Dead By Dusk
Page 5

"You're something of an inferno there, yourself, miss," he said, and once again, the grin deepened.
Gema was certain that she did resemble something of a blaze, for she blushed to the roots of her hair.
Unusual for her. His English was perfect. She couldn't even tell if there was a trace of an accent in it, and she could usually peg people immediately regarding their background through their speech.
"Thanks," she said wryly.
"So, what are you doing in these parts?" he asked softly.
She slowly arched a delicate, flyaway brow. "Considering leaving them," she told him. "I'm an actress.
I'm here to do a friend a favor." That wasn't really the truth. Close enough. The job had seemed a decent offer at the time. But now…
"Ah, but this is an up-and-coming area, you know," he told her.
"I want the action in my lifetime," she said.
He leaned closer. The man was pure magnetism. "Somehow, I get the impression that you create action wherever you go."
"We only live once," she said lightly.
"How true." He straightened and indicated a table in the corner. "There's some nice shadow over there.
A cozy little place. It may look a bit dingy, but a hard-working family owns this place. It's always very clean. Why don't you come over and tell me more about yourself."
Gema quickly slid from her bar stool.
"With pleasure," she told him, the sound of her words something like a purr. The corner. Delightfully dark. Intimate. Like the man. Sensually charged.
A little shiver ripped through her.
Yes. Oh, Lord. He had an aura of pure sexuality…
And danger.
A half-hour later, she barely knew what she had said to him. And she definitely had no idea of what he had said to her. She knew that they had talked, that they had gone through several drinks, and that she was floating on air.
She was leaning closer and closer and was startled when he suddenly looked at his watch and frowned.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I—I have some business. Come, I'll walk you home. Or to wherever it is that you're staying."
"By the club." Gema wrinkled her nose slightly. "I have a lovely little place. That, at least, is a boon to being here. My cottage is small, but really charming."
"I'll walk you," he said.
She smiled, pleased. Nothing like a protective man.
"Is there a large crime element around here?" she queried. "Actually, I hadn't thought there could be anything so exciting."
"It's a wonderful place," he assured her. "As to crime, you never know. So I will walk you."
They strolled through the streets. Gema didn't think that they passed anyone, but she wouldn't have known. She couldn't take her eyes from him. The arm he placed around her shoulder seemed more supportive and protective than affectionate, but that was all right. He could be a gentleman. She knew, through his eyes, through his voice, by the very way he had sat so near in the bar, that he could and would be a passionate and experienced lover.
But when they reached the downstairs door to the pleasant little cottage, he stepped back.
"You're not coming in at all?" she asked huskily. "I have a truly fine liquor cabinet. The views are gorgeous. And naturally, I've lots of my own music."
"Maybe I'll make it back," he said.
Gema was sure she could do a better job of enticing the man to stay. But she wasn't given the chance.
He inclined his head with a secretive smile, then he was headed down the path that would take him around the club and back to the main road.
He stopped suddenly, though, looking back. "Keep that door locked. It may be a foreign country and a quaint town, but you should keep your door locked."
"But you're coming back."
"I'll knock loudly."
Gema watched him go. Watched the set of his broad shoulders, the long, easy stride with which he seemed to cover distance quickly. The scent of him seemed to linger.
She leaned against her door, smiling. She'd had a bit too much to drink, but…
Energy returned to her. He'd be back. And she'd be ready. She flew up the stairs where a hallway divided into three full rooms, all with access to the outer porch. The accommodations were nice enough.
Even very nice. But she wasn't sure what the builders had been thinking, putting three bedrooms in such a charming little bungalow. Nor what she had been thinking when she hadn't insisted that she have really private quarters.
Ah, well—tonight, she was alone.
And waiting.
She hurried to her bathroom, started the water, and fantasized about the night to come as she stroked her flesh with scented soap.
Giovanni was between twenty-five and thirty, exceptionally tall. He had an easy appearance that made him seem almost lanky, but a look at his tightly worn knit shirt clearly showed that he was really incredibly well honed. He also had a smile Stephanie was sure had broken many a young female heart.
He had a lazy, sensual look about him, and yet she had discovered that he had almost as much energy as Arturo, and was a worker who could move like the wind. He was cute, all right. Sexy.
But she felt far more mature, and not at all in the mood.
He arrived with her two heavy suitcases, coat, and garment bag, all carried at once. Stephanie wasn't quite sure how he had managed it all, but he stood at the front door, grinning, and not appearing at all burdened by the weight.
"Good evening, Miss Cahill. I will run these up to the loft for you?"
Stephanie arched a brow, wondering if even the young, muscle-bound Giovanni was capable of running it all up the stairs.
"Sure, thanks, come in," she told him.
He nodded, and started up the stairs. He wasn't running, but he did move darned quickly. A second later, he was back.
"Is there anything else I may do for you?"
"Thank you very much, but no. I think I'm just going to get some sleep."
He nodded, but didn't move. "You like the cottage?"
"It's beautiful. The sea is wonderful. The mountains… are even better."
"Haunted," he said, and nodded sagely.
"Oh?"
He shrugged. "There were many battles in the cliffs and hills."
"World War Two?" she asked.
He grimaced. "A few. But years ago, the local people, kings of the region and Sicily, fought. Many Crusaders moved through here. Many did not want to leave. They are finding the remains of all kinds of old things up there. But the people have always said the hills cry by night. Pretty, yes? Oh—I haven't frightened you, have I?"
Stephanie laughed. "Not at all. I do have a few fears, but none that include warriors from the Crusades coming to burn down my house."
"Still, if you like, there are many lovely small towns to see, and I can show you. Of course, sometimes, it's not easy. Your actresses are stuck on the road, you know."
"Yes, I know."
"But the rock slides do not happen often."
"Just on the day I arrive," Stephanie murmured.
"It will be fine."
"Yes, I know. It's Italy."
"Pardon?"
Stephanie shook her head. "I know that it will all be fine."
He nodded and started to leave, then paused, turning back. "I could be a very good actor."
"Really? Well, we'll see—how's that?"
"Very, very good." Giovanni had what could be considered almost stereotypical good looks. Tall, dark, and well-muscled, he also possessed a finely sculpted face and two of the deepest, darkest eyes Stephanie had ever seen. He was pleased with her interest.
"I could be part of the troupe?" he asked.
"Giovanni, right now, I don't even remember what the troupe is supposed to be doing. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"
" Certo!" His eyes lingered over her. She'd been warned that men here liked to pinch women. So far, she hadn't been pinched. She couldn't begin to imagine Giovanni walking over to pinch her. And still, there was a certain smouldering in his gaze that suggested he was a man finding a woman to be attractive. She wondered wryly if it had to do with the fact that she was an unmarried, hopefully attractive young woman, or if he felt that it would be a good thing to seduce the person who might give him his first break in show business—even if it would be a very strange break!
"Good night, Giovanni, thank you," she said.
"Truly a pleasure. Anytime you need anything, please, you need just to call on Giovanni."
"Thank you, again. I'll remember that."
"Tomorrow, bella signorina," he told her, and was gone.
Stephanie shut and locked the door. She couldn't help the smile that stayed in place as she shook her head and headed up the stairs, ready to unpack and call it a day.
Bless Reggie. Maybe this was going to be fun after all.
She took the time to unpack a few things and arrange her toiletries in the delightfully modern bathroom, then stepped into the shower. It, too, was almost thrilling. The water was hot, and the pressure was strong.
She lingered there, then stepped out, toweling dry, and slipping into her nightgown and light velvet robe.
She pulled the coverlet from the bed, then hesitated, looking to the sliding glass doors that she had left open.
The air was so very good…
But there was a small flight of stairs that led from that second floor balcony area down to the beach.
She had no idea what the crime rate might be here—or if there was one. Exhausted, she decided that she didn't care. So what if it might be absurd that she had so carefully locked the front door after Giovanni's departure, only to leave the back wide open.
She was simply so weary.
And the breeze was so, so good.
She shimmied out of the robe, and into the bed, turning off the bedside lamp and snuggling low into the covers.
The sky outside remained a fascinating shade of deep blue. The air continued to waft around her on the softest movement of a breeze…