In Too Deep (7 page)

She felt the brush of his hand against her sweat-dampened hair. "Not going to scream bloody murder because I took advantage of you while you slept?"

"Sorry, you can't take all the credit. I was awake for most of it," Tally said dryly. "I can't exactly claim maidenly modesty when I climbed into bed with you in the first place, can I?" Actually, she
was
embarrassed, now that it was over. Embarrassed that she'd been so uninhibited, embarrassed that she was lying, quite naked, beneath this stranger. For once, she was glad it was dark.

She wasn't in love with the man. Didn't know him. Yet it was the best sex she'd ever had. And she'd had some pretty good sex. Okay, that had been at least five years ago. But she hadn't forgotten. Still, this had felt
waaay
better. Comparatively speaking.

He began to move again, his thick shaft engorging impressively as he pumped inside her, keeping the pace maddeningly slow and even.

"Geeezzz," she whispered on a half moan. "What kind of vitamins do you take?"

"Strong enough for a woman, but made for a man," he said, and she heard the amusement in his voice.

"Amen." Tally squeezed her eyes shut, stopped talking, and went with the flow. There'd be plenty of time tomorrow for self-analysis and recriminations.

The sky was a clear, cerulean blue the next morning. The water calm and well-behaved. It was as though the storm had never been.

Under normal circumstances Michael abhorred using women as pawns in his ops. But Tally Cruise had been dropped into his lap like manna from heaven.

She was a bonus. And eventually a prisoner of war.

Nothing, not even a soft-skinned, wary-eyed female, was going to stand between him and his objective.

Nothing.

Church was going to watch as Michael took away everything he held dear. Then the man was going to die.

A surge of adrenaline supercharged him.

He'd left nothing to chance; yet, like a good soldier, he knew how to incorporate unexpected diversions seamlessly into his plans.

He guided the
Nemesis
through the deep channel in the reef and into Paradise harbor with consummate skill. Tally stood at the outside rail, shading her eyes with her hand.

"Isn't the clarity, and color of the water
amazing
?" She hung over the rail giving him a delectable view of her butt. "Oh! I can see tiny, bright yellow fish darting about down there."

Her short hair ruffled in the breeze, and her long legs were spaced apart for balance. His orange shorts flapped about her knees, and his much-washed white T-shirt effectively hid her small breasts. Her breasts were sensitive. The nipples quick to peak when he sucked them into his mouth—

"Did you say something?" Tally turned to glance at him over her shoulder, oblivious to the havoc she'd caused.

He'd groaned. The sound should've been him pounding his head against the deck. "Just concentrating as I navigate the reef."

"Okay. Just ignore me as I
oooh
and
ahhh
. No wonder my father calls his island Paradise. The name might not be original, but it's appropriate. Look at it. It's breathtaking. I wish I were an artist." She babbled on as he eased through the channel toward the small marina. "Wouldn't it be amazing to be able to capture all the blues and greens on canvas?"

"Take a picture."

"I don't have my—a photograph isn't the same. It doesn't have the same heart as something done with brush strokes."

"Don't tell my brother that."

"He's a photographer?"

"Yeah. And a good one."

"I bet if he came here he'd want to pick up a paintbrush."

If Kane came here it would be to retrieve his older brother in a body bag to take home for burial.

Michael brushed off the thought. Dead or alive, when he left Paradise, his job would be done.

Paradise Island. Sleepy. Picturesque. Inauspicious. Home and headquarters of the Scourge of the North Pacific, Trevor Church. Island population, 132. So small, the damn thing wasn't on the map. It didn't look any different now than it had a year ago. Only this time, Lieutenant Michael Wright was no longer a Lieutenant. And
this
time he was upright, healthy, and ready to finish the war they'd started.

Despite being in a protected inlet, the ire of the monsoon could be seen in downed trees, uprooted shrubs, and debris littering the beach and shell road leading into town. The small marina was a hive of activity. A dozen or more men were busily bringing various-size boats back to their slips.

Michael eased the boat into an empty slip, then jumped onto the worn, weathered dock to tie her off.

"Thanks for getting us back to terra firma safely."

"Did you go to boarding school?" he asked lazily as he tightened the bow rope, then let it drop to the deck.

She ran her fingers through her curly hair as she glanced around, then turned to look at him. "Frequently. Why?"

"Frequently? "

She grinned. "Often. Recurrently. Periodically."

What a strange little bird she was. She swore in ancient languages, was as polite as a schoolgirl, was a sailor's wet dream in the sack, and couldn't hold a musical note in a handbasket. "I know what 'frequently' means." He motioned Lucky to stay onboard. The cat blinked, then gracefully jumped onto the wharf and began licking himself.

Michael glanced back at Tally Ho. "I asked because you're so charmingly polite." He smiled.
Don't look at me with trust and hope in those baby-blues, sweetheart. I'm a son of a bitch. I'm going to destroy you along with your scum-sucking father without a qualm
. "Too bad you can't control what your eyes are telegraphing. Which is something altogether different."

"That's your imagination." She dismissed the accuracy of his statement, but lowered her lashes fractionally, anyway.

Michael's smile widened.

"Of course I'm polite. How ungrateful would I be if I didn't thank you for saving my life?"

He held up his arms so she could jump down, and she leaned down to rest her hands on his bare shoulders. Michael made sure he slid her all the way down his front. Very, very slowly. Then enjoyed the way her cheeks pinked, and her blue eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. "I did a little more than save your life," he reminded her.

She took a small, retreating step out of his loose hold. "Um, yeah. To be frank, I'm trying to figure out how I got myself into a situation where I feel as though I have to apologize to you for"—she waved a slender hand in a vague description—"I'm… oh, damn… I'm embarrassed, all right."

"Yeah? Well, don't be. We're both grown-ups. The pleasure was mutual."

"Well, yes, it was…" She paused, then said in a rush, "Was I gray in the dark? Wait. Never mind." She put her hands over her face. "Oh, damn. I can't believe I asked you—forget I asked. Stupid. Stupid. Aggh! Forget it."

Michael cupped her shoulders with his hands. She was as stiff as a board. "Are you trying to ask me if any woman would've done last night?"

"Yes. No. Of course any woman would've done. We don't know each other. I was available—could we
please
change the subject? I'm really uncomfortable Monday morning quarterbacking."

"Done it often?" he asked silkily.

"No." She ran her finger through her hair self-consciously. "If I had, I'd be better at this, don't you think? Shoot. I didn't even remember until this morning that we didn't use"—she glanced around the busy dock to make sure no one was within earshot—"protection."

Nice to know she'd been too hot to notice. "Yeah, we did."

Those big blue eyes widened, and a slow smile curved her lush mouth. "We did? Oh. Ah… good."

He lifted her chin with his finger. Her lashes fluttered. Oh, she wanted to block out the sight of him, but Tally Ho was just too straightforward. Too
honest
, for subterfuge. She reluctantly dragged her gaze to meet his.

"I haven't had sex in more than a year, honey. And it's been offered. Plenty of times." He cupped her hot face and ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "Believe me. You weren't any shade of gray in the dark. I knew who you were. And you were glorious Technicolor."

"Bless your heart." She smiled almost shyly. "You are
such
a gentleman, Michael Wright." Her pink cheeks made her eyes appear bluer. She pressed a soft kiss to his palm. "Okay. End of subject. Come up to the boardinghouse. I'll spring for breakfast."

"I'll take a rain check on that. I'd better see to repairs on this old tub before I get settled."

"Oh, shoot. I forgot my clothes in the dryer. May I?"

"Go ahead. I'll wait for you," he said absently, staring at her mouth.

He quickly helped her back aboard. He was getting into the act a little too enthusiastically, Michael thought sourly. Screw it. She wasn't recreation, she was a pawn. Nothing more. The charming act was for her pleasure, not his. He'd better damn well remember that.

He did a visual scan of the area. The marina, and a long stretch of sugar white beach, nestled in the inner curve of the island. A village comprised of a handful of small, whitewashed houses was tucked in the valley formed by the base of the volcano. Spectacular emerald green folds fanned out around the base of the peak like pleats in a velvet skirt. Several small hills, like bumps on a spine, trailed off to the south.

Coconut palms swayed and rustled in the warm breeze, and scarlet hibiscus grew wild and lush in every direction, bright among the lush tropical foliage.

Paradise Island was a grandiose name for a tiny, bean-shaped island in the middle of nowhere. To the north, the cone of a small volcano reared out of the lush vegetation. High, steep cliffs on three sides made it impossible to breach. The island might be small, but it was impossible to approach without being seen from any direction.

And an unwary sailor would ground his boat if he didn't know exactly where the channel was. Church's precious cargo hadn't been brought in by tanker. The channel was too narrow, too shallow. No, the cargo had been transported bit by bit onto the island. What Michael was looking for couldn't be far inland. As small as the island was, there was no form of transportation, other than a few bicycles and some golf carts. Whatever was removed from the ships had to be carried. And what had been carried was extremely heavy. So. What he was looking for was close. Close to the marina.

"All set." Tally tossed him the bundle of her clothes and accepted a hand down. "Thanks." She smiled up at him. "I'll see you later."

A burly guy in khaki shorts and an open-neck shirt came down the jetty to meet them. "Made it through the storm, I see," he said unsmilingly to Tally.

"Gee, Brian." Tally brandished a smile so friendly, it should've raised all sorts of warning flags to the guy. "I'm glad to see you, too. Yes. We did. Michael Wright," she said,

"Brian Kenyon. Brian runs the marina. Michael was kind enough t—"

Kenyon shot an annoyed look at Michael. "This is a private marina, then, mate. You'll have to shove off."

Not unexpected, Michael thought, sizing up the Australian. He stepped closer to Tally. "Now is that any way to treat a guest,
mate
? I just saved the lady's life, and in the process my boat took a beating. What you want me to do, limp outta here and head for Bora-Bora?"

"What were you doing out there—"

"Good grief," Tally interrupted. "What is this? The Spanish Inquisition? The
Serendipity
ble—sank. Michael saved my life, that's all anybody needs to know."

Brian stuffed his hands into his pockets, his eyes still on Michael as he said to Tally, "Where's Arnaud? Still onboard, then?"

"He didn't make it."

He shot Michael a suspicious glance. "Is that right?"

"Nor did Lu," Tally informed him. "Poor man. Did Lu have a family?"

"No. Fact, we were getting ready to have a service for
you
. Thought you'd gone for fish food. Lucky this bloke happened to be in the right place at the right time, isn't it?"

She shuddered. "I'm sure my father will be grateful to him for saving my life,
and
welcome him here for as long as he'd like to stay."

Brian glanced at her. "You think so, do ya?"

"Yes, I do. In fact, I'm quite sure you want to help with the repairs to Michael's boat. Don't you, Brian?"

Michael bit back a grin. He'd seen wrestlers mat their opponent with more finesse. But she'd got the job done. He couldn't have planned this any better if he'd tried. Having Church's daughter as his advocate was going to be the cherry on top of Church's downfall.

Tally gave the Australian a speaking look, then said to Michael, "I'll let Auntie know to expect you up at the hotel."

He mock-saluted her and watched her stride along the wooden marina toward a small, ramshackle town nestled in the green hills about half a mile away. She gave every appearance of a woman dressed for high tea with the queen. Except she wore his most disreputable pair of fluorescent shorts, and an old T-shirt. And no underwear. The thought of her going commando was enough to elevate his blood pressure several uncomfortable degrees.

"Homely, scrawny thing, ain't she? Nice arse, though." Brian watched her for a long minute, then lifted a dirty hand to scratch his whiskered cheek before turning back to face Michael. "Still, not my cuppa. Too much trouble on the hoof for my likin'."

How fortunate for you that I don't put you first on my kill list
, Michael thought savagely. "Since I've spent the last dozen or so hours with her," he said with spurious calm, "I'll vouch for that a hundred percent."

"Let's agree you'll be outta
here
in the next twenty."

"I'll split the minute my boat's fixed, how's that?" Michael offered cheerfully. There wasn't a damn thing Kenyon could do about it. Other than the mast, Michael had orchestrated what was broken with meticulous care. The
Nemesis
wasn't going anywhere until he said the repairs were done.

"I'll be sure you get all the help you need then, mate."