Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,120
was, but he kept them to himself.
“Well, since you mention needing more hands on deck…” She let the sentence dangle. In the silence, every cell inside him seemed to strain in her direction, waiting impatiently, hoping beyond hope that he knew where she was going with this.
“Yeah?” Whoa. When had his voice turned into a croaking foghorn?
“I thought maybe I’d come to Wayfarer Island and stay for a bit. Help y’all out.” It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. Obviously, she couldn’t see that joy had ballooned him to twice his usual size, because she continued to talk fast, as if she thought she might have to convince him. Silly woman. “With Mom and Dad gone, there’s no one at work to approve more charity functions and I’m at loose ends.”
Her parents had taken a trip to Europe, determined to get away from the press and the publicity, trying to put the awful events on Garden Key and in the Gulf of Mexico behind them. Maddy could have done the same. But her being her, all brave and stubborn and wonderful, she’d stayed to see it through. She’d given a couple of exclusives—he’d read and hung on every word—before shutting the door on the paparazzi who would have tried to sensationalize the story.
When he brushed his fingers through her short hair, he was delighted by its softness, its silkiness. For that matter, all of her was soft and silky. That soft silkiness made him hard. The uncertainty in her eyes made him harder still. She was unsure just how fast to push him. How far. She didn’t realize that he wanted pedal to the metal. Zero to sixty in five seconds. He wanted her. All of her. All the time. In every way.
“Babe”—he wrapped a hand around her neck and pulled her down until her lips hovered a hairsbreadth from his—“you don’t need an excuse to come out to the island. You’re welcome any time.”
“Really?” She searched his eyes.
“Any time and all the time.”
She smiled. And it was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “Well, how about we start with this vacation, and then I can fly in on weekends until…” She trailed off and bit her upper lip.
That’s all it took. Her lip caught between her teeth and he was done. Finito. His cock was fully engorged.
“Until what?” he demanded, his hand drifting down her spine to lie atop her fabulous butt.
“Until I make you an offer you can’t refuse,” she said, quoting The Godfather.
“That was the worst Marlon Brando impersonation I ever heard,” he told her, his heart so full he was amazed it didn’t burst wide open. He pulled her down for a kiss that ended in them christening the room for the third time. Atop her kitchen table…
Epilogue
June 11, 1624…
Sitting in the crow’s nest his men had built between the two tallest palm trees near the beach, his spyglass raised to his eye, Captain Bartolome Vargas scanned the seas around him.
Perched in additional improvised lookouts on opposite sides of the island, two more of his crew, the two with the best eyesight, helped him watch for passing ships. It was hot, monotonous work. But it was imperative. With the remainder of the sailors working on the reef and down in the sea at the wreck site—at least those who were still healthy enough to work—it was left to the three of them to ensure no pirates sailed around the corner and stumbled upon the others’ efforts.
Lowering his spyglass, Bartolome blinked, giving his tired eyes a moment’s respite. Then he raised the glass and continued his vigil.
The wind was a bare whisper, leaving the ocean around the island glassy. Nothing disturbed the surface except a pod of dolphins that frolicked beyond the reef. The sun was high. The tide was out. A number of large grouper had swum into the lagoon the evening before, making them easy to catch. He and his men had feasted and still had full bellies today.
A good day for lookout duty, he decided. And a good day for recovery work.
“How goes it?” he called down to Rosario when he noticed his midshipman stepping beneath the palm trees.
“Carlo says ’tis possible!” Rosario yelled. “Says the hold is cracked in half, but much of the treasure remains in clay vases and wooden crates!”
“Thank you, Madre Maria.” Bartolome sent up a prayer, crossing himself.
“Carlo says ’twill take time!” Rosario continued. “Some of the deeper goods will have to wait ’til lowest tide, but—”