Читать книгу The Deeper the Passion... - Jennifer Lewis - Страница 9

Jack grilled his delicious swordfish and served it with skewered grilled vegetables out on the terrace, where the evening breeze kept bugs at bay. They could see the lights of fishing boats and the occasional cruise ship in the distance, but all was stillness and silence on the island.

“It’s so peaceful here.” Vicki looked out over the dunes. “Doesn’t it drive you nuts?”

“Maybe that’s why I’ve always been nuts.” Jack reclined in his chair. Lit tapers in the gnarled old candelabra on the table cast flickering shadows over his hard features. “I need it, though. Helps me recharge my batteries.”

“Hmm. I can just hook myself up to my car engine by the jumper cables.” She sipped her wine, then, realizing she’d had almost three glasses, pushed her wineglass out of reach. She was in danger of becoming tipsy. She’d better work on keeping her hatches more tightly battened.

“You still like living in the city?” Jack lifted his arms and placed them behind his head, giving her a breath-stealing view of his powerful biceps.

She swallowed and squinted slightly to obscure the view. “Yes. I think I love being another anonymous face in the crowd. I can’t imagine living in a small town where everyone knows who I am.”

“Sounds like you’re running from something. Or someone.”

“Maybe I prefer being out of reach.” She smiled and made a conscious effort not to pick up her glass again. If only they could go to bed so she could stop trying to put on a bravely charming front. Then again, that might be leaping from the frying pan into the fire.

“Did you ever think about me, you know, over the years?” His voice was low, gruff.

“Certainly not. You dumped me, remember?” Her adrenaline level jumped. This had to come out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

“I always felt bad about the way I took off. Blame it on youthful immaturity.”

She sneaked a glance at him. It was hard to read his expression in the flickering candlelight, but she imagined she saw a hint of sheepishness in his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself that I’ve spent the last few years pining over you. I’ve had far more traumatic relationships since.” She inhaled the sea air.

“Have you? Did someone break your heart?”

“No way. Nothing in there but cogs and wheels. That’s why I can jump-start my battery so easily.” A sudden chill in the night air made goose bumps spring up on her arms, and she rubbed them. “Things may be a little rusty, but nothing’s broken.”

He chuckled. “I’ve got some oil for your rusty gears.”

“I bet you do.” She looked at him down the length of her nose. She had to work hard not to smile. It was almost impossible to be mad at Jack Drummond when she was in his presence. That came later, when she realized how he’d played her like a violin. “But you can leave it on your garage shelf. I like to think of my rust as a protective barrier.”

“I’m feeling jealous.” His annoyingly thick biceps flexed as he stretched. “I’m beginning to think I made a big mistake back then.”

“One of many, I’d imagine.” Again, she had to fight the reflex to reach for her wine. Shame she didn’t smoke. It was hard not to fidget, but she worked hard to look cool and calm.

“You know it.” That familiar lazy grin eased across his mouth. “But they’ve been fun, each and every one.”

“Just think of all the fun we’d have missed out on if we’d fallen madly in love with each other and done something stupid like getting married.” She hugged herself. It was getting colder. “That would have been quite the act of rebellion at the time.”

He laughed. “Yes, your parents might have died of shock at the prospect of their princess marrying a beach bum.”

“Until they realized how filthy rich you are. Then they’d have staged a brisk recovery and welcomed you with open arms. It would have all been very boring.”

“I spared us that by running off like a coward at the first sign of emotion.”

She froze. He’d just admitted it. That he remembered.

I love you.

She’d said it loud and clear, for the one and only time in her life. She’d rather slit her own throat than ever utter those three words again. “Emotion? I’m not sure I was ever capable of one of those.”

“Me, either. Inconvenient and messy things. Best left to those who don’t have enough going on in their lives. Speaking of which, we should get to bed.” His eyes flashed, creating a frightening jolt of response somewhere low in her belly. “Because we need to get up early in the morning, of course.” His steady, dark gaze suggested more than sleep.

Suddenly her plan to enjoy the pleasures of his body seemed like the dumbest idea she’d ever come up with. Maybe because she was tired and all this talk of old hurts made her feel vulnerable. “Do you sleep in that same room, under the map?”

“Of course. It’s always been the captain’s bedroom.” He grabbed the bottle and glasses from the table. She hesitated for a second before taking their plates and cutlery. She’d become used to being waited on hand and foot in Sinclair Drummond’s house—by the woman he’d recently become engaged to.

“That map must be emblazoned on your brain by now.”

“Hasn’t helped me find the treasure, though.”

“Maybe you’re reading it wrong?” They walked back into the air-conditioned calm of the house. “Perhaps what it needs is a different perspective.” She didn’t want to speculate on how many women’s eyes had stared up at that map over the centuries.

“I’ll welcome your angle on it. I think we’ve read it every possible way it can be read.”

“But you’ve never found the ship.”

“The ship could be broken up and washed away by now.”

And the cup gone forever. “It’s out there. I feel it in my bones.” She shot him a glance as they walked side by side down the hallway to the bedroom.

“I would definitely bet money on your intuition.”

“You should. I hooked your cousin Sinclair up with his new bride. The moment I saw the way they looked at each other, I knew they were meant to be together.”

“Were they dating?”

“Nope, she was serving him his morning coffee and ironing his linen napkins, but I made sure Cinderella went to the ball with her handsome prince and it’s been all uphill from there.” Well, mostly. No need to mention the part about his horrid ex-wife suddenly discovering she was pregnant. “He certainly believes in my hunches now.”

“Then I’ll bet on them, too, and put my equipment and expertise at your disposal.”

He opened the door to the bedroom, dimly lit by wall sconces that cast a romantic glow over the old plasterwork. The bed looked much smaller than she remembered, its massive wood structure framing what was probably only a full-size mattress. “It’s going to be a tight fit for both of us.”

“All the better.” His feral grin flashed for a brief second. Then a more gentlemanly expression returned. “I’ll leave you to get changed while I lock up for the night.”

“Lock up? We’re on an island. Who are you trying to keep out?”

“Maybe you should ask who I’m trying to keep in.”

He vanished before she could come up with a witty reply. Or any reply. Her suitcase stood silently in one corner, and she hurried to get changed into her pj’s before he could come back and watch her undress.

She donned a bra and panties as extra armor underneath her white cotton camisole and lounge pants. Not that she expected him to do anything mischievous while she was asleep. That wasn’t his style. There was absolutely nothing sneaky about Jack Drummond. If he planned to lay siege, he’d do it while she was wide-awake.

It was her own defenses she was worried about. She didn’t want any part of her to start straying toward his side of the mattress, hoping for a casual brush against those thick biceps or one of those powerful thighs. Much better to keep everything strapped down and swathed in fabric.

She washed her face in the big onyx sink. The mirror was ancient, foggy and flecked with dark spots. When she caught sight of her reflection, it startled her. It was as if she’d seen a dream version of herself, pale and wan, lost in a strange world. She turned away sharply. When she walked back into the bedroom, Jack was there, casually stripping away his clothes and revealing his tanned physique. She made a valiant effort not to look, but it was hard because he faced the opposite direction and she had free rein to indulge an academic interest in seeing how his body compared to the one in her memory.

Favorably. She had to admire the way he’d filled out. Not a rangy, sunburned youth anymore, but a man in his prime. Broad-shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world. When his jeans slid down, she gasped at how pale his backside was. Obviously the only part of him that never got much sun exposure.

He must have heard her intake of breath because he turned his head. “I hope I’m not being rude by stripping off right here. You have seen it all before.”

“It’s your bedroom. You do what you like.” She grabbed her phone from her purse, so she could distract herself by checking her messages, then walked to the bed and climbed in, with some difficulty because it was high. She slid under the covers and was gratified to find soft sheets there. Once again, only the best for Jack Drummond. She turned on her phone and checked her texts. Nothing interesting. Her gaze drifted up to the mural painted overhead. The green shoreline, dotted with palm trees, the blue sea, the crudely painted mermaid sitting on her rock. No one would call it a work of art. The fresco obviously hadn’t ever been restored, either. Even the scant light from her phone picked out the uneven surface and revealed where tiny chips of plaster had flaked off. It was darkened by centuries of smoke from candles and pipes and who knew what else Jack’s pirate ancestors had burned in here. It would be interesting to see what a good cleaning might reveal.