Clay stood and offered Cat a hand, which she ignored, rising gracefully on her own steam and still poised for a quick flight if he reached to touch her again. He smiled and walked toward the bathroom door, then paused, his back still to her. “And—when this is all over, if you still decide you want the Frenchman, I’ll do the explaining. If he loves you, Cat, he’ll come back.”
As Cat stared after him incredulously, torn to pieces by anger and pain and a million other emotions she couldn’t even begin to fathom, he calmly reentered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
CAT FINALLY GALVANIZED INTO action and slammed a clenched fist into the bathroom door. “Would you please get out of there—and out of my room!”
Clay chuckled. “Give me a minute. If you toss a naked man out your door, your situation is going to appear even worse!”
Muttering explosively, Cat decided to forgo a shower and hastily slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top. If he wouldn’t get out, she would. Raking her brush quickly through her hair, she left her room behind, grateful for the moment that she lived in the lodge and could wash in the lobby facilities.
It was early and still quiet. Cat left the lodge and hurried past the dock and sailors and fishermen, forcing a smile as she waved cheerfully. Her footsteps took her to the north beach, where she plopped down on the sand, closing her eyes and praying that the cool morning breeze would soothe her tumultuous fury so that she could think.
Just yesterday he had appeared and today her life was a shambles. He had come out of the blue, maneuvered her—using no scruples—and now, thanks to him, she didn’t even have Jules.
I should hurt worse than this, she thought. Jules is gone, and thinks the worst of me. But she wasn’t hurt. She was angry—and very, very confused. Why am I not more worried about Jules? she wondered. I do love him. No, she answered herself. Not really. You didn’t want to care that way, not again, and this is the price you now pay, this emptiness. You will miss certain things, but to say that that was love … And yet, until yesterday, she would have sworn she was in love.
I’m not thinking straight. Everything is still such a shock. But I have to think because I have to decide what to do. Since they were still married, it was doubtful that he could hold her to a debt. But then, the gambling they had engaged in wasn’t legal anyway and so legal consequences weren’t the problem. She didn’t put it past Clay to announce to the yachtsmen who supported the cay with tourism that Cat gambled with money she didn’t have, didn’t pay up when she was the loser. And Clay wanted the Santa Anita. He wasn’t scoffing at her belief in a secret theory. He wanted to know what it was, he was willing to put the salvage in her hands.
But she couldn’t go with him, not after the things he had done. She didn’t even know yet if he might have been purposely responsible for her spill. And how in hell did he get into her locked room without her hearing him? Cut and shave that beard without her awakening?
And where had he been all those years? Cat groaned softly, fingers clenching into the pink sand. Why hadn’t she let him explain? Maybe there wasn’t a reason, there couldn’t be. He simply hadn’t wanted to come home. Only the Santa Anita had brought him now. I can’t still feel anything for him, Cat told herself, it’s just been too long.
Too long or not, the fascination that had first drawn her to him was still there. Like a fine wine, he seemed to have improved with age.
“I did what I did for a reason, Cat.”
Her reverie broken, Cat turned with dismay to see Clay behind her, dressed now in tan leisure slacks and a navy Izod. The navy seemed to enhance the incredibly deep color of his eyes, or maybe it was his face, clean-shaven now, so ruggedly contoured.
“I brought you some coffee,” he offered, stooping to hand her a steaming mug.
Cat accepted the cup silently, and turned back to study the ocean, not particularly at ease to have him hunched so close beside her. “What do I have to do to get away from you?” she questioned tonelessly.
“You can’t get away from me,” he told her, sitting cross-legged a foot away. “Accept it and you might enjoy herself.”
Cat took a sip of her coffee. One sugar, no cream … apparently there were things he remembered easily too.
“How can I accept anything?” Cat queried bitterly. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”
“I told you, Cat, I have reasons, good reasons.”
She spun on him. “How did you get in this morning without my hearing you?”
He smiled. “I came in last night and it was easy. I picked the lock.”
“Last night!”
“Don’t get huffy. I slept on the floor. And it was damned uncomfortable. And you didn’t wake up because I slipped a very light sleeping potion in your coffee.”
Cat stared at him, past anger. “You’re incredible! Simply incredible. How can you possibly admit all that so casually?”
“Would you rather I lied?”
“I’d rather you return to wherever you’ve been!”
Clay shrugged, eyes steady on the turquoise surf. “Well, am I abducting you in the morning, or are you coming along willingly?”
Cat laughed suddenly. “I must say, you do have faith! How do you know we’ll find the Santa Anita?”
Clay lifted a brow with a pleasant smile and sipped his coffee. “Rumor has been floating around that you want to search for her. In fact, rumor got fairly specific. You and DeVante were at odds over the possibility of salvage. Your fiancé didn’t have any faith.”
Cat lowered her eyes. “But you believe I know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes.” Clay stared straight at her and she found herself meeting his eyes. “The Frenchman is a fool. Anyone who knows anything about these islands would be a fool to scoff at any of your knowledge. Armchair history chasers the world over know Jason Windemere possessed the finest authentic ancient mariners’ charts to be had.”
“Ahhhh …” Cat murmured, “we’re back to my father.”
“Only in the same sense that Jason gave you your love for the sea and the islands, Cat.”
They both fell silent for a few minutes. Cat was more bewildered than ever. He had moved in like an earthquake at sea, but now he seemed determined to find calmer waters. What was he really after? Cat wondered. And wasn’t she much, much better off hating him?
“Tell me something,” she said crisply. “Were you responsible for that Cigarette just happening to slash across the racecourse?”
He twisted his form in the sand, leaning slightly as he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her eyes steady to his. “No. I would never have done anything to put your life in danger.”
“All right,” Cat said, trying not to flinch from his touch. “One more question. What happened all those years ago? Where have you been?”
Clay released her chin and turned back to the sea. “I don’t want to talk about it now, Cat. But I promise I will tell you before the expedition ends.”
“I haven’t agreed to go on any expedition.”
“I haven’t asked for your agreement.” Clay laughed. “I only gave you two choices—coming with me of your own accord, or coming by friendly persuasion.”
“Miller,” Cat snapped, “you just sank your own ship.”
Clay laughed easily, threading sand through his fingers. “Poor Cat. You do hate to lose. That’s half our problem, isn’t it? I’m the one man who can beat you—no matter what your game.”
“You haven’t beaten me.”
“But I have, Cat. In a Hobie Cat—in your room.” He grinned, feigning apology and fear as he saw her fingers tighten around her mug and her teeth clench. “But only because I’m heavier, of course!”
Cat suddenly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or bash the mug over his head. His next statement, quiet, serious, halted any action on her part. “But I can give you something no other man can, Cat. Real faith, real belief, and real respect. Because I’m not
afraid of you, Cat. Nor do I put you on some type of unreachable pedestal, adoring from a distance. I know you, Cat. DeVante will never know you as I do.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Cat interrupted. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“If I’d never known you, Cat, I’d know you. We’re two of a kind. I think you know that too.”
“Really?” Cat arched a brow cryptically. “If you have faith in me, Clay, it’s new.” She suddenly found herself fighting an absurd urge to cry. “I wanted to go with you on other salvage trips. You never let me come.”
Clay stood, dusting the sand from his pants. He was silent for a minute, looking down at her. Then he spoke, softly. “I was wrong, Cat. I made a lot of mistakes—I’ll never deny that.”
He started walking back toward the lodge, hands in his pockets. Twenty feet from her he stopped, turning back. “If you want to find the Santa Anita, Cat, meet me in your father’s library at eight tonight.”
Cat stared at him, hesitating, then asked, “Clay, where have you been? How can you expect me to agree to assist you in making my life a disaster when you won’t tell me anything?”
Clay grinned. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t want to know.” He shrugged. “But meet me tonight, and I’ll tell you a little.”
“Sounds like you’re bribing me.”
“Am I? Not really. I already warned you that curiosity killed the Cat.”
“Maybe I’m not that curious.”
“Maybe—but I doubt it.”
Whistling, he started back toward the lodge. “Think I’ll check on my docks.”
“Your docks!”
“Sure—if we share five hundred thousand, we share the docks!”
“You’re too much, Miller!”
He didn’t respond. Cat stared after him until his tall form, so lithe and agile as he walked the sand, disappeared. “Damn him!” she muttered. Cat turned her eyes back to the ocean. On the horizon she could see the yacht that had brought Clay, listing gently in the calm surf. Shading her eyes with her hand and squinting, she tried to read the boat’s name. Her heart took a little leap as she made out Sea Witch II.
There were little things that Clay hadn’t forgotten. I was wrong, Cat. I made a lot of mistakes—I’ll never deny that. …
His words came back to plague her. I made mistakes too, Clay, she thought, but I really can’t tell you that because it’s too late to matter. It has to be too late.
Sighing, Cat hugged her knees to her chest. What am I going to do, she wondered, staring out at the boat. If only she had seen the name yesterday, she would have known, she would have recognized Clay. And never fallen for his goading. But would it have made any difference? Clay said it himself, he played to win. He would have merely found another way of twisting her arm.
Why the hell am I playing these games with myself? she asked herself next. Because no matter what he had done, she knew she would meet him in the library. He was right. She wanted the Santa Anita.
And I want to know what happened to Clay, I want to know where he has been, even if the answers hurt. And I want to go with him.
No, she told herself, it will be a simple business venture. I will never give him my heart again; it’s already been shattered.
“Oh, hell!” Cat muttered, rising and brushing the sand from her jeans. “Why is this happening? I had forgotten you, Clay Miller. I really had. …” Well, you were almost forgotten, she added silently.
She turned her steps purposefully for the lodge. The night’s menu needed to be discussed with Swen. Harris Smith of Georgetown was due to arrive for lunch so that they might discuss a trade on diving trips for the guests of their respective lodges. She had a meeting with the staff at three, and with a sales rep from Star Divers at four. By eight, she would be able to meet with Clay with a certain amount of collected cool.
Where the hell was Sam? Cat wondered irritably. She stopped in her tracks and her gaze turned back to the turquoise water and the Sea Witch II swaying like a crystal beauty at anchor. Clay would never leave the yacht like that for an extended period of time.
Damn it! So that’s where Sam was! Guarding the Sea Witch II. He had already gone over to the enemy. Cat could feel the temperature of her blood rising steadily, and kicked up a pile of sand to lose steam. “Oh, the hell with all of them,” she muttered. “There’s probably not a male in the world worth trusting! I just hope one of those two is planning on taking out the afternoon diving party!”
Clay took a long sip of beer, crooked his elbow behind his head, and lay back against the hull of the Sea Witch II, squinting as he stared into the brilliance of the sun at noon. He closed his eyes completely. It was comfortable here, the sun was hot but the sea breeze cool, the waves beneath him created a gentle lull. Last night hadn’t given him much sleep, and now he could feel lethargy seeping into his system. He didn’t really fight it.
It was funny, he thought, it had been a day just like this when his life had taken its strange detour. The boat had been another Sea Witch, his first, and the woman who had filled his thoughts, as she did now, was also his sea witch, Cat. He had thought of her thus from the day they had met. She combined all the elements and mysteries of the sea, passion and turbulence, gaiety and depth, crystal calm and clarity and raging storms.
He hadn’t known he loved her when he married her. He did know that Jason Windemere wished to see his headstrong daughter wed, and he knew that Cat fascinated him as no other woman ever had. Never had he met a woman more innately sensual, beguiling, and innocent, yet possessing an inner peace. Once he held her, he became entranced. She was a witch—a sea witch. He couldn’t sleep, because all he could do was think of her, remember her in his arms, the feel of long slim legs entwined with his. She was an obsession, he had to have her, had to keep her, his alone.
But at twenty-six, he had also been determined to seek his fortune and make his name. Somehow he had expected that marriage would tame Cat, change her into a sweet and docile creature, content to wait to greet him each time he returned, the perfect female, soft and beautiful, welcoming him with fragrant hair and silken skin.
Cat had other ideas, and why he had opposed them, he wasn’t sure. He admired his wife’s quick mind; he knew her knowledge of the Bahamian seas and history was comparable to that of a well-programmed computer, and that as well as being one of the most competent divers he had ever met, Cat was capable of spieling off every step taken by Jacques Cousteau in his quest to develop modern-day scuba gear. He didn’t resent his wife’s keen mind; it fascinated him, as did her darkly fringed emerald eyes, abundance of sable hair, her lithe form, so slender and yet so shapely, so perfectly toned.
He simply hadn’t been ready to make her his partner in all things. An orphan, Clay had, by nature and inclination, become a loner. He had worked for every penny he made, seldom strengthening friendships because he was either studying or earning a dollar.
He’d grown up in the heart of Kansas, but even there the lure of the sea had reached him. The ocean granted her treasures to those with perseverance, and he had plenty of that. And the United States Navy had been quite willing to take a poor boy to sea and school him and open up the mystical world of aqua and indigo magic to him.
The Navy had enhanced Clay’s talents and also had given him a certain worldliness and sophistication. He learned he held the power to charm and persuade and had very little trouble getting backers for his first expeditions. He quickly became a “name” and the basic principles of honesty and judicial dealings ruled his business from the first; there wasn’t a time when he went out that his backers weren’t well rewarded. By the time Clay married Cat, he was well on his way to a position of prominence—and he had become his own backer.
Had it all really been seven years ago? he wondered, feeling the hot kiss of the sun on his face. Almost. Summer would make it exactly seven years. Seven years since he had lain like this, thinking of Cat, realizing that he loved his wife, admitting to himself that he did flirt with
other women in front of her to hurt her. To remind her that he was his own man, that marriage didn’t give her a right to his mind, his plans. He made his decisions, he worked where he chose, when he chose, with whom he chose.
Cat had tied him into knots. Since his years in the Navy, he had enjoyed the company of women, loving variety, taking pleasure, giving pleasure, but never giving his heart, never caring much about seeing any female again. His true mistress had been the sea—until Cat, and reason and logic had gone up in flames. She drove him crazy, and he was well aware he demanded more than he gave. If he could have, he would have possessed her completely, locking her away from everyone. The night he had seen her with another man almost sent him into a murderous rage.
But on the Sea Witch that day so many years ago, he had admitted he really loved her, and needed her. And that all their fights were so stupid, because there was no reason on earth why he couldn’t share his dreams and desires with her and have her with him always. She would make a magnificent partner. If he hadn’t been such a macho jackass, he could already have had a life any man would call heaven.
And that was when the sea had begun to swell. Deep in the bowels of the earth, a plate had shifted. And as he had groggily lifted his head, the world began to spin. The water, tranquilly blue just moments before, had become a vortex of viciously spinning black.
Somewhere, miles and miles away, a tidal wave hit from the shattering of the earth deep within the sea. But only those who studied the strange and erratic workings of the tsunami would ever guess that the disappearance of Clayton Miller was related. He would simply be cast as another victim of the infamous Devil’s Triangle. …
Hours to Cherish Page 9
