by Sandra Hill
“So, we’re looking for historical weaponry and gold,” Famosa concluded.
“Bingo, but there’s also a rumor that one of the ships carried some Spanish princess betrothed to a wealthy Savannah sugar planter,” Merrill said. “Aside from all the gold, her dower chest contained museum quality jewelry, or so the rumors go. The other two ships were escorts.”
“God bless rumors,” Famosa remarked.
“You wouldn’t believe what rumors say about my physical endowments,” Gus interjected with a grin.
“Like anyone cares,” Charlie said.
This conversation was going nowhere fast. Merrill reined it in by continuing his slide show and a description of the first phase of their salvage mission. When he was done and answered some questions, a surprising two hours had gone by. He told the group, “Let’s meet again tomorrow morning. Bring all your gear for inspection, and we’ll do a run-through on schedules and duties on the initial run.”
Excited chatter followed, and Delilah started to gather all the dirty cups and napkins. He went up to her and said, “When you’re done here, let’s go on the boat. I want you to check out the kitchen and make a list of everything you need to buy.” More important, there was something else he wanted—needed—to ask her. In private.
Chapter 6
One step forward, two steps back . . .
After Delilah gathered a pad and pen from her handbag, Merrill led her through the warehouse toward the open doors, across the wharf to the gangway connecting it to the sixty-five-foot former tramp steamer. The temporary ramp, which hung about ten feet above the deep water, was shaky at times and he put a hand to the small of Delilah’s back to steady her, but immediately drew back when he felt her tense up.
Whoa! Talk about uptight!
Realizing that she might have overreacted, she said, “Sorry. I’m a little nervous when tightrope walking.”
Rope? The metal ramp was at least four feet wide, and there were side rails. Maybe she wasn’t as comfortable on the water as she’d led him to believe. Or maybe he’d lost some of the few points he thought he’d scored yesterday in getting closer to Delilah.
And, frankly, if anything was a tightrope, it was dating today. A tightrope of shark-infested waters—the sharks being all the ways a guy could trip. He had to be very, very careful that he didn’t lean too far in either direction. Be a wuss or be a predator. A balancing act, for sure.
If Merrill wasn’t a born competitor, he might consider giving up on this pain in the ass seduction.
Is seduction a taboo word today?
Probably.
Or am I overthinking this?
Probably?
See. Tightrope.
But then he considered the prize. Delilah. Definitely a pain in the ass. Definitely worth the pain.
Unless the question he needed to ask her brought an answer he couldn’t live with. Then she would be out of his crosshairs faster than he could say adultery.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Once they hit the deck, he asked, “Are you married?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“I heard this morning that you have a child.”
“And?”
“It takes two people to make a baby . . . usually.”
“But not two married people.”
“Which means . . . ?”
“Yes, I have a child, an almost-five-year-old daughter, who will be moving here later this summer. But there is no husband, never has been. You have a problem with that?”
“Not a bit.” He was practically doing a Snoopy dance in his head.
“You’re grinning again,” she pointed out.
No fuck!
He didn’t take much time showing her around up top, knowing she wouldn’t be interested in the actual salvage equipment, especially when she observed, “It’s not very pretty.”
“I told you it was no yacht.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say it was a rust bucket.”
“Hey, this ‘rust bucket’ has all the bells and whistles needed for a salvage operation.”
“In other words, don’t judge a book by its cover?”
Or a person by her sexual history? Which he wasn’t about to ask out loud. Instead, he chose the safer: “Or a boat by its rusty patches.”
“Right. I’ve become an expert on rust, y’know, refinishing that diner of mine. Maybe in my spare time, I could work on prettying up Sweet Bells.”
I have other plans for your spare time, baby. “Go for it,” he said. “I’d love to see you hanging over the side on a rope scaffolding.”
“Maybe not.” She laughed. “I was just kidding, anyhow. About how the boat . . . ship . . . whatever . . . looks. What I know about water-going vessels of any kind, including a rowboat, wouldn’t fit in a thimble.”
“What’s a thimble?”
“Seriously?”
He grinned. Some more.
Going down the narrow staircase of the hatch to the cabin, he waited for her to follow and then showed her the salon, a large rectangular room with wide, cushioned window seats that provided storage and could serve as beds in a pinch. A long counter with four high stools screwed to the floor divided the lounge area from the kitchen. Off to the right was a dining table, also attached to the floor, with benches.
Delilah immediately went to the kitchen and began opening cabinet doors and peering into the stainless steel range and fridge, both of which were commercial size.
“You can see that I bought basic, nonperishable food supplies, figuring I would get the fresh stuff as late as possible. I assumed that all of us team members would share cooking duties, which probably would have been a disaster. So, your offer to cook really was opportune.”
She just grunted as she continued to examine the goods on hand.
“If you need extra fridge space, there’s a unit off the engine room, intended for fish, but I guess it would serve any purpose.”
She was already making notes as she counted plates and cutlery and cooking supplies. “Despite the basics already here, it looks like I’m going to have to do some shopping, more than I expected,” she remarked, running a finger over one large frying pan and grimacing. Apparently it wasn’t as clean as it should be.
He sat down on one of the stools and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Laying a credit card on the counter, he said, “Use this for anything you need to buy. Keep receipts and hand them over to Harry, but in the meantime get whatever you think we need.”
“How long will we be out on the boat at any one time?”
“Hard to say. At least a week. A cabin cruiser is available for emergency transport of anyone needing to get to shore quickly. We’re only five miles out, but I don’t want people going back and forth every day. It would cost too much, be disruptive to our routine, and leave us undermanned in the event pirate salvagers show up on the scene.”
“Hard to believe, in this day and age, that pirates still exist.”
“Oh, yeah. In fact, the smaller boat stays on-site at those times when we need to come into the pump station to empty waste, or to the warehouse to replenish our fresh water tanks or food supplies.”
“And the number of people on board?”
“Plan on eight, but there might not always be that many.”
“Bulk ordering makes sense for nonperishable food, of course. Lots more than you already bought. Can boxes be stored in your warehouse?”
“Sure.”
“At some point, a large freezer might make sense, too. For the warehouse. Would save on trips to a supermarket. And be more cost efficient.”
“Let’s put that on the back burner, for now. There’s another issue we need to discuss. Your transportation.”
“What?” Just like that, she tightened up again.
Does she ever loosen up? Relax a little. Have sex? Oops, I mean have a hobby or something? “How did you get the coffeepot, coffee, milk, sugar, pastries, mugs, and stuff to the office today?”
She blushed. “On my motorcycle.”
He arched his brows.
“A backpack, side saddles, and a little ingenious shelf I rigged to the back fender.”
“That’s what I thought. I appreciate the effort, by the way, and so did everyone else. Your buns are outstanding.”
She nodded an acceptance of his compliment, although she wasn’t altogether sure which buns he referred to.
He wasn’t, either.
“Okay, here’s the deal. For the next few days, you and I are going to do a swap. My pickup truck for your cycle.”
She started to protest.
But he raised a halting hand. “No, don’t worry about me. I’m willing to make the sacrifice. You get a vehicle to cart all the supplies you need, and me”—he sighed dramatically—“I’ll just have to suffer on a 1978 Harley FLHS Electra-Glide.”
She laughed. “Okay. For a few days.”
“Anyhow, go peek in the three sleeping quarters and the head. You’ll see stacked berths for four in two of them, what are usually called bunk beds, and a double-size alcove berth in the ‘captain’s quarters,’ which I have every intention of claiming for myself. You and Charlie and Bonita will share one room. Up to four of the guys in the other, unless someone wants to sleep in the salon.”
“Is there a washer and dryer on board?”
“Nope. That means we’ll need at least two sets of bed linens and a bunch of towels. I did buy some, but you’ll need to check them out.”
She quickly added linens and towels to the growing list on her notepad.
“By the end of the first week, we may all be smelling a bit ripe, although a quick dip in the ocean should handle that.” At the look of horror on her face, he added, “For some of us.”
“I can swim, before you ask,” she said defensively, “but swimming with the sharks . . .” She shivered in an exaggerated fashion.
He hummed the tune of Jaws, just to tease her. “Dun dun . . . dun dun . . . dun dun dun . . . dunnnnnnnnnnnnn!”
“Very funny! Not!”
“Actually, shark attacks are rare off the Outer Banks. Although I hear there’s been an odd boom in baby bull sharks this year in some of the bays, including Bell Sound. Probably due to climate change. But not to worry. The babies don’t bite, and, in fact, are really cute.”
“Pfff! Cute or not, if babies are being born, Mama and Papa have gotta be close by. Nope! I do not enter any water with sharks in them. Period.”
“Got it,” he said. “Delilah stays on the boat.”
While Delilah explored with her notebook and pen in hand, he went up on deck, where he could hear footsteps. Charlie was raising the floor hatch under the wheelhouse, accessing the engine room. She was obsessive about safety, with good cause, of course.
Gus and Famosa were pulling neoprene dive suits from built-in storage chests and laying them out on the deck for inspection. Although many divers liked to use their own equipment, there was standard gear for everyone on the boat. It was always good to have spares.
“So, is she off-limits?” Famosa asked right off.
Gus grinned.
Apparently “she” had been the subject of discussion between the two of them before he showed up.
“Who?” Merrill asked. After all, Famosa could be referring to Charlie or Bonita. But Merrill knew. He just knew.
“Blondie,” Famosa replied.
Why don’t you refer to her that way, to her face? Merrill was about to say, but stopped himself. Let Famosa learn the hard way. “Off-limits? I wish! But I have no first rights or anything. Go for it. A little advice, though. Delilah is shy. You might have to be a little aggressive. Hustle hard.”
When Merrill went down below again, he couldn’t find Delilah, at first. When he called out her name, though, he heard a muffled sound coming from the captain’s sleeping quarters. He found her on her knees, face down to the floor, her rear end in the air, running a broom or something under the bed.
For a long moment, he just enjoyed the view.
But then, he hunkered down beside her to see what was going on. “What the hell are you doing?”
Apparently she hadn’t heard him enter the room because her head shot up at the same moment his went down. They butted heads, hard.
“Son of a . . . ouch, ouch, ouch!” she hollered. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Me? I think you cracked my skull open.”
They both tried to rise at the same time and hit heads again. This time he went down, backward, with a crash.
He didn’t lose consciousness, but he was dazed. Not so much that he wasn’t aware of her kneeling over him, touching the rising bumps on his forehead with tentative fingertips.
“Merrill, are you all right? Do I need to call an ambulance?” Her face was so close, he could feel her breath on his lips. Like a kiss.
A breath kiss?
He liked the sound—rather, the thought—of that.
And so he did what he shouldn’t, but what he’d wanted to do since the first time he’d seen her. He put hands on either side of her face and tugged her the few remaining inches closer. Then he locked lips with her in a kiss that was sweet and seeking and innocent as a hello.
But, hello, her lips were parted in surprise . . .
Yay, me!
. . . and because fifteen years on the teams had taught him to grab any window of opportunity before it disappeared . . .
Seize the day!
. . . or because maybe she’d been wanting this as much as he had . . .
Okay, that’s a stretch.
Well, for all those reasons, and then some, the sweet kiss turned wicked. Wicked good.
Sometimes bad is good, and good is bad. Didn’t Masters & Johnson, or Einstein, or Dr. Ruth, or some frickin’ expert on Oprah say that one time? Merrill mused, his Mensa brain always at work, like a bloody encyclopedia. Hey, I can multitask. Kiss and think at the same time. Can’t I?
No, that’s stoo-pid! Get your brain out of your dick, sailor! Or your dick out of your brain.
I am so losing it!
The sweet kiss turned molten—a moist, hungry burn of the senses.
And she was hot damn kissing him back.
I’ve still got it!
In fact, there might be tongues involved. Yes, definitely tongues.
This has got to be the second-best reason why God invented tongues.
Sweet, sweet, sweet!
No, hot, hot, hot!
Am I breathing too hard?
Did she just moan?
He moved his hands from cupping her face to cupping her buttocks.
WHAT?
When did she crawl on top of me?
Who the friggin’ hell cares!
Forget the fucking window. This is a door. And I’m in!
He explored her body with wide sweeps of his palms, from her shoulders to her waist and the small of her back, over her buns, and down her thighs. She was soft and cushy everywhere. Not fat. No, she didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on her body, but she wasn’t hard muscled or toned like the athletic women he was usually involved with, either. A delicious change. He wanted to sink into her creamy skin and lap it all over.
Needless to say, he had a hard-on that would like to swim in that cream, too. That is so crude. Hope I didn’t say that out loud.
For the sake of his sanity, or before he went monkey ass trigger-happy with a premature ejaculation, he rolled them both over so she was flat on her back and he was looking down at her. Her blue eyes were smoky with passion. Her lips were rose hued and kiss-swollen. In other words, blonde bombshell personified. Every red-blooded man’s wet dream.
Which they both woke from with a start when Charlie, who had a voice like a megaphone, could be heard yelling from above, “Hey, boss, the UPS driver needs you to sign for a delivery. You up for that?”
He was up, all right. In more ways than one.
Jumping to his feet, which caused the two bumps on his head to begin a drumbeat behind his eyes, h
e helped Delilah to her feet. She had two matching bumps on her forehead, which probably hurt just as bad as his did.
“I knew this would happen, I knew this would happen,” she was muttering as she pulled a long-handled feathery mop out from under the bed. It was loaded with dust bunnies, an old sock, and a bunch of other clingy stuff. That’s apparently what she’d been doing when he came in. Mopping under the bed. Why, he hadn’t a clue. “I just knew this would fu—freakin’ happen.”
Oh, great! She’s having regrets. Already.
“I’m sorry. I never intended to do . . . this when I came in here,” he apologized.
“It’s not your fault.”
Excuse me? “It’s not?”
“You can’t help being so hot a girl can’t resist you.”
He started to smile, but stopped himself just in time. She was serious.
“Can’t you do something to make yourself less attractive?”
“Like?”
“Get a bad case of bad breath. Belch. Tell dirty jokes.”
In the meantime, she was standing there, leaning on her mop, looking bed-mussed and sex-flushed. Her hair was half in, half out of its ponytail. One of the buttons on her blouse had come undone, exposing the edge of a red lace bra. Red? His favorite color, next to flesh.
Yeah, he was going to do his best to repel her attraction. Not! “On the other hand, we could just go with the flow,” he suggested.
“You mean, have an affair?”
“For a start.”
She looked at him as if he’d just crawled out from under a rock.
So much for my hotness!
“That’s it. I quit. Don’t worry about the money you advanced me. I’ll pay you back, even if I have to sell my motorcycle.”
Merrill had enough of this seesawing back and forth. Does she, doesn’t she? Will she, won’t she? Fuck that! “I don’t care about the frickin’ money,” he shouted, then forced himself to calm down. “Did I miss something here? How did we go from hot-cha-cha to hit the road?”
“Because I can’t afford to get my hot-cha-cha on.”
“Afford? Are we back to money again?”
“Allow, then. I can’t allow myself to surrender to my weakness again.”