Under the Surface

by Kira Sinclair

  Maybe it was Jackson’s years working in the SEAL Teams that allowed him to foster that kind of atmosphere among the guys. His crew had certainly been together less time than hers.

  Now it was late. The ship was quiet. And she couldn’t sleep. Lying in Jackson’s bed had left her fidgety and achy in a way she didn’t want to explore. Needing a distraction, Loralei threw on some shorts and a tank and headed out into the quiet ship.

  Dim, florescent lights illuminated the corridor. She could head up to the top deck, but after the events of the day she didn’t think testing the boundaries of her fear in the dark was a smart idea.

  Instead, she turned in the other direction. Most of the doors she passed were closed, but the one leading to the office she’d seen the first night she’d snuck onto the Amphitrite stood open.

  Maybe she’d find Jackson there.

  She shouldn’t be looking for him. The restlessness throbbing through her body told her searching him out was a very bad idea. Yet, that didn’t stop her from drawing closer.

  It quickly became obvious he wasn’t there. The room was dark, just as she’d found it the first night. Although tonight a laptop that hadn’t been there before sat open on the table.

  It was on, faint light spilling from the screen.

  Drawn to it, Loralei found herself staring down at the information highlighted there. Several screens were open, tiled one over the other in a way that beckoned her to look.

  Information. Documents. Charts.

  The historian in her couldn’t stop reading the details, drinking in the data. Her instinct was to record it.

  Grabbing out her phone, Loralei leaned close and snapped picture after picture of each open window.

  The minute she clicked through the last screen Loralei’s belly began to churn with regret and guilt. But not enough to delete the pictures.

  It wasn’t as if she’d be able to unsee what she’d read, anyway.

  She knew the information on those screens. It was eerily similar to what she’d found in her father’s office.

  Although, there were a few differences. The question became had her father uncovered it first or had Jackson.

  Right now, she didn’t know the answer and didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  It was possible Jackson had discovered something she hadn’t. For the past few days she’d been fighting the feeling she was missing something. Something very important.

  That she just wasn’t seeing a piece of the puzzle.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered the sensation, and it always drove her crazy when she did. She hated to be out of the loop or left in the dark. Maybe that was what made her a good historian.

  Pushing away from the table, Loralei returned to the hallway.

  She headed for the galley. Maybe a midnight snack would help settle her. If nothing else, it would give her hands something to do as her mind worked through how she was going to handle this.

  Flipping on the lights, she surveyed the empty room. It was stark and industrial, everything put away in its place...for now. She was about to make a mess.

  It was one of the things she loved about cooking, something she often did when she was upset or unsettled. It was a trick her grandmother had taught her, to channel the energy into something productive.

  She really wanted to make something chocolaty and gooey, like walnut and caramel brownies. However, the pantry had definitely been stocked by men. The abundance of staples such as canned food, peanut butter and dried beef products had her scrunching her nose with distaste.

  Luckily, she did manage to find a couple packages of chocolate chips, a container of oatmeal, some raisins, flour, sugar, butter and vanilla. They weren’t going to be anything spectacular, but at least she could make some cookies.

  With everything spread across the stainless steel table that doubled as counter space, and the oven set to preheat, Loralei started mixing ingredients.

  She didn’t bother measuring anything, just dumped and adjusted as necessary. After a few minutes, that itchy, uncomfortable feeling that had lodged in the center of her spine eased. She hummed, twisting her body to a melody only she could hear in her head, wishing like hell she’d thought to grab her earbuds so she could listen to some music.

  She plopped dough on to a greased cookie sheet. Wiggling her rear, she bent down to put the first batch into the oven before shutting the door with a pop of her hip.

  Spinning around, she was headed back to the table for another round when movement caught her eye.

  She gasped, her heart kicking against her ribs.

  Jackson stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his massive chest. His body was completely relaxed, leaning against the jamb in a way that told her without asking that he’d been there awhile.

  “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me,” she said, scowling. She picked up another pan and set it on the counter. Reaching for the stick of butter, she grasped the end and ran it lightly along the surface.

  “We have that spray stuff.”

  Loralei wrinkled her nose. “Do you know how many preservatives and artificial ingredients are in that? You might as well spray chemicals directly onto your cookies.”

  “Because chemicals are worse than sugar at—” he rolled his wrist to look at the face of his complicated watch “—half-past midnight.”

  She shrugged. He had a point, but she wasn’t ready to concede it.

  “What are you doing, Loralei?”

  She shot him an incredulous look, but answered anyway. “Baking cookies.”

  “Okay, but why? And why now?”

  She reached for the bowl of chocolate-chip cookie dough and began spooning another batch onto the greased sheet. “I couldn’t sleep. This is what I do when I’m restless.”

  “You bake?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  Jackson moved farther into the room. For the first time since she’d walked in, the space felt small. He stopped on the other side of the table, but that didn’t help much.

  His hands pressed flat against the shiny, silvery surface. She couldn’t stop staring at them. They were strong and tanned, with a sprinkling of blond hair.

  She could remember them running up and down her body. The way he’d touched and teased, awakening nerve endings and desires she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Loralei swallowed and dragged her gaze back to the bowl.

  “I’m not.”

  “My grandmother and I would make cookies together whenever either of us was upset. Or when I had a bad day at school. When some boy broke my heart. We’d bake. Mostly in silence, just the familiar comfort and routine.”

  Loralei smiled at the memories. They were some of her favorites. Behind her, the timer she’d set began to buzz. Twisting away, she pulled the hot pan from the oven and popped in the second one.

  After setting it on the table, she reached for a spatula to transfer the cookies to the rack she’d found tucked away with the cookie sheets.

  Jackson didn’t bother to wait. He snatched one straight from the pan, tossing it back and forth between his hands so that it wouldn’t burn his fingers. He broke it in half and somehow managed to blow on the cookie at the same time he shoved it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

  For some reason Loralei’s shoulders tightened as she waited to hear his verdict.

  Everything loosened again when he let out a groan of delight, his eyes slipping shut in ecstasy.

  “I’m sure it didn’t hurt that when you were done there were always warm, gooey treats to share. These are so damn good. A hell of a lot better than anything from a package.”

  She tossed him a saucy grin. “That’s what happens when you use real ingredients instead of the crap in a can or box.”

  His cocky grin, the one that both set her on edge and managed to leave her feeling effervescent inside, slowly melted away. With deliberate movements, Jackson rounded the table. It wasn’t quick. She had plenty of time to shift.


  But she didn’t. She couldn’t. If she was honest, this was exactly what she’d been looking for when she left her room. And would have been so much easier to deal with if she hadn’t made her little detour first.

  She expected him to crowd into her personal space, to kiss her and take the choice out of her hands. It would have been less complicated if he’d done that.

  Instead he reached for her hair, pinched a lock between his forefinger and thumb and ran down it. Her scalp tingled.

  He continued to rake her with that intense stare, but there was something else beneath it, not just hunger, but real concern. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Loralei sighed. She moved away from him, reaching for the ingredients to mix together her oatmeal raisin cookies.

  But Jackson wasn’t willing to let her get away with that distraction anymore. He shifted right along with her, sliding down the counter as she moved and stirred.

  “You’re worried.”

  “Yeah, I’m worried.” Anyone in her situation would be worried. “My ship is in danger of sinking.”

  “It isn’t. Your team sealed the bulkhead and contained the leak before we left the Emily.”

  “Great,” she said, tossing her hands and sending a small puff of flour into the air. “That’s perfect, because either way I’m going to have to pay for a tow back to the marina and hire a new ship to finish this trip, spending money I don’t actually have going after a treasure I might never find.”

  Loralei heard the desperation in her voice and hated herself just a little bit for it. Even more for revealing it to Jackson. It shouldn’t matter this much. But it did.

  Tears burned her eyelids. She kept her gaze trained on the dough, taking out her frustrations and emotions on the hapless pile of ingredients.

  She’d wanted to find the Chimera for her father. For herself. And up until this afternoon, she’d thought maybe, just maybe, she could pull it off. Share this one thing with the father she’d never really had a chance to know. But now...

  “We’re dead in the water and there’s no way we’re going to beat your crew to the Chimera.”

  * * *

  HE WANTED TO comfort her. He shouldn’t want to, but he did.

  “We’re not going to leave you here alone with a disabled ship.”

  He should feel frustrated. The Emily’s troubles were going to delay his own search for the Chimera.

  But even if he could get his team and equipment to the next dive site, he wasn’t willing to leave Loralei and her team alone to ramble around the Amphitrite unchecked.

  That was just asking for trouble.

  Taking a break from the paperwork and research he’d been doing to keep his mind off the woman occupying his bed, Jackson had taken a stroll up to the top deck. On his way back he’d been surprised to see the light on in the galley. Even more so that Loralei had been the one inside. He’d thought her asleep a long time ago.

  He’d hung back for a bit, wondering just what she’d been up to. Baking cookies hadn’t been on his list of possibilities.

  Stepping closer now, Jackson purposely moved into her space. She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t have to for him to gauge her reaction.

  He’d been trained to notice miniscule details. The way her grip on the mixing spoon tightened. Or how her body instinctively dipped toward him. Her parted lips and increased pulse.

  She was aware of him, even if she didn’t want to be.

  Using a single finger, he slipped it beneath the thin strap of the tank top she was wearing. Her skin was so soft and smooth. It invited him to touch more.

  Last night had been an explosion of pent-up lust. Right now, he wanted to spread her across the stainless steel and make a feast out of her.

  Her body began to quiver beneath his gentle caress. He could feel the tremors she was desperately trying to deny.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He should listen to her, and not just because he’d always been the kind of man who took no as an absolute response. Loralei Lancaster was going to be the death of him.

  But at least he’d die with a smile on his face.

  Burying his nose in the cloud of her hair, he breathed deep, pulled her scent into his lungs. Tonight that signature sweet fragrance he’d come to associate with her was combined with the tang of semisweet chocolate.

  There was something about a woman who baked that always got to him. Maybe it was because his mom hadn’t been much of a cook. Or because his stepmom had been, bringing that taste of domestic normalcy into his life when he’d needed it most.

  Either way, he should have known to turn around and walk away the moment Loralei had started pulling out ingredients.

  It was way too late for that now.

  “Do you really mean that?” he asked, running his lips up the side of her neck, not quite kissing her, but not letting her go, either.

  Loralei melted against him. It was an undeniable sign that her body was lost to the same cravings overwhelming him. But he needed the words. Gripping her hips, Jackson turned her, pressing her back against the counter.

  “Do you want me to stop, Loralei?” he asked, staring down at her.

  Jackson watched the rise and fall of her chest as she drew in several shallow breaths. Her struggle fascinated him, probably more than it should have. Maybe because he was fighting the same things. Would what she wanted outweigh what she thought she should do?

  It obviously had for him—more than once.

  “No,” she finally breathed out, desire winning over reason.

  Without another word, Jackson turned away.

  She reached for him, grabbing onto his arm.

  Anger chased across her face. “You bastard. You just wanted to hear me admit that I wanted you, didn’t you?”

  Jackson shot a glance over his shoulder, letting the heat of his desire singe her. He didn’t bother answering, instead flipping the knob on the oven.

  Her eyes followed his every movement, eating each deliberate step with interest.

  Turning back, he swept her into his arms.

  “We’ve had enough disaster for one day, don’t you think?”

  12

  JACKSON WASN’T WRONG. Loralei had had more than enough disaster to last a lifetime.

  Cradled tight against his body, she couldn’t think of a better place to be to soothe her jagged nerves. She’d been trying to avoid this from the moment she’d stepped onto the Amphitrite, but it was absolutely inevitable.

  She couldn’t be this close to Jackson and not want him. The need went deep. It was an addiction, that thing her brain told her she shouldn’t have, but her body craved.

  Her body was winning tonight.

  Palming her thighs, Jackson wrapped them around his waist and strode out of the galley. In that moment, she didn’t care where he was taking her, as long as it meant they’d both get what they wanted.

  Loralei wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer, but a sudden thought stopped her.

  “What if someone sees us?”

  Jackson paused in the hallway, sending a spike of anxiety through Loralei.

  “No, don’t stop.” Why was he standing still? She wanted him to keep going. Loralei squirmed, but Jackson simply tightened his hold on her.

  “I don’t care, princess. It’s no one’s business what’s going on between us.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. That’s what he thought.

  She had no idea what his crew would think if one of them wandered into the hallway and saw Jackson holding her this way. But she had a damn good idea what her team would think. Brian would be the ringleader in an attempt to pound the shit out of Jackson.

  And that was a mess she didn’t have the energy to deal with tonight.

  Brian had clearly been spoiling for a fight from the moment Jackson had boarded Emily’s Fortune. There was definitely tension between them, and she sensed there was more to it than
Trident stealing Lancaster’s clients.

  But that was a thought for another time.

  Jackson probably would get a pat on the back from his guys for landing the only female on the ship. She definitely had the most to lose here if they were discovered.

  But there was more than one way to compel him into action.

  Using her clasped hands behind his neck, Loralei used her thighs and levered herself up until she could reach his mouth. She kissed him, diving straight into the sensation of his lips against hers.

  They fought for control of the kiss, tongues tangling in a thrust and retreat that left her panting. Pulling back, she scraped her teeth across his bottom lip and growled, “Get a move on, ace.”

  And he did exactly as she commanded, his purposeful strides eating ground at lightning speed until the cabin door was shut firmly behind them. The rest of the world—the rest of the ship—was blocked out.

  Slowly, Jackson let her body slide down his, igniting all sorts of nerve endings.

  Her feet hit the floor and she swayed. The only thing keeping her upright were his hands on her. But before she could regain her balance, Jackson spun her around. The room revolved, everything blurring away except for the heat emanating off his skin, the familiar scent of him.

  Pressing her back to his front, Jackson let his fingers slip beneath the hem of her shirt and dragged it up her stomach in a cotton-covered caress.

  There was no point in fighting—herself or him. Loralei let her head drop back to his shoulder, relishing the way his strong body caught hers. The only time they separated was when he lifted her shirt over her head.

  Those moments apart felt like agony. Loralei counted them with her pulse and the soft puffs of Jackson’s ragged breaths.

  This was what she’d been trying not to think about all day. The feel of him. The way he made her mindless and needy and...so completely focused that she didn’t give a damn about the treasure. Or worry about the pressure of finding it and saving her father’s legacy. Or the job she’d left behind in Chicago, part of her stable life that was starting to feel more like a prison the longer she spent beneath the tropical sun.

  Not when Jackson was touching her.