Riptide (6 page)

Which he clearly wasn’t. Bria waited to see if his next words would be the offer to share his bed. But Nick Cutter wasn’t that crass, nor that interested.

She wasn’t going down without a fight. “There are plenty of sofas in your sunroom,” Bria told him, undeterred. Cutter might be an ass, but he was unlikely to toss her overboard. “I’ll sleep there.”

“I can make arrangements…?” The steward’s voice came from behind her.

“See if anyone’s willing to be inconvenienced, and will move, to accommodate the princess.” Cutter’s eyes, which had remained disconcertingly on Bria through the whole exchange, narrowed. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she said dryly. Really, the man had the personality of a sloth. In a coma. “Should I go with Khoi, or wait here?”

This was all sideways. She had a gift for making friends, real friends. Friends that she’d retained for most of her life. She was a hardworking, tax-paying, bargain-shopping fashionista who just wanted to go home to Sacramento and start an exciting new job.

After she procured Draven’s damned money.

Was that too much to ask?

“Go with Khoi, and wait…” He waved a big hand dismissively, as if he didn’t give a damn where she slept. “Wherever he puts you to wait until a cabin becomes suitable for your occupancy.”

A personality-less,
rude
sloth. Bria got to her feet. “Thank you,” she told him sweetly, charmingly, trying to be—well, all right, if not friendly, then at least civil. “I won’t get in your way.”

“That remains to be seen.” His tone assured her he had no such foolish hopes. “Las Palmas charters has one chopper. I doubt they’ll make another trip out here tomorrow, when they have dozens of tourists willing to pay top dollar for short trips.”

“I’ll call them and ask.”

“No need. I’ll fly you back to Las Palmas myself first thing in the morning.”

“
You’ll
fly me?” That sounded way too suggestive and she cleared her throat. “On what?” The
Starship Enterprise
? A broom?

“There’s a helicopter on board.”

Of course there was, silly her.
“Great. Thank you.”

“This isn’t a free ride, Your Highness. You’ll work for your keep.”

Bria started to feel not that damned friendly. He could cut the attitude anytime now. Her pulse raced; she felt the heat in her cheeks and reminded herself to modulate her tone. Losing her temper now would be really, really stupid and give him the advantage. Wasn’t going to happen.

“I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” Bria pointed out. “Surely you don’t expect me to work for my supper?”

“If you’re here longer than twenty-four hours, I’ll put you to work.”

If it’s longer than twenty-four hours, I might kill you and toss you over the railing of your fancy ship, Mr. Spock.
“Doing what exactly?” Her studied, mild tone didn’t telegraph the screw-you she was feeling. For God’s sake, what did he want her to do? Swab the decks for the privilege of dinner and a bunk?

If she suspected for a second that he had a pulse, let alone a sense of humor, she’d think he was teasing her. He didn’t. He didn’t. He wasn’t. She didn’t think.

“Whatever you’re capable of doing, Princess. Is there anything you do well, other than making poor choices of footwear and barging in where you’re not welcome?”

Poor choice of footwear? So he had noticed her shoes.

Score one for the pissed-off princess.

Ass
.

“As soon as I’m settled,” Bria said sweetly. “I’ll sit right down and make you a list.”

*   *   *

The steward took Bria back to the upper deck sunroom and left her with a glass of iced tea and a plate of warm brownies while he went off to arrange accommodations. She had a feeling if Cutter had his way—and why wouldn’t he? it was his ship—the little Vietnamese steward would stuff her in a broom closet and Nick Cutter would lock the door.

Surely there had to be some room on this huge yacht. Bria took a sip of the cold lemon-kissed ice tea. She should’ve thought this through a little better, she admitted as she sat in a surprisingly comfortable chair. It was just a knee-jerk response to her cousin’s frantic call telling her what Draven had done. In essence, he’d mortgaged the country.

Her country. Or at least, their parents’ country. Draven had only been the ruler for two short years, and he’d borrowed more than he needed. Worse, more than he could pay back.

Bria had used up a chunk of her savings to hop a last-minute flight across the continent, across the ocean, and across the fricking globe. Sacramento to New York, New York to Paris, Paris to Rabat, Rabat to Tarfaya, and from there to Gran Canaria where she’d charted the helicopter from hell. All in all, she’d crossed several time zones and had been traveling for three days with a single damn carry-on.

She was tired, and not up to her fighting weight. Especially when it came to the likes of Nick Cutter. She took a chocolaty bite as she looked around. Just a cursory glance was enough to tell her the man probably had fifty million euro in his wallet as walking around money.

Okay. Maybe not, but he certainly could access Draven’s money before the salvage was complete, couldn’t he? At least as a loan against returns if nothing else.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Just for a second. Under the sound of the relaxing trickle of water in the wall fountain was the throb of a large engine, almost like the ship’s heartbeat. It might’ve been relaxing if she wasn’t about to jump out of her skin with nerves.

What would happen if Draven didn’t pay the banknote in thirty days? It hadn’t even been a possibility an hour ago. She’d been so sure Cutter would be reasonable. Now everything going to hell in a handbasket was a very real possibility. Could the bank take Marrezo lock, stock, and barrel?

That’s what her cousin Antonio was terrified would happen. Their people had been traumatized, terrorized, and ousted from their homes for twenty years. In the two years since her brother had returned and been crowned, things had started to change. Crops were planted, vines pruned, families had returned to homes long abandoned. What would happen to them if the island kingdom reverted to Italy?

Bria tamped down the rise of fury at her brother’s crazy get-rich-quick scheme. Investing in treasure hunting? Draven might as well have gone to Monte Carlo and thrown away five million euro at the blackjack tables.

As much as she tried to convince herself that he was doing his best to hold everything together while he tried to rebuild the country, she was furious that he’d taken such a wild risk with the borrowed money.

There was some jewelry left … It was his and his wife Dafne’s to do with as they wanted. Sort of. No. Not sort of. Not even a little. Regardless of what she’d told herself, none of it was reassuring. The priceless gems belonged to the country.

Bria buried her face in her hands. Diamonds and gold weren’t going to help rebuild the people’s homes, or pay off that balloon payment for the loan he’d gotten when he first went home. For that, Draven needed cold, hard cash.

But for God’s sake, treasure hunting? How simple would it be for Nick Cutter to claim that no wreck had been found? How would Draven know? And even if Cutter did admit that treasure had been found, how frigging simple to not declare all of it?

“Might as well wave my lovely new job bye-bye,” Bria muttered under her breath. She’d call. See if the company would hold her job for— How long? A week? A month? Until she was ninety-frigging-two?

She was a damn good publicist, but in this economy, and in Sacramento? They could find a dozen good publicists that they liked just as well from the Bay Area alone. Damn it. She’d really wanted that job. Had been thrilled and excited after being unemployed for almost a year to finally find a job. Let alone one doing something she loved.

She’d blown the last of her savings on this wild goose chase, she was still unemployed, and she was stuck in the middle of nowhere on a boat with a man who looked at her as though she were as useful as a china teacup in a … salt mine.

She got to her feet and walked across the room to stand at the window. She placed her hand on the sun-warmed glass. The sunset was a splashy, and quite spectacular, magenta and tangerine symphony. The sinking sun was a perfect ball of fiery red in the center. The colors rippled and danced across the surface of the water like the colorful skirts of flamenco dancers.

An ache formed in her chest as she looked out over the vastness of the Mardi Gras–colored water. She was the only person who could save her country. She had to get that money from Nick Cutter. To that end she could take anything.

Even the disdain in his cold blue eyes.

“I am Basim,” the darkly good-looking steward told her when he materialized in the sunroom half an hour later. Unlike the slight Khoi, whom she’d liked, this guy was short and stocky like a wrestler, and didn’t have a deferential bone in his body.

“A cabin has been made ready for you. If you will follow me,
mademoiselle
?”

Bria was taken aback when he led her to a round glass elevator instead of stairs. She shouldn’t be, she realized. The difference between a man and a boy was the price of his toys. Nick Cutter had some very nice toys.

He had excellent taste. And, she reminded herself irritably, Marrezo’s money with which to indulge himself. Which meant he could, if he chose to, return Draven’s investment. It hadn’t been her idea to stay on board the
Scorpion,
but now that she was here, she would gladly take advantage of the situation. She would get the money back—she just needed to figure out how.

Basim smoothly answered her casual questions. There were about twenty people on board—all men. The name of the captain was Jonah Santiago, not Cutter. Odd. He didn’t even captain his own ship?

The miniscule cabin Basim showed her was in the lower deck crew’s quarters and so small that the steward remained outside in the corridor as she entered because there wasn’t room for both of them inside. The freshly made-up bunk took up almost all the floor space. Fortunately, the cabin had its own bathroom.

“All the comforts of home,” Bria told him cheerfully as she tossed her heavy tote onto the narrow bed. She’d slept in worse places. “I hope I’m not actually kicking someone out?”

“It’s nothing.” Basim’s oval, liquid eyes watched her closely, making her slightly uncomfortable. Which, she was sure, he’d been ordered to do by his boss. After asking if there would be anything else, he said in lilting English, “Dinner is being served out on the sundeck,
mademoiselle
. Would you like me to wait?”

“No. Thanks. I’ll find my way.”

Bowing slightly, he slipped away like smoke.

Bria, not given to claustrophobia, still found the space too confining and quickly freshened up. She took the combs out of her hair so it fell to her shoulders, absently finger-combing the slightly wavy strands into submission as she dumped her purse on the bed. She sighed. “Hard to come up with anything creative and fashion forward with this.” She hung up what she could, unwrapped a who-knew-how-old mint, and shoved everything else back into her tote.

Cutter could make her life extremely uncomfortable if he chose to. She hoped he didn’t choose to. She’d grilled Basim like a cheese sandwich on the way downstairs. Twenty crew members—all at her service, he’d said diplomatically. She sincerely doubted it. Bria crunched down on the stale mint as she stripped off the red dress and hung it up in a closet only large enough to hold three hangers.

“I’d bet my favorite discounted-fell-off-the-designer-truck Jimmy Choos that Nick Cutter didn’t extend that offer,” she told the tiny space. Usually a good judge of character, she found him maddeningly hard to read. He was so enigmatic she couldn’t get a bead on him at all. Which, unfortunately for him, made him a challenge. And being in the public relations business, Bria thrived on challenge.

It’s not as if she had anything else to do for a while.

Basim had informed her that besides the captain and Nick and the crew, there were five scuba divers who went down every day to bring up the treasure. She was ecstatic with that piece of information.

Less than ecstatic with her reluctant host, she took out the pencil and sketch pad she was never without, and did a quick sketch of Nick Cutter glaring at her from behind his desk, then another quick one of the first time she’d seen him. Wet suit slung low on his hips, water beading on his chest—a curve here, and shadow there.

Yes. In a few lines and smudges, she’d encapsulated his arrogance, implied the striking color of his eyes, and she was surprised to see that she’d captured the sensuality of his stern mouth, Obviously having studied it without being aware that she was doing so.

“It’s
you,
all right.”

Bria shook her head and tucked the pad back in her tote.

Even if she could barely feel the movement of the ship, her high-heeled, red-soled sandals, while fabulous, would get her nothing more than a sprained ankle on board. Although he’d mentioned her shoes, it had been in derogatory terms, and he hadn’t exactly fallen all over the sexy footwear. Or anything else for that matter.

Thank God she had a healthy ego.

She changed into her jeans and white, scoop-necked T-shirt, which she turned backward to show a little cleavage just in case, then switched her footwear to lower-heeled wedge sandals that she’d worn to travel in. Now her eyes would no longer be on the same level as Cutter’s mouth.

“A good thing,” she assured herself. Because his eyes were that piercing I-can-see-into-your-brain blue, it had taken awhile to notice his mouth. Which was pretty damned spectacular and very tempting, except for the things he said with it. Things like no.

His lips were well defined, and very sexy.

“Down girl,” she reminded herself as she slicked on red lipstick without looking in the tiny mirror by the door. She didn’t need to see herself; she knew exactly what she looked like. Pretty girls were a dime a dozen. Her looks were genetics and nothing to do with her. Her figure was good in clothes, and a little meaty without them. Not too many people had seen her without them. Her legs were her best feature and she played them up in the highest heels she could find without getting a nosebleed. She loved fashion, buying all her clothes at discount stores; she had a knack for making them look designer.