In Too Deep

by Cherry Adair

  There'd be no deviation from his chosen path. In the end, Tally Church Cruise would be just another casualty of war.

  "I have some butterfly bandages in my first-aid kit. Should do the job."

  Her lashes dropped as she inspected a scratch on her thigh. "Great. Thanks."

  About to rise, Michael glanced down at her legs. "Jesus," he muttered, noticing the abrasions there for the first time. "What the hell happened to you? Were you in some sort of accident?"

  "Several," Tally admitted wryly, blue eyes ironic as he gently touched her leg.

  The secret, Michael warned himself, was to gentle her to his touch without getting sucked in to the sensual haze himself. He could do that. All he had to do was ignore how soft, how sweet, how… shit. He rose. "Stay put. I'll get the first-aid supplies."

  "I'll be right here."

  He paused, unable to resist brushing her cheek with one finger. "Try not to damage any other body parts while I'm gone."

  Tally smiled. "I'll do my best, Captain. Will you be gone long?"

  "All the way to the galley and back."

  "Six whole feet? I'll try to restrain my party instincts in your absence."

  "Are you a party girl?" he asked from the galley.

  She chuckled. "Hardly."

  Her husky laugh went right through him. Michael shot up a mental block. The woman was Trevor Church's daughter. A means to an end. Nothing more. "Do you always sing when you're scared?"

  "It's a lot easier and more convenient to sing than to lug around a cello."

  His lips twitched. "Can you play the cello?"

  "Not as well as I sing," she said with a smile. "And it sure beats screaming."

  He smiled, because her unfortunate singing voice was pretty damn close to screaming. "Yeah, I'm sure it does." He returned with a small first-aid box and crouched at her feet.

  "I can do tha—" He looked up at the same time, and she jabbed him in the eyebrow with her outstretched hand.

  She jerked back. "Caray! I am so sorry…"

  He glanced up, angling his head because she was on his blind side. "Honey, I only have one eye as it is. Want to just sit still and let me take care of this?"

  "Sorry." She sighed. "I can't believe how clumsy I've been lately. I used to have perfect balance. I even learned how to walk a tightrope once. Of course, I was only seven at the time."

  The scrapes on her knees were several weeks old and didn't require much attention. Michael made busywork as he listened. "Not something every kid learns," he murmured, dabbing on the antiseptic both of them pretended was needed. "Did you want to run away and join a circus?"

  "Nope." She smiled. "My mother and I stayed outside Paris for about a year. One of the other boarders was an acrobat. He gave me lessons in his spare time."

  "Have you used this unusual talent since?"

  She grinned, blue eyes filled with amusement. "There's not much call for acrobatics in my line of work."

  "Which is?" There was a fresh scratch on the back of her slender ankle. "Does this hurt?"

  "No—yes, a bit. I'm a translator."

  Michael applied antiseptic to the cut, then smoothed on an unnecessary Band-Aid. Her calf muscles were long and firm and led his gaze to her thighs, and beyond that to… Knock off this shit, Lieutenant. "Do much traveling?"

  "Not if I can help it." Her voice was dry as she shifted to allow the cat to step onto her bare legs. Green eyes stared at Michael unblinkingly, as if the animal were saying, "See? I'm where you want to be." The cat draped himself over Tally's thighs with a put-upon sigh.

  "I'm the proverbial homebody," Tally said, stroking Lucky's dense, black fur.

  A homebody who got blown off yachts, was covered in scrapes and bruises, and whose father just happened to be the meanest, most sadistic son of a bitch Michael had encountered. And in his occupation—former occupation—he'd run into the worst.

  "Where's home?" he asked, realizing that he'd been cupping the back of her calf while listening to her. He stroked his thumb rhythmically across the sweet curve at the back of her knee and watched with satisfaction as her eyes hazed.

  It took a moment for her to answer. "Chicago. What about you?"

  "You're sitting in it."

  A nomad. Tally mentally shook herself out of a sensual fog and almost sighed. It figured. The first man she'd been attracted to in years was just passing through.

  She relaxed against the thickly padded seat while Michael inspected her legs for injury, his breath warm on her shin. The feel of his slightly calloused hands on her skin was more arousing than it was soothing, but if he felt the same way he was much better at hiding it than she was.

  "This poor cat doesn't look too lucky to me," she said dreamily, enjoying the sensation of the cat's silky fur beneath her palm. Loving the feel of Michael's hands stroking her, Tally almost purred more loudly than the cat.

  "Are you kidding? He'd just used up his ninth life when I ran across him in a back alley in Hong Kong."

  And what, Tally mused, had Michael Wright been doing in a back alley in Hong Kong? "Not literally, I hope?"

  "Nah." Tally heard the smile in his voice. "Didn't bother him that he was cornered by the biggest, ugliest mutt in creation. He maneuvered just fine on three legs. Once we'd shown the dog who was boss, Lucky followed me back to the Nemesis. Been on board ever since."

  "Ah. I love a happy ending."

  "Not a lot of those around."

  "No, I guess not. But it's nice to believe in them. Arnaud and Lu could've used one." She ran her fingernails over the cat's head, across his back, and to the tip of his tail. The cat arched under her hand. "Thanks for rescuing me and giving me a shot at finding a happier ending than they got."

  "No thanks necessary. It's the law of the sea."

  "Is that anything like the code of the West?"

  His grin revealed even, white teeth. "Sort of. Speaking of the sea, what brings you all the way to Tahiti? Vacation?"

  "First in three years," Tally admitted, trying not to wince at the icy sting on a particularly raw spot on her left leg.

  He glanced up. "You're a workaholic?"

  "No. Well, maybe." She really, really needed to do something about her boring social life when she got back. Work had become a replacement for the family she so desperately wanted. How pathetic was that? "I enjoy my job, and usually let the employees with families take the best vacation weeks. Don't get me wrong—I'm not completely altruistic, really. It's just that when vacation time comes, I'm not that enthusiastic about going anywhere. I usually end up staying home and fiddling about in my garden. I can do that weekends, so why take off weeks and weeks?"

  "And this time?"

  She smiled. "My father sent the ticket and invited me to come for a visit."

  "Are you close?"

  "Not really," Tally said wistfully. "He left when I was five. We've never had an opportunity to connect, but maybe we can now that I'm an adult."

  "Parents divorced?"

  "Never married. My stepdad adopted me when he and Bev, my mother, married years later." God, Tally thought, not for the first time, she'd used up so much time yearning for her "real" father that she'd wasted what should've been wonderful years with the man who'd treated her as his own.

  "What better place to connect than an island paradise. No distractions. Sea and surf. Sounds ideal."

  "I hope so. And not a moment too soon, either. I swear I've become my own worst enemy in the last couple of months. My boss almost forced me onto the plane. He claimed I'd better leave town before I got run over by a bus." She smiled.

  "A run-in with a bus did all this?" Michael motioned with the pink stained cotton at her scrapes and bruises. His slightly too long hair had dried, and she noticed how the sun had bleached the shaggy ends. She resisted the urge to touch. His hair. His bare shoulders. His face.

  "Thank God, no buses involved. This one"—Tally pointed at her left knee—"was when I tripped up the stairs going to the El. This one when I
bumped into some guy in the dark and wound up tumbling down the stairs at the movie theater. You'd think I'd just learned to walk. If I wasn't falling over my own feet, it was near misses with falling flower pots and eating the wrong mushrooms at the deli."

  She wasn't intrinsically clumsy. Although over the last few weeks she'd begun to wonder if she had some sort of hex following her, because she'd suddenly become accident-prone.

  Three years without a vacation was too long. This break in her routine was way overdue. Of course having the boat blow up could hardly be attributed to exhaustion and the need for a vacation. By surviving, Tally reckoned she'd broken the jinx.

  Unfortunately, close proximity to this man made all her nerves and muscles jump to attention like a hormone-driven adolescent. Since she'd never experienced anything like it, she was as fascinated as she was perplexed. Was there such a thing as survivor's lust?

  "Sounds dire."

  "It isn't. I just need a long, relaxing vacation, and where better than Paradise?"

  "The ideal place to relax," he agreed. "Turn around a bit so I can get at the scratch on your arm."

  Tally let out a little shriek as the antiseptic bit into the open wound.

  "Sorry," Michael said gruffly, then blew on the sting. Tally almost melted into the cushions. "This is healing fine. A little seepage where the stitches were pulled. The butterfly bandages are tucked into the left side there." He nodded at the first-aid box sitting open on the table. "Hand me one, will you?"

  Tally sorted through the contents with her fingertip until she found the bandages. "From what I've heard, Paradise isn't that big. What does your father do way out here? I imagine he's not old enough to be retired… or is he?"

  Tally pulled the paper off the bandage and held it stuck on the end of her finger until he was ready. "No. He's a boat broker. Buys and sells luxury craft."

  "They say the prices they sell those boats for are sheer piracy." He took the adhesive strip and applied it gently to her arm. His hair brushed against her chin as he bent over her. The masculine smell of him made her heart beat faster.

  Lordie Miss Claudie, she had it bad. Tally smiled. "I guess so. He's not going to be happy about the Serendipity going kaplooie, I bet."

  He nudged her bare foot, and an electrical charge shot up Tally's leg. She jerked out of his way and bumped her knee on the underside of the table. Her elbow connected with her still full coffee mug. Hot liquid spilled over the table and dripped onto the floor.

  "Easy."

  Right. Her cheeks felt hot. "Let me get a rag—"

  "Stay put."

  "Do you have any stain remover?"

  He glanced up and gave her a wry look. "You know, I meant to ask Martha Stewart for some the last time she dropped by, but—"

  "Fine. Liquid detergent should work. Shall I—"

  "It's only a carpet."

  "If you use regular soap, it'll make the stain permanent, or at lea—"

  "Relax, okay? What were you and your friend doing away from harbor just before a typhoon?"

  "We weren't aware there was going to be a typhoon. Trust me, if I had known, no one could've pried me from dry land."

  "At least this'll give you something to talk about when you get back home, right? What I did on my Tahitian vacation…"

  "Or, how to survive a yacht explosion and live to tell about it," Tally said dryly. "Same goes for you, I suppose. Where were you headed before the storm broke?"

  "Sailing around the world to see what I can see. I'd planned to stop at Paradise to replenish supplies and take on fresh water." He shrugged. "Hadn't considered staying any longer than a couple of hours, but now it looks like I'll need to make time to have some repairs done, and to order a new mast before continuing." He ran a finger lightly over her abraded knee, and Tally sucked in a sharp breath as a shot of pure lust traveled up her leg.

  "Paradise is about twenty miles from here," Michael said conversationally, holding her eyes. A surge of heat traveled along her nerve endings, and her mouth went dry. "Well, it was a hell of a lot closer before the storm hit. Still, we'll head back there—that's where you're staying, right?"

  Tally licked her parched lips and blinked, almost hypnotized by the intensity and heat of his gaze. Whew. "R-Right. It's pretty small, and private. But a beautiful place to stop off for a few days if you have the time."

  "I'll make the time." He gave her a slow smile, and her pulse rate went up. "Will you be spending all your time with your father? Or did you show up on Paradise with a lover? Boyfriend?" He frowned. "Husband?"

  Between his touch and the flattering assumption she'd traveled with a lover, she didn't know whether to moan or laugh. "None of the above. I'm alone, with about a hundred and fifty of my father's—of the inhabitants."

  "Your father?"

  "Trevor Church. He owns Paradise Island."

  "Impressive. The boat selling must be lucrative. You didn't answer my question."

  Tally wasn't sure what the question in his eye was; she wasn't adept at reading that kind of heat. "It seems I've arrived for our shared vacation ahead of my father. Apparently he's been delayed for another two or three days."

  "And they say no good deed goes unrewarded," Michael said, still smiling, although his eye seemed shadowed.

  "I thought it was 'No good deed goes unpunished'?"

  "Not in our case. My reward for being there when you needed rescuing is having you to myself for those days. This is perfect. You can show me the sights while my boat is being repaired, and you wait for your father."

  Be still my heart. "I'm not sure how many sights there are to see, although it's breathtakingly beautiful. It's barely six miles long and three miles wide," Tally said dryly. "And while I'd love to play tour guide, I wouldn't be much good. This is the first time I've been there myself."

  "Is that right? So this is a new acquisition for Daddy?"

  "I think he bought it ten years ago. The timing was just never quite right for a visit. But here I am, so I'm going to enjoy every moment. We can explore together, if you like."

  He paused what he was doing to look up at her, his large hand resting lightly on her thigh. "I like."

  Tally had left the small reading light on when she'd crawled into the V-shaped bunk in the forward cabin. Now the light was out. She toggled the switch. Nothing. She fumbled in the dark and felt for the tiny lightbulb. Twisted this way, then that. Nothing. Damn.

  She blinked back panic. The oddly shaped alcove felt microscopic, the blackness thick and weighted. Her heart began to race, and her skin felt clammy. "Here, Lucky," she whispered, hoping the cat would hear her and come bounding onto the bed to keep her company. "Come here, pretty boy."

  Not a peep from the perverse animal. He was probably curled up on the foot of Michael's bed, dreaming of fat rats and endless ear rubs.

  Michael Wright slept only ten feet away. There was absolutely nothing to be frightened of. As illogical as her fear might be, Tally's heartbeat escalated to a frantic rhythm, the precursor to a panic attack.

  Not now! "I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Perhaps if she sat on the sofa in the stateroom, the feeling of space would negate the attack. Perhaps. She wiped a hand down her damp face with a shaky hand.

  Past the kitchen, hand on the counter to aid her, Tally found the leather sofa across the small room. It wasn't any lighter in here.

  Had she been home, all the lights would be on. She'd rattle around in the kitchen, make a pot of tea, curl up on her sofa, and read until she got sleepy. You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, she thought dryly, staring into the darkness.

  It had literally been years since she'd had a panic attack. And damn it, she wasn't going to have one now, either. Breathe in. Breathe out.

  All she required was a faint glow to ground her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine the flicker of a small candle flame. She managed to conjure up a slim white taper with a glowing halo
of light. The imaginary flame flickered, then died.

  She jumped up and felt her way into the tiny galley and opened the oven door. No hope there, either. The power was out. Beneath her feet the boat gently rose and fell. If she really wanted to freak herself out, she could imagine she was riding on the back of a giant sea serpent…

  "Stop it!" Frankly she was more afraid of the oppressive darkness than at the thought of being gobbled down by an imaginary beast.

  Holding on to the counter to orient herself, she paced back and forth. "Here comes the suuuun," she sang under her breath.

  God she hated the way her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest, and how damp her palms were. She hated the fact that she was frightened of the dark like a little kid. She banged her shin on the table as she passed.

  "Ow, damn it. Here comes the's—this is not working." She wiped her clammy hands down the side of her shorts. That's it. She couldn't stand this.

  She felt her way across the room until she stood outside the door to Michael's cabin. The door slightly ajar, she rested her hand on the latch. "This is a bad idea, Tallulah, a bad, bad idea," she whispered. "Be a brave little toaster and go back to your own bed."

  She pushed open the door. She couldn't hear him breathing. Was he even in here? Her heart skipped a beat. Then another.

  "Can't sleep?"

  A relieved sigh slipped from her throat. Next to light, the second-best defense against the darkness was good old human contact. "The lights are off."

  He'd heard her singing under her breath out there, and tamped down the ridiculous notion that he found her Godawful singing oddly charming. "Power's out because of the storm," he lied. He'd turned off all the electrical a few minutes ago. She couldn't snoop in the dark, and it served another purpose. He could take several days fiddling with the generator when they limped into port tomorrow.

  "Oh. Sure. Right—do you by any chance have any candles?"

  "On a boat?" he asked, amused.

  "Flashlight?"

  Several. "Nope."

  "You're not real good in emergencies, are you?"

  "Just go to sleep. It'll be light in eight hours." He could barely make her out in the doorway, and his night vision was terrific.