She must have liked his heroics since she barely asked any questions, fucked him for a good half hour, then dressed and left, a happy little camper.
Life was good, and he’d soon be a couple hundred grand richer. Screwing Judd the Dud had become his favorite pastime.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CON HOISTED HIMSELF up over the dive platform, not even shivering, although he had to be freezing without a wet suit, even that short distance. Lizzie stepped out of the shadows, searching to see if he had anything in his hands. If he managed to find that medallion, then she was certain she’d picked the right man for the job.
“Did you get it?” she asked, slipping down to the dive platform.
He lifted his hand.
Oh, yes. The absolute right man. She wanted to reach for the medallion, but she couldn’t resist getting closer to him, feeling the waves of cold from his skin, and flattening her hands on his bare chest. She knew how much that kind of cold hurt, but he didn’t seem fazed, except to let out a soft grunt when her hands made contact.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, moving her back into the darkest part of the deck and toward the stairs. “My cabin. Now.”
She kept up with his long strides back to his cabin, him dripping water from his bathing suit and body, but still not giving in to what she knew had to be the urge to just shudder with the bone-deep chill of swimming in the ocean on a November night. He unlocked the hatch and nudged her in without a word.
“Let me see—”
He yanked her right into his chest, pulling out a shocked breath from her, his flesh cold even through the thickness of her fleece sweatshirt.
“God, you’re warm.” He nearly moaned the words, squeezing her tighter.
She understood instantly and obliged by wrapping her arms around him, rubbing her hands over the hard muscles of his back. She’d dived without a wet suit before, and human contact was like heaven to the whole body.
“Why don’t you take a hot shower?” she suggested.
He just shook his head and pressed himself against her from head to toe. “This is much better. You’re like a human heating pad.”
He punctuated that with a little more pressure on her legs and hips, riding her enough to dry his skin on her clothes. She curled one of her legs around his, using the warm cotton of her sweatpants to dry and warm his thigh and calf.
He sighed again, sliding one more time as if he could wipe his whole body with her warmth.
“You better let me have that damn medallion since you are totally taking advantage of this situation,” she teased.
He backed up just enough to reveal his open palm. And the gold.
“Oh.” She let out the word in a little breath of air. “I told you Flynn was the thief.”
“You were right. He’s a thief and more.”
Her eyes bugged. “He had more treasure in there?”
“Depends on how you define treasure. This piece wasn’t worth much, in my opinion.” At her look, he lifted a brow. “Did you know he was sleeping with Alita?”
“Alita? Did she see you?”
“No, she stayed in the stateroom and this was in the salon. Not very creatively hidden, either.”
“Alita.” She shook her head. “I never picked up that vibe from either of them.”
“It explains how he knew exactly where that medallion was hidden. She told him after I showed her, so they’re a team.”
“Why did you show her, anyway?”
“To test her.” He bent over, rubbing his legs. “She failed.”
“What do you think’ll happen when Flynn discovers it’s gone?”
He shrugged. “He won’t have the nerve to nail me on it, and the crew will assume whoever stole it had second thoughts and returned it. Maybe he’ll think Alita double-crossed him.”
She took the gold with her to the edge of the bunk, sitting down to admire it. “They’re scum, both of them. And him, stealing from his own stepfather. I told you their relationship is a mess.” She turned to him, her smile widening. “And now I’ve won the bet.”
He stood up and pulled a canvas duffel bag from under the bed, dragging out a pair of jeans and taking them into the head. He didn’t close the door, giving her a perfect view of his backside as he shoved off his wet bathing suit and gave himself a cursory rub with a towel.
God, the man had a beautiful body. He stepped into the jeans, pulling them over his bare hips, giving the zipper a half tug that didn’t make it to the top, not bothering to snap.
The medallion forgotten, she stared at his bare chest, the cuts of muscles disappearing into the jeans, the bit of dark hair peeking out from the half-zipped fly. Her throat went bone dry.
“So we dive tomorrow night,” he said, approaching the bunk slowly.
What was he talking about? Diving. Gold. Scepters.
That’s why she was in this room, eating up her new partner with her eyes. She lifted the medallion and laid it against her chest as though it could help slow her rapidly increasing heartbeat.
“I dive tomorrow night,” she corrected. “You work the air hose and cover my ass.”
He reached the bed, looking down at her. “I dive tomorrow night,” he countered. “You work the air hose and cover my ass.”
She started to stand up. “No way. I know where it is.”
He put his hand on her chest, over the medallion, and eased her all the way down. “You can show me tomorrow. We dive together first thing in the morning.”
“You can’t change the rules, Con.”
Smiling, he took the medallion, grazing it over her breasts with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I can do anything I want.”
Wordlessly, he laid the medallion on the nightstand and in one smooth move, was back on the bed, kneeling over her, his knees sliding right between hers. “And since I can do anything I want” —a zing shot straight up her body—“I’m going to dive for the scepter tomorrow night.”
He loomed over her, bare-chested, practically unzipped, exuding sex and control and power… and changing the rules.
Her fingers curled into the thin blanket under her, awareness flaring through her.
“It’s a dangerous dive,” he said, easing her legs open a fraction with his. “It’ll be dark, with no blower.”
That was true. “But if I do it,” she said, managing not to let her voice crack, “I’ll be down and back in seven or eight minutes. I know exactly what to do. I’ve visualized it.”
“I’ve visualized it, too.” He leaned over her, putting his hands on either side of her, letting his weight drop so that his biceps tightened. “And I’m making the dive.”
His face was very close, his gaze fierce, his lips almost curled in a smile.
“You can’t do this.”
His smile said he could. “I know your secrets now, Lizzie. And you need me.”
Need. That was one word to describe the heat in her body. “That doesn’t give you the right to take over my plans. I’m in charge of this and you’re following my instructions.” She put a hand on his chest, his skin still icy from the water, but he just pressed himself closer.
“I’ll dive. You work the hose. And we …” He closed the space and brushed her mouth with his. “Will be partners. How’s that?”
Partners. What kind of partners?
“The kind Alita and Flynn are?” Onboard lovers. Right now, it sounded really good.
“Way better.” He kissed her again, a little more potent this time, enough to intensify the need between her legs and make her whole body want to rise up and meet his.
He opened his mouth, breathed into hers, and kneed her legs open one more inch. Every cell screamed more. Every inch of her wanted to bow her back, and feel all that hardness against her.
He rose just a little, as though tempting her higher, luring her.
Glancing down, she saw the tip of his hard penis threatening to burst out of the half-zipped jeans. Her mouth almost watered.
Very slowly, he stood, his abdomen clenching as he straightened, his gaze right on hers. He put his hands on the zipper and her eyes dropped, watching, waiting, anticipating the scrape of the teeth as he freed himself. She tried to breathe, but all she could do was watch his fingers, his flesh.
He was going to do this. He was going to …
Zip up.
He closed the jeans, snapped, and reached out a hand to her. “You better get some rest, Lizzie. We dive early. And late.”
She let out a breath and relaxed her elbows enough to drop an inch. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“What? Change your game plan?”
In one move, she rolled off the bed, away from the trap of his legs and steel slice of his gaze. “Don’t tease me. I don’t like it.”
She was halfway into the hall when she heard him whisper, “Neither do I.”
Speaking of changing the game plan… Con hadn’t called Lucy once since he got on this boat.
Puffing a breath full of frustration, he double-locked the door and waited until Lizzie’s footsteps disappeared and the ache in his groin lessened a little. Very little.
Let’s see, Lucy had, what? Four rules for this assignment?
Check in every day. Nope, hadn’t called once.
Report anything suspicious. Everything was suspicious.
Turn in anyone he found stealing. Or, just steal it back.
Inform the client of any crewmember who might know the wreck they were diving was El Falcone. Not aid and abet her plans to ruin Judd Paxton’s recovery effort by assisting in a secret ploy to steal the most coveted artifact on the dive, remove it from the premises, and hide it on the mainland.
After blowing every rule she’d set out for him, sex with a target who had a personal vendetta against the client and a plan to ruin the entire dive probably wasn’t going to make a dent on his already battered employee evaluation.
But that wasn’t what stopped him from doing what he—and Lizzie—wanted to do. At least he could admit that truth.
Running his hand through his hair, he grabbed the satellite phone, dropped onto the bed, inhaled enough to get a whiff of Lizzie’s perfume, and dialed.
She answered on the first ring. “You didn’t call yesterday.”
He laughed softly at the greeting. “So that rumor’s true.”
“There are a lot of them. Which rumor are you testing?”
“That Lucy Sharpe answers her private line 24/7.”
“For now it is,” she said. “But you’ve probably heard the rumor that my 24/7 days are numbered.”
He’d heard she was pregnant but doubted that would slow her down much. “Until they are, I’m afraid I have to take advantage and wake you to tell you what’s going on here.”
“It’s about time. I told you to check in daily.” “Trust me, Luce, that’s the least of the regs I’ve been wrecking.”
“Great.”
In the background he heard movement and a soft comment from a man. Jack Culver, her partner in every way. He waited, imagining the lithe, long-haired woman leaving her bed to walk down the hall to her office.
“All right. Talk to me, Con.”
“There is someone on this boat who knows we’re salvaging El Falcone, and she’s already located one of the diamonds, kept it for herself, is planning to do the same with the scepter it was separated from, then is going to take it to the mainland and hide it until the other is found.”
“Whoa. Good work. Nice and fast, too. Who is it and what’s your plan?”
“Elizabeth Dare.”
She waited a beat. “And your plan?”
“My plan is to help her recover the scepter and help her hide it on the mainland.”
She was stone silent.
“Because she’s not the person he’s looking for.”
“She’s not? Sounds like she is.”
“She’s not. She does have an agenda and it isn’t friendly to Paxton, but she’s not stealing any treasure.”
“You just said she has one of the diamonds and scepters.”
“Any other treasure. The leak of treasure and information is Flynn Paxton, aided by Alita Holloway. I just went to great pains—swimming in cold water and testing my exemplary ‘recovery’ skills—to prove that, taking something back that he’d stolen earlier this evening.”
It was quiet, but for a paper shuffling in the background. “Elizabeth Dare is the daughter of the late Malcolm Dare,” she said.
“She’s not our target, Lucy. Her issues are personal and family driven. I can keep an eye on her.”
“Sounds like you already have been.”
Resentment bubbled. “Not to the point of blindness,” he shot back. “If I don’t work with her, she’ll do what she wants anyway. This way, I know exactly where the treasures are and have her under my thumb.”
“That’s a plan, although not my first choice. What about Flynn?”
“Depends. How will our client take finding out the thief and traitor is his stepson?”
“Hard to say. They have a volatile history, and Judd’s trying to mend fences with him. They’ve had a rocky relationship since Judd married Flynn’s mother about ten years ago. Giving him responsibility for this dive is Judd’s way of showing he thinks Flynn has potential to run the business, but in my opinion, Judd has no real intention of leaving his fortunes and reputation to his stepson.”
“Flynn probably knows that and is taking what he can get, when he can get it,” Con said, encouraged by Lucy’s willingness to see the whole story and not jump to the obvious conclusions. “If anyone has an outside contact and is selling items taken from this dive before they get logged into the Paxton system, it’s Flynn.”
“But you’re certain it’s not this lovely blonde with big brown eyes and a sexy body?”
“You have a picture or you taking an educated guess?”
She laughed softly. “I guessed on the body.”
“And correctly. What’s probably not in that file is why she’s doing it, of her family’s connection to the ship. El Falcone was captained by Aramis Dare, her great-times-seven or so grandfather. She’s on a personal mission to finish her father’s life’s work. Nothing nefarious.”
“Except stealing a priceless treasure and taking it off the boat to hide it.”
“Okay, a little nefarious. But I don’t want you to get all bent out of shape over Lizzie when the real target is Flynn. I just need a little more time to prove it, since Judd will undoubtedly want a lot of irrefutable evidence against a family member. While I’m at it, I think it’s smart to be sure that diamond gets off this boat, along with the scepter, and that I know exactly where it is so I can return it to the client when we’re done.”
Lucy was quiet for a moment. “Compelling argument.”
“Just a smart one.”
“Still, I’m going to dig a little into Lizzie Dare’s background, check out her story, and her family.”
“Good idea.” He doubted she’d find anything.
“And I agree with you,” she continued. “By knowing exactly what she has and where she’s hiding it, we’re actually doing a service for our client. But Con, if that diamond and scepter are not returned to Judd Paxton, you will be held responsible.”
So she still didn’t quite trust him. How come Lizzie was so certain he was one of the good guys, and Lucy was still on the fence?
Because Lucy was a better judge of character.
“Oh, and Con? Pirates and thieves don’t make good partners.”
CHAPTER
NINE
LIZZIE STEPPED OUT of the head and blinked at the sight of Con sitting on her bunk, more stunned that he’d gotten in through her locked door without making a sound than the fact that she wore nothing but a bra and sleep pants.
“You should be dressed,” he said, his gaze hot on her chest as she gaped at him. “Not that I mind.”
“How did you get in here?”
“Trade secret.” He tossed her a T-shir
t from the bed. “I told you to be ready at three.”
A little frisson of irritation skittered over her at his tone. This was her secret plan, and he’d hijacked ownership of it ever since she’d shown him the diamond.
“You’ll need a jacket, too,” he said. “It’s colder tonight than last night.”
“You were up there already?”
He pointed up. “Listen. You hear anything?”
She stood still, frowning as she absorbed the normal sounds of the boat. “No.”
“Good. The air compressor’s on.”
“It is? I was worried about that. It seems so noisy during the dives.” She pulled the sweatshirt over her head. “How did you do that?”
“I rigged it up so that it’s not vibrating the deck. That’s what the noise is, not the actual compressor. Let’s go. Everyone’s asleep. I want to do this fast.”
He wanted to do it. “Then let me dive. I can find that thing in my sleep.”
“In the time it would take you to put on a wet suit, I’ll have the scepter in my hand.”
Possibly. In their earlier dive that morning, when they were supposed to be treasure hunting, she timed him moving the ballast stones and the dirt to get to the scepter. It had taken about four minutes. A minute down and a minute up meant six total.
“You really are going to do this with no wet suit?”
“Of course. I can last six minutes in fifty-nine degrees. I checked the water temperature already.”
“But—”
He put his finger over her lips. “Not another word. Even on the deck. We go up, hookah in, you keep watch, and I’ll dive.”
He led her down the hall. Barefoot, they didn’t make a sound, and heard nothing until they reached the main deck. The compressor hummed softly from a new spot, resting on rubber strips. He’d already hooked in the air hose and the reserve tank.
She might not have thought of the rubber strips to dull the sound, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to lift and maneuver the compressor since it was four feet square and heavy.
So, she really did need him, she rationalized as he attached his harness and mask and grabbed the hookah. Plus, skipping a wet suit saved valuable minutes.