by Sarah Monzon
A couple of scoots and he was right beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pressed her head to his chest.
She took a shuddering breath. “I made a promise to myself a long time ago.”
An abstinence pledge. His baby sister had signed one two years ago. Amber had even gotten a fancy ring to signify her commitment to remain pure until she got married. Summer’s finger bore no such ring.
“I don’t know my father.”
Whoa. Gear shift.
“My mom had a fling with this guy when she was twenty. They used protection, but she still got pregnant. I promised myself no child of mine would grow up without knowing their father.” She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
Trent twirled a piece of her hair around his finger. “My sister made an abstinence pledge a couple of years ago.”
Her temple rested on her knees as she turned her green eyes on him. That cute button nose of hers scrunched. “Abstinence pledge?”
“A promise to save sex until marriage. It’s a religious thing. My whole family is big into religion and Jesus. I’m the black sheep.”
“You don’t believe in Jesus?”
How was he supposed to answer that? In his mind, God was definitely not the compassionate and loving personal Savior that his parents claimed. If He did exist at all, it was in the capacity of arbitrary judge. And who wanted to put stock in a deity like that?
Trent stood and brushed off his backside, then offered his hand to help Summer up. "Come on. It’s getting late, and we've got a long day in the water tomorrow.”
They walked back to the hotel together, the crash of the waves nature’s serenade. When they reached the door to their room, Trent stopped Summer with a hand to her arm. She turned to face him.
“I like you, Summer Arnet, marine photographer, and I'd like to see where this goes. What d’ya say? Will you go on a grand adventure with me?”
She looked down at her feet, which left him staring at the top of her head. He willed her to turn those big green eyes on him, to give him a smile and say she was ready for thrills with him. Seconds ticked by, and with each one his confidence dripped like a leaky faucet, until he was more sure she was about to say no rather than yes.
He reached out and stroked a finger down her cheek and around to her chin, lifting it gently. There was a connection between them. She had to feel it too. If she couldn’t hear it with his words, maybe she’d see it in his eyes.
She looked at him, finally, and he put all his feeling into his gaze.
See my heart.
Her lip caught in her teeth, her internal struggle clearly written on her face. What was holding her back?
He lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. Surely she could feel how affected he was. How his pulse raced at her nearness.
“I can’t, Trent.” She didn’t retreat but stared at her hands on his chest. “You drive me crazy, both good and bad, but you aren’t a staying type of guy. You’re the guy mothers warn their daughters about, and Mama knows best.” She looked up at him and shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kissed you—”
He stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Don’t ever apologize for a kiss, love.” He traced the outline of her mouth. Its sweetness would haunt him, but he’d rather be driven mad by the memory than remain sane without knowing its tender touch.
Slowly he lowered his forehead until it rested on hers. “I’m going to have to prove you wrong, you know.”
She pulled back her head and looked into his eyes. “I hope you do.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I can't believe you didn't check the weather forecast. How moronic can you be?"
“For the hundredth time, I did check. The storm was supposed to hit Jamaica.”
“Everyone knows that storms can change direction. You should have waited till everything was clear. This is such a waste.”
“I don't know why you're so upset. I'm the one out money.”
Angry voices seeped through the closed door and into Summer's subconscious. She rolled over and groaned, pressing the heels of her palms to her temples. Make them stop. Her head throbbed, and she didn't want to deal with anything right now.
“Maybe the storm will pass and we can dive tomorrow.”
Grogginess clouded her mind. Had they said storm? Summer pulled the covers down from over her head. Rain slapped the window. Not the pitter-patter of an early morning shower, but the pelting of a major gale. The howl of wind whistled low on the other side of the wall. She flung her arm across her face and buried her eyes in the hollow of her elbow. What was the date? Right, June 21. Hurricane season had officially started three weeks ago.
Apparently Mother Nature was toying with Trent's—and by extension, her—plans. She burrowed deeper into the pillow-top mattress. No point in getting up.
“No, you can't go diving tomorrow or any time before we leave. You'd know that if you were a real diver.”
“I'm going to continue to ignore your insults, but I'm warning you. My patience only goes so far.”
Summer groaned. Maybe there was a point to getting up after all. She didn't know how far either Jonathan or Trent would go before testosterone cut off their brain waves.
She pushed back the covers and sat up. Too fast. What evil hands of hell gripped her head in a sadistic vice? She needed coffee. Fast.
Her feet padded under her as she trudged to the door. She glanced at the mirror as she passed but felt too horrible to care that a flock of birds had made a nest in her hair as she'd slept or that under eyes were circles the size of quarters.
The door creaked open, and the angry voices stopped midargument. Two pairs of eyes stared at her.
“Coffee.”
Jonathan looked away first and pointed to a pot on the kitchenette counter. “I know how you need a cup—or four—first thing in the morning, so I made a pot when I woke up.”
Sweet, sweet man.
Steam rose as she poured the rich elixir of life into an absurdly small hotel mug. She inhaled deeply, the demon's fingers loosening his grip.
“You look awful.”
Her eyes snapped up. Trent's face held a look of horror. She glanced past him to the glass balcony doors and the storm raging outside. All was an ominous gray. Rain swept sideways, palm trees bent, their fronds flapping like flags on a flagpole. She looked back at the absurdly handsome man. No one should look that good first thing in the morning. “Looks like I have all day to rectify that.”
Trent stepped forward, hands outstretched. “I didn't mean that. You look cute.”
Keep backpedaling, dude.
Jonathan snorted from the couch.
“I meant you look like you've had a rough night. You okay?”
“Save it.” She'd need at least two more of these minuscule cups of coffee before she started to care.
Trent scooped up the remote from the coffee table. “The weather should be on TV soon. Maybe the storm is moving quickly and will clear up later today.”
Jonathan scoffed. “Summer, please, talk some sense into this guy.”
The screen buzzed to life. A commercial blared before Trent turned it down.
Summer rubbed her forehead. “A big storm like this, I'm guessing a tropical storm or tropical depression at least, is going to leave the ocean churned up for days.”
A woman with a pixie cut standing in front of a green screen flashed on the TV. “Tropical storm Marie surprised us all during the night. Those in Louisiana can take a big sigh of relief. The eastern seaboard, be prepared to pull up your bootstraps. Currently over the Bahamas, people in Florida should expect to see Marie around six tomorrow morning.”
“See there. We may have lost today to Marie, but she'll be someone else's problem tomorrow. We still have two more days we can dive.” Trent's brows lifted high on his forehead, his eyes wide and expectant.
She hated to disappoint him, especially since he looked like a little boy pleading not to have his to
y taken away. “I'm afraid that's not how it works. The rains may stop, but we'd all be in need of heavy doses of Dramamine to survive the choppy waters. Not to mention that once we got in the water, we'd be swimming around with nothing to show for it. Visibility is going to be lousy for days. No way we'd be able to spot your ship.” She walked to where he sat on the love seat and squeezed his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her hand. A thrill shot through her arm, but she tried to suppress it. Might as well have tried to put a pot lid over Old Faithful. If only her body would react in a sensible manner and follow the logic in her head. A girl could lose her heart to a guy like Trent, and she’d never get it back again.
She glanced at Jonathan, who sat on the loveseat beside Trent. Had he seen the romantic gesture? Yep. He’d seen it all right. His face held a mixture of shock and hurt. A guillotine sliced through her heart. She wanted to assure him that it wasn’t what it looked like. She’d done the smart thing and turned Trent down. Of course that came after a kiss that left her senseless, but that wasn’t the point. She’d made the rational decision in the end.
Lightning flashed in the darkened sky, followed by the rumble of thunder.
Summer realized her hand still lay on Trent’s shoulder, and she let it fall to her side. She’d need to be more careful in the future. For all their sakes. Trent didn’t need any encouragement, Jonathan didn’t need to get the wrong impression, and she didn’t need any more confusion in her tumbled emotions.
How many cups of coffee had she had? One more wouldn’t hurt. She turned, but her wrist was caught in a tight grip, and Trent hauled her down to his lap.
What was he thinking? Damage control kicked in, and she cast a quick glance to Jonathan. He looked anywhere but at them.
She tried to stand, but Trent refused to release his grip. “Jonathan, it’s not what you—” Jonathan turned sad blue eyes toward her. “Don't worry about it, Summer. How'd you think he knew where to find you last night?”
“You…” So many questions. Not an hour after he’d declared his love and she’d told him they would only remain friends, he’d sent Trent out to find her? Why? And what was wrong with her that she couldn’t conjure feelings for such a wonderful guy?
He grabbed a bottle of water from the coffee table and stood. “I'm going to head to the weight room. I'll catch you guys later.”
The air grew heavy as he passed, and Summer felt the weight of it on her shoulders. Guilt sat like an anchor in her stomach.
Why couldn't Trent have pretended nothing had happened between them? Or at the very least respect the he wasn’t the right guy for her. The insensitive jerk. She reached down and pinched the inside of his thigh.
He jumped sideways. “Hey! What was that for?” Knocked off balance by his hasty movement, her back now rested against the arm of the chair, her legs draped over his lap. Trent rubbed at his thigh, his brows pulled down in a scowl.
He should feel lucky all she'd done was pinch him. “You made Jonathan think we’re a couple, when we’re not.”
“Is that what I did?” His eyes were wide and clear, and he wore innocence like a mask. Only his twitching lips gave him away.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the glass doors, grinding her teeth.
Trent’s finger trailing up and down her shin immediately drew her attention back. An internal shiver ran up her spine. “You're adorable when you're mad—did you know that?”
His voice was thick, husky, and low, and he regarded her with a magnetic gaze, pulling her in by a force she couldn’t resist. Like a strong rip current, if she didn’t find shore and kick hard, she’d drown in the ocean of his sweet talking.
Sweet talking. He’d probably used that line on a number of girls. Besides, no way she could look adorable in—she glanced down—cotton pajama shorts and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt. Shoot, she hadn't even…oh goodness, she hadn't even brushed her hair!
Mortification rushed to her cheeks, and she wished the couch would swallow her up. How could she have stepped out of the room without at least brushing her hair? She ran her tongue over her top teeth. Gritty. Someone kill me now. Her only hope was if the coffee had masked her morning breath. Not that coffee breath was any better.
She slid her legs from his lap, stood, and began to walk backward. “I'm just going to…umm…uh…I'll be right back.” She turned and rushed into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
***
Trent chuckled to himself. Life would never be boring around Summer. Not that his life had ever been boring, but still. She was…refreshing.
Thunder cracked like a whip outside the glass doors, and he could almost feel its sting. He hung his head in his hands. So close to the sunken galleon and yet he might as well be on Mars, the good it would do him. This was supposed to be his time, his moment. Surfing the highs and thrills of adventure, not hiding away in a hotel room waiting out foul weather. If only he could get a tank on his back, fins on his feet, and a regulator in his mouth.
Of course, he'd need the winds to not be fifty-seven miles an hour and the rain to stop pouring—what was it his sister called it? Right—pouring calicos and collies. Cute kid. Stupid meteorologists. Couldn't even predict a major storm they saw miles away.
Don’t you believe in Jesus? He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He hadn't answered Summer's question the night before, and he wasn't inclined to answer it now. If he did, he'd be tempted to say God had pursed His divine lips and blew the storm to hit the Bahamas. He had the whole world in His hands, after all, didn't He?
Trent stood and walked to the tall glass doors. Raindrops fell like tiny waterfalls along its clear surface. No way this was all some sort of divine plan. It was natural science. Pressure in the atmosphere directing Marie's course. That was all.
Now to plan his own course of action. He'd nearly maxed out his credit card to pay for the three airline tickets, the hotel suite, and to reserve the boat and diving equipment. Maybe he could get his deposit back on the rentals. That would at least make the minimum payments on his credit card for a bit while he figured out his next step.
What he needed was cash. Fast. A way to get back on the island when there wasn't a tropical storm ruining his plans. After he got his hands on the pieces of eight sure to be in the galleon's hold, he could pay off his debts. But what could he do to earn money until then?
His mind flipped like the old-time rolodex his dad still kept in his office.
Dad.
He felt the color drain from his face. There had to be other options besides that one. Survival and sanity weren't guaranteed if he spent too much time around his family. They’d all be laying hands on him, trying to get the Devil out. One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. They were crazy Jesus people, but they weren’t that crazy. More like drove him crazy, was all.
He looked past the rain-smattered glass, past the bent and flapping palm trees, to the white-capped waves rising and falling in an angry torrent. Out there somewhere was everything he’d been looking for. He couldn’t give up the hunt just because he was afraid to spend any real time with his family.
It wasn’t like they were going to convert him.
Chapter Fifteen
Atlantic Ocean, 1689
Isabella's heart leapt to her throat and choked her as she clutched her hands to her chest. The strips of material she'd used to bind herself unraveled at her feet. Would Luis call out and reveal her secret to all the ungodly men on board? What would they do when they discovered she wasn't a boy after all?
“Y-y-you are woman,” Luis repeated, his fever-glazed eyes wide in shock.
Isabella took a step forward, the tails of her bindings trailing behind. “Luis, please.”
The sick man blinked a few times, then turned his head to the side. “I will not look so you can…” He lifted his hand slightly and waved it around.
So she could rewrap herself. Relief made her knees weak. He wasn't go
ing to call out for the captain or another sailor. Isabella turned her back and hurried to lift the long cotton shirt back up, bunching the hem under her chin. Grandmother's necklace was once again secure, and she wound the long strip of material around her bosom. Her ribs were constricted, but less than she was used to in a corset. She pulled the ends of the material taut and tucked in the knot. With her shirt back in place, she was once more the image of a mere cabin boy.
Luis's body convulsed with a deep cough. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Isabella rushed forward and wrung out the cloth lying in a basin of water. She dabbed at the crimson liquid and pushed sweat-soaked hair out of the man's eyes. When the spasm of coughing ceased, Luis lay back on his pallet, exhaustion etching creases on his brow.
“Will you tell Captain Montoya?” She didn't want to add to his burden, but she had to know. Her life depended on it.
Bloodshot eyes regarded her, and she held her breath. Everything hinged on what he would say next.
“I will keep your secret.”
Gracias Díos.
“But you need to do something for me.”
The knot in her stomach that had begun to loosen clenched once again. What could he possibly ask? Her mind jumped back to the two men in the hold the day before. Luis hadn't been one of the traitors, but was he a part of whatever they were scheming?
“My son—” A cough cut off his words. “When I die, my son will be alone. I do not wish for him to spend his entire life on the sea with only the influence of hardened sailors about him. You must take him. Watch over him. Be a mama to him. You must promise.”
How could she be responsible for another human being? Once the ship landed in the New World, she had no idea where she would go. There was no one waiting to take her in. No warm bed or house in which she was certain a residence. The only protection from starvation was the hard metal of Abuela’s necklace rubbing sores on her chest.
Little Luis's face took shape in her mind. How could she leave him alone, orphaned? “I promise, señor.”
“Bien.” He settled more fully into his pallet. “Now, I am hungry. Could you please bring me something to eat?”