A dead body.

That was what had fouled her anchor line. Lucy broke the surface, spat out her snorkel, and rubbed the fog from her mask. The bright sun set the ocean on orange fire as it sank beneath the waves, and there was a dead body tangled on her chain.

She had sailed to this isolated atoll three times now. Each time, she found something amazing that turned out to be cursed.

Her first trip, she discovered the largest Sea Opal in the world. Her second trip, she got engaged to her now ex-husband, who made off with her Sea Opal.

The third time was the charm. The atoll was skipping the “seems-amazing” part and going straight for the curse.

Only ten minutes ago she’d stood in the water-logged trawler engine room and trained her cell phone on herself for what was going to be her final Facebook Live expedition broadcast.

“Mel, as you can see, the leak’s gotten worse. I’m heading back to port tonight. I’ve got time for one last dive.”

And that would be it. Her last chance to find a Sea Opal. Mel had double-mortgaged her family house to get Lucy this far. There would be no second expedition.

Lucy squared her shoulders, made the victory sign, and grinned. Her grease-smeared cheeks ached. “This is it. I know I’m going to get lucky.”

And now…

Now her last chance was fouled by a dead body on her anchor line.

She could pretend she’d never seen him and search for her Sea Opal. But…she just couldn’t. He had relatives. Friends. Maybe he even had kids. Worse than a tragic closure was the unfinished, senseless ache of never knowing for sure what was in store.

Lucy replaced her mask, took several deep breaths, chomped her snorkel, and dove.

Her magenta plastic fins propelled her quickly below the thermocline, into colder water, and her ears squeezed. She moved her jaw. Her ears popped.

The anchor line cut into the man’s midsection. His arms and legs hung off either side, floating straight out in the current.

She grabbed his bicep. It was huge with muscles, and his skin was slick, like trying to grab a fish. Her hand slid off.

Ew.

She grabbed the bicep with both hands and yanked.

The body rotated around the anchor line and started to come free. It was slow going. And she really needed to breathe.

His feet hooked the anchor line.

Son of a sea biscuit.

She tugged. Almost free…

Her lungs convulsed.

Air!

Lucy raced for the surface. Her lips cleared the water. She spat her snorkel and gasped.

The body was at her limit. Could she haul him up with the anchor? He didn’t seem that securely attached. If she changed to scuba gear, he might float away. Also, the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Soon it would be too dark to see. No, she had to bring him up now or lose him forever.

She dove again.

The body was hanging on the anchor line by one foot. Was the current stronger? She reached him… and her lungs clenched. No! She left him behind and raced for the surface again alone.

Lucy clung to the bobbing ladder on her rusty trawler.

Maybe she couldn’t save the body. She wasn’t the same person who had visited this atoll the other two times. She used to compete in triathlons, and now, she was fat. Her belly was scarred with old injection sites. She could hardly swim ten feet.

Why would I want to stay married to you? Look at yourself. You’re a failure as a woman and a failure as a human being.

Lucy sniffed and cleared her mask. So what if she was weak and fat? Focus on the man. Her problems could wait.

She grabbed the chain and dove. Hand over hand, she pulled herself directly down. This time, she wasn’t coming up alone. No matter what.

The man was no longer entangled! He floated away, face down, and disappeared into the depths.

No.

She let go of the chain and kicked harder. Her lungs screamed. There, his leg. Something was wrong with his feet. They were flat like fins. Ugh, were they disintegrating? Gross. She grabbed the ankle joint. Hopefully, he’d stay together—yes, his ankle was firm, although slippery.

Lucy rotated for the surface and dragged him by the ankle. He was heavy, awkward, and water-logged.

Her lungs convulsed again.

Almost there. The surface glimmered. Almost…

Air now!

She spat her snorkel and gasped.

Seawater hit the back of her throat.

Ack.

The surface broke around her like shattered glass.

She grabbed the ladder and gagged up seawater. She coughed and hacked. Her muscles trembled.

A hundred years later, her throat finally cleared.

She was still gripping the man’s ankle. Success!

Of course, it wasn’t really a success. At the end of the day – which was right now — her expedition was ruined and this man was still dead.

What had happened to him?

He bobbed face-down on the waves. Possibly disintegrating feet aside, his body was in good shape. Hard, thick muscles bulged in every direction like a body builder. Dark hair lay upon firm skin swirled with incredible tattoos. They were an unusual gold color. Possibly tribal. In the setting sun, they almost seemed iridescent.

Long, white scars raked his powerful shoulders. Propeller blades? The wounds looked raw and deep, but they were no longer bleeding.

How bad was his face? Maybe the guys back at the shop could get an identification. Maybe his grieving relatives were rich and would back a second Sea Opal expedition out of gratitude. She could dream. Lucy tightened her gut and rolled him over.

His face wasn’t gross. Just sad.

He had dark brows, high cheeks, an aquiline nose, and a firm chin. His skin was pale from being in the water. And he had more tattoos. Tattoos everywhere.

Also, scratches. Ragged claws had raked his chest. She traced the gashes across his massive pectorals with her wrinkled fingertips. His body was the same temperature as the water.

Once, he had been handsome. Now, he was gone.

The weather had been clear recently. Of course, there were a hundred thousand ways to die at sea. Around Cancun, the most frequent cause was stupidity. Had he power-lifted himself over the side of a cruise ship? Thrown back a fifth of tequila and flipped a jet ski? Or was he actually the victim of—

Wait. What was that she felt? She rested her palm on the center of his chest.

Thub-thub. Thub-thub. Thub-thub.

Was that … a heartbeat?

Impossible. He had been submerged. And face down. No—

The man spasmed. Water splashed her mask.

Lucy shrieked.

His eyes fluttered open. Aquamarine, like the ocean, they struggled to focus on her. His mouth opened and closed.

He was still alive!

The man moaned and slipped unconscious again.

Her heart pounded louder than a steel drum band. Training took over. Get him out, drain the water from his lungs, warm him up, and get him to a hospital.

He was too solid to lift onto the trawler. She grabbed a net and winched him onto the deck. He hung head-down. Water poured out. She lowered him to the deck and checked him. Labored breathing, but his heart was strong. He would survive.

The first stars twinkled in the beautiful indigo sky.

He was much heavier above the water. Lucy dragged him from the net, down the stairs, and through the living area to the cabins. Apparently, she should have been doing power lifting herself to train for this moment. Huffing and puffing, she brute-forced him onto the guest bunk. She wrapped his wet body in thick wool blankets.

Under the bare bulb, his skin was as pale blue as the water around Cozumel. Its color made the gold tattoos even more unreal. They swirled around his crushing biceps, across his well-defined six-pack, below his masculine waist, and even around his… oh.

His clothes had been ripped away by the current. A massive blue cock hung between his bulging thighs. The gold tattoo swirled around the thick shaft to the tip.

A stir of awareness tingled in her feminine center, streaking her hot and cold and hot again.

In Cancun, the hard-bodied guys at the dive shop greeted her like a long-lost lover. They buried her in hugs, kissed her cheeks, and invited her out to get drinks. Her younger self would have died to have all her fantasies come true. Her older self blew them off. She didn’t feel a darned thing.

This tingle proved she wasn’t completely dead below the waist. A good looking, proudly endowed male could still make her react to his pantie-soaking virility.

Of course, suddenly remembering she was attracted to hot men was the absolute last thing she needed right now. She covered him to preserve his modesty. And also her good mood. But mostly his modesty.

His chest rose and fell. Tendrils of dark black hair accented his determined brow. She smoothed the silken threads. How did he end up here?

Also, what was clenched in his hand? A ball of seaweed? She tugged the strings. He moaned and gripped harder.

Fine. Keep it.

Lucy sat back on her heels. Her muscles trembled from exhaustion. Her plans were all screwed up, but, she had saved a man’s life. She’d face the consequences in Cancun. Now, she was freezing and ravenous.

She tossed on a swim cover, raised the anchor, and set her course for the mainland.