She served out the casserole—it had a delicious wine scent—and sat down. Jack raised his glass. “To sharing my table with a woman who’d be the envy of my ancestors.”
“They’re all around us, aren’t they?” She glanced about the large room with its high ceilings. If this were a more typical stately home, there would be large oil portraits decorating the walls. The plaster walls of Jack’s dining room were hung with ornamental cutlasses and the fireplace mantel bore a decorative pyramid of pitted cannon balls.
Jack shrugged. “If they were, wouldn’t they have told me where to find the wreck?”
“Maybe they’re more entertained by watching you search for it. Did you find any bodies?”
“Nothing. Just the artifacts that would have been on them.” He took a draft of white wine. “Sometimes the bodies disappear without a trace, which I much prefer.”
She shivered. “Those poor people. I wonder if the ship went down fast.”
“It must have if there was only one survivor. It’s pretty close to shore so unless Lazaro Drummond dispatched everyone else with his salvaged musket, there should have been more people who made it back. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what really happened. As you’ve observed, pirates don’t keep the best records.”
“They want to hold on to their mysteries.” She could relate to that. It seemed that the longer she stayed here, the more of herself she revealed to Jack. And that wasn’t good. “So you think much of the treasure was in that room?”
He nodded. “Looks that way. It’s not unusual for seamen to put all their most valuable possessions in one locked room when a ship gets into trouble and they batten down the hatches. Then they know where it is and can retrieve it quickly if the ship starts to break up.”
“And surely they’d have kept it under lock and key during the voyage anyway. I can’t imagine a pirate trusting his own crew too far.”
He lifted a brow. “You’re wrong about that. If a pirate didn’t trust a crew member he’d kill them as soon as look at them. You couldn’t go out raiding ships if you didn’t trust every last man—or woman—to defend your life with his own.”
“So there was honor among thieves.”
“Most of the time. The rest of them ended up in Dead Men’s Cove.”
After dinner she showed him her find and was pleased that he seemed impressed with her extraction techniques. He brought in the new tubs of findings, and they x-rayed them. There was an abundance of good stuff buried in the sandy lumps of stone.
“What if there are parts of several old chalices?” She stared at a black-and-white image on the monitor. “There might be such a thing as too much treasure.”
“Then you take them all up to old cousin Sinclair’s place and see if they fit together with the one he has there. How did they take the chalice apart?”
“From the look of the stem I’d guess the pieces just slid into each other with a tight fit. It certainly didn’t screw in or anything crude like that. The stem part had smooth ends. We thought it would be pewter, but it turned out to be brass. The stem had some engraved decoration on it, so I’d imagine you could find similar decoration on the other parts and line up the pattern.”
“A puzzle.”
“Exactly.”
“And if you solve it, I and the other Drummond heirs can live happily ever after.”
“Or have a slightly better shot at happily ever after than you do now.” It was hard to imagine Jack in some off-into-the-sunset ending where he lived peacefully with one woman for the rest of his life. He’d be bored stiff within a year. At least this time she wasn’t going to be the woman he grew tired of. She’d leave fast enough to guarantee that.
In the meantime, could it really hurt to enjoy a little more hot sex?
Jack switched off the monitor. “We should get some sleep.”
“I agree.” Her skin tingled with the prospect of pressing itself against his. He looked very tempting right now in dark cotton pants and a faded logo T-shirt, but he’d look even more irresistible after she peeled them off.
“You sleep in my bed. I’ll go next door.”
“What do you mean next door?” Shock propelled the words from her mouth. Was there some hot next-door neighbor he was in the habit of visiting for a nightcap?
“The bedroom next door.” He turned his back to her and strolled for the door like the decision had already been made. “Then we won’t get distracted by...you know.”
I sure do. And I was looking forward to the distraction. “I’m not that tired.”
“You will be if you don’t get some decent REM sleep. Don’t you want to come out on the boat tomorrow?”
“I do, but I’m used to an active nightlife.” If only he’d turn around she’d have a chance of charming him, but he kept moving farther down the corridor. She hurried to keep up. Then realized what she was doing.
He was already walking away from her. And she was chasing him like a lost puppy. “Actually a night of peace sounds really good.” Let him sleep alone if he wanted to. She lifted her chin. She didn’t need him. She just needed his treasure hunting expertise. And frankly they’d already had plenty of sex.
Her body argued with her, especially the parts that were already pulsing and tingling in eager anticipation of intimate union with Jack. She told it to be quiet. “See you in the morning.” She hesitated. “You will wake me up tomorrow?” It sounded pathetic, like a dog putting the leash in its mouth and coming to its master. Still, she would be hurt to be left behind again.
Which was a problem. How did her emotional health suddenly depend on Jack Drummond’s whims and fancies?
“Sure, I’ll wake you. It’ll be early.”
She’d hoped for a good-night kiss at the very least, but he disappeared behind the carved wooden door next to his own bedroom, and she was left in the hallway, alone.
She blew out a breath. What had happened? Last night he was totally hot for her. They’d had the most intense and pleasurable sex she’d ever enjoyed in her life. Then in the morning he’d sneaked off without her. And now...
Something had happened.
But what?
* * *
Jack woke Vicki for breakfast with a gruff “Time to get going.” He didn’t want to go into the room and see her gorgeous body wrapped in a sheet. Better to get out on the boat with the boys where he’d have other things to keep his mind off her charms.
Tonight they’d put some serious effort into unpacking those concretions and maybe the cup would be in there. With that in her suitcase she could be back on her way again.
And right now, that seemed like the best thing that could happen.
He heard her shower running and imagined warm water cascading over those long, slim legs that displayed such athleticism in moments of passion. Then he distracted himself by measuring coffee into the filter. The world was full of beautiful women. Vicki was just one of them.
And she was one he did not intend to hurt any more than he already had.
Her words still vibrated in his ears, sending shards of guilt through him. I’ve always loved you, Jack. Always.
His stomach contracted at the memory. How could history repeat itself like that? Worse yet, he’d been toying with the possibility that Vicki St. Cyr might actually be “the one.” Lord knows he couldn’t imagine growing bored with her. She seemed to fit right in with his life here and she even brought finely honed analytical skills. And there was that strange, hollow feeling in his chest when he thought about her leaving.
Then she’d talked in her sleep and all those wayward thoughts had reeled back and snapped shut like an automatic tape measure. He wasn’t ready for the responsibility of someone depending on him for their happiness.
I’ve always loved you. What the heck did that mean? Had she been pining for him all through the past six years? What kind of a nightmare was that? He’d thought of her from time to time, sure, but mostly he’d kept himself busy swimming with all the other lovely fish in the s
ea. And there were a lot of fish out there he hadn’t swum with yet.
Cad.
His mom would tease him. She thought it funny that his reputation as a ladies’ man was so well deserved. Because his notoriety followed him around like a flock of gulls after a fishing trawler, women generally knew what they were getting into when they climbed into his bed. With his roving lifestyle he didn’t have to make excuses for why he couldn’t come over for pot roast on Sunday. Everything was easy, casual.
“Morning.” Vicki drifted into the room, her long silky black hair tousled. She wore a navy blue bikini under a sheer white T-shirt with the word DARE written on it in black.
His gut tightened. She wanted him to want her. And he did. That was the worst part. How could you turn down something so delicious right in front of you?
But Vicki was no longer some kid he could chalk up to life experience. She was a mature and experienced woman who’d come back to his house and into his bed. She put up a tough front, sure, but if what she said was true, then she’d been carrying a torch for him for years and he’d just poured kerosene on it.
“Orange juice?” He tried to sound casual. Like he wasn’t deliberating about the history of their relationship in his head.
“I prefer pomegranate.” She cocked her head, still confident and challenging.
“You would.” A grin tugged at his mouth. Damn, he was going to miss her. “How about coffee instead?”
“That’ll do the trick.”
He made French toast for both of them, and sliced some papaya. She kept the chatter going with questions about how the concretions form around the debris of the wreck, and he explained how it helped treasure hunters out immensely by keeping all the pieces more or less in one place over the centuries.
Damn, she was beautiful. It wasn’t just her violet eyes or her smooth skin or the raven’s wing hair, it was her whole demeanor—deadly cool and fiercely passionate at the same time. He’d never met anyone like her.
What if he never did again?
* * *
Vicki was glad to get out on the boat and keep busy tinkering with all the equipment and chatting with the guys. It took her mind off Jack’s sudden change of heart toward her. The other men all sneaked sideways glances at her and hung on to her every word—which she was used to. Jack, on the other hand, seemed busy poring over charts he’d printed out and typing notes into a computer.
She tried not to let it hurt.
Of course it was embarrassing that Jack had kissed her in front of everyone on the first day out on the boat. There was no way she could pretend she’d kept him at a cool arm’s length. Maybe they were all wondering why he was suddenly so distant and preoccupied.
She found herself itching to don her scuba gear and head down into the quiet world of the ocean where there was no room for conversation or sideways glances or speculating about someone’s body language.
Jack’s muscled body was a constant torment, tanned and toned and right in front of her at every moment. That she no longer had license to touch it only made it more tempting and distracting.
“Vicki, don’t forget to check your tanks. I meant to do it but I haven’t had a chance.” He glanced over at her, pinning her with his hot gaze.
“Thanks for reminding me.” She noticed with chagrin that one tank was almost empty. So much for her being self-reliant and not needing him. “There are so many things to keep track of when you’re diving.”
“It all takes practice. You’re pretty on top of things for a landlubber.”
It hurt to hear him call her that. Which was ridiculous. Since when did she want him to consider her an old salt? She meticulously checked the rest of her gear and looked around for anything else on the boat that might need fixing. She didn’t want his team to think she was a fifth wheel.
Even if she was.
“Vicki, do you realize what you’ve done?”
She glanced up in shock when the youngest team member spoke.
“What?” She glanced down at her scuba gear, wondering what else she’d screwed up.
“You’ve found what’s probably the most well-preserved eighteenth-century wreck in the history of the area.” He shook his head, sun-bleached hair tossing in the wind. “I don’t know how, but the word is getting out and the vultures are circling. Look.” He pointed at a helicopter in the sky. She hadn’t noticed it before, being used to them in New York, but as she watched, it circled them in a lazy loop. “The TV reporters will be next. They love a good treasure hunt. It boosts the ratings.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good if you’re trying to raise high prices for the artifacts. Bad if you’re still trying to extract them. Worst-case scenario—someone can try to shut you down by citing some ancient claim to the treasure.”
“How could they do that when the original owners are long dead and gone?”
“Sometimes the crown of a country will claim the spoils. Spain and Portugal have both laid claim to lost ships from their treasure fleets, never mind that the ships went down five hundred years earlier.”
“Do they ever win?”
“They do.”
“That’s crazy.” She squinted at Jack. “But this ship belonged to Jack’s ancestor, which makes things a bit more cut and dried.”
“Except that Jack’s ancestor was a known pirate. If someone could prove a right to the stolen goods...” He shrugged. “You never know what people will do when there’s gold involved.”
Vicki felt a little surge of righteous indignation as she glanced up at the helicopter, still drifting overhead in wide circles. It was white and blue, obviously private, with no markings other than the number printed on the fuselage. Someone was spying on them.
With her luck, it was probably Leo Parker. She wondered if he’d spread the word about her whirlwind “engagement” to Jack and if she’d return to New York and have to unravel a lot of complicated rumors about her love life.
Her stomach clenched at the prospect.
“Let’s dive!” With his usual enthusiasm, Jack led the charge over the side of the ship. She donned her mask and followed. The warm water closed over her head, shutting out the noise of the helicopter and dimming the bright sunlight to a muted glow.
She dived, kicking with her flippers to propel herself down into the cool, shadowy depths. At least down here no one could tell that she was already nursing the festering beginnings of a broken heart.
Nine
“Vicki should go on air.” The team sat around Jack’s ancient oak dining table. They’d returned the previous evening to a long string of phone messages from various local and international media outlets, all wanting the scoop on their discovery.
And they’d spent another night in separate beds. Jack’s rejection of her—coming so much sooner than anticipated—hurt so much that she was almost numb.
And very, very sexually frustrated.
Yet she still had to put on a brave face and act as though everything was just fine. “No, really, I hardly know anything about the history of the vessel or the methods you’re all using. It would be much better if someone else did the talking.”
“I’ll speak, of course.” Jack frowned at the collage of maps he’d printed from his computer. She couldn’t read them at all. A jumble of numbers that made less sense than the crazy Roman numeral code she’d unraveled. “And I agree that Vicki should go on camera. She solved a puzzle that’s had the Drummonds stumped for centuries.”
Something in her gut told her that going on air was not a good idea. What if some bright-eyed reporter started digging around in her past and found out about her father’s financial problems? It was almost a miracle that that had never hit the press in the first place. “If you tell them about the treasure map, they’ll want to come to the house and take pictures. Probably better just to say you were digging around and stumbled across it.”
“No way!” Ethan protested. “The treasure map is the best part of the story. I can already see
the Hollywood movie version with Russell Crowe as Jack and Demi Moore as Vicki. It’s a great story.”
“Demi Moore?” Vicki had to protest. “She’s more than twenty years older than me!”
“And still damn hot.” Jack grinned. “Maybe I’ll ask them if I can play myself opposite her.”
“You go ahead.” She lifted her chin. “And if you want reporters traipsing all over your private island, then you might as well invite them.”
Jack frowned. “Hmm, that does go against a deep-rooted Drummond instinct for privacy. On the other hand, unlike my ancestors, I don’t really have anything to hide.”
“Your island might become a tourist destination.” She lifted a brow. “They’ll bring boatloads of eager vacationers out here to see the famous Drummond lair.”
“And I can start a sideline selling T-shirts and fake scrimshaw.” Jack leaned back in his chair and wove his fingers behind this head, giving her yet another infuriating view of his tanned and bulging biceps.
Her insides throbbed and pulsed with frustrated lust. It was beyond cruel of him to lead her on and tantalize her with the hottest sex of her life, then leave her high and dry like this. There should be a law against that kind of cold-hearted torture. “And mugs with your sunburned face on them.”
“Hey, I like it.” His grin widened. “Then the big question is, who do we call first?”
Vicki wanted to sigh and hold her head in her hands. Instead, she kept a poker face. “How about you start with the most local outfit and let the story grow from there.” Then hopefully she’d be long gone before the coverage got out of control. If she didn’t find that cup by the end of this week, she’d be leaving without it. They’d brought up so much stuff already that if it wasn’t in one of the plastic boxes piled high around the house and workshop, it was probably gone forever.
And with everything else that was happening she didn’t really care much anymore. There had to be easier ways to earn ten thousand dollars. It was a shame that she’d decided she was too proud to ask Jack for a finder’s fee or a cut of the treasure.
The Deeper the Passion... Page 11
