The Darkest Touch

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Isabelle did her best to appear calm and patient on the surface, but inside she was fuming.

Dalton had tucked her mother’s diary in his back pocket. He hadn’t left her side the entire time the yacht had cruised to Sicily. Did he think she was going to jump overboard and try to swim her way to freedom?

Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to her. But her head eventually cleared and common sense prevailed. She’d wait until they reached land. Then she’d make a run for it.

The yacht docked off Catania and she was allowed to pack her things. With Dalton standing guard over her, of course. Odd that she’d never found him so imposing-until now.

Of course he’d been damn imposing when he’d thrown her against the wall and made love to her. Her body heated as she remembered his awesome power, the way he mastered her body, took her with such force. At the time she’d welcomed it, needed someone to take her like that. She’d never felt such force, such power coming from one man. With Dalton, she’d felt an equal, the beginnings of a relationship that could be explosive. Cravings had built inside her that she’d never experienced before.

She’d felt such hope, such stirrings. In a short period of time, he had evoked a fierce need in her.

Beyond the physical connection, there had been a meeting of their minds. They were so similar in many ways. He understood her, or at least had seemed to.

No, he had understood her. She felt it deep inside. No amount of acting on his part could have fooled her.

She shuddered, trying to erase the vivid images of the two of them together that still made her body burn.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back, hating that weakness, hating him. He’d used her. She’d always chosen the wrong men. Angelique had always told her she had no sense where men were concerned, that she was a lousy judge of character.

Once again, Angie had been right.

So why did her body still yearn for Dalton? Why did she think Dalton could actually help explain this mess to her, that he might be able to help her? How could she yearn with hope, feel the need to reach out for a man who had betrayed her? What the hell was wrong with her? He was the damn enemy.

They took the launch from the yacht to the dock, and climbed off. Isabelle noticed that only she and Dalton disembarked. The rest of the crew stayed on board the yacht and the mini headed back toward it. From what she could see, it looked like the crew was making ready to take off. Without the two of them.

So they wouldn’t be going back to the yacht. Then again, the boat probably didn’t even belong to Dalton, since everything about him was one big lie.

That meant this would be her chance to make a getaway, to get lost in the crowd and disappear.

What she’d do after that was uncertain. All she knew was she had to make a grab for her mother’s diary and get as far away from Dalton as possible.

Being near him clouded her judgment, devastated her senses. She couldn’t think clearly with him around.

She couldn’t trust him or anything he’d told her. She wanted nothing to do with him and his supposed band of demon hunters.

“I’m hungry,” she said, motioning to the group of vendors along the crowded street ahead.

Dalton frowned. “There was plenty of food on the yacht this morning.”

“I wasn’t hungry then. I am now.”

He lifted his shoulders in an exasperated sigh, then checked his watch. “All right. Let’s go. I’ve arranged for a car, so we need to get back to the pickup point in ten minutes.”

He held on to her arm and maneuvered her past the buyers and vendors in the marketplace. The street was narrow and with carts and people, that meant a tight squeeze. Perfect.

“There’s a coffee cart up ahead with rolls. Let’s head to that one. I really need an espresso,” she said, trying to sound eager and focused only on food.

He nodded and took her hand, leading the way.

It couldn’t have gone better. With him in the lead, they were single file. She could see the diary in his back pocket, they were jam-packed in with people crushing against them, and now was her chance. Her pulse raced, her heart pounding as she plotted her move.

She lifted the diary, at the same time jerking her hand from his, pivoted, and took a sharp left into the crowd, pushing her way past vendors and buyers who yelled and gestured to her in angry Italian.

She wanted to apologize for her rudeness, but she couldn’t. Her life, her freedom was at stake. And she knew Dalton was right on her heels. She didn’t have the foggiest idea where she was headed; she only knew she was literally running for her life.

Trying to stay within the relative safety of the dense crowd, she weaved in and out, turning east and ducking down, hoping Dalton couldn’t see her. She jerked off her sweater so maybe he wouldn’t be able to spot her by her clothing, then continued to stay low, slipping between two fruit carts generously populated with customers.

The vendors gestured at her wildly and cursed in Italian for her to get out of there, no doubt thinking she was in there to steal from them. Isabelle ignored them, practically on her hands and knees now as she moved through the back of their cart area and out the other side. She hoped they wouldn’t shout for the local authorities that a thief was amongst them. That would only alert Dalton to her whereabouts.

She heard nothing and the vendors stopped yelling. Maybe they realized she wasn’t stealing anything. Taking