THREE
Ankles crossed, Finn leaned against the rail on the aft deck of his ship, Blackstar, which was anchored forty miles off the coast of Patagonia. Nearby, Blackstar Two, his dive ship, lay in position over the wreck of the galleon, Nuestra Señora del Marco. He and his partners, the Cutter brothers, had started the salvage two days earlier.
He had zero patience for waiting. Each hour of his day was planned for and filled to capacity. Just the way he liked things.
Now he waited for word from his private investigator.
Eight days had passed since the anomaly in Buenos Aires, and he couldn't stop thinking about the incredible redhead and those thirty-seven intense, heart-pounding hours they’d spent together. He'd returned after a solo shower on the third day to find the room empty. She'd left nothing behind but the faint, evocative scent of lilies on the still warm sheets to remind him of something he'd never forget.
No note, no goodbye.
Fake first name, no last name.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"You look cheerful." Nick Cutter came outside carrying two beers. He handed a bottle to Finn. "You remember this is a celebration, right?"
Finn drank, giving his friend the evil eye. "You bet me they'd all be gone by eight."
With a grin, Nick shrugged. "I owe you ten bucks."
"Should've made it a thousand," Finn laughed. "I knew you'd lose your ass on that bet, you lying sack of shit."
"Whatever the bet," Zane said as he, Jonah and Logan joined them at the rail. "I'm in."
Nick took a canape off the platter Zane held, and said around a mouthful of bruschetta crostini, "Yeah, well since you actually like people, you weren't included in the bet."
Finn had first invested, on a calculated whim, in one of Zane's dives a decade earlier. He'd doubled his money. Then met, and became friends with, middle brother Nick and oldest brother Logan. Jonah had come on the scene later. The brothers had a close bond and had included Finn into their tight-knitcircle. The Cutters had become good friends and damn good business partners.
Now, surrounded by his friends, and the lively sounds of a party going on inside, Finn wondered what she was doing at nine P.M on this Monday evening. Was she looking at the same lavender and apricot sky he saw shimmering off the still water, and reflecting the dying sun over the Atlantic Ocean?
Where the hell are you? How the fuck do I find you?
Around them, the lights of various ships, boats, tenders, and assorted seaworthy craft, huddled together, having deposited smartly dressed guests to drink his booze and eat his food. Good publicity. What they salvaged from the three wrecks would be sold to the highest bidders.
"See that heavyset guy?" Logan indicated, with a jerk of his shoulder, a guest standing inside, visible through the window. "He’s the buyer for that Saudi Prince with serious bank who put the ten million in escrow for the chance at right of first refusal. The blond woman to his left is head of the Major Acquisitions committee at DC's Smithsonian Museum of Natural history. The other blond is a reporter for Quaternary Science Review."
"These people aren't just here to drink your booze and shoot the breeze. They're here to claw their way into position to be the first; to buy, to scoop, to report."
"Making nice is how our bread is buttered and thickly layered with honey," Zane added.
"I like the honey just fine," Finn said with a smile. He knew how to play the game even if having all these people tromping all over his ship was annoying. "Any sighting of Dr. Núñez and his sidekick? I presume the Argentinian government doesn't expect us to house this oversight person for the duration, right?" Finn took a slug of his beer. He glanced at his friends, none of whom looked happy about the prospect. "They're aware this salvage could take twenty years, right?"
"Fifty, if we're lucky," Jonah said with a wide grin. "Come on, we'll smoke Mel Fisher's Atocha salvage. Thirty-two years, and still going strong? Almost five-hundred million so far?"
"We'll beat that." Zane clicked beer bottles with his brother as if they'd already won the race. "Fuck, we have five dive boats and three wrecks. Slam dunk."
With the Cutter’s track record, and the artifacts and coins they'd retrieved just in the last two days, probably. "Estimated five hundred-mil." Finn was assured his investment would have a healthy return. Didn't mean he wanted to stick around and watch each real brought to the surface. "The thought of staying put that long gives me heartburn."
Like a shark, he liked to keep moving.
"As long as Blackstar Two stays right there," Nick indicated Finn's two-hundred-foot dive boat anchored nearby with his glass of soda. "we’re good."
Finn smiled. "Now I feel like a twenty-dollar whore."
"Try a twenty-million-dollar whore. Take the money and run, Rocketman." Jonah placed his bottle on a nearby table. "But you'll at least hang for a few weeks, right? Or are you off to scale another mountain? Or build a high-rise on the moon?"
"For the Moon, we'd need to invoke in situ resource utilization. Supplies - oxygen and water - would have to be manufactured on site before anyone could live there. Easier on Mars. The polar ice caps can be melted for water, and oxygen can be extracted from water electrically. The moon has nothing and would be harder. You can't fit enough oxygen and water for a colony in a supply rocket." He looked around at the smiling faces of his friends. "TMI?"
"Always interesting, but that question was rhetorical," Jonah smiled. "Is there a minute of any day that you're not thinking about space?"
"I'm thinking this better be the last party I have to host," Finn said without heat as the sound of voices and glasses clinking spilled outside.
"We have to make a decision before the oversight guy shows up," Logan reminded them. "He's not going to commute from the mainland every dayfor a four-hour round trip. One of us is going to have to play innkeeper."
"He could come once a week," Jonah said. "Then we wouldn't need to waste a bunk." He brightened. "Even once a month..."
It wasn't unusual for a local government to keep an eagle eye on their percentage of salvaged treasure. It was part and parcel of treasure hunting. But none of them particularly wanted a stranger on board, monitoring their every move for the unforeseeable future.
Jonah tried again. "Maybe we could switch every couple of weeks? That seems fair--"
"I should be exempt." Zane shot his oldest brother, Logan a hopeful glance. "Trust me, other than my lovely bride, no one in their right mind would want to stay on board Decrepit for weeks on end. Worse if it turns out he's a woman."
"First, we don't know if Andersen is a man or a woman, and we've been through this," Logan said. "None of us wants anyone looking over our shoulder 24/7. Five of us. Five straws. Winner is the short straw, losers pay him five grand a piece. Who wants to go first? "
Like himself, the Cutters thrived on competition. Even straw pulling. Finn eyed the toothpicks fanned out like porcupine quills in Logan's fist. "Seriously?"
"You've known us for a decade." Zane's distinctive blue eyes twinkled. "When have we not taken a bet seriously?"
"Art form." Finn agreed, plucking his broken toothpick and palming it.
"What if this Andersen's some six-hundred-pound guy who smells like garlic?" Zane pulled out his toothpick.
"You'll have to suck it up, buttercup." Nick's Cutter-blue eyes held a devilish glint, as if he knew something the rest of them didn't. "If you pull the short straw you'll have to learn to live with whatever the guy smells like."
They each held up their wooden sticks of various lengths.
With a grin, Logan gripped Finn's shoulder. "Rocketman it is."
Eyeing the toothpicks and realizing he had the shortest, Finn shrugged. “Not a big deal. I'll house him on Blackstar Two and pretty much never see him."
"You really want some government watchdog with that much unsupervised access?" Zane asked.
"Plenty of security. I'm not worried."
Privacy was a paramount concern in his life. Even though Blackstar was a three hundred and fifty-foot behemoth, with six decks, more than sixty permanent crew and a full complement of office staff, he didn't want an unknown quantity onboard. Blackstar Two was close enough.
Finn operated in all his business dealings with fairness and integrity, as did the Cutters. He'd have nothing to hide when they continued pulling ancient relics and valuable treasure from the sea whether a government oversight person was on board or not. No matter what they scored, the Argentinians would get their cut, honestly and fairly.
Finn had his own team of twelve divers aboard Blackstar Two and had allocated three hours a day to dive with them. He'd be busy morning, noon and night. Perhaps he could juggle his schedule to squeeze in a quick trip back to Buenos Aires and another visit to the museum. . .
"True." Nick's teeth flashed white as he smiled. "Since you happen to have a ship the size of a fiefdom. More room for her to disappear in. You won't even notice one woman on ..."
"The six-hundred-pound garlic eater is a woman?" Zane scrunched up his face comically, his distinctive blue eyes alight with mischief. "Jesus, I bet she has a thick black mustache, hairy warts, and ..."
"Don't make up shit." Logan elbowed his brother. "We don't know if Andersen is a man or a woman yet. Dr. Núñez, head of the agency will introduce us tonight." He glanced inside, through the open doors behind Finn. "They may even be here by now. We should go back in anyway."
The darkening sky displayed a strip of brilliant orange.
Delicate and fiery, like. . .
They'd shared two sunsets, three dawns and only gotten out of bed to shower and eat. The rest of the time they'd made love. For Finn, the experience was like watching the brilliance of a comet streaking through the sky on a clear, ink-black night, knowing it wouldn’t appear again in his lifetime. Weird, because he'd never felt that for a person before. Celestial bodies, yeah. But never a woman.
You got exactly what you wanted, dickhead. Hot anonymous sex. Foolish to linger over an anomaly. Yeah, the sex had been phenomenal, but it was just pheromones and sexual attraction to the nth degree.
Just? Jesus. Not just. The entire experience had consumed him. She had consumed him. Wiped his mind clean, exhilarated every cell in his body. Since Buenos Aires, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time remembering details while his people searched Argentina from one end to the other. To find her. She'd been like a potent drug, and his body, usually so disciplined, was in the grip of a powerful withdrawal.
Annoying and unlike him.
Shit, for all he knew she could've been specifically sent to lure him to a hotel for some nefarious purpose his security people had, as yet, been unable to confirm or deny. Fucking impossible to find a redheaded ghost in a country with a population of over forty-four million people.
She could be anywhere. Anyone.
He didn't do one-night stands- too much of a liability. He enjoyed the personal connection in a relationship. He hadn't had one of those in over a year. He lived onboard his ship. Hard to make connections when he had a strict rule not to have romantic relationships with his staff or his crew.
"Yo." Nick snapped his fingers under Finn's nose. "Never lose focus with this lot. You'll find yourself accepting a bet to French a Great White by default."
Drumming up amusement, Finn blinked the brothers back into focus. Damn, he never lost focus. Why did this one-and-done experience in Buenos Aires still have such a powerful hold on him? He heard them with one part of his brain, while he thought about her with the other. Persephone. Queen of the underworld. With her interest in salvaged artifacts, perhaps she would have lingered if he'd told her about this salvage five hundred miles down the coast.
Several occasions over the course of their short time together, he'd been tempted to invite her onboard. Spend more time with her. . . But he'd been the one to stipulate, no real names, no personal details.
It had been a magical weekend precisely because "Persephone" remained a mystery, and because she'd appeared to have no knowledge of who he was. There was something ultimately freeing in that. She'd given him everything without ever knowing, or asking, about his bank account. It was a rare gift to have that kind of anonymity.
Unfortunately, Finn wasn't naïve. Maybe the weekend had been as pure as he'd wanted it to be. Maybe it wasn't. Wishing it, didn't make it so. His PI should be able to ascertain who she was, and if necessary, uncover her play.
Find her for fucksake. I'll ask her myself.
The salvage had officially started, but there was still a crapton of prelim work to do. Once things got more interesting, and he got more involved, Finn hoped she'd fade from his mind. With his regular day-to-night work and the salvage, he had enough on his plate to distract himself.
Still, he speculated how much she'd enjoy this sunset, turning her face up to the cool breeze coming off the water, the open French doors spilling soft lights and music out to the deck where he and the others gathered at the aft rail. The scent of the ocean and spicy food rode the breeze. The cool, salty air stroked his face and ruffled his hair, reminding him of the feel of her fingers against his scalp.
Peri. Sassy, sexy. Did her real name suit her as well?
Overlapping animated conversation, laughter, and glasses clinking, lent an air of excited anticipation. Divers from their five ships, and peripheral hangers-on, including some press, milled about Blackstar's expansive main salon on the third deck, drinks in hand. Too damn many people crushed together in one space.
More than thirty divers had done their first dive that day across the three wrecks - Finn's and the Cutter’s - covering more than fifty nautical miles of ocean up and down the coast of Patagonia. A small selection of their spoils was now displayed under the watchful eyes of four security guards. Some of the impressive bounty -a handful of the hundreds of ancient gold and silver bars, gold jewelry fit for a queen, and emeralds bound for Europe, had been hastily cleaned of their dark crust for this evening's event. For the first day of a salvage, the magnitude of the haul was unprecedented.
The potential for historically significant treasure, artifacts that no one had seen in hundreds of years, had drawn Finn to this investment. He’d built a career–thrived in fact–on new, unexplored territory, be it in the sky, or in the depths of the ocean. If what he and the Cutters suspected was true, he'd get a return on his sizable investment. Several times over. A nice bonus, and a definite win-win.
"Your cleaning crew did an excellent job processing the stuff on display," Jonah told Finn. "The s--"
Jonah’s words dissolved like mist over the water. With what felt like a small explosive charge, Finn’s heart shuddered like a multistage rocket hitting outer space as it did a second-stage drop. Deaf, mouth suddenly dry, Finn's focus zeroed in on a waterfall of fiery hair, creamy, freckled skin, and fuck-me jade eyes that were unmistakable. His gaze slid down her body, and the dress of flame that defied all the laws of gravity.
Persephone.
“Ariel?” Theo gave her a worried frown. “Are you alright?”
Peri's heart gave several excited knocks of anticipation as she blinked him back into focus. Ariel was the only name Theo knew her by. She always used it if she wanted to put some distance between her doings and her brother. Just in case things went sideways. It had never been more necessary than now. Her first confrontation with the Cutters.
"Just taking it all in,” she told him easily, as she visually tracked the guests. “The ship’s spectacular." An understatement. Blackstar was beyond a megayacht, it was a gigayacht. The superyacht of superyachts. Over three hundred feet of sleek black hull, six decks, and miles of gleaming brightwork. It must take a veritable army to run it. Peri was impressed, and if she wasn't so tense, she'd love to poke around and see more.
She knew she wasn’t going to have that opportunity. Not once the Cutters recognized her. Not that they could do much about her presence, other than try to make her life difficult. She represented the Argentinian government. It wasn't as though they could fire her.
The invitation to the party had come from the Cutters, but this wasn't one of their ships. They'd brought in a new big gun for this salvage.
Peri accepted another glass of white wine from a passing steward, then rubbed the back of her neck when she felt someone watching her. Surreptitiously glancing around, she froze as a tall, dark- haired man headed for her like a laser guided missile.
Dizzy, dry-mouthed and sick to her stomach, she suddenly felt light-headed, confused. Exactly the way she'd felt that time she'd surfaced too fast and got the bends.
Holding her gaze, his grey eyes glittered like polished steel as the party guests parted for him like a kelp forest before a shark. He moved with a familiar self-assurance. Self-assurance that came from knowing who and what he was. He was the king of the world, and he and everyone around him knew it.
Her stomach fluttered,her heart raced, and her lungs burned because she forgot how to breathe. Holy crap! Leo?
Her first thought was; how the hell did you find me? Quickly followed by a fervent: Please God, do not be a Cutter!
Then he was there. Close enough to touch, engulfing her in the faint, clean scent of citrus, sea and man. His molten, quicksilver colored eyes ran over her face and body like a lover's eager hands. The naked hunger she saw there stole her breath and sent her heartbeat into overdrive.
Her body instantly reacted to the visceral memory of his hands and mouth all over her. Hot, sweaty sex. The feel of his sweat-dampened skin sliding over hers. Peri's nipples tightened, and her breath caught.
He looked a lot more dangerous now than he had a week ago. More in control than the insatiable man who'd taken her against a wall, in the shower, on the balcony, on the floor of their hotel room. A mental flash of their gyrating, sweaty bodies, his mouth between her legs, the weight of him in her hand, his fingers in her hair, made her tense like a bowstring.
A prickle of unease mixed with the instant flair of sexual hunger. Her knees went weak, responding to the pull of his blatant sexual power. Nothing had changed in her response to him since she'd last seen him. His maleness beckoned to every female atom in her body to respond. And boy, did she.
His dark hair brushed the collar of a white dress shirt, casually open at his strong, tanned throat. His hair was the only soft thing about him. His features were chiseled, and his Roman nose only added to his sex appeal. His jaw was shadowed, and his eyes remained fixed on her face. Towering over her, Leo extended his hand to her as if a week ago that hand hadn't explored every millimeter of her body. Inside and out.
Peri's eyes dropped to his unsmiling mouth.
"Finn Ga--"
"Phineas Gallagher, I know," Theo said with his American-educated Spanish accent, as he intercepted the other man's outstretched hand to give it a vigorous shake. "Doctor Thiago Núñez, Minister of Antiquities. It's an honor to meet you, sir. I've read your articles in scientific journals over the years. I'd be very interested to learn more about your space exploration. I might be interested in purchasing a ticket-"
"Theo, you hate heights." Peri was hardly aware she’d spoken. God, this was surreal. Anticipation, tempered with fear, heightened her senses and made her head swim.
His face a taut mask, Leo's poker face was exceptional. If one didn't see how his eyes devoured her features one by one. A muscle pulsed in his jaw.
Her heart thudded violently. His elegant features appeared more austere than a week ago in Buenos Aires, maybe the white-hot heat in his eyes was a trick of the light? Wishful thinking? There was something coiled and dark behind the silver-gray. Something she hadn't seen, or hadn't noticed when they'd first met. "You're never going to set foot on a spaceship, no matter how exciting it sounds."
Unless he had an identical twin, her passionate lover “Leo” was multibazzilionaire inventor slash philanthropist slash god-only-knew-what-else, Phineas Gallagher. Large and commanding. He looked as though he owned everything around him, and he probably freaking-well did.
God, no wonder he'd looked vaguely familiar at the museum. She just hadn't put it together because it was so random and out of context. She'd heard of the Blackstar Group. What the hell had he been doing at the museum in Buenos Aires picking up a strange woman? Why would a guy with serious bank, a guy who looked like this, moved like him, smelled like him- need to have an anonymous weekend fling?
On the other hand, that weekend had been an aberration for her. As daring and adventure-driven as she was, she'd never done anything like that in her life before that weekend. She was a normal, healthy, single woman, and she hadn't had a lover in well over a year. The sparks he ignited had been off the charts. It would've been impossible to ignore, and she hadn't tried. A hot- flaming hot, interlude had been offered. She'd grabbed it- him- with both hands.
Now she wondered, fatalistically, if he'd connect the dots. Between her presence at that museum, at that exhibit, to her presence on board his ship, and her involvement with the Argentinian government? And any minute, the confrontation with the Cutters?
When Peri extended her hand, Leo -Phineas- wrapped his fingers around hers. The contact of skin to skin felt like holding onto a live electrical wire. She wet her dry lips with a sweep of her tongue and was gratified by the flare of heat in his eyes as he followed the movement.
"Ariel Andersen, your liaison with the Department of Antiquities." Proud of how steady her voice sounded, Peri smiled.
He did not smile back. Instead, he raised a brow. "You know this could take twenty years or more?" The hint of Ireland in his voice gave her goosebumps. It was several seconds before she realized his deep voice carried a message her befuddled brain couldn't quite decipher.
Even a football-field-length gigayacht would become a very small space indeed if she was sequestered on board with him for any length of time. Peri felt every hard knock of her heartbeat and covered the base of her throat with her hand, sure everyone could see her rapid pulse.
Her cheeks grew hot at the thought of the Cutters outing her in front of him. The wine glass felt slick in her suddenly sweating palm as she gave him a level look, her heartbeat skittering in her chest.
Longing. Panic. Embarrassment.
Damn it, excitement seeing him again.
"I'm fully aware, Mr. Gallagher.” Boy, she was going to win the Best Actress Award any minute. “Don't worry, I have no intention of interfering with your day to day operations. You won't even know I'm onboard." Because any second now you’re going to find out who I really am.
Okay. That sounded good. Cool. Competent. Not panicky at all. “Have you worked with the Cutters before?" But it was too freaking late for cool. Did she have a fever? Her skin felt hot and tight. The blood in her veins was on fire, surging through her in pulsing waves. If just looking at him made her wet, she was in trouble.
She was in big, big trouble.
"Yes, many times. Their ventures usually prove profitable."
Because the bastards were pirates of the worst kind. "They seem pretty sure about the value of this one. There's a lot of equipment coming in, a lot of salvage ships gathered. Do you know how they heard about this particular location?" Might as well get all the questions in before the shit hit the fan.
"You'll have to ask them. There's Zane now, want me to call him over?"
"No.” Chicken. “This is a social gathering. I’ll have plenty of time to ask my questions over the next few weeks."
God, this was awkward. How could her much-anticipated confrontation with the Cutters possibly work with him in the mix?
"And it's Finn."
She blinked.
"My name's Finn," he repeated.
"Right. I'm merely here to observe, Finn." She didn't want to talk about the Cutters and scrambled mentally for some sort of civilized, impersonal, cocktail party exchange. "I must admit, I'm also intrigued to hear about your race to Mars." She probably would be if her brain wasn't behaving like a squirrel on a wheel as she fixated on the way his mouth moved. Peri wanted to feel it on hers, needed him to touch more than her hand. Wanted Theo to vanish and take all the party guests with him. Her nipples, painfully aroused, pressed against the lace cups of her strapless bra.
"The first flight is half a year away."
"Ariel loves heights." Theo tried to wrap a possessive arm around her waist, but she adroitly sidestepped so his hand dropped to his side. "I can't even walk across her living room," he smiled. "This girl has nerves of steel. Lives on a bluff and half her house is a glass box suspended over a cliff. A ten-story drop to the rocks below." He shuddered dramatically. "Can't do it."
"I'm not a girl, as I keep reminding you." She pinched his forearm in warning to keep his hands off her. "You're missing out, Theo. Two-inch thick tempered glass, cantilevered over a bluff. I have the most spectacular views in Patagonia.” Finn didn’t care, and she was talking too much and too damn fast because she was a nervous wreck waiting for several other shoes to drop. “Three sixty views- nothing but ocean and sky. You should've built there yourself. Your loss, my gain."
The memory of Finn's hard naked body, hips pounding into her, was as visceral as if they were in the act there and then. All her body parts responded with alacrity. She remembered the scent of his skin, the heat of him pulsing against her. Remembered that his lightest touch could make her come. And had. Multiple times that weekend.
In serious lust, she couldn't drag her gaze away, couldn't stop her body's reaction to him. She decided to just enjoy the experience solo. "Theo and I met when we both bid on the same piece of land several years ago." Shut up, Peri! This is TMI. Cocktail party. Polite 'nice to meet you' convo, not my freaking life story. He doesn't care.
"I got my peninsula," she continued a little breathlessly, and as though she hadn't just given herself that little pep talk, "a spectacular bluff view, and this -" Did his lips just twitch? "This job with the Department of Antiqui---" She let out a little yelp when Finn grasped her upper arm, cutting off her inane chatter.
"Excuse us," he said with utmost insincerity to Theo. Plucking the wine glass from her nerveless fingers, he shoved it at Theo before propelling her through the crowd. Heads turned at their passage.
Startled by the abruptness of his gesture, Peri tried to yank her arm free. "Wait. What-"
He shot a terse, "Shut up" over his shoulder.
She dug in her heels. "Excuse me?!"
His fingers merely tightened as he plowed between his guests like a guided missile. Head's turned, people jumped out of their way as he pulled her out into the wide corridor beyond the salon where a dozen or more people clustered around a bar in the curve under the stairs. Everyone there turned as one to watch their progress.
Peri's cheeks flamed. "Maybe-" And maybe not. He wasn't stopping for anyone or anything as people parted like the Red Sea.
Finn almost crashed into a steward dressed in a black uniform with the ship's white logo on his pocket. The large tray, with filled wine glasses, swayed and dipped. Disaster was averted without them slowing as the waiter pressed back against the paneled wall, holding the tray over his head so they could pass without incident.
Slapping his palm on the third door to the right Finn manhandled her inside without a word. Darkness enveloped them when the door slammed shut. Without pause, he walked her across the small room, then pinned her between his hard body and something cold and metallic at her back.
The heat of him enveloped her. The world shrank in the cocoon of darkness, and the rasp of their heavy breathing.
Gathering her hair at her nape in one fist, he used it to arch her head back. "Do you know how fucking long I've been trying to find you?"