Between Roc and a Hard Place
Heather Graham
To Doreen and John and Baby Westermark, with lots of love and best wishes.
Chapter 1
“Captain! We’ve caught more than fish in the net, sir!”
Roc Trellyn strode forward on the deck of the Crystal Lee, his bare feet silent against the wooden planking. They were between the Florida peninsula and the Bahamas, the weather was warm and balmy, and he was clad in nothing but a faded pair of blue cutoffs. As befit a man who spent the majority of his life on the water, his bare chest and arms were deeply bronzed; even the dark hair on his chest was bleached until the tips were golden.
He was a tall man, lean, hard and well muscled, a swimmer, a diver, a sailor. He was dark, with jet black hair, a little shaggy since they had been at sea for several weeks now, and his face was just as bronzed as his shoulders. His features were striking, saved from true handsomeness by the rugged edges brought on by constant exposure to the sea and sun. His cheekbones were high, his nose straight, his mouth broad and generous, sensual. Against the utter darkness of his face, however, his eyes were a brilliant, steely blue. He was a man it was impossible not to notice.
“Captain!” The call came again even as he reached the pile of netting and fish on the forward deck of the Crystal Lee. It was Bruce Willowby who seemed so concerned, his first mate on this and most cruises, his best friend on and off the ship, though his entire crew was small and close-knit. Bruce and he had majored in marine biology together at the University of Miami, and ever since, they had cast their fates to the wind together. Bruce was tall, lean, with sun-bleached white-blond hair, also shaggy now, and almond-shaped dark eyes.
The entire crew of the Crystal Lee had gathered around the netting, alerted by Bruce’s calls. Connie, Bruce’s sister, their best cook and a skilled diver, was standing by his side. Connie was a pretty woman, with her brother’s platinum hair and beautiful dark eyes. Then there was Peter Castro, half Cuban, half Irish-American, dark and green-eyed, small and wiry, a whiz with sonar equipment. Completing the crew were Joe and Marina Tobago, husband and wife, Bahamians, and two of the best divers and swimmers he had come across in all his life. When they had spare time in the evenings, Roc liked to race Joe Tobago. Sometimes he won. A lot of the time he lost. And Joe would tell him in his melodic singsong that he was getting old and letting himself go slack. That, of course, always spurred him on, and he usually won the next race. He wasn’t slipping all that badly, he would assure Joe in return.
Except that maybe he was.
Hell, he had to be.
Because Bruce was right. He had just hauled up a hell of a lot more than fish.
Something, no someone, was struggling in the netting. Oddly, the entire crew had stepped back. It was their surprise, he was certain, that had caused them to do so.
He stood dead still himself, at first. Then he realized not just what but who he had caught. She hadn’t seen him yet.
He stepped back, moving to stand on the first of the steps leading to the helm, out of the woman’s line of vision, and motioned to Bruce, who lifted a curious brow at him. He waved a hand, indicating that they should release her from the netting, though it would be a grudging effort on his part.
Bruce shrugged, then lifted the netting that had entangled the woman.
And from his vantage point, Roc saw her. Really saw her.
A silent whistle echoed in his head.
She hadn’t changed.
Just what had he pulled up from the ocean’s depths? A ghost from the past? A siren from the sea?
She was kneeling on the deck, so he couldn’t really see her height or size, but he didn’t need to. She was tall and slim and elegantly, sensually built. Her hair was dripping wet, plastered against her face and head, so he couldn’t really judge its color now. It didn’t matter. He already knew it. When that hair dried, it would be the color of sunlight. Not pale, but golden, with specks of red fire.
She was still the most exquisite creature he had ever seen.
Her face was lifted as she stared at Bruce. It was stunning in its perfection. Her cheeks were high and classical, her nose small and straight, her lips richly defined, rose-colored against the elegant tan of her flesh. Her face was a perfect oval, her eyes very large and wide-set, framed by high brows and velvet lashes. He could see the color of her eyes clearly, furious and flashing, an aquamarine to rival the most glorious waters of the Caribbean.
He’d seen them flash that way before.
This time, however, her angry stare was directed at Bruce; she seemed to have taken him as the one in charge.
She pointed a finger at him. “You, sir, should be arrested and put under lock and key! How dare you!”
Bruce stepped back in surprise. He had obviously been taken in by her heart-stopping beauty. Poor Bruce. Ah, well, he was a big boy. And he had realized that Roc had recognized her. In a few minutes, he might put two and two together himself.
“Lady, you’re in our net—” he began.
“Exactly! I’m in your net!”
Bruce—ever the gentleman—moved to try to help her up.
She didn’t want help. She shoved his hand aside, struggling on her own power.
Ah, and there she was, at her full height, all five feet eight inches of her.
A sudden pang swept mercilessly through Roc’s heart. No, she hadn’t changed. She was still perfect. And it wasn’t because she was clad so scantily; her bathing suit was actually a rather subdued one. It was a black one-piece, low-cut in the back to her waist, with French-cut thighs.
It was the way she wore what she wore.
She was slim, but extremely shapely. Her legs were long and finely muscled, her waist very slim, her hips just perfectly flared, her breasts just perfectly …
Perfect.
Roc crossed his arms over his chest, surveying her as she surveyed Bruce.
Despite her startling beauty, he sure as hell didn’t need this. He was having enough trouble with his latest venture without adding a problem like this. She was a pain. And she was trouble. Definitely trouble.
A niggling suspicion tore at his mind. Had she been sent to spy on him? To see just what he was up to with the Crystal Lee?
His eyes roamed up and down her. She was perfect—perfect bait. As stunning as ever a silver fish was as it wriggled on a hook, a lure to bring in the big catch …
Bruce was still staring at her. Just staring. Roc was tempted to walk over and snap his friend’s gaping mouth shut, but he didn’t want her seeing him, not yet, so he resisted the temptation.
“Oh!” she cried aloud in exasperation, the fury flashing even more brightly in her eyes. “What in God’s name is the matter with you? How can you be so entirely careless?”
Bruce found his voice at last. “Lady, what are you talking about? I can’t even figure out where you came from! We’re moving in deep waters. We’re not in swimming or diving areas, we’re—”
“The type of fishing you’re doing kills hundreds of marine mammals yearly!”
“I’ve never caught a marine mammal in my life!” Bruce assured her quickly.
“You’ve just caught me!” she exclaimed. “And I’m just about the same size as a small dolphin.”
Oh, lord. So she was supposed to be a bleeding-heart liberal, or something of the sort.
Was it true?
Roc doubted it.
Oh, not that she didn’t care about the dolphins. She did. She loved the water, almost as passionately as he did. Maybe more so.
But had she come here because of the dolphins?
No. He was absolutely sure of that.
And he had caught a marine mammal—when he
wasn’t even a fisherman.
But she knew that. She just didn’t know yet that this was his ship. That he was captaining the voyage.
She was here to discover just what he—or the Crystal Lee—was up to. Well, maybe, he thought grimly, just maybe, she was going to get her chance to find out.
Bruce was looking over her head now, to the helm. Roc made another motion. Bruce stared at him, confused for a moment. Then he shrugged. Roc was obviously up to something.
Suddenly Bruce smiled.
Roc wondered if his friend had just figured out who their beautiful mermaid was.
“Ma’am, if you have a problem with us, you’ll have to take it up with the captain.”
Ah, there they went, those perfect brows of hers, flying up in surprise.
“You’re not the captain?” she said to Bruce.
He shook his head.
“Then take me to him—immediately.”
“Ah, I don’t think he’s quite ready to receive company yet. Maybe you’d like a cup of coffee or tea, or a soda? Even a beer?”
“I don’t want anything to drink, thank you. I just want to see the captain, have my say and get back to civilization!”
“We are civilized here, miss …?” Connie murmured with a sniff.
She glanced at Connie. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’d just really like to speak to the captain and get back.” She flashed them all a beautiful smile. Ah, here it came, the charm. “I really am sorry. I was just so frightened. If I’ve been rude to you all, I didn’t mean to be. It’s your captain with whom I have a fierce disagreement.”
She didn’t yet know just how fierce! Roc thought.
Then he decided it was time to disappear into the captain’s cabin. The Crystal Lee wasn’t all that big—it was going to be difficult finding privacy, but he meant to have a little of it.
Silently, he turned, padding across the decking to the large cabin in the far aft of the ship. He could hear the others talking as he quietly opened the door and slipped into the cabin. “You come, missy,” Marina Tobago was saying, slipping a chestnut arm around her shoulders. “I make the most wonderful coffee in the entire world. It will make everything look a little better.”
Marina was going to take her into the galley and central living quarters. Fine. All the sonar and other special equipment was below deck, wedged in between the crew quarters. Space was of necessity tight on the Crystal Lee, but she was a beautifully built vessel, so well designed that Joe and Marina had their cabin, Connie had her own smaller place, and Peter and Bruce shared the larger living quarters just beneath Roc’s captain’s quarters.
He sat behind the antique ship’s desk he had managed to procure for the Crystal Lee. Damn. He was still amazed. How could she be here? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so amazed. She was, after all, her father’s daughter.
And it still seemed that his heart was being squeezed, just a little.
No, a lot …
How long had it been?
Nearly three years. She hadn’t changed.
Had he?
Sometimes it had felt as if she had aged him an entire decade.…
Maybe several.
He reached absently into his bottom drawer. There was a bottle of special dark Caribbean rum there. He didn’t open it often. Not on a trip like this one.
Tonight …
Tonight he needed a drink.
He set the bottle on his desk and reached for a tumbler, then discarded the idea and took a long swig out of the bottle. Whew. It burned. Hot and sweet, going down. Warmed his heart. Melted away the pain.
No, not really.
There was a quick tap on his door. Bruce entered. His eyes were wide, his manner excited.
“I’ve got it!” he said. “It’s her! Right? Ms. Melinda Davenport. I can’t believe I didn’t see it right away, except that in most of the pictures, she’s dry. She does look a little different, soaking wet and all. Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so slow-witted!”
Roc shook his head. “Bruce, you weren’t slow-witted. How could you have been expected to know? I almost stepped on her before I realized it myself.”
Bruce shook his head. “God, but she’s beautiful!”
Roc nodded wryly, then looked meaningfully at Bruce. “But watch it. She’s treacherous. Cunning. Don’t forget, she’s old man Davenport’s daughter. She can be vicious. Hard as nails. Tough as leather. As charming as formaldehyde!”
Bruce grinned. “She sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
“Want to get her off the ship fast, huh?” Bruce said.
Roc leaned forward, grinning. “Not on your life!” he exclaimed softly. “Hey, the way I see it, this was no accident. She wanted to come aboard. Well, she’s here now. She can just stay a while.”
Bruce frowned. “Won’t that be kidnapping?”
“She came aboard my boat.”
“Well, we did pull her up in a net.”
“And she slipped herself into that net on purpose, I assure you.”
“Sounds like you really dislike her!”
“She’s absolute trouble,” he promised.
Bruce shook his head again sorrowfully. Then he arched a brow. “By the way—did you ever actually get a divorce from her?”
Roc started.
Had he?
No, actually, he hadn’t done anything. But surely she had. Old man Davenport would have seen to that! Roc was always at sea. He’d never been served any papers, but then, he wouldn’t have been around to receive them. The way things had ended had been so furious and wild.…
“Wouldn’t that be something?” he murmured.
“What?”
He grinned. “If our little imposter is still my wife!”
Bruce smiled in return. “Well, it might help out in case of a kidnapping charge!”
Roc sat back, remembering his brief and stormy marriage. The wildness, the fights … the lovemaking.
A searing jolt seemed to rip right through his body. He gritted his teeth, leaning back again, and swallowed another long draft of good Caribbean rum.
“Why don’t you bring the lady in?” he suggested. “The captain is ready to be met.”
Bruce flashed him a quick salute and hurried out. A second later, the cabin door opened and she came on in.
Melinda. Melly …
She was drying, and drying nicely. Connie had supplied her with clothes, white baggy pants and a white tailored shirt with short sleeves. The tails were tied at her waist in a knot.
Her hair was drying. Long, wavy, spilling golden over her shoulders. She wore no makeup at all. Melinda had no need for it.
She strode in, already having taken a deep breath and ready to vent her anger on the captain.
But even as she stepped in, he was rising. And before she could speak, he was smiling, greeting her smoothly.
“My, my. Ms. Davenport. To what do we owe this very strange, er, pleasure?”
The air rushed out of her. Aquamarine eyes lit on him, amazed.
But was she as amazed as she seemed? He doubted it.
“You!” she breathed.
He arched one dark brow. “These are my waters,” he reminded her politely. “They always have been.”
Her lips seemed to be trembling slightly. But was it for real?
He lifted a hand. “Do come in, Ms. Davenport.” He paused, cocking his head, staring at her. “It is Ms. Davenport, isn’t it? You did divorce me, I assume?”
And then he knew. Instantly.
She paled to the color of snow.
She had never divorced him.
She had probably just assumed that he had divorced her, the way he had assumed …
Oh, no. This was rich! Really, really rich!
He started to laugh, the sound deep and husky in the small room. “So it isn’t Ms. Davenport! What a startling surprise. Almost as surprising as pulling one’s ex-wife up in a fishing net at sea. Ex
cept you’re not my ex-wife.”
“And you’re not a fisherman!” she lashed out, at last finding breath again.
“Right,” he said, his laughter having faded, his voice tense. He set his hands on the table, leaning across it as he demanded, “So just what are you doing on my vessel, Melinda?”
“I was caught just like a dolphin because of your absolute carelessness—”
“Wrong!”
“Damn you!” she cried, striding across the room, ready to accost him—until she realized just how close she had come.
Close enough to touch.
He could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. The rise and fall of her breasts. Just as she could see the ripple of his naked chest with every breath of air he took.
She shook her head, the movement a little wild. And just a little … desperate.
Melinda, beautiful in white, golden hair cascading over her shoulders, aquamarine eyes a damp, gemstone fire. Chin held high. Always held so high.
“You’re not going to believe a word I say to you, no matter what. So why don’t we end this impossible situation right here and now?”
He sat back in his chair, controlling the wild rush of emotions surging through him. “This impossible situation?”
“Me. Here.”
He shook his head, as if trying to understand her better. “Melinda, you connived your way aboard my vessel.”
“I was caught up in your—”
“No, Melinda, I don’t think so.”
“How can you not think so? I was in your net—”
“Yes, but I think you ended up there on purpose.”
“You would!” she cried. “You would never credit such a thing to your own inability—”
“Ah. And it just happened to be my boat you came upon, eh?”
“What does it matter?” she cried. “Just take me to port. Any port! Then this will all be over and done.”
He smiled at her. Just as pleasantly as he could manage.
“But I’m not ready to head in to port.”
“I am.”
He rose again, striding around the desk, pausing just before her. His smile deepened. “But I’m the captain, Ms. Davenport. And what I say goes.”
He walked past her, heading for the door.
Between Roc and a Hard Place Page 1
