Her Sworn Enemy (Men of the Zodiac)

by Theresa Meyers

  “A friend said your tattoos are lucky. And”—he gestured to the wall displaying her skill—“looking at these, I’d say they’re beautiful as well.”

  “What kind of design were you thinking of?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  The woman’s gaze locked with his. The glint in the sea-green depth of her eyes told him it did, very much.

  “A tattoo is a personal mark. It can define you.”

  He glanced back again at the images on the wall behind her, looking at the designs and discarding them just as quickly, now that it came to picking something personal to him. Only one image captured his attention. It was close, but not right.

  “What about that, only different?” He pointed to the S like swirl of black and white in a circle with opposing dots of color forming a yin yang symbol.

  “The taijitu? Certainly. How would you like it to be different?” To him, her tone sounded as if she were testing him, waiting to see if he came up with a satisfactory answer that would somehow give her insight into him.

  Tuck stared at the image until it started to swim in his vision. “Fish. I want two koi fish, one black, one white, on my shoulder.”

  “You’re a Pisces.” It wasn’t a question. When he nodded, she said briskly, “A good choice, hopefully one that brings you balance and harmony.”

  Tuck needed neither balance nor harmony, but he could do with a bit of luck. If the salvage op was anything like it was suggested to be, he’d finally break free from the shadow of his family and prove to his moocher half siblings and cousins that just because you came from money didn’t mean you couldn’t get off your freeloading ass, go out, and earn it yourself.

  There was only one other thing he wanted to achieve after making a name for himself—revenge. He wanted to stick it to his older half brother, Phillip, who’d stripped both him and his mother of everything when James McCormack had passed away, leaving them destitute and forced to take only what they could carry when they moved into a shelter.

  When he was done with Phillip, he would know what loss felt like. Tucker would buy out the McCormack Company in a hostile takeover from under his half brother, then dismantle it. He’d prove, bastard son or not, he was more than just a McCormack. He was his own man, and he’d leave his own mark on the world.

  He watched intently as Min Dupré began to sketch his tattoo on a translucent sheet of transfer paper, the tip of her pencil moving rapidly. Rather than make it a perfect outline of a circle, she let the fins of each fish flow freely at the outer edges, giving it the illusion of the yin yang symbol, but a freedom of movement that made it seem natural and flowing, like water. Two fish. Exact opposites but totally united. Perfect.

  She lifted her pencil and looked him in the eye. “Is this what you had in mind?”

  In a way it was kind of freakish how she’d drawn what he saw in his mind so precisely down to the scales on the fish. “Yeah. That’s great!”

  “If you go ahead and have a seat over there, you can make yourself comfortable while you fill out these,” she said, indicating a reclining chair in the corner with a small workstation and a large mirror on the wall beside it as she handed him some paperwork. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to get started.”

  Tuck took his time getting to the chair and looked at the other curious items on display in the shop. No use rushing things. It seemed like Inkspell was part tattoo parlor, part occult shop—nothing that seemed out of the ordinary in the French Quarter. One wall sported nothing but shelf after shelf of large glass jars, all neatly labeled, containing various dried herbs, seeds, and nuts. A few even had bones. There were crystals and tarot cards, mugs, and books. He settled into the chair and finished filling out the permission and health form just before the tattoo artist returned.

  She flipped through his papers, laid them aside on the workstation, and slipped on a pair of thin latex gloves. She took a bottle of dark green soap from the counter, wet down his skin, and cleaned the area to be tattooed, then transferred the design to his shoulder.

  “So what brings you to New Orleans, business or pleasure?”

  He gave her a wicked smile. “I’m hoping a bit of both. I’m starting a new job in the next week.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Salvage and recovery.”

  “Buildings?”

  “Wrecks.”

  She lifted one dark brow. “So you’re a treasure hunter?”

  “It’s not hunting if you already know where to find it.”

  “Interesting line of work.” She turned her attention back to his tattoo.

  As she worked he focused on something beyond the buzzing sound and sharp sting of the needle working its magic to create a masterpiece. Fortunately, he had the perfect thing to distract him. “I bumped into a young lady who looks a lot like you when I came into the shop. Are you two related?”

  Min’s gaze never left the work she was doing on his shoulder. “That’s my niece, Belladonna.”

  Score one for his side. He had her name.

  “Is she an artist like you?”

  The corner of Min’s mouth twitched. “No, Bella’s far more practical and pragmatic. She’s not one to flit where the wind takes her.”

  So, the kind who wanted to settle down. Strike one. Not good. “She works here with you?”

  For a moment the needle lifted from his skin, and Min wiped the blood away from her work, making eye contact in the mirror. “Only to help out here and there. Why, are you interested?”

  He gave her a genuine smile. “Do you seriously know a man who isn’t? She’s gorgeous.”

  Min chuckled. “Well, at least you know how to speak the truth. Our Bella is easy on the eyes, but don’t let that fool you. That girl’s got a temper.”

  What the hell, might as well go for a home run. “Husband? Boyfriend? Significant other?”

  Min’s eyes twinkled. “Not yet.”

  Chapter Two

  “You wanted a professional dive and recovery team, and I’ve got you one that our investors approved. You’ll have three months to find and recover the Rapid. After that I’m pulling the plug. We’re cutting it close to hurricane season as it is,” her boss, Harold Palmer, told Bella as she sat in his office.

  Bella stared at him. “That’s fantastic! Who’s the investor?”

  “They’ve requested anonymity, and I’m respecting that request.”

  Bella digested that for a moment. This was similar to Phillip’s assurance that she should take his recommendation of the investment company on blind faith. “Look, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but why won’t you tell me who’s funding our project?” And why do I feel like there’s a catch?

  Harold shook his head and chuckled. “I understand your need to have all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed, but in this case you’ll have to take it or leave it. The investor isn’t budging on this point. They’ve asked to remain anonymous as a condition of providing the remaining funds for the project.”

  She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “What’s the catch?” Because fate ensured there was always a catch.

  “I get fifty percent of the find.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Not unexpected, but if it wasn’t for her, Harold wouldn’t even have known the wreck existed. “Are you the investor?”

  “If I was, it wouldn’t be anonymous, but no. I’m not.”

  “How much do they want?”

  “Fifty percent.”

  More than fair when they were funding the operation. Bella’s lips twitched. “So you get fifty percent, and they get fifty percent, and that leaves zero percent for me. Not much of incentive for me, is it? Ten percent for your trouble.”

  Ten percent of nothing was nothing. Ten percent of what she hoped, suspected, and prayed was beneath the ocean would be, literally, a drop in the bucket financially.

  Harold’s chair creaked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. “Twenty.”

  “Fifteen, and
that’s only because you found a financial backer for the project, and if I find my ancestor’s crystal ball, I get to keep it. Without a percentage.”

  Harold nodded and smiled. “Remember, doc, you gotta ask. Never know what you can get until you ask for it. You find this wreck, and fifteen percent will be more than enough for me to retire.”

  Bella snorted. “As if you could. You’re a damn workaholic, Harold, and you know it.”

  Harold winked at her. “True, but you can’t stop a man from dreaming.”

  “So who’s this salvage operator you’ve hired?”

  The air stirred in the office, and she sensed a distinctly male presence behind them.

  “Tucker McCormack at your service,” said a man’s smooth voice from the doorway. “I’m your dive salvage expert.”

  Bella turned and stared at the tanned man whose massive shoulders filled the doorway. The same wall of man had knocked her on her ass at her aunt’s shop just a week before.

  “Pleasure to see you again,” he said simply, mouth turning up at the edges with humor.

  When she’d first seen him in the shop, she thought her mind had been playing tricks on her. Not every big, gorgeous guy reminded her of Phillip. But that angular jaw, those clear blue eyes under dark intense brows, and most of all, that arrogant, smug smile made her do a double take.

  He looked similar to Phillip McCormack, too similar for her comfort. Oh, he was far less slick and polished and far more fit and tan, but there was no way in hell she would ever trust a McCormack again. Not after Phillip had basically gambled away what little she and grand-mère had left of their inheritance on bad investments, leaving them practically out on the street until grand-mère had passed away and her aunt had come back to New Orleans recently to open Inkspell.

  “Are you related to Phillip McCormack?” Holding back her thoughts was not her strong suit. In fact, frequently she had no filter between her thoughts and what popped out of her mouth.

  He shrugged. “Unfortunately, and in a roundabout way. Don’t get to pick your family, you know.” Bella folded her arms into a protective shield over her chest. Maybe her instincts weren’t that far off. Maybe he was a cousin. She’d been far too attracted to him at the shop for a mere stranger, even though technically that’s exactly what he was.

  She saw her rosy future dissipating right before her eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t work with you.”

  McCormack’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “You’re a McCormack.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?”

  “Your family thinks they can take whatever they want, without consequences and without giving a damn who else is involved. Isn’t ‘Take everything. Give nothing back.’ your family motto? I don’t trust you.” She couldn’t be plainer than that.

  He put up his hands, as if pushing back hard on the words she flung at him. “Whoa. Look, I don’t know where you got the idea that my relatives have anything to do with how I behave, but I can assure you, I’m nothing like them. Never have been.” The intensity in his eyes and the fine tick in his jaw revealed their association was tense.

  Out of the corner of her eye she spied Harold pouring himself a drink and sitting back to watch the fireworks. That was fine with her. She didn’t need Harold or any other man to save her. As far as she was concerned, she planned on breaking the losing streak that had plagued the women in her family, and that started by taking care of things for herself.

  “How are you related to Phillip?”

  Storm clouds shot with lightning gathered in his eyes. “Normally I don’t answer personal questions like that in business meetings.”

  “Indulge me.”

  The sudden glint in his eye said he’d like to…in a very hands-on fashion.

  Oh girl, do not tempt him. Bella was too amped up to listen to the voice of reason in her head.

  “Since this seems to be a sticking point for you, he’s my older half brother. We share a sperm donor and not much else.”

  Liar. Phillip had two sisters. No brothers. She’d had dinner with all of them, once upon a time when she’d had the foolish belief that Phillip wanted to marry her and that she wasn’t just his college booty call.

  “Funny, he never mentioned having a brother.”

  “Yeah. He wouldn’t. My mom’s the mistress, so technically, in his world, I don’t exist.” The hard edge to his tone indicated she’d treaded on a tender subject.

  Way to step in it, girl. Everyone had their share of dark family secrets. Bella shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Hardly your fault.”

  Tuck shrugged and moved easily across the room settling his big frame in a chair right beside her. Bella could feel the palpable male energy rolling off him like a heat wave. “No big deal. Can’t miss what you never had, right?”

  She wished that were true, but on so many levels, it wasn’t. She felt bound to her family and her home and knew she’d never want or need the freedom to go anywhere and try anything that her aunt seemed to achieve so flawlessly. Home was her sanctuary.

  She wanted the kind of man who would sink down roots and grow old with her, something permanent like the big, mossy oaks that lasted centuries on the plantations where they’d first been planted. God knew she’d never come across a dependable male yet, and that included her own father. But more than either of those things she never had, Bella missed the awe and respect wealth bought in a society where there were still prejudices going back generations. Here the words Creole and Cajun weren’t just tourist terms, but deeper degrees of freedom and color, power and wealth, and a family’s place in society.

  “I thought there were only three kids in Phillip’s family.”

  “Yeah. His side. Never met any of them. But apparently he gets to be Prince Phillip at home, since he’s the only boy.” There was enough rancor in the way he said “only” that Bella could tell it bothered him.

  “Shall we get back on point?” he said in a tone that indicated he had no intention of continuing to discuss his family.

  Bella hesitated. “I need to know one more thing before I can decide if I’ll work with you.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you want to work on this project?”

  Intense blue eyes locked with hers. Bella sucked in a breath at the spark of awareness that shot all the way to her toes and made her girly parts sit up and take notice.

  Tucker McCormack was not a man to be manipulated, which meant she was going to have her work cut out for her. So she did what any sane woman would do when she wanted something and had obviously just pissed off the person who could make her dream a reality. She appealed to his ego. “What I mean is, well, if you are a McCormack, you obviously have more money than you possibly need. So, what’s the draw for you in this? It’s pocket change where you come from.” If it was possible, he looked even more pissed off by her comment. Great.

  “That’s an interesting assumption to make when you don’t know the first thing about me.” His voice was cool, and his eyes telegraphed his annoyance. “It isn’t about the money. Never has been.”

  Easy to say if one had plenty of it, Bella thought bitterly, but kept her mouth shut.

  He splayed his fingers through his hair, making the golden tips stand on end. “Haven’t you ever had a dream? Something you wanted so bad you’d do anything to get it?”

  A bubble of excitement welled up inside her chest, and she nodded. Of course she had. Why else take this fool’s risk on the Rapid?

  “Sure.” Bringing up the Rapid had been her dream as long as she could remember, the one that had caused the rift between her and Phillip. When he’d told her it was him or the Rapid, she’d chosen the Rapid. That had been a blow his ego couldn’t take, so he’d dumped her.

  “You okay?” The rough edge of his voice shook her out of her thoughts.

  “Yes. Dream. Please continue.”

  He looked at her a moment, his eyes drilling into her, sampling her soul. He must have found something
he was looking for, because he continued. “Well, my dream is to make a name for myself, a name that has nothing to do with the McCormack name. I want a legacy. I want my time on Earth to mean something.”

  Bella felt any connection beyond attraction to him was lost again. Just because Tucker was at odds with his family, and bore them a great deal of resentment, apparently, didn’t mean he wasn’t part of it, even if that part was only financial. If his mother had been the father’s mistress, he must’ve provided well for her and his son.

  This guy wasn’t financially destitute. She couldn’t even conceive of the kind of power and influence his family held in their deep pockets, and yet he was acting like it was the bane of his existence. Hell, she was happy to make sure their mortgages got paid so they weren’t out on the streets. He might claim to have been down and out once upon a time, but he came from wealth and the rarified air of it still clung to him.

  “And how is this project going to help you?”

  “You can keep half of whatever your salvage operator’s cut of the find would normally be.” He paused a beat.

  Bella had to admit that was a good deal, hell, an amazing deal, far better than she’d hoped. “What’s the catch?”

  “I want full credit for the find.”

  Whoa. And there was the deal breaker.

  Suddenly, she didn’t give a damn if he’d been approved by the project’s secret financial backer or not. Just like Phillip, he wanted to deny her what belonged to her by birthright. Bella shot up out of her chair. “You what?”

  “Didn’t I say it plainly enough?”

  Searing heat blazed through her, like a reflux of strong hot sauce, welling up in her throat and making her flush. “Do not patronize me. I heard you fine. I simply can’t believe what you said, because it was completely asinine.”

  He shrugged. “What? I’m not asking for full payment for the project. I think that getting full credit in exchange is fair.”

  The hell it was. She took a step closer to him, getting in his personal space.