MAKE HER PAY

by Roxanne St Claire

  As natural as the next breath, he guided her on her back, the move so sweet and easy, she just let it happen, falling on the unmade bed like it was a cloud.

  “You’re seducing me.”

  He smiled into the kiss. “Man, I hate to be so obvious.”

  She broke the kiss, but he just added some body pressure, gently rolling against her hips, taking his lips from her mouth to her jaw and down her throat.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  This time, he laughed. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

  Still, the sense that there was an ulterior motive lingered. “I mean why … me and not Alita?”

  Lifting a little, he frowned. “Dumb question. Bad timing. But I’ll answer it if I have to.”

  “You have to.”

  “You’re cute and sexy and funny and …” He kissed her again, with a quick stroke of his tongue. “I like you.”

  As if that was all that needed to be said, he returned to kissing her so completely she couldn’t stop the twisting ache low in her belly, the fiery sparks making her want to slide her leg over his hips and pull him into her.

  Her heart hammered and he lowered his head, dragging that tongue over her, as if he were going straight to the source of all the noise in her chest and could simply … lick it.

  Her fingers tightened on his head, tunneling into thick, soft hair, lifting his head before he reached his destination and she was gone for good.

  “You like this, or you like me?”

  A soft puff of air escaped with his frustrated chuckle. “Both. I like you. I like this.” He rocked his hips against her. “But honey, if you just want to talk for a while …” His tone left no doubt he didn’t want to, but the offer stood.

  Did she? Too much time, and she’d tell him everything. And she still couldn’t be sure he was trustworthy. So why was she horizontal on her bed, when she was supposed to be calling Brianna for an update …

  “You’re thinking too hard,” he said, inching his hand up her waist, perilously close to the breast that had just escaped his mouth. “Don’t think, Lizzie.”

  “I don’t just … do this with anybody.”

  “Good to know.” One more inch. His thumb grazed the underside of her breast, the thin fabric of her shirt somehow making the contact positively incendiary. “ ’Cause I’m not anybody.”

  He fooled her, lowering his head before his fingers moved again, closing his lips right over the hardened tip of her nipple, the cotton no match for his tongue.

  The room spun, and her body went boneless and helpless and lost.

  He pressed his lower half against her, that beautiful manhood she’d admired in the shower fully erect now, pulsing with each move of his hips, finding her center as he shifted so their bodies met.

  The concept of stopping faded with every suspended second of sweetness, her lower half completely melted, her brain just as mushy, and all she could do was clench his shoulders and let it happen.

  Just as he glided his hand around her breast, circling it with certainty, the fog started to lift. How far was she going to let this little session go? Far.

  His other hand slipped under her shirt, sliding toward the bottom of her bra. He timed the next roll of his hips perfectly, just as he dipped his fingers under her satin bra and closed over her breast.

  The shock of his hand on her flesh exploded through all her senses.

  Then he jerked upright, almost completely off her.

  “Con.” She slipped her hand behind his neck, pulling him back.

  “Someone’s out there,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Outside your cabin. Listening.”

  “How do you— I didn’t hear anything.” Except the Niagara Falls of blood rushing in her ears.

  He put a finger on her mouth and shook his head.

  She forced herself to be perfectly still, to concentrate on the sounds outside her bunk and not on the shadow of whiskers right in front of her, or the pressure of his hard-on, or the bare chest she was surely going to feel against her about-to-be-bare chest.

  The knock was hard and swift. He gave her an “I told you so” look and flipped off the bunk in one easy move.

  “Lizzie!” Oh God—Flynn Paxton. “We need to find Con! Do you know where he is?”

  Before she could formulate a cover for him, Con had the cabin door open.

  “I’m right here. What’s the matter?”

  “The medallion is missing.”

  Lizzie’s heart stopped slamming as she sucked in a breath.

  “I hid it,” Con said, blocking the entrance and giving her time to sit up, straighten her clothes, and check her top, soaking wet from his mouth. “It’s in a locked cabinet in the lab.”

  She scanned the bed and desk, desperate for anything to pull over when her gaze fell on the cell phone he’d dropped on the table.

  “No, it’s not,” Flynn Paxton insisted. “That cabinet is hanging by a hinge and the medallion is gone. Nice work.”

  As Con swore under his breath and bolted into the hall, she launched up and made a grab for the phone. The second she slipped it in her pocket, Paxton stepped into her cabin, his glare as dark as anything she’d ever seen.

  “I knew he was in here.”

  “Good for you, Flynn,” she said.

  “So if the medallion’s really missing, we have you to blame.” His gaze dropped over her kiss-dampened T-shirt and he made a smirk, then followed Con down the hall.

  With a sigh, she sank on the bed.

  If Paxton hadn’t shown up, there was no telling how far that would have gone. Yes, there was—it would have gone all the way.

  So if she trusted the man enough to give him her body, shouldn’t she trust him enough to give him her secrets?

  It was time to find out.

  Con stared at the hole where his padlock had been. Gone. It couldn’t have been shot off—he’d have heard it. Someone just picked it. Totally outsmarted him. He marched to the metal cabinet, which hung from a hinge, having been ingeniously unscrewed from the outside. A trick he’d used many times.

  “Fuck!” He slammed his hand on the counter with a thud.

  “Perhaps if you hadn’t been trying to do just that, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  He spun at the sound of Alita’s voice, her flirtatious smile reduced to an unattractive smirk.

  “You’re the only person who knew it was in this cabinet,” he ground out.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Con, but I’m not capable of that.” She nodded toward the destroyed cabinet. “Anyway, I told the entire crew where you had it when I went upstairs.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, and he took a few steps forward, using his size and fury to threaten her.

  “Why?” he demanded again, in her face.

  She met his gaze, unintimidated. “I knew you went to her room.”

  “So, what? You were jealous?”

  “Of Lizzie Dare? She wouldn’t know what to do with a man if one bit her.”

  She obviously didn’t know the power of her competition. Or maybe she did.

  “That’s why you advertised the hiding place of the most valuable item on board?” He couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice.

  At least he knew now that Lizzie wasn’t the thief … or not the only one, anyway. While he was busy trying to screw the truth out of her, someone else had screwed him. He blew out another curse, just as Paxton powered in.

  “Get out of here, Alita,” he said. “I need to talk to Con privately.”

  She speared him with a look, and left.

  “There’s a thief on board,” Flynn said.

  No shit. “Whoever it is, they’re still on board, and so is that medallion,” Con replied. “We need to search every room, every hold, every bag, every corner until we find it.”

  “Do we?” Paxton practically spit out the words.

  “As you may recall, you gave me the assignment to secure the treasure this afternoon.”

>   “And you failed.”

  Had he been set up? “Who on this ship has this kind of capability?”

  “Plenty of people,” he said. “And if we don’t find that medallion soon, you’re going down as the one who took it.”

  Con shot him a look. “You know damn well I didn’t take it.”

  “I don’t know anything.” He turned to leave, then paused. “I don’t even know how you got this job.”

  He disappeared into the hall, leaving Con to examine the broken cabinet and search for clues that a second-rate thief might leave behind. There were none. An hour later, he’d finished reattaching the cabinet and headed to his own cabin, not bothering to lock the lab.

  Paxton had taken all the treasure that day to the mainland, and the medallion was gone. He stepped out into the hall and stopped when he saw Lizzie sitting on the floor outside of his bunk.

  She put down something she was reading. “You have a minute?”

  He nodded, noticing that she’d showered, changed into a loose, blousy top, and looked even fresher and prettier than when he’d left her.

  Standing, she held out a brown notebook he knew he wasn’t supposed to recognize but did. “I want to share something with you.”

  Part of him was disappointed. The part that wanted to seduce the answers he wanted out of her.

  “Come on in,” he said, unlocking his cabin. “Your reputation’s probably pretty trashed by now anyway.”

  “Like I care.”

  He shot her an appreciative smile. “Tough girl.”

  “Seriously, I don’t care about these people.”

  “One of whom is a fairly skilled thief.”

  “At least now you know it’s not me.”

  “Unless you’re working with someone,” he shot back.

  “That was a pretty thorough distraction technique you employed up in your cabin.”

  “You think that I planned that?”

  “No,” he admitted. “You’re not quite that devious.”

  She took the chair, her posture stiff and awkward. Was she nervous? “Don’t be so sure.”

  He gave her a quizzical look and indicated the notebook. “What’s that?”

  “My father’s journal.”

  Lowering himself to the bunk, he leaned his elbows on his knees. “I’ve already got a good book going, so I guess you must have a reason for bringing this in here.”

  She took a breath and nodded. “I was going to sleep with you.”

  “Did you change your mind?” And what did it have to do with that journal?

  “I changed my mind about you. I think you’re … one of the good guys.”

  He laughed softly. “That’s what you call them now?”

  “I mean, you can be trusted.”

  That must have been some make-out session for her. It left him hard as a rock, but trustworthy? He was better at this than he thought.

  “Con, I need some help.”

  Her tone was dead serious, so he matched it. “For what?”

  She held up the notebook. “Have you ever heard of a legendary ship called El Falcone?”

  Whoa. He was much better than he thought. “I’ve heard the folklore.”

  “Do you know the captain’s name?”

  He searched his memory banks and the little information he’d read. Nowhere had a captain’s name been mentioned.

  “His name was Aramis Dare,” she said, a look of absolute expectation on her face. When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward.

  “Aramis Dare.”

  “A relative of yours, I take it.”

  “Yes, I am a direct descendant of Aramis, who was my great-times-something grandfather. His name isn’t known to many people in history, but those who do know it, and believe the legend of El Falcone, also believe him to be a pirate and a thief.”

  “Was he?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to find out. More specifically, my father wanted to find out, and he was very close to doing just that when he died.” She handed him the notebook. “Quite a bit of it is in here. The information about El Falcone, a ship that carried two of the most spectacular diamonds ever mined, set atop matching royal scepters that were commissioned as a gift for King Luis I of Portugal and his bride, Maria Pia.”

  He just listened, taking in the gleam in her topaz eyes.

  “A few months before my father died, he went to Havana and scoured the libraries and manifests and old documents and found many answers, and plenty of questions. It was his lifelong mission to find out the truth, to salvage El Falcone, and, mostly, to clear Aramis Dare’s name and prove that he was no pirate; he was a merchant.”

  “Okay. And … how are you fulfilling this mission?” He knew, of course, but wanted to hear her say it.

  “My dad’s theory was that El Falcone wasn’t lost in a storm. It was shot by cannon fire, taken down by a man who was Aramis’s sworn enemy, a man who tried to renege on paying for the very scepters and diamonds he’d commissioned artisans to make.”

  Con leaned back, considering what he should say.

  She stared at him, that look of expectation brightening her eyes again. But she wasn’t going to say it. He’d have to.

  “You think we’re salvaging El Falcone.”

  “I know we are. And you know what else? Judd Paxton knows it. That’s why all the secrecy. I don’t know if he knows all that my father knew, but he knows enough. And he’s going to rip this wreck apart piece by piece, selling all of the treasures to his high-bidding private collectors. A tiny portion of it will be in a museum, if any, and no one is going to look for the truth about what happened to the ship, leaving the world to think Aramis Dare stole everything because every item on the ship was sin registrada.”

  “Not registered.”

  “Exactly. No official manifest exists. Aramis was selling the goods to private buyers. He bought the treasures himself, and didn’t officially register the ship. That’s why he was considered a pirate. But he was just a shrewd businessman.”

  Kind of like Judd himself.

  “Paxton’s already stripping up the treasure,” she said, slapping her hand on her thigh with anger. “Don’t you see that? He’s stealing treasure he found on the bottom of the ocean and selling it. Aramis Dare paid for his treasures and was selling them to a third party for profit, which is perfectly legal. If he didn’t get paid for them, then he kept them himself. And according to what my father found, he didn’t get paid for them. Therefore …” She stood. “I own everything we find on this dive.”

  Con just stared at her. “You want to keep all the treasure?”

  “Not all of it, and not for profit or glory,” she shot back. “I want to do what’s right with the treasure. Display it. Exhibit it. Share it. Tell Aramis’s story and make it a testament to him.”

  Really?

  She leaned forward, her golden brown eyes wide and sincere, searching his face. “I can trust you, right, Con?” She reached for his hand. “I don’t know you well, so this is a huge risk, but I have this powerful gut instinct about you that I can trust you.”

  Trust him to turn all this over to his boss and her client, sure. “Yeah.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s all about the scepters and the diamonds, as you can imagine. Those matching blue diamonds sitting on top of matching golden scepters created for a king and his bride, that’s the big draw, right?”

  “If the diamonds are sizable and really match, of course.”

  “So if the scepters are found and taken off this boat, and turned over to the state authorities before Paxton goes through the claim filing, he can’t keep them.”

  “Is that what you’re trying to do?” Con almost laughed. “Single-handedly find two matching scepters and two of the world’s most valuable diamonds, figure out a way to somehow bring them up without your dive partner seeing them, get them off this boat, and report him to the state, using the scepters to prove that this is El Falcone and that some kind of Cuban paperwork says they belon
g to your family?”

  Her smile was slow at the end of all that. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Would you help me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  She put one hand on his knee, squeezing softly. “Because you are one of the good ones, Con. I see it in your eyes. In your attitude. I see a good man. Will you help me?”

  When she found out the truth about what he was doing, she’d hate him. Not that it mattered what this spunky little blonde thought of him. He had a job to do.

  And helping her, in some way, might actually be doing that job. He’d know if she found anything, and then he could let Lucy know.

  “What are the chances,” he said slowly, buying some time as he thought this through, “that you are going to find two golden scepters and matching diamonds at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean? They could be anywhere.”

  “Anywhere,” she agreed with a twinkle in her eye. “Absolutely anywhere.”

  Slowly, her eyes dancing, she lifted the large, loose top she wore, revealing hips in low-slung jeans, then her bare waist, then the elastic bottom of a sports bra.

  With one hand, she reached into her cleavage. “One might even be right here.”

  In one smooth move, she held out her hand, opened her fist, and presented a pale blue diamond the size of a baseball.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered, staring at it.

  “You can say that again.”

  “How long have you had this?”

  “Got it the second day. The second day! Can you believe that?”

  He just stared, every hair on his neck standing in awe. “And the scepter?”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  He finally looked up at her. “How?”

  “This came right out of the scepter, which I hid— pretty damn well, I might add—under the ballast pile. I’ve been waiting to pick the right person on board to be my accomplice.” She held out the diamond, inviting him to touch it. “And now, I’ve found him.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  WHEN HE REACHED for the diamond, Con’s icy eyes darkened and they were, for just that instant, precisely the color of the Bombay Blue. Lizzie let him take it, as pleased with his expression of awe and desire as she was with her plan. And her choice of partners.