Roxanne St. Claire: Make Her Pay

At the sudden change of topic, she shot him a sharp look. “I was practically born on a boat. My father was a marine archaeologist, and he took my sister and me on plenty of dives.”

“Was?” He knew from her file that her father had died fairly recently, and the pain on her face said the grief was still pretty raw.

“He passed away a few months ago,” she said, tucking some stray curls back from her lightly freckled cheek. “Diving accident.”

That he didn’t know. “What happened?”

She took a breath, tried for a casual shrug. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.” The ache was clear in her voice. “Nitrogen narcosis.”

He thought about that for a second, frowning. “On a salvage dive? How deep was he?”

“Not a salvage dive.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject. “What are you going to do with my clothes?”

“Destroy them. And after you go to your cabin, I’ll go clean the lab.”

“So, then…” She gave him a questioning look and let her words fade away.

“Your secret is safe with me.” He stood slowly, getting right in front of her, as close as he was in the shower. With one finger, he lifted her chin and forced her to look right at him. “For the time being.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “So, what, you can lord it over me whenever you want something?”

“That could work.” He lowered his face one centimeter and saw the flicker of response in her eyes. A hint of pink rose in her creamy cheeks, darkening those few freckles, warming the skin under his fingertips.

Her lips parted to take in a soft breath, drawing him closer.

She stepped back, keeping the sly smile on her face. “Two can play the blackmail game, Mr. X.” Without breaking eye contact, she reached into the side pocket of his backpack to slide out the satellite phone. “This is banned on the boat, baby.”

He barely shrugged in response. “I’m keeping it.”

“You do that. And tomorrow, remember that we’ll be meeting for the first time.” She dropped the phone back in the bag and wiggled her fingers in farewell.

He had her phone out and had started logging her calls before she’d even reached her cabin door.

THERE WAS A damn good reason that salvage season took place during the summer, Lizzie thought as she dug through the clean pile to find thick sweats and an ancient University of Miami sweatshirt to pull over her diving suit.

It was freaking cold at sea in November, even off the coast of Florida.

The toothpaste was chilly on her tongue and she brushed furiously, working up a lather before she looked into the mirror in her head. She plucked at her wavy bang, which had gone way past needing a trim weeks ago, and let it tumble over her face. Was this how she looked last night, bare naked in a head with one of the most attractive men she’d ever met?

The thought tightened her belly again, as it had last night when he whipped off his clothes.

But it wasn’t just the way he responded to that nitric acid-so protective and calm under pressure. Sure, he was a smart-ass, cocky as hell, and determined to paint her as a thief when she wasn’t one-not technically, anyway-but there was something about him. And it wasn’t just his gorgeous face and godlike body, although they didn’t hurt the package.

She spat in the sink, rinsed her mouth, then checked the time.

Was it too early to call Brianna? Not that her twenty-six-year-old sister needed to be checked on, but worrying about that impulsive little spitfire had been Lizzie’s job since Mom died when they were little, and the feeling of being the “parent” had intensified when they lost Daddy.

She yanked open her secret drawer and pulled out all the junk that covered the piece of pressboard she’d laid in the bottom, just in case some crewmember got nosy. It wasn’t a masterful job, but-

Shit .

She moved her hand around, flipping out the cheap board to search more thoroughly. Where had she left her phone? She was sure she’d hidden it here the last time she called Bree.

Then another wave of panic hit her. Daddy’s journal! She stabbed to the back, blowing out a sigh of relief when she touched the leather. Thank God. No one had taken her phone, or he’d have helped himself to the notebook, too.

So where did she leave it? She scanned every surface, flipping some clothes, books, magazines. She couldn’t even call it, as she did at home when she lost it, because no one else had a phone.

Well, Constantine Xenakis did. But if she asked him to come to her room and call her phone, then he’d have one more thing to blackmail her with.

She’d find it later. She had the morning dive so she didn’t have much time, and the only thing she wanted more than to hear her sister’s voice was to drink some of Brady’s morning brew.

Heading out, she made it three steps down the hall when the stateroom door next to hers opened.

“Mornin’, Lizzie Lou.” Sam Gorman patted her back so hard, she almost lost her balance. It always gave her a start when he used Dad’s special nickname for her, but she didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop.

“Hey, Sam.”

“How’d ya sleep?” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze, as he had many times on many boats for many years, his gentle blue eyes crinkling from thousands of hours under the Florida sun, his face looking every one of his fifty-some years and more.

“Eh, you know.”

“I know,” he said, nudging her forward. “Every day gets easier, dear, I promise. You have to move on. That’s why you’re here, and that’s what Malcolm would want.”

At her father’s name, her heart hurt. “That and the paycheck, Sam.”

That wasn’t at all why she was here, but he’d done her a favor by getting her on this dive, and she wasn’t about to tell him her real reasons for taking it.

“And you know what I smell?” he said as they headed up to the deck.

She laughed. “Gold.”

“You got it! I smell gold in that water, Lizzie. And you know what they say?”

“The blondes find the gold.” They said it at exactly the same time, with the same dragged-out intonation.

She gave him an elbow. “You haven’t been blond for years, Sam. But I hope you’re right. Will Char be down in the lab later?”

There might still be a chance to sneak in and get a picture without the big Greek breathing down her neck. Not that having him breathe down her neck would suck-just not when she was in mission mode. And her mission of the moment was to get the lab key back in Charlotte’s room.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Flynn said he’d be leaving later this afternoon to deliver what we have in the lab to the mainland for processing. Guess who you’re scheduled to dive with this morning?”

“You. I checked last night.”

“Shoulda checked this morning.” They reached the deck. “Dave changed the schedule and you got the new guy. Constantine Xenakis. Have you met him yet?”

She was diving with him ?

“Actually…” The sound of a now familiar voice made Lizzie freeze. “We haven’t had the pleasure,” he finished.

She turned slowly, and miraculously managed not to let out a “wow” at the sight of him. But, wow . The man was even better in daylight.

“Hello, Constantine.” She offered a hand, and a secret smile of thanks.

“Just Con.” He shook her hand, holding it just a little too long with a glint in his eye. “Constantine is kind of a mouthful.”

Yeah. A mouthful of man . Shirtless, with muscles on full display from broad shoulder to broad shoulder, the top half of his wet suit open and hanging over narrow hips. He added a smile that would melt a glacier and squeezed her hand like they were just going to be the best diving buddies ever.