by Nora Roberts
“I’m not going to waste my time discussing that with you, but there is something we need to talk about.” She shifted, angling herself so that she could face him and still keep a fair distance.
“We could talk about it over dinner.” He trailed a fingertip down her shoulder. “We haven’t taken a break in more than two weeks. Why don’t we take another run over to Nevis tonight?”
“Let’s not cloud business with your libido, Lassiter.”
“I can manage both.” He picked up her hand, kissed her fingers, then the small scar the moray had given her. “Can you?”
“I believe I have been.” But she drew her hand free, just to be safe. “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” she began. “We missed our chance to preserve the Marguerite. The Isabella is badly broken up, but we still have the opportunity to salvage some of her.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I don’t mean just her cargo, I mean her. There are treatments to preserve ships’ timbers, prevent their shrinking in open air. She can even be partially reconstructed. I need polyethylene glycol.”
“I don’t happen to have any on hand.”
“Don’t be cute, Matthew. Planks immersed in a bath of that solution are permeated with it. Even wood riddled with marine borers can be preserved. I want to call Hayden, ask him to get what’s needed, and to come and help me salvage the ship.”
“Forget it.”
“What do you mean forget it? She’s an important find, Matthew.”
“She’s our find,” he tossed back. “No way in hell I’m sharing her with some college professor.”
“He’s not some college professor. Hayden Deel is a brilliant marine archaeologist. One who’s dedicated himself to study and preservation.”
“I don’t give a damn what he’s dedicated to, he’s not coming in on this deal.”
“That’s the bottom line, isn’t it? The deal.” Disgusted, she shoved away so that she could scoot around the worktable and stand. “I’m not asking for him to have a share of your all-important booty. He wouldn’t expect it. Some of us don’t measure everything in dollars.”
“Easy for you to say when you’ve never had to scrape one together. You always had Mom and Dad to fall back on, a nice cozy home with supper on the stove.”
Anger paled her cheeks. “I made my way, Lassiter. On my own. If you’d ever bothered to think past the next wreck, you might have more than the loose change rattling around in your pocket. Now all you can think about is cashing in and living the good life. There’s more to this expedition than auctioning artifacts.”
“Fine, when we’ve auctioned those artifacts, you can do whatever the hell you want, with whoever you want.” He’d damn well kill anyone who touched her. “But until then, you don’t contact anyone.”
“That’s all it is to you, isn’t it?” She slapped her palms on the table, leaning forward until her angry eyes were level with his. “Just the money matters.”
“You don’t know what matters to me. You never did.”
“I thought you’d changed, just a little. I thought finding the Isabella meant more to you than what you could take from her.” Straightening again, Tate shook her head. “I can’t believe I could be so wrong about you twice.”
“Looks like you can.” He pushed away from the table. “You always accuse me of being self-involved, Tate, but what about you? You’re so wrapped up in what you want, the way you want it, even if it blocks off what you feel.”
Driven, he grabbed her arms, dragged her against him. “What do you feel? Damn it, what do you feel?” he repeated and closed his mouth over hers.
Too much, she thought as her heart went spinning. Too painfully much. “That isn’t the answer,” she managed.
“It’s one of them. Forget the Isabella, the amulet, your goddamn Hayden.” His eyes were dark and fierce. “Answer that one question. How do you feel?”
“Hurt!” she shouted over quick, useless tears. “Confused. Needy. Yes, I have feelings, damn you, Matthew, and you stir them up every time you touch me. Is that what you want to hear?”
“It’ll do. Pack a bag.”
He released her so suddenly, she stumbled. “What?”
“Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
“I—what? Where?”
“The hell with the bag.” She’d told him what he’d wanted to hear, and he wasn’t going to let her rethink it. Not this time. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her on deck. Before she had a clue what he was planning, he’d scooped her into his arms and was lowering her over the rail into the tender.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I should have lost it weeks ago. I’m taking her to Nevis,” he shouted to the Mermaid. “We’ll be back in the morning.”
“In the morning.” Shading her eyes, Marla stared at her daughter. “Tate?”
“He’s lost his mind,” Tate called out, but was forced to sit when Matthew leapt nimbly down. “I’m not going with you,” she began, but was drowned out by the tender’s engine. “Stop the boat right now, or I’ll just go overboard.”
“I’ll pull you back,” he said grimly. “You’ll just get wet.”
“If you think I’m going to spend the night with you on Nevis—” She broke off when he whipped his head around. He looked too dangerous for arguments. “Matthew,” she said more calmly. “Get ahold of yourself. We had a disagreement, this is no way to settle it.” Her breath hitched when he cut the engine back. For one humming moment, she wondered if he would simply pitch her over the side.
“It’s long past time we finish what we started eight years ago. I want you, and you’ve just said you want me right back. You’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Until we settle this, it’s going to keep getting in the way.” His hand ached from his rough grip on the tiller. “You look at me, Tate, and you tell me you didn’t mean what you said, that it doesn’t affect you, and everything we’re doing here, and I’ll turn around and go back. That’ll be the end of it.”
Shaken, she dragged a hand through her tousled bangs. He’d shanghaied her, tossed her into a boat, and now he was putting the choice back in her hands. “You expect me to sit here like this and discuss the effects of sexual attraction.”
“No, I expect you to say yes or no.”
She looked back toward the Mermaid, where her mother still stood at the rail. Then toward the smoky peak of Nevis. Oh, hell.
“Matthew, we don’t have any clothes, luggage, we don’t have a room.”
“Is that a yes?”
She opened her mouth, heard herself babble. “This is crazy.”
“That’s a yes,” he decided, and gunned the engine. He didn’t speak to her again. They reached the pier, docked. As they crossed the beach at arm’s length, he pointed to an empty lounge chair. “Sit,” he told her. “I’ll be back.”
Too bemused to argue, she sat, staring at her bare feet, offering the wandering waitress who stopped by with a tray a vague shake of her head and a baffled smile at the offer of a drink.
Tate looked out to sea, but the Mermaid and the New Adventure were beyond sight. It seemed she’d cut her line.
If this was an answer, she could no longer think of the question. But when Matthew came back, held out his hand, she took it. They walked in silence through the gardens, across the slope of green lawn.
He unlocked a sliding glass door, pulled it closed behind them and flipped the latch.
The room was bright, airy, dreamy in pastels. The bed was neatly made, plumped with generous pillows. She stared at it, jerking only once when he pulled the blinds and tossed the room into shadows.
“Matthew—”
“We’ll talk later.” He reached behind her to undo her braid. He wanted her hair loose, flowing through his fingers.
She closed her eyes and would have sworn the floor tilted beneath her feet. “And if this is a mistake.”
“Haven’t you ever made one?”
His grin flashed,
and she found herself smiling in response. “One or two. But—”
“Later.” He lowered his head and found her lips.
He’d been sure he needed to dive into her, the way he sometimes needed to dive into the sea, as if to save, or at least to find, his sanity. His hands had itched to tug at her clothes, to touch the skin beneath and possess what he’d once given up.
But the hot-edged hunger that had driven him to bring her here mellowed as her taste flowed through him. As sweet as yesterday, as fresh as the instant. Love, never quite conquered, swarmed through him in triumph.
“Let me see you,” he murmured. “I’ve waited so long to see you.”
Lightly, gently, mindful of her trembling, he loosened her blouse, slipped it aside. She was pale ivory and soft satin beneath, a delicate feast for hands and eyes.
“All of you.” As his mouth skimmed over her bare shoulder, he tugged at her shorts, at the practical swatch of cotton under them.
His mermaid, he thought, almost dizzy with discovery. So slim and white and beautiful.
“Matthew.” She dragged his shirt over his head, desperate for flesh to find flesh. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”
With those words humming in his head, he lowered her to the bed and quietly, cleverly, pleasured them both.
Tenderness was so unexpected. So seductive. She had seen it once, hidden in the brash young man she had fallen in love with. But to find it now, after so long, was a treasure. His hands brushed and stroked and aroused while his mouth patiently swallowed her sighs.
Her own exploring fingers found muscle and scar, skin that heated under her curious caress. She tasted it, letting her lips and tongue skim over that flesh and savor the flavor of man and sea.
So she went dreaming, floating on a sea of shifting passions, thrilling to his murmurs of pleasure as he traveled over her. She arched to meet him, shuddering with delight when his mouth closed over her breast. So hot, so firm, so exquisitely controlled. All the while his hands moved steadily over her, sending tiny, eager pulses soaring.
When her sea began to toss, he soothed her back from the edge, teased her up again to the narrow verge until her breath came in gasps and she would have begged had she had the power. Storms brewed inside her so that the air was hot and heavy and throbbed with the threat.
He watched her, fascinated by the rapid flickers of pleasure, confusion and finally desperation on her face. His own mind was reeling when he sent her up and flying. His groan merged with hers as he felt her body tighten and shudder into wild release.
Fighting against a vicious slap of need, he closed his mouth over hers. When her breath began to settle, he nudged her gently, devastatingly over the edge again, into the tempest.
She couldn’t stop the shudders. It seemed her body would break apart. So she clung to him as wave after wave of sensation battered her. She had ridden out a hurricane in the Indian Ocean, crawled through a blinding sandstorm thirty feet beneath the sea. She had felt the heat and need of a man’s body meshed mindlessly with hers.
But nothing had touched her, stirred her blood or enticed her mind like this long, relentless loving. She had no secrets left to hide, no pride under which she might have buried them. Whatever she was, whatever he wanted from her, was there for him. Weak and wrecked and willing, she offered.
He slipped inside her slowly, savoring. Now he trembled as she did, resting his brow on hers as she took him deep, held him fast.
“Tate.” Emotions erupted inside him. “Just this,” he whispered. “Just you.”
His hands sought hers, fingers locking. He rocked inside her, struggling to keep the pace easy, to draw out the moment. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, the blood that pounded, the deliriously soft, wet give of her.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body bucked and jerked. A sob tore from her throat and ended on his name.
Finally, when he was so steeped in her he’d lost himself, he dived.
While the sun lowered in the West Indian sky, VanDyke sipped Napoleon brandy thousands of miles away. He had the latest report on the activities of the Beaumont-Lassiter expedition on his desk.
It far from satisfied him.
From all appearances, they were still exploring the remains of the Marguerite. None of his contacts on St. Kitts or Nevis knew anything of importance. A busman’s holiday, the report indicated, but VanDyke wasn’t convinced.
His instincts were humming.
Perhaps it was time he followed them, he considered. A little trip to the West Indies might be in order. It would at least provide him with the opportunity to express his displeasure to Tate Beaumont.
And, if the Lassiters weren’t going to lead him to Angelique’s Curse after all these years, it was time he disposed of them.
PART THREE
FUTURE
The future is purchased by the present.
—Samuel Johnson
CHAPTER 20
T ATE WONDERED IF it would be awkward. In her experience, mornings after routinely were. She’d been grateful to find herself alone when she’d awakened. It gave her the opportunity to shower and think.
They’d done very little talking the night before, she remembered. Then again, it was hard to hold a reasonable conversation while your brain was being fried with hot, demanding sex.
She let out a breath as she shrugged into the thick bathrobe the hotel provided. As far as the sex went, she thought, new precedents had been set in her body. Matthew Lassiter was going to be a very tough act to follow.
As she reached for the blow-dryer, she caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror. Grinning.
Well, why not? she asked herself. She’d spent an incredible night having her system rocked. And, unless she was very mistaken, doing some rocking of her own.
But the sun was up, and it was time to deal with the reality of what happened next. They had a job to do, and though the tension had been wonderfully diffused, they were still bound to clash when it came to the bottom line.
It didn’t seem fair that two people who could meld so gloriously together under one set of circumstances couldn’t find solid mutual ground elsewhere.
Compromise, she supposed, sighing over the word, was the only solution.
Once her hair was nearly dry, she ran her tongue over her teeth and wished the pretty room included the amenity of a toothbrush. Worrying over it, she stepped back into the bedroom just as Matthew came through the glass doors.
“Oh, hi.”
“Hi back.” He tossed her a small bag. A glance inside had her shaking her head.
“You read my mind,” she said, taking out a toothbrush.
“Good. Now you can read mine.”
It wasn’t difficult as he came to her, picked her up and dropped her back on the bed.
“Matthew, really.”
“Yeah.” Grinning, he stripped off his shirt. “Really.”
It was an hour later before she could put the toothbrush to use.
“I was wondering,” she began as they crossed the beach toward the pier.
“What were you wondering?”
“How we’re going to handle this.”
“This?” He took her hand as they crossed the planks to the tender. “Being lovers? How much do you want to complicate it?”
“I don’t want to complicate it, I just want to—”
“Establish the rules,” he finished, then turned to kiss her in front of several grinning crew of the resort’s tour boat. “Never change, Red.”