Deep Blue (8 page)

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Conn said as the crane finished loading the cannon onto the bed of the truck, “you’d better stop right now. If you don’t, I’m going to haul you off this boat, carry you away somewhere private, and do everything you’re imagining and a whole lot more.”

Her heart thundered. Good Lord, was HOT SEX stamped across her forehead?

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

The edge of his mouth barely curved. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about…though I’ll be more than happy to show you.”

Hope swallowed, grateful when the professor smilingly returned and the three of them headed down the gangway to the truck. Grateful, until they climbed in and she realized that riding in the middle, she was pressed intimately into Conn’s side, that for the next several hours she was going to feel every movement of that steel-hard body.

The road was narrow, barely two lanes, and the traffic was heavy. Conn wove between the passing cars with the skill of a native Jamaican; still, she couldn’t relax, not with him so near. By the time they reached Kingston, her heart was beating like a trip-hammer and a faint trace of perspiration dampened the hair at her temples.

It wasn’t the only place she was damp and she wondered if Conn knew that, too.

Her face went hot as she glanced down and saw the heavy bulge pressing against the fly of his pants. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing the intimate contact had affected him, too.

At the museum, they met with Dr. Winthrop Hardy, who was expecting them. With the help of a skip loader and several museum workers, the cannon was delivered into an electrolytic reduction tank to begin the long process of stabilizing the artifact so it could be properly preserved.

“We appreciate this,” Dr. Hardy said. “Perhaps Mr. Markham will agree to allow us to excavate other artifacts from the ship.”

“Perhaps,” the professor said. But he looked fairly skeptical, and Hope didn’t think it would happen, either. Not if there wasn’t something in it for Eddie. Archeology was hardly glamorous, and the emperor was mostly concerned with things that would make money for Pleasure Island.

They finished their delivery and afterward ate lunch at a little restaurant called the Fisherman’s Tavern that offered seafood specialties and typical island fare. The subject of treasure came up as they finished their meal and Hope took the opportunity to gain a little information.

“I was hoping to get your opinion on the archeological ramifications of salvaging treasure, Professor.”

The professor arched a bushy gray eyebrow, impressed that she had taken the time to read up on the subject.

“There are very valid archeological concerns, of course. We need to preserve the past the best we can. Still, every year, storms spread the treasure and the artifacts, and more and more of what little is left is lost or destroyed.”

“I hadn’t really considered that. I know the main concern seems to be that current techniques aren’t sophisticated enough and valuable information is being lost.”

“It is definitely a concern, one we’re attempting to deal with as best we can, but the government is trying to stop this sort of salvage work altogether. Indeed, at this very moment, Spain is trying to halt operations on any Spanish vessel lying within U.S. waters.”

Conn grunted. “If you ask me, those guys have a lot of nerve. The Spaniards raided the gold and silver from the South Americans in the first place.”

The professor chuckled. “Exactly so. Besides, if we do find the treasure, I intend to make certain the artifacts are carefully cataloged and preserved as well as they possibly can be.”

“So you think there’s still a chance you’ll find it?”

The professor smiled. “Of course there is.”

But when she looked at Conn, his expression seemed more hopeful than convinced.

It was almost six o’clock when they arrived back in Port Antonio. Conn returned the rented flatbed and they all climbed into the old blue Toyota. Hope sat in the passenger seat as he drove down to the harbor and dropped the professor where he’d parked his car.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Dr. Marlin said, “give you a progress report. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“Conn’s got his lucky gold coin,” Hope said through the rolled-down window. “Maybe that will help.”

The professor waved good-bye and Conn parked the car in a space near where the
Conquest
was docked. Hope reached for the handle of the door, but Conn caught her arm.

“It’s almost time for supper. If you don’t have plans, I know a place the locals go that has the best Jamaican food on the island.”

A little tremor ran through her. She looked up at him, saw the heat in his eyes.

“You’re asking for more than supper and both of us know it. I’ll admit I’m attracted to you, Conn. There’s no sense lying about it. But we barely know each other. It’s not my style to climb in the sack with a guy just for a little sexual relief.”

She waited for the anger. Instead, the corner of his mouth edged up.

“I hadn’t thought of it quite that way, but I get your point. Believe it or not, I don’t climb into the sack with just anyone, either.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she liked that he accepted the
no
without hassling her about it. She might even have changed her mind and agreed to dinner, but just then the entire crew of the
Conquest
descended on the car.

Joe Ramirez reached them first. “Hey, you two, you’re back just in time. We’re all heading over to Willie’s. We figure the boat won’t be going out again until we hear from the professor. In the meantime, we’re gonna drown our sorrows with a couple of shooters over at the cantina.”

Conn had told them before he left for Kingston that the cannon hadn’t come from the
Rosa.
Hope didn’t really blame them for being a little down.

“Why don’t you two join us?” Captain Bob asked politely. It was funny how everyone thought of him that way, as Captain Bob, not just Bob or even Captain.

“Yeah, Hope,” Tommy chimed in, opening her door and tugging her out of the car. “Come on. You can’t work all the time.”

She flicked a glance at Conn, who had also climbed out and was watching her across the hood.

“All right,” she said with a smile. “Why not?”

A cheer went up and the entire gang began the short trek across the parking lot to the thatch-roofed bar on the slope above the harbor. Even King was among the crowd, the huge black man grinning, the muscles bulging in his powerful arms and thighs as he opened the wooden front door, making the bell above it jingle. All of them were there, except for Andy, who was married and didn’t drink.

They crossed the wooden floor of the bar, which was crowded with the after-five work crowd and far more raucous than it had been the night she had been there with Conn. In the sunlight streaming in through the big, open windows, she could see the decorations—painted fish hanging from nets strung over the walls, old-fashioned surfboards, seashells and other ocean paraphernalia she hadn’t noticed when the bar was dark.

The group walked out to the open-air deck looking down on the water. Wooden tables and benches sat on the uneven brick patio, and the guys shoved two of them together. Tommy, Joe, Pete, and Captain Bob sat down across from her, leaving Conn and King on her side of the table.

King took up so much room she was forced to sit close to Conn. His eyes turned a darker shade of blue as her thigh brushed his beneath the table. Hope wasn’t sure if the hot look he gave her was a reminder of what she’d turned down—or a promise of things to come.

Whatever it meant, sexual awareness had her nerves kicking in and she couldn’t wait to order that drink.

“Tequila shooters all around!” Joe called out to the waitress, but Hope just laughed and shook her head.

“No, thanks. I’m not completely insane.” She turned to the tall black woman with short, curly black hair in a red sarong and halter top. “I’ll have an Island Punch.”

“An Island Punch, huh?” Joe Ramirez winked at Conn. “Good idea.”

Hope cast a slightly uneasy look at Conn. “That’s what I had at the restaurant the other night, right? It’s just tropical fruit juice and rum.”

“Yeah, fruit juice and rum—mostly.”

He didn’t mention that there were seven kinds of liquor in an Island Punch. She didn’t find that out until later. Way later. By then it was too late.

They ate dinner—if you could call it that. Fried calamari, fish and chips, fried zucchini, and fried, stuffed mushrooms, bar food all of them shared.

She knew it was time to leave when they started singing karaoke, but she was having so much fun it didn’t take much to persuade her to stay.

Joe sang something sexy and Latin that had half the women in the bar swooning. King belted out the old Harry Belafonte calypso banana boat song, apparently inspired by the industry that was once the mainstay of Port Antonio, a tune the entire bar seemed to know.

“Your turn, Hope!” Tommy prodded, hauling her to her feet. “What are you going to sing?”

“Are you crazy? I’m not singing anything! I’ve got the worst voice in the world.” But he continued to tug her toward the small wooden stage in the corner. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“All right. I’ll sing—on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Conn sings with me.” She cast him a challenging look while everyone cheered, clapped, and hooted, and Joe dragged Conn to his feet. Hope had a feeling he was as reserved as she was about this kind of thing, but he seemed to be a good sport about it, letting them haul him up the steps to the microphone.

“All right, now that I’m up here, what are we going to sing?”

Hope grinned. “You know ‘Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog?’”

“You gotta be kidding.” But he grinned. The music began and Hope started singing. She poked Conn in the ribs and he started singing, too. His voice wasn’t all that bad, deep and resonant, but it was the way he kept smiling at her that almost made her forget the words.

The whole crowd chimed in, drowning out the sound of their voices, for which she was grateful, and finally the song came to an end. Both of them were laughing when he helped her down from the stage. As he led her back to the table, the room seemed to tilt a little sideways and she realized she’d had too much to drink.

“I’ve had it,” she said. “I’m going back to the ship. That punch packs a real
punch
and I’ve had more than I should have already.”

“I’ve had plenty, too. I’ll walk you back.” Conn plucked her big straw bag up off the floor beside her chair, but Hope took it out of his hand.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to ruin your evening.”

“I’m not letting you go back alone. Jamaica can be dangerous if you’re not careful. Besides, I’ve got work to do in the morning.”

She could tell he wasn’t going to let her leave by herself. His old-fashioned, protective streak was kicking in, and Hope discovered she was beginning to like it.

They waved good-bye to the men. As she and Conn headed out the door, she noticed Joe was snuggled up to an attractive, young, cocoa-skinned woman he had charmed with his singing. She didn’t think he’d be coming back to the boat tonight.

They crossed the parking lot in the moonlight and she could hear the crowd in the bar singing a Bob Marley favorite, “Stir it up, little darlin’.” The man was practically a god in Jamaica. His music, worshipped by young and old, could be heard everywhere on the island.

They reached the boat and Conn helped her along the gangway, across the deck, and down the ladder that led to her quarters. The corridor seemed to spin a little, but the fresh air had revived her some.

In the dim light of the hallway, they reached the door to her cabin and she turned to say good night. Before she made a sound, Conn’s mouth was on hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Heat roared through her. Liquid warmth sank into her bones. His lips were soft yet firm, giving and greedy all at once. The taste of him was overwhelming. The erotic feel of his slick, wet tongue sliding over hers made the muscles contract in her stomach.

The smell of him surrounded her, the fragrance of the sea tinged with lime. She could feel the wall at her back, his hard body pressing against her breasts. Her nipples began to tingle, turned diamond-hard. Her arms slid around his neck and she pressed herself even closer against him. She could feel the powerful sinews in his leg where it wedged between hers, the heat burning where his thigh rubbed against her sex.

He didn’t ask permission to come into her room, just turned the knob, then backed her through the open door, kicked it closed, and kept right on kissing her. His big hands reached for her blouse, frantically began to unfasten the buttons. He slid the blouse off her shoulders and an instant later, the front hook on her lacy white bra popped free.

She had very full breasts and they spilled into his hands, seemed to swell into his palms, and she heard him groan. Kissing her all the while, he molded and caressed each one, tested the weight and roundness, and heat rolled through her. Sweet God, she had to touch him, had to know the texture of his skin, the roughness of his chest hair, the tautness of those flat male nipples. She peeled his tee shirt over his head and planted kisses across the muscles in his shoulders. Her hands slid over his rib cage, across his flat stomach, and she felt his muscles contract.

Conn kissed her again, a wild, taking, pleasuring kiss that made her knees so weak she wasn’t sure they would hold her up. Then his mouth fastened on her breast. He sucked her nipple between his teeth, bit down, then lapped at the end, took the heavy fullness into his mouth. Heat washed through her, made her wet and hot, made her tremble.

“I want you, Hope. I want you so damned much.”

She wanted him, too, though, dear God, her brain was screaming that this had to end, that making love with him was the worst thing she could possibly do. Instead, her body swayed toward him of its own accord, aching and throbbing, begging him to touch her where all that heat was centered, begging him to thrust himself inside her.

She was so drugged with desire, so hot and wild, it took a moment to register the determined pounding at her door.

“Hey, Hope—you still up?”

Though the words were thick and slurred from the quantity of alcohol he’d drunk, she recognized the voice as belonging to Tommy. With the blood still pounding in her ears, it took a moment to form a response.

“I’m…I’m still up.”

“So am I,” Conn said harshly, glancing down at the hard ridge pressing against his fly, “and I’m going to wring that damned kid’s neck.”

“I’m gonna rent a car tomorrow,” Tommy said through the door, “take a drive ’round the island. I thought you might wanna come with me.”

Somehow Tommy knew Conn was in there. Hope was sure of it. She was a little drunk and Tommy was trying to protect her. In a single, sharp instant, sanity returned and she could have kissed Tommy Tyler’s freckled face.

She noticed the set of Conn’s jaw but ignored it. Instead, she moved a few steps farther away from him.

“That…sounds like fun. I’d love to go, Tommy.” Reaching down, she picked up her blouse with shaking hands, drew it on over her naked breasts.

“Great,” Tommy said. “I figure we oughta leave ’round ten.”

“Perfect.”

Behind her, Conn cursed. As Tommy stumbled away, she could hear Conn dragging his tee shirt back on, his movements stiff and angry, and suddenly she felt guilty. She had to force herself to turn and face him.

“I’m sorry, Conn. I really am. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I had too much to drink or it never would have gone this far.”

Hard blue eyes bored into her. “It would have happened anyway, Hope—sooner or later. This isn’t over. We’re going to finish what we started—it’s only a matter of time. You know it and I know it. You might as well get your mind wrapped around it because your body’s already there.”

A little sliver of heat ran through her, but Hope made no reply. Every part of her body was pulsing, aching with unspent need. She wanted Conner Reese. But she didn’t want to wind up in bed with a man just because she’d had too much to drink. She couldn’t bear the awful regret she would feel in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” she said again as he opened the door and stepped outside.

“If you were half as sorry as I am, I wouldn’t be standing out here in the hall. We’d be over there in your bed, and sleep would be the last thing on your mind.” Turning, he strode off down the passage, his footsteps fading as he disappeared into his cabin.

Hope closed her door and leaned against it. God, she hadn’t meant for any of that to happen. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember Conn’s heated kisses, the feel of his powerful erection pressing against her, the wetness of his mouth on her breasts.

She tingled all over at the memory, then the room started spinning again. At least it helped take her mind off Conn and what had almost happened.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she walked into the head in the corner of the cabin, popped three Advil, came back and took off the rest of her clothes.
I’m going to pay the price in the morning,
she thought as she climbed up in bed, but then, so were the rest of them.

Maybe she could talk Tommy out of his island tour and she could stay on the boat and recuperate a little. Once she felt better, maybe she could get some work done. She needed to go online, see if she could reach that museum in Spain. And she wanted to check her e-mail, see if Buddy Newton had returned her latest message, or if maybe that detective she had hired might have found something useful.

Hope lay down on the bunk and closed her eyes, praying the ache pounding behind her eyes would go away enough that she could sleep.

In the end, it was erotic memories of Conn’s powerful body pressing against her that kept her from falling asleep.

In exclusive Palm Beach, by noon it was warm and sunny, even a little hot for this time of year. Brad Talbot leaned back in the deck chair on the ninety-eight-foot Westport he kept in a slip in front of his big Spanish-style mansion on the water.