Wicked Nights

by Anne Marsh

  And he was kissing her back.

  “Piper,” he said roughly, her name half laugh, half groan, as he tore his mouth away from hers.

  “You’ve got my name right,” she agreed. “Kiss me some more.”

  And he did.

  His mouth covered hers as he settled in, his tongue tangling with hers as she made a greedy sound. Her hands cupped his head, her thumbs tracing the pulse banging in his neck as they sank lower and lower in the water.

  He knew what she was doing. He’d tried the same thing in the bathtub, and his head had no problem with a few inches of clean, soapy water. It was the open ocean and what hid beneath the surface that did him in. Still, he appreciated the effort.

  He had his feet firmly planted on the sand. They had no masks, no tanks. The odd rock on the bottom made itself felt through the bottom of his dive booties, but her fingers gripped his shoulders, gripped him. See? This was okay.

  When she tore her mouth from his, they were both breathing hard.

  “So far, so good?”

  “Yeah,” he agreed jaggedly.

  “Focus on me.” Her mouth closed over his again, and this time she took them under with a kiss, gently pushing down beneath the surface. One foot. Two. His brain refused to shut off, counting off the distance between him and the surface.

  Something brushed his thigh, and he startled. Piper. His eyes flew open, stinging in the salt water, but she was right there. He wanted to give her what they both wanted—a miraculous insta-cure for his phobia—but instead he settled for slowly floating them both back to the surface.

  He hadn’t panicked.

  That had to count for something.

  “You think the Fiesta folks would like a dive like that?”

  She shot him a naughty grin. “Margie Kemp might.”

  Right. The female member of the Fiesta team. “You don’t think I’m Sal’s type?”

  He felt her shudder. “He must be someone’s type,” she answered, but she sounded doubtful.

  “Not mine,” he said.

  He rolled and swam lazily for shore. She clung playfully to his shoulders, riding his back.

  “You should talk with someone.”

  No. What he needed was to do something. To fix this. He’d spent one minute five feet underwater. He’d served as a U.S. Navy SEAL. He’d swum despite near hypothermia, powered through two-mile swims with his fins dragging at his feet. He’d made combat swims that were still classified and dived into storm-churned water from a Blackhawk.

  Five feet didn’t begin to cut it.

  And yet she’d tried and that mattered. “Thanks. For—” Too bad he didn’t have a list of words. He wanted her to know he appreciated what she’d done, but neither of them had spent much timing talking about feelings or mouthing “thank you.”

  “I only wish I was a miracle worker.”

  Apparently, though, she got it.

  “You are,” he said roughly. She had no idea. When he focused on her, he wasn’t focused on the dive. His head stayed in the game just a little more, and he dived just a little farther. Hell, with another hundred sessions or so of kiss therapy, he might make it to a full twenty feet.

  He slogged out of the water and onto the beach.

  “Can Daeg or Tag lead your dives?”

  He’d suggested the switch. “Fiesta insists I do it.”

  “Right.” There was a pause. Clearly, she understood exactly what that meant for his chances of landing the contract. “All right,” she said. “I just want you to know I’ve got your back. If there’s anything I can do, count me in, okay?”

  And...now he felt lower than low. She had his back—and he’d placed a bid on her place. Telling her was suddenly more important than ever because, even if he hadn’t known the dive shop he was offering for belonged to her in part, he knew now. On the other hand, he wasn’t going to seal the deal on the Fiesta contract. It wouldn’t matter.

  “Okay?” she asked.

  He wanted to be. More than anything.

  “You bet,” he said and led the way back to the boat.

  12

  THE DIVE BOAT slapped and bounced over the waves when Daeg opened the throttle and let her rip. Piper had played and replayed this afternoon in her head a million times, as she had countless numbers of platform dives. She would imagine how something was going to unfold, step by step, and then her body would step through the sequence flawlessly, even when nerves froze her head.

  Leading the Fiesta crew through her dive had been an adrenaline rush. Later, she’d do a postmortem with Carla, but right now she was fiercely happy. The dive had gone well. Better than well. She and Carla had partnered with Cal and Daeg to lead the day’s demonstration dives. Since Piper’s dive was technically less challenging, they’d opted to do hers first in case the Fiesta crew turned out to have any issues diving. They’d motored slowly past one of the smaller islands close to Discovery Island where the sea lions congregated.

  Even before they’d spotted the sea lion colony, raucous barking had competed with the harsher cry of the gulls. Up close, the sea lions were awkwardly cute, pulling themselves across the sand on their flippers. The creatures also had more things to say to each other than a houseful of Brennans. The noise was deafening.

  After walking the divers through the site and performing gear checks, she’d rolled off the side of the boat. Underwater, her field of vision exploded into a sea of miniature bubbles as she tucked and rolled, swimming smoothly to the anchor line just off the dive boat’s prow. The other divers had followed, with Cal staying behind on board to monitor the surface and keep an eye on the boat.

  Even before she’d signaled their descent, they’d had a clear view of the dozens of sea lions diving through the water around them. The animals had been perfectly happy to swim with the divers, had spiraled through the kelp forest and over to the edge where the bottom dropped away steeply in a trail of bubbles. When they’d surfaced forty minutes later, working their way slowly up the safety line, the Fiesta team had been excited. Carla had taken photographs of them and, as she’d passed the camera around, the group had relaxed with bottles of water and sliced watermelon.

  The mature thing to do would be to play it cool and not rub Cal’s face in the spectacular success her dive had been. But...screw it. She was one step closer to winning this competition, and they both knew it.

  She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Beat that.”

  * * *

  DO-OR-DIE TIME.

  Cal pulled the dive boat into the cove behind Devil’s Slide, and everybody piled onto the beach for the day’s second dive. Piper and Daeg got busy unloading tanks and gear, while Cal walked the divers through the site. Being this close to Piper on what he might have started calling their beach—words he wouldn’t admit out loud—was distracting. He kept remembering how she’d wrapped herself around him in the surf. The way she’d just been there for him, with him. And, of course, her kiss. He remembered all of their kisses and not because there hadn’t been enough of them.

  Five kisses.

  One at the Pleasure Pier. The second on today’s beach. He’d kissed Piper right there where he’d anchored the dive boat. He’d also had three kisses—four, he decided—the night she’d decided they were going to bed together. Those kisses had been marathon kisses and might count for more, except they hadn’t come up for air. If he was lucky, he’d up their kiss count today. He was aiming to break into double digits.

  Thinking about Piper right now was crazy. She had every intention of kicking his butt in this competition, and he’d all but handed her the win anyhow. He had to go in the water in ten minutes and lead five divers through the Devil’s Slide. Kissing wasn’t part of his plan.

  Plus, he had no idea what would happen to them after the Fiesta competition wrapped. If he won the contract, he lost Piper. He didn’t kid himself. Piper played to win. She’d made her position perfectly clear. She was outrageous, impulsive and dedicated. His SEAL training had taught him to
value the kind of determination to do whatever it took to get the job done.

  Sal Britten, the senior Fiesta executive, spouted off as they made the all-too-short climb to the top of the cliff. Cal had checked the guy’s logbook. Twice. Sal Britten had dived some pretty world-renowned sites. Cal just wished the guy would shut up. He was pompous and arrogant, sure he knew more about diving than either of the two dive masters leading the trip.

  And he was also vocal in sharing his knowledge. He’d critiqued the boat, the tanks, the shorties and the amount of weight Cal had added to his belt. Pushing the guy off the cliff, while satisfying, would be a major ethical violation, but Cal was seriously tempted. From the way Piper’s mouth twitched as Sal finished describing the wall dive he’d done in Tahiti two months ago, she felt the same way.

  And...showtime.

  While Carla and Piper helped Ben and Margie, the other two Fiesta divers, into their harnesses and tanks, Cal walked over to the edge of the cliff. It was every bit as far to the surface as he’d remembered. If his only problem had been the height, he’d have been golden. Piper would be happy to shove him over.

  He still had no idea how he was going to do this.

  Daeg came over and stared down at the ocean waiting at the bottom of the cliff. “You got this?”

  Unfortunately, Cal knew what the other man was asking. He wasn’t stupid. He’d known Daeg would pick up on his issues with diving. As long as Cal’s issues had been personal, Daeg had backed off. He hadn’t pressed, which Cal appreciated. When those same issues came into play with a mission, however, Daeg had to ask questions.

  So, the question was: did he?

  Mentally he walked through the dive. Forty-five minutes from when his feet left the cliff top until he waded back out on the beach. Four people counting on him. He couldn’t jump unless he knew he could lead the dive, and he felt uncertain. Okay. Scratch that. He felt with heartstopping certainty that diving now would be a big mistake.

  “I can lead the dive.” He wasn’t surprised to find Piper standing next to him. “We’ll tell Fiesta you had to dive last night for a rescue and that you’re still in the no-dive window because they moved up their dive times today.”

  He wanted to get this right. Hell, he needed to get this right. He knew Piper felt the same way, and yet she was offering to cover for him.

  “That what you want?” Daeg loaded weights into his own belt. Without the weight, Daeg would shoot right back to the surface, and it would be dive over.

  “Trust me on this one,” Piper said, her eyes watching his. “I’ve got your back. I’ll get this right for you.”

  Strangely, he believed her. Staying out of the water was the safe thing to do. The right thing to do.

  “You dive,” he agreed.

  She flashed him a grin. “I’m thinking you owe me at least one more night.”

  Sal strode up then, already talking, talking, talking as he waited for Piper to buddy check his gear. At least the man would have to shut up once he had his regulator in.

  Piper raised an eyebrow.

  “Two,” Cal mouthed. Of course, not diving with Sal was probably worth at least a week, but some things a man didn’t admit.

  * * *

  DIVING WITH SAL was a nightmare.

  Piper made a mental note to kill Cal when she surfaced. Two nights were nowhere near enough compensation for Sal’s boorish behavior. First, the guy had rechecked all of his gear after she’d done a buddy check on him. He’d insisted on adding more weight to his belt and then he’d taken issue with the gauge on his tank, insisting the device was faulty and blustering loudly until Carla switched it out.

  Things hadn’t improved once they were in the water, either, when at least talking became impossible. Instead of sticking near her, he’d swum all over the place, checking out whatever interested him and completely ignoring her. He desperately needed a refresher course in dive safety, but fifty feet down was not the classroom she had in mind.

  The site was as gorgeous as Cal had promised. In addition to the caves dotting the underside of the cliff, colorful gorgonians and anemones covered the rugged underwater slope, and a spectacular kelp forest sheltered hundreds of bluefish. She’d also spotted at least five different kinds of starfish, including sun stars and blood stars. Schools of bright orange garibaldi flashed around them. Since it wasn’t nesting season, they didn’t have to worry about overly aggressive daddy fish attacking them. She’d always appreciated their sense of family, but she and Cal needed today’s dive to be perfect.

  Thirty-five minutes of show-and-tell later, and it was time for Devil’s Slide. Divers had to time their approach to the rocky ledge to correspond with the incoming waves. The added push would send them shooting over the lip and into the calmer interior bay. Then it was a simple swim to the boat. Cliff jump, admire the anemones, explore the underwater caves and then shoot the pass. Cal clearly liked a good adventure dive.

  Daeg signaled as they huddled together, pulling out his dive slate. Margie, the Fiesta exec, was going to pass on shooting the chute. She’d take the longer surface swim over the adrenaline rush of the quicker exit. Piper nodded. Better to go the long way ’round if Margie wasn’t confident about the approach. After a quick air check, Daeg and Margie swam off, leaving Carla, Piper and their two divers.

  She signaled for Carla to go up first with her diver and go through the chute, while she and Sal remained on the bottom. Cal, she had to admit, had picked a lovely site, all pink, cream and gold fans and strands of kelp. The waves coming in and going out created a graceful ballet, everything dancing around them as they waited for their turn to ascend.

  The Fiesta team had to be eating this up.

  Ben disappeared into the chute overhead, riding the waves over the ledge. Carla flashed a thumbs-up and then circled around to time her ride. Eyes intent on the action overhead, Sal bumped into a patch of fans, startling a young horn shark hiding inside. The shark was a nice specimen, almost three feet long, brown-and-white speckled with the trademark fin. Its tail cut through the water, propelling the shark away from them at lightning speed.

  Nice. Cal’s dive had produced sharks, too. Good thing she’d had all that sea lion cuteness or she’d be seriously worried right now. This dive was good stuff. Just in case Sal had missed the shark sighting, she pointed, but Sal had clearly already seen. He scrambled backward, hyperventilating.

  Horn sharks often hung out in the algae beds off Discovery Island, and Cal had briefed them about the remote possibility of seeing the sharks during the dive. Since horn sharks preferred to hunt for shellfish at night, they hid out during the daytime, resting. Divers formed no part of their dining menu, so Sal had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like he’d just come face to snout with a Great White.

  Either he hadn’t been listening, however, when Cal had walked them through what they might see at the site, or he’d forgotten. He was also going to empty his tank if he kept sucking air in so hard. As if he’d read her mind, he reached behind him, clearly having decided he wasn’t getting enough air and twisted the valve on his tank, cranking hard.

  An enormous spray of bubbles exploded from his regulator as she reached his side and laid a hand on his arm. She could hear him gasping for breath and then there was a second explosion of bubbles, followed by a third as Sal started to hyperventilate. Grabbing her arm, he made a panicked, twisting motion with his hand, signaling he was out of air.

  Not good.

  The first rule of diving safety was to calm down and assess. She looked up. Carla’s diver disappeared into the chute, driving hard with his fins, but Carla circled, clearly torn between descending again to assist and sticking with her dive buddy. Piper had been so focused on an oarfish once, that she’d accidentally held her breath and hyperventilated. What Sal was experiencing was no fun. Because he wasn’t exhaling completely, his lungs were holding on to stale, used air. Then, when he inhaled, he only got part of a breath.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t helping he
r to help him. He thrashed away from her, his fins drilling into her legs. She’d bruise tomorrow, but bruises weren’t the problem. She needed to calm him down and then get him to the surface. She finally caught a peek at his gauge and, holy trouble, Batman. He’d turned the valve the wrong way and was dangerously low on gas.

  She pointed to the bottom, and his eyes widened almost comically. He wanted to ascend now. She understood, but if he went up too fast from fifty feet, he’d have a date with the decompression chamber. Sal was a pompous, arrogant windbag, but she wouldn’t wish a case of the bends on her worst enemy. Unfortunately, he looked like he was beyond reason.

  She sank down to the bottom, tugging on him. If she could get him to kneel, she could at least close his valve and salvage any remaining gas while she got him to buddy breathe with her, but he kept on twisting away from her, trying to keep the shark in his line of vision. Grabbing her dive slate, she scrawled, “Stop. Kneel. I’ve got you.”

  Her answer was another hard explosion of bubbles, Sal’s labored breathing filling her ears as he grabbed for her regulator, clearly determined to fix this problem for himself.

  * * *

  AT PRECISELY FORTY-FIVE minutes, Carla popped to the surface. Cal checked his watch. She’d sped up her ascent. Behind her, Ben surfaced.

  “I need another tank,” Carla yelled, swimming hard for the boat.

  Nope. He’d heard wrong. Carla was done for the day, so why would she need more gas? He eyeballed the area. There was no sign of Daeg yet, but he’d mentioned earlier that his diver might not try shooting the chute. He didn’t see Piper and Sal, however, and the nonsighting was a problem. His senses went on full alert.

  “What’s the issue?” He reached down a hand to help her board.

  “Piper’s guy ran out of air.”

  Sal outweighed Piper almost two to one. He’d be a heavy breather anyhow, and if he panicked... Cal should have gone. He should have known Sal was going to be nothing but trouble. Instead, he’d let Piper step in for him.