by Nora Roberts
Once she was in the tender, he cast off, sent a cheery wave to the crew and kicked the engine to life. He felt incredible.
“Is there something wrong with rules?” she asked.
He grinned again, turned the boat skillfully. “I’m crazy about you.”
That tugged a little too acutely at her heart. “That’s rule number one. Let’s not confuse physical attraction and compatibility.”
“With?”
“Anything.”
“I’ve always been crazy about you.”
“I mean it, Matthew.”
“I can see you do.” And it stung. But he wasn’t going to allow anything to dim his mood, or to wither the hope he’d begun to nourish while she’d slept beside him. “Okay, how’s this? I want to make love with you at every possible opportunity. Is that better?”
Her insides went liquid at the possibility, but she kept her voice brisk. “It may be more honest, but it’s hardly practical. There are six of us on two boats.”
“So, we’ll be inventive. You up to diving this morning?”
“Of course I am.”
To entertain himself, he studied her. Windblown, tousled, barefoot. “I wonder what it would be like to get you naked under water.” He held up a hand. “Just kidding. For now.”
If he thought the idea shocked her, he was wrong. But before she fantasized about it too deeply, she wanted to set the record straight. “Matthew, there are still issues we have to resolve.”
He slowed the tender. Damned if she wasn’t going to pick at it until she managed to spoil the mood. “You want to get back to the idea of calling in your associate, or whatever he was to you.”
“Hayden would be invaluable on a project like this, if he’s willing to take the time.”
“My answer stands, Tate. Listen to me before you start pissing me off again. We can’t risk it.”
“Risk involving one of the top scientists in the field?”
“Risk VanDyke getting wind of it.”
“You’re paranoid about this,” she said impatiently. “Hayden understands the necessity for discretion.”
“Hayden worked for Trident.”
Her chin shot up. “So did I. I’m sure Hayden was as unaware of the politics as I was. And even if he has been associated with VanDyke, he’d say nothing to anyone if I asked him.”
“You want to take the chance of losing it all again?”
She started to speak, hesitated because she was certain he was speaking about more than the hunt. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t. We’ll table calling Hayden for now, but it’s something I feel strongly about.”
“Once we’ve played her out, you can call every scientist you know. I’ll even help you bring her up piece by piece if that’s what you want.”
She stared, speechless. “You would?”
He cut the engine with a jerk of the hand as they came alongside the New Adventure. “You don’t get it, do you, Red? Even now.”
Baffled, she lifted a hand toward his. “Matthew.”
“Work on it,” he snapped out, and jerked a thumb toward the ladder. “And be ready to dive in twenty minutes.”
Women, he thought as he steered the tender toward the Mermaid. They were supposed to be the sensitive, emotional ones. What a joke. There he’d been, all but dribbling with love like a sap and all she could talk about were rules and science.
LaRue, gold tooth gleaming, caught the line Matthew heaved to secure the tender. “So, mon ami, you feel refreshed this morning, eh?”
“Cram it,” Matthew suggested. He landed lightly on deck, stripping off his shirt as he went. “Save the comments. I want coffee.”
Not bothering to hide the grin, LaRue strolled toward the galley. “Me, when I spend the night with a woman we both smile in the morning.”
“Keep it up,” Matthew muttered, checking his gear. “You’ll lose another tooth.” After grabbing swimming trunks, he moved to the port side.
She’d gone to bed with him, he thought, bitterly. She’d let him have her until they had both been delirious. And she still thought he was one small step up from slime. He tugged off his shorts, yanked on his trunks. What the hell kind of woman was she?
When he stalked back for his wet suit, Buck was waiting.
“Just hold on a minute, boy.” After a night of soul-searching and worry, Buck was primed. He jabbed a finger in Matthew’s chest. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“What I’ve got is work to do. Get the airlift ready.”
“I never interfered with that—that hormone part of your life.” To keep Matthew in place, Buck jabbed again. “Figured you knew what was what. But when you start taking advantage of that sweet little girl.”
“Sweet,” Matthew interrupted. “Oh yeah, she’s real sweet when she’s tearing strips off you or kicking your guts out.” He grabbed his wet suit and sat to begin the process of stretching it over his legs. “What goes on between me and Tate isn’t any of your business.”
“Hell it isn’t. We’re all part of a team, and her daddy’s the best friend I ever had.” Buck rubbed a hand over his mouth and wished actively for a drink so that he could slide painlessly through the rest of the lecture. “I ain’t saying a man don’t have needs, and maybe it ain’t easy for you being out here all these weeks without any way to meet them.”
Eyes narrowed against the sun, Matthew stood to work the suit to his hips. “I got a hand if that’s all I need.”
Buck scowled. He didn’t like talking about such matters. But he had a duty. “Then why the hell didn’t you use it instead of using Tate? I told you this eight years ago, and I’ll tell you again. She ain’t no throwaway, boy, and I’m not going to stand around—”
“I didn’t use her, goddamn it.” He jammed an arm through the sleeve. “I’m in love with her.”
“Don’t you—” Buck stopped, blinked and decided he’d be better off sitting down. He waited, getting his bearings, while Matthew grabbed the coffee LaRue brought out. “You mean that?”
“Just get off my back.”
Buck looked toward LaRue, who was busying himself studying the compressor. “Look, Matthew, I don’t know much about that kind of thing, but . . . Well, Jesus, when did that happen?”
“About eight years ago.” Most of his anger drained, but the tension remained fierce in his shoulders. “Don’t hassle me about this, Buck. Did you get the weather report?”
“Yeah, yeah. We got no problem.” Knowing he was out of his depth, Buck rose awkwardly to help Matthew with his tanks. “Ray and the Canadian brought up some porcelain after you went ashore. Marla was going to clean it up.”
“Fine. Signal the Adventure, LaRue. I want to get started.”
“Better to finish,” LaRue commented, but walked to starboard to send up the hail.
“Of course I’m all right.” Tate strapped on her diving knife and tried to reassure her mother. “I’m sorry if you were worried.”
“I wasn’t worried, exactly. More concerned. I know Matthew would never hurt you.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Tate mumbled.
“Oh, honey.” Marla gathered her close for a quick, hard hug. “You’re a grown woman. I know that. And I know that you’re sensible and careful and responsible. All the things you should be. But are you happy?”
“I don’t know.” Wishing she did, Tate hitched on her tanks, tugged the strap snug. “I haven’t figured that out.” She glanced up at LaRue’s hail. “Matthew isn’t an easy man to understand.” Sighing, she hooked on her weight belt. “But I can handle it. And I can handle him.” She pulled on her flippers and frowned. “Dad’s not going to do anything crazy about this, is he?”
With a light laugh, Marla offered Tate her face mask. “I can handle him.” She lifted her gaze, looked across the water to where Matthew stood on deck. “Matthew Lassiter is an attractive and intriguing man, Tate. There are pockets in him the right woman could plumb.”
“I’m not interested in plumbing Lassite
r’s pockets.” Tate adjusted her mask, then grinned. “But I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on him again.”
He didn’t give her much of an opportunity. The instant they were down at the wreck, he had the airlift sweeping. He worked fast and hard. At times the sand, shells and debris machine-gunned over her back and shoulders. She had to scramble to keep up with his progress, shifting through the fallout, filling buckets, tugging on the line that would signal Buck to haul them up. He gave her little time to delight in the finds.
A chunk of conglomerate struck her shoulder hard enough to bruise. Rather than wincing over the sting, she soothed herself by cursing him as she reached for the calcified form. The blackened silver coins fused together in an insane sculpture changed her mood. Swimming through the murk, she rapped sharply on Matthew’s tank.
He turned, easing back when she stuck the conglomerate in his face in triumph. He barely glanced at it. With a watery shrug, he went back to work.
What the devil was the matter with him? she wondered, and dropped the monied find in a bucket. He should have grinned, tugged her hair, touched her face. Something. Instead, he was working like a maniac without any of the pleasure that always flowed through their partnership.
She thought he was only interested in money; meanwhile, Matthew fumed and played the airlift over the sand. Did she really believe a hunk of silver would make him rear up and dance? She could keep every fucking coin as far as he was concerned. Turn every last one of them over to her precious dream museum or her precious Hayden Deel.
He’d wanted her, damn it. But he hadn’t known sex without her love, and goddamn it, her respect, would be hollow. Would leave him hollow.
Well, now he knew. That left him with only one goal. Angelique’s Curse. He’d search every inch of sand, every crevice, every foot of coral. And when he had it, he’d take his revenge on his father’s killer.
Revenge, Matthew decided, was a more satisfying goal than the love of a woman. God knew, it couldn’t hurt as much to fail.
He worked until his arms sang with fatigue, and his mind went numb with the monotony of it. Then the pipe whisked away sand, and he saw that first stunning flash of gold.
He drew the pipe back, glanced toward Tate. He could see she was scrambling through the cloudy water, her eyes sharp behind her mask, even though Matthew could sense the dragging fatigue in her movements.
He’d worked her too hard, and he knew it. Yet not once had she asked him to stop, or slow down. Has pride always been our problem? he wondered, then looked back at the shining coins, tossed like a god’s careless pocket change on the seafloor.
Smiling, he turned the pipe so that it would suck the coins. They flew back, clinking against Tate’s tanks, bulleting against her back. He saw the moment the first glint caught her eye, watched her hand dart. She scooped up doubloons like a child scoops up candy from a shattered piñata.
And she turned to him. It soothed his edgy heart that she would seek his face with her hands full of old gold.
He grinned as she swam toward him, tugged the neck of his suit open just enough to slip coins down his suit. Her eyes brimmed with laughter as he turned the pipe aside. Curious fish watched them wrestle, spin, then clumsily embrace.
Matthew jerked a thumb toward the surface, but she shook her head, pointed toward the airlift. With a nod, he shouldered it again while she scooped handfuls of coins from the sand to the bucket.
She had filled two to overflowing, and was happily exhausted when she spotted the pouch. It had been velvet and was tattered and worn. Even as her fingers touched it, the corners crumbled in her hand. Through the thready hole, stars fell.
Her breath literally stopped. With a trembling hand, she reached down and lifted the rope. Diamonds and sapphires exploded through the murk. It was three tiers, ridiculously heavy and ornate. The gems had held their fire through the centuries and flashed now before her dazzled eyes.
Stunned, she held it out to Matthew.
For one numbing moment, he thought they’d found it. He would have sworn he saw the amulet dripping from her hands, felt the power humming from the bloody stone. But when he touched it himself, it changed. Priceless, sumptuous, it was. But it held no magic. In a careless gesture, he tossed it over her head so that gems sparkled against her snug, dark suit.
This time when he signaled to surface, she nodded. She gave a tug on the ropes. Together they followed the buckets.
“We found the mother lode.” Exhaustion forgotten, Tate reached out for him as they broke the surface.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt of that.”
“Matthew.” Reverently, she slipped her fingers under the necklace. “It’s real.”
“Looks good on you.” He closed a hand over hers. “You still bring me luck, Tate.”
“Holy God Almighty!” came the shout from the Mermaid. “We got gold here, Ray,” Buck yelled. “We got ourselves buckets of gold.”
Tate grinned and squeezed Matthew’s hand. “Let’s go let them pat us on the back.”
“Good idea. I was thinking”—he kicked lazily toward the Mermaid—“if I were to swim over, say about midnight, go up to the bridge. There’s a lock on that door.”
She reached for the ladder ahead of him. “Now, that’s a good idea.”
Within two days, they had hauled up over a million dollars in gold. There were jewels that Tate was struggling to appraise and catalogue. The more stunning their success, the more precautions they took.
They moored the boats more than a hundred feet from the site, and Buck made a show of fishing off the bow at least twice a day when the tour boats passed within hailing distance. Tate took countless rolls of film and stored them. She sketched, and filed the drawings away.
She knew her dream of a museum was almost within her grasp. There would be articles to be written, papers to be published, interviews. She and her father debated plans and ideas. To Matthew, she said nothing of her hopes. His dreams, she knew, were different from hers. They worked together, hunted together. In the quiet of midnight, they made restless love on a padded blanket.
And if he sometimes seemed moody, if she would catch him studying her with unreadable eyes, she told herself they’d reached their compromise.
The expedition, and the quiet flow of spring into summer, couldn’t have been more perfect.
LaRue strolled, whistling, out of the deckhouse. He paused a moment, watching Buck and Marla hammer conglomerate. He admired the very attractive Mrs. Beaumont. Not only for her looks and slim, lovely body, but for her seamless class. The women who had flowed in and out of LaRue’s life had been interesting, intriguing, but very rarely had they been classy.
Even sweaty and grimy-handed, the pedigreed Southern belle shone through.
It was a pity the woman was married, he thought. One of the few rules LaRue never broke was to seduce a married woman.
“I must take the tender,” he announced. “We need supplies.”
“Oh.” Marla sat back on her heels, brushed beads of perspiration from her brow. “Are you going to Saint Kitts, LaRue? I was hoping to run in myself. I could really use some fresh eggs and fruit.”
“I would be happy to pick up whatever you would like.”
“Actually . . .” She offered him her most charming smile. “I’d love to go ashore for a little while. If you wouldn’t mind the company.”
His smile flashed as he quickly adjusted his plans. “Ma chère Marla, it would be my greatest pleasure.”
“Could you wait just a few minutes while I clean up?”
“My time is your time.”
All chivalry, he assisted her into the tender, watched her efficiently zip across the distance to the New Adventure. Nothing, he knew, would induce the lovely Mrs. Beaumont to swim even a few feet.
“You’re wasting your charm on her, Frenchie,” Buck grumbled and whacked his hammer.
“But, mon ami, I have so much to spare.” Amused, LaRue glanced back. “And what would you like me to
bring you back from the island?”
A bottle of Black Jack, Buck thought, nearly tasting that first shock of whiskey in his throat. “I don’t need nothing.”
“As you wish.” He patted his pocket where his tobacco was
