He was smal , with creased, leather skin. His hair was gray with age, but thick. So were his arms-thick and muscled. He made her think of a smal - scaled, very efficient tank. His moustache was a masterpiece. It spread under his nose to drop free along the sides of his mouth, reaching his chin in two flowing arches. He smiled, showing several gaps in lieu of teeth.

"Good afternoon." He spoke in respectful Greek, but his eyes were dancing.

Intrigued, Morgan gave him an unsmiling stare. "Yiasou."

"Stephanos, Miss James. Stephanos is my, ah, caretaker."

The checkerboard grin widened at the term. "Your servant, my lady." He bowed, but there was nothing deferential in the gesture. "The matter we discussed has been seen to, Mr. Gregoras." Turning to Nick, the old man spoke with exaggerated respect. "You have messages from Athens."

"I'l tend to them later."

"As you wish." The smal man melted away. Morgan frowned. There had been something in the exchange that wasn't quite what it should be. Shaking her head, she watched Nick mix drinks. It wasn't Nick's relationship with his servants that she was interested in.

Deciding that plunging head first was the most direct route, Morgan leaped.

"What were you doing on the beach the other night?" "I rather thought we'd concluded I was a.s.saulting you." His voice was very mild.

"That was only part of the evening's entertainment." She swal owed and took another dive. "Had you been smuggling?"

To his credit, Nick hesitated only briefly. As his back was to her, Morgan didn't see his expression range from surprise to consideration. A very sharp lady, he mused. Too d.a.m.n sharp.

"And how did you come by such an astonishing conclusion?" He turned to hand her a delicate gla.s.s.

"Don't start that charade with me," Morgan fumed, s.n.a.t.c.hing the gla.s.s. "I've seen you stripped." She sat down and aimed a level stare. Nick's mouth twitched.

"What a fascinating way you have of putting things."

"I asked if you were a smuggler."

Nick sat across from her, taking a long study of her face as he ticked off possibilities. "First, tel me why you think I might be." "You'd been out on the water that night. I could smel the sea on you." Nick gazed down into the liquid in his gla.s.s, then sipped. "It's fanciful, to say the least, that my being out on the water equals smuggling."

Morgan ground her teeth at the cool sarcasm and continued. "If you'd been out on a little fishing trip, you'd hardly have dragged me into the trees waving a knife."

"One might argue," he murmured, "that fishing was precisely my occupation."

"The coast of Turkey is very convenient from this part of the island. Alex told me smuggling was a problem."

"Alex?" Nick repeated. There was a quick, almost imperceptible change in his expression.

"What was Alex's att.i.tude toward smuggling?" Morgan hesitated. The question had broken into her wel -thought-out interrogation. "He was ... resigned, like one accepts the weather."

"I see." Nick swirled his drink as he leaned back. "And did you and Alex discuss the intricacies of the procedure?"

"Of course not!" she snapped, infuriated that he had cleverly turned the interrogation around on her. "Alex would hardly be intimate with such matters. But,"

she continued, "I think you are." "Yes, I can see that."

"Wel ?"

He sent her a mildly amused smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Wel what?"

"Are you going to deny it?" She wanted him to, Morgan realized with something like a jolt.

She very, very badly wanted him to deny it.

Nick considered her for a moment. "If I deny it, you won't believe me. It's easy to see you've already made up your mind." He tilted his head, and now the amus.e.m.e.nt crept into his eyes.

"What wil you do if I admit it?"

"I'l turn you over to the police." Morgan took a bold sip of her drink. Nick exploded with laughter.

"Morgan what a sweet, brave child you are." He leaned over to take her hand before she could retort. "You don't know my reputation, but I a.s.sure you, the police would think you mad."

"I could prove-"

"What?" he demanded. His eyes were steady on hers, probing. The polished veneer was slowly fading. "You can't prove what you don't know."

"I know that you're not what you pretend to be." Morgan tried to pul her hand from his, but he held it firm. "Or maybe it's more accurate to say you're something you pretend not to be."

Nick watched her in silence, torn between annoyance and admiration. "Whatever I am, whatever I'm not, has nothing to do with you." "No one wishes more than I that that was the truth."

Battling a new emotion, he sat back and studied her over the rim of his gla.s.s. "So your conclusions that I might be involved in smuggling would prompt you to go to the police. That wouldn't be wise."

"It's a matter of what's right." Morgan swal owed, then blurted out what was torturing her mind. "The knife-would you have used it?" "On you?" he asked, his eyes as expressionless as his voice.

"On anyone."

"A general question can't be given a specific answer." "Nicholas, for G.o.d's sake-"

Nick set down his drink, then steepled his fingers. His expression changed, and his eyes were suddenly dangerous. "If I were everything you seem to think, you're incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to be sitting here discussing it with me."

"I think I'm safe enough," she countered and straightened her shoulders. "Everyone knows where I am."

"I could always dispose of you another time if I considered you an obstacle." Morgan's eyes flickered with momentary fear, quickly control ed. It was one more thing he could admire her for.

"I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" he murmured, then shrugged as his mood shifted again. "Wel , in any case, I have no intention of wasting beauty especial y when I intend to enjoy its benefits. Your talents could be useful to me." Her chin shot up. "I have no intention of being your tool. Smuggling opium is a filthy way to make money. It's a far cry from crossing the English Channel with French silks and brandy."

"With mists curling and eye-patched buccaneers?" Nick countered with a smile. "Is that how your practical mind sees it, Morgan?" She opened her mouth to retort, but found herself smiling. "I refuse to like you, Nicholas."

"You don't have to like me, Morgan. Like is too tame for my tastes in any case." Outwardly relaxed, he picked up his gla.s.s again. "Don't you like your drink?"

Without taking her eyes from his, Morgan set it down. "Nicholas, I only want a straight answer-I deserve one. You're perfectly right that I can't go to the police, no matter what you tel me. You real y have nothing to fear from me."

Something flashed in his eyes at her final statement, then was quickly banked. He considered his options before he spoke. "I'l tel you this much, I am

-concerned with smuggling. I'd be interested to know of any conversations you might hear on the subject."

Frowning, Morgan rose to wander the room. He was making it difficult for her to remember the straight and narrow path of right and wrong. The path took some confusing twists and turns when emotions were involved. Emotions! She brought herself up short. No, no emotions here.

She had no feelings toward him.

"Who was with you that night?" Keep to the plan, she told herself. Questions and answers.

Save the introspection for later. "You were giving someone orders."

"I thought you were too frightened to notice." Nick sipped at his drink.

"You were speaking to someone," Morgan went on doggedly. "Someone who did precisely what you told him without question. Who?" Nick weighed the pros and cons before he answered. With her mind she'd figure it out for herself soon enough. "Stephanos."

"That little old man?" Morgan stopped in front of Nick and stared down. Stephanos was not Morgan's image of a ruthless smuggler.

"That little old man knows the sea like a gardener knows a rose bush." He smiled at her incredulous expression. "He also has the advantage of being loyal. He's been with me since I was a boy."

"How convenient al this is for you." Depressed, Morgan wandered to a window. She was getting her answers, but she discovered they weren't the ones she wanted. "A home on a convenient island, a convenient servant, a convenient business to ease distribution. Who pa.s.sed by the grove that night whom you wanted to avoid?"

Frightened or not, he thought angrily, she'd been far too observant. "That needn't concern you." Morgan whirled. "You got me into this, Nicholas. I have a right to know."

"Your rights end where I say they do." He rose as his temper threatened. "Don't push me too far, Morgan. You wouldn't like the results. I've told you al I intend to for now. Be content with it."

She backed away a step, furious with herself for being frightened. He swore at the movement, then gripped her shoulders.