The Reef (25 page)

Her brow creased. It was no more than expected, she supposed, that he could look at such a fabulous relic and think in dollars and cents. “At least fifty thousand, conservatively.”

“Yeah.” With his eyes on hers, he jiggled the necklace in his hand. “That ought to keep us afloat.”

“That's hardly the issue.” Possessively, she took the necklace back, laid it gently on the padded cloth she had covering her worktable.

“What is the issue, Red?”

“I'm not going to waste my time discussing that with you, but there is something we need to talk about.” She shifted, angling herself so that she could face him and still keep a fair distance.

“We could talk about it over dinner.” He trailed a fingertip down her shoulder. “We haven't taken a break in more than two weeks. Why don't we take another run over to Nevis tonight?”

“Let's not cloud business with your libido, Lassiter.”

“I can manage both.” He picked up her hand, kissed her fingers, then the small scar the moray had given her. “Can you?”

“I believe I have been.” But she drew her hand free, just to be safe. “I've given this a lot of thought,” she
began. “We missed our chance to preserve the
Marguerite.
The
Isabella
is badly broken up, but we still have the opportunity to salvage some of her.”

“Isn't that what we're doing?”

“I don't mean just her cargo, I mean her. There are treatments to preserve ships' timbers, prevent their shrinking in open air. She can even be partially reconstructed. I need polyethylene glycol.”

“I don't happen to have any on hand.”

“Don't be cute, Matthew. Planks immersed in a bath of that solution are permeated with it. Even wood riddled with marine borers can be preserved. I want to call Hayden, ask him to get what's needed, and to come and help me salvage the ship.”

“Forget it.”

“What do you mean forget it? She's an important find, Matthew.”

“She's our find,” he tossed back. “No way in hell I'm sharing her with some college professor.”

“He's not some college professor. Hayden Deel is a brilliant marine archaeologist. One who's dedicated himself to study and preservation.”

“I don't give a damn what he's dedicated to, he's not coming in on this deal.”

“That's the bottom line, isn't it? The deal.” Disgusted, she shoved away so that she could scoot around the worktable and stand. “I'm not asking for him to have a share of your all-important booty. He wouldn't expect it. Some of us don't measure everything in dollars.”

“Easy for you to say when you've never had to scrape one together. You always had Mom and Dad to fall back on, a nice cozy home with supper on the stove.”

Anger paled her cheeks. “I made my way, Lassiter. On my own. If you'd ever bothered to think past the next wreck, you might have more than the loose change rattling around in your pocket. Now all you can think about is cashing in and living the good life. There's more to this expedition than auctioning artifacts.”

“Fine, when we've auctioned those artifacts, you can do whatever the hell you want, with whoever you want.”
He'd damn well kill anyone who touched her. “But until then, you don't contact anyone.”

“That's all it is to you, isn't it?” She slapped her palms on the table, leaning forward until her angry eyes were level with his. “Just the money matters.”

“You don't know what matters to me. You never did.”

“I thought you'd changed, just a little. I thought finding the
Isabella
meant more to you than what you could take from her.” Straightening again, Tate shook her head. “I can't believe I could be so wrong about you twice.”

“Looks like you can.” He pushed away from the table. “You always accuse me of being self-involved, Tate, but what about you? You're so wrapped up in what you want, the way you want it, even if it blocks off what you feel.”

Driven, he grabbed her arms, dragged her against him. “What do you feel? Damn it, what do you feel?” he repeated and closed his mouth over hers.

Too much, she thought as her heart went spinning. Too painfully much. “That isn't the answer,” she managed.

“It's one of them. Forget the
Isabella,
the amulet, your goddamn Hayden.” His eyes were dark and fierce. “Answer that one question. How do you feel?”

“Hurt!” she shouted over quick, useless tears. “Confused. Needy. Yes, I have feelings, damn you, Matthew, and you stir them up every time you touch me. Is that what you want to hear?”

“It'll do. Pack a bag.”

He released her so suddenly, she stumbled. “What?”

“Pack a bag. You're coming with me.”

“I—what? Where?”

“The hell with the bag.” She'd told him what he'd wanted to hear, and he wasn't going to let her rethink it. Not this time. He grabbed her hand again and pulled her on deck. Before she had a clue what he was planning, he'd scooped her into his arms and was lowering her over the rail into the tender.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I should have lost it weeks ago. I'm taking her to Nevis,” he shouted to the
Mermaid.
“We'll be back in the morning.”

“In the morning.” Shading her eyes, Marla stared at her daughter. “Tate?”

“He's lost his mind,” Tate called out, but was forced to sit when Matthew leapt nimbly down. “I'm not going with you,” she began, but was drowned out by the tender's engine. “Stop the boat right now, or I'll just go overboard.”

“I'll pull you back,” he said grimly. “You'll just get wet.”

“If you think I'm going to spend the night with you on Nevis—” She broke off when he whipped his head around. He looked too dangerous for arguments. “Matthew,” she said more calmly. “Get ahold of yourself. We had a disagreement, this is no way to settle it.” Her breath hitched when he cut the engine back. For one humming moment, she wondered if he would simply pitch her over the side.

“It's long past time we finish what we started eight years ago. I want you, and you've just said you want me right back. You've had plenty of time to think about it. Until we settle this, it's going to keep getting in the way.” His hand ached from his rough grip on the tiller. “You look at me, Tate, and you tell me you didn't mean what you said, that it doesn't affect you, and everything we're doing here, and I'll turn around and go back. That'll be the end of it.”

Shaken, she dragged a hand through her tousled bangs. He'd shanghaied her, tossed her into a boat, and now he was putting the choice back in her hands. “You expect me to sit here like this and discuss the effects of sexual attraction.”

“No, I expect you to say yes or no.”

She looked back toward the
Mermaid,
where her mother still stood at the rail. Then toward the smoky peak of Nevis. Oh, hell.

“Matthew, we don't have any clothes, luggage, we don't have a room.”

“Is that a yes?”

She opened her mouth, heard herself babble. “This is crazy.”

“That's a yes,” he decided, and gunned the engine. He didn't speak to her again. They reached the pier, docked. As they crossed the beach at arm's length, he pointed to an empty lounge chair. “Sit,” he told her. “I'll be back.”

Too bemused to argue, she sat, staring at her bare feet, offering the wandering waitress who stopped by with a tray a vague shake of her head and a baffled smile at the offer of a drink.

Tate looked out to sea, but the
Mermaid
and the
New Adventure
were beyond sight. It seemed she'd cut her line.

If this was an answer, she could no longer think of the question. But when Matthew came back, held out his hand, she took it. They walked in silence through the gardens, across the slope of green lawn.

He unlocked a sliding glass door, pulled it closed behind them and flipped the latch.

The room was bright, airy, dreamy in pastels. The bed was neatly made, plumped with generous pillows. She stared at it, jerking only once when he pulled the blinds and tossed the room into shadows.

“Matthew—”

“We'll talk later.” He reached behind her to undo her braid. He wanted her hair loose, flowing through his fingers.

She closed her eyes and would have sworn the floor tilted beneath her feet. “And if this is a mistake.”

“Haven't you ever made one?”

His grin flashed, and she found herself smiling in response. “One or two. But—”

“Later.” He lowered his head and found her lips.

He'd been sure he needed to dive into her, the way he sometimes needed to dive into the sea, as if to save, or at least to find, his sanity. His hands had itched to tug at her clothes, to touch the skin beneath and possess what he'd once given up.

But the hot-edged hunger that had driven him to bring her here mellowed as her taste flowed through him. As sweet as yesterday, as fresh as the instant. Love, never quite conquered, swarmed through him in triumph.

“Let me see you,” he murmured. “I've waited so long to see you.”

Lightly, gently, mindful of her trembling, he loosened her blouse, slipped it aside. She was pale ivory and soft satin beneath, a delicate feast for hands and eyes.

“All of you.” As his mouth skimmed over her bare shoulder, he tugged at her shorts, at the practical swatch of cotton under them.

His mermaid, he thought, almost dizzy with discovery. So slim and white and beautiful.

“Matthew.” She dragged his shirt over his head, desperate for flesh to find flesh. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

With those words humming in his head, he lowered her to the bed and quietly, cleverly, pleasured them both.

Tenderness was so unexpected. So seductive. She had seen it once, hidden in the brash young man she had fallen in love with. But to find it now, after so long, was a treasure. His hands brushed and stroked and aroused while his mouth patiently swallowed her sighs.

Her own exploring fingers found muscle and scar, skin that heated under her curious caress. She tasted it, letting her lips and tongue skim over that flesh and savor the flavor of man and sea.

So she went dreaming, floating on a sea of shifting passions, thrilling to his murmurs of pleasure as he traveled over her. She arched to meet him, shuddering with delight when his mouth closed over her breast. So hot, so firm, so exquisitely controlled. All the while his hands moved steadily over her, sending tiny, eager pulses soaring.

When her sea began to toss, he soothed her back from the edge, teased her up again to the narrow verge until her breath came in gasps and she would have begged had she had the power. Storms brewed inside her so that the air was hot and heavy and throbbed with the threat.

He watched her, fascinated by the rapid flickers of pleasure, confusion and finally desperation on her face. His own mind was reeling when he sent her up and flying.
His groan merged with hers as he felt her body tighten and shudder into wild release.

Fighting against a vicious slap of need, he closed his mouth over hers. When her breath began to settle, he nudged her gently, devastatingly over the edge again, into the tempest.

She couldn't stop the shudders. It seemed her body would break apart. So she clung to him as wave after wave of sensation battered her. She had ridden out a hurricane in the Indian Ocean, crawled through a blinding sandstorm thirty feet beneath the sea. She had felt the heat and need of a man's body meshed mindlessly with hers.

But nothing had touched her, stirred her blood or enticed her mind like this long, relentless loving. She had no secrets left to hide, no pride under which she might have buried them. Whatever she was, whatever he wanted from her, was there for him. Weak and wrecked and willing, she offered.

He slipped inside her slowly, savoring. Now he trembled as she did, resting his brow on hers as she took him deep, held him fast.

“Tate.” Emotions erupted inside him. “Just this,” he whispered. “Just you.”

His hands sought hers, fingers locking. He rocked inside her, struggling to keep the pace easy, to draw out the moment. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, the blood that pounded, the deliriously soft, wet give of her.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body bucked and jerked. A sob tore from her throat and ended on his name.

Finally, when he was so steeped in her he'd lost himself, he dived.

 

While the sun lowered in the West Indian sky, VanDyke sipped Napoleon brandy thousands of miles away. He had the latest report on the activities of the Beaumont-Lassiter expedition on his desk.

It far from satisfied him.

From all appearances, they were still exploring the remains of the
Marguerite.
None of his contacts on St. Kitts
or Nevis knew anything of importance. A busman's holiday, the report indicated, but VanDyke wasn't convinced.

His instincts were humming.

Perhaps it was time he followed them, he considered. A little trip to the West Indies might be in order. It would at least provide him with the opportunity to express his displeasure to Tate Beaumont.

And, if the Lassiters weren't going to lead him to Angelique's Curse after all these years, it was time he disposed of them.

The future is purchased by the present.

—
Samuel Johnson

T
ATE WONDERED IF
it would be awkward. In her experience, mornings after routinely were. She'd been grateful to find herself alone when she'd awakened. It gave her the opportunity to shower and think.

They'd done very little talking the night before, she remembered. Then again, it was hard to hold a reasonable conversation while your brain was being fried with hot, demanding sex.

She let out a breath as she shrugged into the thick bathrobe the hotel provided. As far as the sex went, she thought, new precedents had been set in her body. Matthew Lassiter was going to be a very tough act to follow.

As she reached for the blow-dryer, she caught a glimpse of herself in the foggy mirror. Grinning.

Well, why not? she asked herself. She'd spent an incredible night having her system rocked. And, unless she was very mistaken, doing some rocking of her own.

But the sun was up, and it was time to deal with the reality of what happened next. They had a job to do, and though the tension had been wonderfully diffused, they were still bound to clash when it came to the bottom line.

It didn't seem fair that two people who could meld so
gloriously together under one set of circumstances couldn't find solid mutual ground elsewhere.

Compromise, she supposed, sighing over the word, was the only solution.

Once her hair was nearly dry, she ran her tongue over her teeth and wished the pretty room included the amenity of a toothbrush. Worrying over it, she stepped back into the bedroom just as Matthew came through the glass doors.

“Oh, hi.”

“Hi back.” He tossed her a small bag. A glance inside had her shaking her head.

“You read my mind,” she said, taking out a toothbrush.

“Good. Now you can read mine.”

It wasn't difficult as he came to her, picked her up and dropped her back on the bed.

“Matthew, really.”

“Yeah.” Grinning, he stripped off his shirt. “Really.”

It was an hour later before she could put the toothbrush to use.

 

“I was wondering,” she began as they crossed the beach toward the pier.

“What were you wondering?”

“How we're going to handle this.”

“This?” He took her hand as they crossed the planks to the tender. “Being lovers? How much do you want to complicate it?”

“I don't want to complicate it, I just want to—”

“Establish the rules,” he finished, then turned to kiss her in front of several grinning crew of the resort's tour boat. “Never change, Red.”

Once she was in the tender, he cast off, sent a cheery wave to the crew and kicked the engine to life. He felt incredible.

“Is there something wrong with rules?” she asked.

He grinned again, turned the boat skillfully. “I'm crazy about you.”

That tugged a little too acutely at her heart. “That's
rule number one. Let's not confuse physical attraction and compatibility.”

“With?”

“Anything.”

“I've always been crazy about you.”

“I mean it, Matthew.”

“I can see you do.” And it stung. But he wasn't going to allow anything to dim his mood, or to wither the hope he'd begun to nourish while she'd slept beside him. “Okay, how's this? I want to make love with you at every possible opportunity. Is that better?”

Her insides went liquid at the possibility, but she kept her voice brisk. “It may be more honest, but it's hardly practical. There are six of us on two boats.”

“So, we'll be inventive. You up to diving this morning?”

“Of course I am.”

To entertain himself, he studied her. Windblown, tousled, barefoot. “I wonder what it would be like to get you naked under water.” He held up a hand. “Just kidding. For now.”

If he thought the idea shocked her, he was wrong. But before she fantasized about it too deeply, she wanted to set the record straight. “Matthew, there are still issues we have to resolve.”

He slowed the tender. Damned if she wasn't going to pick at it until she managed to spoil the mood. “You want to get back to the idea of calling in your associate, or whatever he was to you.”

“Hayden would be invaluable on a project like this, if he's willing to take the time.”

“My answer stands, Tate. Listen to me before you start pissing me off again. We can't risk it.”

“Risk involving one of the top scientists in the field?”

“Risk VanDyke getting wind of it.”

“You're paranoid about this,” she said impatiently. “Hayden understands the necessity for discretion.”

“Hayden worked for Trident.”

Her chin shot up. “So did I. I'm sure Hayden was as unaware of the politics as I was. And even if he has been
associated with VanDyke, he'd say nothing to anyone if I asked him.”

“You want to take the chance of losing it all again?”

She started to speak, hesitated because she was certain he was speaking about more than the hunt. “No,” she said quietly. “I don't. We'll table calling Hayden for now, but it's something I feel strongly about.”

“Once we've played her out, you can call every scientist you know. I'll even help you bring her up piece by piece if that's what you want.”

She stared, speechless. “You would?”

He cut the engine with a jerk of the hand as they came alongside the
New Adventure.
“You don't get it, do you, Red? Even now.”

Baffled, she lifted a hand toward his. “Matthew.”

“Work on it,” he snapped out, and jerked a thumb toward the ladder. “And be ready to dive in twenty minutes.”

Women, he thought as he steered the tender toward the
Mermaid.
They were supposed to be the sensitive, emotional ones. What a joke. There he'd been, all but dribbling with love like a sap and all she could talk about were rules and science.

LaRue, gold tooth gleaming, caught the line Matthew heaved to secure the tender. “So,
mon ami,
you feel refreshed this morning, eh?”

“Cram it,” Matthew suggested. He landed lightly on deck, stripping off his shirt as he went. “Save the comments. I want coffee.”

Not bothering to hide the grin, LaRue strolled toward the galley. “Me, when I spend the night with a woman we both smile in the morning.”

“Keep it up,” Matthew muttered, checking his gear. “You'll lose another tooth.” After grabbing swimming trunks, he moved to the port side.

She'd gone to bed with him, he thought, bitterly. She'd let him have her until they had both been delirious. And she still thought he was one small step up from slime. He tugged off his shorts, yanked on his trunks. What the hell kind of woman was she?

When he stalked back for his wet suit, Buck was waiting.

“Just hold on a minute, boy.” After a night of soul-searching and worry, Buck was primed. He jabbed a finger in Matthew's chest. “You've got some explaining to do.”

“What I've got is work to do. Get the airlift ready.”

“I never interfered with that—that hormone part of your life.” To keep Matthew in place, Buck jabbed again. “Figured you knew what was what. But when you start taking advantage of that sweet little girl.”

“Sweet,” Matthew interrupted. “Oh yeah, she's real sweet when she's tearing strips off you or kicking your guts out.” He grabbed his wet suit and sat to begin the process of stretching it over his legs. “What goes on between me and Tate isn't any of your business.”

“Hell it isn't. We're all part of a team, and her daddy's the best friend I ever had.” Buck rubbed a hand over his mouth and wished actively for a drink so that he could slide painlessly through the rest of the lecture. “I ain't saying a man don't have needs, and maybe it ain't easy for you being out here all these weeks without any way to meet them.”

Eyes narrowed against the sun, Matthew stood to work the suit to his hips. “I got a hand if that's all I need.”

Buck scowled. He didn't like talking about such matters. But he had a duty. “Then why the hell didn't you use it instead of using Tate? I told you this eight years ago, and I'll tell you again. She ain't no throwaway, boy, and I'm not going to stand around—”

“I didn't use her, goddamn it.” He jammed an arm through the sleeve. “I'm in love with her.”

“Don't you—” Buck stopped, blinked and decided he'd be better off sitting down. He waited, getting his bearings, while Matthew grabbed the coffee LaRue brought out. “You mean that?”

“Just get off my back.”

Buck looked toward LaRue, who was busying himself studying the compressor. “Look, Matthew, I don't know much about that kind of thing, but . . . Well, Jesus, when did that happen?”

“About eight years ago.” Most of his anger drained, but the tension remained fierce in his shoulders. “Don't hassle me about this, Buck. Did you get the weather report?”

“Yeah, yeah. We got no problem.” Knowing he was out of his depth, Buck rose awkwardly to help Matthew with his tanks. “Ray and the Canadian brought up some porcelain after you went ashore. Marla was going to clean it up.”

“Fine. Signal the
Adventure,
LaRue. I want to get started.”

“Better to finish,” LaRue commented, but walked to starboard to send up the hail.

 

“Of course I'm all right.” Tate strapped on her diving knife and tried to reassure her mother. “I'm sorry if you were worried.”

“I wasn't worried, exactly. More concerned. I know Matthew would never hurt you.”

“Wouldn't he?” Tate mumbled.

“Oh, honey.” Marla gathered her close for a quick, hard hug. “You're a grown woman. I know that. And I know that you're sensible and careful and responsible. All the things you should be. But are you happy?”

“I don't know.” Wishing she did, Tate hitched on her tanks, tugged the strap snug. “I haven't figured that out.” She glanced up at LaRue's hail. “Matthew isn't an easy man to understand.” Sighing, she hooked on her weight belt. “But I can handle it. And I can handle him.” She pulled on her flippers and frowned. “Dad's not going to do anything crazy about this, is he?”

With a light laugh, Marla offered Tate her face mask. “
I
can handle
him.
” She lifted her gaze, looked across the water to where Matthew stood on deck. “Matthew Lassiter is an attractive and intriguing man, Tate. There are pockets in him the right woman could plumb.”

“I'm not interested in plumbing Lassiter's pockets.” Tate adjusted her mask, then grinned. “But I wouldn't mind getting my hands on him again.”

 

He didn't give her much of an opportunity. The instant
they were down at the wreck, he had the airlift sweeping. He worked fast and hard. At times the sand, shells and debris machine-gunned over her back and shoulders. She had to scramble to keep up with his progress, shifting through the fallout, filling buckets, tugging on the line that would signal Buck to haul them up. He gave her little time to delight in the finds.

A chunk of conglomerate struck her shoulder hard enough to bruise. Rather than wincing over the sting, she soothed herself by cursing him as she reached for the calcified form. The blackened silver coins fused together in an insane sculpture changed her mood. Swimming through the murk, she rapped sharply on Matthew's tank.

He turned, easing back when she stuck the conglomerate in his face in triumph. He barely glanced at it. With a watery shrug, he went back to work.

What the devil was the matter with him? she wondered, and dropped the monied find in a bucket. He should have grinned, tugged her hair, touched her face. Something. Instead, he was working like a maniac without any of the pleasure that always flowed through their partnership.

She thought he was only interested in money; meanwhile, Matthew fumed and played the airlift over the sand. Did she really believe a hunk of silver would make him rear up and dance? She could keep every fucking coin as far as he was concerned. Turn every last one of them over to her precious dream museum or her precious Hayden Deel.

He'd wanted her, damn it. But he hadn't known sex without her love, and goddamn it, her respect, would be hollow. Would leave him hollow.

Well, now he knew. That left him with only one goal. Angelique's Curse. He'd search every inch of sand, every crevice, every foot of coral. And when he had it, he'd take his revenge on his father's killer.

Revenge, Matthew decided, was a more satisfying goal than the love of a woman. God knew, it couldn't hurt as much to fail.

He worked until his arms sang with fatigue, and his mind went numb with the monotony of it. Then the pipe
whisked away sand, and he saw that first stunning flash of gold.

He drew the pipe back, glanced toward Tate. He could see she was scrambling through the cloudy water, her eyes sharp behind her mask, even though Matthew could sense the dragging fatigue in her movements.

He'd worked her too hard, and he knew it. Yet not once had she asked him to stop, or slow down. Has pride always been our problem? he wondered, then looked back at the shining coins, tossed like a god's careless pocket change on the seafloor.

Smiling, he turned the pipe so that it would suck the coins. They flew back, clinking against Tate's tanks, bulleting against her back. He saw the moment the first glint caught her eye, watched her hand dart. She scooped up doubloons like a child scoops up candy from a shattered piñata.

And she turned to him. It soothed his edgy heart that she would seek his face with her hands full of old gold.

He grinned as she swam toward him, tugged the neck of his suit open just enough to slip coins down his suit. Her eyes brimmed with laughter as he turned the pipe aside. Curious fish watched them wrestle, spin, then clumsily embrace.