by Judi Fennell
She really did try to focus on what he was saying. Really.
“Let’s just say there’s a reason your people haven’t found Blackbeard’s treasure.” His lips were so close…
Wait a minute. What? She pulled back to avoid the temptation those lips presented. “Blackbeard? You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not.”
“But…” Okay, this boggled the mind. And cooled the hormones. “But… treasure? Pirate treasure? Gold doubloons and jewels and—”
“Silver drinking vessels and vases and an assortment of other items… Yes, Valerie. I have all of it. And you’re welcome to it.”
“But… but…”
He laughed. “You sound like one of those motorboats when the engine doesn’t turn over.” He slid his hand back to her hip and readjusted the sheet. Not that he pulled it any higher. “Anyhow, the treasure is yours to do with what you want.”
She’d rather he be hers to do with whatever she wanted… oh, that’s right. He was. And she could. But later. Right now she wanted to concentrate on this conversation, so she scooched back a bit so certain parts weren’t quite so close.
“Rod, I can’t take that treasure. If I show up with some long-lost pirate booty, every treasure-hunter in the world is going to be after me to tell them where I found it. Then the government will get involved… it would end up being more trouble than it’s worth.”
Rod sighed and dropped his hand. “True… unless Reel and Erica just happen to ‘find’ it on one of their fishing charters. Then they can funnel the proceeds to the store, as well as some of the actual treasure, too, if you want. It would bring people in.”
Which would ensure that Mom would never be forgotten.
The idea was looking better by the minute.
“I could always hire Tricia permanently. She was a little miffed when I told her we were running off to get married in Mexico, then heading to your home. This could placate her—let her be her own boss. Working for her in-laws outgrew the honeymoon stage long ago.”
“And we’ll visit whenever you’d like.”
“We will?”
“Sure. The gods have given us enough oil.”
Not if they kept going at this rate…
“But what if the tails don’t return? That’s already happened once, remember.”
Rod tucked her closer to him. “The gods have assured me that it will not happen again. They, of course, won’t tell me why, but said we are fine to travel on land.”
It could work. And she’d end up with the best of both worlds. “Okay, Rod, I’m in. But can I do all of this in three days? Do I have time?”
Rod lifted her chin and brushed his lips against hers. “We can do all of this, Valerie. We have time.”
She shook her head, trying to keep the smile hidden. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but he really did hate flying. “Rod, you don’t have to come with me. Since JR’s with Zeus, Drake’s locked up, and Nigel’s exonerated, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Especially since Drake hadn’t been able to touch one particle of the treasure he’d headed to after she’d gotten away from him. His greed had made him easy to track. It hadn’t taken Lieutenant Brackmann long to figure out where he’d gone and dispatch a contingent after him. King Solomon’s treasure was still as safe as could be, and Val was still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that that legend was as real as Atlantis.
“What was it you said to me when I gave you a choice, Valerie? ‘Where you are is where I want to be’?” He pulled her against him, all alpha-male bossy. “It’s not even a decision I have to make. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Which definitely had its advantages. “Okay, but as long as you’re sure you don’t mind giving up the treasure.”
“You did hear the ‘useless to Mers’ part, right? As the High Councilman, I have access to palaces, diamond mines, and an unlimited expense account. The treasure is pocket change.”
“You don’t have pockets.”
That devastating smile slid slow and sexy across his lips, and his fingers trailed slow and sexy down her body. “Neither do you, my darling wife.”
When he wrapped those big, strong arms around her, Val realized she did know which part she liked more. Sure, saving Therese’s Treasure Trove and honoring Mom’s memory were good things, but this—being here, with him, on this island paradise, their own Garden of Eden—this was what she’d always wanted.
After all the running she’d done throughout her life, all the searching and instability, there truly was no place like home, be it Kansas or Atlantis, as long as she was in Rod’s arms.
Epilogue
“Adele, have you gotten any sleep?” Maybelle opened one eye to see Adele pacing the ledge exactly as she’d been doing last night before Maybelle closed her eyes. As she’d done for the past week.
“It’s not right, Maybelle. It’s just not right.”
“What’s not right?”
“Those cowbirds. How can they hope for a better life if they’re abandoned by their parents and raised by others who don’t love them? It’s no wonder the albatross could recruit them to his side. No wonder at all.”
“Adele, what are you chirping about?”
Adele stopped pacing and pointed her wing across the alley. “I feel awful, Maybelle. Just awful. We shouldn’t have tricked those boys. Goodness, they start out life being tricked. Their parents—and I use that term loosely, because being able to donate genetic material does not make one a parent—but those parents drop their eggs in someone else’s nest to be raised.
“They start out life thinking they’re with their family, then, lo and behold, they squash their siblings or push them out of the nest. Why? Not because they’re evil, but because they’re so much bigger than the foster home into which they’ve been dropped unceremoniously by two parents who don’t have the good sense not to procreate. It can’t be good for their self-esteem, and I feel just awful for contributing to it.”
“Adele, that’s what cowbirds do. What are you getting yourself all in a dither for? We did help The Heir and Valerie.”
“That doesn’t make it right, Maybelle. It’s just not right. Of course those boys couldn’t help themselves. It’s all they know. If they’d been raised in a loving home, where the truth was explained to them, if they were shown the proper way to treat others, I just know they wouldn’t have gone to the dark side.”
“So, what, Adele? Are you going to go out and save all the cowbirds?” Maybelle sniffed.
“Sniff all you want, Maybelle Merriweather, but maybe I am.” Adele slicked the feathers back from her crown. “Yes, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Someone has to look out for those poor things, and maybe I’m just the avian to do it.”
This Maybelle had to see. Adele would save the cowbirds. Sure. And while that was happening, Maybelle would join the ASA and round up all the bad guys. Teach that seagull a thing or two about surveillance, and keep the land safe for two-legged Mers.
Hey. Wait a minute. There was an idea…
~Fin~
Author’s Note
During the gas crunch of ’79, my family set off on Day 1 of gas rationing to drive across the country for an unforgettable twenty-eight-day trip. From only being allowed to buy two dollars worth of gas (until we got out of Pennsylvania; apparently other states didn’t have to follow those rules—or chose not to) to the Gateway to the West, the Grand Canyon, Devil’s Tower, Mount Rushmore, Vegas at 2 a.m., the Pacific Ocean, and all the things in between and back, it was an amazing journey.
I’ve made that trip; I know the route—and I’ve always wanted to claim literary license. So I will for any driving discrepancies in this story—as I also will regarding our family’s annual vacation spot: Ocean City, New Jersey, which, prior to November 1879, was known as Peck’s Beach. Some lo
cations have been altered for the telling of Valerie and Rod’s “tale,” and if you can find a bunker similar to the one Reel constructed, please point me to it.
Acknowledgments
Since one of the Tritone brothers got his happily-ever-after in In Over Her Head, I’d hoped the other one would get his shot as well. Thanks to everyone who made this possible:
My editor, Deb Werksman for making this story as strong as it can be; my publisher, Dominique Raccah, for giving Rod the opportunity; my agent, Jennifer Schober, for helping make my career dreams come true; Susie Benton and Sarah Ryan for making sure all parts of the happily-ever-after are included; and Sue Grimshaw, again, because I just have to!
The Writin’ Wombats for all their encouragement and vast knowledge on so many subjects, especially: Beth Hill for the deadline-driven reads and honest critique; Pat and Ed Shaw for making a picnic excursion to the motels for research; Jamie Chapman for taking a drive to fill in what the internet couldn’t; Mike Stromer and Suzette Vaughn for the avian help; Sia McKye for the marketing assistance; Jill Anderson for such creativity; and Lisa Brackmann for coming up with the title—I hope you enjoy “your” sojourn beneath the sea.
Adele Dubois, for spending her cross-country drive time describing the landmarks and scenery for me and picking up all those brochures; and Stephanie Julian for the friendship and for the truth—no matter how much work it means I still have to do.
The wonderful authors who took time from their schedules to read this story.
Kristina and Bob Doliszny of the Atlantis Inn, and Colin Rayner and Raleigh Hill of the Hibiscus House, for coming on board with the Romantic Getaway contest on my website with their beautiful Bed & Breakfasts.
My grandmother, for always believing in me. My parents, who took us on a cross-country drive to show us this great country, creating so many lasting memories. I don’t know how you managed not to strangle us, but thanks for not doing so. My children, who, amid my deadlines and their schedules, are making more lasting memories; and, of course, my husband, who got me hooked on It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World—complete with an actor named Merman.
What could be more perfect for this story?
About the Author
Judi Fennell is an award-winning author whose romance novels have been finalists in Gather.com’s First Chapters and First Chapters Romance contests, as well as the third American Title contest. She lives in suburban Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and spends family vacations at the Jersey Shore, the setting for some of her paranormal romance series.
Judi has enjoyed the reader feedback she’s received and would love to hear what you think about her Mer series. Check out her website at www.JudiFennell.com for excerpts, reviews, fun pictures from reader and writer conferences, and the chance to “dive in” to her stories.
For more of Judi Fennell’s unique Mer trilogy,
read on for a sneak peek of
Catch of a Lifetime
Coming in February 2010 from
Sourcebooks Casablanca
Chapter 1
There was a naked woman on his boat.
Logan Hardington shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the picture didn’t change. Lady Godiva was sprawled over a pillow on his deck, a navy blue blanket draped over the bottom half of the curviest ass he’d seen in a long while.
Long, blonde—almost yellow—loose curls tumbled over creamy shoulders all the way down to that blanket, the ends pooling in the dimples above her ass, some strands twirling along the visible portion of her cleft near the light blue markings of a faded bruise.
Shapely legs, one slightly bent, only a shade or two darker than the fiberglass boat deck, trailed from beneath the blanket, one small foot flexing in the soft morning breeze. A hint of upturned nose peeked from beneath the blonde jumble, pink lips pursed in sleep, slender fingers disappearing beneath her cheek. He wondered what color her eyes were.
And why she was naked.
On his boat.
Hungry gulls cawed overhead, but she didn’t stir. The wake from McKye’s charter jostled the Mir-a-Mar as the day’s fishing tour set out, but that didn’t rouse her either.
Oh hell. She was probably a drunk co-ed who’d followed some “sailor” home. He’d seen that walk of shame many mornings. Didn’t these people think of the repercussions?
Logan looked back down the pier where his son, Michael, chatted with Tony as the wizened old salt chopped chum, and Logan smiled. Ah, the things he would have loved to have seen as a boy. The things he should have been able to show Michael from day one—
And would have if his ex-girlfriend had only mentioned a little thing like a pregnancy…
Logan tamped down the anger at Christine—who, according to his son, now went by Rainbow for God-only-knew-what reasons—and focused instead on the next female to make him wonder what men ever saw in women.
Then Lady Godiva moved and the blanket slipped to the side and Logan knew exactly what men saw in women.
But not what he wanted his son to see. No matter how much Logan wanted to savor the image.
“Hey, um… Miss.” Logan hunkered down and shook one of those shapely legs.
She mumbled something and flipped her head the other way, a tangle of hair tickling his arm. Logan pulled his hand back and captured the curls as they slid across his palm. Silky. Soft. The way a woman’s hair should be.
He blinked. What the hell was he doing thinking about her hair? She was naked, for God’s sake, and his six-year-old was going to get one hell of a birthday present if she didn’t wake up and cover herself.
“Miss, wake up.” Logan shook her shoulder, glancing back to Michael. Thank God Tony had a ton of fish tales to keep the boy occupied.
The woman sighed, and her shoulder slid beneath his fingertips. Her skin was just as soft and silky as her hair.
He should not be noticing.
“Lady, you really need to get up.” Not that getting up was a problem he seemed to be having. Christ. How long had it been if he was getting hard over the naked back of a lush?
Then she rolled over.
One lone curl encircled a taut, pink nipple.
Oh, boy…
No problem getting up now.
A naked woman… Right there in front of him. A naked goddess, more like. A gift from the gods just for him.
Except, of course, there was Michael…
Logan shook his head and reached for the blanket that had slithered to the deck atop some crushed shells and dried seaweed. Fighting with himself the entire time, he tossed it over her.
“What in the sea?” The blonde bombshell awoke as if she’d been tossed overboard, sputtering and spitting the blanket away from those perfect lips, the most incredible eyes widening above that mouth. The color of the sea… aquamarine. He’d never seen anything like them.
“Um, hi?” The corners of her eyes turned up along with her mouth. A dimple winked high on her left cheek.
“Oh.” Logan cleared his throat. She didn’t sound drunk. “Hi. I’m Logan Hardington.” He rocked back on his heels. “Who are you?”
“I’m, ah… Angel. Tritone.”
She was an angel all right. Straight from Heaven, via the bowels of Hell. A temptress. Flushed with the haze of sleep, innocence and sensuality stared at him from those ocean eyes, and she had the most delectable lips he’d ever seen. Slender arms clutched the blanket to breasts that spilled from the sides, leaving barely anything to the imagination. Not that he needed to imagine since he remembered every splendid inch of those heavenly delights. If this woman wasn’t walking temptation, he didn’t know what was.
“So, Angel Tritone, did you have one too many last night?” Remember that, Hardington. No matter what kind of influence she’d be on you, she’d be a bad one on your son.
Having to kick her off his boat definitely sucked. But he was a father now. A re
sponsible, practical father who didn’t fool around with sexy, naked women on his boat.
A horny, recently celibate father who’d love to fool around with this sexy, naked woman on his boat.
But who wouldn’t.
Damn. This responsibility thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Angel cocked her head to the side, curls spilling over her shoulders in perfect centerfold-fantasy mode, and he had to work really hard to keep his groan from escaping.
“One too many what?” Her tongue flicked over her lips again in an unselfconscious and utterly sexy way.
He had to get her off his boat. For sanity’s sake. Propriety’s, too. Not to mention an impressionable six-year-old’s. Logan stood up and held out his hand. “Never mind. Let’s get you up and at ’em.”
“At who?” She reached for his hand.
Logan forgot the question the minute her fingers touched his. Hell, he almost forgot his own name, and the six-year-old down the pier was fast becoming a distant memory.
Everything was becoming a distant memory, fuzzy and out of focus, because the moment her skin met his, everything else faded to black. Fire, hot and long and needy, sped through his fingers to every extremity, zipping along his nerve endings like a match to gunpowder, the heavy thud of his heart blocking out the call of the birds and the sounds of the marina.
Then she tugged on his hand to stand, and he had to steady himself so he wouldn’t fall on top of her—but man, did he want to. Especially when the blanket slid down her body to pool at her feet.
“You’re naked,” slipped out. Since making that comment was better than falling on top of her, he wasn’t too upset.
“I’m what?” Five-foot-nothing dipped her blonde head forward, the curls now caressing his wrist, one encircling his forearm, and Logan had to focus on his breathing. He’d never had such an intense reaction to a woman. Then again, he’d never seen a woman like this before in his life.