I lie still for a moment because I know that something has woken me, but I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary in this unfamiliar house. Shadows fall in angular slants against my wall but nothing is moving. The silence is still.
And then I feel it again, a tickling on my arm. My stomach sinks with dread as I brush at my skin and come into contact with something moving; something thin and fleshy.
I scream and leap from the bed, fumbling for the light switch on the wall.
There, sitting on my bed atop twisted sheets, is the largest, scariest looking spider I have ever seen in my life. Its hairy leg-span must be four or five inches. It is black and white striped and has a huge bulbous abdomen with some bright yellow stripes thrown in. I scream again just looking at it. It is so horrifying that I’m too terrified to even squash it with a shoe. I don’t want to get my hand that close.
I stand still, breathing harshly as I try to decide what to do. There’s no way that something that terrifying isn’t poisonous. Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. I hate spiders. I’m not thinking clearly now. I’ve barely woken up and I’m faced with this spawn of Satan sitting on my bed. I’m all alone in a strange and foreign place and there is a killer on my bed.
And then there’s a voice.
“Miss, is everything alright?”
A deep voice is calling from outside of my house. And before I can think about it and remember that I don’t know anyone here and that a stranger really shouldn’t be outside of my house, particularly in the middle of the night, I answer.
“No. I’m not.”
In a scant moment, a man bursts into my bedroom.
He looks startled to see that I am alone.
And I am startled because he’s alarmingly handsome.
So it appears that we are both startled as we stare at each other.
He’s dark haired, tanned, and has dark eyes. His bangs are hanging artfully in his eyes, although the hair on the back of his head is a little shorter. It’s a style that works for him. He’s got broad shoulders, slim hips, chiseled yet graceful features and Sweet Merciful Mary, he’s beautiful. He’s dressed in jogging shorts and running shoes and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. I don’t even have time to wonder why he’s out for a run in the middle of the night before I notice that he’s also got that sexy, day-old stubble that I so love on a man.
I swallow and realize that my mouth has gone dry.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes skimming over me, assessing the situation. It’s a valid question. I had been screaming bloody hell, after all.
I nod. Then shake my head.
“Spider,” I whisper.
His dark eyes widen and he follows my pointing finger with his gaze.
Then he laughs, husky and rich.
“Spider,” he confirms with a nod, his dark eyes sparkling in amusement. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a perfect specimen of the Writing Spider.”
“Writing Spider?” I repeat, watching it nervously, making sure it doesn’t try to run across the bedroom floor and up my leg. “Is it poisonous?”
Handsome Running Guy nods solemnly.
“Oh, it’s a known killer, alright.”
I gasp and lurch even further away from the hairy creature on my bed and Handsome Running Guy laughs.
“I’m sorry. I’m only joking. I couldn’t resist. It’s not poisonous. I think its scientific name is Black and Yellow Argiope, or something like that. They are all over here. But you wouldn’t know that because you’re not from here, are you?”
I shake my head again, trying not to be overly enthralled with his charming accent.
“Is it that obvious?”
He smiles and suddenly it seems like all natural sources of light are pouring into my room, originating from this man. He’s got such a strong presence that it makes my spine tingle. And my stomach is fluttering in a way that it hasn’t fluttered since high school. Interesting.
He shakes his head and then holds out his hand.
“Luca Minaldi,” he tells me and his fingers are cool as he shakes my hand.
“Evangeline Talbot,” I answer. “But my friends call me Eva.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” and his eyes agree with him as he stares at me. “The question now is would you like for me to kill your uninvited guest or should I release him into the wilds?”
“Kill it,” I say firmly. Slight disapproval passes over Luca’s face like a shadow.
“Are you certain?” he asks. “It’s an amazing specimen and they do eat bugs. Bugs can get pesky here in Malta, Evangeline.”
“You can call me Eva,” I answer. “And if we release it into the outdoors, he might come back in.”
I shudder again at that thought.
“True,” Luca agrees. “And so might anyone else. Your door wasn’t locked. And I can’t call you Eva. We’re not yet friends.”