'It's pronounced sin-cere!' Vicki St. Cyr leaned on
the hotel counter. She was used to having her name mangled.
"Don't believe a word of it." The deep, rich voice in her
ear made her start and spin around. Those familiar flashing
dark eyes were settled firmly on the hotel clerk. "She's not
to be trusted at all."
The young female behind the desk looked up, and her face
took on that foolish sparkle of a girl suddenly confronted
with the attentions of a handsome predatory male. "Can I
help you, sir?"
"I'll let you know." Jack looked back at Vicki, and she felt
her blood heat.
"Hi, Jack." Vicki realized, too late, that she'd crossed her
arms defensively over her chest. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Vicki, what a surprise." His voice contained no more
astonishment than hers. His gaze seemed to peer right
through her carefully groomed exterior and flay bare a small
part of her soul. If she still had a soul. "I hear you're
looking for me."
She swallowed. How had he heard? She'd hoped at least for
the advantage of surprise. But then Jack had always been two
strides ahead of her. Why would now be any different? "I
have a proposal for you."
He leaned against the counter like a lazy puma. "How romantic."
"Not that kind of proposal." Her voice had a prim,
schoolmistressy snap that she instantly regretted.
"A
business proposition."
"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private." His dark eyes
added an undercurrent of suggestion to his words. He turned
his head to the clerk. "She won't be needing her room."
A surge of desire, tangled up with fear and anticipation and
evenalreadyregret for what she was about to do,
rose through her body like a flash flood. She lifted her bag
higher on her shoulder. She was strong now. She could handle
him. She'd have to.
"Why won't I need my room?" The question was purely for show
because they both knew the answer.
"You'll be staying with me. Just like old times." His broad,
sensual mouth widened, like the habitual slight grin of a
crocodile. He grabbed her bag off the floor and strode for
the door. Vicki's faithless eyes tracked his tight behind,
clad in faded denim, and the way his worn T-shirt hugged the
thick muscle of his back.
"Should I cancel the room?" The desk clerk didn't take her
eyes off him, even after he disappeared through the
revolving door. "There will be a cancellation charge of
fifty dollars because it's already"
"Yes." Vicki put her credit card on the counter. What was
another fifty on top of what she already owed? It would save
a fortune over staying in this expensive boutique hotel. Two
years of trying to "keep up appearances" had left her close
to beggary. Lord knows she wouldn't be here otherwise.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, like
daring to set foot in Jack Drummond's lair.
Jack was behind the wheel of his vintage Mustang when she
got outside. The fierce South Florida sun beat down on the
tarmac and threw dazzling diamond reflections off the custom
jade-green paint job. The engine was already running and the
passenger door open for her to get in. Did he know she
didn't have a car? In the old days she'd have rented one and
insisted on driving it just to keep the escape hatch open.
Right now she didn't have that luxury. She climbed in and
settled herself against the soft leather seat. "How did you
know I'd be here?"
"My spies are everywhere." He didn't look at her as he
pulled out of the parking lot and left the exclusive Ramona
Beach Inn behind.
"You don't have any spies." She seized the opportunity to
study his face. Skin tanned to a rich copper as usual, dark
hair flecked with gold. "You've always been a one-man band."
"You've been hanging around the New York Drum-monds." He
still didn't turn toward her, but she saw the muscles
tighten in his hand on the wheel. "Figured I was next."
Vicki drew in a breath. "I spent a relaxing few weeks with
Sinclair and his mom. It was fun to catch up with old friends."
A smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. "You always have
an ulterior motive. The fun is in figuring it out."
She stiffened. "My motives are very simple. I'm helping
Katherine Drummond locate the pieces of a
three-hundred-year-old family chalice."
"And you're doing this because of your passion for history?"
This time he did turn to her. His smile deepened, beneath
his bold cheekbones. "I heard you became an antiques dealer."
"The chalice has an interesting story."
"Oh, yes." His voice deepened into a throaty narrator's
drone. "Three brothers, tossed by the stormy seas on their
passage from bonnie Scotland, bid goodbye to each other in
the New World but pledged one day to reunite their family
treasure. Only then could the mighty Drummond clan regain
the luck of their esteemed ancestors." He tossed a mighty
laugh out onto the wind. "Come on, Vicki. That's not your
style."
"There's a reward." Might as well come clean. Jack was more
likely to be tempted by money than sentiment.
"Ten thousand dollars." He turned off the main road onto an
unmarked and unpaved side road, fringed by spiky palms and
tall scrub pines. "I've got junk worth more than that in the
trunk of my car."
"It's twenty thousand per piece. I convinced Katherine to
raise it. To attract the right sort of treasure hunters."
"Like me."
"Like me." She was gratified when he turned to look at her.
His dark gaze met hers and a jolt of emotion leaped through
her. Old feelings, long buried, started clawing their way to
the surface. She felt a shimmer of panic. "Not that I really
need the money, of course. But if I'm going to look for an
old cup, there might as well be a profit in it."
"And you need my treasure hunting expertise to claim the
reward."
"You're the most successful treasure hunter on the Atlantic
coast. I read an article about your new boat and all its
expensive equipment. You're famous."
"Some would say notorious."
"And most likely the cup fragment is somewhere in your
house." She'd found the first piece in the attic of his
cousin Sinclair's Long Island mansion.
"If it's anywhere at all." His hand slid on the wheel as he
turned down another unmarked road. The pines and saw
palmettos ended as abruptly as the road, which descended
suddenly to a beach. Jack swung the car to the left and
parked near a broad wooden dock. A good-size boat, white
with gleaming chrome rails, bobbed at the far end.
"Your dock looks different than I remember."
"It's been a long time." He was already out of the car and
carrying her bag down the dock with feline grace.
"Not that long. There was a building here and a gate." And a
bench where they'd once made love under a bright full moon.
"Gone in the last hurricane. Road keeps getting shorter, too."
"Must be frustrating to lose expensive real estate to the sea."
"Not if you enjoy change." He swung her bag into the boat
and turned to watch as she walked along the wood jetty. She
hoped her own walk had a fraction of the swagger she admired
in his.
He helped her onto his boat, where he'd already slung her
bag. She walked around the deck to where a big, padded
fighting chair held a commanding position. She perched
herself on the seat and grabbed hold of the armrests. Jack
had never been a slow driver. The boat lurched to a start
and the propeller wash foamed beneath her feet as the
engines roared into action. She braced her feet against the
footrest as they leaped and bounced over the choppy water.
Within a minute or so, Jack's island appeared over the
horizon. Fringed with palms, no building visible, it looked
like the kind of place you could get marooned and die. And
she was going to be trapped here with Jack Drummond, unless
she geared herself up for a long and bracing swim.
The dock on the island looked the same as the last time she
saw it, years ago. Built of coral rock and carved in the
elaborate style of some ancient and wealthy Drummond
ancestors, it was flanked with two stone turrets that
probably once concealed armed men. Maybe they still did, if
tales of Jack's wealth were to be believed.
"Lost your sea legs?" Jack grabbed her arm when she wobbled
while trying to climb out of the boat.
"I haven't spent much time on the water lately."
"Shame." His gaze hovered on her face and, to her horror,
she felt her skin heat. How did he have this effect on her?
She was the one who ate men for breakfast. He was just some
scurvy sea dog from her past.
Does he still think I'm beautiful? The sudden
thought stabbed hera pang of insecurity.
Who cares? You're not here to make him fall in love with
you. You need his help to find the cup and then you can wash
your hands of him forever.
The old house on the island was obviously built more as a
fort than a cozy residence. Limestone walls rose from behind
the wild hedge of round-leaved sea grape that separated the
pale strip of beach from the interior of the island. Only
two tiny windows pierced the stone block exterior, although
the iron-studded doors were thrown open to let in the
morning sun.
"Is there anyone else visiting you?" The open door shoved
unwelcome thoughts into her brain. Another woman? She hadn't
dared to assume he was single. He never was for long. Women
swarmed Jack Drummond like sharks to a flesh wound.
"We'll be alone." He strode ahead of her, sunlight picking
out golden highlights in his dark hair. Shadow cloaked him
as he entered the tall arched doorway into his private sanctum.
Good. She didn't need competition at this stage. It would be
embarrassing flirting in front of someone else. Trying to
compete. She might have enjoyed that in the old days, but
she didn't have the brash confidence of raw youth anymore.
The intricate colored-marble floor of the entrance hall
stood in lush contrast to the fortress exterior. Jack's
ancestors may have been pirates, but they also loved
beautiful thingsexpensive thingswhich might
explain why they became pirates in the first place.
Jack looked as arrogant as ever. Even from behind he
radiated self-assurance, his broad shoulders set easy
against his powerful neck, his hairtoo long, as
usualcurling almost to the collar of his T-shirt. Jack
didn't bother to conform to norms of fashion or try to fit
in. He didn't need to. Born into a semicriminal dynasty of
treasure hunters, he'd excelled in the family trade and made
more moneylegallyin the past five years than all
his ancestors put together.
He filled a glass of water at the monstrous steel fridge and
turned to her, offering it. "Too early in the day for
champagne, but I'm celebrating your arrival all the same."
The twinkle in his eye disarmed her as she took the water.
Was he really happy to see her? "The pleasure is mutual."
She raised her glass of water. Let the flirting begin. "I've
missed you, Jack."
"This is getting better every minute. I still can't figure
out what you're after."
She smarted under his unromantic retort. He leaned against
the broad pine table in the kitchen and crossed his powerful
arms. Tiny golden hairs stood out against thick, bronzed
muscle. She cursed herself for noticing.
"Isn't it enough to visit one old friend while helping out
another?"
"Nope. And half of a twenty-thousand-dollar reward isn't
enough to tempt the Vicki St. Cyr I know. Unless your
financial situation has changed." His eyes narrowed
slightly, and she felt their dark perceptive power.
She swallowed and stiffened but tried not to show her
anxiety. The press hadn't yet sniffed out her father's
sudden descent into financial ruin. The confusion created by
his death from a stroke had provided a smokescreen. Her mom
had slipped off to Corsica with a wealthy friend of her dad,
and the only person left holding the empty bag was her.
"I can always find something pretty to spend ten thousand
dollars on." She played with her silver bracelet, which was
probably worth about twelve dollars. "It's a curse to be
raised with expensive tastes."
"Unless you're born gagging on a silver spoon. You've never
needed to make money."
"I find it emotionally satisfying." If Jack knew she truly
needed the money he'd be less likely to help her. He'd be
unable to fight the urge to play with her, like a cat with a
trapped mouse. "It makes me feel normal."
Jack threw his head back, and a great guffaw filled the
kitchen, bounced off the stone surfaces of the walls and
floor and echoed off the high ceiling. "Normal? You're
probably the least normal person I know, and that's why I
enjoy you so much."
"It's been a long time, Jack. Perhaps I'm more conventional
than I used to be."
"I doubt it." A tiny smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
"Why do you bother to make money?" Going on the
offensive might be her best line of defense. "You could have
lived comfortably on the ill-gotten gains of your ancestors,
but instead you're out there every day trawling the oceans
for gold doubloons as if your life depended on it."
"I get bored easily."
Vicki's stomach clenched. He'd grown bored with her. Eight
magical months, then one day he was gone, off to pursue more
elusive treasure and find a new damsel for his bed. "So you
do. And what do you do with all the money you make?"
"Some of it I spend on new toys, the rest I just keep lying
around the house in sacks." Mischief twinkled again in his
eyes, which stayed firmly fixed on her.
She fought a sudden urge to scan the place for burlap bags
filled with Spanish silver. "I have expensive taste in
boats, especially my newest."
"I'd like to see it."
"Her." Mischief sparkled in his eyes again. Vicki tensed as
visions of a hard-bodied blonde crept into her mind. "Oh,
your boat is female."
"They all are."
"Why is that?"
He shrugged. "Maybe because they drive us men crazy." His
gaze lingered on her face, and she felt her skin heat. "But
we love them anyway."
The word love made her jump slightly. Not a real
jump, a jolt deep inside her. Either way, it made her feel
even more off kilter than she did already. How did Jack
Drummond manage to fluster her like no other man?
"So, this cup. It's part of your family history and probably
stowed in a dusty corner of this old pile." She gestured at
the stone walls around them. "Any idea where it is?"
Jack tilted his head slightly as if thinking. "No idea at all."