“So what’s the problem?” Chloe asked.
“I’m not there yet. I need to expand my dry dock to take on the larger vessel, add another workshop for booms and masts, and maybe a rigging loft. I also need a precision wood lathe. All of it adds up to big money. I’ve tried to get a bank loan. No one is interested. And the fact that I own the property free and clear doesn’t matter. They claim it’s a niche market that’s much too risky.”
“So the bounty money from the Emerald Fire would’ve given you the funds needed to accomplish the expansion,” she stated in understanding.
“With plenty to spare,” he said with a nod. “As it is, with the money I’ve already invested, the small jobs won’t pay enough to keep NorthStar afloat. Yet without a major influx of capital, there’s no way I can expand. It’s looking like I’ve painted myself into a no-win situation.” He hated spelling it out like that. Hated everything about it.
“You and I are a lot alike, you know that?”
That’s not what he expected to hear after confessing a cash flow problem. Where were the accusations that he was after the emeralds for one reason only? Shouldn’t she be rescinding her offer of partnership, breaking off their agreement over breach of trust or some such nonsense? Why was she calmly sitting there claiming they were kindred spirits?
“I don’t get it,” he said. “We are nothing alike.”
“Sure we are,” she argued. “We’ve both risked everything for what we believe in.”
She had him there. In fact, he could work with that. Just not right now. This whole conversation had strayed far from his end goal, and it was time to bring it back around.
“Sometimes risk is the only option,” he said with a lift of his half-empty wine bottle. He’d risk a lot for another taste of her, ready and willing in his arms.
Chloe glanced at him sideways. “So with all that careful planning, surely you’ve got a backup plan, right?”
He nodded. “I do. But it’s tentative. Odds are that it won’t pay off.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he stated with a wry smile, “that plan is you.”
Chapter 18
“Me?” Chloe asked, standing up straight. “You sure you don’t mean the emeralds?”
“What if I said both?”
She shrugged. “I’d say you were fooling yourself. Finding the jewels will be a miracle. It’s been over two-hundred years. As back up plans go, I’m not your best bet.”
“Maybe not, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Wow.” She wanted to laugh, but was too taken aback. “You really know how to make a girl feel special, know that?”
He leaned toward her, getting close enough for her to see dark flecks in his blue eyes. “I’ll get to work on improving that right away.”
He said it like it was a promise. And despite the fact he was only sticking around to see if her quest would pay off, she seriously wanted to find out just what he meant. That was alarming and all sorts of wrong, so she took a quick swallow of wine to drown the curiosity.
It didn’t work.
Granted, he had just as much on the line as her. Was it right to condemn him for wanting to save his inheritance?
“For the record, you and I are in a business partnership,” she said. He could tease and flirt all he wanted, but it didn’t change the facts. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get this done. As long as you are committed to the same, I don’t care if I’m a backup plan and you’re only in this for the money. I’m looking at the end goal.”
“And that is?”
Chloe lied. She did care about being a backup plan. That sounded so mercenary. But if that was how he wanted to play it, she was game. “I want Lisa behind bars.”
“And Emily Desmond rightfully established in history,” Finn added.
The fact he had to point that out meant she’d strayed pretty far from her original goal. But things had changed. Mike and Brett were dead. The Emerald Fire lay at the bottom of the Caribbean. Uncle Jon was recovering from a stab wound. And all because Lisa Banks and Owen Larson were ruled by greed. As long as there was breath in Chloe’s body, they weren’t going to get away with it.
Mercenary suited her needs just fine. “It’s Emily Mecklenburg, and we’re going to do both,” Chloe declared. “Fix history and recover the emeralds.”
“Together.”
She lifted her wine bottle in a toast. “Here’s to good fortune and favorable winds. We’re going to need it.”
He smiled. “No worries. I’m your lucky charm.”
She choked on her wine. “Seriously? Since I met you, I’ve been chased by pirates, scuttled a ship, got shot, and nearly drowned. Lucky isn’t what I’d call you.”
He quirked a brow and had the audacity to look interested. “What would you call me?”
“A menace, for starters.”
“That’s hardly fair. From my perspective, I helped you find the yacht, came up with a plan to steal it, got you onboard and the journal in your hands, then I saved our lives when pirates attacked.”
“It’s all about perspective.”
“Well, for the record,” Finn added, “I’m insulted.”
He was insulted? What about her? She was the backup plan. Correction—that distinction really belonged to the emeralds. She was just part of the package. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it isn’t working.”
He spread his arms out, palms up. “You’re the one who’s been keeping life-threatening secrets since the day we met. You should come with a warning label.”
“Are you kidding me?” She was almost beyond words. Almost. “You’re the one who said ‘Let’s steal the yacht from pirates.’ You’re the one who said ‘Let’s scuttle the ship.’ And you have the nerve to say I need a warning label?”
“Guess we’re both badass,” he said. “Finding long lost family jewels should be a cakewalk.”
He was trying to get a laugh out of her, but she refused. He deserved her cooperation, and she wanted his help, so it made no sense for her to be so antagonistic.
“Your confidence is staggering,” she finally said.
He shrugged and downed the last of his wine. “Seriously, don’t you find it odd that we both hold a piece of this puzzle? You a journal…me a chalice?”
There was that. If what he said was true, then they shared a connection that went way beyond coincidence. The prospect was a bit unnerving. The problem was that she’d always worked at this alone, every detail closely guarded. Deal or no deal, it was hard to share. Even harder to trust.
“I’ve yet to see that chalice,” she said.
“You will,” he replied. “And when you do, you’ll feel awful about doubting my sincerity.”
She just shook her head and turned to face the ocean.
“Look at me, Chloe.”
A heavy sigh escaped her, but she did as he asked.
“What is bothering you?”
The truth was she hated being anybody’s last resort. She tried to tell herself that being the backup plan didn’t matter. He intended to stick around. That was the important point. But for some reason, she felt slighted, short-changed, and disgusted with herself for letting it get to her. But it did.
“Being shot at bothers me. Having to confront Lisa with her deceit bothers me. There’s no shortage of annoyances lately. It’s no wonder I’m a contradictory mess.”
As deflections went, it wasn’t half bad.
He nodded slowly, but something in his eyes said he didn’t buy her explanation. “You’re forgetting one thing,” he said. “You started this by demanding we team up. When I agreed, no expiration date came with that. Besides,” he added with a disconcerting grin, “I think we did the pinky swear. That means something to me.”
He did not just tease her.
“We did not pinky swear,” she scoffed.
“Really? There was something...”
“
We shook hands, like partners in a business deal.”
“No, no, it was more than that.” He rubbed his chin, like he was mentally tracing the past few days.
Who was this guy? “Perhaps we signed an oath in blood?” she asked, allowing her skepticism to shine through.
He stared at her, like he was actually considering it. “That would’ve worked, but seems to me we sealed it with a kiss instead. In Boca Chica.”
Suddenly, she was at a loss for words.
“Surely you remember?” he asked when she still hadn’t said a thing. “You tried to play sea siren… I obliged...”
His blue eyes sparkled with barely suppressed humor. Mr. Serious Intensity was gone and in his place was a charming stranger. It made her head spin.
“Who are you and what’ve you done with Finnegan Kane?”
His wide smile melted her on the spot. The man really should do that more. It emphasized the sensuous curve of his lips, and made a girl long for secluded walks on the beach. With him. Alone. In the dark. How had this conversation drifted so far off course?
“Our problem here is classic miscommunication,” he stated. “We’re both working on recovery, but we started at cross purposes. From here on out, though, we should listen to your grandpa. He wanted us to work together.”
“My grandpa?” She wanted to argue the point, but couldn’t. The man from NorthStar will be your guide. That one glaring, irrefutable line trumped everything. She’d trusted it, and so far, it’d paid off. Except for the getting shot thing and the sinking of a ten-million dollar yacht. Those were a bit of a drawback. Still, she believed. But to hear someone else say it out loud gave it credence that she wasn’t ready to accept.
“Desmond predicted the future,” Finn said. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“That’s crazy.” And that was no argument. In fact, she pretty much agreed with him, with the caveat it was insane.
“Perhaps. But we are each holding a piece of an old puzzle. No matter how strange it seems, it’s a connection that begs to be explored.”
Everything about this situation was strange. “I admit it seems as though there is some sort of destiny at work here. But it’s irrational to believe that William Desmond could predict our meeting. There must be a logical explanation.”
“Exactly,” he said. “First rule of thumb for investigating is once you’ve eliminated all other possibilities, whatever is left is your answer. No matter how improbable it seems.”
“Even if that conclusion means someone long dead predicted events he could in no way visualize or comprehend?”
“You can’t know that,” Finn said. “Desmond didn’t want anything revealed in his lifetime. So he hid the treasure and poured his life and love into a journal for the future to decipher. In a sense, he set this whole thing in motion from beyond the grave.”
She stared at Finn in surprise. He didn’t strike her as the fanciful type. Down to earth, fact over fiction, decisive. This new side of him baffled her. “What it boils down to is that I have a journal,” she reasoned, “and you have a chalice. The thing they share in common is the oddly shaped maritime star.”
“And us.” Finn pushed off the balcony rail and stood right beside her, much too close for her peace of mind. “You, me, Desmond, and NorthStar. It’s all connected. I can feel it.”
“Are you sure what you’re feeling isn’t the wine?”
He ignored the comment. “We’re going to Mystic where we can sit down with all the pieces in place and work this through.”
It made sense. Plus she was fresh out of other ideas. She’d worked the journal as much as she could and hadn’t been able to solve the mystery. Now, with Finn at her side, things were happening. And from what she’d seen of Finnegan Kane, giving up wasn’t in his DNA. He was smart, disciplined and, for the most part, even-tempered, though she had pushed his buttons a time or two. The one thing she hadn’t seen in him was accepting failure. Obviously his methods could be a bit drastic, but they had worked.
She turned to face the waves, letting the rhythmic sound sooth her jangled nerves. Call her crazy, but she trusted Finn. Was that wise? She wasn’t sure. But she realized she didn’t want to return to Boston without him. Didn’t want to go back and face Lisa or Owen on her own. Mystic was only two hours south of Boston and would be the perfect place to catch their breath and come up with a strategy.
She made the decision. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
Finn smiled and held out his hand. “Pinky swear.”
“What?”
“You and me. In a pact. I want no doubts. Right now, pinky swear.”
The moment of truth. All in, or run screaming. It was no contest. She grinned and linked fingers with him.
“Repeat after me,” he said. “I, Chloe Larson, do hereby vow to do all in my power to please Finnegan Kane.”
That was going a little too far. “I’m not agreeing to any such thing.” She tugged her finger back, but he wouldn’t let go.
“All right then. How about…I hereby state that Finnegan Kane has skills that go beyond mere mortal men.”
She laughed over that one. “I hereby vow that your ego is out of control.”
“You need help,” he said with a shake of his head. “Sealing a newly established conspiracy requires an over-the-top effort. Try again.”
She captured her bottom lip between her teeth, and he watched her intently. He wanted over the top? Fine, she could play this game. “I, Chloe Larson, do hereby vow that the man from NorthStar possesses a superior ability to kiss a girl senseless.” Stew on that, Mr. Kane.
His eyes widened. “Much better,” he breathed and took a step closer.
Wait a minute. Things just shifted again. He still had her pinky captured so she put her other hand against his chest. “Slow down. I didn’t issue an invitation. Repeat after me…I, Finnegan Kane, do hereby vow to do all in my power to pleasure Chloe Lar—”
He snatched her up against his body, his lips possessing hers and his arms pinning her tightly against him. For a second she stiffened, but then gave into the deliciousness. It was exactly where she wanted to be.
She moved ever so slightly to fit herself more intimately to him, and he instantly responded by kissing her deeper, his tongue tangling with hers. When she gave an involuntary moan, his hands moved down her back, grasped her backside, and kneaded. When he abandoned her lips to nuzzle her neck, her head rolled back to offer him better access.
Before she realized what was happening, he’d moved them inside, slid the door shut, and was headed toward the bedroom. She wasn’t about to protest. If he wanted an over-the-top effort to seal their agreement, this would surely qualify. But truth be told, she wanted him, badly, so she turned in his arms and led the way. He used the time to strip off his shirt and push the bedroom door closed.
She stopped by the bed and waited. He slowly advanced on her, holding her gaze as he kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. By the time he reached for her, heat had saturated her skin, turned her muscles to jelly. He pulled her up to his bare chest, one hand moving to her hair and tugging it free of her ponytail.
“No talking this time.” His voice was husky, firm, and sent tiny shivers of delight through her. “No confessions.” He lightly kissed her. “No questions.” He brushed his cheek across hers and whispered in her ear. “You can moan, scream, and cry out in pleasure, but not one word.”
Her knees quaked. “But what if I—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh,” he said softly. Then he nibbled where his finger had rested, tasting her, teasing her. His hands caressed her throat, shoulders, then drifted down to her blouse and began unbuttoning.
Warmth expanded inside her. Her blouse hit the floor. Her bra fell next, and then she was standing there in broad daylight wearing only shorts and a bulky bandage around her arm. The curtains were drawn and the room dim, but before reality could induce self-consciousne
ss, he’d pushed her onto the bed and followed her down. There was hardly a moment to breathe before his work-roughened hands were touching her in leisurely exploration, sensitizing her skin with every stroke of his fingers. He cupped her breasts, his tongue lightly tasting her, sliding across her nipples and spiking a wave of pleasure so intense she cried out.
She reached for him, but he blocked her, grabbed her wrists, and lifted her arms above her head. Only to trail puffs of warm breath down her sensitive inner arms, nipping, kissing, all the way back down to her breasts where he nuzzled and licked. His free hand slid across her stomach and undid the buttons on her shorts, slow and deliberate. She moaned.
He covered her with the heel of his palm, rubbing against her in just the right place, and she arched off the bed, her body taut with need.
“Damn,” he whispered.
He let her go and rolled away long enough to kick off his pants, then worked her shorts down and off before sliding his weight on top of her.
She could feel the hard length of him pressing for entrance, and she welcomed it. Wanted it. Her hands roamed his chest, feeling the contours of muscle and flesh before sliding around to his back and tugging him closer, inviting him inside.
“Chloe,” he gasped.
“Now,” she demanded.
He gave her what she wanted, plunging inside and filling her with overwhelming sensation. As he pumped, she met every stroke. It felt impossibly good, and she closed her eyes as pressure mounted. Finn held her tightly and, with each thrust, the light mat of hair on his chest rubbed against her nipples, sending shock waves of pleasure through her.
She was building with exquisite agony, striving for release, then suddenly imploded with waves of pleasure so intense she screamed out his name. He held her tight against him, slowly moving in and out through her climax. She loved the feel of him inside her and squeezed around him. He sucked in air. She did it again and again as his rhythm grew faster, his hold tighter until he shuddered with his release. Even then she continued to move beneath him, coaxing every last shivering sensation.
Emerald Fire Page 16
