Page 145 of Once an Angel
"You."
His answer so closely mirrored Justin's that it shook her to the core. "Me?" she whispered.
"I've been holding David's share of the gold mine in trust for you all these years. I would have returned much sooner, but I feared my very presence might put you in jeopardy. I had no way of knowing you were already living with the man who had gone unpunished for your father's murder."
Emily wrung her hands. "Perhaps the price he has paid for his treachery is worse than imprisonment."
"Perhaps," he said, skepticism thick in his voice. He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the sparse grass. His gaze floated over her like silken fingers. "He could still be dangerous, you know. I hate to
think of a sweet, fragile creature like yourself living under his influence."
Emily stood abruptly, as if his bold look had shied her. "Your concern touches me."
He stood, his big, masculine shadow dwarfing her. "I've arranged for my solicitor to call on you to
discuss your inheritance. I cannot help but feel somewhat responsible for your present situation.
Perhaps if I had not waited so long to return ..." He cupped her chin in his hands.
His smooth thumb grazed her lower lip. "May I call on you again as well, Miss Scarborough?"
She gazed up at him, softening her lips with the hint of a provocative pout. "I should be wounded if you did not, Mr. Saleri."
He snatched up her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I would rather destroy myself than wound you."
With that passionate declaration he gathered his walking stick and started toward the drive, pausing only once to look back and doff his hat to her in gallant farewell.
She stood alone after he had gone, the fringe of her shawl whipping in the wind. One question haunted her: Why was Nicholas Saleri offering to hand over her father's share of the gold mine without so much as a murmur of protest? Could Justin have been wrong about the man? And if he was, was he wrong about other things as well? The cold finger of a lengthening shadow touched her, making her shiver. She glanced toward the house. The sinking sun had set the windows of the west wing ablaze, but there was
no mistaking the watchful stance of the dark figure framed in an upstairs window. Tucking the shawl around her, Emily bowed her head and strode quickly toward the house.
Shadowy shapes cavorted in the firelight, their bronze bodies sheened ivith sweat. They leaped and twirled in a feral frenzy, rolling eyes and thrusting hips to the hypnotic chant of the sea and the
thundering rhythm of Emily's heart. She stood in their midst, her sheer nightdress dancing in the
balmy wind.
The natives parted ranks and that's when she saw him—a dark figure emerging from the bush, a
panama hat tilted low to hide his eyes. She tried to move, tried to run, but the sand sucked at her
ankles. It was too deep, too thick.
Toying with her, the man drew a cigarette case out of his pocket and slipped the thin cylinder between
his chiseled lips. He struck a match, and in that brief flare of glowing ash Emily saw ill his eyes—not
the molten brown of Nicky's eyes, but ruthless gold. Justin's eyes.
He advanced on her, stalking her with the lean, deadly grace of a tiger. As he passed through the
shadows cast by the feathery branches of a punga tree, he became a tiger, padding toward her on all fours. His powerful muscles shifted in lethal synchronicity as he crouched for the kill. Then he was
Justin again, flicking the burning cigarette into the night.
Emily stood frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Bewitched by his approach, she realized she didn't want to move. Tears of shame trickled down her cheeks as she realized she was willing to pay
any price to feel his embrace one last time. He slipped behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her waist. He had the eyes of a tiger but the hands of a man. They were so warm, she could feel her
