by Anna Hackett
He reached over and grabbed her hands, pulling them back so they wrapped around the joysticks. His big, callused hands closed over hers.
“Go easy on the controls,” he warned. “Small movements.”
She moved her fingers and gasped softly. He was right. The ROV controls were super-responsive. She watched the machine move under her control and smiled. After a few false starts, she got the hang of it.
“That’s it.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re a natural.”
He was so close behind her that she could feel his breath on her neck.
Dammit. She hadn’t factored in this. Coming here, she’d known they’d gotten off to a rocky start, and that might make things difficult. But this? This insane, electric attraction? No, she hadn’t imagined being desperate to tear Diego Torres’ clothes off and explore that rock-hard body of his.
Her last lover had been a nice, well-dressed, assistant district attorney. He’d been fun, but hadn’t left her a hot, trembling mess.
Diego’s fingers flexed on hers and he leaned forward, his lips brushing the back of her neck.
She shivered. God. Sloan’s inner hussy started begging.
Diego suddenly stilled, and she risked a glance back over her shoulder. Her gaze locked with deep-brown eyes and her mind went blank.
“Sloan.”
Their hands moved as one, bumping the controls. Poseidon turned sharply in the water.
They both hissed out a breath. Together, they righted the underwater vehicle. Then Diego went still once more.
“What?” She frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He was staring at the screen. “Look.”
She turned to peer at the screen, as well. Sand and coral, mostly. Then she spotted it.
She leaned forward, her heart beating hard. No, it couldn’t be. She easily made out the cylindrical shape of a cannon, partly buried in the sand.
Diego took control and moved the ROV closer. A strange clump of something was visible on the sand. She frowned. It looked like a pile of clam shells.
No. It was a clump of coins covered in buildup from the sea. “Diego.”
“I see it.”
“There’s something else.” She leaped up, pointing to a dark shape on the sand. “There.”
Something green.
Her breath caught in her throat, and Diego zoomed the image in. It wasn’t huge, but it was definitely an emerald.
She spun, grinning at him. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and smacked a quick kiss to his lips. “We found it. Fancy a dive?”
Hot eyes bored into hers. “Sure.”
Energized, Sloan raced out onto the deck. As Diego brought Poseidon back to the boat, she stripped off her clothes and pulled a wet suit on over her bikini. She’d done some recreational diving before, so she knew her gear.
After locking down the ROV, Diego pulled his own suit on, and helped set out gear for them both. Sloan pulled on her weight belt, watching him. Diego looked like he was preparing for a walk around the block, not to scuba dive.
While she might know the diving equipment, he checked it over with the ease of someone who did this every day. She wondered at the missions he’d dived on to help defend his country. He pulled the rest of his own dive gear on, and then hefted a set of tanks. He held them out for her. She let the weight settle on her back, and did up her vest, while he slipped into his own tanks.
At the edge of the deck, she pulled on her fins and mask. Diego gave her a quick refresher on the hand signals, and then with a nod, they both tipped backward into the water.
Silence. An explosion of bubbles rose up around her mask, and she sank into the clear water.
The sound of her own breathing filled her head. Diego shot her the okay sign, and she returned it. Then he tipped his thumb down in the sign to descend.
With a powerful kick, he turned and started toward the bottom. Sloan followed.
God, she remembered why she loved diving. Even with all the gear, she felt a sense of weightlessness. Fish flitted past her. So pretty. Down here, there were no drugs, no douchebags. No suffering. Just bright, vivid life.
Diego led the way, glancing at the bulky dive watch on his wrist a few times. She easily pictured him with a team of SEALs, diving on a mission.
Soon, they reached the bottom. She adjusted her buoyancy control device vest so she hung just above the sand.
Diego pointed ahead, and they swam forward. Then, he grabbed her arm.
She saw what he’d spotted and her breath hitched.
It was definitely an emerald. About the size of her thumb, it was just resting on the sand, as though it were simply waiting to be found.
She moved over it, and then carefully picked it up, holding it in front of her face.
Behind his regulator, she could tell Diego was smiling.
He signaled at her to continue searching. She kicked gently, exploring the sand. As she examined the cannon, movement in the distance caught her eye. A few curious reef sharks. They didn’t come closer and eventually darted off.
Then, Diego grabbed her arm, and pulled her to a coral outcrop. He pointed.
She frowned, studying the coral, unable to figure out why Diego thought it was important. She turned to look at him questioningly, and he pointed to the coral once more.
Then, her gaze whipped back, and her chest locked. Coins. Like they’d seen on the screen on the ship, these were other piles of corroded coins. They’d definitely found the rest of the Atocha. She knew that the wooden hull would have decayed long ago, but in her head, she could picture it resting here, torn from the rest of the ship, and lost to the sea.
And that meant the Emerald Butterfly was here somewhere, too.
Finally, Diego looked at his watch and pointed upward. She didn’t want to leave, but she nodded. They’d be back.
Together, they started their ascent to the surface. The hull of the Storm Nymph got larger and larger above them.
As one, they broke the surface of the water.
“My God, Diego,” Sloan said as they climbed aboard, smiling like crazy. “We found it!”
On the deck, she spun, holding up the small emerald and laughing.
He took her tanks and set them down. “We sure did.” He shed his own gear.
Excitement thrummed through her. They’d found it. She couldn’t wait to tell her grandfather. They’d found the rest of the Atocha.
And Diego had helped her make it happen.
They grinned at each other, and she watched as Diego pushed his wet hair back off his face.
Sloan leaped on him and slammed her mouth against his.
He grunted as he caught her…and kissed her back.
So. Good. She slid a hand into his hair, her tongue sliding against his. His big hands moved to cup her ass in her wet suit.
Right now, she wasn’t sure what felt better—knowing she’d found the Atocha, or kissing Diego Torres.
Chapter Four
Desire slammed into Diego like a tidal wave. Dios, she tasted so good. Felt so good.
Sloan’s tongue tangled with his, and he went to his knees, lowering her to the deck. He covered her body with his and slid his hands into her hair. He gently tugged the damp strands free of their tie.
She wound her arms and legs around him, and moaned into his mouth. That’s when a ringing phone broke the silence.
Dammit. He recognized the ring tone and cursed his high-tech comms system.
The phone stopped ringing and he kissed Sloan again, pulling her closer. But the break was minuscule. His cellphone started ringing again.
She pulled back. “You going to answer that?”
He slid a hand down her sleek body, toying with the fastening of her wet suit. “I’d prefer to ignore it.” The damn thing started ringing again.
Sloan bit her lip. “Whoever it is, they’re persistent.”
With a sigh, Diego rose. It hurt to let her go. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He moved over to his discarded clo
thes and snatched up the phone. “Hola, Mama.”
His mother’s voice spilled through the line.
He sighed. “I know, Mama. I took the boat out.” He glanced over at Sloan.
She was watching him with undisguised interest.
“No, Ma, I can’t come for dinner tonight. I… No. Yes. Si, I know I’m a huge disappointment as a son. Get Teresa or Ricardo to give you grandbabies.” He waited while his mama went off on her usual “I’ll-die-without-any-grandchildren” spiel.
Sloan rose, and his gaze moved over her as she stripped off the wet suit. Fucking gorgeous. That tiny blue bikini made his cock surge. He swallowed a groan. No, it wasn’t the bikini, it was what was under it.
“Diego? Diego?”
He realized his mother was calling his name. “Sorry, Mama. I didn’t catch that.”
Sloan glanced back at him, and when she noticed why he was distracted, she laughed. It was full and throaty. Dios, he was so hard he hurt.
His mother went silent, which wasn’t her natural state. Shit.
“Is that a woman’s voice I hear, Diego?”
Double shit. “She’s a client.”
“You’re on vacation.”
He cursed.
“Language, Diego. That mouth. Who is she? What’s her name?”
“Ma.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Mama, I’ll call you when I get back.”
“You’ll come for a family dinner?” There was hope in her voice and he closed his eyes. He remembered Sloan’s face when she talked about losing her family.
“Yeah, I’ll come for dinner.”
“You will? Bueno! I’ll make my chicken tostadas.” She paused. “Bring your friend with the nice laugh.”
“Bye, Mama.”
Sloan now had a towel slung around her hips and was studying the emerald. “So, you are close to your family.”
“My mother likes to meddle. She finds the time to bug me and all my siblings.”
“That’s nice,” Sloan murmured. “And she wants grandbabies.”
Diego groaned. “And she isn’t shy about letting us know.” He tugged on his T-shirt. “Come on. Let’s get that pretty emerald into my safe and then we have a salvage to plan.”
After the small emerald was locked up safely, they got to work in the dry lab and he set out the scans the ROV had taken. He and Sloan planned and argued. As they worked, he grabbed some beers and chips.
“You shouldn’t avoid your family,” she said, interrupting their strategic planning.
He pressed his hands to the bench. “I told you, my time as a SEAL…I saw things. Did things. Lost good friends. Fuck.” He grabbed his beer and took a long gulp.
She reached over and touched the scars on his arm. His muscles went rigid and he dragged in a breath. She stroked his forearm, not fazed by the ridges of scar tissue. He hadn’t talked about this in such a long time. She didn’t say anything, but he could still feel the words bubbling up inside him.
“There was a mission. It was fucked, right from the beginning. Some locals had snitched on us. We came under attack, and three of us were captured by the Taliban. Tortured.” Even now, he remembered the screams, the blood, and pain.
Her fingers tangled with his, and air shuddered into his lungs.
“My friends didn’t make it.”
“I’m so sorry, Diego. You have to know it wasn’t your fault. That you did everything you could in a terrible situation.”
“I know…but it doesn’t make it any easier.”
She squeezed his hand. “I lost an agent friend last year. We had intel on a big drug deal going down. We thought the intel was solid and went in, but there were far more cartel members than we’d planned for. Simon went down in a hail of bullets.”
There was ragged pain in her voice. He pulled her into his arms and she pressed her face to his chest. They stood there, arms wrapped around each other. Diego felt…something. Something he hadn’t felt in a long while. Comfort.
“I know how it feels,” she murmured. “I know how much it hurts and how much it haunts you. I keep waiting for time to make it face to bearable.”
“But you never forget.”
“Never.” She was quiet a moment. “Your family sounds like they love you.”
He sighed. “They do.”
“Don’t push them away. You never know how long you’ve got them for. I’m losing my grandfather—” her voice hitched “—and I’d give anything to have more time.”
Her words echoed through Diego, and he tightened his hold on her.
Finally, she stepped back, straightening her shoulders. “So, we have a workable salvage plan.”
He nodded. “We should get some sleep. We have a lot of diving to do tomorrow.”
Her gaze stayed on his, direct and open. “Thanks, Diego. For everything. Good night.”
He watched her walk away, his hands balling into fists to stop from reaching for her. He looked down at the scars on his arm, and this time, he wasn’t thinking of pain and loss. He was thinking of Sloan’s fingers stroking him.
Sloan slammed violently from sleep to wide awake, her chest burning. A heavy weight was pressing down on her face and she couldn’t breathe.
She was being smothered with a pillow.
She exploded into action, struggling against her attacker. But the bastard was strong.
Think, Sloan. Think, or you’re dead.
She pretended to lose strength, letting her body go lax. She was gasping for air against the fabric on her face and it wouldn’t be long before she wasn’t pretending.
Slumping against the bunk, she reached around, her fingers brushing against a bulky, hard thigh encased in a damp wet suit.
From the person’s size, it was a man.
She steeled herself, and then punched between his legs. Hard.
A harsh groan echoed through the small cabin. The pressure on the pillow eased, and Sloan thrust herself upward with all her strength.
Then the pillow was gone and she was dragging in air. She leaped off the bunk. It was pitch black in the compact cabin, but she managed to slam into her attacker. She punched him hard—jab, hook, uppercut. Grunts and groans echoed through the small room.
She sent another fist into his belly, and the air exploded out of the man. She moved back enough to land a front kick to his gut.
He staggered into the wall and she punched him again, before following through with a hard elbow to the face.
He went down and was out cold.
Her hand was shaking as she flicked on the light. She went to her duffel bag and grabbed some zip ties. It only took a second to bind him.
She turned his face toward her. Square jaw, ordinary looking, with dark hair. She grabbed her tablet and snapped a picture.
Then she straightened. Diego. This thug wouldn’t have been alone. Had they gone after Diego, as well?
She snatched up her Glock and slammed out of the cabin. She jogged down the hall. It was illuminated with low lights.
Diego was a SEAL. No way they could have gotten the drop on him.
She threw his cabin door open, but couldn’t see a thing. The sliver of light from the hall only illuminated a tiny bit of carpet.
Suddenly, a big body slammed into her, and they hit the floor in a tangle. It was a big, naked body.
“Sloan? What the fuck?” Diego pushed off her.
“I was attacked in my cabin.” She sat up. “Silk Road is aboard.”
He cursed and reached down to pull her up.
“You okay?” He snapped the light on.
Sloan blinked. “Fine. Idiot tried to smother me.” Her tone hardened as she rubbed her chest. “I think he regrets it now.”
She saw anger glittering in Diego’s dark eyes, then she froze. He was naked. Very naked. She already knew he had a hard body with zero body fat. Her gaze skated over his tattoo, and then dropped down.
Focus on the bad guys, inner hussy. But for the first time in her life, she foun
d herself mesmerized by a man’s cock. A nice, thick cock.
Diego spun, and she watched as he grabbed some shorts from the cupboard. Her gaze moved over his firm ass and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Down, hussy, down. Finally, he was covered up, and he pulled his Desert Eagle from the bedside table.
He held the weapon up. “Let’s go.”
She tightened her grip on her Glock and ignored the fact that she was in her pajama shorts and tank top without a bra.
They crept along the hall, clearing each of the cabins. They moved upstairs, passing through the galley and the labs. Creeping up the stairs to the bridge, they found scratch marks on the door. Silk Road had tried to access the bridge, but Diego’s security had kept them out.
Diego motioned back down the stairs. They crept across the deck and when he paused, she spotted the wet footprints. Diego crouched and raised some fingers.
Four intruders. One of which was tied up in her cabin.
Diego stood and continued on, but they hadn’t gone far when he cursed under his breath. She followed his gaze.
In the security lights, she saw that the diving equipment had been trashed. Everything was strewn about and cut up. Over by the ROV rack, she saw they hadn’t been able to unlock the machines, but she saw shredded lines. They’d still done damage.
No. Her gut clenched.
She watched a muscle tick in Diego’s jaw. He waved her on, and they continued their search of the ship.
Finally, he straightened, his shoulders relaxing. “They’re no longer aboard.”
“What about the guy in my cabin?”
Together, they hurried belowdecks. Her cabin was wrecked from the struggle, the bed covers twisted off the bunk. But the man was gone, clearly rescued by his buddies.
Sloan cursed and kicked the bed.
Diego lowered his gun. “This was a sabotage mission.”
“Fucking Silk Road,” she bit out.
“They wanted to slow us down and send us back to shore.”
“Then they’ll sneak in and steal the emerald.”
He moved closer, touching her cheek. “We won’t let them win. They didn’t get into the bridge. They don’t have the exact coordinates of the Atocha.”
