Clio's Choice Read online

  As crowded as the house had been last night, today her feet on the tiles echoed through its emptiness.

  She went for a swim, willing the stress from her body with each stroke. Afterward, she let herself float, adrift. When she opened her eyes, she gasped and swam to the side.

  Dion watched her from the side, an indecipherable expression on his face. “You must be hungry. I’ve brought back some lunch.”

  Smoothing her wet locks, she opened her mouth to argue.

  He squared his shoulders . “I insist. You ate no breakfast, and I’m betting you didn’t help yourself to anything more than another cup of coffee. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” Why had he asked? He already knew. He spoke as though he’d known her habits and tastes for years.

  “Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.” He winked and strolled off.

  She climbed out, toweled dry and walked down the hall.

  Dion carried a tray with two wrap sandwiches and bottled water. “Ah, just in time. Let’s eat outside. It’s a beautiful day.”

  She followed him out to the patio, where they sat at a small round table.

  He consumed his sandwich with gusto. “Is your wrap all right?”

  “It’s delicious.” She’d nibbled it, but her stomach was in knots.

  “I picked them up from my favorite Greek place.” He frowned at her plate. “You’re not eating.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite today.” She set her napkin atop the table.

  Bright white clouds sailed across the sea-blue sky. The bleached granite echoed the sunlight across space in a scene that might have been from ages ago.

  Taking it all in, she leaned back in her chair. “It’s such a gorgeous day.”

  “Spend some time in the sun. Relax. You’ll feel better.” His voice soothed her.

  Embarrassed at spending too much time there, she ducked her head. “Your hospitality is too generous.”

  “It’s a pleasure to have you here.” He touched the napkin to his mouth. “But if you’ll excuse me, I must finish some work. You’re welcome to do whatever you wish.”

  “Of course. Please take care of your unfinished business.”

  Unfinished business. The words tore at her. Jon’s words. Where was he?

  She sat like a statue, looking over the vineyard for some sign, hoping he would appear at its edge. Come back to me. The breeze riffled her hair, but brought no other response.

  Restless, she wandered aimlessly through the house, but nothing held her interest. She walked to the far edge of the patio and sat on a chaise. When he returned, she would be here waiting for him.

  Three

  Her eyes fluttered open. Dion leaned over her, the smile of an angel on his face, the rays of the sinking sun tinting his dark hair.

  Sleep disoriented her. Then she remembered: she’d been waiting for Jon.

  She pushed stray hairs from her face. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six thirty.”

  She sat up. “I fell asleep.” How rude.

  He chuckled. “Yes.”

  She rubbed her temple, but couldn’t seem to think straight.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She couldn’t think about food. “Is Jon back yet?”

  He straightened. “I don’t know. I just returned from another meeting. It took longer than expected.”

  She stood. “I have to go find him.”

  He clasped her shoulders. “First have a drink to clear your head.”

  A drink was the last thing she wanted. “No, I don’t want any wine.”

  His arm draped over her shoulder, he walked her to the door. “I meant ice water, or juice – perhaps more coffee. I make an excellent iced coffee, in fact.”

  Stupid of me. To cover her blunder, she smiled. “Yes, that sounds great.” Cold coffee might be the jolt she needed.

  In the kitchen, he bustled about with efficiency, and passed her a glass. “What the doctor ordered.”

  She drank, then traced the edge of her glass. “I’m worried about Jon. This isn’t like him.”

  “Mariam called me on the way here. She and Miranda took Jon to our other vineyard. I would have told you earlier, but you—”

  “What?” Jon would never have left her like this, certainly not without telling her.

  His eyes flashed, perhaps indignity at her ungracious manner. He spoke with distinct pronunciation, as if to a foreigner. Or a child. “He wanted to see the operations there.” He put the coffee in the cabinet, the cream in the fridge.

  She sat straight. “Aren’t they the same as operations here?”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but slightly larger.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” Her thoughts wound through every tube of grey matter in her head, and twisted among themselves. “It’s Saturday, isn’t it?” Saturday night.

  “Yes.”

  The weekend was half over. She and Jon hadn’t spent any time together.

  He leaned over the counter, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat?”

  She stood. “No. I’m going to get dressed.” To still wear the bathing suit seemed inane.

  His dark eyes sparkled. “I am going for a swim. Before you change, why not join me?”

  She glanced out the window. What if Jon returned?

  He smiled. “It will help you pass the time while we wait.”

  “Sure. Why not.” If her husband could go off with the M twins, she could swim with the host who put her up with no argument for an entire day.

  “Wonderful.”

  She walked beside him to the pool room.

  The sun blazed through the wall of glass, tinting the water orange and gold.

  She caught her breath, captivated by its beauty.

  “Enchanting, isn’t it?” Standing, his elbow brushed against hers.

  When she glanced over, his face held only appreciation of the sunset.

  He inhaled sharply and turned to her. “I’ll be right out.”

  She set her iced coffee on the edge of the pool tiles. Rustling noises came from the alcove where he changed. Images of his naked body filled her mind. Tantalized, she let herself fantasize about his lean muscular frame. The powerful set of his shoulders. His trim waist, hips, the curve of his rear as he stepped into his swim trunks.

  To shake it off, she dove into the pool, exhilarated by the liquid colors surrounding her. She floated to the waterfall and sat on the ledge.

  He threw two towels onto the bench and dove in. His body broke the water’s surface in an explosion of gold. Beneath the water he swam toward her, bubbles whooshing past her as he surfaced.

  He exhaled and pushed the hair from his forehead. “Incredible.” He sat next to her.

  She smiled. The feeling of timelessness came over her, serenity at being here.

  Gold and blue swirled from the pool to his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.” His arm brushed against hers. His warmth penetrated her skin, seared her to the core.

  “Why?”

  His white teeth flashed in an enticing smile. “Let me show you something.” He slipped into the water and took her hand.

  Forgetting everything else, she slid to the edge, and into his arms.

  Time fell away as he peered at her. A small voice echoed through her head, telling her she should get out. Now.

  He pulled her through the water, behind the waterfall. The sunset illuminated the downpour in a rush of blazing gold.

  She ran her hand through the cascade and laughed. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “You’re gorgeous.” His palms brushed her thighs. “Magnificent as any goddess.”

  She backed away, but her resolve weakened. If she were a goddess, he must be Adonis, most beautiful of the gods. His long eyelashes clung together, skin glistening like wet and golden bronze.

  Full, moist lips curled in a smile, his caress strayed up her waist.

  Arguments flailed in her brain. “I should go find Jon.” Con
viction abandoned her voice.

  He pulled her hips against his, and water surged up her legs. “Is that what you really want?”

  What she really wanted… she couldn’t recall. Being here with him made everything else recede into nothingness. His dark eyes watched her lips struggle to form words.

  She said the only thing that came to mind. “Dion.”

  He curled his arm behind her, drew her to him. “Ariadne.” His voice, like the warm south wind, rushed through her.

  “What did you call me?” Looking into his eyes, she could almost hear her blood pulsing, like drumbeats, insistent, beating faster and faster. A memory fought for recognition in her consciousness, then died away as his lips met hers, igniting a heat like a bonfire between them. She held his head and kissed him as if she were drowning.

  A bonfire. An image flashed in her head – dancing with Jon on a beach, then leading him to their room. Their wedding night.

  The clink of silverware against glass multiplied until the tinkling din filled the room.

  Jon smiled, his dark eyes sparkling. “I think I’m supposed to kiss you.”

  She entwined her arms around his neck. “We can’t disappoint them.” His lips touching hers, she tightened her embrace.

  A cheer went up, followed by a wave of laughter as their kiss lingered. Someone raised their his glass in yet another toast. The amber wine caught the candle’s glow and sparkled as if lit from within.

  Everyone lifted their glasses, not so much a toast to their happiness as an urgent desire to consume, consume it all. The more they drank, the more drained she felt, her life force ebbing away, drawn to some other place, some other time, some other someone. Someone she couldn’t quite visualize, but whose presence grew stronger every day.

  Like now. Her thoughts spinned, like they were being sucked into a whirlpool. She struggled against his embrace, fighting vertigo as his lips traveled down her neck, his strong hands splayed against the small of her back.

  Her head swam as though she’d drunk an entire bottle of wine. “No.” She clutched Jon’s tuxedo.

  “Are you all right?” The timbre of his voice penetrated her haze.

  She lifted her gaze to his and found herself immediately grounded again. “Yes. Unless too much happiness is harmful.”

  A wide smile softened his face. “If it is, it’s definitely the way I want to go. But only if it’s you killing me.”

  A chill swept over her. “You’re not getting away from me that easily. I’m keeping you around awhile.”

  His lips brushed her ear. “I hope so. I have plans for you.”

  His hand ran down her thigh. Fingers gripped high on her side, his thumb under the plunging top of her suit, along the edge of her breast.

  She clutched his thick hair. From the depths of her consciousness, it registered: Jon’s hair was shorter, straighter.

  Clio slid her fingers into Jon’s atop the linen tablecloth. Their wedding rings gleamed in the soft light.

  Jarod clanged his spoon against his glass as he stood, and a hush fell over the guests. “For the past two years, my business partner was gaga over his girlfriend. Now that she’s his wife, I hope he’ll be more productive.”

  Laughter rippled across the tables.

  He raised his flute, filled with the wine of their newest client. “To Clio and Jonathan, who know the true meaning of success. May your love flow as freely as the wine tonight. Provided courtesy of our prospective client–an excellent vintage, I might add.”

  Dion. Even then, he’d intruded on her private life.

  “Stop.” Unable to free herself, she made her body rigid.

  “I said no!” She trembled against his too-tight embrace.

  He held her, still as a statue, though his chest heaved and his shoulders trembled.

  He laid his head on her shoulder. “From now on, I want to get drunk on you, and only you.”

  She stroked his dark hair. “Good, because we have a long life ahead of us. I need you healthy for our golden years.”

  Wet and warm, his skin melded against hers. She struggled to breathe. He held her too tight. Drowning her. “Jon?” It was barely a whisper.

  . “Clio. I love you so much. More than I thought possible.” His lips lingered on hers.

  Her fingers traced his waist to where their hips met, skin against skin, indistinguishable from one another. “Let’s make a pact not to let anything come between us.”

  He nuzzled her shoulder.

  The man in her arms felt too familiar. But he wasn’t Jon.

  “No.” She extracted herself from his grasp one limb at a time, pushed away from him. Arms shaking, she pulled herself onto the side. Her legs wobbled toward the bench, where she grabbed a towel, unsure whether to get her clothes, or just grab her purse and run.

  “Wait.” His choked voice arrested her.

  She turned.

  “I want to show you something.” He climbed out of the pool, dripping.

  Her thoughts blurred when he approached, his stare piercing her. He stood in front of her, so close but not touching. “Please.”

  Painfully aware of his presence, his wet skin inviting her touch. Her tongue.

  “Come with me.” Voice ragged but soft, features edged with pain, his gaze skipped from her eyes to her lips.

  Body moving of its own accord, her mouth formed the word yes even while her brain said no. She followed him upstairs to his bedroom.

  He opened the door and led her inside.

  On the wall opposite his bed hung a portrait. The likeness stunned her. “Oh my God. How did you…?” When could he have had a portrait made of her?

  “She’s my wife.” He sat on the bed and stared at the painting, his eyes like glass. “Ariadne.”

  “Your wife?” She walked closer, the portrait almost breathing, as though she were looking in the mirror. “It’s amazing.”

  “When I saw you, it was as if….” He lay back on the bed, laid his forearm across his eyes.

  “Oh, Dion.” She sat next to him. Ariadne. She’d heard that name before.

  “I miss her so terribly.” Pain cracked his voice.

  “I’m sorry. If I had known….” She couldn’t finish – what? She wouldn’t have come here?

  He sat up and held her shoulders. “Ariadne. My princess.” His voice held an unfamiliar gruffness.

  “No. I’m Clio.” She pushed at his arms.

  With one swift movement, he twisted her beneath him. “The Fates brought you back to me.”

  The Fates. Ariadne. Dion…. Her mother had told her bedtime tales when she was growing up. The realization hit her. “Dionysus.” The God of the Vine.

  It couldn’t be, didn’t make sense.

  Hearing his true name, his face alighted with happiness. His mouth sought hers. A life force flowed from the portrait through Clio’s veins, overwhelmed her senses, as if she’d drunk a case of his wine. His wet lips traveled down her neck. The strap of her bathing suit fell away, revealing her breast. He suckled and nibbled at her. His fingers slid between her legs, his tongue tracing her ribs, then her hips.

  With the wind in her long, mahogany hair and the moon through the palm trees, the drumbeats penetrated her luminously pale skin. She moved her feet like a tribal native, her arms and hands curved like flower petals, stronger than any hook, luring him to her. He moved like a matador to claim her.

  Her unbounding love made her heart wild. She led him to their bungalow and shut the door on the last shadows of the day.

  His tongue licked and teased. With a groan, she arched her back, inviting more, but wanting nothing of him. A swirl of thoughts stormed through her mind, fighting for dominance. Her writhing body screamed for completion. Her breaths came hard and fast, a wave of passion cresting within her.

  He slid his leg across hers, then hovered above her. “You are my queen again.”

  His words sobered her. Two desperate needs clashed within her, to reunite with a husband for whom yearning had surpass
ed sanity, and to escape, to find a husband she loved more than anything.

  “I will do anything for you.” Her lips brushing his cheek, she whispered, “Anything.”

  In the distance, the drums beat faster and faster.

  Her words from her wedding night returned to her again: I will do anything for you.

  Not this.

  “No. I am not yours. I am Jonathan’s.” She dug her feet into the bed and pushed up toward the headboard.

  He grabbed her hips and pulled her beneath him. “You will be mine.”

  She resisted with all her strength, but could not budge him. Terror built inside her as his knees forced her legs apart.

  “We’re in this together. Forever.” She let her eyes drift shut, lulled by the rush of the waves against the shore, and his heart beating against hers.

  Her eyes flew wide. No! He’s not my husband. Her hands slid from his shoulders again and again, unable to push him away. “No – I’m Jon’s. I’m Jon’s.” Panic and tears shook her voice.

  If this deed were consummated, she knew she would be lost forever to Ariadne. Clio would no longer exist.

  Dion heaved great breaths, bowed his head and arched his back. He laid his forehead on her chest, then kissed the spot.

  “He doesn’t deserve you.” He rolled onto his back, chest heaving.

  Afraid to move, she trembled, mentally gathering her reserves. One thought pervaded the confusion: she had to find Jon.

  She eased from the bed, afraid of startling him, afraid he would grab her and trap her beneath him again. Forever.

  Anger sharpened his quiet voice. “Where are you going?”

  Steadying herself, she took a deep breath. She would not look at him, nor at the painting. She would not be overtaken now. “To find Jon.”

  Bitterness sharpened his laugh. “He’s with the Maenads. He won’t be back.”

  With a gasp, she whirled to face him. “The Maenads?”

  He leaned up on his elbow, every bit the god. “You will come back to me.”

  A triad of power flowed from the portrait to him and to her, a thin wisp gaining current to become a stream. It flowed over her, swirled through her, tugged her toward him. The stream would become a river, then a raging torrent, if she stood there any longer.