Between Roc and a Hard Place

by Heather Graham

  “You can’t possibly mean to keep me a prisoner on this boat!” she cried.

  “Prisoner!” he exclaimed, swinging around. “Oh, you are mistaken!”

  “Then you will take me to port—”

  “Sorry!” he informed her. “But please, think of yourself as a guest, not as a prisoner!”

  “You son of a—” she called after him.

  He closed the door on the last word, then leaned against it, smiling. But it was a painful smile. Then he turned back, opened the door, and grinned.

  “Since we are still married,” he offered politely, “you’re more than welcome to share the captain’s quarters. I mean, you did come aboard to discover just what’s going on here, didn’t you? What better way to make discoveries?”

  He knew her. He knew her well. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when the bottle of fine Caribbean rum came flying his way.

  Thankfully, he was quick.

  He closed the door, then heard the bottle clank against it.

  Once again, he smiled.

  The bottle hadn’t broken.

  But then his smile faded. The rum hadn’t eased a thing. He seemed to be burning inside and out. Giant fingers had closed around his heart.

  There had been a time when he hadn’t thought her tough at all. And never had he seen her as a witch.

  There had been a time when those eyes had lit on his with sea-green passion, when the golden threads of her hair had curled over the bronze of his chest, tangled in his fingers. When those perfect legs had entwined with his own. When they had lain beneath the stars, feeling the swell of the sea beneath them, dreaming …

  There had been a time.

  But that had been long ago now.

  And though she might still be his wife, she was definitely old man Davenport’s daughter.

  And she had come here to spy; of that he was convinced.

  And there was only one thing he could do. He had to make damned sure that she didn’t return with any information whatsoever.

  And there was only one way to do that. He had to make sure she didn’t return. Not until he had made his claim.

  However long that took.

  Melinda … Aboard this boat. Day after day.

  Torture!

  He gritted his teeth. All right. So torture it would be. But he was going to make damned certain that it was torture for both of them!

  Chapter 2

  He was gone.

  Melinda sank into the chair behind the captain’s desk and realized that she was shaking. She gripped her fingers together, trying to stop.

  So, this was his boat! She should have known, she had suspected, but still, she hadn’t really been prepared.…

  With a soft groan she let her head fall to the desk. She had wanted it to be his boat. Face it, she had wanted this to be his boat, even if she actually was spying in a way. This time, if she could, she would make sure that things went the way they should have gone before. She owed him that much.

  Was that really why she was here? she mocked herself.

  Wasn’t she still just a bit … a little bit … in love with him?

  Not that it mattered. They might still be married—and that was truly a shock!—but the way he had looked at her had clearly indicated that he felt he had brought a shark on board.

  Her fingers were starting to tremble again. Well, what had she expected? That he would welcome her with open arms after what she had done?

  On the other hand, he was the one who had walked out.

  After she had taken her father’s side. Against him, against her husband, and even Jonathan Davenport admitted now that he had been wrong, that he should have given credit where credit had been due.…

  It was all so long ago.

  But she’d never managed to convince herself that it was over, she realized. She’d been so naive, so foolish—and so wrong in so many ways. She could clearly remember her fury that he could say anything ill about her father. In fact, she could remember how angry they had both been, the words that had flown, the accusations, the recriminations. Then she could remember being in his arms, believing that he had listened to her, that he had understood, that everything would be all right. She could remember the tempest and the sweetness of making love.…

  And she could very clearly remember not believing that he was really leaving when he walked away the next morning. He had asked her to come, of course. She just hadn’t believed that he would really go.

  And she hadn’t seen him since.

  At first she’d thought he hadn’t changed, but now she knew he had. He was three years older, wiser, determined, confident and very set in his ways. His hair was a little shaggy; he wasn’t getting it cut very often. He had probably decided that he just didn’t have the time. If he was on a quest …

  He was definitely on a quest. Her father had said that if anyone could find the Contessa Maria, it would be Roc Trellyn. Of course, Jonathan was looking for the ship, but he hadn’t been the one to plant the idea of trying to find out if Roc was in pursuit of the elusive galleon and, if so, how he was doing. It was Eric who had rather offhandedly given her the idea one night when they had all been in that little pub in Key West.

  “There’s no doubt Trellyn will be after this one. He’s always been convinced that the Contessa went down between Florida and the Bahamas, no matter how the scholars have insisted that she went down closer to Cuba. This new evidence must have him dancing for joy. I’ll bet he’s out there right now, in one of those supposed fishing boats, searching his little heart out. Oh, to be a fly on that boat! But then again, Melinda, you could just ask your ex what he knows and what he’s up to!”

  He’d given her one of his lazy half smiles. Eric was very good at lazy half smiles.

  She admitted that he was an attractive man, tall, blond, tan, lithe and muscled, and charming in his own way. He worked with her father on and off, moaned and drank beer with her father on and off. She’d tried to like him, tried to date him, and sometimes she’d even enjoyed herself. But she’d kept her distance from him, all the same. They’d danced, they’d kissed—but she’d managed to stay out of bed with him and still retain the friendship or flirtation or whatever it was. She had created the distance, though she hadn’t really known why. Or else she’d never admitted why until now.

  It all came back to Roc.

  He wasn’t Roc.

  No one was. She’d learned that painfully in all the long and lonely nights since he had left. She had never known, never imagined, the torture of lying alone at night, remembering him, the hard-muscled length of his body, the whisper of his breath, the excitement of his touch, the magic of his kiss. The simple sweetness of falling asleep in his arms, of dreaming there, of awakening to find herself still held so tenderly.

  Her fingers started shaking again despite her efforts to still them. His passions always ran so deep. He had loved the sea, the water, diving, the hunt, the adventure.

  And once upon a time he had loved her. She had lost that. And she could probably never have it back. It had been a mistake to come, and she should leave as quickly as possible. She had to get away from him. It hurt more to be near him than it did to be away. She had betrayed him. Once he had loved her so deeply, but now he seemed to despise her with the same fierce energy. She couldn’t let herself dream about what had been.…

  Because it was gone. All gone. All that remained was the look he had given her tonight. As if she were a cobra with a forked tongue.

  She shivered suddenly, looking around the cabin. Was she locked in here? He had said that he wouldn’t take her to port, so what did he mean to do with her?

  Maybe he was waiting for her to go to him, to beg for mercy.

  Never! She hadn’t completely lost her pride.

  And her fingers were still shaking. She didn’t really know him anymore. Didn’t know his heart or his feelings—or if he was sleeping with the very pretty blond woman she had seen on deck.

  So what should she do?
>
  Wait. She just had to wait. Eventually he would come back. He had to, didn’t he?

  “So that’s Melinda Davenport,” Bruce said, shaking his head. He’d been standing by the port side railing when Roc came slamming out of his cabin.

  Roc breathed deeply, studying his first mate, determined not to reveal the turmoil of his emotions to anyone, especially his best friend.

  “Trellyn,” he said softly.

  “Trellyn?” Bruce’s eyebrows shot up.

  Roc shrugged. “It seems she never divorced me.”

  “Oh. Well, surely you two can rectify that. Next time we pull into Fort Lauderdale or Miami, you can see an attorney.”

  “Right,” Roc agreed. He walked to the rail, his fingers curling around the polished wood as he looked out to sea.

  He should head for port right now. Get her off the boat. The Crystal Lee’s sixty feet didn’t provide enough room for the two of them to be together.

  “She must be spying for her father,” Bruce surmised.

  “Must be.”

  “So, we get rid of her quickly, right?”

  “We should.”

  “But we don’t?”

  Roc spun around and leaned against the rail, crossing his arms over his chest. He was definitely feeling a little malicious. “She wanted to come aboard. We’ll keep her aboard for a while.”

  Bruce shook his head. “You’re the captain.”

  “Right.”

  “She is Davenport’s daughter.”

  “Right. But she’s on my boat. And, startling as it seems, she’s still my wife.”

  “You mean that you’re still in—”

  “I’m not still anything,” he said impatiently. “But I’m not sailing into any port, either. We were scheduled to dive tomorrow—we’ll dive.”

  Connie came around the corner, looking at them both with grave concern. “So you do know her?” she asked Roc.

  “Know her?” Bruce snorted. “Inside and out!”

  “She’s my ex-wife,” Roc told Connie.

  “Only she isn’t his ex anymore,” Bruce said, shaking his head worriedly again.

  “How can you suddenly undo being an ex?” Connie asked.

  Peter Castro came around the corner next. “You get married again,” he told Connie. He looked at Roc. “¿Que pasa, Capitano?”

  “You married her again already?” Connie asked, totally confused.

  Bruce gave her an amused look. “Connie, don’t be so dense. He never divorced her. She never divorced him. And neither one of them ever stays on land long enough to read a newspaper or collect the mail, so they both assumed they were divorced.”

  “Davenport’s daughter!” Peter said with a soft whistle. “Well, she’s spying. She has to be.”

  “We have to get rid of her,” Connie said.

  “He doesn’t want to,” Bruce said mournfully.

  “But she’s obviously come to see where you’re searching! She’ll go back and tell her father, and they’ll both be after the Contessa Maria right where we’re looking,” Connie told Roc, her brows furrowed.

  “Don’t let her take you for a ride, my friend,” Peter warned him.

  Roc sighed, irritated. “She isn’t taking me anywhere. And she isn’t going to tell her father anything, because I’m not letting her go back to him until after I’ve made my claim.”

  Connie gasped. “Can we keep her that long? Isn’t that kidnapping?”

  “She did come aboard voluntarily, right?” Roc said.

  “Well, technically, we did haul her up in a fishing net,” Bruce reminded him.

  Suddenly Roc smelled smoke. The others smelled it at the same time. “Dinner!” Connie cried. “Oh, no! Marina asked me to watch the potatoes!” She whirled around, running down the deck to hurry down the stairs to reach the galley.

  “I think,” Roc said, “that dinner seems to be more than ready. We should go eat.”

  “But what about … your wife?” Bruce asked him.

  “She’s not locked in. If she’s hungry, she’ll find her way to the galley.”

  “She could find her way to a lot of other places.”

  “Not with all of us up and ready to stop her.”

  “Are we staying up all night?”

  “I’ll see that she doesn’t go where she shouldn’t,” Roc said softly.

  “Oh,” Bruce murmured. “Oh …”

  “No oh!” Roc said wearily. “I’ll just be keeping my eye on her.”

  “Be careful now.”

  “She’s five feet eight and maybe a hundred and thirty pounds. I’ve got five inches and eighty pounds on her. I’ll be all right.”

  “Right. And fire coral looks delicate and beautiful, but touch it, and you’ve got one hell of a burn!”

  “Bruce! I left the lady, remember? I’ll be all right.” He refrained from mentioning that it had half killed him to do so and only his pride had kept him from going back to her.

  He should just have dragged her along. After all, he was bigger, as he had told Bruce.

  He might have carried her away.…

  But he couldn’t have changed things. No amount of anger or muscle could have swayed her from her father.

  Bruce studied him and grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t be all right if she were in my cabin. I would never sleep. I’d sit there all night and—ouch!” He broke off as Peter’s elbow connected with his ribs. “Hey!”

  “She’s his ex-wife, not yours!” Peter reminded him pointedly.

  “Not an ex, remember?” Bruce insisted in return.

  Roc let out a groan of exasperation. “She may not be an ex, but my days with the Davenports are long over. Let’s have dinner.”

  “Without her? We’re really going to let her starve?” Bruce asked unhappily.

  “It’s my guess she’ll come prowling out in a few minutes. It will be hard for her to do much spying if she just hides out in my cabin, right?”

  Bruce shrugged.

  “Let’s go.”

  In the galley, Roc sat at the big boothlike table that ran down half the port side length of the combined galley and dining room and found Marina Tobago staring at him with her dark, soulful eyes as she set bowls of potatoes and vegetables and plates of grilled grouper on the table. He smiled as he sat, and didn’t say anything. Peter slid in near Roc. Connie set the salad on the table and sat down, too. Bruce cleared his throat and took a seat opposite Roc. Joe Tobago, tall, burned bronze, sat down next to Bruce. “Eh, Captain. Roc, my friend!” he said softly, his Bahamian singsong accent pleasant and melodious. “Just what do we say if this mermaid from the sea talks to us?”

  It was finally too much. Roc started to laugh. “I don’t know. It depends on what she says. Joe, if she wants to discuss the weather, discuss it. If she asks how you cook your grouper, Marina, just go ahead and tell her. If she wants to know anything about our boat or our search for the Contessa, tell her that she has to come to me. If she offers to help with the dishes, let her!”

  Marina grinned. “Davenport’s daughter does the dishes?”

  “She’s very good aboard a boat,” Roc said, the words softer than he had intended. But she was good. Melinda loved the water. She loved the reefs, loved snorkling and diving for treasure. She could handle herself in any motorboat or sailboat; she loved to fish—and she had never shirked a bit of the cleanup in anything. He supposed he had to credit Davenport for that. Despite their differences, there were many things Roc had admired about the man. He didn’t have a prejudiced bone in his body; he judged both men and women on their abilities. He demanded as much from himself as he had asked from any of his crew, and if he had ever been more demanding of anyone, it had been Melinda. In many ways, she was like her father. She loved adventure, loved people and was always intrigued by anything new and different. She would taste any dish of food, dive into any treasure hunt—just as she had dived into his net!

  He shrugged, still determined to give no hint of emotion. “She knows what she’s doing. I
f she gets in your way, just put her to work.”

  “We’re diving tomorrow, though,” Connie said worriedly. “We haven’t come up with anything but that old World War Two hunk on the sonar. Nothing to prove. But still, she’s going to know where you go in, and if we find anything …” Connie trailed off and paused a minute. “Well, her father was awfully quick to steal a find from you once before!”

  “I told you, we don’t let her go until the claim is made,” Roc reminded her.

  “And how do we manage that? Sit on her? At some point we’re going to have to make port for supplies!”

  “I’ll handle things!” he said softly.

  Marina sniffed audibly. The table fell silent. “Who’s going down tomorrow?” Peter asked.

  “Marina and Joe can stay aboard, the rest of us will dive. Then Connie and Bruce can stay aboard the next day, and I hope we’ll have something to show for our efforts soon.”

  “You’re still convinced we’re looking in the right place?” Joe asked.

  “More convinced than ever,” Roc said firmly.

  “Roc,” Joe said softly, leaning forward with a piece of fish speared on his fork. “I trust your judgment, but why can’t we find anything with the sonar equipment?”

  Roc shrugged, stretching across the table to pour iced tea into his glass. He had nearly grabbed one of the icy beers in front of him, but he had already swallowed a fair amount of rum—instant reaction to Melinda. He wanted his wits about him for the rest of the night.

  “I’ve always been convinced that the Contessa went down here. Everything I’ve found convinces me that they were much farther north than the historians have argued when the storm first hit. Now those letters from that sailor to his sister have been uncovered, and he was convinced that they were farther north than their captain believed, and that’s what he put in the letter. Anyway, I have a hunch. I had it the minute I first heard of the Contessa. She’s within ten miles of us here, I swear it. And I’m going to find her.”

  “And everyone else in the world is going to be on top of us very soon, now that the letter’s common knowledge,” Bruce commented.

  “Like our … guest,” Connie said.

  Roc smiled and looked at Marina, who had taken her place beside her husband. “If she does ask you about the grouper, make sure you tell her, OK? It’s absolutely delicious, Marina.”