In Too Deep Page 7

  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 bee
n 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."

  "Is that where the boarding schools came in?"

  "Sure, when I could convince Bev to let me enroll. She didn't much like traveling alone.

  "It wasn't until I got into my mid-teens that I realized she was traipsing all over the world searching for my father, which was incredibly sad. Because of course he didn't want to be found, so that proved pretty fruitless. Eventually she gave up."

  "And did you?"

  "Did I what?"

  "Give up looking for your father?"

  She shrugged, her eyes clouded. "My mother eventually remarried, and I like my stepfather."

  "Yet you came all the way here to see him."

  "He invited me. I was curious."

  "How long since you last saw him?"

  "Six years. Can we change the subject? I'm kind of stressed about this meeting, and it's worse because he's not even here, so I have to wait for him to get back. Kind of like anticipating pulling off a Band-Aid."

  She was too open. Too easy to read. Her father's defection had hurt, and she was reaching out to him. Michael could've saved her the time. Trevor Church cared for no one but himself. If she had an inkling of the man she was hoping to connect with, she'd charter a flight off the island tonight and never look back.

  "Mind if we talk about something else?" she repeated.

  "Sure. What would you like to talk about?"

  "You. What do you do for a living, Michael Wright?"

  "I'm a sail bum."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it."

  Tally flinched at the sound of a bar fight breaking out inside the bar. Michael figured if he got really antsy he'd go check that out later.

  "No goal to sail around the world faster than the last guy?"

  "I'm in no hurry," he said lazily, and watched the shades come down over those expressive blue eyes.

  She had pretty hands, with long, slender fingers and bright red polish, which he found a real turn-on. Her toenails sported the same color. She was perfectly groomed, apparently perfectly in control, and he was starting to get perfectly pissed off.

  He'd preferred her off-kilter, slightly untidy and passionate, as she'd been onboard. He wondered who was the real Tally Cruise.

  "What about hobbies?" she asked doggedly.

  "I sail. I eat. I sleep." Your father's been my hobby for the last year. Ask me anything you like. Chances are I'll know the answers. Not that you'd like to hear any of them.

  "No TV?"

  "Nope. Not in years."

  "Movies?"

  "Nope."

  "Friends?"

  He picked up his fork and balanced it on a finger. "Nope."

  "Don't you get lonely?" she asked, big eyes serious and full of compassion he didn't fucking well need.

  "I don't think about it. Do your friends make you less lonely?"

  "Of course."

  "How?"

  "How? We talk, and go to the movies, and do things together. Shop. Go to the gym. Laugh. Cry." She gave an eloquent shrug. "Things."

  "And then you go home," he said, looking at her. "And you're alone. How do your friends keep the loneliness at bay then?"

  "It must be
pretty lonely sailing around the world all by yourself," Tally said, not answering his question.

  "It's not," Michael said flatly, tossing the fork onto the table with a clatter. He preferred to be the one asking questions. She'd neatly turned the tables on him.

  "Dinner here!" Auntie caroled as she waddled out onto the lanai, hands full, followed by a beautiful Tahitian girl carrying more plates.

  Auntie set a platter before Tally—who of course looked suitably horrified by the enormous portions—and the plump, sloe-eyed girl sidled up to Michael to deliver his dinner personally. By the look in her dark eyes she'd have liked to serve up something a lot hotter than mahi mahi.

  Michael smiled.

  The girl smiled.

  Tally snorted.

  "This be Leli'a. My sister's baby, come to visit her old Auntie. She take good care of you. You just sing out you want something. You hear?" Auntie departed in a froth of bright fabric and bouncing body parts.

  "I'd like another nap—"

  "I'm off duty," Leli'a informed Tally swiftly, and spun on one bare heel to follow her aunt inside. There were a lot more interesting bouncy body parts on the niece. Her legs were a little short, but her yellow pareu had done little to cover a great expanse of milk coffee-colored skin, and some very nice jiggly parts.

  Things were definitely looking up.

  Tally's knife flew across the table.

  It landed in the dirt floor, vibrating, point down, beside Michael's bare, left foot.

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Did you do that one on purpose?"

  "Of course not," she said with a straight face. "If I'd done it on purpose the knife would be in your foot, and not in the floor." She picked up her fork and stabbed her dinner with considerably more force than necessary. "You certainly seem to bring out some weird klutzy thing in me."

  "Pent-up passion."

  Fork halfway to her mouth, Tally regarded him thoughtfully. "Pent-up passion?"

  "Sure. It has nowhere to go, so you fall over your own feet and fling cutlery at me. Perfectly obvious. You need to get rid of some of that sexual tension inside."

  "Didn't I do that last night?"

  "Sure, but that was yesterday's tension." There was humor in the way he said it, but enough truth to be flattering. It was hard not to appreciate the combination.