The Beach Bachelors Boxset (Three Complete Contemporary Romance Novels in One) (The Beach Bachelors Series)

by Pamela Browning

  She couldn't remember when she had last felt this light, giddy, tingling feeling. Probably not since she was an undergraduate in college, when it had accompanied crushes on boys who, with the passage of time, had become faceless and nameless. She'd thought she was beyond all that silliness. She was an adult now, twenty-eight years old, with a serious love affair behind her. Yet here she was, reacting with no more maturity than a teenager greeting her first boyfriend. It was ridiculous, especially when she put it in perspective with her clash with Daniel earlier. She felt like she'd been bounced up and down on an emotional seesaw in one day.

  "Of course," she said, retrieving the words somehow from a brain that seemed to be sloshing back and forth inside her skull, where her words and thoughts swam around like so many goldfish so that she couldn't even catch them, much less enunciate them. She stood aside as he stepped into the room.

  "Nice digs," he said, looking around. "Comfortable enough?"

  "First-class. Thanks for the luxury."

  "It's the least I can do for my divers. Your Minorcan accommodations are considerably less posh." He grinned at her.

  His linen sports coat made his broad shoulders seem wider; he wore it over a dark brown shirt, which was thrown open to reveal the ample supply of springy black hair on his chest. His form-fitting pants emphasized his muscular thighs. He was smiling at her in open appreciation.

  Fortunately there was the television set to be turned off. She flicked the remote and wished for a moment that she'd never seen Ponce Cabrera. Or that his gray eyes weren't so penetrating. Or that his mouth didn't look like it knew all too well how to kiss, knew all the gentle maneuvers of lips and tongue...

  "I thought we'd go out on the dock to the Coquina Chickee for dinner," he said smoothly. "They have a pretty good conch chowder for openers, and I highly recommend the scallops."

  "Fine," she said, flashing him a smile. Having managed that, she picked up her purse and said lightly, "Lead me to it."

  At seven o'clock, the sun was barely starting to set in the west, and boats were still slipping past the marina. The water, shimmering like silk, was an unbelievably intense cerulean blue. Ponce took her arm and guided her along the path to the dock. The feathery fronds of palmetto trees rustled softly overhead in the breeze.

  The waiter at the Coquina Chickee greeted Ponce warmly and showed them to a secluded table with a prize view of Salt Run. Once they had placed their order, Ponce leaned back and regarded her thoughtfully.

  "I'm curious," he said. "How did you ever decide to become a commercial diver?" His eyes settled on the dimple in her chin.

  Her mind flipped through an assortment of replies, but, mindful of his attention to her dimple, she decided to be straightforward and businesslike.

  "I was a marine historian first," she said. "Later I became interested in scuba diving as a hobby and combined it with another hobby, photography. When I finished my thesis at the Spanish Maritime Museum in Barcelona, I knew I wanted to consolidate all my interests. So I used the last of my parents' life insurance money to attend Bobby Turk's commercial diving school. And here I am."

  "Here you are," he agreed, looking as though the thought didn't displease him. His eyes had moved from her dimple to her lips, where they lingered in absorbed fascination. "Still, you could be working on an oil rig somewhere, or photographing underwater industrial salvage operations. What inspired you to take up treasure salvage?"

  "You did," she said quickly, looking him directly in the eye.

  "How?"

  "You've succeeded at treasure salvage where others have failed, and you've kept a reputation for integrity. That's important to me. I wanted to work for you. It's as simple as that." She tried to sound matter-of-fact, businesslike; it was difficult with him sitting across from her, looking so unbelievably handsome.

  "Alix, let's get down to business. Where does this 'information' of yours fit in?"

  "You're the one person in the world who may be able to pursue what I've found," she shot back. She waited for his reaction.

  He raised his eyebrows, a challenge. His reply was swift. "Why didn't you favor my competitor, Luke Stallingrath, with this information, instead of me?"

  She locked her eyes on his. "It's no secret that Stallingrath openly harassed your crew when they were working the Santa Ana shipwreck and that he deliberately planted false artifacts hoping you would lose credibility. I'm an historian first, then a diver and finally a photographer. I won't put my reputation in jeopardy by associating with the likes of Luke Stallingrath."

  "A nice speech," said Ponce, but she knew that she had impressed him with her fervor. "Still, you know that Stallingrath has salvaged Nuestra Dama de la Navidad successfully to the tune of twenty million dollars or more."

  "He plundered it, you mean. He had no regard for the priceless artifacts, the porcelain, the hand-blown wine bottles that survived the shipwreck. His work was slipshod and careless. He wanted only the gold." Her disdain put a hard edge on her words.

  Their scallops arrived and Ponce sampled a forkful before he spoke.

  "You and I think alike," said Ponce. "How do I know I can trust you? Treasure hunting is top-secret business. I can't share confidential information with anyone I can't trust. Even our destination when we leave port is secret. Most of my crew don't know where we're headed on our upcoming mission. You're aware of that, right?" His eyes stabbed into her from across the table.

  "I believe along with a lot of other people that you plan to salvage Santa Catalina—if you can even find her. And I'm here to convince you not to attempt it."

  Ponce was clearly taken aback. His eyes went steely, but he quickly recovered and said quietly, "I think it's about time you told me exactly what kind of information you're offering." He took another forkful of scallops, his manner studiously casual.

  She drew a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "What would you say if I told you that I know the location of King Philip the Fifth's jewels?"

  He stopped chewing and searched her face for traces of levity, dishonesty, or bluff. He found none of these, only an intent earnestness that assured him she was serious.

  "I'd say you were loco," he said. "Or deceptive."

  "Wrong," she said.

  "Explain. Please." He regarded her with watchful interest.

  She leaned forward earnestly. "Ponce, you probably know almost as much about Spanish maritime history as I do. You've heard that the jewels destined for King Philip's bride were in the fleet headed for Spain when the 1715 hurricane struck and the ships sank."

  "All ships but one," corrected Ponce. "El Grifon survived the hurricane because her captain disobeyed orders and sailed one-half point northeast."

  "All the ships but two," said Alix, suppressing her excitement. "El Grifon's sister ship, El Primero de Mayo, wasn't as fortunate as El Grifon. She foundered and sank after the hurricane, and King Philip's jewels went down with her." She had Ponce's attention now.

  "I've never heard of any sister ship to El Grifon," he said slowly. "All accounts I've read state that there were eleven ships in that fleet—ten ships that were joined by El Grifon, captained by Antonio Daré, who insisted that his ship join the Spanish convoy for safe conduct across the Atlantic."

  "There's more to the story," Alix said. "Philip was desperate to receive the treasure, especially the jewels for his bride. While taking on supplies in Havana, Cuba, Captain Ubilla of the Spanish fleet got wind of a massive pirate plot to overtake the convoy and capture its treasures."

  "Bad news for the king. Those jewels were supposed to rejuvenate his sex life. His not-so-loving bride had banned him from her bedroom." Ponce's eyes sparkled mischievously.

  Alix wasn't about to be sidetracked into a discussion of the royal couple's sex life, although sex never seemed to be far from her mind around Ponce Cabrera.

  She smiled and went on. "Daré's two ships were in better condition than the lumbering old Spanish vessels, and Ubilla knew the jewels were of pr
ime importance to his king. So he made a secret deal with Captain Daré—safe conduct across the Atlantic with his fleet, provided that Daré carry the precious jewels and other important treasure on the swift El Primero de Mayo, which in case of pirate attack had a fighting chance to escape. For security reasons El Primero was never listed as part of the convoy."

  "Wait a minute," interrupted Ponce, looking uneasy. "That's where you lose me. I've never read anything about such a deal between Ubilla and Daré, and—"

  "That's because it doesn't appear in any literature," Alix injected triumphantly. "I found the proof in some obscure records in Spain." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Ponce, I know the location of El Primero de Mayo."

  Ponce had stopped eating altogether now. "This is an amazing story." He pinned her with a penetrating look. "What's your proof?"

  "The microfilm with the letters between Captain Daré and Don Juan del Hoyo Solorzano, the foremost treasure salvor of the day, who was sent by King Philip to salvage as much as he could from the wrecks. Of course, Captain Ubilla went down with his ship, so Captain Daré, the only other person to know that the jewels were on El Primero, and Hoyo Solorzano struck a private deal to retrieve the lost jewels in secret. Their attempt failed."

  Ponce stood up abruptly, shoving his chair backward. He tossed a large bill on the table. "All right, you're on," he said.

  "Seriously?"

  "You'd better be, or a perfectly good seafood dinner has gone to waste." He was joking, she could tell.

  Slowly she set down her fork, stood up, and shrugged. "Better to waste a few scallops than a whole shipwreck," she replied. She was gratified when he chuckled, but they both knew this was urgent business and no laughing matter.

  Well, Alix thought wryly as Ponce urged her along at a pace more rapid than comfortable, one thing was for certain. He seemed for the moment to have completely forgotten her physical charms. Her information, whatever the outcome, had captured his complete and total attention for the time being.

  Which is what she wanted—wasn't it?

  Chapter 3

  Ponce hurried Alix to the parking area where he unlocked a low, silver-gray Mercedes. "Get in," he said, more a command than a suggestion.

  He drove confidently and at a speed well over the limit. The sky had grown dark, and the old-fashioned streetlights along both sides of the Bridge of Lions between Anastasia Island and downtown St. Augustine glowed yellow like two strings of shiny, incandescent moons.

  Ponce reached out and switched on the radio. For a moment they heard the final bars of a popular ballad, followed by the introduction of a local talk show. Alix only half listened until the guest for the evening was introduced. Much to her surprise it was Luke Stallingrath.

  Ponce compressed his lips. Then, as though he were unable to contain himself, he said, "Damn! You might know Stallingrath would be nosing around St. Augustine, trying to find out what I'm doing. I thought his ship had already left for the Keys."

  Together they listened to his scratchy ramblings on the subject of modern-day treasure salvage until Ponce, having obviously heard enough, abruptly turned off the radio.

  The car slowed to enter St. Augustine's restored historic area. Old houses clung close to the curbs, balconies spilling purple-black shadows across narrow streets. Ponce pulled the car into a large parking lot. "My office is across the street," he told her when he noticed her inquiring glance.

  Alix looked in the direction he had indicated and saw a row of old houses, painstakingly restored. Each abutted the other, and there were no lawns in front. Two of the houses, their whitewash glowing blue in the starlight, were overhung with jutting upper balconies of dark wood. The house on the corner hid behind a tall pink wall capped by a bush bursting with magenta flowers.

  Only when they approached the largest house did Alix see the unobtrusive sign on the door: TREASURE FINDERS, INC., and in smaller gold lettering, Ponce Cabrera, President.

  Dark shadows eclipsed them under the balcony. As Ponce slid his key into the lock, Alix looked around for the honeysuckle. She knew there was honeysuckle; its sweet, warm scent permeated the air.

  They entered a reception room opening on a corridor lined with several offices. In front of them rose a narrow flight of stairs. Ponce indicated that Alix precede him upward, and she felt overly conscious of the way her legs must look to him as he followed.

  "My private office," he explained briefly as they entered a large, paneled room. He tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of a chair. As Ponce turned on a table lamp, she caught a glimpse of a massive desk, ornately carved, and a similarly carved credenza.

  Ponce took her hand and led her into a smaller cubicle where maps covered all available wall space and where the glassy eye of the microfilm machine stared at her from its table.

  He gestured in its direction. "It's a relic," he said. "I'm glad I have it now."

  "Me too. The Archives hasn't completely digitized their materials yet, and I'm glad. Once the records are accessible online, they're fair game for anyone who comes along."

  "More competition," Ponce agreed.

  "Possibly from salvagers with fewer scruples." They exchanged a meaningful look, Luke Stallingrath not far from their minds.

  While Ponce turned on the machine she slid the microfilm from her pocket. "Sit down," he said. There was no mistaking the anticipation and excitement that sparkled from his eyes, and Alix shared the feeling.

  When the image of the first letter flashed on the screen, Ponce bent closer, his right arm curved around the back of the low chair where she sat, his face so close that his breath warmed her cheek. His left hand rested on the table beside the machine. Tapering from a sinewy wrist overlaid with downy black hairs, the back of his hand was corded with veins and seemed sculptured in strength.

  The old script of the ancient letter was wildly ornate, with large, flowing capital letters and broad flourishes.

  "Do you read archaic Spanish?" asked Alix. "If not, I can translate."

  "I grew up speaking Spanish. Mom was Cuban-American. Since I've been in this business I've learned something about the archaic language. It's a good thing they spelled phonetically, or I'd be lost."

  Quickly he reached behind him and found a chair. He slid it into position beside Alix and sat down, never taking his eyes from the screen. Transfixed, Ponce continued to stare at the document. "It's from Captain Daré to Hoyo Solorzano, referring to El Primero de Mayo, his sunken ship," said Ponce.

  "That's right."

  "Daré says that El Grifon escaped the hurricane by disobeying orders for the convoy and sailing one-half point to the northeast, as did El Primero de Mayo," Ponce squinted at the fancy handwriting. "He says..." He faltered, and Alix picked up the narration.

  "After the rest of the convoy sank, Daré feared risking the trip alone across the Atlantic to Spain, so he ordered his two ships to proceed to the Spanish fort at St. Augustine. El Primero had been disabled in the high winds, and she failed in her attempt to reach safe harbor. She sank offshore, all hands lost, after which Daré and El Grifon retreated to Havana.

  "Daré suggests that Hoyo Solorzano and his crew of divers salvage the jewels, and that he will tell them where El Primero went down. He urges secrecy, since King Philip knew nothing of the agreement between Captain Ubilla and Captain Daré. Philip believed that his jewels had gone down with his Spanish galleons," continued Alix.

  Ponce, stood up abruptly and paced the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "To think of it—the jewels!" he exclaimed. Then he sat down next to her, straddling the chair, his arms resting across its back.

  "You seem trustworthy, Alix, but you know I'm going to have to check and double-check your information as well as your background."

  "I expected that. You'll find my credentials impeccable." And then, "The next letter we'll see lends credibility to the other."

  The second letter flashed across the screen. In a totally different handwriting, it was a reply
from Hoyo Solorzano. He pledged to salvage the wreck of El Primero, and he mentioned dividing the bounty when he returned to Spain.

  "I wonder how Daré and Hoyo Solorzano planned to keep their salvage operation of El Primero a secret," mused Ponce. "They would have had to employ sailors and divers. They'd talk."

  "Silence can be bought when there's treasure involved," Alix reminded him. "For divers, they used Indian slaves. Slaves were expendable. The Spaniards used them to conduct salvage operations on all the wrecks from that convoy."

  "Hoyo Solorzano failed completely in his attempt to salvage El Primero," Alix said, flashing another letter onto the screen. "This letter from him to Daré insists that it is impossible to salvage the wreck—it's in water too deep for their primitive diving methods."

  After they'd finished reading the last letter, Alix was positive that Ponce was totally convinced of the letters' value. He seemed elated as he pulled her from her chair. He gripped her hands tightly in his.

  "You're right," he said, his eyes radiating eagerness and determination. "If salvaging El Primero turns out to be feasible, I'll scrap my plans to salvage Santa Catalina in the Keys." It was the first time Ponce had actually admitted that Minorcan's present mission was to find and salvage Catalina. Alix's hopes soared at this statement of trust.

  "Santa Catalina would be extremely difficult to work," said Alix, taking this opportunity to argue against it in case Ponce needed further convincing. "From all accounts she sank on a huge reef, and in several hundred years everything that's survived will be crusted with heavy coral growth. Not only will that inhibit your operations, but it will endanger Minorcan. That reef could rip the bottom of your ship, Ponce."

  He gave both her hands a quick squeeze, sending sensations up her arms and muddling her head, which had been clear, at least for the last few minutes.

  "It's not totally up to me, you know. We'll take a vote based on this information you've shown me."

  "Who is 'we'?" she asked, alarmed. She'd expected that Ponce Cabrera would be the ultimate authority in Treasure Finders, Inc. and that convincing him was the key.