“How will we escape?” she cried.
All of their planning was ruined, destroyed, by this incredible twist of fate. Because Xavier had been in the military long enough to know that it would be almost impossible to gain approval of this plan, at this time, by whoever was newly in command. It had been hard enough to convince Morris to approve. Whoever succeeded him would want to analyze the entire Mediterranean situation first.Goddamn it.
“Captain Rodgers has temporary command of the squadron,” she said, watching him closely. “What are we going to do?”
Xavier suddenly focused on her. “How did you learn of this. Alexandra?”
“The news is all over the palace. Murad told me. The bashaw, Farouk, Jovar, and Jebal have been meeting all afternoon.” Her tone was anxious. “Can Rodgers give us the go-ahead?”
“Only if he is a very brave man,” Xavier said, trying to understand her. She appeared to be as distraught as he was. Why? Was he wrong about her? But how could he be wrong? Or was this some kind of elaborate trap on her part?
“Most military men are overly cautious,” she said bitterly.
“Once again, you are correct. Just how familiar are you with naval men?”
She met his gaze. “My … hobby is the study of naval history.”
“Yes.” he said slowly, “so you have said.”
Their gazes remained locked.
The memory of how she had felt and tasted hit him hard then. Constricting his lungs, causing his blood to rush and pool in his loins.
They were in the midst of a crisis, but the unholy idea was crossing his mind—why not? She is already here. She is not a lady, she is a spy. I will make her weep with pleasure. Dear God, why not? Just this one single time.
Her eyes had turned a darker shade of green. Her lashes lowered. Xavier knew that she understood the new direction his thoughts had taken. Her cheeks were flushed.
And the night was vast around them, vast and silent and starlit and still. Xavier no longer heard the quiet murmurs of the slaves who had yet to sleep, or the snores of those who did. He no longer saw Tubbs sitting beside Quixande, or the soldiers in the courtyard below. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult to think. He was sweating, even though he wore nothing but a pair of thin cotton trousers. His shoulders stiff, he turned his back on her, trying to get a grip on himself.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered from behind him.
She was wearing perfume. He hadn’t noticed it before, something light, faintly sweet, and spicy. Exotic. He noticed it now.
“Xavier?”
He folded his arms, but did not face her. “I do not know.” He wished to tell her to leave. But the words died unspoken in his throat.
She touched his arm from behind. A single touch that felt like a caress. “There must be a way.”
He turned slowly. Instantly their gazes collided, locked.Why not?They were both captives, a man and a woman, the night was old, dark … society’s rules could not apply. “I am tired, Alexandra. Good night.”
Her eyes widened as he shoved past her, striding down the steps. But he strained to listen—and heard and felt her following him.
His pulse raced now, his mouth was absolutely dry, and he was very hard. His entire body felt clammy. There might never be another opportunity. Life was fragile in the bagnio.
He paused outside of his cubicle and looked at her. She was silent, but everything was there in her eyes. Unable to speak, he waited, and she moved past him into the cubbyhole chamber. He followed, almost in disbelief. Then he dropped down the woven cane shade, which served as a door. She stood in the center of the cell, facing him, breathing shallowly.
He clenched his fists. He was mad. Insane. To be doing this.
“I am scared,” she said.
He believed her. “I won’t hurt you.”
She smiled, but only for an instant, into his eyes. “I know.”
Suddenly she seemed to be the guileless captive, Vera, not the treacherous spy. Unaware of what he was doing, Xavier reached out and touched her smooth cheek. Her skin was like silk. Touching her was heaven.
Her mouth opened, she breathed his name. Her eyes glistened.
