Deep Blue (20 page)

She kissed him wildly, erotically, took and took and demanded more. She could feel his arousal, thick and hard, pressing against her stomach, and she ached to feel him inside her. Conn seemed to sense her need. She clung to his neck as he gripped her hips and lifted her up on the table, knocking the bandages and peroxide onto the floor.

Conn kissed her as he came up over her, his hands in her hair, his tongue deep in her mouth. He shoved up her short black skirt and parted her thighs to make room for himself between them. The sight of her black thigh-high nylons and black lace thong underwear tore a harsh sound from his throat. Reaching down, he caught her panties and ripped them away, found her softness, and began to stroke her.

She was throbbing with need, aching with desire for him, flushed and hot and wanting. She arched toward him, felt his erection at the entrance to her passage. He was a big man and heavily aroused, his erection pulsing with the need to be inside her.

“Yes…” she whispered, her gaze on his beautiful face. “Please, Conn…”

His eyes turned a darker blue and in one hard thrust he impaled her, filling her completely. The blood pounded in her ears and pleasure rushed through her. He kissed her again, his tongue delving deeply, matching the thrust and drag of his shaft. Pleasure tore through her, seemed to scorch through her blood.

He’s mine
, her brain said, and her body agreed. Heat speared through her and the pleasure mounted, carrying her higher and higher. Her climax hit fast and hard, the pleasure rich and deep, forcing his name from her lips.

Still, she wanted more.

Conn gave it, his powerful thrusts rocking the table. Hope wrapped her legs around his hips and arched upward, taking him deeper still, feeling the sweetness begin to build a second time. He didn’t stop, just kept driving into her as deep convulsions shook her. A little sigh of satisfaction slipped from her lips as he followed her to release.

For long moments, neither of them moved.

The room slowly came back into focus and his heavy weight began to become uncomfortable. Conn came up off the table, stepped back, and looked down at her, still sprawled on the butcher-block top. She was naked to the waist, her bodice shoved down and her breasts exposed, her skirt shoved up. She still wore her thigh-high black stockings and black high heels.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

She started to rise, but he shook his head. “Not yet.” Easing her back down on the table, he found her softness one last time. His eyes locked with hers as he touched her, explored her, stroked her to a sobbing climax. She barely noticed when he lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, wordlessly unzipped her dress and slipped it over her hips, then urged her down on the edge of the bed so he could strip off her shoes and stockings.

“I’m sleeping in this bed tonight,” he said, and the look in his eyes warned her not to argue.

Instead she lay down on her side and watched him undress, admiring the beautiful muscles and sleek planes of his body, the smooth, darkly suntanned skin. He climbed into the narrow bed and lay down beside her, his hips cradling hers, spoon fashion. Big strong arms wrapped around her, one draped possessively over her hip. As Hope fell asleep, she had a final terrifying thought.

Oh, my God, what have I done?

Conn sat in the living room reading
The New York Times
he had purchased at the bakery downstairs. Mostly he thumbed through the pages, finding it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, knowing Hope was in there naked. Wanting her again.

It was insane, this constant hunger he felt for her.

And it forced him to face an unwelcome truth he’d been trying to ignore.

He was in love with her, in love with Hope Sinclair.

He had known it the moment he had seen her standing on the sidewalk holding the pistol, determined to protect him, though she was the one in danger.

Perhaps he had known it long before that but refused to accept it. Now that he had, he wasn’t exactly sure what he should do.

Hope wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. She had made that more than clear. She was still hurting from Richard, the bastard she had trusted and loved—or at least thought she did.

And no matter what Conn felt for her, he was hardly in a position to make any sort of commitment. He had duties, responsibilities to his partners in Treasure Limited. He was the one who had started the salvage project. Once he had met the professor and been convinced the man knew where the
Rosa
might have gone down, Conn had been determined to find her. He had made the deal with Eddie and gone to Talbot to raise the money. He was in charge and he meant to see the job done to the best of his abilities.

Conn sighed as he got up from the sofa. After his antics on the way to the jazz bar last night, he was a little stiff this morning. He hadn’t been in a down-and-dirty street fight in years. Not since Joe had dragged him into some sleazy South Beach bar a few months before he met Kelly. Joe had a knack for getting into trouble, at least back in the old days.

Conn smiled to think of the four guys he and his friend had taken on that night.

Ah, those were the days.

Conn was damned glad they were over.

At least, he’d thought they were.

His mind ran over the encounter he’d had the previous night—not really much of a fight, by his standards. The three men who attacked them were thugs, punks who brawled without much style. He had never really felt in any serious danger. Of course, Hope hadn’t known that. He would never forget how brave she had been. But then, he had never doubted her courage.

The shower went off. Conn had known better than to suggest he join her. He had recognized that deer-in-the-headlights look when she climbed out of bed, her
I’m-feeling-cornered
expression. She was on the run again. He had never seen a woman so wary of any sort of relationship with a man.

Conn supposed, after Kelly, he ought to understand, and part of him did. The other part thought it was crazy to let some creep like Richard ruin your life.

The blow-dryer roared to life and Conn walked over to use the phone. Pressing the receiver against his ear, he dialed in his credit card number to call the satellite cell on the boat.

Andy Glass answered. “Hey, Conn!”

“Hi, Andy. Everything okay down there?”

“Pretty much so.”

“You guys get that generator fixed?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it, though. The boat’s still in Jamaica—which turned out to be good because last night it stormed like crazy. We’ll be here at least until tomorrow.”

“We’re flying back to Kingston tonight. I guess we’ll just catch up with you in port.” He flicked a glance toward the open bedroom door, saw Hope wearing only a towel, pulling a sweater out of one of her dresser drawers. His groin tightened. Christ, he just couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

He forced his thoughts back to the
Conquest.
“Is Joe around?”

“He took off as soon as he found out we wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of days. He had a date with that girl he brought aboard just before you and Hope left.”

Conn frowned. “Glory?”

“That’s the one.”

Conn was more than a little surprised. “I figured she’d gone back to the States by now.”

“Well, you know Joe. The ladies all love him.”

Yeah, and Joe loved all of them. He rarely got involved to the degree he seemed to be with Glory and certainly never this quickly.

“If you see him, tell him we’ll be back aboard late tonight.”

“Will do,” Andy said. Conn hung up the phone just as Hope walked into the living room.

“Everything all right?” She was dressed for the funeral, in a long-sleeved, high-necked black sweater, black wool skirt, and black stockings. The stockings reminded him of last night and sent his mind in unwanted directions but he yanked himself back to the present.

“The boat’s in Jamaica. They’re still working on the capstan, so we’ll catch up with them in port.”

Hope nodded. She seemed edgy this morning and he figured she was worried about the attack last night or them making love. When the doorbell chimed, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Conn cast her a look. “Get in the bedroom.” Hope didn’t argue. After what had happened on the street, she was taking all of this more seriously. Conn moved to a spot beside the front door. “Who is it?”

“Police.” A man’s deep voice reached him from the hallway on the opposite side of the door. “Detectives Ryman and Kowalski.”

“Let’s see some I.D.” Conn used the peephole to check the men’s badges, then opened the door to let them in. Hope came out of the bedroom as the older detective, a man with thinning black hair, and his younger, slightly chubby partner walked in.

“We got your call this morning,” the dark-haired cop said to Hope. “You should have called last night.”

“Probably. But two of the men who attacked us were wearing ski masks and the third had his cap pulled so low we could barely see his face. We couldn’t possibly identify any of them.”

The black-haired man, Kowalski, looked down at his notes. “According to your phone call, you think this attack is connected to the attack made on a man named William Newton, the guy who died from a mugging in front of Hartley House a couple of nights ago.”

“That’s right.”

“Why do you think the two crimes are related?”

“Because I’m a reporter,” Hope said. “I was working on the story.” Conn cast her a glance, and her cheeks turned pink. Well, she was mostly telling the truth.

“I believe Buddy was attacked in order to force him to sell his property,” she went on. “Whoever wants to buy Hartley House doesn’t want anyone trying to stop them.”

The detective wrote down what she said. Conn gave a similar report of the attack near Club Seventy-seven, adding that he figured the men must have been watching the apartment when he and Hope went out.

“Anything else you can tell us?” chubby Detective Ryman asked.

“That’s about it,” Conn said.

“Anything turns up, we’ll be in touch.” Kowalski made a couple more notes. “You be at this number if we need you?”

Conn didn’t give Hope time to answer. “As soon as Buddy Newton’s funeral is over, we’re catching a plane to Jamaica.”

“Vacation?”

“Work. We’re involved in a salvage operation off the coast of a private island not far away.”

“I’m on assignment for
Adventure
magazine,” Hope added.

“I thought you said you were working on the Hartley House story.”

The color returned to her cheeks. “Yes, well, I’m doing that on the side.”

He cast her a speculative glance and jotted something in his notes.

“If you need to speak to either one of us, we’ll be aboard the
Conquest,
” Conn told him. “You can reach us by satellite phone.” He gave the detective the number.

Kowalski closed his notebook and tucked it into the pocket of his coat. “Like I said, we’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

Hope managed a smile. “Thank you.” She walked the men to the door, closed it behind them, and looked down at her watch. “We’ve still got more than an hour before we have to leave for the funeral.”

“In that case, how about another cup of coffee?”

As they walked into the kitchen, Hope eyed her surroundings like a criminal going back to the scene of the crime. Conn couldn’t resist a wicked glance at the table.

“I’m sure glad that packing tape held. If that leg had come off, we could have had one helluva rough landing.”

Hope’s eyes rounded. She opened her mouth but not a word came out. She followed his gaze to the butcher-block table, and her cheeks went bright red. Then her lips twitched and a soft burst of laughter escaped.

Still smiling, she shook her head. “I can’t believe we did that. My sister, Charity, drank too much champagne one night and confessed that she and Call once made passionate love on the kitchen table in his cabin. At the time, I thought she was out of her mind.”

Conn caught her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “What we have is special, Hope—surely you can see that. Stop running away from it. Let this thing happen between us, see where it leads. That’s all I ask.”

Her bright smile faded. He caught the faint glitter of tears.

“I can’t,” was all she said.

It turned out Buddy was Catholic, though apparently he rarely attended services. Still, at the Church of Saint Francis Xavier on West Fifteenth Street, he seemed to have been well known. As Hope walked down the aisle between the rows of pews, grateful to be holding onto Conn’s arm, she saw that the funeral was well attended and even began to recognize a number of familiar faces, tenants of Hartley House.

Mr. Nivers, the jokester of the building, sat in the middle of a pew next to Mrs. Eisenhoff, the lady Hope had dubbed Aunt Bea. Mrs. Finnegan sat two rows from the front, dressed all in black, a veil covering her face, her back ramrod straight. She had been a close friend of Buddy’s for nearly twenty years. Hope had even heard rumors that they were romantically involved.

She smiled to think of it, remembering Buddy as he had been, always smiling, always full of fun. Certainly, he was a man who had lived his life to the fullest. That he might have had a lady friend didn’t seem surprising at all.

The Mass began. Hope knelt when the others did, saw that Conn did as well. Neither of them repeated the prayers as the Catholic parishioners did, so she figured he wasn’t of that faith and wondered, after the kind of things he must have seen during his years in the SEALs, if he believed in God at all.

Then she heard his deep voice softly repeating the Lord’s Prayer and felt strangely relieved. Her family was Methodist. As a child, she had attended church often. If she and Richard had married and had a family, as she had wanted to do so badly, some form of religion would have been part of their lives.

The service continued. Six pallbearers carried in the coffin, two had faces she recognized as tenants of the building. Toward the end of the service, the priest waved burning incense over the white-draped coffin, and for the first time, Hope felt the reality of Buddy’s death. Her throat closed up and her eyes swam with tears. She felt Conn’s fingers link with hers and was glad that he was there beside her.

The priest’s words were comforting and some of her sorrow eased. Buddy had been happy. She didn’t believe he would have left this world with a single complaint. And wherever he was, she was certain he would find the same joy he had always found on earth.

The priest spoke of the body of Christ and began communion, but neither she nor Conn took part. The service finally came to a close. As she rose from the pew, she slid her sunglasses up on her nose and made her way to the door of the church. On the steps outside, Conn stood a few feet away as she spoke to some of the tenants, expressing her condolences, receiving a nod of gratitude that she had come.

“He was a good man,” said tall, gray-haired Mr. Nivers, for once without a joke. He pulled out a cotton handkerchief with his initials on the corner and used it to wipe his eyes. “He always had a kind word for everyone.”

“Yes, he did,” Hope agreed.

Next to him, broad-hipped Mrs. Eisenhoff’s round, fleshy face carried lines of unmistakable grief. “He was always there when you needed a friend. I wish someone had been with him that night.”

“Skolie was there,” Hope reminded her, speaking of Buddy’s beloved pet.

She brightened a little. “Why, yes, he was. I hadn’t thought of that. Mrs. Finnegan’s taking care of him, now that Buddy’s gone.”

“I’m sure Buddy would like that.”

“He wouldn’t let them take our homes. He died fighting for us. It’s just so terribly sad.”

Hope leaned over and hugged her, then moved off to speak to Mrs. Finnegan, who seemed the most grief-stricken of all.

“’Tisn’t right, what those men did to him. It just isn’t right.”

“Maybe the police will catch them.” Hope turned to see Conn walking up beside her. She introduced him to Mrs. Finnegan, who, like the others, seemed pleased that they had come.

“Buddy thought you had pluck,” the old woman said to her. “He said you were one smart cookie—that’s the way he put it. He believed you were the kind of person who recognized the truth when you heard it.”

“I know part of the truth, Mrs. Finnegan. Unfortunately, not enough to do Buddy any good.”

The thin old woman took a shaky breath. “I guess we’ll all have to move somewhere else.”

“Maybe the person Buddy left the building to will keep fighting to save it. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

She shook her head. “Buddy was born in Missouri. From what he said, he had a couple of distant cousins back in some town called Waynesville. I imagine the property will go to them. I suppose they’ll have to sell it to pay the inheritance taxes.”

Hope took hold of the old woman’s hand. It was liver-spotted, thin, and shaky. “I wish I knew a way to help.”

“You tried. That’s the most anyone can do.”

Hope brushed a kiss on Mrs. Finnegan’s papery cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

The old woman nodded.

“It was nice to meet you,” Conn said.

“You, too.” Mrs. Finnegan’s wrinkled face creased in a smile. “You look like a pretty smart young guy yourself. If you are, you’ll hang on to this little gal. They don’t make ’em like her anymore.”

The edge of Conn’s mouth went up. “You’re right, Mrs. Finnegan, they don’t.”

Hope wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, and she didn’t ask.

“Time to go,” Conn said, sliding an arm around her waist. “We don’t want to miss our plane.”

Hope looked back at the small group clustered together at the top of the church stairs, feeling a little of their pain, knowing there would be more to come when they were forced out of their homes.

When she still didn’t move, Conn’s jaw hardened. “I said, let’s go.” With a firm hand at her waist, he urged her down the steps toward the line of taxis waiting at the curb. There was no time to argue, no time to consider changing her mind. When Conner Reese took charge, somehow you found yourself obeying his orders.

After a stop at her apartment to retrieve their luggage, they were on their way to the airport. By tonight she would be back in Jamaica, back aboard the
Conquest,
in a cabin right next to Conn’s.

Hope refused to think any further ahead.

If she did, she was afraid she might not go.

It was dark by the time they parked the old Toyota Corolla they had driven to the Kingston airport in a parking spot down at the Port Antonio dock.

“I’ll take it back where it belongs in the morning,” Conn said, dragging her luggage out of the trunk, unloading his own, then slamming the lid. He picked up both hanging bags and slung them over his shoulder. Hope grabbed the handle of her carry-on and they started along the pier toward the boat.

Pete was on night watch. “Welcome home, boss. Hope.” His gaze slid over her, lingered a moment on her breasts. She was liking Pete Crowley less and less. Conn didn’t notice. He was busy hauling the luggage aboard. Pete reached a hand down to help him.

“Thanks,” Conn said. “Joe back aboard?”

“I heard Captain Bob say he’d be back first thing in the morning. That photographer took off, too. I guess he got called for another job. Said he’d come back as soon as we found something interesting.”

Conn nodded. “You know if they got the gerator fixed?”

“They needed some part. I’m pickin’ it up in the morning. Captain’s plannin’ to leave as soon as I get back with it.”

Conn just nodded. Hefting Hope’s hanging bag back up on his shoulder, he motioned for her to head for her cabin. Her stomach tightened as he set the luggage inside the door, but he made no attempt to stay. Hope ignored a pang of disappointment.

“Get some sleep,” Conn said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Before she realized what he meant to do, Conn caught her chin, bent his head, and very soundly kissed her. “Good night, Hope.” And then he was gone.

The night seemed longer than it should have, considering how tired she was, but eventually she fell asleep. Bright sun streamed though the porthole when she awakened the following morning. Still a little fatigued, she went in to brush her teeth then dressed in a pair of comfortable shorts and a white cotton blouse.

Desperate for a cup of coffee, she headed for the galley. Joe’s deep laughter drifted up as she walked along the deck—and a woman’s voice she recognized as Glory’s.

For a moment, Hope paused, not quite ready to face one of Conn’s former lovers. She shook her head. Glory was no longer part of Conn’s life. She was now dating Joe.

And wildly happy about it, Hope saw as she descended the ladder to the galley below.

“Good morning.” Hope glanced from the radiant pair to Conn and noticed the frown tugging his dark eyebrows together.

“Hi, Hope,” Joe said, grinning like a fool. “Glory and I—we’ve got some incredible news.”

“We’re married!” Glory laughed and hugged her groom, pulled his head down for a quick, hard kiss. “I can hardly believe it!”

From the look on his face, apparently Conn couldn’t, either. Still, he reached over and shook Joe’s hand, pulled his friend into a big bear hug. “Congratulations.” He leaned over and kissed Glory’s cheek. “I wish you both the very best.”

“Congratulations,” Hope said to Glory, smiling in spite of the odd situation. “You’re a far braver soul than I’d ever be.”

“We love each other,” Glory explained, hanging on tight to Joe’s hand. “I think we both knew it the first time we were together.”

“Glory’s going back to Florida to tell her parents, then she’s coming back and renting an apartment here. Until this job is over, we’ll have to be content to see each other whenever we can.”

“I’m happy for you, Joe,” Hope said. “Happy for both of you.”

“Neither of us has a lot of money.” Glory smiled up at Joe. “I mean, my folks do, but I don’t. It doesn’t really matter, as long as we’re together.”

“And you never know,” Joe added. “There’s always a chance we’ll hit the mother lode.”

If they did, Conn had once told her, and the treasure was anywhere close to what the professor believed, Joe would take home a fat percentage of the profits, enough to set him up in whatever business he wanted.

“Yeah, we might get lucky,” Conn said, though there was only mild conviction in his voice. Conn wasn’t the dreamer Joe was. He was a realist who knew the kind of work that still lay ahead.

His gaze caught Hope’s, held for a moment, and she wondered at his thoughts. An instant later, King’s son Michael walked in. “Hey, Hope!”

“Michael! I didn’t know you’d come aboard.”

“I got a couple days off from school.” He flashed a mouthful of very white teeth, his short dreadlocks framing a lean, attractive young face. “You up for a little more diving?”

Thinking of what had almost happened the last time, Hope suppressed a shiver.

“Come on,” Michael urged. “The bad stuff’s already happened.”

Hope laughed. “You’re right. I’d love to go diving again.”

Conn frowned but didn’t argue, since he was the kind of guy who would also go back down again.

“You hear about these two getting married?” Michael asked her.

“Are you kidding? Look at those faces. You think they could actually keep it secret?”

Captain Bob came down the ladder into the galley just then, and the wedding news and congratulations were repeated.

A few minutes later, Pete Crowley walked in and also heard the news. “Congratulations, Joe…Mrs. Ramirez.”

“Thanks, Pete.” Joe just kept grinning. It was really very sweet.

“The good news is you’re married,” Captain Bob said with a grin of his own. “The bad news is your honeymoon’s over. The generator’s fixed, working good as new. In about ten minutes, we’ll be heading back to Pleasure Island.”

Joe groaned. “And here I was hoping the damn thing wouldn’t get repaired for at least a couple more weeks.” He caught Glory’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll walk you back to the car.”

The pair left the galley, seeing nothing but each other, and Hope found herself smiling again. It was always a joy to see a young couple so in love.

Her smile slid away.

If only she believed there was the slightest chance it could work.

The boat was halfway back to the island, Conn standing at the rail when Joe walked up beside him. He followed Conn’s gaze out to sea.

“So…I guess you aren’t too happy about me getting hitched.”

Conn turned toward him. “It isn’t my life, Joe, it’s yours. I don’t have a damned thing to say about it.”

“But you think I’m crazy. You think it was a dumb thing to do.”

Conn sighed. “To tell you the truth, Joe, I can’t imagine what you were thinking. You’ve only known the woman for a matter of days. How can you be so sure this is going to work?”

“I can’t be—not for certain. I just believe it is. I love her, Conn. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before.”

Conn thought of Hope. He was in love with her. They had known each other far longer than Joe and Glory, but he knew damned well if he was crazy enough to ask, she would refuse to marry him.

Conn stared out at the water, watching the way the sun’s rays dappled the surface, feeling the roll and pitch of the boat as it cut through the sea. “I don’t know, Joe…it just seems like maybe you rushed things a little.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I did. But time isn’t what’s important. You knew Kelly for months and it didn’t make any difference. Your marriage still didn’t work.”

“Good point.”

“I love her, Conn, and I know Glory loves me. It’s like I’ve known her for years, like I’ve been waiting all my life for her to come along.”

Conn clamped a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I meant what I said. I wish you both the very best. I hope the two of you are really happy.”

Joe smiled. “I was kind of worried you might not like me marrying a woman you’d dated.”

One of his eyebrows went up. “You thought I might be jealous?”

He shrugged. “Not really. You’ve never looked at Glory the way you look at Hope. For that matter, you never looked at Kelly that way, either.”

Conn just grunted. Joe was smart enough to realize it wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss.

“At any rate, I’m glad you’re okay with this because you’re my best friend and I don’t want that to change.”

For the first time Conn realized how badly Joe wanted his approval. He smiled. “You know what I think?”