Roxanne St. Claire: Make Her Pay

“I live on boats with divers for months at a time. Most of them are men, and all of our days are spent in bathing suits. I lost my modesty years ago.”

He called up his mental file of Elizabeth Dare. Daughter of famed salvager Malcolm Dare. Highly skilled SCUBA diver with a recognized expertise in treasure hunting. Thirty, single, and commonly known as Lizzie.

It didn’t say anything about smart-mouthed, prettyfaced, or smooth-assed. And Lucy thought she was so damn thorough.

He aimed the spray right between her legs, drinking in the curves of her heart-shaped behind.

“It’s a shame I have to turn you in tomorrow morning.”

“Turn me in?” She spun around, eyes on fire. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

He just lifted a brow and turned the spray to his shoulder where a few drops of the acid had splashed on his T-shirt. “You were breaking and entering the cleaning lab and about to help yourself to the treasure. Define wrong for Mr. Paxton.”

“Paxton?” She rolled her eyes. “That explains it. And I thought you might be one of the good guys.”

“You thought wrong.”

She grabbed the spray nozzle. “Here, let me get your back.”

He relinquished the showerhead, turning so she could see if he had any acid burns on the back of his shoulder. “Any spots?”

“Guess I missed,” she said dryly.

He glanced back and caught her checking out his backside exactly as he’d studied hers. “Looks like I saved both our asses.”

She lifted her gaze from his, not the least bit coy about having looked. “What the hell else should I have done?” she asked. “I thought you were going to hurt me.”

“Someone has to stop a thief.”

“I know you’ve made up your mind about this, but I wasn’t stealing anything.”

He turned to face her. “Yeah, right.”

She aimed the water right in his face. “Any burns there ?”

He blinked, dodging the spray, spitting water as he seized the nozzle. “Not for lack of trying.”

“You got that right,” she said, disgust rolling off her like the water cascading over her rock-hard nipples. “How was I supposed to know you were the new diver?”

“If I had been there to attack you, you moved fast and smart. Good thing I’m faster and smarter.” He glanced down to his dick, which was dangerously close to coming back to life. He sprayed it, watching her eyes follow the water.

“Did I get you there?” she asked, nothing like apology or worry in her voice.

“Damn close.”

The intensity of her stare and the iciness of the water canceled each other out, keeping his arousal at bay. But it wouldn’t last much longer if he spent much more time in a two-by-two head naked with Lizzie Dare.

“Listen,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “What you saw was not what it looked like.”

How many times had he been in her situation, faced with an accuser, forced to manufacture some wild-ass excuse? A few.

“So, let me take a guess. You left something in there, woke up in the middle of the night, remembered, and went back for it?”

“No.”

“I know,” he said, snapping wet fingers and pointing to her. “You had a sudden urge to polish the silver.”

“No.”

Their gazes locked, their bodies close, their breaths matching. One more step and they’d touch.

But his orders were to get close to the crew. He might have the thief, but did he have the potential leak?

“Then what were you doing in there?” he asked.

She couldn’t back up, so she jutted her chin up, pink lips pursed in defiance. “Can I trust you?”

“Honey, we’re naked in a shower, a water drop apart, and I haven’t laid a hand on you to do anything but make sure you’re not hurt.” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a lazy, inviting smile. “Of course you can trust me.”

Lizzie blinked through the water on her lashes to study him more intently. This man was a study in contrasts.

His eyes were the color of a winter sky set against olive-toned skin, and his ebony hair was short enough to qualify for the military, but he certainly didn’t seem… safe. He’d jumped her like a man bent on killing, but saved her in one smooth, slick move. Despite a threatening body jacked with muscles and high-octane testosterone, he’d been positively protective since the moment she’d met him.

And he was right. They were naked and close, and the nitric acid wasn’t the only chemical combustion going on between them. Still, he hadn’t done anything but check her out.

He looked bad… but seemed good.

Could she trust him? Not with everything, but just enough to test his loyalties. “I just wanted a picture of something we recovered today.”

“A picture? Then why not take it in the middle of the day, on the deck, with witnesses?”

“Because we’re not allowed to take pictures of the treasure, of anything,” she told him. “Didn’t Paxton tell you that when you took the job?”

He shrugged, noncommittal. “I know things are a little different on this dive.”

That was one way of putting it. “Do you know why they are different?”

“Security reasons,” he said, parroting what the crew had been told.

“Right.” She snorted softly, still assessing him.

He was a perfect stranger who could be sworn to loyalty by Satan or his stepson, and even if he believed her and wanted to help, he’d think she was nuts. But if she didn’t tell him the truth-or at least part of it-he was going to rack up Brownie points with the boss by turning her in.

Then she’d be off the dive before her work was done.

“I’m trying to preserve history before Judd Paxton sells it on the open market, and uses the money to build another monument with his name on it.”

He didn’t react, but stared her down, considering that.

“I was trying to get some shots of the treasure before it disappears to a private collector,” she explained.

“So you’re just breaking the terms of your contract, not robbing our boss blind.” He speared her with a smoky look that sent heat coiling through her, doused when his words hit her.

“Our boss?” One ding for the hot diver. “So you have been bought and brainwashed by Judd Paxton already.”

“I’ve never even met the guy. I just take the paycheck-which, as you know, is better than most.”

She surveyed his face, trying to read his indecipherable expression. Impossible.

“Come on,” she finally said. “We’re de-acidified. I want to get dressed. I’m freezing.”

“You can’t put those clothes back on,” he said. “They still have traces of nitric acid on them. I’ll get you something to wear.”

“Fine.” She tried to get by him but he grasped her elbow.

“After you tell me why you want to take pictures, Lizzie.”

“In case we get caught out here. This dive is illegal. I don’t know if you know anything about Paxton, but he’s made his millions selling most of what his dives recover to private collectors. He gets to pocket a lot more if it’s not reported. Not to mention that, without a claim or lease, we’re a ghost ship out here. No one knows we’re here. That’s dangerous. Pirates-real ones-could board us at any time.”

“So you’re going to fight them off with pictures?”

“If that chain happens to disappear somewhere between this boat and the processing lab in Sebastian, then so does a little piece of history. Do you care about that, or are you just in this for the money, like Paxton?”

His gas flame eyes sent a blood rush from her toes to her ears. “So if you hate the company owner, resent his rules, and already have credentials, why did you take the job?”