Tangle of Need

“As for his heritage,” Riaz told her, eyes gleaming, “Pierce told me he comes from a line of globe-trotting marauders turned traders who mated ‘with men and women from every known country and some that no longer exist’ over the centuries.”


“Good story.”

“From his track record, women obviously think so.”

Pierce had apparently already been on a water bus when he’d called and it was only fifteen minutes later that they caught up with the other man in the lobby of their hotel. Adria’s wolf chuckled at glimpsing the sidelong glances of passing women—and more than a few men—who couldn’t take their eyes off Riaz and Pierce. One woman almost walked into a column. Adria sympathized. Separately they were both sexy, dangerous men with dark hair and bodies that could make a woman whimper. Together, they were lethal.

Oblivious to the attention, the two men embraced in a typically male way, complete with slaps on the back and punches on the shoulders.

“You still fucking owe me a hundred bucks,” was Pierce’s opening greeting.

“I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

The exchange made Adria’s wolf grin, because it was clear the two were close enough friends that they didn’t bother to be polite. When Pierce turned to her, his crystal clear eyes narrowed for a second. “Matthias’s sector.”

“Excellent memory.” Introducing herself, she took a backseat to the conversation as they headed out to explore, the men’s quiet, deep voices a welcome accompaniment to her absorption in Venice.

Walking into a glass-smith’s forge on the neighboring island of Murano, she lost herself in the colors and shapes created from the fire, while Riaz and Pierce prowled alongside her with lazy patience. The pieces created in that small workshop and the ones that followed were beyond beautiful, fragile dreams born of silica and painstaking craftsmanship. She stroked her hand over a flowing sculpture that sighed with sensuality, laughed in delight at the tiny glass birds perched on an indoor tree, was beguiled by the miniature chandeliers.

In the end, she bought a trio of birds with bright cobalt plumage. “For Tarah, Indigo, and Evie, plus this gorgeous necklace for my mom,” she said to Riaz when he walked over from another corner of the artisan’s store, showing him the lustrous beads of orange swirled with gold. “And these for me.” She held up a pair of miniature hummingbirds, the earrings jewel green with a dash of scarlet.

“You sure you want those?” A solemn question. “You’ve only been in half the stores on the island.”

“Go ahead,” she said, “make fun of the new traveler.”

He kissed her on the cheek instead, the warmth of his body a caress she’d missed. “I like seeing Venice through your eyes.”

A tiny bud of hope sprouted in her heart. “Thank you for showing me this shop.” It had been hidden, a secret treasure trove. “What’s that?”

He held up two small glass boxes in different colors, tied with glass bows of silver. “I took my mother one last time and she told me she needed a set. And for her highness, Marisol, I’ll be grabbing a big box of candy.”

It was impossible not to adore a man who made no bones about how much he loved the women in his life. “Your niece is a lucky girl,” she said, rising to drop a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And your mother raised a good man.”

His arm slid across her waist to settle on her hip. “Pierce found something he thinks you’ll like.” Tapping her on the nose, he nodded to the other end of the shop. “I’ll have this wrapped for you.”

“Thanks.” The tiny bud within her grew a single whisper-thin leaf of vivid green: Sex was one thing, but giving and accepting such sweet affection—tender and public and playful—it took their relationship to a haunting new place. A place that might cause her terrible hurt, and yet one she knew she couldn’t walk away from.

It was too late for that.





Chapter 43


CHEST TIGHT WITH the realization, Adria crossed over to Pierce and peered inside the glass case beside which he stood. The sculpture displayed within was frankly bizarre—it looked like someone had smashed up a hunk of puke-colored glass, then put it back together. Badly.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Pierce touched the case with reverent fingertips.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she scrambled for a response. “I can see it speaks to you.”

“Oh, yes. The artistic flow is indescribable.”

Adria wasn’t sure quite what to say to that, but he was waiting for her to respond with such an expectant expression on his face that she knew she had to speak. “Yes, it’s … ah … imaginative.”