In Too Deep

by Cherry Adair

  Which didn't mean she couldn't want to hold him and… do things to him, anyway.

  Tally lifted her face to the sun and spread her arms wide, inhaling deeply. Could it get any better than this? The hot sun on her skin, the intoxicating fragrance of water and flowers. The sound of the balmy breeze combing the palm trees.

  Heaven.

  She opened her eyes and removed her sunglasses to gaze across the bay. Turquoise and aquamarine hardly described the incredible clarity and color of the water. She dropped the glasses with her bag and shoes on the sand, then waded ankle deep in the foaming surf. The water was slightly cooler than the air, and silky against her skin. Wavelets lapped gently at her feet, burying them in sand. Something touched her ankle. She glanced down and watched a blue, pug-nosed fish with what seemed like upside-down fins and a bright green patch on its side swim across her instep. Enchanted, Tally froze as several bright yellow fish frolicked in her shadow in the gently eddying water around her.

  "Hang on, guys," Tally told the fish as she pulled her feet out of the sand with twin plops. "I'll be right back to play."

  She moved her bag and shoes farther up the beach and took out her towel and spread it on the sand in the shade beneath a palm tree. Then quickly stripped down to her swimsuit.

  The blindingly white sand stretched out on either side of her. Inland, the beach disappeared into sea grasses and tangled tropical vegetation in infinite shades of green. Stately palm trees marched along the ridge, their fronds crackled in the errant breeze. With loud squawks and high ke-ke-kek-yeks, gulls and terns bickered above the reef where the calm sea formed frothy breakers over the coral.

  With a laugh, Tally ran headlong into the water.

  She came up wiping her eyes and spitting out salty water. Even though she'd swum several hundred feet out, the water came barely to her waist, and was so crystal clear, she could see her pale feet on the bottom. Smiling, she wriggled her toes to tempt the tiny fish swimming around her legs.

  A prickle of awareness made her glance up.

  Wearing nothing but bright purple shorts and a blue bandanna tied around his forehead, Michael stood, arms akimbo, on the beach watching her.

  He'd heard her laughter, faint on the breeze, all the way up at the marina. As alluring as Lorelei, as tempting as Eve. He'd found himself loping down the beach toward the sound before he'd given the action much thought.

  Before she'd noticed him, he'd stood on the very edge of the surf and observed her as she played in the water. Envious of her freedom to swim unafraid. The yearning to join her formed a terrible ache in his chest. Tally suddenly represented everything he couldn't have. And, damn it, he wanted it. Needed it, more than he wanted to admit.

  His fingers twitched with the need to thread them through her short silky hair. He wanted to lose himself in the taste of her. Wanted to draw his mouth down her body. He wanted her eager to take anything from him. And then beg for more.

  Who was to say he couldn't have that? If it didn't bother her that her husband had just died, why the hell should it bother him?

  She was his for the taking for one more day. After that… he'd get over it.

  She wore a plain, dark blue one-piece. She was too thin. Not a bad shape, but too damn thin for his tastes. Her breasts were too small, yet he wanted to put his mouth on them. Her hair was too dark, her mouth too big, and her attitude too damn… happy.

  None of which accounted for his boner as he watched her frolic about in the surf like a child. He knew the second she spotted him. The laughter died. The smile on her soft mouth faded, and she froze like a Saudi in the gun sights of his MP5.

  "There's nowhere to go, sweetheart," Michael said softly, mockingly, as she looked about almost desperately.

  The straightening of her slender shoulders was infinitesimal, but he was trained to see nuances. Michael envied her the ability to wade through the shallow water with such ease… except for that little dip when she couldn't find purchase on the moving sand underfoot.

  She'd better not go under. There wasn't anyone around to save her skinny ass.

  "You better not be here to mess with my afternoon, Black Bart," she said from yards away.

  "Huh?" He tried to gauge her mood. She didn't look particularly murderous, but she wasn't smiling, either. Which, he was learning, wasn't a good sign. "We've been invited to a party," he said, not knowing what the hell she was talking about but wise enough to shut the hell up.

  "We?" She eyed his electric purple shorts. "Do you have a mouse in your pocket?"

  "We were both invited," he said, his voice cool and ironic. "If you'd prefer to go on your own, feel free."

  Tally did not want to be standing there, water dripping down her creamy, olive skin, swimsuit glued to her body. And he only knew that because her gaze lingered on her towel. Which he just happened to be standing on. She brought her attention back to his face. "What if I'd prefer not to go at all?"

  "That would be kinda rude. It's Auntie's birthday."

  "For real? Hmm. Who's going to be there? I thought just about everyone left early this morning." She gave him a suspicious look. "It's not going to be a party for two, is it?"

  "Auntie said she felt like dancing. Ask her."

  "As a matter of fact, she did mention something about a party earlier."

  "Fine. Let's talk about Arnaud."

  She shot him a startled look at the non sequitur. "Did they find him?"

  "Not that I know of."

  She frowned. "Why do you want to talk about him, for heaven's sake?"

  "Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

  "I'm not."

  "Widowed, then."

  "I've never been married. And if I had, I can assure you, Arnaud would have to be the last sperm-producing Homo sapiens left on the planet for me to even consider it. What on earth gave you the idea he and I were married?"

  "Leli'a."

  "Auntie's niece?"

  "Yeah."

  "How weird. Why would she say something like that? Oh, let me guess… we're talking about Arnaud Bouchard here. If there's an angle, he'll find it. She probably pressed for a ring, and the slime told her he was already married. What a jerk."

  And, annoyingly, Michael thought, what a frigging relief. "She's the one who pushed you down the stairs last night, by the way."

  "She did? Why? What is that girl's problem?" Tally shook her head. "Now all we have to do is figure out who the guy was."

  "I imagine he's long gone with the crews who left this morning."

  "You think?"

  "Yeah."

  Her shoulders relaxed. "Another blight removed." She tilted her head, the sparkle dancing in her eyes. "Are you over your snit?"

  "Snit?"

  "This morning."

  He glowered. "Men don't have snits, for Christ sake."

  "Okay." Her mouth twitched. "Are you feeling better now?"

  What was it about her, anyway? Michael wondered sourly. Aside from those huge, happy blue eyes. And her bee-stung mouth. Her ass was great. But, hell, she was miles away from being beautiful. So how come he kept forgetting that?

  Damn it. What man could resist her effervescence? A disgruntled growl rumbled in his throat. "You don't want to mess with me, lady."

  "No? Why not?"

  "Because," Michael said roughly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets so he wouldn't grab her. Because I'm going to annihilate your father. I'm going to use you to get to him, and you'll break in the process. I'm going to stomp on all your sweet little dreams and aspirations, and crush them to dust. Run, Forrest, run.

  "Because I'm a mean son of a bitch, and you shouldn't have a damn thing to do with me."

  Her wet hair was slicked back off the pure oval of her face. Without the soft, curly distraction, her eyes appeared enormous, and very blue against the backdrop of the sky. "Hmm."

  Jesus, wasn't she listening? "You're going to get hurt."

  "After sleeping with you once? Okay, three times, but it was one
night, for goodness's sake." She bent down and picked up her sunglasses, which she slid onto her nose. Damn. Now he couldn't see her eyes.

  "So, you think you can break my heart in a couple of days, do you? Get real. You're great in bed, but not that great. Women have flings all the time, and walk away unscathed. Why do you imagine I'm any different?"

  "You are."

  "No, I'm not."

  "Yes, damn it, you are."

  Tally laughed. "Thanks for thinking about my delicate sensibilities, but you don't know me. I promise you, I'm a lot tougher than you think."

  "You aren't tough at all."

  "Ha. Try breaking into my room with a pocketknife and say that."

  "Jesus, Tally. Listen to me—"

  "Get over yourself, Black Bart. I'm having a fabulous vacation. I told you. If you're here to bug me, go away." She glanced down at his feet. "May I have my towel, please?"

  "What can I say to—"

  "See this?" She drew a line with her toe in the sand between them. "This is the line of death. Cross it, and you're toast."

  "I'll take my chances." He stepped on her line, and brushed a finger across her shoulder. "You're getting pink. Too much sun." It was a blatant lie. Her skin was already turning a golden brown, and felt as smooth and soft as velvet. He saw the gentle swell of her breasts above the modest edge of her swimsuit, saw the nervous rapidity of her breathing, and knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

  "I don't bur—" she licked her lower lip, and those blue, blue eyes lost focus as he trailed his fingers up the slender plane of her throat.

  A beat too late, she retreated a step.

  He advanced, his hand still on her, unable to resist the temptation.

  The pulse at the base of her throat syncopated with his own heartbeat.

  She took another small step back… and stumbled in her own footprints in the sand behind her.

  Michael allowed himself a ghost of a smile as he shot his hand up to grasp the back of her head, keeping her from falling. Drawing her closer.

  Her scalp felt warm beneath his hand, and her wet hair curled around his fingers. She felt curiously fragile beneath his touch as she stood there without moving, her gaze fixed on his face.

  "I guess neither of us listens very well, do we?"

  "Guess not." She trembled when he ran his other hand up her back. Past the nominal barrier of spandex, to smooth up bare skin. Her lids lowered, ridiculously long lashes fluttered like a Victorian maiden about to be ravished. He knew she was afraid to let him see the sheer panic in her expression.

  Brave little Tally.

  Brave, but too slow.

  She should have run for the hills.

  Now it was just too damn late.

  Chapter Ten

  « ^ »

  Michael lowered his head and put his mouth on hers. Desire shot to his groin, sweet and sharp. He increased the pressure, and her mouth opened eagerly beneath his. She tasted of pineapple. Temptation. Desire.

  And worst of all, she tasted of trouble.

  Michael slid his hands down her sun-warmed arms to capture her wrists, then slowly pulled them up and around his neck, until their bodies were flush. He wanted to groan with the pleasure of it, but tamped down the sound, knowing if it escaped, what was left of his self-control would follow.

  He slowly captured her mouth, slanting his head to draw her tongue inside. She whimpered. Her nipples hardened against his chest as her slick, delightfully inept tongue tried to keep pace with his.

  He'd always enjoyed kissing. Considered himself pretty good at it. But, God… kissing Tally was amazing. This fore-play was almost as good as the main event. Almost.

  He felt the brush of her fingers against his neck, then fisting into his hair as he increased the pressure of the kiss. Asking more. Taking more. She drew him closer, tighter, against the gentle curves of her body, her nails flexing on his skin.

  He could slide his hands down the modest neckline of her swimsuit, pull it aside, and cup her small, perfect breasts. He wanted to taste her nipples, salty from the sea. He wanted to push her down on the sugary beach, there in the brilliant tropical sunlight, and plunge to the heart of her.

  He resisted the siren call, even as it enticed him, calling him to drown in the sheer, scented beauty of her supple body. And the promise of forgetfulness, for even a heartbeat, of what he was going to do to her when her father arrived. Hell. He released her abruptly, dropping his arms to his sides as he took a step away from her.

  "Not bad," he drawled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to keep from grabbing her again.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Not bad? You rat, you did come down here to tick me off and ruin my afternoon didn't you?"

  With a shake of her head, she planted both hands on his chest and shoved him out of her way. She walked around him and bent to pick up her towel, shook out the sand, then cocked her head to look at him. "Well, your reverse psychology isn't going to work. Personally, I thought it was slightly better than not bad. Slightly."

  She wrapped the towel around her body like a clumsy pareu, and picked up her things, holding them bundled in her arms. "Not that I'm an expert on these things, but don't be so hard on yourself." She patted his arm with mock sympathy. "With a little practice, I bet you could improve. Come and find me when you feel better able to put some real effort into the project."

  "I feel just fine," he said through his teeth.

  "That's a shame. If you're feeling good now, there won't be any real improvement. Will there?"

  "Tally, Goddamn it—"

  "Is it that time of the month when you're just feeling low-down and cranky? Poor baby. I've heard exercise helps. And lay off the caffeine."

  Without waiting for his response, Tally turned on her heel and strode briskly down the beach toward the marina. Back straight, head high, she waved to him over her shoulder.

  Michael huffed a laugh. Damned crazy woman. He shook his head, then licked a finger, in the air, and sketched one point to the lady.

  Although it was only early afternoon, and he preferred limiting his activities to darkness, he turned to jog down the beach in the opposite direction. The fun and games with her were amusing, but he had a job to do. And this was a perfect opportunity to scout out the cave he'd seen yesterday. He'd spent precious hours watching over Tally last night when he should've been searching. She was safe enough in broad daylight. Not that he thought the guy who'd attacked her was still hanging around, but better safe than sorry.

  Michael scaled the boulders near the point and dropped down on the other side. The stretch this side was shorter and narrower than the other. He'd already done a recon of the area, and knew the strengths and weaknesses of the perimeter. The natural basin created by the rocks, beach, and sea offered complete privacy.

  He scanned the cliff to his right. Because of the jaggedness of the rock and the angle of the sun, it was hard to tell, without scaling the face, exactly what was a cave and what was shadow. He'd start with the small opening in the base.

  It was hellishly narrow, and a tight fit. He had to slide in sideways, but the height was ten feet or more above his head. About fifteen feet in, the narrow slit opened into a room approximately twenty by fifty feet. Michael paused, letting his eye adjust to the dimness.

  Size-wise it would be a perfect spot to store the stolen arms and ammunition. Cool, and well-hidden. Easily accessible because of the slope of the beach and deeper water. Unfortunately it would also be flooded, come high tide. Not to mention it would be restrictive, if not downright impossible, trying to carry anything in or out through that notch-like opening. The ordnance would be in large wooden crates.

  Damn. He narrowed his eye as he scanned the gloomy interior.

  There, in back. His heartbeat quickened. He moved in, his attention focused on a couple of darker areas. Yes! There. A couple or three openings that looked like natural tunnels in the side walls. Narrow and—he shoved an arm in one—could go back thirty more feet, for all he knew. He
'd come back and check those later. He moved around the room, considerably darker in back, to make sure he wasn't missing anything.

  "What have we here?" Man-made stairs, roughly cut in the rock.

  Damn. He wished he had a flashlight. He'd come back with one later, but for now he bounded up the uneven steps. He had to slow as they took a sharp and dangerous turn, then another. The higher he climbed, the lighter it became and the more his anticipation grew.

  "Are you seeing this, Bud?" he asked Hugo, grinning at the ceiling. "Oh, man." The cave was three times the size of the one below, and flooded with sunlight.

  Almost every square inch of it was filled with wooden crates.

  He'd found the ordnance.

  Michael pushed his way between the crates to the opening looking out over the sea. Christ, how easy was this? The aperture was perfectly angled as to be almost invisible from below. But at high tide, a ship could come right below the mouth, the crates could easily be rolled down a ramp right onboard. No fuss, no muss.

  His pulse raced.

  Filled with elation, Michael moved through the boxes again, this time his hand lingered almost affectionately on the splintery pine as he passed through the man-made canyons.

  He'd set the charges tonight while everyone slept.

  He jogged down the stairs and out into the sunlight, feeling light for the first time in a year.

  Michael did a high victory jump, and punched the air with his fist. "Hoo-ya! Hugo, my man. We're in!"

  The sun seared his shoulders, the hot sand burned the soles of his feet. Life was good. Revenge would be sweet. Goddamn it—he was king of the world. Able to leap tall buildings, yada, yada, yada. He grinned.

  A cave. Perfect.

  The explosive charge would be contained. The C4 would take out every last piece of crap within the rock walls, and chew up half the cliff face in the doing. Anything that survived the initial bang would be wasted by the ricochet effect.

  The disposal of Church himself would be one on one, and a lot more personal.

  Now, there was just one more small task before he headed back.