The Deeper the Passion...

by Jennifer Lewis

  And she’d be off somewhere holding a loupe up to an eighteenth-century print to study the paper for foxing. Which was exactly what she wanted.

  Jack had settled into the leather sofa, but she held herself against the wall near the door, poised for escape. He clicked past a colorful stream of junky television shows and belligerent commercials, finally settling on the local affiliate whose logo had been all over the house a few hours earlier. The news was under way. “Maybe we missed it.” She didn’t care much one way or the other. She just needed that cup for her own purposes.

  “It won’t be the headline story. There’s no fresh blood involved, and we’re only five minutes into the hour. Maybe it will be the feel-good story at the end.”

  She hugged herself again, then caught herself doing it and thrust her hands to her sides. She’d have to make her own feel-good story somewhere far away from here.

  To keep herself busy, she poured them both a glass of wine from an open bottle on the sideboard, then held hers untasted, afraid of its intoxicating effects. She already felt emotionally on edge, probably more so than at any time in her life, and the wine might do anything but steady her nerves.

  “Here it is!” Jack sat forward as an image of his boat out on the water appeared on the screen to an excited voice-over about the new find. It must have been aerial footage from a helicopter, which cut to the bright gaze of the reporter who’d interviewed them.

  “Local resident Jack Drummond has made another thrilling discovery, the sunken wreck of a three-hundred-year-old pirate ship just off our shores. And the best part is, the pirate was his own ancestor, Macassar Drummond.”

  Jack grinned, enjoying the story as the reporter rattled on about the history of the area and how the Treasure Coast had got its name from the regular encounters between laden ships and tropical storm systems along its palm-fringed shores.

  Vicki started at the sight of herself when they cut to a shot inside Jack’s house. She looked so serious and less glamorous than she’d imagined, even in her special on-camera getup. Next to Jack, who glowed like a Hollywood star on camera, she seemed small, rather insignificant, prattling on about history and provenance and cataloging techniques. It was a miracle they didn’t cut her out altogether, but they did soon switch to some more-engaging footage of Jack on the bow of his boat, wind tossing his hair and the sun beating down on his bronzed skin, every inch the high-seas hero of the popular imagination.

  “Well, that was harmless.” Jack beamed as they cut to a commercial and someone started shouting about amazing deals on a new Toyota. “I think we came off as quite a professional operation. Not bad for the scion of notorious pirates.”

  “It’ll still bring all the backyard treasure hunters out of the woodwork.”

  “Can you blame them? Who wouldn’t want in on a haul like this? Now that we’ve stirred up the silt there’ll be coins and clay pipes and musket balls washing up on the beaches for years.” He grinned. Obviously he didn’t mind one bit that a bunch of strangers would share in the bounty. He was a much more generous and friendly soul than she. No wonder he wanted to cut her loose.

  “I’m going to go root through a few more boxes.”

  “Still looking for that damned cup?” Teasing humor filled his voice.

  “Don’t come crying to me if you get to live happily ever after because I find it.”

  “I won’t hold my breath. I’m off to bed. We need to get a very early start tomorrow so we can chase off any vultures that start circling.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow.” She’d already left the room and headed down the hallway. She certainly wasn’t going to stand around waiting for another embarrassingly polite explanation of why it made more sense for him to sleep in another room.

  She switched on the computer and scrolled methodically through the files of X-rays, scrutinizing each one for any shapes that could be either a drinking vessel or a base. A white oval shadow on image number C53 made her pause. Tilted another way, it could be round. Which could mean it was a cup base or even the drinking vessel itself. Well worth investigating.

  She rearranged the stacks of boxes to liberate number 53, then pulled out the dripping mass inside it, huge and heavy, and spread it on some damp towels on the floor. Starting with a small chisel and working her way down to a minuscule one, she scraped away the layers of sand and coral and encrusted sea creatures that had taken the strange object into their rock-hard embrace.

  As she grew nearer to the mysterious object she’d seen on the X-ray, her blood started to pump harder. She had a real feeling about this thing, and her instincts were nothing to laugh at. People teased her that she could tell a real art object from a fake simply by the way the hairs on her neck stood on end in the presence of greatness, and something about this object was setting off her sixth sense.

  If Katherine Drummond’s story was true, she could be millimeters away from revealing part of a medieval chalice no one had seen for three hundred years.

  It was metal, all right. She tried hard not to scratch the surface as she removed the layers of sandy grit. The silted material fell easily away, revealing the rim of a cup. She bit her lip, afraid to let her hopes soar. The inside of the cup was filled with grit, and she decided to chisel away at the outside first to get some idea of the age before she tackled its contents. Her careful work revealed a delicate etched pattern, emerging almost completely undamaged from its cement overcoat of seabed. And it looked just like the pattern carved on the stem segment they’d found at Sinclair Drummond’s Long Island mansion.

  I’ve found it. Elation mingled with unwelcome sadness. Now she could leave. She’d probably never see Jack Drummond again. What a relief. So why was her gut sending up flares of warning?

  Ten

  Still carrying the weight of its rocky contents, the cup was heavy and large as a man’s fist. Vicki wrapped it in a hand towel, ostensibly to protect its surfaces, but mostly to conceal it. She wasn’t sure why.

  She packed the rest of box 53 away and mopped up the water she spilled, then, clutching the damp towel-wrapped bundle, she headed for the bedroom. She intended to leave without telling Jack. She’d plead exhaustion tomorrow morning and let him go off with the crew, then she’d call for a water taxi and make her way back to civilization.

  He’d be none the wiser until he returned that night, by which time she might be safely back in New York, collecting her reward from Katherine Drummond. She’d send Jack his share of the reward once she was safely distant.

  She crept along the corridor, praying he wouldn’t wake. She didn’t want to see him again. It was hurtful and humiliating that she still had feelings for him even after he’d rejected her again. Somehow even the nights alone on cool sheets hadn’t chilled the fever of excitement Jack’s presence stirred in her blood. If anything, they’d made it worse.

  She opened her door gingerly. The old hinges tended to creak and if he was sleeping next door it could wake him up. Not that he’d want to have anything to do with her in the middle of the night. But it would be depressing that he didn’t. Better not to have him stir.

  She switched on the light, but it hurt her eyes, so she switched it off again. Her big duffel bag was on the dresser, and she unwrapped the cup fragment, then rewrapped it in some flannel pajama bottoms and shoved it deep into her bag. She’d have to remember not to heave it around too enthusiastically tomorrow.

  She stripped off her clothes—no need to sleep in any protective armor—and headed for bed. To heck with her makeup; she’d wash it off tomorrow. She climbed up onto the high bed and lifted the covers, ready to climb in and sink down into the soft mattress.

  That’s when she discovered that the bed was already occupied.

  * * *

  Jack smiled in the dark as Vicki climbed into the bed. The light flicking on had woken him from a deep sleep, and he’d wondered if his sudden appearance back in his own bed might send her running.

  She’d hesitated, sure, but then she climbed in and
lay still. His skin hummed with awareness, even though no part of her was touching him. His fingers itched to reach out and spread themselves over her hips or around her waist, or to wind their tips into her hair.

  But he hesitated. She’d seemed so quiet today, almost vulnerable, different than he’d ever seen her. Was that why he was here? He’d avoided her for two days because he didn’t want to give her false hope.

  False hope? Who was he to be so arrogant? The only evidence that she wanted a relationship with him at all was her unconscious nighttime ramblings. Maybe she was talking to some other Jack that had nothing to do with him.

  An idea that set his nerves on edge.

  But now that she seemed so...down, did he think his affectionate arms were the perfect prescription? His reasons for being here suddenly seemed foolish and callous. If she were pining away because he wouldn’t sleep with her, wouldn’t sleeping with her make that worse instead of better?

  He sucked in a silent breath. This was all far too confusing. No wonder his relationships rarely survived the first year. The sea might get rough and unpredictable, but it didn’t have hidden motives and inscrutable wishes that could swirl around and suck you under just when you least expected it.

  Gingerly, he reached out an exploratory hand. It landed on Vicki’s soft thigh. And she didn’t slap it away.

  He felt her breathing quicken, and his own matched its pace as he eased closer. Her scent heated his blood, intensifying as he buried his face in her hair. Her back was to him, so he bumped gently into the delicious curve of her tight backside, and paused to relish the rush of sensation.

  Oh, Vicki.

  She hadn’t moved at all, but awareness pulsed from every pore. She had every right to play hard to get, after his hot-and-cold behavior of the past few days. His exploratory fingers touched the curve of her breast, and caught the rapid thud of her heart.

  She turned toward him oh so slightly, just enough for him to press his lips to her cheek. From there they somehow climbed to her mouth as she rolled over and slipped her arms around him. His chest tightened as she held him, kissing him back.

  I love you, Jack. I’ve always loved you. Her words, unspoken, hovered in his mind. Two phrases, uttered years apart, that had scared him right off. Right now they did nothing to dampen his fierce desire. If anything, they enhanced it.

  I love you, too, Vicki. He didn’t say it. Instead, he let the thought float in his mind, testing it out. It expanded, filling him with a strange lightness. His body felt good wrapped around hers. This was sheer physical pleasure he was comfortable and familiar with.

  But with Vicki, there was always something more. An emotional component that threw him off his game and made him wonder if he was getting in too deep.

  Which didn’t make any sense, when deep in Vicki was such an awesome place to be.

  Their kiss intensified as their hands roamed over each other. When he couldn’t stand the building sensation anymore, he entered her. She let out a little whimper of pleasure, nails digging into his skin for an instant before she arched to take him deeper.

  He moved over her slowly, floating in the sea of emotions that washed through him. The past two days he’d fought a constant, nagging urge to do just this—lose himself in her. He’d had plenty to keep him busy, but nothing could keep his mind off her. Those nights alone in the spare bedroom had driven him half-mad. Vicki St. Cyr only a few yards away, wanting him in her bed, and him too...chicken to go there.

  He laughed out loud at how ridiculous his behavior had been.

  “Why are you laughing?” She breathed faster and faster, and sensation built between them like a wave heading for shore.

  “Can’t believe how stupid I am,” he rasped. “For sleeping alone when we could have been doing this.”

  “I agree.” She whispered the words in his ear, sending a hot sizzle of sensation to his core. “But intelligence never was your strong suit. You’re more a man of action.”

  “True.” Trying not to act on his primal instincts to bed Vicki over the past couple of days had half killed him. Finally getting to do what he’d craved all along felt so good he knew he could explode at any minute.

  But he didn’t. He held himself in check, moving slowly, shifting positions, enjoying the thrill of making Vicki gasp and moan as pleasure shot through her with the same crazy intensity.

  Would she say it again? Right now she could say anything and it would sound just right. He and Vicki were meant to be together in some mysterious way. Even during their years apart, something had linked them. A mysterious thread of fate or destiny that had eventually pulled them back together.

  “I hope you never find that cup.” He breathed the words in between fierce kisses. Her search for the cup had brought her back into his life, and finding it might take her out of it. Right now that was inconceivable.

  Her breathing changed slightly, almost like she was holding her breath, and their joint rhythm slowed. She didn’t answer. Maybe he was in some realm where speech was no longer possible. That could happen during sex, especially the really good kind like this. He nibbled her ear, then licked it, something that had always driven her crazy.

  She whimpered, then wriggled underneath him, inviting him deeper, and they drifted again into that driving rhythm that carried him out where speech, and even thought, became irrelevant. Then they rolled until she was on top and she rode him at a gallop until they both exploded into a climax that left him winded by his own spent passion.

  Vicki, Vicki, Vicki. Could he stand to live without her?

  Right now the answer was no.

  * * *

  Vicki heard Jack climb out of bed, but kept her eyes closed tight. It was still dark, but she knew he planned to reach the wreck before dawn to beat any treasure seekers who might have seen the news story. She held her breath when she heard him hesitate. Was he wondering whether to sneak out without waking her?

  “Vicki, are you coming on the boat today?” That answered one question.

  She pretended to half awaken from a groggy sleep. “Too tired.”

  “Sleep well, gorgeous.” She almost opened her eyes when his lips touched hers in a soft kiss. Then she exhaled with relief when she heard the door close behind him.

  Memories of last night flooded back, pressing her down into the mattress. Did Jack really have to come sleep with her just because he could? It was humiliating to have so little control around him. She had every excuse to give him the cold shoulder, but apparently even her shoulders couldn’t resist him. Thank heavens she’d finally found the cup piece and could get the heck out of here with what little was left of her dignity.

  A surge of excitement rushed through her at the thought of the cup. She couldn’t wait to bring it to Katherine Drummond, and not just because of the reward. Katherine had placed so much hope in putting the cup back together, and the quest had helped her recover from a dangerous illness. She’d be so excited to hear that the family legend might actually come true.

  Vicki stayed rock-still in bed until she heard the distant sound of Jack’s boat leaving for the marina to pick up the others. Then she sprang into action. She needed to get out of here before the housekeeper showed up around nine, so she didn’t have to answer any awkward questions. She’d already looked up a water taxi service on the internet—cripplingly expensive but she didn’t have much choice—and she dialed them. A surprised-sounding man said he could be there in half an hour, and she didn’t argue. That would still get her out of here around dawn without seeing Jack.

  She showered and attempted to fix her hair in some semblance of a style, then dressed in an all-black ensemble that seemed suited to the somber task of escaping Jack’s island.

  There was no question of saying goodbye. What if he suggested that she stay awhile longer and she eagerly agreed? What if he waved her off, glad to have his private paradise to himself again? There were any number of possibilities, none of them good. At least this way she had the advantage of surprise.
>
  She shoved her toiletries into her bag and zipped up the compartments. What would Jack think when he returned to find her gone? She wanted to feel a thrill of victory at finally being the one to leave him, but she didn’t. He’d already picked her up and put her down and played with her like a plastic toy, so there wasn’t much satisfaction in stalking away when he’d already proved he could do what he liked with her.

  And she’d miss him. Maybe that was the worst part. She’d already missed his joyful energy in her life for six years. These past few days had reminded her of how much she enjoyed his company, and the zest and originality he brought to everything he did. There weren’t too many men around like Jack Drummond.

  None, in fact.

  But maybe that was a good thing. She shoved her bag onto her shoulder and slipped her feet into her sandals, then went into the kitchen and made a quick turkey wrap for the road. She didn’t have any appetite, so she shoved the wrap in a ziplock bag and stuck it in an outside pocket on her bag.

  She couldn’t resist sneaking a last, long look at the plastic boxes filled with recovered treasures from the bottom of the ocean. Seeing them all marinating there in their seawater gave her another pang of grief. How much fun would it be to stay here and unwrap each of them from their sandy giftwrap and watch the past emerge? Jack was so lucky—and brilliant, really—to have forged a life doing exactly what he loved. She admired and envied him, and that didn’t make leaving any easier. She should hate him for the way he’d toyed with her, but she couldn’t even do that. He was too likable—too lovable—so she’d have to settle for a lifetime of simmering resentment instead.

  She wrote a note to Jack as a memo on the computer. At least there the housekeeper wasn’t likely to find it and read it.

  I’ll be back in NYC by the time you read this. I found the cup piece I was looking for and I’ll make sure you get half the reward. There’s an old Chinese saying that goes “may you live in interesting times” and times are certainly always interesting around you. I think it’s supposed to be a curse, so I won’t wish for the rest of your life to be interesting because I do wish you all the best. XX Vicki.