Swept Away (40 page)

“The gallery isn’t doing well. I mean, it does okay, but my dad made a lot of money dealing in
art and antiquities when he was young, and that money just isn’t there anymore. I guess we
lived on it for a long while, but it’s finally dwindled.”

Brock was trying real hard to absorb what she was saying, but then stated the obvious.
“Honey, your family is doing fine on money. I’ve seen the house you grew up in. You guys
own a gallery. Cars. Boats. You own a freaking island, for God’s sake.”

She looked a little embarrassed. “This is complicated. Because yes, we own an island, and a
big house. But the money is running out. And if I married Ian, it was going to change
everything. It was going to bail my dad out of trouble.”

“First of all, I don’t call maybe having to sell your private island trouble. But you’re telling me
that Ian has enough money to keep people as rich as you guys staying rich, while he stays rich
himself?”

She nodded.

“That’s a lot of damn money, kitten.” An almost unfathomable amount.

“I know,” she said on a slight swallow. “And I don’t want to say I was marrying him for that,
but well, let’s just say I was aware the marriage would make a lot of people happy in a lot of
ways. And I know you think my family would be just fine without all the stuff we have, but
you don’t know my dad.”

“You forget—I do know your dad. And I’ve always thought he was a greedy, selfish son of a bitch.” She flinched, and he added, “Sorry, kitten, I know you love him. But even you have to
admit he likes his money and possessions a lot.”

It shouldn’t have surprised him when she defended her father. “That’s just who he is, Brock.
He somehow equates his value as a person to what he owns. And it’s not totally selfish. It’s because he’s always wanted to be able to give my mother and me the best of everything. He
grew up poor and turned that around, and it’s important to him to keep it turned around.”

“I grew up poor, too, kitten, and I damn well understand the value of money and why it feels
good to have nice things. But don’t you think it’s a little extreme with your dad? That he
needs to own a freaking island to feel good?”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “It’s justhow he takes pride in himself. Being able to give his family extraordinary luxuries. It’s his way.”

Yeah, Brock knew more about Clark Spencer’s ways than he cared to remember, but only one
question seemed significant now. “Did he ask you to do it? Did he ask you to marry Ian to bail
him out of trouble?”

She sighed. “Not exactly.”

Brock’s temperature rose a little higher. “Then what exactly?”

She dropped her gaze to her plate and spoke lowly. “When Ian and I started dating, Dad told
me how happy he was that we were together, and he sort of said, jokingly, that if Ian and I
ever got married, it would solve a world of problems. I knew what problems he meant, of
course. And he thinks of it as my problem, too. I’ve told him I don’t care about having the absolute best of everything, but he wants me to have the best, and if he doesn’t feel he can provide it, he wants me to be with someone who can. Ian, too, once told me he knew about Dad’s money issues and said that if he and I ended up together that my dad wouldn’t have to
worry about that anymore. And so, when he proposed to me at Christmas in front of both
families, I... said yes. It did seem like the answer to everything.”

How utterly shitty for her. “You know what? I’m really glad I came along to mess that up. And
your father and Ian are both ass-holes to put you in that position.”

“My dad doesn’t mean to be that way, Brock. He just thinks he knows what it takes to make
me happy.”

He hated how vehemently she continued to defend him. “He doesn’t know, though.”
“You’re so sure?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “Yeah, I am. And he didn’t know ten years ago, either.”
“What do you mean?”

Shit. That was the second time today he’d nearly tripped over his words. And as much as he
detested Clark Spencer—even more so in this moment than ever before—he still had no
intention of telling Kat what had really happened to make him leave town so abruptly back
when they were young. It would only wound her deeply, and even if he wanted to open her
eyes to her dad’s flaws, he just couldn’t bring himself to show her how big those flaws could
be. So he let out a large sigh and simply replied, “Let’s just say I always thought the guy was a
little too controlling.”

“He tried to be, I know that. But I didn’t let him.”

He looked her in the eye, and saw, once more, how beautiful she was. “I know you didn’t, kitten, and I’m glad.”

“In most ways, I mean,” she replied, biting her lip again. “Although I guess there are little
things, concessions I had to make to get my way on bigger things.”

He lowered his chin. “Like what?”

“Like, if it were up to me, I probably would have a tattoo to show you, but...” She went on to
explain about bathing suits and swimming pools and how her dad would surely see such a
thing. “It’s not as if he’s ever even mentioned tattoos to me—I just know he would object, so I
never bothered. I didn’t want to fight. When I was younger, we fought a lot—about what I
wore or where I was going—and I didn’t want to argue anymore. So I just learned to pick my
battles and know how far I could push my boundaries.”

Brock could only imagine what a handful Kat must have been as a young girl—and he could almost feel sorry for Spencer if he didn’t know what an asshole the man could really be. But
mainly, he respected the hell out of her for her graceful way of dealing with her dad, and maybe
he also respected how much she loved the man, even knowing he had faults.

Brock didn’t love his parents. And admittedly, their faults had been a lot bigger than even a jerk like Spencer, so maybe it made sense. But he’d never been the type of guy to look beyond
someone’s mistakes and try to forgive. That just hadn’t been ingrained in him. As a result, the
only people he’d ever really loved were his grandpa and Bruno. Grandpa had been gone a long
time now, and Bruno... well, Brock still felt a nostalgic affection for his brother—you don’t go
through what they did together and not feel a bond—but Bruno had disappointed him so much
that his affection had faded a lot until it seemed more like a sentimental thing, or maybe even an
obligation.

As he sat there watching her eat, he envied her ability to love.

And he thought she could probably teach him a lot about it if only he’d let her.

But for the moment, he no longer wanted to think about could and couldn’t, or all the things
that would keep them apart once they got back to the real world—he just wanted to be with her.
“Hurry up,” he said as she took another bite from her burger.

She looked up, clearly surprised by the command. “What?”
“Eat up, kitten, and then I’m taking you to bed.”

Brock woke up to the sun shining in the window, but his thoughts remained stuck on the
previous night. He’d kissed her from head to toe, concentrating more on some spots than others. She’d returned the favor with admirable enthusiasm. Then they’d brought their bodies together—again and again—until they were both exhausted.

He leaned over to kiss Kat a sleepy good morning—then remembered it was Thursday. Rescue day. That word had started to seem like it didn’t make much sense, though. How was it rescue
when you wanted to stay?

“Pop-Tarts?” she asked with hopeful eyes. “I’ll toast.”

“Then I’ll eat.” He playfully swatted her bottom as she departed the bed, and realized he didn’t
like thinking he couldn’t do that tomorrow morning, too. He was gonna miss that bottom. He was gonna miss all of her.

“Hey,” she said, slipping on a pair of panties and a little top, “can you get my sea glass out of
your pocket before we forget about it?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, rising with a yawn. He walked naked to where his trunks lay tossed
over one of the kitchen chairs and unzipped the pocket. Turning it upside down, he emptied the
smooth pieces of glass into his palm—along with the key.

He glanced up to find her back to him, heard her push down the lever on the toaster. Plucking
the key from the sea glass, he deposited the green frosted glass on the table—along with a few
wayward grains of sand—and closed the key in his fist.

“Hey, can you grab those when they pop?” she asked, moving toward the bathroom. “I want to
wash my face and put on some lotion.”

“Sure, kitten,” he said with a wink, then watched as the door closed behind her.

As he was turning back toward the counter, though, his eyes landed on something he hadn’t thought about in a couple of days. That damn locked closet. The explanation for it had sounded
reasonable enough, yet something about it had bugged him, not quite rung true.
Then Brock’s gaze dropped to the key in his hand.

Key. Lock.

Nah.

But as he recalled the niggling feeling that the Morales brothers had come here for some other
reason, his chest tightened slightly.

What the hell. Walking to the closet, he slid the key in the lock, fully expecting it not to fit.
Only it fit.

He gently turned it and listened to the surprising click that unlocked the door.
Shit. What the hell was going on here?

Twisting the knob to pull the door slowly open, his eyes fell on a stunning array of Mayan
treasures. Statues, masks, pieces of jade, chunks of stone carved with hieroglyphs. Jesus. His heart nearly pounded through his chest as he realized that this had been the pickup spot all along. Clark Spencer’s island.

Chapter Fifteen

Holy shit. They hadn’t seen him swim here, for God’s sake—they’d been coming for the
artifacts and happened to find him standing on the goddamn shore. And yeah, they’d been
looking for the key the next time they’d shown up, but they’d planned to haul this stuff away
the second they got that key.

Brock took a good look at the door — extra thick, reinforced. A mega lock—you couldn’t tell
that from the exterior, but it was massive from the side, at the door’s edge. Which explained
why they didn’t just break the thing down while Brock and Kat were running through the
woods. Hell, for all he knew, they’d come in and tried to—there had been hours when Brock
and Kat had hidden in peace.

So this explained a hell of a lot.

But it also raised some enormous questions.

This island belonged to Clark Spencer. That meant he had to be involved.

But if Spencer was in on this, where was the money, and why did he claim to be low on
income? And why hadn’t anyone come for this stuff after Carlos and Francisco failed to show
up with it? Why hadn’t Omega Man dispatched someone else?

Shit, shit, shit. This discovery meant they were still in danger. He glanced toward the
bathroom, thinking of Kat, of protecting her, and hoping like hell now that her parents showed
up sooner rather than later.