and flint here somewhere,” he murmured, leaving her to search for them. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear his movements, feel his warmth.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice echoing strangely in the dark.
“There’s no need for you to know.”
“What am I to call you?”
“whatever you please. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Civility.”
“Sorry. I’m not much for that,” he muttered.
Their voices echoed into the cavernous gloom, making her realize the cave was much larger than she’d thought.
“What are your demands?”
His growl told her she wasn’t allowed to know that either.
“What is this place?”
She heard a frustrated sound of male exasperation. “No more questions! Do you want me to put a gag on you?”
“No.”
She heard the snick of flint on steel and saw a few sparks against the blackness. One of them caught, and as a few moments passed, the tiny flame grew, consuming the torch. Slowly it illumined his sun-bronzed face, his burning dark eyes and flared brows, the narrow planes of his cheeks. She wondered if she should be afraid of him instead of fascinated, but no man with so jolly a laugh could be cruel at heart, and his hands were so gentle.
She wondered if he would put them on her as Domenic had.
“You won’t tell me your name, then?”
“I will if it will put an end to your questions.” He smiled like a devil over the spreading flame. “My name is…Humberto.”
“Humberto! No,” she laughed. “Humbertos trip over their own feet.”
He slid her a mischievous look. “Paolo,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “Never. Too bland.”
He blew lightly on the torch, watching her. “How about Antonio?”
“Possibly.” She stared at the pout of his lips as he blew on the torch again, sending it into searing flame. “You swagger like an Antonio. But if you were a true Antonio, you would never have told Domenic I was insatiable. No Antonio would ever admit that he had left any woman unsatisfied, even if it was a lie.”
“I didn’t say you were unsatisfied, only that you wanted more.” His eyes danced.
“Your name is not Antonio,” she insisted.
“Come along, chérie . We have a rough two miles before us.”
“Two miles?” she echoed, gazing into the darkness ahead.
When he lifted the torch, she realized they were walking into the very bowels of the earth. She stared into the blackness ahead, incredulous, for she knew instantly what it was.
“The Fiori tunnels,” she whispered in awe. “Antonio—Humberto—how did you ever find them?”
She took the torch right out of his hand and walked ahead of him, staring about her in disbelief.
“You seem amazed, Miss Monteverdi,” came his deep voice from behind her.
“I thought these passageways were just a legend!” She turned back to him, suddenly grave. “Oh, we should not be in here.”
“Why not?” There was something strange in his eyes, a hard, glittering darkness within the midnight.
“These tunnels belong to the Fiori,” she said in a reverent, emphatic whisper.
He shrugged. “They’re dead.”
“Show some respect!” she said, quickly blessing herself.
One charcoal brow shot up. “It’s just that I don’t think they’ll be using them anytime soon.”
Bracing one fist on her hip, she turned to him and gave him a severe look. “ Tell me you haven’t shown your whole faction these tunnels.”
“Er, no,” he replied dryly.
“It’s a good thing. They should stay a secret.” She walked to one of the tunnel’s walls and ran her hand down the sharp, black granite, knowing it was the closest she would ever come to touching him . “Poor Lazar,” she sighed.
“What did you say?”
She glanced at him, and something in the determined set of his shoulders, the proud angle of his chin, made her stare, and for a moment she almost thought—
But no, that was impossible. It was just her overheated imagination again. No
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice echoing strangely in the dark.
“There’s no need for you to know.”
“What am I to call you?”
“whatever you please. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Civility.”
“Sorry. I’m not much for that,” he muttered.
Their voices echoed into the cavernous gloom, making her realize the cave was much larger than she’d thought.
“What are your demands?”
His growl told her she wasn’t allowed to know that either.
“What is this place?”
She heard a frustrated sound of male exasperation. “No more questions! Do you want me to put a gag on you?”
“No.”
She heard the snick of flint on steel and saw a few sparks against the blackness. One of them caught, and as a few moments passed, the tiny flame grew, consuming the torch. Slowly it illumined his sun-bronzed face, his burning dark eyes and flared brows, the narrow planes of his cheeks. She wondered if she should be afraid of him instead of fascinated, but no man with so jolly a laugh could be cruel at heart, and his hands were so gentle.
She wondered if he would put them on her as Domenic had.
“You won’t tell me your name, then?”
“I will if it will put an end to your questions.” He smiled like a devil over the spreading flame. “My name is…Humberto.”
“Humberto! No,” she laughed. “Humbertos trip over their own feet.”
He slid her a mischievous look. “Paolo,” he suggested.
She shook her head. “Never. Too bland.”
He blew lightly on the torch, watching her. “How about Antonio?”
“Possibly.” She stared at the pout of his lips as he blew on the torch again, sending it into searing flame. “You swagger like an Antonio. But if you were a true Antonio, you would never have told Domenic I was insatiable. No Antonio would ever admit that he had left any woman unsatisfied, even if it was a lie.”
“I didn’t say you were unsatisfied, only that you wanted more.” His eyes danced.
“Your name is not Antonio,” she insisted.
“Come along, chérie . We have a rough two miles before us.”
“Two miles?” she echoed, gazing into the darkness ahead.
When he lifted the torch, she realized they were walking into the very bowels of the earth. She stared into the blackness ahead, incredulous, for she knew instantly what it was.
“The Fiori tunnels,” she whispered in awe. “Antonio—Humberto—how did you ever find them?”
She took the torch right out of his hand and walked ahead of him, staring about her in disbelief.
“You seem amazed, Miss Monteverdi,” came his deep voice from behind her.
“I thought these passageways were just a legend!” She turned back to him, suddenly grave. “Oh, we should not be in here.”
“Why not?” There was something strange in his eyes, a hard, glittering darkness within the midnight.
“These tunnels belong to the Fiori,” she said in a reverent, emphatic whisper.
He shrugged. “They’re dead.”
“Show some respect!” she said, quickly blessing herself.
One charcoal brow shot up. “It’s just that I don’t think they’ll be using them anytime soon.”
Bracing one fist on her hip, she turned to him and gave him a severe look. “ Tell me you haven’t shown your whole faction these tunnels.”
“Er, no,” he replied dryly.
“It’s a good thing. They should stay a secret.” She walked to one of the tunnel’s walls and ran her hand down the sharp, black granite, knowing it was the closest she would ever come to touching him . “Poor Lazar,” she sighed.
“What did you say?”
She glanced at him, and something in the determined set of his shoulders, the proud angle of his chin, made her stare, and for a moment she almost thought—
But no, that was impossible. It was just her overheated imagination again. No
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