by Sandra Hill
“Hell, no! I’ve had the high life, and it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. And I don’t care about having a big bank account, either. Had that, too. Time to concentrate on finding a good woman and settle down to raise some kiddies.”
He winked at Delilah.
To Merrill’s relief, she just laughed.
“Personally, if my itty-bitty share is enough, my dream is to just finish fixing up the diner and motel and try raising my daughter in a safe, peaceful place.”
“Did I mention . . .” Gus waved his hand at Delilah.
“Shut up, Goose,” Merrill said, and didn’t care if it revealed his feelings for Delilah.
The others laughed, thus proving his theory that he and Delilah weren’t fooling anyone by their discreet actions aboard the ship.
“Personally, I don’t have any dreams at all. How sad is that?” K-4 said.
Everyone knew by now that K-4’s wife had died of cancer some years ago, and he still hadn’t recovered from his grief.
“And how about you, Charlie?” Merrill asked. “Guess we know what you’ll do with your share.”
She nodded. “My family is gonna be back in the commercial fishing business. Any money left over will go to my sister Ann Marie who wants to be a doctor.”
“By the way, Charlie, I was talking yesterday to my housemate, Janice Franklin. She works in the marina office in Hatteras, and she mentioned a yacht that pulled in a few days ago. Name of the yacht was Sweet Charlotte. The owner was asking how to get to Bell Cove.”
Charlie’s face turned pink.
“Jan said that this guy looked like a cross between Matthew McConaughey and Chris Hemsworth. I think his name is . . .”
“J. L. Landry,” Charlie finished for her with an exhale of disgust. “I told the fool that I’d shoot him in the nuts if he followed me.”
They all gave Charlie a second look then to see what a cross between McConaughey and Hemsworth would see in their Charlie. But then, Merrill noticed that the woman was looking surprisingly pretty tonight. Her cap must have fallen off in the process of their drinking toasts, and she had a mass of brown waves spilling over her shoulders and back. Her eyes were dark and sultry under the influence of alcohol. Hard to tell what her figure was like in her usual overalls and T-shirt, but he was beginning to suspect they had a Cajun hottie on their hands and never realized it.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he told the group, before they got wasted and were unable to carry out their duties. “Someone needs to be up topside all night, keeping guard. I’ll take the first watch, until eleven. At two-hour intervals, we should probably change off. How about you taking over from me, K-4, and then Gus or Famosa can come on at one and three?”
“Is it really necessary?” Delilah asked. “I mean, really? Pirates?”
“Oh, yeah!” everyone else said.
“And we will have to take the boat in to refuel and flush out soon,” Charlie pointed out. “That’s when we’ll be most vulnerable. Try as we might, word might get out, and the site will be flooded with pirates, news media, spectators.”
“Too bad we can’t have your friend with the yacht come park over our site,” Merrill said, in jest. “Now that would be some security!”
“Yeah, but what would I have to promise in return for the favor?” Charlie scoffed, taking his suggestion seriously.
“On your back, in the sack, would be my guess,” Famosa said.
Instead of being offended, Charlie replied, “On my back, in the sack, with a ring on my finger.”
Again, everyone looked at Charlie with speculation. McConaughey-Hemsworh was looking for her, not only to rescue her from her money problems, not only to get her into his bed, but he wanted to marry her, as well.
Well, well, well.
“By the way, folks, don’t go on a spending spree anytime soon,” Merrill warned. “It will probably be months before we see any cash from this operation.”
“Plus, it will alert the busybodies in town,” Gus pointed out. “Not to mention the press.”
“Right,” Merrill concurred, and the others nodded in agreement.
“It’s going to be hard not to smile a lot, though,” Bonita said.
They all agreed with that, too.
An hour later, it was ten o’clock on a star-filled night as Merrill sat in the wheelhouse, keeping an eye on the horizon. It was silent in the way only an ocean can be. But then he heard someone approaching. It was Delilah in her Jessica Rabbit “Beach Bunny” sleep shirt and flip-flops.
Ah, the memories!
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”
Now that is a loaded question! Is she that clueless about me? “Sure,” he answered, patting the built-in, high seat next to his. “Still worried about your grandmother and your daughter? That’s not what’s keeping you awake, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, just too much going on in my head. Everything that’s happened today, of course. Everything I need to do tomorrow, here on the boat. Then when we return to Bell Cove, so many things to do related to Maggie starting kindergarten, and me getting the diner and motel open. Then, back to the boat again.”
“But those are good things, especially with the cash you’ll get from this operation. One day at a time, and things will get done.”
“Guess I’m just a born worrier. I’ve been living by Murphy’s Law for so long that I just expect bad things to happen.”
“Not anymore, sweetheart. You’re under my good luck umbrella now.”
“Is that like some knight in shining armor protecting his lady with his trusty shield?”
“Absolutely. Shield, umbrella, same thing.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the mouth. But then, he stood and moved closer. This time he deepened the kiss. She tasted like champagne and mint toothpaste and sex.
Okay, that last was wishful thinking.
With a groan, she put her hands on his shoulders and opened her mouth wider.
On the other hand . . .
Her lips were moist, her tongue was moving against his, and she was rubbing her breasts against his chest. His stunned brain registered three facts at once: She’s not wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard. SHE WANTS ME!
He was pretty sure his eyes rolled back in his head. Holy shit! Talk about hair-trigger arousal!
In a nanosecond he had his hands on her waist, lifted her off her chair, and had her up against the wall. Lifting the hem of her sleep shirt, he discovered that she was pantieless . . .
Am I on a good luck roll or what?
. . . and wet . . .
Holy-frickin’-hallelujah!
. . . and he was in!
Which surprised the hell out of both her and himself. And embarrassed him, too.
“Oops, I didn’t mean to rush you like that.” Embedded to the hilt, motionless for the moment, he pressed his forehead against her forehead as he attempted to count to ten—in Arabic.
She giggled—she actually giggled. “Obviously, I was ready.” She flexed her inner muscles for emphasis . . .
Wow! Can you do that again, honey?
. . . and rubbed her breasts against him again.
Definitely rock hard nipples!
“Oh! My! Delilah!” he choked out.
The wallbanger of all wallbangers followed then.
He held her pinned to the wall with the press of his body, at first, his hands being busy checking out those pebbly nipples under her shirt that was pushed up to her shoulders by now.
Her hands were busy, too, tugging his T-shirt over his head.
Hers was suddenly gone, too.
How did that happen?
Ah! Skin against skin.
More rubbing.
Stars. Not in the sky but behind his closed eyelids.
He put his hands under her buttocks to lift her higher.
She locked her heels behind his ass.
The long slow strokes in her hot folds soon became short and fast. The wet sounds of the slip and slide was the be
st kind of aphrodisiac, music to a horny sailor’s ears. He tried to slow their rhythm with his hold on her bottom, but she was having none of that and undulated her hips, demanding, “More! Harder! Harder! Oh! Oh! Damn!”
Damn was right. Hot damn!
He shot his wad in a bone-melting conclusion that was pure ecstasy. For a moment, he remained, unmoving, limp but remaining inside her weaker and weaker spasming folds as her climax ran its course. Only belatedly did he realize that he hadn’t used a condom, but then she’d told him previously that she was on the pill. Even so, Merrill hadn’t been so careless in years, if ever. This woman was driving him bonkers. In a good way.
Before he released himself, and her, he leaned his head back and said, “I love you, Delilah Jones.” He just wanted to make it clear that while he might have come on like a raving sex maniac, at heart—well, she had his heart.
She didn’t repeat the words back at him, but she did put a hand to his cheek in a kind of loving manner and she did look like she loved him.
Still . . .
Chapter 15
Dum, dee, dum, dum! Trouble coming, and it’s not sharks . . .
For the next five days, excitement was the name of the game on Sweet Bells, and Delilah couldn’t help but be caught in the wave of euphoria. But finally they were going to return to Bell Cove for a much-needed refueling, “flushing” out sewage, laundry, resupplying food and other products, and general maintenance.
In the midst of all the excitement, Delilah was still worried about her grandmother and Maggie, whom she hadn’t seen for ten days now. Even though her grandmother assured her that she was doing nothing illegal and promised to be more low-key, Delilah wasn’t convinced. Her grandmother wouldn’t know low-key if it hit her in her fool, Avon-powdered face.
And speaking—or rather thinking—of a different kind of excitement, and, yes, I mean that kind, Delilah was conflicted over her “relationship” with Merrill, whom she couldn’t seem to resist. Dammit! First, he’d plagued her with constant interference in her life. Can anyone say neon Elvis? Then he plagued her with his tempting body. What was it they said about Navy SEALs and sexual prowess? Multiply it by ten for my horny sailor.
And another ten for horny ex-felons. In Merrill’s defense—not that he needed her defense—she was as bad as he was when it came to sex. Which he would probably consider a plus. Bad sex, that was. As in wild, spontaneous, uninhibited, good time anytime. Yikes!
Five years of celibacy were apparently taking their toll on her in terms of a sudden, ravenous hunger for the age-old game—with Merrill, anyhow. As evidenced by that wallbanger in the wheelhouse five nights ago. Or in the shower stall midafternoon two days ago when everyone had been up on deck. Or in his bed last night where he constantly had to caution her, with a laugh, to be quieter in her responses. And those weren’t the only times! Dammit! Or should that be, Shame on me!
Or, Shame on him!
Or, What the hell . . . Hail to the Big O!
Merrill kept telling her that he loved her, but how could that be, when he didn’t really know her? Fearing the worst, when—or if—he ever found out, she withheld her own words of love, which she knew hurt him. But how could she do otherwise? With the weight of her secret past holding her back, she wasn’t free to love anyone.
Care, though—oh, yes, she did care for him. A lot! And lust after him like some kind of crazed sex addict. Maybe her grandmother’s gambling gene had carried over to her, manifesting itself in her hormones, instead of deft card shuffling fingers or a slot machine arm. Now, there’s a thought!
Next I’ll be on Dr. Phil. Confessions of a felonious blonde bimbo sex addict who cooks, treasure hunts, and runs an Elvis motel and diner on the side.
Her only saving grace was that she kept busy most of the time. When she wasn’t cooking or serving meals, or taking care of housekeeping duties, she was assigned the job of cleaning the silver and gold. Bonita and Famosa, whoever was available at the time, worked on the more sensitive metals and artifacts, which started to deteriorate once exposed to air.
Their success so early was attributed to Merrill’s reputation for good luck. Apparently it took some treasure hunters months, even years, to recover a shipwreck. Sometimes, they never found the ship they were searching for, or even died in the process.
But those on Sweet Bells . . . Holy cow! Every time the divers went down, they returned with overladen bags of gold and silver coins and occasionally bronze and copper, as well, attached to their belts. Francs, centimes, and livres of the 1850s and 1860s. Finally, they started sending baskets down with the divers that they could fill to heavier limits, and those on board lifted them more easily, compared to the bags attached to the divers’ belts.
Thus far, Gus and K-4 had driven the motorboat into town three times, under the cover of darkness, and unloaded the ice chests onto the Bell Forge wharf, where Gabe and Harry made sure they were locked in a secure room. An amazing ten chests so far! And more ready to go.
Only once had Gus or K-4 encountered any town folks who might question what they were doing. It had been Frank Baxter from the hardware store, who had taken up jogging of late, supposedly to impress the widow mayor, Doreen Ferguson.
“Whatcha got in them ice chests?” a huffing Frank had asked.
“Shhh! It’s spiny lobsters,” Gus had lied. There was a legal limit on how many lobsters one person could catch in a day. “Don’t tell anyone. My mother loves to mix them with herring in her Norse potato salad.”
Frank had barely hidden his distaste for that news. Apparently, everyone knew about Mrs. Gustafson’s potato salad that was heavy on the little salted fishies, when it wasn’t alternated with something called lutefisk.
“Should I tell Mom to send you some?”
“No, no, I’m allergic to shellfish.”
But now, as the boat chugged on its five-mile trek back home, Delilah was down below, her bag packed, and the salon half-filled with trash and laundry bags to be taken ashore. Other people’s luggage and duffels were there, too.
Kevin came down then. She had trouble thinking or referring to him by his SEAL nickname, “K-4.” Just as she would have if asked to call Merrill “Geek.”
“Need any help?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “Once the boat is secured, though . . . definitely.”
“Any coffee left?”
“Yes,” she said, and poured him a mug, which he took black.
They both sat at the table, listening to the activity up above. The stomping of feet, loud chatter, laughter.
She had a tablet in front of her on which she’d started several lists: Food (the list was enormous even though she didn’t know how long they would be out next time). Supplies (such as napkins, paper towels, and toilet tissue). Maggie (school clothes, backpack, dentist appointment, guardianship papers from lawyer). Diner (remove old appliances, call gas company, fix neon sign?). Motel (cost estimate for remaining five units, reflagging patios, parking lot repairs).
The radio on the counter was playing beach music of the Carolina style with occasional interruptions to give updates on Tropical Storm Heloise, which was expected to hit the Outer Banks tomorrow. It wasn’t a hurricane or anything dire like that, but high winds and driving rains were forecast for the next few days, which meant no diving. Another reason why they’d decided to head back today.
“So, you and Geek, huh?” Kevin remarked suddenly, and grinned at her.
She wasn’t sure how to answer; so, she just nodded.
“He’s a good guy.”
That she could agree with. She nodded again. “You’re not going to warn me about not hurting your buddy or something like that, are you?”
He laughed. “Nah, Geek’s a big boy. And I know from experience that life’s short. Grab what happiness you can when you can.”
“Even if it can end in pain?”
“Even then.”
Kevin was a good-looking man, even with the ten-day scruff of beard he’d grow
n and hair overlong and in need of a trim. His eyes always looked a bit sad, though. Women must love him, sure they were the ones to heal his grief. He probably used that to his dating advantage.
That is so cynical of me!
But probably true.
“Your room at the motel is ready for you,” she informed him. Her grandmother had told her yesterday that Barb and Stu from Blankety-Blank had come by and installed curtains and made up the beds with new linens and the wave-like bedspreads. “I assume you want to stay there again.”
“Yep. The Blue Hawaii suite. I expect to have hula girls greeting me when we get back,” he teased.
“Don’t count on it. From me, anyhow. Any hula girls will have to be by your own arrangement.”
“Aw, shucks! And I was really in the mood for some grass skirt action.”
“Poor you! There will be a small flat-screen TV, though. I had my grandmother buy them for the three completed units while we were gone.”
“That’s great, although I don’t watch much television. Give me Wi-Fi and I’m good to go.”
“Not even the Andy Griffith Show?”
He laughed. “You know about Geek’s Mayberry obsession, huh? Once he made us watch a marathon of the show when we were stuck in a safe house in Kuwait. After three days of utter boredom, F.U. swore he developed a thing for Aunt Bee.”
“F.U.?”
“Frank Uxley. The most politically incorrect, obnoxious frogman to ride the seas, but the guy you want covering your six when you go down range.”
“Do you think you’ll miss the SEALs?” she asked, though what she really wanted to know was whether Merrill would get bored with civilian life eventually and want to go back in the military.
“Probably, but, with this week’s action here, treasure hunting comes close to the adrenaline rush of bang-bang ops in foreign countries.”
Merrill came down then, and, after exchanging a few words about last-minute details, K-4 went back up.
“We should dock in about fifteen minutes,” he said, a slow grin tugging at his lips.
Like K-4, he was looking a bit scruffy with week-old whiskers and very tan skin. He wore a ratty gray T-shirt and faded black running shorts, long legs leading to sockless running shoes, that had also seen better days. In other words, six foot three of yummy sexiness.