The Devil and the Deep - By Amy Andrews Page 0,33

realise how much his very survival depended on his banter with women—he needed it as if it were oxygen.

‘The no flirting getting to you?’ she queried, suppressing the humour that bubbled in her chest.

Rick heard the laughter in her voice only on a peripheral level as the tinkle of her anklet obliterated all else.

Great.

As if he weren’t conscious enough already of her every movement, he was going to hear her every movement as well.

He’d probably hear her at night rolling over in bed.

He plastered a smile to his face. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. It had only been forty-eight hours, for crying out loud—just how oversexed did she think he was? ‘I’m going up on deck to plot the course into the sat nav.’

Stella smiled as he departed. She had this dare nailed.

CHAPTER SIX

ON DECK the humid night was quiet and still, clouds obscuring what would almost be a full moon. Not even a light breeze tinkled the halyards. Faint music drifted down from the yacht club but the moorings were otherwise peaceful. No boats had cabin lights on, no one walked about stopping to chat, no low muffled conversations could be heard.

No one around to witness Rick gently belting his head against the wheel.

When he’d embarked on this voyage everything had been clear cut. The Mermaid and Inigo’s treasure lay out there somewhere and he and his good friend Stella, whom he’d known for ever, who despite some disturbing dreams was like a sister to him, were going to find it.

After all, it was what Nathan had wanted.

Now he had a whole other picture going on in his head and he was damn sure there was nothing brotherly about it.

And definitely not what Nathan had wanted.

Nathan hadn’t told Rick to leave Stella alone that day he’d caught them almost kissing. But he had spoken about how special his daughter was and left Rick in no doubt that he’d wanted someone just as special for Stella. Certainly a bunch of transient deckhands and divers on a motley collection of salvage boats had not measured up to Nathan’s expectations in any way, shape or form.

Nathan had wanted for his daughter the one thing he’d never been able to give his own wife—stability.

Someone who was going to be there for her always.

And Nathan had made sure every man in his employ had known that his daughter was off-limits.

Himself included.

But that was then. And this was now.

Nathan was dead. And Stella was all grown up.

She had breasts and hips and an imagination that would make a sailor blush.

How on earth was he supposed to ignore that? Particularly when she was downstairs right now—he could hear that bloody bell all the way up here—prancing around, enjoying herself, feeling all smug at his expense.

And it was only day two.

How nuts would he be by the end of it all?

Hell, how nuts would he be in a week?

Unless...

Rick pulled his head off the steering wheel as the cunning of a certain pirate came to his rescue. He sat ramrod straight.

What if he took control of the situation? Turned the tables on her a little?

What if he were to take some of those tantalising scenes from Pleasure Hunt and give them life? He’d already established that she wasn’t included in their little dare. Maybe he could have some more fun...

Vasco Ramirez had been determined to make the voyage with Lady Mary a pleasure hunt—maybe he should too?

Of course he’d never step over the line, the bondage scene would have to go begging, but what fun it could be seeing if he could get Stella all het up. After all, those scenes were written by her about him. Maybe he could indulge those fantasies for her just a little, give her a taste of the real thing?

It would be fun to see how she reacted.

Would she guess what he was doing or would she be unaware? Would she reject his boundary pushing or would she embrace it with the abandon with which she’d scribed it?

His gaze fell on the shower at the stern of the boat and he smiled.

* * *

Stella was putting the supplies away in the galley when she heard a loud splash outside the porthole in front of her. She frowned as she peered out into the night.

Maybe Rick had thrown himself overboard, the dare just too much?

‘Rick?’ she called, a smile on her face. No answer. ‘Rick?’

Still no answer.

Maybe it was one of Moresby’s infamous rascals trying to steal from them and he’d knocked Rick