Born Ready (13 page)

He grinned. Where had she come from? “You do realize every man fantasizes about a woman like you.”

She spread her arms wide. “Your fantasy is right in front of you, Scott Everly. Stop thinking so hard and just take advantage of me.”

7

I was born ready.

—Lieutenant Commander Scott Everly, United States Coast Guard

EXCITEMENT BUZZED Jackie’s nerve endings. All her senses were heightened. The smell of the ocean teased her nose. Overhead, seagulls swirled, cawed. The sun dried her hair to unruly curls and Scott’s hot gaze blistered her like a glorious sunburn.

It had been a long time since she’d felt so sexy and it was all due to the way he looked at her. As if she were a sea goddess just stepped from the surf and he was a shipwrecked sailor searching for salvation.

Perfect day.

It was a perfect day until they reached the island where Fort Jefferson stood and she spied the
Sea Anemone
anchored offshore.

What was her father doing in the Tortugas? Last she heard he was in Bermuda.

“Hey,” Scott said, “isn’t that your father’s boat?”

A lump of dread stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year and she wasn’t sure she was ready to see him now. “Yeah.”

Scott beamed. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Oh, we’re not going over there.”

He looked startled. “What do you mean? Of course we’re going over. He’s your dad.”

“Guess what? I know that.”

A concerned expression replaced his surprise. “But wouldn’t his feelings get hurt if he knew you were here and avoided him?”

Jackie laughed. “Don’t worry. Nothing hurts his feelings.”

The surprise was back.

She waved a hand. “Our relationship is very complicated. Let’s just go have a picnic and then get out of here.”

“I…” He stopped, shrugged. “Okay.”

“Great, I’m starving.”

He picked up the picnic basket and then extended a hand to help her out, but she ignored it. Jackie hopped into the shallow water where they’d anchored and sloshed toward the island. It was dotted with tourists who’d come to the isolated place for the interesting marine life.

“Hey, wait for me.” Scott hurried to catch up.

Jackie was feeling strangely breathless and it wasn’t from the exertion.

The island was flat, small and almost treeless. Fort Jefferson dominated the majority of the space. Since it was Thursday there were only a few tourists. She headed for a spot under a lone palm tree far from the
Anemone
. Obviously, it wasn’t far enough. Just as Scott got the blanket spread out, a man came sauntering over.

“Jacks! Is that you? I thought that was you.”

Jackie blew out her breath and glanced over to see a blond man about her own age striding up to them. “Hello, Gary.”

“You’re looking…” Gary raked a gaze over her. “Radiant.”

She forced a smile. “What are you doing in the Dry Tortugas?”

“I could ask you the same. Last I heard you were in Key West searching for the missing Key blenny.”

She held her arms wide. “Day off.”

A shocked expression lifted Gary’s hay-colored eyebrows. “You? Taking a day off?” He mock staggered, clutched his heart. “It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

“Scott Everly,” Scott said, coming over with his hand outthrust.

“Gary Howard.” Gary shook Scott’s hand. “And you are—”

“With Jackie. And who are you?” Scott draped an arm over her shoulder. It was all she could do to keep from shaking him off. What was this possessive crap he was pulling?

“Gary is my replacement.” Jackie crossed her arms over her chest, the weight of Scott’s arm heavy on her shoulders. “Gary, Scott is Coast Guard.”

“Oh, really?” He sounded unimpressed. “I’m Jack Birchard’s head research assistant.”

“Speaking of the great Jack, where is Father?”

Gary’s smile wavered. “He’s in Paris, at the symposium on global warming.”

“Ah,” Jackie said. “When the cat’s away the mice will play.
That’s
what you’re doing in the Tortugas. On your own pet project.”

The guilty expression on Gary’s face told her that she’d nailed it.

“Mmm…ah…well…”

“Or did he send you down here to spy on me?”

Gary snorted. “Please. You’re no longer in his orbit.”

That was probably true, but it still hurt to hear it. “You’re not going to impress him, you know,” Jackie said. “He doesn’t give a damn about your independent study.”

“Actually—” Gary looked like the cat who had eaten the proverbial canary “—that’s what I’m counting on.”

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Gary,” Jackie supplied. “Tell the old man I’m alive and feeling fine. In case he cares.”

“Where are you off to?” Gary raked a gaze over her.

“We’re about to have a picnic.”

Gary shook his head. “Is this a sign of the apocalypse? Jackie Birchard picnicking on a day off?”

“Maybe it is,” Jackie tossed over her shoulder as she walked back to the blanket under the palm tree.

“Good luck with the Key blenny,” Gary called as he walked away.

Scott joined her on the blanket. “What in the hell was that all about?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something. You look mad enough to eat nails.”

“Then give me a sandwich so that I don’t have to eat nails.”

“You used to be your father’s head researcher?”

“I did. Gary was his number two.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s see, if I remember correctly, you and I had just set up some ground rules and no intimate conversations was one of those rules.”

Scott exhaled, raised his palms. “Okay. I didn’t mean to stir up a hornet’s nest.”

“Look. I don’t need for you to worry about my relationship with my father. He’s not a normal guy. We’re not a normal family.”

“I’d sort of already figured that one out.”

“Great then, let’s eat. What have you got?”

He peered into the basket. “Sandwiches. Tuna fish, pimento cheese or turkey.”

“I’ll take the pimento cheese.”

He handed her the sandwich and in the process, their fingers brushed.

The heat of contact sent a jolt of awareness shooting up her arm. She shot him a sideways glance. His eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile tipped his lips.

“Got a couple of beers.” He held up two longnecks dripping with icy water. “You interested?”

“It’s only noon.”

“One beer. It’s your day off.”

“Okay.” She nodded, accepted the beer he offered.

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the moment, savoring the food and the company. Jackie’s mind traveled, as it usually did, to things beneath the sea. She recalled the fish they’d seen while snorkeling. It made her feel soft and warm and happy inside.

“What are you thinking about?” Scott asked. “The jewelfish?”

She broke into a big smile, dusted sandwich crumbs from her fingers. “How did you know?”

“You might have a complex brain, Jackie Birchard, but you’re not that hard to read.” He glanced out at the ocean, then his gaze tracked back to rove over her bikini-clad body.

Her treacherous pulse quickened and she studied his angular features. He looked as if he’d just tumbled out of bed, his hair wildly mussed from where it had dried on the boat ride over, his eyes sultry and suggestive.

He had an amazing body. Dressed in swim trunks and a thin white T-shirt. Rock solid. Athletic.

Her palms tingled, yearning to run over the planes of his flat belly. The spot between her legs ached for him. The fertile smell of sand and sea scented the air—potent, loamy, rich.

Scott’s gaze cradled hers, desire radiating from his eyes. Her blood thickened, stirred. A slow, languid heat.

He leaned over, curved his palm around her face, leaned in for a kiss.

She did not withdraw.

He kissed her. Wild, hot and hard. A relentless force to taste and smell and feel.

Consumed.

His mouth consumed her. He plundered, conquered, possessed. The demanding flick of his tongue against hers brought a famished response so intense she felt weak, as if all her energy had been drained.

Scott groaned and locked his fingers in her hair. Kissed her harder, deeper and wilder still.

The taste of him!

He tasted like goodness and sunshine and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. Nourishing. Sturdy. Patriotic.

Jackie could not have stopped if she wanted to. She inhaled him in sweet gulps.

While the world shrank down into the width of their mouths, she opened herself up to possibilities as yet undreamed. He disarmed her completely. Her lips shuddered against his mouth and her body molded to his. In Scott’s arms, she felt solidly anchored.

The sensation scared her.

She’d never wanted to be the kind of woman who locked herself into one port, one man, but why not? Her mind flirted with a dark thought. She put her palm flat against his chest and pushed back, breaking the kiss. Her lips felt swollen, bruised.

Scott’s eyes were murky, lust-filled, befuddled. “What is it?”

That’s when a throat-tearing scream shattered the peaceful afternoon.

INSTANTLY, SCOTT JERKED his head around to locate the source of the ear-piercing cry for help. Several yards away a woman staggered from the beach, frantically waving her arms. “Help! Help!”

The other tourists in the area froze, stared owl-eyed at the distressed woman.

Scott didn’t know what was up, but he reacted instantly.
Born Ready.
In under a second, he was on his feet, racing toward the woman. His head swam a bit from shifting gears. One minute kissing Jackie, the next in Coast Guard rescue mode, but he ignored it.

The woman was blubbering incoherently, tears streaming down her round face.

“What is it?” Scott demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“My son, my son! I tried to carry him, but I…” She paused, gasped for air. “Shark! Shark! A shark got him.”

Shark.

That one word packed Scott’s veins in ice.

The mom broke from his grip, spun around and started back toward the beach. Scott could already see a boy in the shallow tide pool, blood staining the water. The kid was pale and lay unmoving.

It did not look good.

Scott outdistanced the mother, running full-out, all the while praying that the child would not die. He sprinted over the craggy rocks, barely winced as the sharp edges poked through the soles of his thin shoes. He waded in, stumbling on the slick surface.

The child’s eyes fluttered.

He was alive.

The relief that pulsed through Scott was short-lived. The boy’s leg was mangled and blood flowed too quickly. An artery was involved. Time was of the essence and they were seventy miles from Key West.

Scott glanced up to see Jackie standing on the shore. “Call the Coast Guard,” he said. “Ask for Carl Dugan. Tell him to send a seaplane. Now!”

Jackie nodded, her face controlled, emotionless.

Scott stripped off his shirt. The water hit him at the back of his knee. He twisted the T-shirt up, creating a makeshift tourniquet with it, and he leaned over to secure it around the thigh above where the shark had taken a vicious chunk of flesh from the boy’s leg.