by Sarah Monzon
“I’m going to need a credit card.”
Trent blinked, his mind racing to get back on track from its pit stop.
Summer’s hand was held out, palm up. “To reserve equipment and book hotel rooms and airfare.”
Airfare. So, not in Florida. And no way was he handing over his credit card to someone he’d just met the day before. “So where is it we’re going, anyway?”
“Bahamas.” With eyebrows raised, she gave her open palm a pointed look.
Mark set his glass down. “I’m going to head out, Summer. You guys sound like you have plans to make, and I have a few errands to run.” He turned to Trent. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You too, sir.”
“Guess that means I’m out of here too.” Jonathan blew out a breath. “I hitched a ride over with Mark.”
“I’ll see you guys later.”
The door closed, and Summer looked at him expectantly.
“I’m not giving you my credit card.”
She huffed and grabbed a pen and a notepad. “Fine.” She scrolled through her smartphone, bent, and then copied something onto the paper. Straightening, she handed him the paper. “That’s the name and number of the company we rented the boat and equipment from last time.”
“Thanks.” He paused. “I really appreciate this, you know. I don’t know why you changed your mind, but I’m glad you did.”
She studied him as he stood.
“I’ll call you with the details.”
His hand was on the doorknob when she spoke.
“It’s about more than the money for you, isn’t it?”
First his mom and now her? Why couldn’t it just be about the thrill of the chase? The intrigue of a mystery? Uncovering something that had been hidden for centuries? And of course, amassing a fortune. Why did they think something deeper was driving him?
The hollowness that had caved in his chest earlier that morning returned, leaving him empty. He swallowed and sidestepped it as he would a small sinkhole in the soft Florida sand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She regarded him a moment before her slight shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “Your business is your business.”
“Uh, right. Well, I’ll be in touch.” He exited without a backward glance. Without a chance for her probing looks and curiosity to unearth something…that wasn’t there? He beat the heel of his palm against his skull a few times. These women needed to get out of his head. There was nothing wrong with him. He wasn’t on some quest to fill a void in his life. He was simply a man about to undertake an underwater exploration with the hope of making the greatest discovery of the decade.
Breath puffed out his nose in a snort as his thoughts turned sarcastic. I wonder if the women in Lewis and Clark’s lives pestered them about filling a void when they set out to find a Northwest Passage.
He was face value. The sooner everyone accepted that, the better.
Chapter Seven
I'm going to go cross-eyed if I stare at this screen any longer. Summer scrubbed at her eyes, then blinked hard a few times. Over a hundred photographs to edit and she was only halfway through. At this rate her backside would be glued in this seat for the rest of the day. She twisted in her chair, the top half of her going one way and the bottom half going the other. A satisfying crack sounded from her lower spine. A chiropractor would scold, but it alleviated the pressure. Now back to photo number fifty-three. She covered the computer’s mouse with her hand and made a few clicks.
Her cell vibrated on the desk next to her outstretched hand. The ID registered a number she didn't recognize. She tapped the green Accept button.
“Hello?”
“Hey, beautiful, you want to grab some coffee?”
Furrows formed between her eyes. Who in the world? “I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear but stopped short of disconnecting when she heard the voice on the other end say her name.
Her lips turned down. “Who is this?”
“Who do you think it is, babe? I told you I'd call.” Summer hadn't known it was possible to hear a smile until then. The flirtatious, mischievous smile she'd seen on Trent Carrington's face before resounded over the phone lines. And babe? Really? She set her teeth. The guy knew it irked her to be called that, but it seemed he got perverse pleasure in pushing her buttons.
Ignore it. If he can't get a rise out of you, he'll eventually stop. At least that was how it had worked when the boys had teased her in elementary school.
Summer stared at her computer screen. She really needed to get these photos edited by the end of the day. “I'm in the middle of something right now, Trent. If this is about the trip, you can e-mail me the itinerary.”
The door to her studio pushed open, and there stood Trent. All six foot plus of him. The sun shone through the open door, causing his blond hair to glow like gold. One side of his mouth whirled up in a lopsided grin. Her breath whooshed out. From irritation. Obviously. The reaction couldn't have been for any other reason.
“I'm not taking no for an answer.” Summer heard his voice from across the room as well as from her cell. She hung up and sent him a glare.
“As you can see, I'm working.” She indicated the screen in front of her.
He walked across the room and sat in one of the chairs opposite her desk, leaning back in it like he had all the time in the world.
“Coffee will only take fifteen minutes.” He bestowed one of his flashing smiles upon her.
Summer looked at him. She took in his laid-back manner, the way he was quick to smile, and the ease in which he charmed. For goodness’ sake, the man thought all he had to do was smile and he'd get his way. She pursed her lips. Already she'd given in to him, but that was because she needed some edgy photos for Our World, not because he'd smiled at her, said pretty please, and made her go all gooey inside.
Someone needed to start telling this man no.
“Thank you for the offer, but I really don't have time right now.”
He continued to lounge in her chair, his gaze never leaving her face, the lopsided grin never faltering. “All right. No problem.”
Really? He wasn't going to put up more of a fight? No cajoling? No begging? No persuasion of any kind? Summer was surprised at the twinge of disappointment in her midsection. Guess he didn't think her worthy of any added effort.
Trent stood, and Summer's eyes followed the motion. His gaze continued to lock on her, and she swallowed hard.
“I'll just go and bring some coffee back. Better that way anyhow. Now I won't have to worry about getting you back at a specific time. And since I don't have anything else going on right now, I can stay and keep you company while you work. I could stay all day if I wanted to.”
All day? Her nerves already stood on end with his constant stare. No way she'd be able to get any work done. And how so like him to manipulate a situation so he got exactly what he wanted. Any twinge of disappointment was replaced with annoyance.
She met his gaze and took in the cocky slant of his eyes. He thought he was so irresistible. One look, one smile, and she'd fall all over him. Not going to happen.
“Do you always get what you want so easily?”
His head tilted as if thinking it through, then his eyes bored into hers once more. "No. Not everything is worth pursuit. But when I find something special, I'll do everything within my power to claim it as mine."
Her breath came in a short gasp. Words. That was all they were. Words he'd probably used a thousand times before on a thousand different women. That was what her head told her heart. But the way her heart hammered against her chest, it didn't feel like it was listening.
Summer licked her lips and tore her gaze away from his. It was like pulling apart strong magnets. In fact, his gaze already drew her back in. She fiddled with her mouse, attempting to ignore the compelling figure standing now in her peripheral vision.
Oh, what was the use! She'd neve
r get any work done with him standing there, and if she didn't say or do anything soon, he was bound to leave only to come back for an indefinite period of time. If she wanted to get any work in the next five hours, the only recourse was to take a break and appease the man by having coffee with him. Fifteen minutes away was better than a whole day wasted.
She sighed heavily to let him know she wasn't happy with the interruption or his manipulation. "Let me grab my purse."
His grin widened.
She had to concentrate to keep her brow furrowed. Her rebellious lips wanted to turn up to answer his bright smile, and she didn't want him to get the wrong impression. She wasn't falling for his charms. She was doing what she had to do in order to get back to work without any distractions.
Trent held the door open, and she felt the pull of him as she passed. He closed the door, and she turned to lock the dead bolt. She started down the steps ahead of him and turned right. Her car was parked on the side of the road a few yards away.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped and turned around. “My car is right up here.”
“Yes, but my bike”—he pulled a helmet from the handlebars—“is right here.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “I'm not riding that thing. I'll meet you at the coffee shop.”
One eyebrow rose. “Scared?”
Not of riding the Harley. It was more the thought of where she'd need to put her hands to stay on that frightened her. If a girl didn't want to get burned, then she'd better not touch the fire.
“How about I make you a deal?” His words stopped her from turning back around and marching to her car. “We'll take my bike, but you can drive.”
“Me drive your Harley?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Tempting. She'd always wanted to drive a motorcycle. Dirt bikes had been fun in her teen years, but she’d never gotten a chance to ride a real hog. “Don't you have to have a special license to drive?”
Trent shrugged. “It's only a few miles to the coffee shop. Besides, what's a little adventure without a little rule bending?”
Summer tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. The coffee shop was only a few minutes down the road, and when would she get another chance to drive such a powerful machine? Her hands itched to encircle the throttle. She released her bottom lip and let it curve in a small smile.
“Deal.” She eyed the helmet in his hands. “You have a second one of those?”
He retrieved another helmet from the leather saddlebag in back. “I always carry a spare.”
How many women had wrapped their arms around him and pressed their cheek to his back as he took them for a ride on his Harley? Her grin broadened. The real question was, how many women had he let drive? She guessed not many.
She pulled on the elastic band holding up her high ponytail and shook out her hair. With an outstretched hand, she wordlessly asked for the helmet in his hands. Their fingers brushed, and an electric current zinged up her arm. Must be the adrenaline in anticipation of finally getting to drive a motorcycle. The only possible explanation.
The helmet slid over the top of her head, and she secured the strap under her chin. She slung her leg over the seat and settled into the leather under her backside. The sun reflected off the polished chrome, nearly blinding her. She gripped the handlebars, appreciating the Harley’s power. A machine like this deserved respect.
A warm hand cupped her upper arm before Trent descended onto the seat behind her. Florida was hot enough, but the heat emanating from his body made her only too aware of his proximity. He leaned down even closer to her, his chest brushing her back. Adrenaline surged again. His arms came up alongside hers, and his hands covered hers on the handlebars. She licked her lips and willed her heart to stop pounding so quickly.
His right hand squeezed hers. “This is the throttle. A little goes a long ways, so don’t give it too much, or we’re going to be popping wheelies down the road.” Two of his fingers lifted from the back of her hand. “This is the front brake.” He shifted so he was now speaking into her left ear. “On this side you have the clutch. Disengage the clutch with your left hand, shift with your left foot, and then engage the clutch again. Got it?”
She nodded, but she felt the confidence draining out of her. Hopefully, she wasn’t about to kill them both.
“You’ll be great.” Trent squeezed her shoulder and then settled his hands on her hips.
Summer sucked in a breath, her body going still. How had she thought driving would be a safer option? Obviously she hadn’t thought it through. Hadn’t thought about the way his hands would circle her waist. And now that they were, she couldn’t think at all. What had he said to do to make the thing go?
Right. Throttle. She twisted the throttle toward her. Miraculously, they moved forward down the street. A Harley had probably never been ridden so slowly, but her concentration was split between remembering Trent’s instructions and the feel of his strong hands resting on her hip bones.
The ride was anything but smooth, but at least they made it to the coffee shop in one piece. She parked the bike along the side of the road and heaved a large sigh. Not exactly the thrill she’d hyped it up to be.
Trent hopped off the motorcycle behind her, and she felt her body relax with the added space between them. She hadn’t realized how tight she’d been holding herself while he’d been so close.
She swung her leg over the seat and unclasped the helmet from under her chin. After handing the helmet to Trent, she ran her fingers through her hair a few times and then gathered the mass at the back of her head and secured it with an elastic band. A messy ponytail was the best defense against helmet hair.
A small bell jingled as they stepped into the coffee shop. Summer inhaled deeply, her body relaxing the rest of the way. She’d earned a vanilla latte.
They stood behind a small line and waited to order. When it was their turn, they stepped up to the counter.
“A black coffee for me, please, and she’ll have a…” Trent turned toward her, his question dangling in the air.
She shook her head. “I’ll get my own.”
Lips that had been smiling all afternoon turned down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I dragged you out here. I’m going to pay, so order.”
Irritation flushed her skin hot. “I can pay for my own.”
He pinned her with a look. “I know you can, but you aren’t. Now order. You’re holding up the line.”
“Fine.” She glared at him before turning to the barista. The girl’s eyes widened, and Summer suddenly felt embarrassed at having caused a scene. Why should she care so much that the guy always got what he wanted? At least this time she was getting a free coffee out of it. “Vanilla latte, please.”
A few minutes later they collected their drinks and sat at a small table in the corner of the café.
Summer sipped her latte. “So what are you doing here anyway? I thought you lived on the Gulf Coast.”
Trent's forearms rested on the table as he cradled his paper cup. Summer was mesmerized by the tattoo on his right arm, which stretched from his wrist to near his elbow. It was the first time she'd been able to see it up close. The intricate detail held a quality of artistry that intrigued her. What did the symbol mean? She wasn't familiar with Celtic knots. Didn't different ones hold significant meaning?
“I'm doing research at the university library.”
His voice drew her gaze back up to his face. Research? Really? “What kind of research?”
“I've been looking at blueprints of ships built in different eras and from different regions. My gut tells me we're going to find a seventeenth-century Spanish galleon when we dive, but it seems like a good idea to be prepared in case my gut turns out to be wrong.” He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I don't want to be who knows how many feet below the surface and not know what I'm looking at.”
Smart. And surprising. She hadn't pegged him as the planning type. Maybe he’d learned from experience? “How
many of these treasure hunts have you been on?”
“I have connections in the archeology department at the university, so I've tagged along on a few dives and a couple of digs.”
Interesting. “Have you thought of actually going to school and majoring in archeology?”
His lopsided grin returned. “I have a bachelor's degree already, although not in archeology.”
She felt her jaw unhinge. Maybe there was more to Trent Carrington than he let people see. “What did you major in?”
“History. I have my teaching credentials as well.”
There was nothing he could say now to surprise her. “You're a teacher?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet. I want to experience history first. Maybe even contribute to it. I promised myself one year of exploration and adventure before I settled down like a responsible adult with a regular day job.”
“High school history?”
He inclined his head. “That’s the plan. Although if I strike it rich with a certain Spanish treasure fleet vessel, maybe the plan will change.”
She stared across the table. No way would she have learned anything in high school history class if he had been her teacher. What teenage girl could concentrate on boring dates when the teacher made her hormones go haywire? Here she was, a grown woman, and already her imagination was decking Trent out in knee-high boots, a shiny metal breastplate that nipped at the waist, and a thin rapier dangling at his side. Talk about making history come to life!
She took another sip of her latte. For some reason, her mouth had suddenly gone dry.
He looked at her in his unnerving way. “What about you? What are your plans? Why did you change your mind and decide to take me on the dive? Somehow I doubt the idea of a vast fortune swayed your moral compass.”
A small chuckle carried on her breath. “No. Greed was not the deciding factor. In fact, I'm going to donate my portion of whatever we end up finding.”
“So, if not for the money, then what?” His eyes roamed her face and upper body visible above the table, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It wasn’t because of the adventure.”
