The Siege Read online

  “A little actuarial humor.”

  “Exactly what does an actuary do?”

  “I review the amount of money insurance companies and large self-insured companies have saved up to pay for future insurance claims. And then I say whether or not the amount they have reserved is reasonable.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Take one of those huge soft drink companies. They have so many trucks and so many employees, it’s much cheaper for them to insure their vehicles by themselves than it is for them to hire an insurance company, which would charge them a ton of money to pay all their claims, and they can have more control if they just do it themselves. A company like that has trucks all over the country and every day, probably, one of their trucks gets in an accident and they have to deal with that. Since they’re self-insured, they have to pay money out to settle all of these claims. So what I do, when I’m auditing the balance sheets of one of those companies, is to calculate the amount of money they have to put away for a claim. But that’s just an educated guess. If you get in an accident with one of that company’s trucks, you could guess how much it would end up costing, but you wouldn’t know right away. I have to determine what’s legally required to put up money to protect against that. My job is to make sure they have the money put up to pay for future claims.”

  “I’ll bet you could calculate the odds of us getting out of this hotel in one piece.”

  “I probably could, but I’d prefer not to. Let’s look on the bright side.”

  “The bright side?” Theia posed, her voice growing more agitated. “What bright side?”

  “The mini-bar is fully stocked, they refill it daily, and it’s complimentary.”

  “Great. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “And speaking of the mini-bar, let’s get some ice on that ankle.” Wade went to the closet and grabbed a plastic laundry bag, filled it with ice, wrapped it in a hand towel, and walked over to Theia’s chair. He lifted her foot gently and placed it on an ottoman. He pressed the ice packet gingerly against her sore ankle.

  “Oh, that feels better,” Theia sighed, shivering. Whether it was from his touch or the ice, she couldn’t say. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “My point about the mini-bar is that if we’re stuck in this room for more than a day, we’ll need to eat. I doubt if they’ll have room service. Like I said, I didn’t have dinner tonight.”

  “Neither did I. I want to go home.”

  “Well, Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore, or wherever you’re from. We’re in Florence, Italy, so your ruby slippers don’t work here.”

  Theia rolled her eyes. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that? If I only had a brain.”

  Wade hovered over her chair. “Instead of sniping at each other, let’s focus on the positive. We’re alive, we’re safe, for the time being, and we have a place to sleep. We’re not out on the street.”

  “How can you sleep at a time like this?”

  “Because that damn tour director walked our asses off today. I’m craving a hot shower, but I’m too tired to get undressed. And who knows? Those might be Italian police out there ready to rescue us. I’m going to conk out if I don’t get into bed. Then I won’t be of use to anybody.”

  “You are honestly going to sleep tonight?” Theia repeated.

  “Hell, yes. I’m sure the Italian police have been called and this thing will be all over by tomorrow morning.”

  Theia’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her purse, which she’d placed in the chair with her. “It’s a text from my mother. She wants to know if I’m all right. She tried calling my room and there was no answer. She said there’s a hostage situation at our hotel. It’s all over the news. Let’s turn on CNN or SKY News.”

  “Good idea.” Wade walked over to the TV and turned it on.

  “…hostage situation at the Hotel Dei Fiori in Florence, Italy. Carabinieri confirm five dead. The Italian military police report that an unknown number of terrorists are holding hostages in the hotel dining room…”

  “I could have been in that dining room,” Theia exclaimed.

  “I know. That’s where I was headed if I could have taken another step.”

  “CNN sources say the terrorists are threatening to kill hostages on live television.”

  Theia began to shake. Wade pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re safe in here. We’re not in the dining room. So let’s get comfortable and get ready for bed.”

  “Bed?”

  “Yes,” Wade said softly. “Sleep. We’ll need our sleep if we’re going to make rational decisions. You’re halfway to delirious. You can hardly keep your eyes open. So come on. Up you go.” Wade pulled her up gently by the hands and led her over to the bed. When she refused to budge, he lifted her and tried again. “Upsy-daisy.”

  “Did you seriously just say ‘upsy-Daisy’? Do you think I’m a child?”

  “Well, if you’re not, then don’t act like one. And look here, you do need a nap.”

  “Do you actually think I’m going to sleep with you? A total stranger?”

  “I’m not propositioning you. I’m offering you a place to sleep. The bed is plenty big enough for both of us. Think of it as a slumber party.”

  “I don’t have any PJs.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m an underwear model. Free undergarments, one of the perks of the profession. You can wear one of my T-shirts.” Wade went to his suitcase on the portable luggage rack and pulled out an oversized T-shirt. “Here.” He tossed it to her.

  “You think you’re funny?”

  “I know I’m not. I’m an actuary. I’ve been told, by a long line of women, starting with my mother and my sisters, that I have no sense of humor.”

  “I didn’t mean to be rude. Th-thanks. Turn around while I put it on.”

  Wade shook his head. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll retreat into the bathroom.”

  “Good.”

  Wade walked off, and Theia quickly shed her clothes down to her panties and changed into Wade’s T-shirt.

  “You can come out now,” she said.

  Wade came out of the bathroom wearing only his underwear.

  Theia’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “What?”

  She stabbed her finger in the air. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”

  “I usually sleep in the nude. This is me being modest.”

  “You look like a big hairy wolf.”

  Wade blew out a breath. “Just crawl under the covers, Little Red Riding Hood, and hide your pretty little head if you don’t like what you see.”

  The problem was she liked what she saw. A lot.

  “You’re staring,” Wade said, his eyes twinkling.

  “I am not,” she lied. She was actually drooling.

  There was a lot to like about Wade and his suite. And the fine Italian linens didn’t hurt. The bed looked heavenly, and it was calling her name.

  Wade repositioned the ice pack on Theia’s ankle, elevated her foot on a pillow, covered her up with a scrumptious duvet with a Delft design, then walked to the other side of the bed and turned his body away from hers, toward the bathroom. “And I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, miss.”

  “Okay. But I’m not going to sleep.” How could she sleep when his half-naked hairy body had hovered only inches from hers when he’d affixed the ice bag? Then he’d practically covered her with his body when he tucked her in.

  Wade shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Theia snorted.

  “Just don’t snore,” he said.

  “I don’t snore!” she retorted.

  “Oh, yeah, you do. Big time. You snore like a bear. I recorded it on my iPhone.”

  “You did what?” Theia turned and glared at him.

  “You snored on the tour bus all the way from La Spezia back to the hotel. I tried to wake you up to see the Carrera marble quarries and the Leaning Tower of Pisa out of the bus window, bu
t you were out like a light.”

  “I was not.”

  “Believe what you want. My eyes don’t lie, and neither do my ears. I can play it back for you. It wasn’t exactly a symphony.”

  “You’re such a dork.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language. Lights out,” Wade announced.

  “You sound like a camp counselor.”

  Wade raised his hands in surrender. “I guess I can’t do or say anything right where you’re concerned. I’m letting you crash in my room. You should be grateful.”

  “Grateful?” For a minute, Theia was silent. Not repentant. Silent. Furiously silent. “In case I do doze off, you’d better promise to wake me up,” she demanded.

  Wade executed a perfect salute. “Yes, ma’am. Anything else, your highness?”

  She was right about him. He looked German.

  “Stay on your side of the bed, Adolph.”

  “My name is Wade.”

  “Ha! Mr. Literal. Can’t you take a joke?”

  ****

  Adolph? What the hell was this woman ranting about? He was an American. His family was Swiss. All he’d done was give her a place to spend the night and ice her ankle. He didn’t have to do that. He could have left her stranded in the hall at the mercy of the terrorists, helpless, with that twisted ankle, like a wounded fawn. Could he help it if he was a gentleman? That he wanted to come to her rescue? Women! They were all nuts. He was raised in a house full of women, and he still couldn’t understand them. He’d gotten out of his last relationship just in the nick of time.

  What were the odds? He’d sat next to her on the coach on the tour to Cinque Terre. It had been a full and exhausting day. They’d enjoyed a scenic drive through the Tuscan countryside and traveled by boat to the five breathtaking villages nestled in steep cliffs along the Ligurian Sea. He had never seen such beauty except when he’d stolen furtive glances at the girl seated next to him on the bus.

  There was that unforgettable lunch of spaghetti con vongole at a little café in Manarola, and the killer view as they left on the ferry to the next island. And the stracciatella gelato at the ice cream shop on Monterosso al Mare. When they were seated together at lunch, he pretended they were together. But she’d hardly said a word to him or anyone else. She spent the whole time rubbing her sore ankle. He would have gladly provided assistance, had they been properly introduced. But Miss Snooty Pants had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

  What Wade found most unforgettable about the excursion was the girl the rest of them had named “the Trailer” because she was always pulling up the rear. To be fair, there was a shitload of walking on that tour, and she was clearly not up to the task. The group had had to wait for her numerous times. At one point, she’d fallen so far behind they’d almost missed the train. Theia, the Trailer. He would definitely tease her about it later.

  By the time they got off the bus in front of the hotel, she could hardly walk; her ankle was swollen to the size of a melon. He’d offered his hand when she was limping back to the hotel, but she refused it as she had refused any assistance during the grueling excursion. Stubborn little thing. She’d been asleep most of the way back, so he hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to her, and he had a zillion questions. Where did she come from? What did she do for a living? Why was she here on this particular tour? How did she get the face of an angel? A face any Italian master would have killed to paint. Wearing an off-the-shoulder poplin top with a hint of bra showing, and a ruffled skirt, she was irresistible.

  Being seated next to each other on the bus and in the restaurant gave him an opportunity to stare at her amazing face. The scenery paled in comparison. Of course she didn’t notice him. He was invisible to most women. He even enjoyed listening to her snore, as she was snoring away, like a freight train, right now in bed next to him.

  In his bed! How did he get so lucky? Fate had thrown them together, and he was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. What were the odds? Even though he was an actuary, pretty much of a numbers guy, he still believed in fate. There was a reason this woman had been put in his path. There must be. And he wasn’t above taking advantage of the situation.

  He studied his exotic bedmate in repose. She was some kind of Mediterranean mix, Spanish maybe, or Italian? Her name was unusual, too. It sounded Greek. He’d looked it up on the Internet on his cell phone while she was asleep. In Greek mythology, Theia meant “goddess,” or divine, daughter of the Earth and mother of the Sun, the Moon, and the Dawn. Appropriate. The kind of classic beauty you saw in fashion or movie magazines. Tall and lithe, she had a model’s body with shoulder-length dark, wavy hair kissed with auburn streaks, and a dark complexion like she spent a lot of time in the sun. Dreamy green eyes, he knew, although they were shut now. A perfectly sculpted upturned nose, and well-defined cheekbones, and that endearing space between her two front teeth that made him want to press his lips against her kissable mouth and stick his tongue between them. A soft indention between the top of her lip that he wanted to press his thumb against. And a fleshy, suck-worthy lower lip she was biting in her sleep that was making him rock hard.

  He’d first noticed her at the opening reception. She was stunning in an off-the-shoulder turquoise crepe dress. She wore her hair up so it looked short. He was happy to see it tumbling down the next day at the Uffizi Gallery. She was in a cherry print top and a cherry print ruffle skirt and wore sexy wraparound sandals that reminded him of Mercury. She kept to herself, mostly, entranced by the paintings, always with a sketchpad in hand. He had even seen her cry in front of one of them, the one where the goddess—Venus—rose out of the water on a half shell. He’d hardly listened to the guide. He couldn’t take his eyes off the beauty that put Venus to shame.

  She’d been entranced the previous day when the guide had shepherded them through scores of churches, from the Santa Maria Novella Church and the Church of Santa Croce to the Brancacci Chapel and the Baptistery of St. John, to view the frescoes, paintings, and other great Renaissance masterpieces.

  She had practically drooled over the extraordinary view of Florence from the top of the Duomo. Well, it had been quite a view, and Theia had looked magnificent at sunset. He had the feeling she had done more than just tourist duty to check the churches off her bucket list. She was really into it. He was dying to see what was in her sketchpad. And when he had sneaked a peek while she was in the bathroom at a rest stop, he’d been pleasantly surprised to see a sketch of him. So, for all her feigned indifference, she had noticed him, too. Interesting.

  She had valiantly tried to stay awake but had drifted off into slumber almost the moment her head hit the pillow. She looked great in his T-shirt. He was imagining what she might look like out of it. She had been sleeping on her fist, with her body crunched up into a ball. Now the covers that she’d kept pulled up to her chin in modesty had fallen down around her, and her magnificent body was unfurled like a flag, so he had an intimate, bird’s-eye view of her long tanned legs and what he imagined were her pert breasts, not overripe but most likely a perfect fit for his hands, should he ever get lucky enough to touch them. He was smitten. There was no other word for what he felt. He was drawn to her like never before to any other woman. Not even his ex-fiancée.

  Her lips were full, and his first instinct was to kiss them, but that would make him lower than low, taking liberties with, and advantage of, a half-naked woman who had wandered to his room mistakenly and ended up, through no fault of her own, in his bed.

  Was he scared of the terrorists? Hell, yes. Who wouldn’t be? Any minute they could be swarming the halls, breaking down doors, possibly shooting people and setting the hotel on fire. Or blowing it up. But he wasn’t going to let Theia know his innermost fears. He would protect her, and part of his role was to keep her calm. He tried to stave off his fears and slow his heartbeat. But every time he looked at her, his heart galloped. He couldn’t get his mind off her.

  Reaching for his phone on the end table, he checked hi
s CNN app. True to their threats, the terrorists had already executed two people, an elderly couple from Cincinnati, Ohio, who were taking the tour to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary. They were very sweet together. He had talked to them, and they told him they’d been together so long their children claimed they even snored in synchrony. They had held hands all day, on and off the bus, and he remembered thinking how lucky they were to have each other. He imagined having a life partner like that and growing old with someone like Theia. But the lucky couple was not so lucky tonight. They’d been beheaded on live TV, in the dining room in front of the rest of the hostages and the world. He wasn’t going to share that horrifying news with Theia. She was at peace now, and he wanted her to stay that way. He didn’t want to expose her to the evil in the world. How fortunate that he and Theia were not in the dining room.

  He’d been getting frantic texts all night from his parents and his sisters and co-workers, who were worried sick about him. The terrorists had given another deadline and threatened to execute another two hostages if their demands weren’t met. What were their demands? No one had yet claimed responsibility for the incident. The Italian police were on call but weren’t making a move, in order to protect the hostages. Theia’s phone had been buzzing all night.

  The next morning, the sun crept into the room from behind the curtains, and Theia was snuggled up warmly against his body. He hesitated, but only for a second, and pulled her closer, reveling in her scent, enfolding her in his arms, pretending for a moment that she was aware of their intimacy and had invited it. Her kissable lips were dangerously close to his.

  They were scheduled to leave on the high-speed train for Rome today and then go on to the Amalfi Coast, and Venice after that. But obviously the terrorists had thrown a wrench into those plans. He had hardly slept a wink last night, and he had the kinks in his neck and back to prove it. But it had been worth it to hold on to the priceless package, this sleeping goddess, in his arms. She was irresistible. And he never wanted to let her go.

  Chapter Two