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  “Academic,” she said with a wave of her hand. “For him, finding was just a matter of time, work, and luck, and he has the luck of the Irish.” A shadow darkened her eyes, a reminder that luck sometimes ran out. “After he found gold, he worked hard, in case the sea changed her mind about letting him have access to the treasure.”

  With a few smooth motions, Holden pulled his shirt on. He needed something to hide the erection that kept growing despite his attempts to reason with it.

  Kate both regretted and approved his action. Seeing just how much the man she wanted also wanted her was eroding what little control she had over her wandering eyes. The feeling was unsettling, rather like her first deep dives—excitement, nerves, fascination, exhilaration, every bit of her alive.

  Just how alive was something she shouldn’t be thinking about right now. Her nipples were tight and tingly, hungry for touch.

  Rather desperately, she looked for a distraction and spotted his computer. Though the screen was dark now, she remembered what she had seen when she first looked into the room.

  “Why do you have Cartomancy on your computer?” she asked.

  Holden let out a careful breath, trying to lower the sexual tension in his body—and in the bedroom.

  “Not many people would recognize the program,” he said. His voice was too deep, too husky, almost a growl, but he ignored it as he was trying to ignore the swelling tightness of his body.

  “Not many people had my childhood,” she pointed out, her eyes fixed on the screen because it was the safest thing in the room to look at. “Cartomancy was the standard for reading and interpreting ESRI maps back when Grandpa first had computers on the boat because Dad badgered him into it.” Her eyes softened with amused memory. “Then Dad had custom software modules written up to directly map live radar and sonar results into the software in real time, so that any readings taken on the Golden Bough could be marked up and added to permanent records seamlessly. Of course, Grandpa thought it was foolish, expensive bunk.”

  Holden grabbed the conversation like the lifeline it was, pulling himself out of the dangerous sexual currents rushing between Kate and himself. “Cartomancy was a few versions ago. Some wags dubbed the new version Cartocracy. The older version is still the standard for marking underwater data sets.”

  “So you have no problem reading and understanding Golden Bough’s digital logs.”

  “If they were filed logically, no, I’d have no problem. Apparently there was a change in dive center operators a week or so ago. Volkert hasn’t begun to clean up the mess left by his predecessor. Or predecessors. The file on wages only lists positions, not individual names.”

  “At the rates Larry is paying,” she said, “you have to expect a high turnover.”

  “Inefficient.”

  “But cheap. You get what you pay for. If the mess Volkert is facing is anything like the snarl I’m working on, my sympathies to one and all. Divers are terrible businessmen.”

  “That’s why the smart ones hire someone to take care of all the fiddly details,” Holden said.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said, shaking her head. “Hiring implies payment for work. I’m here on vacation.”

  He watched her with changeable eyes, reminding her that dragons were reputed to be as intelligent as they were lethal.

  Lord, what extraordinary eyes. Hypnotic.

  Sexy.

  Too bad that I’m not really here on vacation. He would be one wild fling, a lifetime of hot memories to curl up with on cold nights.

  “Vacation?” His voice was deep—and deeply skeptical. “Why would a woman who doesn’t care for the ocean come to an island for a holiday?”

  “Family.”

  “A family you’ve rarely seen in the flesh since you turned eighteen.”

  “You sound quite certain. Checking up on me?”

  He watched her out of his disconcerting eyes. “I find it strange that you come onto this project some six months after bidding and three months after the boat has set anchor at the site. What makes the whole situation really curious is that you haven’t had a thing to do with Moon Rose Limited in an official capacity since shortly after your father died and your mother was presumed lost at sea.”

  Kate froze.

  “You were seventeen and alone on board this ship the night the accident occurred,” he said. “You pulled your father out, searched the storm for your mother, and found only salt water and loss.”

  Silently, fiercely, Kate fought her memories in silence, shoving them down and down until her throat loosened enough to speak rather than scream.

  “I see I’m not the only one who uses Google as a research assistant,” she said tightly.

  He looked at her transparently pale skin, each freckle a tiny bit of gold, her eyes huge and haunted. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, warm her until her skin was flushed with heat and life. Then he would share it with her, the heat and the life.

  Would that be before or after you destroyed her family business, boyo?

  The sardonic question echoed in his head, reminding him that he was here on Crown business, not monkey business.

  “What baffles me,” he said, “is why. Why did you come back now? There is no way you can add, subtract, multiply, or divide numbers that will keep the family business afloat.”

  He waited for her to say something.

  She simply watched him with shadowed turquoise eyes.

  “You’re a highly intelligent woman,” he said finally. “I suspect you knew the family business was sinking within hours of getting what your brother laughably calls business files, and you certainly knew it after you read the contract Larry signed. AO gave him a right rodgering on that one.”

  “Is that Brit for screwed over?”

  “Close enough.” Then he waited for his answer.

  And waited.

  Patience, she thought. Dragons are noted for that, too.

  “You’re a highly intelligent man,” she said finally. “Yet you dismantled mines. Why?”

  “I could plead orders from above.”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  “Right.” He sighed. “Bloody idiot that I was, I thought I could do some good.”

  “You’ll be happy to know you aren’t the only bloody idiot in this room.”

  He shook his head and said gently, “Poppet, there’s nothing you can do for Moon Rose Limited. Your brother signed the contract in front of witnesses. No coercion was involved.”

  “‘Poppet.’ Is that Brit for fool?”

  “Dear. Love. Darling. Honey.”

  She blinked.

  “Poppet is an endearment,” he said. “I apologize if I have offended you.”

  “Oh.” She felt a flush climb her cheeks. “Er, no, I’m not offended. You didn’t use the word in a demeaning way. In fact, I like it.” She closed her eyes as she felt her flush heighten. “And as soon as I get my foot out of my mouth, I’ll go walk back to my numbers. They’re more my speed than dragons.”

  “Dragons?” His steeply arched eyebrows climbed upward. “How did they get into this discussion?”

  “It’s hard not to notice when there’s one in the room,” she shot back, eyes still closed.

  Okay. Now I will get my tongue under control, she told herself rather desperately. And my foot out of my mouth.

  She opened her eyes just in time to see Holden smile like a dragon. She put her hands on her hot cheeks.

  “Being a redhead sucks,” she muttered.

  He would like to suck on a particular redhead, but managed not to say it. She would dislike him enough when he told AO what a cock-up this dive was. If he seduced her along the way, she would hate him.

  “Don’t put yourself through the wringer,” he said neutrally. “There is nothing you can do to save your brother’s business.”

  “I can find proof that he isn’t stealing.”

  “No one has said he is.”

  “No one has to,” she shot back. “Steal
ing is the second-easiest explanation for why so little has been salvaged, and the only explanation that will get the overlords off the hook for funding a dry well. ‘Dry well’ is American for—”

  “Paying good money for bad results,” he said coolly, reminding her of his mother’s origin. “Even if everything you have said is true, there is nothing you can do but hold your brother’s hand while he goes broke.”

  “Going broke is one thing. Grandpa and Larry have built up from nothing more than once. Having your reputation destroyed is catastrophic. You can’t rebuild from that. No one will loan you money to try.”

  Holden wanted to argue, but couldn’t. She was all too correct.

  “If there are thieves aboard Golden Bough,” she continued, “then there is also proof that Donnellys aren’t involved. It’s up to me to find it.”

  “Why you?”

  “I’ve always been the sensible one in the family. I don’t go crazy at the thought of treasure. The history of a wreck is exciting. The artifacts are a fascinating time capsule. But the money value,” she said with a shrug, “is just numbers.”

  Holden forced himself to look away from her nipples pushing against soft cotton.

  “Sleuthing, even sensible sleuthing,” he said, “would involve your being aboard the ship in the first place. We both know that you’re frightened of the sea in general and the Golden Bough in particular.”

  For a long moment, the memory of her terror at confronting the stairway rippled between them, as did the simple warmth of his comforting hug.

  “Love, don’t look at me like that,” he said in a deep voice. “I’m only a man, and you’re a woman fighting for your family. If I took what I see in your eyes, it would end in guilt and tears. You don’t deserve that—and neither do I.”

  Kate wanted to argue that it was her choice, he should let her make it.

  But it was his choice too, and he had made it.

  “I’ll let you get back to important work,” she said.

  Holden watched the door close behind the woman he wanted until he felt like his skin would split with need.

  Honor and decency were cold bedmates.

  CHAPTER 8

  BY THE FOURTH day in St. Vincent, Kate had settled into a kind of rhythm. She and Holden made coffee and scrounged breakfast from the previous night’s leftovers plus whatever she had managed to sneak when the cook aboard Golden Bough had his back turned. Then she drove Holden and his ever-present duffel to the dive ship. He divided his time between divers and dive center, plus reviewing random snippets of the video log. She prowled the ship under cover of making an inventory and went to the dive center at the least sign of excitement she heard.

  So far she hadn’t found any stash of illicit treasure aboard. She hadn’t overheard any incriminating—or even interesting—conversations, and the dive center excitement was over potsherds, pewter, and the like.

  If a woman’s weight in gems and jewelry had been aboard the wreck, no one had found it.

  Other than discovering that Volkert and Farnsworth each had a woman ashore to fill their downtime—when they weren’t in the local dive bars—Kate had little to show for her aboard-ship hours. Her nights were spent talking with Holden over dinner, trying not to touch him, and then staring at spreadsheets until her eyes blurred and she fell into bed.

  And each second, each minute, each hour, she had become more at ease with the sea. Not at peace, just not constantly terrified.

  The relief that came with her realization was like breathing a straight shot of oxygen.

  “Now that’s a lovely smile to wake up to,” Holden said as he walked into the kitchenette.

  “No nightmares last night,” she said without thinking, watching the coffee gather in the stained glass pot. Three seconds and she could drink some.

  “Excellent,” he said. He stood close to her while he poured two cups of the coffee she had made. She smelled like sleepy woman. Kissable woman. “It’s impossible for a sane person to sustain a high level of fear when nothing occurs to reinforce it.”

  She took the cup of coffee he handed her, touching his fingers in the process. She told herself it was an accident. It would have been, too, if they hadn’t both lingered to increase the almost caress.

  “Sounds like you learned that the hard way,” she said.

  “Is there another method? After the mishap,” he said, absently kneading his thigh, “my mind and my emotions fought a pitched battle on the subject of diving. Many battles, actually.”

  “What made you dive again? Orders from on high?”

  “Six months behind a desk. Thought I would go mental. Plus, I’m a man. I wanted to look in my shaving mirror and not see a coward.”

  Kate flinched. “Glad I don’t have to shave.”

  “You’re not a coward.”

  “I don’t dive.”

  “Childhood trauma is the hardest kind to overcome.”

  She let out a slow breath. “It sure has been for me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have run, but I did.”

  He tipped up her chin so that he could see her eyes. “What matters is that you came back.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but acceptance and a beauty that still surprised her several times a day.

  “How did you force yourself into the water again?” she asked, wanting to stroke against the fingers touching her chin.

  “It was better than the alternative.” He dropped his hand and began rummaging in the kitchenette.

  For long minutes there was no other sound but the fitful wind, the cry of birds fighting over food, and the soft, relentless sigh of sea against sand.

  “I can’t think of anything worse than diving,” Kate finally said.

  “You will.”

  She shivered despite the sultry air. “You’re not comforting.”

  “You’re not the first to notice.”

  An alarm cheeped from the back of the cottage.

  “What’s that?” she asked, seeing Holden come to alert.

  “My computer,” he said. “It’s tracking the storm that can’t seem to decide whether to grow up or die.”

  “Welcome to St. Vincent toward the end of the doldrums.” Sipping her coffee, she followed him down the tiny hall.

  He opened his computer, tapped a few keys, and frowned. “Looks like she decided to grow up.”

  “Who decreed that storms were female?”

  “Sailors.”

  “ABCD?” she asked blandly.

  He gave her an amused look. “I doubt that the ancient Chinese used our alphabet.”

  “Chinese?”

  “Probably the first sailors. Or the Egyptians.” He tapped more keys and lifted his eyebrows.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Despite the turn in the weather, you’ll be relieved to know that the overlords have released enough funds for another week.”

  “Overlords, huh?”

  He didn’t even pause. “When in Rome, use the local dialect.”

  She laughed. “Come on. We can eat our fruit and biscuits on the way to the ship.”

  Holden smiled as she hurried out of the room. Of all that had happened in the past few days, watching her emerge from terror had been by far the best. Next to that, a gold money chain was simply a historical trinket.

  He didn’t have the right to hug her in celebration of her progress, but he was going to claim that right soon. It was the least he could do to appease the hunger prowling through his blood.

  The very least.

  He settled back and tried to find signs of the weather tempest that was brewing over the horizon. All he saw was the luminous water and the increasing light of day.

  By the time Kate and Holden reached the ship, the divers were suiting up. While Larry tied off the tender, waved, and disappeared, Holden climbed aboard with the duffel that went to and from the Golden Bough with him each day.

  Kate came on board the ship quickly, easily, childhood reflexes taking over more completely with every m
oment she was on the sea. There was no terror clutching at her stomach right now, making her clench against fear.

  She hoped it stayed that way.

  The ship rolled a bit at anchor, caught between the strengthening breeze from one direction and the usual swell from another. The sky was still silvery with the last of the morning clouds. Beneath the sullen weight of the sun, the breeze was a soft whisper of life. Ripples slapped at the hull and fell away gently.

  Holden was feeling a lot less gentle. After days and nights of being gnawed on by his superiors, plus the persistent ache in his thigh from the undecided weather and the near-constant beat of need for Kate, he was ready to take off heads. The fact that an unknown diver had been added to the rotation—again—didn’t help. New people had to be taught the routine, which meant more time wasted.

  Right on schedule some early bird from Antiquities called Holden on his phone. When he saw it was Chatham, he knew it wouldn’t be good. He answered and listened to what had become the standard rant—too much money spent and not enough valuable salvage to show for it.

  “Respectfully, sir,” Holden said when Chatham ran down, “the miserable wages necessitated by the . . .”—unconscionable and ultimately self-defeating—“contract the government offered require that Moon Rose Limited scrape divers from bar floors and drag them to the Golden Bough, where they have to be slapped sober and instructed as to their duties. Rather like England’s merry old days of rum, sodomy, and the lash.”

  “I am not amused,” Chatham shot back.

  “Neither are the divers, I assure you. The point remains that miserable wages equal miserable hires.”

  “So you are telling me that Larry Donnelly is running an inefficient operation and should be cashiered.”

  Holden took a better grip on the phone and his temper while he moved to a part of the deck that was empty of people.

  “I’m telling you that if you pay for sour beer, you shouldn’t be surprised when you are served just that,” he said.

  Chatham had quite a bit to say on the subject of sour beer.

  Holden pretended to listen while keeping an eye on his surroundings.

  “ . . . all we have to show for it is pails of junk that won’t pay for the cost of shipping them to England!” Chatham yelled.