âYour Skin Is Warm, Emily. And Soft.â
So were her insides, she thought.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw. âShall we?â he murmured.
Her heart skipped a beat, than began to race. Wasnât this why sheâd come here? To be close to Dylan, to gain his confidence by whatever means necessary?
Shall we?
His voice, his touch, seduced her. Made her want when she had no right to want. Made her tremble with need when she needed desperately to keep her composure.
âHere?â
He lifted his head, stared at her with a mixture of amusement and desire. âWell, normally we begin the palace tours in the reception hall and ballroom, but if youâd like to start hereâ¦â
âIt has to look like an accident.â
Emily Bridgewater did not turn around at the manâs words. With her back straight and head high, she stood at the edge of the bluff and stared out at the choppy, deep-blue waters, watched the thick, black clouds rise up from the east like a demonâs ascent from hell. The scent of wild devilâs mint choked the late-afternoon air. Dozens of fishing boats, commercial and pleasure alike, headed for the marinaâonly a fool would challenge the potential wrath of Mother Nature at sea when the skies turned dark as coal.
Emily shivered, not from the icy breeze that whipped at the hem of her long denim skirt, but from despair. What good could possibly come from deceit? sheâd asked herself a hundred times in the past three days. Every time her answer had been the same: none.
And every time sheâd seen no other way.
âDid you hear me, Emily?â the man snarled. âYou must make certain he believes it was an accident.â
Emily turned and faced the man. Sutton was the only name she knew him by, though she doubted it was his real name. Sheâd guessed him to be at least twenty years older than herself, probably in his early forties. He was tall and lean, wore a tight black T-shirt, black pants, black soldierâs boots. Heâd shaved his head, and his face was as rough and jagged as the bluffs of Penwyck Island, his expression flat and empty. On his left bicep, he wore a tattoo of a small black dagger.
Who he took his orders from, Emily didnât know, but she was certain that Sutton wasnât in charge. He made no decisions and offered no negotiations. He simply did what he was told, without question.
They expected the same of her.
âIâll do what I can.â
He smiled at her defiance, closed the distance between them with three long strides. She nearly flinched when he reached out a hand toward her, then roughly grabbed her chin. With his other hand he touched a loose strand of her thick, dark hair and twirled it around his finger. Emily bit the inside of her mouth, refused to back away.
âYouâll do better than that.â His gray eyes skimmed her face, then lingered on the top button of her short-sleeved white blouse. âYou know what will happen if you donât get us what we want, donât you, sweet Emily? You know what weâll do?â
Emilyâs heart slammed against her ribs, pounded in her head with the same intensity as the crash of waves on the beach below. âYes.â
He pulled a small photograph from his T-shirt pocket and held it in front of her face. âOne more look, so youâll make no mistakes.â
Though sheâd already seen the picture of the man this morning, Emily glanced at the snapshot again. Short dark-brown hair, deep-blue eyes, a touch of regal mixed with rugged. The photograph was posed, and he did not smile for the camera. His eyes, those striking eyes, held a great deal of intelligence and just a touch of annoyance.
Dear Lord, how will I ever do this?
Setting her teeth, Emily jerked away from Suttonâs touch. âI wonât make a mistake.â
The cell phone strapped to Suttonâs belt rang. He turned to answer the call, listened for a moment, then slipped the phone back into its holder. âItâs time.â
She glanced at the paved road beside the stand of trees where they stood, knew that the car would be coming around the steep mountain bend in a few minutes. Her pulse raced.
I canât do this. She felt the panic rise. I canât. When she hesitated, Sutton grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the rented bike resting against a nearby tree.
âWhat if something goes wrong?â she gasped, ignoring the painful grip of the manâs large hand.