In Too Deep Read online

Tally drew up her legs reflexively. Waiting for a wave to crest, she kicked upward and tried to spot Arnaud and Lu.

  Both men might very well have died in the explosion. And if she trod water much longer, she'd be equally dead. Since Arnaud's favorite expression was "every man for himself," she reluctantly started swimming toward one of the boats she'd seen earlier. With help, she'd try to find him. If the adage "only the good die young" held any truth, Arnaud Bouchard was healthy, happy, and already swimming to shore. Tally hoped the crewman was with him.

  By the time she reached the other boat she was exhausted and out of breath. Dark, storm-tossed waves pummeled her as if trying to shove her away from the boat. Salt spray blinded her; water rushed down her throat. She reached out, smacking her arm into the side of the craft.

  With numb fingers, Tally gripped the rim of a porthole. Now what? She couldn't scale the side of the boat without assistance. She cried out as a wave dashed her painfully against the hull, then dragged her beneath the surface. Coughing and spluttering, she fought her way back to the top, lungs on fire.

  "Help!" Futile. The wind howled, the waves slammed against the hull, and the world sounded like it was ending in a roar. She spat out a mouthful of salty water and held on. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the flames and black smoke of the Serendipity smudging into the low, dark cloud cover.

  Tally shuddered, really, really frightened now as the waves buffeted her and the muscles in her arms trembled from the strain of holding on. Her fingers were beyond numb. She couldn't hold on forever.

  She did a visual search of the length of the boat, trying to figure out how she was going to climb aboard. Where the hell was the ladder? Her grasping fingers slipped off the porthole. She kicked frantically to stay afloat, ignoring the ache in her thighs. Should've kept up that gym membership.

  From this vantage point the boat seemed enormous. Not as big and fancy as Arnaud's, but it loomed over her, large and white and solid. And currently impenetrable and unscalable.

  With any luck they had a swim platform on the back…

  "Hey, lady. Life preserver. Behind you!"

  Startled, Tally looked up. The dark silhouette of a man leaned over the railing. He pointed behind her.

  Bracing a hand against the glassy smooth side, she turned to glance down the trough of the wave behind her. There indeed was a white and blue life preserver. Thank God. She reached for it. Went under. And, thanks to the waves, came up ten feet farther away.

  So near and yet so far.

  Her arms and legs threatened to give out. Her lungs felt waterlogged, and her eyes burned. Tally flailed toward the life preserver and finally managed a two-handed death grip on the ring.

  A sharp tug nearly wrenched the ring from her puny grasp. She held tighter. The strength of the man hauling the rope zipped her through the water. Within minutes she was airborne and landed with an ignominious splat on the deck at his large feet.

  For several moments, panting took every ounce of energy she could muster. Not even the cool wind slapping her wet skin induced her to move. Cheek flat on the smooth wood of the deck, she didn't bother opening her eyes when she felt a tug on the preserver. Straightening her fingers was all she could manage, and even that, shakily. Her lungs filled with the scent of varnish, salt, and the oily smell of smoke.

  "Were you burned?" the man asked in a rough voice.

  Tally lifted her upper body off the deck, feeling as if she weighed two tons. She coughed. "I—uh—don't know. I don't think so."

  She looked up.

  Up long, hairy, tanned, muscular legs, past ragged Hawaiian shorts, past a flat, bare belly to skim a broad, tanned, hairy chest. Good God. No wonder he could pull her out of the water with a single tug. The man was a giant.

  Ignoring her, he braced against the roll of the waves and walked a few feet to stow the rope and life preserver in a locker aft, then turned and came back. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

  Tally coughed up seawater. "I don't think so," she repeated. Frankly, she had no idea. She was just happy to be out of the water.

  "Then rise and shine. There's a category-three monsoon bearing down on us. We're clearing out."

  Tally staggered to her feet and spread her legs for balance. "Lord, yes, let's," she said to his back. "Thank heavens you were out here. I don't think I could've kept on swimming much longer."

  "Fortunately for you I was catching my supper before the storm hit."

  "My lucky day." Tally rubbed her frozen upper arms with her equally cold hands. "I'll never turn my nose up at a fish dinner again. You saved my life." She grabbed the railing to steady herself as the yacht rocked and rolled with the waves. Spray soaked her already sopping wet clothes. She shivered.

  "Don't start the French fries, honey. It's not saved yet," he told her with a quick glance at the darkening sky.

  He turned to fully face her, and Tally sucked in a sharp breath and took an involuntary step backward. For a split second her heart almost stopped beating, then lurched into a heavy rhythm that made her entire body feel hot and prickly.

  Ye gods and little fishes!

  A pirate!

  A black patch covered her rescuer's left eye. The elastic holding it in place drew a thin line between his dark brows and across his forehead. His dark hair was wet, and slicked back off his lean face. His strong jaw was hazed with dark bristle. His face bore the austere lines of a man hounded by demons and comfortable with danger. He looked scruffy, unkempt, and strangely appealing. Tally attributed her reaction to being delirious with shock.

  "Seen enough?" he asked dryly as she continued to stare. "Or do you want me to turn around?"

  By all means, do. "Sorry. I wasn't really looking looking—I zoned out there for a second." Very smooth, Tallulah. "I wasn't looking looking"? Oh, brother. She blew out a sigh.

  He wasn't quite a giant, but he was solidly built, and towered over her own not insubstantial five foot nine by a good five or six inches. Six foot four of sheer power, hard muscle, and sex appeal. His broad, darkly tanned shoulders gleamed with moisture. Salt water glittered like tiny diamonds in the hair on his chest and on the silky dark hair on his thickly muscled legs. His hands and feet were enormous.

  "Understandable." His mocking and enigmatic gaze took in her clinging clothes, bare feet, and grim hold on the railing as his boat rode the swells.

  There wasn't a thing she could do about her appearance, so she didn't bother fiddling. Besides, she didn't want to draw attention to the wet transparency of her blouse. Not that he looked the type to be crazed by lust. Especially for a woman like her. Perversely disappointed, she realized that far from being crazed with lust at the sight of her size A boobs, the pirate hadn't even noticed he could see right through her shirt.

  That one, piercing, whiskey-colored eye locked onto her, and Tally's stomach did a weird little somersault. Adrenaline still raced through her body at a furious clip.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Tally Cruise." Pleased she sounded coherent under the circumstances, she thrust out her hand and smiled.

  "Michael Wright." He took her hand, not with his right, but his left. His thumb brushed the back of her knuckles. Little zings of electricity shot up her arm. "You've got a few scrapes here."

  Surprised, Tally glanced down. His hand was dark and so big, her pale fingers almost disappeared inside his grasp. Her knuckles were red and scratched. Probably from trying to cling to the hull of his boat. "I can't fee—they don't hurt." As lovely as it was standing there holding his hand, Tally gently extricated her fingers. The electrical charge went away. "I'm okay. Really." She took a deliberate step in retreat. "Did you see what happened?"

  "Hard to miss," he said dryly. "Your boat went kaplooie."

  Tally blinked at his easy dismissal of two lives and a million-dollar boat. "Is that the technical term for it? Did you happen to see if anyone else was thrown clear?"

  "Nope. You're it. There isn't even a fish alive for a three-mile radius." He reached out
and touched her upper arm. "You were hurt," he said roughly. "You're bleeding."

  She twisted her shoulder a bit and glanced down. The sleeve of her white blouse was stained pink. She hadn't noticed it before, but the moment she saw the seeping blood, the wound stung like fire. "Damn, my stitches must've opened."

  "I'll take a look when we're clear of this storm."

  "It'll wait. The salt water was probably good for it."

  "I'll check, anyway." He turned his back and started doing something to a rope and pulley nearby.

  A take-charge kind of guy was exactly who she wanted to be with if she was with anyone in this weather. "Do you work for my father?" she asked curiously.

  He threw her an amused glance over his shoulder. "Do I look like I work for anyone?"

  She tilted her head, water dripping icily down her neck. "Looks can be deceptive."

  "Can't they, though."

  She rubbed her hands up and down her upper arms, chilled to the bone and shivering in earnest now. "My God, what could've caused the boat to explode like that? A leak in the engine or something?"

  "No."

  Hmm. "What can I do to help you?"

  "Know anything about boats?"

  "Other than one end is pointy? Nothing."

  "Then stay out of my way."

  "That I can do."

  While the pirate heaved and ho'd, Tally's mind raced.

  Arnaud was a wealthy man in his own right. He had hot and cold running peons to do his bidding wherever he went. Yet he'd taken the Serendipity out without a full crew—except for Lu, who'd remained below the entire time they were onboard. It wasn't until they were well out of the harbor that Tally had even noticed they were alone.

  And knowing Arnaud, she'd immediately become suspicious. He'd tried to make a pass. Had he decided that if he got her out on the water he could force himself on her? To what purpose?

  Tally frowned. They hadn't seen each other in years, and their last meeting hadn't exactly been stellar. She'd politely declined his proposal then, as she'd done his proposition today.

  He wanted something from her. Something important enough to make him ignore the danger of a storm. But, what? Not sex. Sex was the package he wrapped things in to make them appear more palatable.

  She shivered, and used both hands to pull at her shirt, which clung uncomfortably to her wet skin. She might never know what Arnaud had in mind.

  The boat bounced hard on the waves. Reflexively, Tally shot out a hand to brace herself on the closest stable object.

  She stared in horror at her own pale fingers gripping the front waistband of the pirate's shorts.

  His purple Hawaiian shorts were now riding low, very low, on his hips, as the weight of her hand dragged the fabric down.

  And down…

  Chapter Two

  « ^ »

  Tally yanked her hand away and stuck it behind her back. "God. I am so sorry." She'd touched him. Felt the heat of his tanned skin, felt the crisp hairs at his groin… felt… oh, man.

  "Nice try, but no cigar. Want to go for two out of three?"

  Tally closed her eyes and blew out a breath. "Oh, this day just gets better and better."

  "It's certainly looking up for me." With an amused glance, the pirate hitched his shorts back over the sharp angle of his hipbones. There'd been no sign of a tan line. "Hold on to the rail until I can get you hooked up."

  With long, perfectly balanced strides, he went to the stern, where he lifted the top of a teak bench and dug through the contents.

  Tally gripped the slick rail with both hands. "Can we go look for them before they drown?" she shouted to be heard over the pounding of the waves. She forced her gaze off the pirate's broad, tanned back and spread her feet for balance instead of sacrificing herself to Poseidon.

  "No point." He returned and handed her a life jacket attached to a harness. "Put this on." He snapped something on the back of the jacket and connected it to a line running along the deck.

  Tally was grateful beyond belief that he wasn't going to say any more about her grabbing on to his dipstick. "Of course there's a point. Arnaud and Lu might very well be trying to stay afloat as we speak."

  "Doubt it."

  "Oh, come on! I made it. Lu's lived on Paradise all his life. He must know how to swim, for godsake! And Arnaud's a much better swimmer than I am. That water's deep—they must be exhausted by now. We have to hurry."

  "Lady, you're just not getting this, are you? Your boyfriend didn't make it. Consider yourself lucky."

  "He wasn't my boyfr—who cares what he was. Is." The creak of torqued wood sounded eerily like a woman screaming. Tally hunched her shoulders. "I'm sure they were thrown clear just like I was."

  "Didn't see anyone else thrown clear."

  "Did you see me thrown clear?" Tally demanded, fastening the front of the jacket with numb fingers. The life jacket came almost to her knees and smelled faintly fishy. But it was dry, and it cut the wind. She felt the hum of an auxiliary engine beneath her feet.

  "Yeah, I saw you."

  "So Arnaud could've—"

  "He didn't."

  The possibility of Arnaud being dead refused to register. Just a little while ago he was at her side—strong, vibrant, healthy, invincible, unscrupulous, and lying through his perfect white teeth. Damn it. He was too oily to drown. He must be floating out there somewhere.

  Tiny, stinging whips of wet hair blew against her cheeks. She shivered despite the jacket, and tucked the short strands of her hair behind her ears. A quick glance skyward showed how low the dark clouds had dropped. The wind howled. Waves pounded at the boat as if demanding entry.

  Angry white foam danced along the lip of water, spraying across the teak deck. In the few moments she'd been aboard, the waves had grown and the wind had picked up. Sea spray sent needle-like stabs at her exposed skin. It was obvious, even to a landlubber, that they were in for a major storm. If the waves had been this high when she was in the water, she would have drowned.

  Despite his words, she staggered over to the rail, leaned into the wind, and searched the sea for signs of life. Wind and waves had torn the remnants of the elegant yacht to shreds, then swallowed the pieces whole. The choppy water surged, drowning the flames still struggling in the wind. A dwindling flame garden of burning debris and whitecaps. The Serendipity was gone as if it had never been.

  "Hey." Her host grabbed her by the back of the jacket and hauled her upright. "I'm not fishing you out again if you fall overboard."

  Their eyes met. He wasn't kidding. "Not exactly a people person, are you?" she said.

  He grimaced and released her. Tally turned back to the rail, oddly disconcerted by his touch, even through the jacket. She didn't lean as far out this time, but she strained to see in the growing darkness.

  Tally suspected Arnaud's boat was probably Trevor Church's boat, and if that was the case, her father was not only going to be absolutely livid about the loss of property, he was also going to blow his stack if she didn't at least make an attempt to find Bouchard. Damn it.

  "I'll pay you to help me find him," Tally said briskly, turning to face him.

  An eyebrow rose. "Yeah? How much?"

  "A thousand dollars." He didn't so much as blink at the offer. "Are you for real? Okay, two thousand."

  "Only two? He couldn't've been very important to you."

  She considered Bouchard a slimy turd, a necessary evil. On the other hand, the pirate wasn't going to risk life and boat if he knew she felt that way. "Five? Ten? Twenty thousand? How much will it take?"

  "How much you got on you?"

  She held her arms out. "Not a whole hell of a lot. But I have traveler's checks back at—I'll buy your boat from you." She narrowed her eyes when he didn't answer. This was nuts. She was standing out here in the middle of a typhoon negotiating with a pirate to save the life of a man she'd just as soon drown herself. "You rat. Okay. I'll pay you to captain it. And I'll pay you to help me find Arnaud."

  H
e folded his arms across his massive, hairy chest. "Hmmm."

  "Is that a yes?"

  He paused for so long, she thought he'd gone into a coma with his eyes—eye—open. "Keep a sharp lookout. This is going to be fast and dirty." He strode past her, heading for the wheelhouse.

  Fast and dirty, it was. While she doggedly clung to the railing in the prow, he guided the boat within feet of burning timbers and bits of the Serendipity, weaving in and around flotsam. There was nothing to identify the bits and pieces floating on the waves as a luxury, seventy-five-foot yacht.

  She felt a chill that had little to do with the wind. If she hadn't been thrown clear, she wouldn't be alive to tell the tale.

  It was obvious Arnaud and Lu were gone. Dead.

  Her fingers tightened on the polished wood rail as she strained to check every piece of debris floating on the surface of the choppy water, anyway. Occasionally a sudden rebellious flare, or the smoldering glow of embers, or a lacy froth of phosphorescence broke the turbulent, black water, but there were no signs of life.

  A relentless wave pounded the hull, then crashed around Tally's bare feet. She staggered, braced herself, and held more tightly on to the solid railing. Not only was it now almost fully dark, she realized she was out to open sea with a man she didn't know. And no one knew where she was.

  Had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

  Had she had a choice?

  The skies opened, releasing a torrent of rain that raced across the surface of the water like a thick gray curtain. Big, fat drops fell closer and closer together in heavy sheets. Tally lifted her face. The rain stung her skin, and tasted sweet on her tongue, making her feel gloriously alive.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a bright light blinking, and turned to see Michael Wright in the wheelhouse aiming a flashlight beam at her as if she understood Morse code. She got the message. He wanted her inside.

  Tally moved away from the rail. The swells had grown stronger, more erratic, more furious. It was as if hell had risen up from the bottom of the ocean and was now having a temper tantrum. She held on to whatever she could for the few yards she had to traverse, grateful for the line anchoring her to the deck as her bare feet slipped and skidded on wet wood.