The Deeper the Passion...
Jennifer Lewis
To find an heirloom lost for centuries, Vicki St. Cyr must enlist the help of her former flame, treasure hunter Jack Drummond.But by bedding the man who broke her heart, she’s in danger of losing the plot. Their nights together are hot and passionate. But if Vicki recovers her heirloom, will the flames die out once more…?
“I have a proposal for you.”
He leaned against the counter like a lazy puma. “How romantic.”
“Not that kind of proposal.” Her voice had a prim, school-mistressy snap that she instantly regretted. “A … business proposition.”
“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.” His dark eyes added an undercurrent of suggestion to his words. He turned his head to the hotel clerk. “She won’t be needing her room.”
A surge of desire, tangled up with fear and anticipation and even—already—regret for what she was about to do, rose through her body like a flash flood. She lifted her bag higher on her shoulder. She was strong now. She could handle him. She’d have to.
“Why won’t I need my room?” The question was purely for show, since they both knew the answer.
“You’ll be staying with me. Just like old times.”
Dear Reader,
I had always heard that the history of South Florida did not go back much past the invention of air-conditioning. When I moved here last year, I was surprised and excited to discover a tangled web of history involving conquistadors, pirates, Seminole indians, soldiers, tycoons and adventurers.
Hurricanes are a familiar aspect of life in South Florida, and I soon learned about the large number of shipwrecks off the coast, dating back to the early Spanish treasure fleets. Excavation is under way right now on several vessels, with probably the most well known being Mel Fisher’s recovery of the Nuestra Señora de Atocha, with its huge stash of gold coins and silver ingots.
I began to imagine a hero who searches the seas for treasure. And what if my hero was the descendant of a pirate, whose ship had sunk with his ill-gotten gains? Throw in a feisty heroine determined never to fall for the hero again and it sounded like a brew as salty and tangy as a frozen margarita. I had a blast writing this tale, and I hope you enjoy Jack and Vicki’s story!
All the best,
Jennifer Lewis
About the Author
JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.
The Deeper the Passion …
Jennifer Lewis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Anne MacFarlane,
writer and critique partner extraordinaire
One
“It’s pronounced sin-cere.” Vicki St. Cyr leaned on the hotel counter. She was used to having her name mangled.
“Don’t believe a word of it.” The deep, rich voice in her ear made her start and spin around. Those familiar flashing dark eyes were settled firmly on the hotel clerk. “She’s not to be trusted at all.”
The young female behind the desk looked up, and her face took on that foolish sparkle of a girl suddenly confronted with the attentions of a handsome predatory male. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’ll let you know.” Jack looked back at Vicki, and she felt her blood heat.
“Hi, Jack.” Vicki realized, too late, that she’d crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Vicki, what a surprise.” His voice contained no more astonishment than hers. His gaze seemed to peer right through her carefully groomed exterior and flay bare a small part of her soul. If she still had a soul. “I hear you’re looking for me.”
She swallowed. How had he heard? She’d hoped at least for the advantage of surprise. But then Jack had always been two strides ahead of her. Why would now be any different? “I have a proposal for you.”
He leaned against the counter like a lazy puma. “How romantic.”
“Not that kind of proposal.” Her voice had a prim, schoolmistressy snap that she instantly regretted. “A … business proposition.”
“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.” His dark eyes added an undercurrent of suggestion to his words. He turned his head to the clerk. “She won’t be needing her room.”
A surge of desire, tangled up with fear and anticipation and even—already—regret for what she was about to do, rose through her body like a flash flood. She lifted her bag higher on her shoulder. She was strong now. She could handle him. She’d have to.
“Why won’t I need my room?” The question was purely for show because they both knew the answer.
“You’ll be staying with me. Just like old times.” His broad, sensual mouth widened, like the habitual slight grin of a crocodile. He grabbed her bag off the floor and strode for the door. Vicki’s faithless eyes tracked his tight behind, clad in faded denim, and the way his worn T-shirt hugged the thick muscle of his back.
“Should I cancel the room?” The desk clerk didn’t take her eyes off him, even after he disappeared through the revolving door. “There will be a cancellation charge of fifty dollars because it’s already—”
“Yes.” Vicki put her credit card on the counter. What was another fifty on top of what she already owed? It would save a fortune over staying in this expensive boutique hotel. Two years of trying to “keep up appearances” had left her close to beggary. Lord knows she wouldn’t be here otherwise.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, like daring to set foot in Jack Drummond’s lair.
Jack was behind the wheel of his vintage Mustang when she got outside. The fierce South Florida sun beat down on the tarmac and threw dazzling diamond reflections off the custom jade-green paint job. The engine was already running and the passenger door open for her to get in. Did he know she didn’t have a car? In the old days she’d have rented one and insisted on driving it just to keep the escape hatch open. Right now she didn’t have that luxury. She climbed in and settled herself against the soft leather seat. “How did you know I’d be here?”
“My spies are everywhere.” He didn’t look at her as he pulled out of the parking lot and left the exclusive Ramona Beach Inn behind.
“You don’t have any spies.” She seized the opportunity to study his face. Skin tanned to a rich copper as usual, dark hair flecked with gold. “You’ve always been a one-man band.”
“You’ve been hanging around the New York Drummonds.” He still didn’t turn toward her, but she saw the muscles tighten in his hand on the wheel. “Figured I was next.”
Vicki drew in a breath. “I spent a relaxing few weeks with Sinclair and his mom. It was fun to catch up with old friends.”
A smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. “You always have an ulterior motive. The fun is in figuring it out.”
She stiffened. “My motives are very simple. I’m helping Katherine Drummond locate the pieces of a three-hundred-year-old family chalice.”
“And you’re doing this because of your passion for history?” This time he did turn to her. His smile deepened, beneath his bold cheekbones. “I heard you became an antiques dealer.”
“The chalice has an interesting story.”
“Oh, yes.” His voice deepened into a throaty narrator’s drone. “Three brothers, tossed by the stormy seas on their passage from bonnie Scotland, bid goodbye to each other in the New World but pledged one day to reunite their family treasure. Only then could the mighty Drummond clan regain the luck of their esteemed ancestors.” He tossed a mighty laugh out onto the wind. “Come on, Vicki. That’s not your style.”
“There’s a reward.” Might as well come clean. Jack was more likely to be tempted by money than sentiment.
“Ten thousand dollars.” He turned off the main road onto an unmarked and unpaved side road, fringed by spiky palms and tall scrub pines. “I’ve got junk worth more than that in the trunk of my car.”
“It’s twenty thousand per piece. I convinced Katherine to raise it. To attract the right sort of treasure hunters.”
“Like me.”
“Like me.” She was gratified when he turned to look at her. His dark gaze met hers and a jolt of emotion leaped through her. Old feelings, long buried, started clawing their way to the surface. She felt a shimmer of panic. “Not that I really need the money, of course. But if I’m going to look for an old cup, there might as well be a profit in it.”
“And you need my treasure hunting expertise to claim the reward.”
“You’re the most successful treasure hunter on the Atlantic coast. I read an article about your new boat and all its expensive equipment. You’re famous.”
“Some would say notorious.”
“And most likely the cup fragment is somewhere in your house.” She’d found the first piece in the attic of his cousin Sinclair’s Long Island mansion.
“If it’s anywhere at all.” His hand slid on the wheel as he turned down another unmarked road. The pines and saw palmettos ended as abruptly as the road, which descended suddenly to a beach. Jack swung the car to the left and parked near a broad wooden dock. A good-size boat, white with gleaming chrome rails, bobbed at the far end.
“Your dock looks different than I remember.”
“It’s been a long time.” He was already out of the car and carrying her bag down the dock with feline grace.
“Not that long. There was a building here and a gate.” And a bench where they’d once made love under a bright full moon.
“Gone in the last hurricane. Road keeps getting shorter, too.”
“Must be frustrating to lose expensive real estate to the sea.”
“Not if you enjoy change.” He swung her bag into the boat and turned to watch as she walked along the wood jetty. She hoped her own walk had a fraction of the swagger she admired in his.
He helped her onto his boat, where he’d already slung her bag. She walked around the deck to where a big, padded fighting chair held a commanding position. She perched herself on the seat and grabbed hold of the armrests. Jack had never been a slow driver. The boat lurched to a start and the propeller wash foamed beneath her feet as the engines roared into action. She braced her feet against the footrest as they leaped and bounced over the choppy water. Within a minute or so, Jack’s island appeared over the horizon. Fringed with palms, no building visible, it looked like the kind of place you could get marooned and die. And she was going to be trapped here with Jack Drummond, unless she geared herself up for a long and bracing swim.
The dock on the island looked the same as the last time she saw it, years ago. Built of coral rock and carved in the elaborate style of some ancient and wealthy Drummond ancestors, it was flanked with two stone turrets that probably once concealed armed men. Maybe they still did, if tales of Jack’s wealth were to be believed.
“Lost your sea legs?” Jack grabbed her arm when she wobbled while trying to climb out of the boat.
“I haven’t spent much time on the water lately.”
“Shame.” His gaze hovered on her face and, to her horror, she felt her skin heat. How did he have this effect on her? She was the one who ate men for breakfast. He was just some scurvy sea dog from her past.
Does he still think I’m beautiful? The sudden thought stabbed her—a pang of insecurity.
Who cares? You’re not here to make him fall in love with you. You need his help to find the cup and then you can wash your hands of him forever.
The old house on the island was obviously built more as a fort than a cozy residence. Limestone walls rose from behind the wild hedge of round-leaved sea grape that separated the pale strip of beach from the interior of the island. Only two tiny windows pierced the stone block exterior, although the iron-studded doors were thrown open to let in the morning sun.
“Is there anyone else visiting you?” The open door shoved unwelcome thoughts into her brain. Another woman? She hadn’t dared to assume he was single. He never was for long. Women swarmed Jack Drummond like sharks to a flesh wound.
“We’ll be alone.” He strode ahead of her, sunlight picking out golden highlights in his dark hair. Shadow cloaked him as he entered the tall arched doorway into his private sanctum.
Good. She didn’t need competition at this stage. It would be embarrassing flirting in front of someone else. Trying to compete. She might have enjoyed that in the old days, but she didn’t have the brash confidence of raw youth anymore.
The intricate colored-marble floor of the entrance hall stood in lush contrast to the fortress exterior. Jack’s ancestors may have been pirates, but they also loved beautiful things—expensive things—which might explain why they became pirates in the first place.
Jack looked as arrogant as ever. Even from behind he radiated self-assurance, his broad shoulders set easy against his powerful neck, his hair—too long, as usual—curling almost to the collar of his T-shirt. Jack didn’t bother to conform to norms of fashion or try to fit in. He didn’t need to. Born into a semicriminal dynasty of treasure hunters, he’d excelled in the family trade and made more money—legally—in the past five years than all his ancestors put together.
He filled a glass of water at the monstrous steel fridge and turned to her, offering it. “Too early in the day for champagne, but I’m celebrating your arrival all the same.”
The twinkle in his eye disarmed her as she took the water. Was he really happy to see her? “The pleasure is mutual.” She raised her glass of water. Let the flirting begin. “I’ve missed you, Jack.”
“This is getting better every minute. I still can’t figure out what you’re after.”
She smarted under his unromantic retort. He leaned against the broad pine table in the kitchen and crossed his powerful arms. Tiny golden hairs stood out against thick, bronzed muscle. She cursed herself for noticing.
“Isn’t it enough to visit one old friend while helping out another?”
“Nope. And half of a twenty-thousand-dollar reward isn’t enough to tempt the Vicki St. Cyr I know. Unless your financial situation has changed.” His eyes narrowed slightly, and she felt their dark perceptive power.
She swallowed and stiffened but tried not to show her anxiety. The press hadn’t yet sniffed out her father’s sudden descent into financial ruin. The confusion created by his death from a stroke had provided a smokescreen. Her mom had slipped off to Corsica with a wealthy friend of her dad, and the only person left holding the empty bag was her.
“I can always find something pretty to spend ten thousand dollars on.” She played with her silver bracelet, which was probably worth about twelve dollars. “It’s a curse to be raised with expensive tastes.”
“Unless you’re born gagging on a silver spoon. You’ve never needed to make money.”
“I find it emotionally satisfying.” If Jack knew she truly needed the money he’d be less likely to help her. He’d be unable to fight the urge to play with her, like a cat with a trapped mouse. “It makes me feel normal.”
Jack threw his head back, and a great guffaw filled the kitchen, bounced off the stone surfaces of the walls and floor and echoed off the high ceiling. “Normal? You’re probably the least normal person I know, and that’s why I enjoy you so much.”
“It’s been a long time, Jack. Perhaps I’m more conventional than I used to be.”
“I doubt it.” A tiny smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
“Why do you bother to make money?” Going on the offensive might be her best line of defense. “You could have lived comfortably on the ill-gotten gains of your ancestors, but instead you’re out there every day trawling the oceans for gold doubloons as if your life depended on it.”
“I get bored easily.”
Vicki’s stomach clenched. He’d grown bored with her. Eight magical months, then one day he was gone, off to pursue more elusive treasure and find a new damsel for his bed. “So you do. And what do you do with all the money you make?”
“Some of it I spend on new toys, the rest I just keep lying around the house in sacks.” Mischief twinkled again in his eyes, which stayed firmly fixed on her. She fought a sudden urge to scan the place for burlap bags filled with Spanish silver. “I have expensive taste in boats, especially my newest.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Her.” Mischief sparkled in his eyes again.
Vicki tensed as visions of a hard-bodied blonde crept into her mind. “Oh, your boat is female.”
“They all are.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because they drive us men crazy.” His gaze lingered on her face, and she felt her skin heat. “But we love them anyway.”
The word love made her jump slightly. Not a real jump, a jolt deep inside her. Either way, it made her feel even more off kilter than she did already. How did Jack Drummond manage to fluster her like no other man?
“So, this cup. It’s part of your family history and probably stowed in a dusty corner of this old pile.” She gestured at the stone walls around them. “Any idea where it is?”
Jack tilted his head slightly as if thinking. “No idea at all.”
“Can we search your family records?”
“Pirates aren’t known for keeping detailed records. It’s harder to deny having stuff that’s written down.”
“People don’t get as rich as your ancestors by being loosey-goosey with the books.” She lifted a thoughtful finger to her lips. “I bet there are some old leather-bound ledgers somewhere.”
“Even if there were, why would they bother to catalog a worthless old cup piece? They probably threw it away.”
“A family heirloom? I think not.” Though a shiver of apprehension did cool her. People threw away priceless things every day because they didn’t look like the stuff on department store shelves. “The Drummonds are far too proud of their auld Scottish ancestry for that. Look.” She pointed at the old stone kitchen fireplace. Above the big opening where cauldrons once boiled was a big crest, its paint faded and peeling from the worn wood.
Jack smiled. “They did keep detailed records.” His dark gaze studied her face. “And I’ve been through them all with a fine-tooth comb. No mention of a cup.”
“It’s not the entire cup. We found the stem up in New York. You’d likely have either the base or the drinking vessel, so it could have been described differently if someone wasn’t sure what it was. Why don’t we look together at the ledgers from the lifetime of the first person to own it, and see if anything crops up?”
“Oh, there’s nothing of his. He didn’t build this house. Never even visited the island as far as we know. He drowned in a wreck with all his possessions.”
Vicki frowned. “Then who founded this island and carried on the family line?”
“His son. Swam ashore and took over the place. He was only fifteen at the time, but fought off anyone who came near with some muskets and shot he salvaged. Eventually he managed to rob and swindle enough people to rebuild the family fortune. I’m sure he was a sweet boy.”
“I’ll bet.” She lifted a brow. Meanwhile her heart was sinking. “So if his father had the cup, it would have gone down in the shipwreck.”
“Along with all his plundered booty and his latest child bride.”
She sucked in a breath. Jack was playing with her. He’d known the item she came here to search for was long gone before she’d even climbed into his car. Then again, he was an undersea treasure hunter. “Did it happen far from here?”
“Not far at all. The boy washed ashore here, clinging to a piece of spar. Can’t be more than a few miles.”
“So let’s find it.”
Again his rich, deep laugh filled the big kitchen. “Sure! We’ll just throw out a fishing line and reel it in. People have been looking for that boat for years.”
Her ten-thousand-dollar share of the reward started to shrink in her mind. “And why haven’t they found it?”
He shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Come on. I know you must have looked for it.”
“I did, early on. Truth is, these waters are filled with old wrecks, and I’ve always stumbled across something else to keep me busy. The combination of Spanish treasure fleets sailing regularly from Havana crossed with yearly hurricanes makes this area rich pickings for a treasure hunter.”
“But you have better equipment now than you did then.” Excitement started to prickle her skin. “I bet there was treasure on that ship when it went down.”
“No doubt.” Jack’s eyes rested on hers, humor sparkling in their depths. “I never thought I’d hear you begging to go on a treasure hunt with me.”
“I’m not begging!”
“Not yet, but if I don’t say yes, you will be.”
His arrogance made her want to slap him. “I’m simply asking.”
“No.” He turned and walked across the kitchen, then out through a door on the far side where he disappeared from view.
Vicki stood staring after him for a moment, her mouth gaping open like a fish. Then she strode after him. She spotted him in a long, stone corridor. “What do you mean, no?”
He turned. “I mean, no, I won’t take you out hunting for part of some crazy old cup. Though I’m damn sure curious about why you want it so bad.”
“What if the legend is true, and the Drummonds won’t be happy again until the pieces of the cup are reunited?” She lifted a brow, trying to look nonchalant. It was a stretch.
Jack raised his own brow in response. “From what I can tell, none of us is really suffering right now.”
“And none of you is happily married, either.” Though his cousin Sinclair would be soon, largely thanks to her meddling.
“Maybe that’s why we’re happy.” He shrugged and kept walking.
“Were your parents happily married?” She hurried to keep up.
“You know they weren’t. My mom took my dad to the cleaners in the divorce. She even got this island.”
His mom was a famous Nicaraguan model, now on her fourth or fifth husband. “See? Sinclair’s parents weren’t happy, either. It’s his mom who’s the driving force behind the search for the cup. She doesn’t want her son to suffer like she did.”
“How is old Sinclair? Still trimming his hedge funds into topiaries?”
“Sinclair is a very nice man, I’ll have you know. And he’s just fallen in love, too.”
“There goes your theory about the family curse.”
“Get this. He and his newly beloved were secretly pining for each other for years—she’s his housekeeper—and it wasn’t until they started looking for the cup that they finally hooked up.” She didn’t mention her own fairy godmother-esque role in shoving them together.
He reached a carved wooden door and rested one big hand on the handle. “How sweet. What if I don’t want to fall in love?”
“Maybe you already have.”
“With you?” His dark eyes twinkled.
“With yourself.” How could he still look so handsome? You’d think all that sun and salt air would have wizened him into a raisin. Instead he looked bronzed and burnished like a fine statue from ancient Greece, ready to throw a discus in the Olympics or besiege a walled city. His body had filled out a little in the past few years—all hard muscle, of course. Lucky thing she wasn’t as soft as she used to be or she’d be in danger of falling for him all over again. “Okay, that was uncalled for. You’re surprisingly modest, considering your accomplishments. And I don’t suppose you have any shortage of women madly in love with you at any given time.”
“You’re right, though.” He looked thoughtful.
“You do love yourself?”
“No. That I’ve never fallen in love. Not really.” His eyes darkened and he looked as if he was about to say something else but didn’t.
She wanted to make a quip about how he’d been pining for her all those years, but she didn’t speak, either. Too much wishful thinking or something. “And you think it’s time you did?”
Still hovering outside the door, he rubbed at the muscle of his left arm. “I do want children.”
Her eyes widened. Jack Drummond wanting a family? She didn’t believe it. Maybe he was winding her up. “Maybe some will wash ashore in the next storm.”
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I like kids. They’re fun. They bring a different perspective to everything, and they enjoy toys as much as I do.”
Vicki laughed. “You’re always full of surprises, Jack. So why don’t you have any rugrats running around Castle Drummond?”
“Haven’t met their mom yet.” He held her gaze while he tilted his head. “At least I don’t think I have.” His voice contained the tiniest hint of suggestion. Was he playing with her? In that case he might be playing right into her hands.
“See? You need to find the cup so you can find Mrs. Right and start building your team. Let’s look at some of those big complicated maps you love and see if we can figure out where the wreck is.” She moved toward him. She could tell he was at least slightly interested, despite his protests.
“I see you know the way to a man’s heart is through his nautical maps.” He finally turned the handle and pushed open the door. “But first, let’s go to bed.”
Two
Jack walked into the bedroom, knowing Vicki would follow. She thought herself wild and unpredictable, but he knew better. She wanted that old cup for some reason and she was very determined in pursuit of a goal.
He couldn’t resist turning to enjoy her expression. As expected, she’d walked coolly in behind him and was surveying the space. “Nice. Is that bed French?”
“Might be.” The big oak monstrosity had been there since the house was built.
“I bet it could tell a few tales.” She walked over to the headboard and examined the carved decoration.
“Lucky thing it’s discreet.” He swung himself onto the bed and relaxed, arms behind his head. “Come on in.”
“You didn’t seriously lure me in here in hope of seducing me, did you?”
“Hope springs eternal.”
“I didn’t know you were such a bright-eyed optimist.”
“You have to be an optimist in the treasure hunting game. Eyes on the prize.”
Vicki’s almost-black hair was tied up in a messy bun, with tendrils falling about those adorable ears he still remembered nibbling. He let his eyes drift lower. She wore a black top that appeared to be made from pieces of ripped T-shirt, sewn back together. Knowing her it was probably from Paris and cost two thousand bucks. It hid her slender shape, but he knew that under its mysterious black layers was a lithe body with high, pointy breasts, and a stomach you could bounce gold doubloons off. A broad leather belt was slung across her hips, atop a pair of jeans that encased her long, slim legs. Desire crept through him, hot and relentless, like bootleg rum in his blood. “And the prize is tempting as ever.”
“I see you haven’t grown more subtle in your old age.”
“Not much wiser, either. How about you?”
“I seem to get dumber every year.” A smile tugged at her cheeky mouth. Vicki’s lips were always dark, as if she wore lipstick, but he knew from kissing them that it was her hot blood close to the surface. “Otherwise, why would I be back here?”
“Because you couldn’t get me out of your system.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her reaction. Of course it was wishful thinking on his part. She’d probably forgotten him ten minutes after he left. He’d certainly hoped so at the time. Things had gotten way too intense and it was time to lift anchor and run for the open sea.
“You’ve been out of my system almost as long as the last dregs of nicotine from another one of my bad habits.” She lifted her chin. “So don’t get any ideas that I’m here for you. I’m just here because I need you.”
“Be still, my heart.” He placed a hand over it and wasn’t surprised to find it beating faster than usual. Vicki must have that effect on any man. “Come lie next to me.”
“No way.”
“It’s important.”
“Nothing’s that important.” She’d crossed her arms in a defensive posture, and her hips tilted at a defiant angle. Sense memory flashed a moment of luscious recall—her hips pressed against his, arching higher, driving them both to a realm of beauty and madness.
“Not even finding your precious cup?”
“I fail to see how climbing into the sack with you brings me closer to my goal.”
He raised a brow. “I always thought you were a lateral thinker. The thing is, you need to join me in bed to see how things lie.”
She pursed her lips slightly and shifted her weight onto her other foot. Her pale violet eyes viewed him with intense suspicion. “I can see how things lie from right here.”
“No, you can’t.” He glanced up at the ceiling. Time had faded and darkened the image. The plaster had cracked in places, but the fresco still showed the green shore of the island against the pale blue of the sea. “Come on. Hop up.” He tapped the sheets. “So you can take a look at the old family map.”
“What?” She peered upward, but he knew she couldn’t see anything. The edge of the four-poster bed blocked any view of the painting unless one was literally lying on the mattress.
“Lazaro Drummond—the shipwreck survivor—painted the map above his bed, so that no one could see it but him.”
“And his lovers.”
He let a slow smile creep across his mouth. “Exactly.”
Vicki walked toward the bed and climbed gingerly onto the opposite side. She settled herself on her back with her head on the pillow. He studied her for signs that she was uncomfortable—or excited—by being next to him on a bed. But no, she was entirely riveted by the painting overhead. She stared at it without speaking, almost without breathing, for a full minute. “I do believe this is the first real-life treasure map I’ve ever seen.”
“They never do look like the ones in the movies.” He enjoyed the fascinated expression on her face. How long had it been since he kissed that sassy mouth? Six years, at least. The urge to repeat history was rising in his blood.
“I keep looking for the X but I can’t see it.”
“The mermaid sitting on the rock. She’s the X.”
“Hmm.” Vicki stared at it thoughtfully. She hadn’t moved her eyes from the ceiling since the moment she lay down. “So the wreck is southeast of the island. Is there any kind of distance scale so we know how far it is?”
“If the size of the island is accurately drawn, it would be about two and a quarter miles off the northernmost inlet. That’s what we Drummonds have always assumed anyway.”
“And none of you has ever found it.”
“Not yet.” He shot her a sly glance.
She finally turned to look at him. Her pale eyes sparkled like diamonds. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I can believe you bring luck.”
“Luck? How about my sharp mind?” She looked back up at the painting.
He felt as if the sun had shifted and thrown him into shadow. He wanted that bright, hopeful gaze on him again. “What will you do for me if I find it for you?” He made sure his voice held a purr of suggestion.
“Do for you? You’ll get all the loot your ancestor stole and took to the bottom of the ocean with him. Isn’t that enough?”
“There’s never enough.” He stared at her, willing her to bless him with her radiance again.
She turned to him, cheek resting on the soft pillow. “What else did you have in mind?” Dark lashes framed her eyes, giving them a smoky, sultry look. Her soft, pink mouth looked ripe with promise. He could easily imagine leaning forward a few inches and pressing his lips to hers.
Arousal thickened his groin and made his breath come faster. “I like having you back in my bed again.” Her mouth twitched slightly, which was almost unbearably sensual. “If you’ll stay with me here in my bed while we search, I’ll plumb the depths of the ocean for you.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s a big ask.”
“So’s yours. I’ve got projects lined up that could keep me busy until 2050. You’re asking me to drop everything and go fishing around on the bottom of the ocean for a wreck people have been hunting for more than 250 years. It won’t be easy to find, that’s for sure.”
“You don’t like things too easy, though, do you, Jack?”
He laughed. “No, Vicki, I don’t.”
“Then I can hardly just agree to your command, can I?” She sprang off the bed and strode from the room before he could even gather his thoughts, which were scattered and distracted by the sight of her tight ass in those fitted jeans.
She knew him too well.
“So where’s the boat?” Vicki headed into the big living room, past the dark pieces of ancient furniture. Lucky thing she could still remember her way around somewhat. She tried a handle on one of the French doors, which opened out onto a broad, stone terrace.
“At the dock.”
“Not the one we came on. Your super-high-tech treasure hunting boat.”
“Ah. That’s hidden.”
“More valuable than the treasure it finds?”
“Something like that.” Jack followed her out onto the terrace and squinted in the afternoon sun.
Damn but she’d been tempted to take him up on his offer. He had looked almost irresistible, lying there relaxed, heavy and sexy as hell, muscles sinking into the soft mattress, and that cool, curious look on his face.
But as she’d observed, he didn’t like things too easy. He got bored quickly. Anyone wanting to keep Jack’s interest better keep him guessing. And she’d already failed at that once, so the pressure was on.
“You trust me, don’t you?” She smiled sweetly at him.
That lazy, puma grin sneaked back across his mouth. “At least as far as I can throw you.” He took a step forward and her muscles tightened as she read sudden intention in his body. “Let’s see exactly how far that is.”
His arms reached out and she shrieked and ran—down the wide steps and onto a scraggly lawn. She ducked left and looked for an opening in the sea grape hedge, but it was too late. Jack’s hands caught her around the waist and clutched her against him.
Breath flew from her lungs, less from force and more from the emotional impact of feeling Jack’s big arms around her again. She braced herself, waiting for him to pick her up and hurl her somewhere. Instead, his grip only tightened and she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck.
Desire unfurled inside her, hot and liquid, darting through her veins and loosening her from head to toe. She could turn around right now and kiss him full on the mouth—but that would end the chase, and the chase excited him. “You wouldn’t take advantage of a defenseless maiden, would you?”
“No way. But you? Sure.” She could feel his grin radiating into the back of her brain. Still, his hands didn’t stray from her waist. She found herself wanting them to.
“So you’re not going to throw me?”
“Apparently I can’t.”
“Too soft?”
“Something like that. But it doesn’t say much for how far I can trust you.” He leaned in closer and his hot breath tickled her neck. “Though, strangely, I do trust you. You’ve never deceived me or led me astray.” He sounded thoughtful. “At least not that I’m aware of.”
“And I don’t plan to start now.” She wanted to move. Being so close to Jack, with his arms around her and her back pressed to his hard chest, was starting to mess with her mind. Worse yet, her body was starting to act up. Nipples thickening against her shirt, belly quivering, knees growing unreliable. If he hadn’t already noticed, he might soon, and she’d rather die than have him know that he still had power over her.
“So, your precious ship. In some hidden cove, I’m guessing?”
“Nope, it’s at the deeper dock.” His hands pulled way from her waist slowly. Relief mingled with a surprise ripple of sadness. “Follow me.” He pulled right away from her and set off across the lawn. Abandoned by his warm attentions, her skin felt cold. Still, she had to keep the dance going. It wouldn’t work if he had his fill of her before they even got started. She was in control this time and she intended to keep it that way.
Jack’s treasure hunting boat was dark blue, faded by the sun. It didn’t look especially precious or expensive, but then probably the treasure it found didn’t, either—at first.
Jack climbed aboard, muscles flexing beneath his faded jeans. “Done much diving lately?”
“Nope.”
“Can you still remember how?”
“More or less.” Jack had shown her how to dive years ago. Breathing underwater felt horribly unnatural and she’d been a slow study. She’d only fought past her fears out of sheer determination to prove he was wrong when he’d said she’d never do it. She wasn’t too excited about doing it again. “Do we need to dive? Don’t you have sonar to find the ship and a team of nano-robots to crawl the ocean floor for artifacts these days?”
He laughed. “That would take all the fun out of it.” He reached down a hand and, with some misgivings, she grasped it and let him help as she climbed onto the shifting deck. “We sometimes use sonar to look for a wreck, though it doesn’t always help. These funnels are used to blow holes in the ocean floor to expose stuff that’s buried under the sand. After that, it’s all about having sharp eyes and a lot of patience.”
“You don’t strike me as the patient type.” She squinted in the sun. The boat was neat as a pin, every rope coiled to perfection and the surfaces scrubbed to eye-popping white.
“I’m as patient as they come.” His slow, lazy smile challenged her to disagree. “I’ll wait a whole lifetime for something if it’s worth waiting for.”
“Intriguing.” She peered at the controls of the boat. It was probably not that much harder to maneuver than a car, should the need arise. “I suppose that’s why you’ve never married.”
“Who says I’ve never married?” His reply made her head snap up, which she bitterly regretted when she saw his smile broaden. “I only said that I’ve never fallen in love. But I’m touched that you care.”
“So, have you?” She tried to look casual, walking to another part of the deck. The idea of Jack pledging himself to another woman for an entire lifetime made her stomach tighten. Which was ridiculous. Why would she care?
“Not yet.”
Relief sank through her. Probably because she didn’t need any more complications right now, like some damsel coming forward to claim that the treasure was half hers as a result of their divorce settlement.
“But I might have.”
“If there was someone out there crazy enough to take you.”
“I like crazy broads.” His lazy gaze grazed her body, setting her skin on fire through her clothes and igniting a flash of irritation inside her.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Probably why I liked you so much.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, and his dark stare seemed to penetrate right through her. Why did she still have to be so attracted to him? You’d think that kind of thing would fade over time. She thought it had! But now that she was right here, only a few sun-scorched feet from him, all that long-forgotten desire was rising up like buried treasure—or junk—hidden beneath shifting sands.
“I don’t think you liked me all that much.” She walked to the prow of the boat, careful to keep her footing on the slippery surface. The deck rose and fell with the constant heave of the ocean, and she had to work slightly to stay balanced. “But maybe I’m wrong.” She turned to him, feeling safer with slightly more distance between them.
“Maybe you are.” His forehead was slightly furrowed, and his eyes rested on her for such a long time that she almost lost her footing and had to grab the rail around the deck. Was he thinking back to their whirlwind romance, all those sweltering nights in the Keys that one summer after college? She didn’t think about it much, not anymore. She was over it.
Truth be told, though, she wasn’t entirely over getting dumped at the end of their steamy romance. And if the spark between them should happen to get reignited, she looked forward to returning the favor.
The rise and fall of the ocean shifted the deck under her feet and her stomach was starting to feel queasy. If Jack knew, he’d make fun of her for not having her sea legs. “So, shall we plan to start the search tomorrow?” Then she’d have time to take a seasickness remedy in advance.
“I don’t know.” He stared out at the horizon, squinting out at the deep, blue unknown, sun blazing on his hard features. He was taunting her. He turned to look at her and her stomach lurched. “Did you think about my proposal?”
“I suppose it does make sense to spend time under the map together. To study it.” Anywhere other than here on this lurching deck. She grabbed a handrail, trying to look casual. It was surprising how little movement it took to throw your inner ear off kilter. And what an unhappy effect that had on the stomach.
“It’ll be like old times.” His voice held more than a hint of suggestion.
Without waiting for an invitation, she clambered over the side of the boat—with some difficulty, which she attempted to conceal—and back onto the hard and very still dock. “Not really.” This time she’d be in control of what happened, and when it ended.
“Leaving so soon? I was going to show you the sonar.”
“I’ll see it in action tomorrow.” She marched up the dock toward the house, hoping she could make it back there and collapse somewhere fast. She didn’t intend for Jack to see her in a moment of weakness. Like the predator he was, he’d have to pounce and play with her, and she wasn’t quite strong enough for that.
Once she had the reward, though, she’d feel strong. Ten thousand dollars might not sound like much to her old friends, but it would be enough to sow the seeds of her new life. A life where she wouldn’t have to depend on anybody but herself.
She heard the thud of Jack’s feet hitting the deck. He was coming after her. A satisfied smile crossed her mouth. She made sure to add an extra ounce of swagger to her walk, knowing—or was it hoping?—that his eyes were tracking her hips like a laser beam.
He thought he’d achieved a victory by getting her to agree to sleep with him. Little did he know it had been her plan all along. She’d enjoy it, too. She hadn’t chanced a sensual affair in almost a year. She’d been too busy dodging creditors and trying to hide her precarious financial situation. She certainly hadn’t wanted to be in an intimate situation where she might have to open up to someone.
She wouldn’t have to open up to Jack. His personal walls were as thick as the battlements on his ancestral home, and he never let them down. They could make love all night long and keep their hearts under lock and key. Hers had chains on it that weren’t likely to break anytime soon, especially not for Jack Drummond.
His footsteps were gaining on her, and she fought the urge to walk faster. Instead, she slowed to let him catch up. “Is there any hope of dinner out here on your desert island?”
“I caught a big swordfish yesterday. We can grill it.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to eat swordfish anymore now that we’ve poisoned the oceans. A friend of mine is pregnant and she said the doctor told her the toxins can affect your genes and damage your future children.”
“My children might enjoy having three eyes.” His grin cut a white slash across his dark face. “Are you worried about your own offspring?”
“I won’t ever have children.” She said it brightly. “So I can eat all the swordfish I want.”
His smile vanished. “You can’t have kids?”
She startled at the sudden change in his demeanor. Why did he care if she could have children or not? “Not can’t, won’t. I’m not cut out for motherhood. Too much wiping butts and drying tears for my taste.”
He laughed. “Did your mom do those things?”
“No, she hired a nanny for that.” She walked faster. This conversation was getting too personal.
“You could do the same.” She felt his dark, penetrating gaze on her cheek.
“No, thanks. I’m doing my best not to turn out like my parents.”
“Me, too. Unlike my dad, I intend to be alive at fifty.” Something in his voice made her turn to look at him. His eyes were shadowed.
“I heard about his death. I’m sorry. It was a small-plane accident, wasn’t it?”
“It was no accident.” He marched steadily, eyes now straight ahead. The house loomed through the trees. “He’d been trying to kill himself for years.”
The Drummond curse. Vicki remembered Katherine Drummond begging her to help her find the lost cup pieces and lift the curse that had dogged the family for centuries. At first Vicki had laughed it off, but the Drummonds certainly didn’t seem to have much luck in life. They could make money all day long, but when it came to marriage or family harmony, or even simple contentment, they were a disaster zone.
“The awkward silence descends.” Jack spoke softly, slightly mocking. “So, the swordfish it is. Let our children learn to play with the dark hand they’re dealt.”
“I’m sure it will be delicious.” She regretted her quip about the fish. “I eat it all the time and love it.”
“I remember it being your favorite.” He opened a side door of the house, pushing at the big, tarnished brass handle. Something in the tone of his voice made her breath catch at the bottom of her lungs. What else did he remember? How she’d called him in the middle of the night just to hear the sound of his voice? The way she sighed when he kissed her neck?
The time she’d made the bitter mistake of telling him she loved him.
That last one wasn’t a question. He probably would remember that, unless he’d repressed it somehow. That little slip of the tongue had sent him running.
She followed him into the cool, shaded interior. Things would be a lot easier if she could find this cup without his help. Just her luck, it had wound up on the bottom of the sea. Even if they could find the ship, it would be a miracle if the cup piece hadn’t washed away, and then again, if it were recognizable enough for her to find it. This could well be a wild goose chase, and she couldn’t afford to waste too much time on it. She should probably set a strict deadline for herself, with plans to jump ship if they hadn’t found it within two weeks.
“You’re quieter than you used to be.” His words startled her from her thoughts.
“More going on in my brain, less coming out of my mouth.” She smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“How enigmatic.” He pulled a bottle of wine from a large rack against one wall. “Pinot grigio?”
“Sure.” She watched his hands as he peeled away the foil over the cork. His fingers were precise and careful, no doubt good with fine detail and careful with precious relics. He plunged the corkscrew in with gusto—the kind of thrust with which he approached most aspects of life—and turned it aggressively. The muscles in his forearms torqued beneath the skin, revealing their power and stirring something primal inside her.
It had to be primal because it had nothing to do with modern-day common sense. Men didn’t need strength to be successful in today’s world. A good head for numbers and a dubious set of morals was a much more effective get-rich-quick kit.
Still, she admired the bulge of his biceps against the soft sleeve of his T-shirt as he pulled the cork from the bottle in a swift and brutal movement. The cork squeaked and popped free, leaving her heart beating slightly faster.
She distracted herself by admiring the interesting tile work on the wall behind the stove. No sense getting herself too aroused and invested in their evening plans. She might need to pull back at some point and she didn’t want her own rampant desires to make that almost impossible.
Jack handed her a brimming glass of pale gold wine. “To treasure.”
“Treasure.” She smiled and lifted her glass. The wine tasted delicious, smooth, rich, cool and refreshing after the hot sun outside. “Jewels and coins and gold bars for you, part of an old cup for me.”
“That doesn’t sound fair.” His dark eyes sparkled behind the lock of hair hanging down to them. “Maybe we’ll have to find you a gold necklace or a stash of rings.”
She held out one of her pale, bony hands. “As you can see, I’m not much of a ring wearer.”
“You might change your mind, for the right one.”
“Don’t count on it.” She glanced at her empty ring finger. She did not intend to live her life by anyone else’s rules. “But I’d be happy to sell it for a handsome profit.” She shone him a bright smile. “In fact, that’s my intended future business, so it would be a nice jump start.”
“I heard you were working for an auction house.”
“That was my apprenticeship. Now that I know what things are worth, I plan to go out on my own.” She sipped her wine again. “This is good stuff. Tastes expensive.”
“You do know what things are worth.” His eyes crinkled in a smile.
“You’re funny, Jack. You always look so casual and act like you don’t care about money, but you do enjoy the finer things in life.”
“One of my many weaknesses.”
“Hmm, makes me wonder what your other weaknesses are.” Not a soft heart, for sure. Which is why he’d never fallen for anyone.
“A passion for a fickle mistress.” He looked at her over his glass.
“The sea.” She knew it wouldn’t be a real woman.
He nodded. “Though she’s been good to me.”
“She’s giving you all the riches she took from the hundreds of men and women who’ve died off this coast over the centuries.”
“I did say she was fickle.”
“And obviously has her favorites.”
A slow smile crept across his mouth. “Let’s go sit where we can see her.” He led the way out onto a veranda with a view out over the sea grape in the dunes. Blue and steady, the ocean lay before them like a velvet throw. She could hear the waves crashing on the beach, but couldn’t see them because they were hidden by the dunes. Jack ushered her to sit on a sleek upholstered outdoor sofa. When she was seated, he eased himself down next to her and flung his arm casually on the back of the sofa behind her.
Her neck and shoulders prickled with awareness. Of course he was doing it deliberately. He wanted to taunt and tempt her. He had every intention of seducing her. And she might even let him, but not until they were at least on the way to finding the cup. Otherwise he might find he’d already got what he wanted and send her packing.
She twisted the stem of her wineglass in her hands. “Because there’s a reward, there are probably other people looking. We need to move fast.”
“We’ll start tomorrow at first light.”
“When is that?”
“Six or so is when you can start to tell the sea from the shore.”
She cringed inwardly. Jack probably didn’t even drink coffee in the morning. She usually started the day with her familiar newspapers and a hearty meal to ground herself before venturing out into the cold, cruel world. The prospect of having to drag herself out of bed and onto the sea without those reassuring comforts was frightening. And she’d better buy something for her stomach. If she’d known the cup was under the sea, she might have been better prepared. “Where’s the nearest drugstore?”
“Headache?”
She hesitated. “Nope. I might need a little something for my stomach on the boat tomorrow.” She avoided his eyes. “It’s always good to be prepared.”
“Don’t worry. My larder’s well stocked.” His eyes twinkled. Maybe he’d give her a placebo so she’d be leaning over the edge of the deck, begging for mercy. “We can stay out at sea for days at a time. Weeks even.”
“I’m not sure I’d survive weeks trapped on a boat with you, Jack.”
“I suspect you could survive almost anything.” His arm shifted behind her, and she tried to ignore the shimmer of response that slid through her body. “You look slender and insubstantial on the outside, but you’re made of sturdy stuff.”
“I hope so.” She’d need to be to make it through this trial. Being this close to Jack was having a dangerous effect on her sanity. Which didn’t make any sense. He was just another rich, handsome bozo and she had years of experience and training in dealing with them. “I guess only time will tell.”
“You look different.” His eyes narrowed. He studied her face for a moment while her pulse quickened.
“It has been six years since I saw you.” Did she look older? Her dad had aged dramatically during his swift and private fall from grace. Hollows appeared under his eyes and cheekbones, and his skin developed a bluish undertone. “You, on the other hand, look exactly the same.”
Not exactly. Time and the sun, working hand in hand, had made him look rugged and distinguished. His eyes still had that insolent flash to them, and his lip that disdainful way of curving upward so you couldn’t tell if he was laughing with you or at you.
Did she imagine it or did his left thigh creep imperceptibly closer to her right one? She could almost feel the heat of it through her pants. The salt air filled her lungs and made her giddy.
“I don’t know what exactly is different.” His eyes rested on her face—her cheek, to be precise, because she was avoiding his gaze by staring at the horizon. “Something big, though.”
She shrank a little under his inquisitive look. She was quite a different person than the brash, confident and empty-headed girl who’d partied and had sex on the beach with him that summer. Then she’d thought the world was hers for the taking and she was taking a vacation before seizing it. The years since had taught her that the world wasn’t too interested in whether she wanted it and that the foundation of her life—the privilege and wealth afforded by her proud family—had been built on the shifting sands of illusion.
She certainly didn’t intend for him to find out about that. No, they could laugh about that later once she’d made a name for herself and didn’t need to rest on anyone else’s laurels. Right now, though, she was hanging in thin air, and she intended to keep that a secret.
Which might be interesting, because she’d already committed to sharing a bed with him. Hopefully she wouldn’t talk in her sleep.
Three
Jack grilled his delicious swordfish and served it with skewered grilled vegetables out on the terrace, where the evening breeze kept bugs at bay. They could see the lights of fishing boats and the occasional cruise ship in the distance, but all was stillness and silence on the island.
“It’s so peaceful here.” Vicki looked out over the dunes. “Doesn’t it drive you nuts?”
“Maybe that’s why I’ve always been nuts.” Jack reclined in his chair. Lit tapers in the gnarled old candelabra on the table cast flickering shadows over his hard features. “I need it, though. Helps me recharge my batteries.”
“Hmm. I can just hook myself up to my car engine by the jumper cables.” She sipped her wine, then, realizing she’d had almost three glasses, pushed her wineglass out of reach. She was in danger of becoming tipsy. She’d better work on keeping her hatches more tightly battened.
“You still like living in the city?” Jack lifted his arms and placed them behind his head, giving her a breath-stealing view of his powerful biceps.
She swallowed and squinted slightly to obscure the view. “Yes. I think I love being another anonymous face in the crowd. I can’t imagine living in a small town where everyone knows who I am.”
“Sounds like you’re running from something. Or someone.”
“Maybe I prefer being out of reach.” She smiled and made a conscious effort not to pick up her glass again. If only they could go to bed so she could stop trying to put on a bravely charming front. Then again, that might be leaping from the frying pan into the fire.
“Did you ever think about me, you know, over the years?” His voice was low, gruff.
“Certainly not. You dumped me, remember?” Her adrenaline level jumped. This had to come out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.
“I always felt bad about the way I took off. Blame it on youthful immaturity.”
She sneaked a glance at him. It was hard to read his expression in the flickering candlelight, but she imagined she saw a hint of sheepishness in his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself that I’ve spent the last few years pining over you. I’ve had far more traumatic relationships since.” She inhaled the sea air.
“Have you? Did someone break your heart?”
“No way. Nothing in there but cogs and wheels. That’s why I can jump-start my battery so easily.” A sudden chill in the night air made goose bumps spring up on her arms, and she rubbed them. “Things may be a little rusty, but nothing’s broken.”
He chuckled. “I’ve got some oil for your rusty gears.”
“I bet you do.” She looked at him down the length of her nose. She had to work hard not to smile. It was almost impossible to be mad at Jack Drummond when she was in his presence. That came later, when she realized how he’d played her like a violin. “But you can leave it on your garage shelf. I like to think of my rust as a protective barrier.”
“I’m feeling jealous.” His annoyingly thick biceps flexed as he stretched. “I’m beginning to think I made a big mistake back then.”
“One of many, I’d imagine.” Again, she had to fight the reflex to reach for her wine. Shame she didn’t smoke. It was hard not to fidget, but she worked hard to look cool and calm.
“You know it.” That familiar lazy grin eased across his mouth. “But they’ve been fun, each and every one.”
“Just think of all the fun we’d have missed out on if we’d fallen madly in love with each other and done something stupid like getting married.” She hugged herself. It was getting colder. “That would have been quite the act of rebellion at the time.”
He laughed. “Yes, your parents might have died of shock at the prospect of their princess marrying a beach bum.”
“Until they realized how filthy rich you are. Then they’d have staged a brisk recovery and welcomed you with open arms. It would have all been very boring.”
“I spared us that by running off like a coward at the first sign of emotion.”
She froze. He’d just admitted it. That he remembered.
I love you.
She’d said it loud and clear, for the one and only time in her life. She’d rather slit her own throat than ever utter those three words again. “Emotion? I’m not sure I was ever capable of one of those.”
“Me, either. Inconvenient and messy things. Best left to those who don’t have enough going on in their lives. Speaking of which, we should get to bed.” His eyes flashed, creating a frightening jolt of response somewhere low in her belly. “Because we need to get up early in the morning, of course.” His steady, dark gaze suggested more than sleep.
Suddenly her plan to enjoy the pleasures of his body seemed like the dumbest idea she’d ever come up with. Maybe because she was tired and all this talk of old hurts made her feel vulnerable. “Do you sleep in that same room, under the map?”
“Of course. It’s always been the captain’s bedroom.” He grabbed the bottle and glasses from the table. She hesitated for a second before taking their plates and cutlery. She’d become used to being waited on hand and foot in Sinclair Drummond’s house—by the woman he’d recently become engaged to.
“That map must be emblazoned on your brain by now.”
“Hasn’t helped me find the treasure, though.”
“Maybe you’re reading it wrong?” They walked back into the air-conditioned calm of the house. “Perhaps what it needs is a different perspective.” She didn’t want to speculate on how many women’s eyes had stared up at that map over the centuries.
“I’ll welcome your angle on it. I think we’ve read it every possible way it can be read.”
“But you’ve never found the ship.”
“The ship could be broken up and washed away by now.”
And the cup gone forever. “It’s out there. I feel it in my bones.” She shot him a glance as they walked side by side down the hallway to the bedroom.
“I would definitely bet money on your intuition.”
“You should. I hooked your cousin Sinclair up with his new bride. The moment I saw the way they looked at each other, I knew they were meant to be together.”
“Were they dating?”
“Nope, she was serving him his morning coffee and ironing his linen napkins, but I made sure Cinderella went to the ball with her handsome prince and it’s been all uphill from there.” Well, mostly. No need to mention the part about his horrid ex-wife suddenly discovering she was pregnant. “He certainly believes in my hunches now.”
“Then I’ll bet on them, too, and put my equipment and expertise at your disposal.”
He opened the door to the bedroom, dimly lit by wall sconces that cast a romantic glow over the old plasterwork. The bed looked much smaller than she remembered, its massive wood structure framing what was probably only a full-size mattress. “It’s going to be a tight fit for both of us.”
“All the better.” His feral grin flashed for a brief second. Then a more gentlemanly expression returned. “I’ll leave you to get changed while I lock up for the night.”
“Lock up? We’re on an island. Who are you trying to keep out?”
“Maybe you should ask who I’m trying to keep in.”
He vanished before she could come up with a witty reply. Or any reply. Her suitcase stood silently in one corner, and she hurried to get changed into her pj’s before he could come back and watch her undress.
She donned a bra and panties as extra armor underneath her white cotton camisole and lounge pants. Not that she expected him to do anything mischievous while she was asleep. That wasn’t his style. There was absolutely nothing sneaky about Jack Drummond. If he planned to lay siege, he’d do it while she was wide-awake.
It was her own defenses she was worried about. She didn’t want any part of her to start straying toward his side of the mattress, hoping for a casual brush against those thick biceps or one of those powerful thighs. Much better to keep everything strapped down and swathed in fabric.
She washed her face in the big onyx sink. The mirror was ancient, foggy and flecked with dark spots. When she caught sight of her reflection, it startled her. It was as if she’d seen a dream version of herself, pale and wan, lost in a strange world. She turned away sharply. When she walked back into the bedroom, Jack was there, casually stripping away his clothes and revealing his tanned physique. She made a valiant effort not to look, but it was hard because he faced the opposite direction and she had free rein to indulge an academic interest in seeing how his body compared to the one in her memory.
Favorably. She had to admire the way he’d filled out. Not a rangy, sunburned youth anymore, but a man in his prime. Broad-shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world. When his jeans slid down, she gasped at how pale his backside was. Obviously the only part of him that never got much sun exposure.
He must have heard her intake of breath because he turned his head. “I hope I’m not being rude by stripping off right here. You have seen it all before.”
“It’s your bedroom. You do what you like.” She grabbed her phone from her purse, so she could distract herself by checking her messages, then walked to the bed and climbed in, with some difficulty because it was high. She slid under the covers and was gratified to find soft sheets there. Once again, only the best for Jack Drummond. She turned on her phone and checked her texts. Nothing interesting. Her gaze drifted up to the mural painted overhead. The green shoreline, dotted with palm trees, the blue sea, the crudely painted mermaid sitting on her rock. No one would call it a work of art. The fresco obviously hadn’t ever been restored, either. Even the scant light from her phone picked out the uneven surface and revealed where tiny chips of plaster had flaked off. It was darkened by centuries of smoke from candles and pipes and who knew what else Jack’s pirate ancestors had burned in here. It would be interesting to see what a good cleaning might reveal.
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