by Cherry Adair
“Prince Naveen is about to land.” Oscar didn’t sound any more pleased than Addison at Naveen’s early arrival. Her mother must’ve lit a fire under him. Bracing herself, Addison held on to her ponytail as the helicopter hovered off their starboard side.
Always polite and urbane, Naveen would be oblivious to subtle undercurrents. She’d probably be the only person who noticed Ry’s strong dislike for the other man. Still, the next few weeks weren’t going to be pleasant.
Two dogs, one her.
Addison waved to the blurred faces in the helicopter before it disappeared to hover over the helipad on the upper deck.
“Does Ry know the prince is expect—” Oscar’s voice cut off as the sound increased as the helicopter shut down.
“It’ll be a surprise,” Addison said wryly, heading toward the stairs leading up to the next level. Her steps faltered, and her fingers tightened on the teak handrail.
“Expecting company?” Ry asked directly behind her. She’d felt him as he came up behind her. Turning her head, her entire body stiffened even though he stood a good three feet away. He wore navy-blue board shorts and his favorite Oakleys. That was it. He hadn’t gone on shore half naked, so he’d come back and changed at lightning speed. She glanced behind him to see where the dive crew was. He was alone. She swiveled to face him head-on.
Miles of tanned, hair-roughened skin gleamed in the bronzing dying sunlight, and his gray eyes were hidden behind his shades. His shoulder-length dark hair flew across his face, and he shoved the strands away with his left hand. A large hand that sported—damn him—a wedding band he no longer had a right to wear.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but now it seemed to glow and glint with his movements. Mocking her. Annoying her. Damn it. She didn’t want Rydell Case near her. Showing up as Naveen arrived brought a hurricane of emotions. Emotions she didn’t want to have to take out and deal with. Out of sight could almost be out of mind. Almost.
I will not be a bitch today.
Seven
I’ll try not to be a bitch today, Addison amended. “I told you I expected houseguests,” she said as mildly as her clenched jaw would allow. She supposed the situation could be more awkward and uncomfortable, but she couldn’t imagine how. She turned to go up the stairs to meet her guest.
She wanted Naveen here almost as little as she wanted her ex-husband here. And having her two ex-lovers on the same small piece of real estate surrounded by nothing but water promised to be a disaster of epic proportions. Addison considered jumping overboard now to avoid the fallout later.
Oscar melted away as Rydell fell into step with her. He smelled achingly familiar. Salt, wind, and his crisp-scented soap. “He’ll be bored.”
Addison tried to hold her breath. “He knows how to amuse himself,” she snapped, annoyed that she was so annoyed, and wishing she could be as oblivious, as damn uncaring as Rydell clearly was. “You don’t need to come with me. He isn’t your guest.” Dear God, she couldn’t even make it five minutes without bitching at him.
“In a way he is,” Ry said easily, not appearing offended by her tone in the least. But then he never was affected by anything she said or did. Emotions bounced off him like bullets off a Kevlar vest. “It would be rude not to at least say hey.”
Her jaw ached. “Say hey, then get lost.” She’d try for not-bitchy tomorrow. Anyone would be a cranky under these circumstances.
“Is he going to hide in your cabin with you for all his meals?”
None of your damn business. “I won’t be hiding. I’m on a deadline. I’ll be working.” They crossed the second deck and headed for the stairs to the top deck. His arm brushed hers, and Addison’s steps hesitated for a second before she resumed walking. He was not going to affect her.
She was perfectly aware that her pissiness told him exactly how much he affected her. That had to stop. Her fault. She had to be more guarded around him—showing her pain, her anger, her unwillingness to cooperate would give Rydell the upper hand. She had a dozen valid reasons to be careful around him. His gravitational pull was powerful, and she was damned if she’d fall into that pit filled with spikes again.
The wind blew his hair across his face, and he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a rubber band, then haphazardly gathered his hair and wrapped it. He’d get split ends. Not that she cared. But damn it, with his hair off his face he looked like a modern-day pirate. Bare, broad, and badass. Her traitorous heart kicked up her pulse a notch.
“Where this time?” he asked, dropping his hands.
He was talking about her latest book. Knowing what he meant in shorthand was unnervingly intimate. Hidden Style Treasures of Rome: A Fashionista’s Guide to Shopping in Italy had been published by a small press five years earlier. Her Treasures Of books were considered essential reading for fashionistas before any trip, and made her a very comfortable living. She was now writing book six. “Liguria Region. Genoa. Portofino, Nervi—”
“And your next can be the Maldives.”
“I won’t be there long enough to do any shopping or research possible cottage industries.”
“At least a couple of weeks. But you can always stay longer or go back.”
“I’ll be too busy entertaining my guest.” Subject closed. So much for not being a bitch. It just leaked out of her when she was in close proximity to Rydell. She wished that weren’t the case, because that wasn’t who she was—most of the time.
Side by side they reached the top deck.
The sleek red-and-gold helicopter looked like an elegant dragonfly as the rotors slowed, forcing them to stand well back from the blades. Addison bunched her hair in one fist as it blew around her face.
Being between these two was going to be like juggling a flaming torch, a watermelon, and a saber. Better if she did it alone. She figured she’d get a lot of writing done in the next few weeks.
Rydell shoved his fingertips into the pockets of his shorts. The drag on the fabric exposed the unbearably sexy V-muscles between his torso and thigh, and a faint hairline of crisp dark hair, proving he was once again commando. It annoyed the hell out of Addison how badly she wanted to touch him there. Just seeing a glimpse of an amusement park she used to have liberty to indulge in whenever she liked made her heart pound and her mouth go dry as her dopamine receptors lit up. That park was closed, damn it.
Returning her attention to the swirling blades, she concentrated on keeping her hair from giving her whiplash.
“You didn’t send our chopper to pick up His Mightiness?”
Rydell’s joke was combining Naveen’s title, highness, and majesty. It had been funny when they were dating. Now it wasn’t.
“He didn’t want to inconvenience me,” she said pointedly. Tesoro Mio’s helicopter, not as big or tricked out as Naveen’s, was neatly folded up beneath their feet. “Do not shitstir, Rydell, please. This situation is already awkward.”
She could see herself reflected in his glasses. Color high, eyes narrowed. Relaxing her shoulders, Addison wiped the anger off her face. The only person affected by her anger or any other emotion was herself. Rydell Case didn’t give a damn how she felt one way or another. He’d proven that. For once she was glad he was a machine. Let him do his thing. She and Naveen would do theirs.
“Why would I make trouble just because your lover shows up on my ship?”
Before Naveen stepped out of the helicopter, she spun on Rydell, gripped his forearm, and said furiously, “Don’t bait me. Do. Not. Bait. Me. Because whether he is currently my lover or not is none of your goddamn fucking business, do you understand that?”
He didn’t try to pull her hand off him. He stood perfectly still, as though shocked by her sudden vehemence. And so he should be. She rarely swore, and she hated that he’d rattled her enough that it had slipped out now.
“And the reason it is none of your business is because that man—unlike you—was there for me when I needed someone. When I needed arms to hold me as I mourned the loss of our d
aughter, you were nowhere to be found.” She jerked her head to the helicopter. “He was. So instead of being petty and prideful, think about the fact that he acted with human dignity, kindness, and compassion, while you, you—” She drew a deep breath, as an avalanche of words, dammed up inside her for a year, threatened to spill out and drown her. “—you didn’t react at all. Think about that for a second and behave accordingly.”
She spun around, seething, not caring how he reacted or even if he did. He had no right to say anything about … anything! Whether she and Naveen were actually lovers was none of Ry’s business. Ry wouldn’t believe the truth if it bit him on the ass. She and Naveen had been lovers—briefly—before she and Rydell met years ago. And as much as the other man would very much like to rekindle that flame, Addison wasn’t ready. They were friends. That was it. Good friends. And none of Rydell’s damn business.
She watched as Naveen bent to avoid the rotors. He wasn’t alone. “Fortunately,” she added, vocal cords achingly tight, “it’s my ship he showed up on. Do whatever you were doing. I’ll see to my guest.”
Rydell wasn’t one to leave until he was good and ready. As though she hadn’t said anything of importance, as though her words had bounced off him unheard, he jerked his chin toward the men flanking her guest. “Who are the neckless guys?” he said. “Muscle?”
Naveen went nowhere without a phalanx of bodyguards. Addison barely noticed the three men with him anymore. “That’s your goddamn reaction to what I just said?”
“This is neither the time nor the place to have a real conversation about that, Addy.”
“Make up your mind, Rydell. Either you want to talk about—” Sophie, but she couldn’t say her baby’s name when she was so raw. “—or you don’t. But don’t pretend to me that you give a flying fuck about the when or the where.” Damn it, there she went again. Rydell brought out the absolute worst in her. “This suits you perfectly. Another excuse not to face the music.”
“Fine. You want to talk about Sophia here and now?” He grabbed her upper arm in the vise of his fingers. “Let’s do it. We’ll talk. And perhaps this time you won’t run like hell like you always do before I speak my mind. How about we try that, Addy?”
His finger felt hard and hot on her skin, gone cold with anger. She tried to shake him off. He was superglued to her arm. “Let go of my arm, Naveen is right there.”
“What’s the answer?”
Addison peeled his fingers from her arm. “Fine. We’ll talk.”
“When?”
He hadn’t removed his sunglasses. Intentionally, she suspected, because he didn’t want her to see his eyes. Her own face, reflected in the dark lenses, looked pale and tight. “When we’re alone.” And hell freezes over.
“I’ll make the time. Will you?”
Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth, and she took a step to the side, away from everything he represented. “Yes.”
They both knew they were lying through their teeth. Rydell because he didn’t do “high emotion” and herself because talking about Sophie was too painful and wouldn’t bring her back. And it was too late to repair what Rydell had ripped apart.
Able to switch gears a hell of a lot faster than she could, Rydell jerked his chin at Naveen and his bodyguards. “Who does he think he’s in danger from aboard ship?”
She looked beyond Naveen to the three men following him with their arms loaded down with his luggage. “A question you should’ve answered yourself when you hired three men to be my bodyguards behind my back.” Not giving him time to answer, she moved forward out of his force field.
“Naveen.” Addison held out both hands in greeting as the prince straightened and strode toward her with the assurance of a man confident in his welcome, even if he was days early. “How was the flight?”
He was dressed in a crisp white linen shirt and loose-fitting, beautifully cut white linen slacks. With his even features, black eyes, short and immaculately styled black hair, he looked like a model in GQ. He looked like royalty. Taking both hands, he reeled her in for a kiss. Addison expertly turned her face so his cool lips fell on her cheek.
“Uneventful, my dear.” He released her to give Rydell an assessing look. Naveen was too European and sophisticated to make waves, thank God. “Case,” he said by way of greeting in his beautiful accented English. He didn’t offer his hand, probably because he figured Rydell wouldn’t reciprocate. “Addison tells me you’ll be doing a bit of salvaging before we continue on to Sydney. A bit inconvenient and inconsiderate, don’t you think? Addison has an important meeting scheduled in Sydney.”
Without missing a beat he motioned to the three men with the luggage. “Take those to my cabin and unpack.”
“You’re in a different cabin this trip,” Addison told him, hooking her hand through his arm as they headed down the stairs after his men. Rydell had commandeered the second-biggest cabin, next door to hers, for himself.
Naveen shot Rydell a cold glance without comment.
Rydell fell into step with them as they headed down the stairs, three abreast. Addison in the middle.
“Unfortunately,” Rydell said easily, no unfortunately in his tone, “Addy can’t sell this ship without my signature. And since I need her, that’s not going to happen unless she allows me the use of the vessel for this salvage. Inconvenient, yes. But an unfortunate turn of events.”
Since I need her … He was of course talking about Tesoro Mio, not herself. Then why did her heart skip several idiotic beats? God. She was going to be a foolish bitch for the duration?
* * *
Ry didn’t like Prince Naveen Darshi. It wasn’t because of his smooth, movie-star good looks, or the fact that he could buy a medium-sized fucking country with his pocket change. He loathed the man for having his hands all over Addy.
Again.
He’d won Addy from Naveen once.
Given her resentment over how he’d handled the aftermath of Sophie’s death and how much she loathed him for his inability to comfort her—emotions that were now abundantly clear to him—he doubted his ability to win her back.
Usually he didn’t fight battles he couldn’t win.
Addy knew it, and he knew it.
Once the dive was over, they’d never see each other again.
The fact that Darshi was well aware of the seething rage inside Ry didn’t help matters. He parted ways with the two of them to go back to the conference room where he’d left the dive crew when he’d heard the chopper overhead.
Ry knew where Darshi’s cabin was—on the other side of Addison’s. Which made her the filling in the sandwich. A revolting thought that Ry shoved out of his brain.
“Everyone settled?” he asked easily as he strolled into the conference/dining room, which currently smelled of spicy foods and beer. The long narrow room sported ceiling-to-floor windows along one side, a table that seated twenty-four, a wall of monitors, and a dozen computers. It had been designed as the command center of the salvage operation. He’d switched it from dining room back to its original purpose.
Hidden inside a sleek black console, the nerve center consisted of hard drives, backups, and a spaghetti of wiring. The surface was used as anything from a buffet to a holdall for dive paraphernalia and charts. It was currently surrounded by his team as they inhaled the food put out by chef Patrick O’Keefe.
“All’s good,” Lenka Swanapoel said around a large bite of litti—a deep-fried ball of wheat and powdered lentil filled with creamy chicken curry. He wiped butter off his chin as he chewed. The lanky South African could usually be found wherever there was food. Ry had no idea where the guy put it; his frame ran to string bean. The redhead always smelled of zinc and sunblock for his fair, freckly skin. An excellent diver, he’d been on salvages with Ry for close to ten years.
Samuel Hildebrandt, Shlomo Bergson, and Georgeo Arcuri, gathered at the far end of the table, had been with him almost as long. “This looks like a massive drop-off right beside her,” Sam said to
Ry without looking up from the charts layered and spread out on the teak surface of the table. He indicated the chart with a spread hand. He was missing the tip of his index finger, but his hands were large and competent as he slid one chart out of the way for a better look at the area.
“Hundred feet, give or take.” MoMo took a slug from his bottle of Jaipur Pale Ale. “Do we have an ROV available?”
“Yeah.” Ry grabbed a cold one from the cooler on the floor and strolled over to the group. “Although we might have to dust her off. She hasn’t been used since she was loaded on board more than a year ago. I hope we won’t need it, but our wreck was pretty precarious when I went down three weeks ago.” Pretty precarious as in teetering on the edge of the drop-off.
“She shifted over the years as storms screwed with the currents. She should be fairly stable for now.”
“Does it feel weird seeing her for the first time?” Kevin Hill asked as she came into the room and headed straight for the men. Deeply tanned, petite, muscled, and no-nonsense, she picked up Geo’s beer and took a slug. With her blond hair in a short tousled pixie cut, piercing blue eyes, and smooth skin, she looked closer to thirty-five than fifty. She’d worked off and on with Ry’s team for almost seven years.
She’d been with this group longer than Ry’d known Addy. He knew Kev wasn’t talking about seeing his ex-wife again. He shrugged, cradling his beer as he scanned the topmost chart. “I spent so much time on the design, walked through her a millions times in my head—nah. It doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels like coming home.”
If the home was torn apart, dysfunctional, and filled with seething longing for something that had once had been perfect but was now shattered beyond repair. Yeah. Just like fucking home. The sad thing was that he felt better being there, even with Addy so clearly despising his existence, than he had in the year since Sophie’s death. Even knowing he and Addy were marching to their inevitable, irrevocable ending, he felt better being in her presence.
Goddamn it, he was well and truly screwed.