The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  He winked at her, signaled for her to put the ingot into her bag, then jerked a thumb toward the surface. She started to object. How could they leave when they had just begun?

  But of course, there were others waiting. It jabbed her conscience a bit to realize she’d forgotten everything and everyone but what was here. Matthew’s hand closed over hers as they kicked to the surface.

  “You’re supposed to throw yourself at me now,” he told her with a wicked laugh in his eyes that was more triumph than humor. “That’s what you did eight years ago.”

  “I’m much more jaded now.” But she laughed and did exactly what he’d hoped by throwing her arms around him. “It’s her, Matthew. I know it.”

  “Yeah, it’s her.” He had felt it, known it, as if he had seen the Isabella whole, flags flying, as in his dream. “She’s ours now.” He had time to give Tate only a quick kiss before they were hailed. “We’d better go give them the news. You haven’t forgotten how to work an airlift, have you?”

  Her lips were still tingling from his. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  The routine was so familiar. Diving, digging, gathering. Onboard the Mermaid, Buck and Marla pounded away at conglomerate, separating pieces of treasure for Tate to examine and record. Each find, from a gold button set with a pink conch pearl to a gold bar a foot long, was meticulously tagged, sketched, photographed and then logged in her portable computer.

  Tate put her education and experience to use preserving their finds. She knew that in the fairly shallow Caribbean, a wreck rotted, was further damaged by storm and wave action. The wood would be eaten by teredo worms.

  She also knew that the history of the wreck could be read in the very damage it had sustained.

  This time, she would see that every scrap brought up was protected. Her responsibility, she felt, toward the past, and the future.

  Small, fragile items were stored in water-filled jars to keep them from drying out. Larger pieces would be photographed and sketched under water, then stockpiled on the bottom. She had cushioned boxes for the fragile, such as onion-skinned bottles she hoped to find. Wooden specimens would be left in a bath to cushion against warping in the small tank she’d rigged on the boat deck.

  Tate delegated Marla to the position of apprentice chemist. They worked together, with daughter instructing mother. Even artifacts that resisted chemical change were soaked thoroughly in freshwater, then dried. Marla painstakingly sealed everything with a coat of wax. Only gold and silver required no special handling.

  It was time-consuming work, but never, to Tate’s mind, tedious. This was what she had missed and pined for aboard the Nomad. The intimacy, the propriety, and surprise of it all. Every spike and spar was a clue, and a gift from the past.

  Ordinance marks on cannonballs corroborated their hopes that they’d found the Isabella. Tate added to her log all the information she had on the ship, its voyage, cargo and its fate. Painstakingly, she checked and rechecked the manifests, cross-referencing with each new discovery.

  Meanwhile, the airlift was vacuuming off enough sediment to disclose the tattered hull. They dug. She drew. They hauled buckets filled with conglomerate to the surface. Matthew’s sonar located the ballast stones before they found them by sight and hand. While Tate worked in the deckhouse and boat deck of the New Adventure, her father and LaRue were laboriously searching the ballast for artifacts.

  “Honey?” Marla poked her head in. “Don’t you want to take a break? I’ve finished the waxing.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Tate continued to add details to her sketch of a set of jet Rosary beads. “I can’t believe how fast it’s going. It’s been barely two weeks, and we just keep finding more. Look at this, Mom. Look at the detail on this crucifix.”

  “You’ve cleaned it. I’d have done that.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t wait.”

  Fascinated, Marla leaned over her daughter’s shoulder to run a finger on the heavy, carved silver depiction of Christ on the cross. “It’s stunning. You can see the sinew in his arms and legs, count each wound.”

  “It’s too fine to have belonged to a servant. You see, each decade is perfectly matched, and the silver work is first rate. It’s masculine,” she mused. “A man’s piece. One of the officers, perhaps, or maybe a rich priest on his way back to Cuba. I wonder if he held it, prayed with it as the ship went down.”

  “Why aren’t you happy, Tate?”

  “Hmm.” She’d been dreaming again, Tate realized. Brooding. “Oh, I was thinking of the Santa Marguerite. She was salvageable. I mean the wreck itself could have been preserved with enough time and effort. She was nearly intact. I’d hoped, if we did find the Isabella, she would be in a similar state, but she’s ruined.”

  “But we have so much of her.”

  “I know. I’m greedy.” Tate shrugged off the gloom and set her sketch aside. “I had this wild notion we could raise her, the way my team raised the Phoenician ship a few years ago. Now, I have to be content with the pieces the storm and time have left behind.” She toyed with her pencil and tried not to think about the amulet.

  No one spoke of it now. Superstition, she supposed. Angelique’s Curse was on everyone’s mind, as VanDyke was. Sooner or later, she was afraid both would have to be dealt with.

  “I’ll let you get back to work, dear. I’m heading over to the Mermaid to work with Buck.” Marla smiled.

  “I’ll swim over later and see what you’ve come up with.”

  Tate turned back to her keyboard to log in the Rosary. Within twenty minutes, she was lost in an examination of a gold necklace. Its bird in flight pendant had survived the centuries, the tossing waves, the abrasive sand. She estimated the relic to be worth easily fifty thousand dollars, and efficiently noted it down and began her sketch.

  Matthew watched her for a moment, the competent and graceful way she moved pencil over paper. The way the sun was slanting he could make out her ghostly profile in the reflection of her monitor.

  He wanted to press his lips to that spot just at the nape of her neck. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to have her lean back into him, relaxed, easy and just a little eager for his touch.

  But he’d been cautious for the last few weeks. Hoping to move her toward him without tugging. Patience was costing him dozens of restless nights. It seemed only when they were beneath the sea that they moved in concert.

  Every part of him was aching for more.

  “They sent up a couple of wine jugs. One’s intact.”

  “Oh.” Startled, she looked around. “I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you were on the Mermaid.”

  “I was.” But all he’d been able to think about was that she was here, alone. “Looks like you’re keeping up with the haul.”

  “I get antsy if I fall behind.” She brushed her braid off her shoulder, hardly aware she’d inched away when he sat beside her. But he was aware, and irritated. “I can usually get in several hours in the evening, when everyone’s turned in.”

  He’d seen the light in the deckhouse every night when he’d restlessly paced his own deck. “Is that why you never come over to the Mermaid?”

  “It’s easier for me to work in one spot.” Much easier not to risk sitting in the moonlight with him on his own turf. “By my calculations, we’re well ahead of where we were in the same amount of time in our excavation of the Marguerite. And we haven’t hit the mother lode.”

  He leaned over to pick up the gold bird, but was more interested in the way her shoulder stiffened when his brushed it. “How much?”

  Her brow creased. It was no more than expected, she supposed, that he could look at such a fabulous relic and think in dollars and cents. “At least fifty thousand, conservatively.”

  “Yeah.” With his eyes on hers, he jiggled the necklace in his hand. “That ought to keep us afloat.”

  “That’s hardly the issue.” Possessively, she took the necklace back, laid it gently on the padded cloth she had covering her worktable
.

  “What is the issue, Red?”

  “I’m not going to waste my time discussing that with you, but there is something we need to talk about.” She shifted, angling herself so that she could face him and still keep a fair distance.

  “We could talk about it over dinner.” He trailed a fingertip down her shoulder. “We haven’t taken a break in more than two weeks. Why don’t we take another run over to Nevis tonight?”

  “Let’s not cloud business with your libido, Lassiter.”

  “I can manage both.” He picked up her hand, kissed her fingers, then the small scar the moray had given her. “Can you?”

  “I believe I have been.” But she drew her hand free, just to be safe. “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” she began. “We missed our chance to preserve the Marguerite. The Isabella is badly broken up, but we still have the opportunity to salvage some of her.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

  “I don’t mean just her cargo, I mean her. There are treatments to preserve ships’ timbers, prevent their shrinking in open air. She can even be partially reconstructed. I need polyethylene glycol.”

  “I don’t happen to have any on hand.”

  “Don’t be cute, Matthew. Planks immersed in a bath of that solution are permeated with it. Even wood riddled with marine borers can be preserved. I want to call Hayden, ask him to get what’s needed, and to come and help me salvage the ship.”

  “Forget it.”

  “What do you mean forget it? She’s an important find, Matthew.”

  “She’s our find,” he tossed back. “No way in hell I’m sharing her with some college professor.”

  “He’s not some college professor. Hayden Deel is a brilliant marine archaeologist. One who’s dedicated himself to study and preservation.”

  “I don’t give a damn what he’s dedicated to, he’s not coming in on this deal.”

  “That’s the bottom line, isn’t it? The deal.” Disgusted, she shoved away so that she could scoot around the worktable and stand. “I’m not asking for him to have a share of your all-important booty. He wouldn’t expect it. Some of us don’t measure everything in dollars.”

  “Easy for you to say when you’ve never had to scrape one together. You always had Mom and Dad to fall back on, a nice cozy home with supper on the stove.”

  Anger paled her cheeks. “I made my way, Lassiter. On my own. If you’d ever bothered to think past the next wreck, you might have more than the loose change rattling around in your pocket. Now all you can think about is cashing in and living the good life. There’s more to this expedition than auctioning artifacts.”

  “Fine, when we’ve auctioned those artifacts, you can do whatever the hell you want, with whoever you want.” He’d damn well kill anyone who touched her. “But until then, you don’t contact anyone.”

  “That’s all it is to you, isn’t it?” She slapped her palms on the table, leaning forward until her angry eyes were level with his. “Just the money matters.”

  “You don’t know what matters to me. You never did.”

  “I thought you’d changed, just a little. I thought finding the Isabella meant more to you than what you could take from her.” Straightening again, Tate shook her head. “I can’t believe I could be so wrong about you twice.”

  “Looks like you can.” He pushed away from the table. “You always accuse me of being self-involved, Tate, but what about you? You’re so wrapped up in what you want, the way you want it, even if it blocks off what you feel.”

  Driven, he grabbed her arms, dragged her against him. “What do you feel? Damn it, what do you feel?” he repeated and closed his mouth over hers.

  Too much, she thought as her heart went spinning. Too painfully much. “That isn’t the answer,” she managed.

  “It’s one of them. Forget the Isabella, the amulet, your goddamn Hayden.” His eyes were dark and fierce. “Answer that one question. How do you feel?”

  “Hurt!” she shouted over quick, useless tears. “Confused. Needy. Yes, I have feelings, damn you, Matthew, and you stir them up every time you touch me. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “It’ll do. Pack a bag.”

  He released her so suddenly, she stumbled. “What?”

  “Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”

  “I—what? Where?”

  “The hell with the bag.” She’d told him what he’d wanted to hear, and he wasn’t going to let her rethink it. Not this time. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her on deck. Before she had a clue what he was planning, he’d scooped her into his arms and was lowering her over the rail into the tender.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I should have lost it weeks ago. I’m taking her to Nevis,” he shouted to the Mermaid. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

  “In the morning.” Shading her eyes, Marla stared at her daughter. “Tate?”

  “He’s lost his mind,” Tate called out, but was forced to sit when Matthew leapt nimbly down. “I’m not going with you,” she began, but was drowned out by the tender’s engine. “Stop the boat right now, or I’ll just go overboard.”

  “I’ll pull you back,” he said grimly. “You’ll just get wet.”

  “If you think I’m going to spend the night with you on Nevis—” She broke off when he whipped his head around. He looked too dangerous for arguments. “Matthew,” she said more calmly. “Get ahold of yourself. We had a disagreement, this is no way to settle it.” Her breath hitched when he cut the engine back. For one humming moment, she wondered if he would simply pitch her over the side.

  “It’s long past time we finish what we started eight years ago. I want you, and you’ve just said you want me right back. You’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Until we settle this, it’s going to keep getting in the way.” His hand ached from his rough grip on the tiller. “You look at me, Tate, and you tell me you didn’t mean what you said, that it doesn’t affect you, and everything we’re doing here, and I’ll turn around and go back. That’ll be the end of it.”

  Shaken, she dragged a hand through her tousled bangs. He’d shanghaied her, tossed her into a boat, and now he was putting the choice back in her hands. “You expect me to sit here like this and discuss the effects of sexual attraction.”

  “No, I expect you to say yes or no.”

  She looked back toward the Mermaid, where her mother still stood at the rail. Then toward the smoky peak of Nevis. Oh, hell.

  “Matthew, we don’t have any clothes, luggage, we don’t have a room.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She opened her mouth, heard herself babble. “This is crazy.”

  “That’s a yes,” he decided, and gunned the engine. He didn’t speak to her again. They reached the pier, docked. As they crossed the beach at arm’s length, he pointed to an empty lounge chair. “Sit,” he told her. “I’ll be back.”

  Too bemused to argue, she sat, staring at her bare feet, offering the wandering waitress who stopped by with a tray a vague shake of her head and a baffled smile at the offer of a drink.

  Tate looked out to sea, but the Mermaid and the New Adventure were beyond sight. It seemed she’d cut her line.

  If this was an answer, she could no longer think of the question. But when Matthew came back, held out his hand, she took it. They walked in silence through the gardens, across the slope of green lawn.

  He unlocked a sliding glass door, pulled it closed behind them and flipped the latch.

  The room was bright, airy, dreamy in pastels. The bed was neatly made, plumped with generous pillows. She stared at it, jerking only once when he pulled the blinds and tossed the room into shadows.

  “Matthew—”

  “We’ll talk later.” He reached behind her to undo her braid. He wanted her hair loose, flowing through his fingers.

  She closed her eyes and would have sworn the floor tilted beneath her feet. “And if this is a mistake.”

  “Haven’t you ever
made one?”

  His grin flashed, and she found herself smiling in response. “One or two. But—”

  “Later.” He lowered his head and found her lips.

  He’d been sure he needed to dive into her, the way he sometimes needed to dive into the sea, as if to save, or at least to find, his sanity. His hands had itched to tug at her clothes, to touch the skin beneath and possess what he’d once given up.

  But the hot-edged hunger that had driven him to bring her here mellowed as her taste flowed through him. As sweet as yesterday, as fresh as the instant. Love, never quite conquered, swarmed through him in triumph.

  “Let me see you,” he murmured. “I’ve waited so long to see you.”

  Lightly, gently, mindful of her trembling, he loosened her blouse, slipped it aside. She was pale ivory and soft satin beneath, a delicate feast for hands and eyes.

  “All of you.” As his mouth skimmed over her bare shoulder, he tugged at her shorts, at the practical swatch of cotton under them.

  His mermaid, he thought, almost dizzy with discovery. So slim and white and beautiful.

  “Matthew.” She dragged his shirt over his head, desperate for flesh to find flesh. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

  With those words humming in his head, he lowered her to the bed and quietly, cleverly, pleasured them both.

  Tenderness was so unexpected. So seductive. She had seen it once, hidden in the brash young man she had fallen in love with. But to find it now, after so long, was a treasure. His hands brushed and stroked and aroused while his mouth patiently swallowed her sighs.

  Her own exploring fingers found muscle and scar, skin that heated under her curious caress. She tasted it, letting her lips and tongue skim over that flesh and savor the flavor of man and sea.

  So she went dreaming, floating on a sea of shifting passions, thrilling to his murmurs of pleasure as he traveled over her. She arched to meet him, shuddering with delight when his mouth closed over her breast. So hot, so firm, so exquisitely controlled. All the while his hands moved steadily over her, sending tiny, eager pulses soaring.

  When her sea began to toss, he soothed her back from the edge, teased her up again to the narrow verge until her breath came in gasps and she would have begged had she had the power. Storms brewed inside her so that the air was hot and heavy and throbbed with the threat.