Treasure

by Helen Brenna

  “Shhh.” He reached out to touch her, ran his hand down her back and felt bare skin all the way from her shoulder to the graceful curve of her bottom. She was completely naked. Sweet, sweet, woman. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

  His breath came out in a rush. He reclaimed her mouth, slanting back and forth, his tongue diving deep. The taste of champagne and Annie went straight to his senses.

  All at once, passion overrode her lingering awkwardness and she tugged his T-shirt from the waistband of his shorts, impatiently exploring his chest, sides and back. Anything she could get her hands on. The small cabin space charged with their combined need, ricocheting back and forth, gaining in momentum.

  He yanked his shirt off, spun them around and pushed her back against the cabin door. She wrapped her legs around him, chest to breasts, stomach to warm, soft belly and hard need against the ultimate in softness. She was swollen and moist. And rocked against him.

  Pulling away, he held her face in his hands, forcing her to look him in the eye. He was no saint, and she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Still, he had to know how slow he should go. “Are you a virgin?”

  “No. Just inexperienced.”

  Good. Slow didn’t appear to be on tonight’s agenda.

  She moved over to his bunk, flicked on the small lamp and whispered, “Come here.”

  Walking toward her, he absorbed the sight of her, all of her, the moonlight sheen on her skin like sweet cream. “So beautiful.” He closed the distance between them, urged her back with him onto his narrow bunk and folded her under him, kissing a trail down her cheek and neck. Entwining his hands with hers, he raised them above her head. She lifted her knees in a silent invitation, and in one swift movement he was inside her, surrounded by her heat, a part of her.

  “Slow. Slow,” he breathed more to himself than to her, but it was too late. She climaxed around him, tipping him over the edge.

  The Concha. What Concha?

  Annie was all he wanted. All he’d ever need.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “THAT WAS INCREDIBLE.” Annie melted into the bunk in Jake’s cabin, his home, pieces of him surrounding her, and felt alive for the first time in so many years. The cross was back where it belonged, the curse had lifted from her soul like fog on a steady breeze and Jake, though not the dry-docked man of her dreams, had reawakened her body with a vengeance.

  Over and over and over.

  “You were incredible,” he whispered back, his eyes dark and intent. “Inexperienced? Could have fooled me.”

  She laughed and tested this newfound confidence by drawing him toward her, dipping her tongue into his mouth, dancing and playing with him. To her delight, he closed his eyes and groaned. But the more she teased, the more she wanted.

  She should be satisfied, content after making love. Instead, she felt ravenous. How had this come to be, this incredible need? Was it truly the lifting of the Santidad curse, or was it Jake? Was it regaining her balance and her life by facing her fears, or was she falling in love with him?

  Rolling on top of him, she took his face in her hands. “You sure you’re ready for me?”

  He grinned. “Bring it on.”

  Love? No. She was only making up for lost time with a sinfully sexy man. He wanted her. She wanted him. What could be less complex?

  “Jake?” Claire whispered from the hall and followed up with a quiet tap on his cabin door.

  “I’m sorry.” He rested his forehead against hers and growled at the door. “Go away, Claire!”

  “Jake, I need to talk to you.”

  “It can wait until—”

  “All the radios are dead.”

  Annie pulled back from him. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Give me a minute, Claire.” He yanked on his shorts and cracked open the door.

  Claire barged inside. “I can’t believe it—oh!” She blinked at Annie as if the sight of her in Jake’s bunk simply didn’t compute. “Sorry, Annie.”

  “It’s okay.” Conscious of how flushed her skin felt, Annie’s blush deepened.

  “Jake never—”

  “Claire?” he interrupted, obviously in no mood for conversation. “The radios?”

  Claire eased the door closed. “I thought I’d contact Harold at home,” she said, her tone hushed. “Surprise you by having the salvage vessel here in the morning.”

  “And?”

  “The radio in the control room’s dead.”

  “Start the engine. Run it from that.”

  “It’s dead, Jake. As in all the circuits are smashed. And my satellite phone’s missing.”

  “Mine wasn’t working earlier.” He moved to the radio sitting atop his desk and switched it on. Still no power. No static. Snapping off the back panels, he cursed. “This has gone way beyond any simple malfunction.” He glanced around his desk, rummaged through drawers. “My phone is gone.” He opened his laptop. A blank screen.

  Annie wrapped the blanket around her and swung her legs off the bunk to take a look. “Someone’s knocked out all our communications.”

  “Whoever it is doesn’t want us to get the salvage vessel out here tomorrow,” Claire said. “The longer they can delay that, the better their chances of somehow staking a claim on the Concha themselves.”

  “Where’s D.W.?” Jake asked.

  “Probably in his cabin. Jake, he’s not behind this.”

  He stood silent for a moment. “Get him in here. Quietly.”

  Claire disappeared into the dark hallway while Annie pulled on her clothes and asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. This is more serious than I ever expected.” He dragged on his own shirt and went to the small chest next to his bunk. “I’ve never had someone mess with my GPS, let alone phones or radios. Either I’ve been underestimating Westburne, or the truth about that loan shark is worse than the rumors.” He opened the top drawer and drew out a small handgun.

  Annie sucked in a breath. “Is that necessary?”

  “I have to know if we can trust D.W.”

  A quiet tap sounded on the door, and Claire stepped into the cabin followed closely by D.W. “What’s up?” D.W. looked from one person to the next, an uncharacteristically serious furrow on his wide brow.

  Jake held the silent, deadly threat of the gun in his right hand. “How much did Westburne offer you?”

  “I told you it isn’t him,” Claire challenged. D.W. put his arm protectively in front of Claire, pushing her slightly behind him. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Westburne, does it, Jake? You’ve been on my ass since the accident with Sam. Whatever you got to say spit it out. And put away the gun.”

  The pain over his brother’s death was as clear on Jake’s face as the threat of the weapon in his hand. Only Annie understood Jake blamed himself more than anyone for not being able to save Sam. She put herself between Jake and D.W., and laid her hands gently on his chest. “It was an accident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  “If D.W. had pulled the winch line up faster, Sam might still be alive.”

  “You think I didn’t want to?” D.W. pressed forward, and Claire held him back. “You think I haven’t beaten myself up, second-guessed myself, over every move I made that day, wondering if I should have risked your life for his? I lost my best friend forever maybe because of something I did or didn’t do or should have done better. I gotta live with that. Every day.” Puffing his chest out, he glared at Jake. “And every day I wish I could bring him back. So go ahead, Jake. Shoot. You can’t hurt me any more than I already hurt.”

  Jake glared right back at D.W. Then, like a balloon losing its air, the anger fizzled right out of him. He gave up, quit fighting. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it? I should have known he’d try to go deeper.”

  “No, Jake. No!” Claire let go of D.W. “Sam made the mistake. Not you. You never pushed him. He did that all by himself. He love
d being the best, being everyone’s hero.”

  “But if I hadn’t gotten my foot caught in that line…”

  “Man, don’t do this to yourself.” D.W. reached for Jake’s shoulder and squeezed. “No one’s ever doubted you for a second. If there’d been a way to save Sam you would have done it.”

  Jake swallowed. “I’m sorry, D.W.”

  “Me, too.” Their gazes locked and understanding passed between them in a healing wave. Annie knew it might take a while, but eventually Jake would let himself off this hook.

  “We don’t have time for this.” Jake cleared his throat, took a deep breath and stuffed the gun in the waistband of his shorts. “I have to clear up two things. D.W., you got anything to do with Mitch Westburne these days?”

  “No way! Last time I saw him was at your dad’s funeral.”

  “You have anything to do with sabotaging the GPS and all our communications?”

  “Everything?” D.W. glanced at Claire for confirmation.

  That was all Jake needed to know. “Either Simon or Ronny are working with Westburne.”

  Claire headed for the door. “I’m getting their butts out of bed. I want to know who it is.”

  “No.” Jake held her back. “This gives us a chance to make our own move.” He went to the table by his bunk, pulled out another gun and handed it to D.W. “You’re taking Annie and Claire to Andros in the raft. There’s a village around the point called Lowe Sound. They might not have a phone there. Go a few miles east to Morgan’s Bluff. Call Harold. Update him. Stay put. Someone will be around to pick you up after the storm passes.”

  “Maybe I’d better stay,” D.W. said. “The two women will be all right making it to shore alone.”

  Annie straightened her shoulders. No one could talk her into leaving Jake alone. “I’m staying.”

  “I think we should all stay,” Claire offered. “Or we should all leave.”

  “All of us leaving is exactly what they want,” Jake bit out in a soft, deadly tone. “With no one here in the morning, there’d be nothing to stop them from waltzing in here and claiming the site. I’ve spent the last ten years looking for the Concha. I’m not leaving it now.”

  “I’ve already lost a husband,” Claire said. “I don’t want to lose you too, Jake.”

  “No one’s losing anyone here,” Jake shot back. “Westburne’s just trying to run us out of here. Now this is my ship. I give the orders. D.W., Claire and Annie, you’re out of here. Let’s get the raft in the water as quietly as possible. Where are Simon and Ronny?”

  “The rain cut our party short. They both drank a little too much and went to their cabins. I’m guessing they’ve conked out by now,” Claire whispered. “So whoever busted the radio doesn’t know that we know it’s out of commission. They still think we’re planning on contacting Harold first thing tomorrow.”

  “That’ll buy us some time. At least until morning.” Jake opened his cabin door, and the four filed quietly onto the upper deck. The winds had picked up steam, and a steady rain met them, soaking their hair and clothing in seconds. At the stern, Jake opened a bench storage compartment and dragged out a self-inflatable raft. He yanked on a cord and tossed it into the rough water below. D.W. climbed down the ladder, and Jake silently handed him a small outboard motor, a tank of gas and a set of paddles. Claire went next. He turned back to Annie and whispered, “Your turn.”

  She stepped back, shaking her head.

  He glared at her, trying to silently bully her into moving. When she didn’t come forward, he whispered, “Annie, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “What if both Simon and Ronny are in with Westburne?” she whispered back. “If Claire and D.W. aren’t able to get the salvage vessel here by morning, you’re going to need all the help you can get. Short of throwing me in the raft, which would cause more noise than I’ll bet you’re willing to make, you’re not getting me off this boat. I’ll be safe with you in your cabin.”

  He closed his eyes for a second before leaning over the Mañana’s stern. “Annie’s staying with me.”

  Claire shot her a grateful, tear-filled gaze. “Good,” she whispered. “Jake, I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I was angry and out of line.”

  “You were angry and right. When you get to a phone, tell Mom and Harold I’ll be best man at their wedding. Okay? You guys need to hit it before the storm gets worse. Westburne’s out there somewhere. Possibly on the other side of the point. Use the paddles to start, and wait to switch to the motor until you think you’ve passed him.”

  “We’ll take the raft as close in to the island as we can,” D.W. whispered. “With the cloud cover, we’ll be okay.”

  Jake nodded. “Follow the shoreline around the point and to the village.” He untied the raft, threw the rope to Claire, and gave her one long last look.

  She held his gaze, her eyes welling with tears. “I know, Jake,” she whispered back. “You be careful, too.”

  Annie watched their silhouettes bob on the choppy water and disappear into the darkness. Rain washed her cheek and a southerly wind whipped at the damp tendrils of hair on her back. Worry tensed the set of Jake’s wide shoulders. “D.W. will take care of her,” she said, stepping to his side and hooking an arm around his waist.

  He rested his head against hers. “Westburne’s never done anything like this before. First the radios, then what?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  HALF LYING, HALF SITTING on his bunk, Jake jerked up and smacked his head against the cabin wall with a soft thud. His eyes popped open as he felt the Mañana rocking to the waves, listened to the sound of raindrops hitting the upper deck. Damn it! He’d fallen asleep. For how long, he’d no idea. He relaxed back, took a deep breath and smelled…Annie. Lying in his bunk with her head resting on his chest, her arm wrapped around him and her leg slung over his, he felt like a sardine crammed in a tin can.

  Not that he wanted to move. He didn’t. Actually, he did. He would have loved to strip off their clothes and make love again. The thought created an instantaneous hard-on. Not exactly what he needed with broken radios, disappearing phones and Claire and D.W. at risk out on the stormy water, but understandable considering how incredible he and Annie had been together. She’d fit him better than his favorite wetsuit, known where he’d wanted her to touch him without so much as a word and matched his fever stroke for delicious stroke.

  Lazily, he swirled his fingertips around on her skin, on that sweeter than sweet curve of her waist. I could do this all night, he thought, surprising himself.

  Why did he always have to be in such a hurry, anyway? Most treasures they dived for had been out there for hundreds of years. They weren’t going anywhere. He could slow things down, and OEI’s doors would stay open. The employees would still get their paychecks. Life would go on at a slightly less intense level. Well, less intense on some levels.

  He moved down and shifted onto his side, ran his hand across her belly. Her skin softer than—

  He stilled. Something wasn’t right. With his head now flat against the bunk, the angle felt wrong. Their heads, toward the ship’s outer hull, were lying lower than they should. Their bodies tilted abnormally even for this kind of storm.

  Annie stirred. “Jake, what’s the matter?”

  “Shhh.” He listened. Water. Not trickling, but running. Fast. He jolted upright. “We’re taking on water!” He jumped off the bunk. The floor was already covered with close to a foot of seawater. He had to get Annie off this ship!

  He bolted for the door. It wouldn’t budge. He pushed on the lock. It wouldn’t slide. “The lock’s jammed!” He pounded on the wall. “Ronny! Simon! Get up!” He pounded again. No response. “Ronny! Simon!” he yelled again, body slamming the door. “Annie, help me find something to break the wood.” Frantic, they searched the room. The water in the cabin was nearly to their knees. “This water keeps coming and we’re going to capsize. The Mañana will tip over.”

  “What about this?” She p
roduced a portable stereo.

  He seized it. “If we start flipping, hop into the bunk. Brace yourself for the roll. Don’t forget to cover your head.”

  “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me! Get yourself onto the bunk.” He slammed the stereo against the door as the water reached his thighs. The stereo shattered to pieces with only a dent to show for the effort. “I need something bigger, heavier.”

  “How could this happen?” She handed him a small fire extinguisher.

  “Could be a loose hull fitting.” He pounded the extinguisher against the lock on the door, making a few small dents. “All I know is we’re taking on water.” He pounded again and again, splintering the wood. “Once we flip, she’ll start sinking. We’ll have only a couple minutes before the cabins fill completely with water.”

  Oh, God, he didn’t want Annie to die. He didn’t want to die. Not now. He squatted, with water covering his mouth, and kicked the door with every ounce of strength in his legs. It gave slightly, cracking along the frame. He kicked again.

  The ship creaked and tilted.

  He stuck his head above water and yelled, “We’re going over!”

  Annie scrambled onto the bunk.

  One final kick at the door made a hole big enough for them to climb through. The ship rolled to its side and flipped completely upside down. Everything loose in the cabin—desk, chairs, table, every knickknack—and Jake fell to the ceiling. The broken glass from a picture frame cut into his head. He found himself under water with more pouring in earnest through the partially demolished door into the cabin. He felt Annie reaching for him. He grabbed her hands and pulled himself above water.

  “Oh, my God!” she cried, touching his cheek and forehead. “You have blood all over your face!”