. Then he shifted his gaze to the bars across the road from the Roman bridge. Their doors were closed, their patio tables and chairs arranged in stacks, thanks to the off-season and early hour. Reassured that they wouldn’t have witnesses, he stopped at the café closest to the bridge and parked.
Paloma climbed off the bike, and he exhaled, relieved to put some space between them again. Having her soft, feminine body wrapped around him felt too intimate, creating a distraction he didn’t need.
Keeping one eye on the woods bordering the empty bridge, he unhooked the laptop and disks from the rack. “You stay here. I’ll deliver this to Miguel.”
Paloma pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. “I’ll go with you. I want to meet this guy.”
“He might not want to meet you. This isn’t exactly legal,” he added when she frowned.
“He didn’t mind helping us break into the casino.”
“No, but you couldn’t identify him then.”
Her lips pursed. She tilted her head, and the early morning light exposed the dark smudges shadowing her eyes. The sudden urge to protect her stirred inside him, the same push-pull of attraction he’d fought all night. He couldn’t deny her beauty. She had looked like a fantasy in the tabloids but was much more appealing in the flesh—softer, more slender and shorter, with her head coming up to his chin. More human. And she smelled good—feminine—making him want to move closer and taste the silk of her creamy skin.
But it was the anxiety in her eyes, that worry line puckering her brow that wreaked havoc on his defenses, provoking the instinct to do battle on her behalf.
He scowled, alarmed at the direction of his thoughts. She didn’t need his protection. She was a member of the royal family, the most powerful people in País Vell. He couldn’t start sympathizing with her and forget that fact, no matter how vulnerable she looked.
“I’m hardly going to turn him in when I need his help,” she argued.
Dante pulled his mind back to his hacker friend. “He might not believe that.”
She canted her head to meet his eyes. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t believe it. Why are you so skeptical of me?”
Where to start? When her father had ordered his guards to fire on his mother? When her brother had murdered his sister? But this wasn’t the time for that.
“I trusted you,” she pointed out. “I told you about the attempt to blackmail my brother. So why won’t you trust me?”
Unwilling to answer that, he adjusted his grip on the laptop and started across the road. “Fine. Come on, then.” He’d let Miguel decide
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