In Too Deep (9 page)

A small part of his brain reminded him she was as guiltless as the islanders. But he pushed it aside. He could have no qualms about using Tally Cruise in whatever way was necessary to make Church's downfall a reality.

The sex was an added bonus he'd not expected.

He hadn't had sex in over a year. Hadn't had the interest. Even though he'd met all shapes, sizes, and colors of women in his travels. He hadn't given enough of a damn to make the effort.

His focus was revenge. Blood lust had blinded him, and had effectively turned off his sex drive.

Yet here was plain little Tally Cruise, with her lush mouth, and innocent face. And a year's worth of pent-up lust rushed at him like a freight train. Go figure.

He could turn it off, of course. But why the hell should he?

Just thinking about her taut, toned, lanky body and those small, firm breasts brushing his chest last night made him hard.

This op was getting sweeter by the minute. As long as he didn't let himself get distracted by Tally's sweet little ass.

The island was only six or seven klicks from end to end, and about four across and was surrounded on three sides by sharp, inhospitable cliffs. The small town was
it
, as far as accommodations went. Not exactly a hot cosmopolitan resort. Even at a leisurely pace, and with Tally slowing him down, he could cover what he needed to see in a day.

He had two.

Plenty of time to search the island, play at repairing the
Nemesis
, and fuck his archenemy's daughter.

Tally stood on the lanai of the island store—the only store-slash travel agent-slash island hotbed of gossip—and stared blindly at the sugar white sand and placid turquoise waters of the bay.

Being so far away from her own little nest, from the familiar routines of her life, was enough to make her want to swim to Papeete. Okay, she couldn't. Shouldn't. She'd come this far. She had to see this visit through to the end. Her father had never invited her before, and Tally had stopped asking many years ago.

So what
could
she do until her father arrived? Tally snorted. If a girl had to ask herself that question when she was on a tropical island paradise and there was a good-looking guy around who obviously wanted her body, she was in bigger trouble than she'd thought.

It would be foolish to come all this way and then turn tail and run before her father even got here. Besides, she wasn't that eager to attempt the long flight from Papeete again. Not for a while, anyway.

Besides, there were no scheduled flights in or out. Not that Paradise had anything resembling an airport. Just a narrow airstrip near the lava fields on the south shore. According to her loquacious pilot, it had been built as a marine landing strip during the Second World War. Now it was only used to bring in supplies once a week.

The six-hour flight from Papeete alone had almost given her heart failure. Yet here she stood, wishing she could climb aboard that rickety twin-engine six-seater that had seen better days. It had wheezed to a rocky landing on the dirt strip on Saturday morning, helped no doubt by her rendition of "Fly Me to the Moon."

Only three days ago. A lifetime.

Tally glimpsed the pirate lying on the beach when she walked back from the store. He didn't seem particularly perturbed that his boat couldn't be fixed right away. He'd worked on it for a couple of hours, then gone to the beach, where he'd barely moved for the rest of the day.

Tally watched him from her window.

He was delicious to look at. In fact, just looking at him, coupled with the tactile memories of last night, was enough to make her feel decidedly warm.

Other than that patch over his eye, and several nasty scars, he looked hale and hearty.
Extremely
hale and hearty.

Her reaction to him was as troubling as it was bewildering. He was so not her type. Tally didn't exactly regret having had sex with him. But she was surprising herself. It had been 100 percent her fault. Still, that didn't mean she'd play vacation bed bunny for the guy for the duration of his stay. Acting out of character just once and, damn it,
enjoying
it, was enough.

Maybe it was the danger of the storm coupled with her attraction to him that had made her lose what was left of her mind and crawl into bed with a stranger. Maybe it was… it didn't matter. She'd done it. Didn't regret it.

And wouldn't repeat it. Once was incredible, but enough.

What did Michael Wright do for a living? Anything? He seemed to enjoy sleeping on the beach all day. For a beach bum he certainly had an extremely nice boat with lots of nice guy toys on it. He'd probably cashed in everything he owned to buy the boat, and a man probably didn't need that much money to bum around the world. He probably worked odd jobs here and there to pay for supplies. Feasibly he could sail around the world forever.

It was a twist of fate that they'd bumped into each other at all. The adventurer and the homebody. Oh, yeah. Now
there's
a scenario with a future.

At seven, she applied makeup—the whole enchilada: foundation, blush, eye shadow, and mascara. It wasn't a case of gilding the lily. She'd never be a beauty, but a girl did what a girl had to do to look at least halfway attractive. Thank God for makeup. She spent some time with a curling iron straightening the natural curls out of her hair, then took out her travel iron and ironed a pair of oatmeal-colored linen slacks and the matching blouse, ironed
his
fluorescent shorts and plain white T-shirt and folded them neatly at the foot of the bed to return to him later, and sat in the chair by the window.

He was going to burn to a crisp. Silly man.

The ocean stretched to infinity. Teal and turquoise. Calm. Benign. The storm, and her near-death experience, just a chilling memory. Tally shivered and rose to put the finishing touches on her attire before going down to dinner.

Gold earrings, discreet gold chain, crocodile belt, matching flats. Classy armor. Clothes made the woman. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

Auntie served dinner between eight and ten. Tally always ate dinner on the dot at six, and her stomach was growling by the time she ventured down to the bar at 8:05.

The sliding shutters that made up the entire front wall of the room had been opened to the evening air and trade winds, giving an incredible vista of the masts of the boats bobbing in the marina, and the faint shimmer of the starry skies on the ocean. The scent of evening blooming jasmine and other exotic fragrances vied with the yeasty smell of beer.

The mingled aromas were as intoxicating as champagne on an empty stomach.

The tiny bar was crowded as Tally stepped through the door at the foot of the steep cement stairs. Every head turned. Silence descended as the door closed slowly behind her. There were a few women about, but most of the patrons were male.

It would have made an interesting picture—that open-mouthed curiosity—if she hadn't been the focus of their gawking attention. Tally kept her spine straight and looked around for a vacant table. There wasn't one.

Auntie padded around from behind the bar, a big welcoming smile on her face. "Hoo-ee!" She gave Tally an up-and-down look and clasped her hands over her monstrous tummy cloaked in a searing orange print muumuu. "You lookin' A-okay, baby.
Ua poia anei oe
?"

"Starving. But there's no—"

"You come with Auntie, quick, quick. Fixed nice, special place for you on lanai. Come on. Hey! Henri? You go on, get behind the bar, Ethan needs a beer. Go on, you. Come."

Tally followed. She felt a little leap of her juices when she saw who was waiting for her outside at a romantic, candlelit table for two under the stars.
Ye gods and little fishes
. Did the man never wear clothes?

"Ah, wearing your formal black shorts this evening, I see," Tally teased.

"You bet." Michael looked her up and down. "You're looking particularly… hot."

"I'm quite comfy." Seeing him half-naked, "hot" didn't begin to cover it.

Talk about hot… She paused to collect her thoughts. Did she need to say this? Yes. She did. "About last night—"

"Movie. 1986, I think…"

" '85," she corrected just to tease him, and he gave her a surprise grin that punched at her with the force of a closed fist. Oh, boy. "Look, Michael, the sex last night was great." She paused, thought about it for a few seconds, and amended, "Okay,
really
great. But it was a onetime thing. Okay? It's not my style to have one-night stands, even on vacation. It was terrific. But not something I'm going to repeat." Oh man, she was babbling. Not a good sign. She hated when she babbled.

"I just wanted to make that clear so we weren't awkward with each other for the duration. I mean, not that you would be awkward or anything, but I would, and this way I won't and, besides, it's better this way all around, don't you think?"

"Take a breath."

Tally dragged in a gulp of fragrant flower-scented air and let it out slowly.

"Good girl. Hmmm. No more sex."

"Right." Probably
ever
, if she used last night as a yardstick. Who'd be able to compare, really?

"Unless you get scared of the dark again."

"I have a night-light."

"Extra bulb?"

Tally's lips twitched. "Two."

He sighed. "I'll try to keep my lascivious hands off you, then."

Her gaze dropped to said hands clasped over his flat stomach as he leaned back in his chair, and her brain short-circuited with the memory of those hands on her body. Down, girl. "And I'll keep mine off you," Tally said briskly. That hadn't been as difficult as she'd thought. Although the fact that he'd taken it so well was a relief, a little part of her was perversely ticked off that he'd accepted her edict so readily.

"Now that that's settled, would you like to take a little hike with me tomorrow? Auntie tells me there's a beautiful waterfall on the other side of the lava fields. I'd like to see it."

His eye glinted wickedly. "A waterfall sounds dangerously romantic to me. I'm not sure we could keep our hands off each other with that kind of provocation."

"Of course we can. Pass those rolls, would you? I'm famished."

He stretched out his arm without sitting upright and shoved the basket across the table so she could reach it. Sprawled out in a large rattan chair, bare legs extended, spine slumped, a cold beer by his side, he looked as relaxed as a man could get without being in a coma. Unfortunately, just looking at him made Tally salivate. He hadn't bothered putting on a shirt, still wore the black shorts he'd worn all day and was liberally salted with sand.

Michael gave her a lazy look that made her blood curl inside her like smoke. "Anyone say anything about the explosion and/or Bouchard?"

There was a surefire way to cool her off. "No. Not to me, anyway. I feel awful about it—especially about Lu. He was only about twenty years old. What a hideous way to die."

"Amen."

"I was damn lucky." She rubbed her upper arms.

"What was the story with him?"

"Story?"

"The two of you. Out there. Oblivious to an incoming storm. Romantic."

"Hardly. I—"
Think he was up to no good
. She didn't want to think ill of the dead. But Arnaud had been up to something.

"What were you going to say?"

Tally shrugged. "He wanted to show off the new boat."

"Couldn't wait until the typhoon blew over?"

"
I
didn't know there was going to be a typhoon."

"As a sailor,
he
must've." He took a pull of his beer. "Seems odd that he'd risk a multimillion-dollar craft for a joyride."

"Yes. It does."

"I imagine his boss will have a few questions," Michael said dryly. "So if that's Daddy's house up on the hill, why aren't
you
up there?"

"Auntie's is fine." She bit into the sweet roll.

"Sure, it is. But why not stay up there?"

"I—"
Don't feel welcome? Comfortable
? Shoot.
Wasn't invited
. "We're not that close. Since he's not here, I don't want to impose."

He frowned. "How can you impose? He's your father."

"You don't know
my
father," Tally said dryly.

Yeah, he did. Trevor Church was a cruel, sadistic bastard, the Scourge of the North Pacific. "Apparently not Father of the Year material, huh?"

"Hardly."

Candlelight softened her features and made her blue eyes appear luminous and mysterious. She was one of those women whose looks improved with makeup. And God only knew, she'd gone whole hog. Michael cocked his head. Strangely, he preferred her without the war paint. He liked her skin clean and fresh, and her large, blue eyes were thick-lashed and striking without the goop. She'd also done something to her hair. All the cute, bouncy curls were gone. Now her short dark hair was straight, and sleeked back off her face and tucked neatly behind her ears. He didn't much like it, but it suited her. She looked sophisticated and in control.

She hadn't been in control last night. Michael found he missed the uninhibited woman who'd come to his bed. However, he recognized camouflage when he saw it. Cammy and war paint. Tally Cruise drew her trappings of civilization around her like a protective cloak.

He'd like to see her naked again.

The beige outfit could've used some color. Red would look dynamite with her pale, creamy olive skin. Hell, he'd better have another drink if she was starting to look that appealing.

Michael balanced the cool beer can on his midriff. "So," he said lazily. "What kind of translating do you do?"

"I work for the Federal Reserve Bank in Chicago."

"Interesting?"

"It can be. I have a talent for languages, so it's a perfect fit. Growing up I did a lot of traveling with my mother. It was practical to use my skills in my career."

"Who was doing the growing up? You or your mother?"

God, her eyes were pretty when she was amused. Incredibly blue and sparkly with mirth. "Both of us, I think. Trevor, that's my father, took off when I was about five. My mother was barely eighteen when she had me. They weren't married, but she loved him passionately and was devastated when he left. My grandfather compensated by paying for her to travel wherever she wanted to go. We jet-setted from one place to another for the next thirteen years. By the time I was nine I could say Kaopectate in seven languages." She smiled. "Languages became my hobby. I was a quick study, and it was a game to me to see how much I could pick up before we were on the go again."