by Jo Sparkes
She knew this greedy-eagerness; she understood the excitement. But for the life of her Jill couldn’t share it. Maybe if they found something more than a manta ray…
Wall ducked out of the compressor room, pausing to select a dumpling. “Did you enjoy today?” he asked.
“First dive was fun.”
“But not the second?”
She shrugged. “There weren’t any cool fish. Did you notice? It was like they got scared off.”
Wall reached for a bottled water. “The manta was pretty cool.”
“If you like being knocked on your ass.”
The sun had set rapidly, as it did near the equator. Dinner was done, such as it was, and the empty takeout containers littered the tiny galley below. Melanie had left Jill to deal with that.
Instead she sat cross-legged atop the sailboat cabin, beneath an oppressive blanket of stars. The sky seemed just a bit too close here, trying to muffle the world below. She felt exposed, vulnerable. Scooting back from the edge, she found a bit of shadow from the mast blocking the moonlight.
She was still seething.
That stupid manta had scared the crap out of her. And Jill - and Wall. They could deny it all they wanted.
They should all be more understanding, more sympathetic. Mike had actually teased her, as if it was funny. And Wall had done nothing to defend her.
Speak of the devil - Mike stepped out on the deck below, carrying two dive tanks. He didn’t see her.
Tomorrow she’d develop another headache…and to hell with what Jill thought. Better to be bored topside than eaten by mantas. Wall could just go whistle for a partner.
At that thought, two masculine arms slipped about her from behind. Just when she was working up a proper annoyance, the Brit had not only found her, but for once used actions instead of words. Like a real man.
His legs pressed against hers on both sides - how did he get so close without her noticing? She relaxed against his chest, deeply appreciating the comfort.
A faint buzzing whirled in her ears. Melanie half-turned towards it - his hands firmly turned her back, pulling her hard against his body. His fingers slid over to caress her nipple.
Teasing, demanding. One stroke igniting a fire she’d never felt before, with anyone, ever.
“You never touch me in public,” she breathed as her head rolled to expose her neck. “I like it.”
“Where’s my B.C.?” Mike grumbled below.
Worried he would see, Melanie tried to push the hand from her breast. The fingers cupped her insistently as teeth nibbled her earlobe. Spreading a pulsing sensation through her belly. “You can’t keep your hands off me,” she gasped, excitement overwhelming caution.
“I got it,” Wall said, stepping out on the deck beside Mike.
Stunned, Melanie whirled.
There was only empty space behind her.
Having helped Jill with cleanup - which amounted to stuffing paper plates in trash bags - Wall now climbed the ladder topside. Slightly awkward, clutching three bottled beers.
Melanie had picked at dinner, quiet after the dive. Now she’d locked herself in the cabin, refusing to even talk about it.
He’d met her on the job, consulting at her company. He’d been delighted when she’d offered to help him adjust to life in America. Things probably would have cooled if she hadn’t surprised him by joining the dive class. Naturally drawing a lot of male attention, he’d been the source of envy when the bikini-clad blonde stood at his side. He’d enjoyed it, which led to the next logical step of bringing her along.
That manta had startled them all - he certainly didn’t hold it against her. Yet she’d accused him of that, clutching a crystal pendant to her chest while kicking him out of the cabin. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to make her feel that way.
Stepping out onto the teak deck, he shrugged it off. The half-moon and its many star companions sparkled off the sea, providing an ethereal light that simply took his breath away.
Moonlight in the tropics. Beautiful.
“You’re sure there’s more?” Jon spoke to Mike, who perched atop the cabin. Both accepted a beer.
“That was definitely a passageway,” Mike answered. “But it’s clogged.”
“Can we free it?”
Shrugging, Mike twisted the top of his beer. “Maybe. Won’t be easy.”
Wall sat on the bench opposite Jon, sipping his own bottle. “A second level? How big do you think it is?”
“Big.” Mike savored the word. “We’ve yet to search so much as the front cabin.”
“Let’s try to scope it out before we start salvage,” Jon said. “Figure out what all we have to do. It’ll still be there when we’re ready.”
“You take the biscuits when they’re passed,” Mike answered. “What’s to say it won’t disappear just as fast as it popped up?”
Wall didn’t quite see Mike’s logic. “You mean like another storm stirs the bottom? Are storms that common?”
“No,” Jon replied. “Never seen so much as a raindrop.”
Below, Jill was wiping down the galley when the cabin door opened and Melanie stepped out.
The blonde wore the red sarong, baring her shoulders to show off her new necklace. “Do you think this works? Crystal’s supposed to protect you from bad energy. And it is flattering - right?”
Feminine, Jill thought with a pang. She looked very feminine, demanding male attention. She’d get it, too. Sighing at her own petty reaction, Jill smiled. “In the absence of a ruby, you look great.”
“A ruby!” Melanie vanished, returning with a tiny travel bag from which she unearthed a choker with a red gemstone. Clasping it about her throat, her fingers dropped to the crystal pendant.
“Rubies are my jewel! Craig gave me this - and you’re right! It echoes the red in the dress.” Frowning, she added, “Looks silly to wear them both, doesn’t it?”
Jill had to agree. “It’s really one of the other.”
For a moment she thought Melanie would remove the ruby. Then with a shrug, she tugged the pendant over her head.
“So you’re feeling better?” Jill asked after a moment.
“Yes.” Stepping into the tiny bath, Melanie turned her head, then swept her long tresses into a coil. As she secured them with a pin, she smiled at Jill. “Shows the neck better. And…a genuine ruby would be more powerful than just a crystal - wouldn’t it?”
Melanie’s hair maneuver awed Jill. She knew women could do it, of course - but somehow imagined it took a lot more work.
“Why are you worried about crystals?”
“I…just…” The woman sighed. “Just a silly daydream. Does this place affect you, too?”
“Sure - it’s the tropics. Can you teach me to do that? I’ve never been able to do stuff with my hair.”
“Your mom never taught you?”
Jill shook her head. “Naah. Mom was more into sports and stuff. Not really the type for makeup or fixing her hair. Anyway, she wasn’t available most of the time.” The confession hung in the air, but the blonde didn’t notice - or didn’t care.
Turning her head side to side, Melanie inspected the coif before squeezing back to make room for Jill. For a wild instant Jill hesitated - then forced herself to step in before the mirror.
The woman gathered her mass of unruly hair and artfully twisted. “All you need do is shape it to best show your features, then pin it in place.”
Jill nodded, though she had no idea what Melanie had done. “I’ll have to get some of those. Pins, I mean”
The blonde considered, then slipped away to her cabin. A bare minute later she was back with a hair-clasp, to deftly secure her handiwork. “If the coil isn’t perfect, so much the better.”
Jill stared in the mirror. A poised, sophisticated woman stared back. Catching Melanie’s reflection, she smiled.
Instead of returning the gesture, the blonde studied her face. “Is it strange? Being Jon’s cousin?”
“Because he’
s black? Jon’s the best guy I know. Want an ale?”
“I hate beer.” Jill could feel Melanie examining facial features, clicking them off one by one. The skin is too brown, the nostrils flare too much. Since elementary school Jill had endured that same scrutiny from friends and strangers alike. Though by the time she got to college, most people were less observant - or mixed-race parents were more common.
Of course, in elementary school both her father and her uncle were in the NFL. In college no one knew who her famous uncle was - she never told them. And her father…well. He’d never really been famous.
“You could be stunning, you know. You have good features.”
Jill gawked at her.
“You just need to…to act like you’re attractive. People think beauty is all surface stuff, but it’s not. If you’re confident, if you move like you’re beautiful, people sort of take you at your own evaluation. Exude a sexy attitude - just a little. You’ll find the men start watching you.”
Jill had to clear her throat to speak. “I don’t want to be watched.”
“Not even by Mike?”
“No!”
“Oh.” Melanie inspected her reflection, smoothing a blonde strand behind her ear. “Too bad. His type is perfect to cut your teeth on.”
Giving her hair a final pat, she floated gracefully to the ladder. And paused. “If not Mike, who did you want to fix your hair for?” She climbed without waiting for an answer.
For myself, Jill muttered through gritted teeth. Whatever Melanie thought, she had no interest in Mike. She’d known him since she was twelve. And anyway, he was the dive shop Casanova. He treated her like a kid sister - which was just fine.
So why did she want to fix her hair?
For an instant, the image of Wall’s smile flittered through her mind. She firmly squelched it.
The cooler called to her, and she considered drinking a beer. But Jon had warned about consuming alcohol while diving. Even though, she acknowledged, all the men had grabbed a bottle. Maybe, for once, she should do what she wanted and to hell with Jon’s advice.
Unearthing a bottle of warm water instead - Mike refused to share valuable cooler space with mere water - she headed for the ladder.
When Melanie stepped out onto the deck, conversation stopped. Her lips twitched, but she pretended not to notice.
Most men had certain buttons that were easily pushed: simply show the proper amount of skin in the not-quite-proper setting. Bikinis on a beach blended in with all the other females, but answer the door in a bikini when the guy picked you up, and you got his attention.
On an evening like this, a simple sarong with a bit of cleavage and a split skirt flashing a glimpse of thigh should keep the Brit’s attention where it belonged. And if others noticed…well. That was collateral damage.
She nodded at everyone, settling gracefully beside Wall.
“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” the Brit asked as his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Melanie nestled against him. To her amusement, Mike’s eyes lingered on her décolletage, her throat. She’d figured him for the type to love a choker.
But when the muscle man looked up, he was smirking. Giving her the slightest ‘tip of the hat’ gesture, he then ignored her altogether.
The son of a bitch thought she’d dressed for him.
“We explore,” Jon was saying. “There’s got to be a way to penetrate farther…we just have to find it.”
Jill popped out of the cabin, settling on the deck floor when there wasn’t any seat space. With her hair hanging straight - she’d pulled it back down - she looked more like a gangly teen then part of the adult conversation. She even had that rebellious vibe going.
“You can squeeze in here,” Melanie scooted closer to Wall, leaving a small gap.
Startled, the brunette shook her head. “I’m not the touchy feely type.”
Amused, Melanie found herself looking up to gauge Mike’s reaction - only to find him waiting to meet her eyes. He held them as he spoke to Jon.
“Dynamite. Open that blocked passage right up…let’s don’t fart around.”
Melanie was becoming far too aware of the muscle man, she decided as Wall stiffened beside her.
“Explosives?” Wall had a wealth of caution in his tone.
“Don’t panic,” Mike smirked. “I know how to use them.”
Jon replied. “Let’s explore a little further before we start blowing things up.”
Frowning, Jill studied the big man’s face. “You think there’s something down there!”
“It’s an undiscovered wreck,” Mike grinned. “Worth seeing what she’s got…don’t you think?”
The Sadicor was almost forty feet, Melanie sniffed. Its salvage wouldn’t amount to more than a pile of junk.
“C’mon Jon, let me help,” Jill turned to her cousin. “You’ll need everyone exploring. We’ve got enough reels.”
Melanie felt Wall’s chest swelling with protest. Jon got there first. “For the tenth time, you’re a novice, Jill. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but entering an underwater structure is a whole level of magnitude more dangerous.”
“We’re just checking out that first cabin tomorrow,” Mike grinned. “With the Brit here, the cabin’s gonna be pretty crowded anyway. You and the princess can pitch in by feeding us.”
It was time, the thought flashed through Melanie’s mind, to wipe that smirk off Muscle Man’s face. “So we feed you, apply iodine to your sure-to-be many scratches. What do we get for that?” she asked. At his confusion, she added, “What’s our share?”
She had, indeed, wiped the smirk off his face. “Your share?!” he spluttered.
“I’m giving up ten days’ vacation for this. If there’s a treasure chest down there, I want my share.”
“Jon will take care of us.” Melanie wasn’t sure if Jill was trying to play peacemaker or defending her cousin. “Jon and Mike always do.”
“You mean they’ll haul in a ton of cash and offer us free dive gear.”
Wall touched her arm placatingly. “It’s doubtful she’ll yield anything of value. Anyway, plenty of time to figure that out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” Mike spat. “I’m not slaving away so the blonde here can wear real rubies.”
Her hand covered the gem protectively. “This is real,” she snarled, feeling genuine fury wash over her. “I bet legally we’re entitled to something. You have to pay us our worth.”
“Twenty dollars - same as any whore.”
Her fingers curled into claws as Jon leaned in between them. “It’s a valid point, Mike. Wall can be a big help, if he’s willing to enter the wreck. And Jill and Melanie can do other things. There’s a lot to be done.”
“Minimum wage stuff.” Then Mike noticed Jill’s expression, and softened. “Except for you, mermaid. You get a percent or two.”
“If Wall goes into the wreck, that’s worth…ten percent,” Jon suggested. “Don’t you think?”
“No way in…”
“Greed is the wrong vibration for what we’re doing,” Jon insisted. “We don’t need that. It’s bad karma not to be fair.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “And the bi… the blonde?”
“Let’s say five percent now for both women,” Jon smiled at them all.
From nowhere angry words welled up in her throat, eager to burst free. Melanie firmly pressed her lips together, clutching the ruby at her throat. What the hell was the matter with her?
Forcing herself to relax, she realized the others held their breath, worrying over her reaction. Wall’s hand was stroking her shoulder, while muscle man Mike’s eyes gleamed dangerously.
It was all she could do not to laugh.
He was somewhere dark and distant, with only echoes of sounds. Echoes of fear. His hands lifted to his face - and he saw they were shackled.
“No!” Wall cried, reaching out, but his fingers closed on empty air. Something precious had been taken from him.
A bo
oming laugh added to the confusion. “You double your gift, senora. Two for the price of one.”
Melanie joined the laughter, leaning back against a bearded man. The ruby sparkled on her throat - dangling above a daring neckline of old lace. The man’s arms enclosed her possessively.
“You can’t keep your hands off me,” she breathed.
A whip cracked, splitting Wall’s cheek. In a haze of pain he watched a small gray cloth fall away. It was precious, that cloth. He must get it back - all depended on his getting it back.
But the gray vanished in a black void.
“No!” Wall sat up, panting.
He knew he was safe, knew he was in bed. But his body took a moment to catch up with his mind.
Moonlight painted the stern portholes, the tiny curtains rippling in the night breeze. Dancing across the bed, the pale beam revealed Melanie sleeping beside him. The curtain shadow created a pattern on her bare throat, echoing the old lace in his dream.
His cheek stung.
Stumbling out of bed, he grabbed his discarded shorts, donning them before easing out of the cabin door.
It took a minute to find the galley light switch - and then the single bulb seemed inadequate with all the other lights off. Aspirin, he thought. Or whatever substitute was offered. Opening a likely cabinet, he only found herbal tea bags.
So he gave up. In four steps he bumped into the dining booth and sat down hard.
‘Clumsy, Trevor,’ he heard his father’s voice. No one had called him Trevor since he’d arrived in America. He doubted anyone this side of the pond even knew his proper name.
Noticing the red shorts he wore reminded him of his mother. Five daughters to indulge her fancy to wardrobe shop - and she chose to buy for him. Ignoring his preference for comfortable clothes, unable to grasp that he couldn’t wear business suits in his technology career, she insisted on bestowing ridiculously expensive attire from Harrods.
