“Eek! I shouldn’t have asked. I guess that was pirate fashion back in the day.”
“Probably held up better than the more popular wooden teeth.” He put the X-ray machine down and scrutinized a monitor. “Hmm.”
“What?” She moved around so she could see the image. Several long, wavy shapes stood out against the textured background. She could see some curved masses, too.
“Could be knives. That looks like a mug. We might have found the kitchen.”
“Could be a good place for part of an old chalice to be stored.” She sneaked a glance at him.
“Yeah, as if it could be that easy.” He chuckled. “There’s definitely some interesting stuff in here, so this is when we get out the chisels. But we’ll save that for later.”
They ate baked ziti that his housekeeper had prepared and left for them to reheat, then they x-rayed several more concretions. One held some small round shapes that Jack recognized as coins, but he didn’t seem excited enough to liberate them. Probably old coins weren’t even thrilling to him anymore. A man only needed but so much treasure. There were plenty of shapes that looked as though they could be part of an old cup, which was either encouraging or quite the opposite, depending on how you looked at it.
As they neared midnight she found herself growing impatient for the next activity on her agenda—bedtime with Jack.
* * *
“I think we should get some sleep.” Vicki’s voice made Jack glance up from the monitor.
“Is it late?” He lost all track of the time when they made a new find. The adrenaline rush that accompanied discovering buried history could keep him awake for days.
“To most people, yes.” She didn’t look tired. She did look gorgeous. “I’m going to hit the sack.”
“Okay.” He adjusted the brightness on the monitor. Something in there was quite unusual. Delicate and multifaceted—like a piece of jewelry, perhaps. Too early to tell, but still... Maybe he could take the time to chisel delicately at this one.
“Aren’t you coming?” Vicki hovered in the doorway. She was dressed in a long, thin T-shirt—and some tempting black underwear he’d noticed when she bent over to pick up the concretions—and looked very inviting.
“In a while.” The mysterious object tugged his attention back to the monitor. Gold had a certain quality to it in an X-ray image. At least it did to him. Smoother, lighter than silver. He could spot it almost by instinct.
“I might get lonely.” Her soft words jerked his head up from the screen. Vicki had summoned him to bed. This was new. Up until now he’d been doing all the flirting and chasing—which had been so worth it—and expecting only prickly reluctance in return.
Apparently now it was his turn to be seduced. “In that case, I’d better come with you.” He switched off the equipment and followed her down the hallway. Her slim hips had a seductive swing to them that set his blood pumping. Even eighteenth-century gold paled in comparison to the swaying body of a beautiful woman beating a path to his bedroom.
And what a woman. He’d been keeping an eye on her diving equipment himself, to make sure she was doing everything right, but his caution had been unnecessary. Vicki could take care of herself. She’d fit in perfectly with the guys, and dived like a professional, with no complaints and an enthusiasm that rivaled his own.
In addition to being beautiful, she was smart and sharp and funny. He even enjoyed her frosty barbs and cutting glances. In fact, he liked them better than the simpering and mewing of the more typical girls who crowded around him in bars begging for tales of treasure.
Vicki, Vicki, Vicki.
He followed her into the bedroom, and paused to savor the view as she pulled her T-shirt off over her head. The black panties were scanty, with a design that revealed more than it covered. If they were designed to deprive men of their powers of speech, then they worked like a charm.
She climbed up on the high bed—a move that sent blood rushing to his groin—and lay there, eyes half-closed in a seductive expression.
He ripped off his jeans and T-shirt and strode across the room, excitement percolating in his veins. He kissed her lips softly, then rougher, taking the kiss deeper until that first sweet moan of pleasure escaped them.
He teased her body with his mouth, feathering kisses over her breasts and belly, then licking her sex until it pulsed with anticipation. His own arousal was almost unbearable. Vicki’s long, elegant fingers plucked at the skin of his back and roamed through his hair with abandon, while her sighs filled the air like music.
His level of arousal could probably be measured in degrees Fahrenheit by the time he finally let himself enter her. She was so eager, gripping him and tugging him closer, pawing him and kissing him, her eyes closed tight.
When he filled her, she said his name over and over, as if trying to convince herself it was really him. He needed no convincing that he was with Vicki St. Cyr, the most compelling and confusing and original and wonderful woman he’d ever had the pleasure to know. Part of him despised his weakness in being afraid of her power and passion all those years ago. She was a force of nature, like a tornado that sucked up everything in its path.
At least back then she was. Now she was quieter, cooler, more subtle. But perhaps no less forceful, like a riptide hidden beneath the surface, silent and invisible until the unwitting swimmer has been sucked halfway to the horizon.
These thoughts rolled in his mind as their bodies rolled on the bed. He’d been afraid of her then, although he’d rather have died than admit it. She was so sure of herself, so aware of her power over men and everyone else. Her confidence—her arrogance—had been a core part of her charm. No one dared to argue with her because they knew they’d lose. Playing with Vicki was like playing with a baby tiger or an open flame—you never knew quite when it would turn on you and leave you hurting.
So he’d done the cowardly thing and saved himself by running away.
He’d tried to lose himself in the soft embraces of other women. Tried to distract himself with work and travel and new exciting projects. For a long time he thought he was over her. Then he’d heard she was coming to town and got so impatient to see her that he tracked her down to the hotel. She’d swept back into his life like a sirocco, turned it upside down and reminded him of why he’d been so wary of her in the first place.
Why did she come back? Her excuse of finding the cup and claiming the reward only made sense if she was desperate for money. Which was hard to imagine.
Vicki’s tongue shot into his ear and he gasped with raw sensation, driving deeper inside her and rolling again until she was on top. If a quest for cash brought Vicki back into his life, it certainly hadn’t brought her back into his bed. She was every bit as hot and hungry for him as he was for her, and not shy about showing it, either.
When he shifted back on top, he kissed her face through the damp tendrils of her hair, drinking in her heady feminine scent. This woman drove him crazy in the best possible way. He increased the pace until he felt her climax take her by storm, and finally let go of all the agonizing but pleasurable tension building inside him.
They drifted back to the soft pillows together, chests heaving and skin moist with perspiration. Having Vicki in his bed felt so right. He opened his eyes to see the bright fresco she’d revealed. He’d slept under it for years with no idea it was there, just like he’d been sleepwalking through life without her.
Was Vicki back for a reason more profound than simply finding an object? Maybe she’d come back into his life as a sign that it was time for him to...
The words settle down crossed his consciousness and made him shift uncomfortably on the mattress. Then he wanted to laugh. Life with Vicki St. Cyr would be anything but settled. She was as restless and easily bored as himself, always chasing new pleasures and mysteries.
Life with Vicki St. Cyr...
Was that the life he was meant to live? The question rang in his heart and he found himself letting it vibrate there. Did she feel the same way?
Her feelings were hard to determine as she was secretive and wily by nature.
Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes resting against her soft clear skin. Then she opened them and pierced him with that relentless violet gaze.
Did she know what he was thinking?
Her thoughts were a mystery to him as always. He wasn’t usually inclined to look beneath the surface of things unless there was treasure there. But Vicki intrigued him and he wanted to plumb her secrets depths and enjoy her hidden facets.
Then her eyes closed again. She was tired after their long day. A protective instinct filled his chest. He needed to make sure she got a good night’s sleep and didn’t exhaust herself. She’d been pale and gaunt when she arrived, and sun and sea air and good food—and the invigorating sex, of course—were already working magic on her, but he’d better make sure she didn’t overdo it.
Vicki shifted slightly, and blew out a soft breath. She seemed so relaxed now, all her defenses down. A smile played across her delicate features, and he could see her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, so she must be dreaming.
Was she dreaming about him? He hoped so because the dream looked like a good one. A tiny chuckle rose in her throat and she leaned toward him—still fast asleep—until their noses were almost touching.
She opened her pretty, dark pink mouth and another soft sigh brushed his skin. Then she murmured something, very quietly, like it was a secret. No one was meant to hear it.
But he did, and her words caused his blood to still in his veins.
Eight
Vicki woke suddenly, disoriented by the bright sunlight. A quick glance at the bed revealed that Jack was gone. What time was it? She climbed off the bed and checked her phone. How could it be 9:20? They were supposed to head back to the wreck at first light.
Slipping a T-shirt over her nakedness, she opened the bedroom door and peered down the sunlit corridor. “Jack?”
“Good morning, senorita.” A short, dark-haired woman shot out of the room right next door to her, making her jump. Jack’s housekeeper. “You must be Vicki.”
“And you must be Paloma. Jack’s always talking about you.” After watching Jack’s cousin Sinclair fall madly in love with his own housekeeper, she had to admit relief that Jack’s was old enough to be his mother.
Uh-oh. Did this mean she was jealous?
“It would be funny if I wasn’t Vicki, wouldn’t it?” She wished she had more than a T-shirt on. It was painfully obvious what she and Jack had been up to last night. Paloma had probably witnessed a lot of morning-after scenes and she hated being a stereotype.
She wanted to ask if Jack had left on the boat, but didn’t want to admit that she didn’t already know the answer.
“Jack told me to let you sleep in. He said you worked too long and hard yesterday.” Paloma took on a bossy tone that was strangely reassuring. “He also told me to make you a huge breakfast, then let you do whatever you like with all the rocks and stuff in the living room.” She shook her head. “Why he can’t do that in the workshop, I don’t know. Seawater isn’t good for wood floors.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” So Jack had left her alone with the treasure. She could spend her day whittling pirates’ toothpicks out of the hunks of coral rock. Normally that would pass for a pretty interesting day, but somehow she felt hurt that Jack had abandoned her here. Maybe this was a subtle message that the team moved faster and more efficiently without her.
Or maybe this was the beginning of the big brush-off.
“Do you have grapefruit?”
“Of course we do.” Paloma smiled. “And I baked fresh biscuits. How about I scramble some eggs to go with them?”
“Sounds heavenly.” Her stomach growled in agreement. So what if Jack wasn’t here. She could use a break from overexposure to his tanned and brawny physique. And an afternoon nap might be a welcome luxury, as well.
After breakfast she wandered outside to look for the ship in the distance. She couldn’t see it, though, so it must be just over the horizon. The day was warm, with sensual, languid weather, perfect for relaxing in a hammock. But she couldn’t resist being the first person to handle items that had gone down with the wreck, for the first time in hundreds of years.
She booted up the computer they’d used the night before and found the files of the X-rays, then printed them all out. Although the missing cup piece didn’t seem all that riveting when compared to the prospect of looted Spanish gold and stolen jewelry, she figured she should at least scan the images for anything promising.
On the third image something caught her eye. A delicate filigree of metal entwined deep in the concretion of sand and coral. Her heart pounded as she scrutinized the shape and made out what looked like the outline of a large and elaborate necklace with the chain still attached.
She located the big chunk of seabed labeled with the same number as the image, and the tray of chisels Jack had shown her. She kept the rock in its plastic container, marinating in a few inches of seawater. No need to risk it crumbling to dust, and it would probably make less mess to keep the water contained. As Paloma vacuumed somewhere in the distance, she took a medium chisel to the lump of sandy rock.
The crust was surprisingly hard, and when it broke it tended to shatter into large chunks. She switched to a smaller chisel for more precision. The last thing she wanted was for Jack to return home and find she’d dented or broken a priceless antique. Eventually, she found a rhythm and refined her technique, and sometime around noon, the long-lost piece started to emerge from its stony tomb.
She saw a chain-link first, and immediately switched to the finest chisel on the tray, removing the sandy accretion almost grain by grain.
Gold. The chain was unmistakably made from its era’s most precious metal. Untarnished by its long burial, it gleamed in the reflected sunlight shining through the window as if it had been waiting all this time to show itself.
Quite thick, the links were bent and twisted but all intact. The pendant attached to the chain was also gold, dented and squarish in shape, and looked as if something was missing. It had no gems. Possibly Jack’s coarse ancestors had pried them off and traded them in a game of dice.
She laughed. She should be mad that Jack had ditched her, but she couldn’t be. This was too much fun.
After Paloma left for the day, she indulged in that nap she’d fantasized about. She swung gently from a hammock strung beneath two palm trees on the lawn in the shade of the ubiquitous sea grape. Her dream drew her into a sensual realm not unlike last night’s antics in bed. Apparently her brain and body couldn’t get enough of Jack so they had to conjure him even when he wasn’t here.
Disturbing. And it did not bode well for her easily forgetting him when this affair was over.
Jack returned shortly after dark. She’d rummaged around in the kitchen and found a casserole Paloma must have started in the slow cooker. She set the table and poured two glasses of wine, then lit the candles above the fireplace and took time to fix her face and hair so he’d be pleasantly surprised to see her rather than annoyed she was still underfoot.
He walked into the foyer and smiled as soon as he saw her. “We missed you.” His words touched her. So did the rough hug he gave her. His T-shirt was damp with sea spray. His skin smelled delicious and she had to fight the urge to lick him.
“I missed you, too. Just a little. But I kept busy.”
“I’ll bet you did. Find anything good?”
“Of course. I’ve piled the stash on that funky dresser in the living room.” It seemed entirely appropriate for pirate treasure to be strewn here and there about an eclectic house, rather than catalogued and stored in plastic containers in a lab. Although, being fully aware of the crucial importance of a detailed provenance for each piece, she’d taken pictures at every stage of her chiseling and labeled each item with a catalog number. The Smithsonian would be proud of her. “I found a necklace, four musket balls, a fork, two rings and a jug. And that was all in one lump o
’ stone.”
“Impressive.” He grinned and held her closer. His hands cupped her backside, and he laid another kiss on her cheek.
A smile sneaked across her mouth. “I bet you didn’t find as much stuff without me there for luck.”
“You must have been there with us in spirit because we found a mother lode. Probably the cabin where the women sheltered from the storm.”
“There were women on a pirate ship?”
He shrugged. “If you were a strapping, testosterone-fueled brigand, wouldn’t you want a few ladies with you on your voyage?”
“Maybe one.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you prefer a ménage?”
“No way.” He kissed her other cheek. “I’m a one-woman man.”
One woman at a time, but not for long. She tried not to let her thoughts show on her face. “Well, that’s a relief. I got dinner ready, although I can’t take any credit for cooking. Paloma seems like a good woman to have on your pirate ship.”
“She’s my secret weapon.”
“How does she get here?”
“I have an old sea-dog friend ferry her out here from the marina at nine every morning and take her back at one.”
“I’m glad to know that. I was beginning to think there was magic involved. She made a casserole.” She gestured toward the dining room as casually as she could. “I was about to dollop it into bowls and sling it on the table.” She tried to make her hospitality sound as inhospitable as possible. She didn’t want Jack to think she was going soft in her old age.
Jack paused in the doorway when he saw the lit candles and sparkling glasses of wine. “Quite the elegant repast to come home to.”
Maybe you’ll miss me when I’m gone. The thought stayed in her mind. It was a foolish one because he could just as easily get Paloma to set the table for him. If he wanted a housewife, she was the last person in the world she’d recommend for the job.
Would he miss her? She wondered if he’d missed her the first time. Did you miss someone if you were the one who left? Probably not. Your ears would still be ringing with all the reasons you couldn’t wait to get away from them.
The Deeper the Passion... Page 10