Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

“Why don’t you take a hot shower?” she suggested.

He just shook his head and pressed himself against her from head to toe. “This is much better. You’re like a human heating pad.”

He punctuated that with a little more pressure on her legs and hips, riding her enough to dry his skin on her clothes. She curled one of her legs around his, using the warm cotton of her sweatpants to dry and warm his thigh and calf.

He sighed again, sliding one more time as if he could wipe his whole body with her warmth.

“You better let me have that damn medallion since you are totally taking advantage of this situation,” she teased.

He backed up just enough to reveal his open palm. And the gold.

“Oh.” She let out the word in a little breath of air. “I told you Flynn was the thief.”

“You were right. He’s a thief and more.”

Her eyes bugged. “He had more treasure in there?”

“Depends on how you define treasure. This piece wasn’t worth much, in my opinion.” At her look, he lifted a brow. “Did you know he was sleeping with Alita?”

“Alita? Did she see you?”

“No, she stayed in the stateroom and this was in the salon. Not very creatively hidden, either.”

“Alita.” She shook her head. “I never picked up that vibe from either of them.”

“It explains how he knew exactly where that medallion was hidden. She told him after I showed her, so they’re a team.”

“Why did you show her, anyway?”

“To test her.” He bent over, rubbing his legs. “She failed.”

“What do you think’ll happen when Flynn discovers it’s gone?”

He shrugged. “He won’t have the nerve to nail me on it, and the crew will assume whoever stole it had second thoughts and returned it. Maybe he’ll think Alita double-crossed him.”

She took the gold with her to the edge of the bunk, sitting down to admire it. “They’re scum, both of them. And him, stealing from his own stepfather. I told you their relationship is a mess.” She turned to him, her smile widening. “And now I’ve won the bet.”

He stood up and pulled a canvas duffel bag from under the bed, dragging out a pair of jeans and taking them into the head. He didn’t close the door, giving her a perfect view of his backside as he shoved off his wet bathing suit and gave himself a cursory rub with a towel.

God, the man had a beautiful body. He stepped into the jeans, pulling them over his bare hips, giving the zipper a half tug that didn’t make it to the top, not bothering to snap.

The medallion forgotten, she stared at his bare chest, the cuts of muscles disappearing into the jeans, the bit of dark hair peeking out from the half-zipped fly. Her throat went bone dry.

“So we dive tomorrow night,” he said, approaching the bunk slowly.

What was he talking about? Diving. Gold. Scepters.

That’s why she was in this room, eating up her new partner with her eyes. She lifted the medallion and laid it against her chest as though it could help slow her rapidly increasing heartbeat.

“I dive tomorrow night,” she corrected. “You work the air hose and cover my ass.”

He reached the bed, looking down at her. “ I dive tomorrow night,” he countered. “ You work the air hose and cover my ass.”

She started to stand up. “No way. I know where it is.”

He put his hand on her chest, over the medallion, and eased her all the way down. “You can show me tomorrow. We dive together first thing in the morning.”

“You can’t change the rules, Con.”

Smiling, he took the medallion, grazing it over her breasts with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I can do anything I want.”

Wordlessly, he laid the medallion on the nightstand and in one smooth move, was back on the bed, kneeling over her, his knees sliding right between hers. “And since I can do anything I want” -a zing shot straight up her body-“I’m going to dive for the scepter tomorrow night.”

He loomed over her, bare-chested, practically unzipped, exuding sex and control and power… and changing the rules.

Her fingers curled into the thin blanket under her, awareness flaring through her.

“It’s a dangerous dive,” he said, easing her legs open a fraction with his. “It’ll be dark, with no blower.”

That was true. “But if I do it,” she said, managing not to let her voice crack, “I’ll be down and back in seven or eight minutes. I know exactly what to do. I’ve visualized it.”

“I’ve visualized it, too.” He leaned over her, putting his hands on either side of her, letting his weight drop so that his biceps tightened. “And I’m making the dive.”

His face was very close, his gaze fierce, his lips almost curled in a smile.

“You can’t do this.”

His smile said he could. “I know your secrets now, Lizzie. And you need me.”

Need. That was one word to describe the heat in her body. “That doesn’t give you the right to take over my plans. I’m in charge of this and you’re following my instructions.” She put a hand on his chest, his skin still icy from the water, but he just pressed himself closer.

“I’ll dive. You work the hose. And we…” He closed the space and brushed her mouth with his. “Will be partners. How’s that?”

Partners. What kind of partners?

“The kind Alita and Flynn are?” Onboard lovers. Right now, it sounded really good.

“Way better.” He kissed her again, a little more potent this time, enough to intensify the need between her legs and make her whole body want to rise up and meet his.

He opened his mouth, breathed into hers, and kneed her legs open one more inch. Every cell screamed more. Every inch of her wanted to bow her back, and feel all that hardness against her.

He rose just a little, as though tempting her higher, luring her.

Glancing down, she saw the tip of his hard penis threatening to burst out of the half-zipped jeans. Her mouth almost watered.

Very slowly, he stood, his abdomen clenching as he straightened, his gaze right on hers. He put his hands on the zipper and her eyes dropped, watching, waiting, anticipating the scrape of the teeth as he freed himself. She tried to breathe, but all she could do was watch his fingers, his flesh.

He was going to do this. He was going to…

Zip up .

He closed the jeans, snapped, and reached out a hand to her. “You better get some rest, Lizzie. We dive early. And late.”

She let out a breath and relaxed her elbows enough to drop an inch. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“What? Change your game plan?”

In one move, she rolled off the bed, away from the trap of his legs and steel slice of his gaze. “Don’t tease me. I don’t like it.”

She was halfway into the hall when she heard him whisper, “Neither do I.”

Speaking of changing the game plan… Con hadn’t called Lucy once since he got on this boat.

Puffing a breath full of frustration, he double-locked the door and waited until Lizzie’s footsteps disappeared and the ache in his groin lessened a little. Very little.

Let’s see, Lucy had, what? Four rules for this assignment?

Check in every day . Nope, hadn’t called once.

Report anything suspicious . Everything was suspicious.

Turn in anyone he found stealing . Or, just steal it back.

Inform the client of any crewmember who might know the wreck they were diving was El Falcone. Not aid and abet her plans to ruin Judd Paxton’s recovery effort by assisting in a secret ploy to steal the most coveted artifact on the dive, remove it from the premises, and hide it on the mainland.

After blowing every rule she’d set out for him, sex with a target who had a personal vendetta against the client and a plan to ruin the entire dive probably wasn’t going to make a dent on his already battered employee evaluation.