the stragglers disembarking the ship.
Marina gripped Deanâs waist with both hands, holding tight as his feet came off the ground and he began turning the machine in a wide semicircle. He glanced in his side mirror, nodded once to make sure she was alright.
At her answering nod he accelerated and she held him tighter, leaning forward to counteract the natural inertia, head tucked close behind his. The powerful machine throbbed beneath her and Marina inched closer to his back, gripping him with her thighs as they leaned into the bends and roared up the tortuous road from the dock at Giardini Bay.
Strong muscles rippled beneath her hands as he manoeuvred the bike, sending sparks of heat charging through Marinaâs central nervous system. A warm breeze brushed her arms and legs and she smiled behind the perspex shield, exhilarated by the rush. It was as though her body had roused itself from a long, deep slumber.
They reached the top of the steep incline and the landscape levelled out. Ahead of them lay Taormina, the air heavy with the scent of bougainvillea and hundreds of lemon trees.
Dean slowed the bike to a more sedate pace and they rumbled through a quaint town square, dotted with shops, churches and outdoor cafes. Further along, they made a right-hand turn and kept climbing. Halfway up the hill, where the road turned into a car park, they left the bike and continued their journey on foot.
A short while later they were standing in the centre of the brick ruins, an imposing Greek-columned structure built into the mountaintop. Below them the aquamarine Bay of Nexos sparkled in the sunlight, and in the distance a plume of smoke rose from a smouldering Mount Etna.
âThis is magnificent.â Marina turned in a circle and gazed at the row upon row of seats rising steeply towards the sky. âImagine the people who have played here over the centuries, what it must feel like to perform in this mini colosseum.â
âThey still hold concerts here.â
Marina turned to find him studying her. âReally? I didnât know it was still in use.â
âEvery year they hold a festival. I havenât been to it. I was moored here once when it was on.â
She couldnât imagine staying here and not taking the opportunity to attend an opera, a ballet or an orchestral performance, especially under the stars in an ancient theatre like this one.
Marina glanced at her companion in the soft blue tee-shirt with Americaâs Cup printed on the breast pocket. The physical proximity on the bike ride had made her more comfortable around him, and despite the fact they were from different worlds and he didnât know who she really was, she still found him as disturbingly attractive as the night heâd smiled at her in the hotel.
âWhy donât you go up on the stage?â he said.
Marina shook her head and smiled a little. Her wrist had been fine so far, but playing in the string quartet was nowhere near as demanding as her real job. Standing on a stage would only remind her of everything that was in jeopardy. And she was feeling good right now.
âMaybe later. I donât expect you to act as my tour guide. I should look at those images.â
He glanced at the iPad heâd taken from the bikeâs storage compartment and brought along with him. âThen letâs go higher, so you can get the feel of what itâs like to be a spectator.â
They climbed to the top of the outdoor theatre and Marina caught her breath at the sheer beauty of it all. She longed to explore further, but she had to be back on board by one, in time for the high tea performance at three.
They sat down and Dean opened the iPad. âThese are the ones that came up in Mooneyâs initial searches. Have a look through them. Itâs a long shot, but hopefully one might jog your memory.â
Marina nodded and began scrolling through the images. There were guns, lots of guns, everything from
N.M. Silber
Susan May Warren
S. J. A. Turney
Kylie Logan
James Becker
Ben Jeapes
Glynn Stewart
Shane M Brown
Anna Quindlen
Peter Turnbull