Don't Tempt Me

by Julie Ortolon

"I think I invented that saying. I just didn't think it applied to you."

  "Why's that?" She tipped her head.

  "I don't know." He floundered for a reason. "Your whole statement about grabbing whatever's cheap and easy when you're hungry, I guess."

  "That doesn't mean I won't go for rich and decadent if it's offered." She bit into the pastry, and her eyes fluttered. "Oh, this is good. Did you make it?"

  "I am the chef."

  She took another bite, drawing his gaze to her plush lips. "Oh, mmm, really good. Mind if I take it to my room?"

  "Not at all." He tried not to think about covering his body in chocolate and offering himself up as a treat.

  "I'll meet you on the dock at ten o'clock." She headed for the stairs, giving him a nice view of her jean-clad backside. Maybe they could cover each other in chocolate. Or wrestle in a big vat of it. Then he remembered why they couldn't do that.

  Why did she have to be off limits!

  ~ ~ ~

  Jackie hurried out the front door of the inn, hardly believing the time. How had the last hour sped by so fast? She saw Adrian already down at the dock, dressed in a wet suit and sitting on a storage bin with his arms crossed over his chest.

  She waved, then headed over to her truck and unlocked the metal chest in the bed to get her scuba gear. Once she'd hefted it out, she tugged on the legs of her yellow and black shorty, wishing the wet suit covered more of her legs since the day was clear but crisp.

  When she straightened, she saw Adrian walking up the trail. "Sorry I'm late," she called as she grabbed her air tank in one hand and her dive bag in the other. She met him halfway down the hill.

  "And here I was starting to think you were the exception that proved all the cliched rules about women true. Now I learn you can't resist chocolate and you delight in keeping a man waiting."

  "Oh, I didn't keep you waiting that long."

  "Actually, it was worth it." His gaze dropped to the region of her chest. "Forget the bikini. You look absolutely ... eatable in a wet suit."

  "Eatable?" She laughed. "Well, let's hope there're no sharks around."

  "None but me."

  "You, I can handle," she said with bravado, then nearly choked when he bent over to retrieve her air tank. His traditional black wet suit molded to his muscular back and cupped a pair of buns so firm they should be bronzed. Eatable, indeed.

  Determined to keep a cool head, she slung her bag of gear over her shoulder and continued down the path toward the sandy beach. The Gulf breeze became more pronounced as they stepped onto the pier. Overhead, seagulls screeched a hopeful plea for bread crumbs.

  "So why are you running late?" he asked as they reached the end of the pier.

  "I got caught up in the diaries." She dropped her bag onto one of the storage bins and turned so Adrian could help her with her tank.

  "I take it you're enjoying them."

  "I am. Very much." She looked down to fasten the inflatable vest that held the tank in place and saw how much cleavage she was showing. Good grief, she thought as she pulled the zipper higher, no wonder Adrian had ogled her. "The early volumes I read yesterday were tedious at times, but for the most part, it's better than reading a novel."

  "How far have you gotten?"

  "I'm almost back to the part where she meets Jack for the first time."

  "Back to?"

  "Yeah, I cheated and read that part out of order. I can't wait to get back to it." She sat to pull on her flippers, thinking over all that she'd read so far. The entries had fascinated her right from the beginning, since Marguerite had started by telling how she'd come to be known as a good-luck charm.

  The voodoo midwife who'd attended her birth had heard that the mother meant to send the baby to an orphanage. Convinced that such a fate would somehow be worse than being raised in a brothel by a prostitute mother who didn't want her, the midwife blessed the baby, naming her Marguerite, which meant "pearl," and said, "Whoever keeps this pearl shall have good fortune." Then she'd taken a magnificent pearl pendant from around her own neck and draped the chain about the child, telling the mother that the necklace had to stay with the child in order for the blessing to work.

  Later, Marguerite learned that the voodoo woman died that very night, and that the necklace she'd passed on to her had once belonged to Jean Lafitte. He'd given it to the woman many years earlier as thanks for her helping his brother, Pierre, escape from jail shortly before the famous Battle of New Orleans.

  Surprisingly, Marguerite accepted that her mother only kept her because of that blessing, and seemed amused by the fact rather than bitter. Indeed, her mother's luck had improved when a wealthy patron of the brothel fell in love with her and set her up as his pampered mistress. When his own financial fortune increased, her mother told him the tale of Marguerite's birth, which discouraged him from any thoughts of ending their relationship. He'd also been the one who introduced Marguerite to opera by letting her attend the theater with them, and later, by paying for her music lessons.

  Perhaps that was what amused Marguerite so much, the fact that people went out of their way to make her happy once they heard about the blessing. Even the owner of the opera house where she eventually made a name for herself had treated her like a queen ---and with good reason. The place had been struggling when she'd first started singing there, but quickly became one of the premier theaters in New Orleans.

  As Marguerite's fame as a singer spread, so did the stories of her power to bring good fortune to those around her. Men the world over, including more than one titled aristocrat, went to ridiculous and often hilarious lengths to woo her. She turned them all away, however, clinging to her independence.

  Until Henri LeRoche came knocking on her dressing room door. His dark good looks and aura of danger captured her attention from the start. Even so, she'd held him at arm's length, just as she had the others. He wore her down slowly, though, with his seemingly sincere vows of devotion.

  Finally, she'd told him the price of her bed was marriage, thinking such a prominent businessman would balk at marrying the daughter of a prostitute. Instead, he'd proposed in such a romantic manner that if Jackie hadn't known how it all would end, she'd have been deeply touched.

  He brought Marguerite to Galveston and showed her the island he'd purchased "for her," even though Jackie suspected he really bought it as a perfect base from which to run the illegal aspects of his shipping trade. Then standing on this very beach, he showed her the architect's drawing for the house he would build for her if she married him.

  Looking up at the mansion now, at the steadfast façade, Jackie could understand Marguerite's decision to marry Henri in spite of all her doubts. It wasn't the grandeur of the house that swayed her so much as what it represented. Marguerite, like Jackie, had always hungered for a family to love and for true acceptance.

  So, she accepted his proposal, and Henri had the house built as her wedding present.

  From there on, though, things went from romantic to horrific in a hurry. On their wedding night, Marguerite realized Henri was like all the others, wanting her only for the luck she would bring him. When she confronted him, he didn't even try to deny that he'd lied to her from the beginning. She threatened to have the marriage annulled and he beat her savagely, swearing she'd never leave him or Pearl Island alive. The house that he built as her present became her prison and her fairy-tale marriage a nightmare.

  Jackie found it sadly ironic that the necklace that made Marguerite a good-luck charm for others had become an albatross around the woman's neck. If she had been in Marguerite's shoes, she'd have thrown the necklace into the cove. But Marguerite had cherished the pendant as part of who she was, the sheer serendipity of being born at all, and the eternal hope that someday, somehow, she'd find true happiness.

  Was that the real lesson to learn from Marguerite? Not to simply survive, but to never give up hope?

  "Hey." Adrian waved a hand in front of her face. "You still with me?"

  "Oh
. Sorry." She shook her head. "I was just thinking.

  "About?" He sat beside her to put his flippers on.

  "The necklace." She glanced across the water. "Do you think it's really out there?"

  "Absolutely. We're convinced that's what Jack was going back for when the gunpowder exploded."

  She cocked her head. "Then why didn't you tell the Historical Society about it at the meeting? From what I read in the diaries, I'd say they'd be just as interested in the necklace as the powder horn."

  "We have our reasons," he answered evasively.

  She studied him a moment, then laughed. "You're hoping to keep it, aren't you?"

  He frowned. "Wish to, yes. Plan to, no. We accepted weeks ago that recovering the necklace will mean giving it up. We just don't want to give the Galveston Historical Society free access to the diaries in order to prove its significance."

  "Then why do the excavation? I mean, think about it. What if the necklace really does have magic? Not that I believe in such things, but what if you're giving up all that good luck?"

  He looked out across the water for a long time before answering. "Jack Kingsley died trying to save that necklace from sinking with the ship."

  "So?"

  "I've done some reading on the paranormal and what I've learned is that sometimes what keeps a soul from moving to the next plane is an unfinished task. Perhaps Jack's spirit is still trying to rescue the necklace, and won't leave the cove without it"

  "So if you recover it for him, you'll free his spirit?" she asked, studying his eyes. "Do you really believe in, you know ... ghosts?"

  He stood. "Are you ready to go see the ship?"

  She laughed. "Let's see, in this case changing the subject would mean yes."

  Taking up his dive light, he moved to the end of the dock. "The water will be really murky for the first forty feet. So once we get in, put one hand on this chain." He pointed to a chain that disappeared into the water at an angle. "It'll lead you right to the ship, which sits pretty much smack-dab in the middle of the cove."

  "Got it." She slipped her mask in place.

  Adrian did the same, inserted his mouthpiece, and stepped off into the water with a big splash. When he reappeared, she jumped in beside him, going under with a whoosh of bubbles.

  They swam to the chain, then started down through the brown haze. As Adrian had said, the water remained murky until they reached forty feet, then it cleared drastically. It also dropped in temperature.

  Adrian turned to check on her and she signaled for him to lead the way. Just enough sunlight filtered through to illuminate specks of suspended silt and an occasional school of fish that darted through their light beams like flashes of silver. With a pang she realized how much she missed diving in the Caribbean, which was as different from diving off the coast of Texas as the sun from the moon.

  For one thing, it was warmer. She'd expected the water to be cold at sixty feet, but not this cold! And the closer they swam to the ship, the colder it got.

  The bow of the vessel appeared suddenly in the twin beams of their fights. Her eyes widened in surprise at its remarkable condition. Since it was a wooden ship, any parts not covered in mud should have completely disintegrated within a few short years. Instead, the top portion of the forecastle rose out of the cove's bottom, like a visual echo of how she must have looked while riding the waves.

  So this was Jack Kingsley's ship, she thought as they reached it. And wow, wasn't she gorgeous! Jackie had always thought no ship in the world could be more beautiful than her own, but the Freedom had a grace and strength she could feel in her heart.

  They swam over the main deck, sweeping it with their lights. Gray silt covered everything that wasn't buried completely in mud. She lifted her light and saw that one mast remained, jutting up at an angle with its rigging swaying in the current.

  Suspended in the chilly water over the ship, she tried to imagine that night, piecing it together from all she had heard.

  When Jack learned that Marguerite had been beaten and locked in her room, he'd raced to Pearl Island, intent on saving her. But to sail right into the cove had been foolhardy, even for a seasoned blockade runner.

  Reaching the quarterdeck, Jackie turned to survey the ship from where Jack would have stood. What had gone through his mind in that instant when he saw the flash on the balcony, then heard the boom of the cannon? The impact would have shuddered through the whole ship. Had any of his men died with the first explosion? Had they screamed out in pain?

  The night had been stormy, with lightning splitting the black clouds and the wind playing havoc with the sails. A rational man would have ordered his ship to come about and fled the cove. But Jack had been far from rational that night. His refusal to abandon the ship proved that.

  Floating toward the wheel, Jackie reached out and took hold of it, sending up a small cloud of silt. Realizing that his hands had held this very wheel sent a shiver racing through her.

  Why, Jack? Why risk so much for a necklace? Did you really love Marguerite to the point you couldn't let go of even that small piece of her?

  The water temperature dropped again, and a buzzing started inside her head, growing in volume. With the sound came a rush of emotion that tore through her. She clasped her ears, but the buzzing grew louder.

  In a frightening flash, she knew what Jack had felt that night: anger, grief, and desperation so profound it cut her heart in two. Oh God, she thought as the water pressure squeezed her chest until she couldn't breathe. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  A hand grabbed her arm and she remembered Adrian was there, but her mind remained focused inward, fighting the anguish.

  Alarmed, Adrian shook her until she finally looked at him. He hand-signaled: Okay?

  She shook her head: No.

  He made a fist: Low on air?

  No. She waggled her hand with fingers spread, then pointed up with her thumb. Something's wrong. Up.

  He checked his dive watch to see if they were safe for a fast ascent, then signaled back: Okay. But when she started up, he didn't see any bubbles escaping her mouth. He grabbed her weight belt and pulled her back down. To make a straight ascent from sixty feet, she'd have to exhale the whole way up or her lungs would burst.

  She looked at him with frantic eyes and signaled again: Something's wrong. Up. Up!

  Okay. But slow!

  She nodded and clutched the regulator to her mouth, breathing in short bursts, alarming him further.

  Do you need to buddy-breathe?

  No. Up! Up! Up!

  Okay. When she squeezed her eyes shut, he jostled her, then pointed at his eyes. Look at me, he commanded, hoping to give her something to focus on as much as needing to monitor her through eye contact.

  Nodding, she kept her eyes fixed on his as he wrapped an arm around her and swam toward the chain that led back to the pier. His heart raced as he wondered what was wrong. He could tell she was getting air, but she wasn't exhaling properly, and the look in her eyes spoke of pain.

  Or panic.

  He thought of his sister Rory, who suffered from panic attacks. When one hit her, she doubled over and couldn't breathe. Could Jackie be suffering from something like that? If so, they could be in serious trouble. Underwater was no place to lose control of one's breathing.

  Thank God, she was an experienced enough diver to shut down the natural instinct to struggle against him and swim straight up.

  As they moved away from the ship, he felt her body start to relax but only a little.

  He stopped at forty feet, just below the level where the water turned murky, not daring to go any higher. With one arm wrapped around both her and the chain, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his stomach. With his eyes locked on hers, he breathed deeply in and out, willing her to do the same.

  Slowly, the tension left her body and her breathing steadied. Okay? he signaled.

  She nodded weakly. Up.

  He checked his watch, then held up two fingers, asking if she could
handle two more minutes. She closed her eyes in dread, but nodded. Aching for her, he cradled her close, letting the water rock their bodies. Slowly, she went limp, her legs brushing his, her head tucked against his chest.

  When the time was up, he deflated both their vests to keep them from ascending too quickly, then nodded. She exhaled and disappeared into the murky level above. He made his own ascent, and surfaced with her near the dock.

  The instant she broke free of the water, she tore the regulator from her mouth and took a gulp of air. She'd had enough presence of mind to reinflate her vest so it kept her head above water. He took a moment to inflate his own vest, then pulled his mask off and swam toward her. "What happened?"

  "Nothing," she gasped. "I'm fine!"

  "What the hell do you mean you're fine?" he yelled, his heart still pounding.

  "I just wanted to come up."

  "So I noticed." He stared in disbelief as she swam for the ladder with long, fluid strokes, then removed her flippers and climbed to the pier.

  Okay, Adrian thought in total confusion. Nothing's wrong. She's fine. And pigs fly.

  He took off his own flippers and followed her up. When he sat beside her with their legs dangling off the side of the pier, their tanks beside them, he watched her struggle to catch her breath.

  "Care to try again?" he asked.

  "Try what again?" she said, panting.

  "To tell me what happened down there."

  "Nothing happened, I just ... I don't know, felt claustrophobic or something."

  "Has that ever happened to you before?"

  "No." She managed a breathy laugh, her teeth chattering. "I can safely say nothing like that has ever happened to me before."

  "So, what set it off?"

  "I, um ... " She wrapped her arms around herself, her body visibly shivering. "I have no idea. Christ, it was cold down there."

  "It wasn't that cold." He pulled her against him and rubbed her arms as he looked out across the water, thinking it through. "Unless you bumped into Jack."

  "What?" She gaped at him.

  "You know, ghosts? Cold spots?"

  "Then you admit it was cold."

  "Only cold to you. Which makes sense if Jack was reaching out to you and not me."