Wendy Etherington - Her Private Treasure

Though her tone was an accusation, he wasn’t offended. She’d thrown his world off balance. Now he knew he’d done the same for her.

He also knew he should stand, but he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him.

She skimmed her fingertips across his shoulder. “What’ve you done to me?”

Part of him wanted to tell her to run. He wasn’t worthy of her time or attention. But he wasn’t capable of that kind of nobility.

He captured her hand in his and kissed the underside of her wrist, where her pulse beat strong and thick. “In an effort to be truly honest, I should admit I was enjoying the night air and hoping you’d show up for a stakeout.”

She slid down onto the sofa beside him. “And I knew you wouldn’t give up your involvement in this case.”

“Are we pursuing the case because we want to solve it, or are we pursuing it to have an excuse to be together?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Does it matter which is true?”

“Honestly?” She smiled, leaning toward him, her lips an inch from his. “No.”

Her tongue teased his bottom lip, then her teeth nipped the same spot. He hardened in an instant.

With a tug of her wrist, he pulled her against him, crushing her against his chest, relishing the way her heart hammered against him, as if trying to escape and join his. Angling her head, she deepened the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He breathed in the scent of clean cotton and, if he wasn’t mistaken, gun oil.

She was a combination of tenderness and teeth that he found intriguing, stimulating and irresistible.

His erection throbbed. His ears buzzed.

The gentle rocking of the boat beneath them belied the electricity in the air. In the dark, shadows mingled. Hot breath and seeking hands sparked passion. Forgetting who she was and her real purpose in his life, he surrendered to the moment as he hadn’t in a very long time.

But before he’d taken his next breath, she had her pistol drawn and her back plastered against the wall next to the cabin’s exterior door. “Get down,” she whispered.

His hands tingled. He still had the scent of her clinging to him. “I—”

“That buzzing in your ears isn’t my substantial powers of seduction. It’s a boat motor.”

“How do you know my ears are buzzing?”

“Because mine are, too. Get down.”

He slid from the sofa onto the floor and watched her peek between the blinds on the glass door. With a great deal of effort, he could now separate the humming in his ears from the motor outside.

She was cool, calm and in charge. He was a quivering mass of need. There was a serious balance issue with this relationship already. If there even was a relationship, which he wasn’t sure about. They’d only been introduced two days ago. Didn’t these things take time to develop? Didn’t the fact that she was in his life only to solve a case make anything meaningful impractical? And hadn’t he decided he was through with anything that didn’t have meaning?

Then again, her ears were buzzing, too.

Eschewing dignity, he crawled across the cabin, then rose beside Malina. “There are times when I feel like a freshman in the throes of my first crush.”

“The throes of—” She stopped, turning her head to glare at him. “Don’t throw. Don’t crush. Be still.”

She looked lean and sexy, her pistol raised beside her and pointing at the ceiling. Her expression was focused, her body braced. Desire tightened his stomach. “Is that thing loaded?”

She peeked between the blinds again. “Do you ever shut up?”

He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “If you keep my mouth occupied in some other way.”

She ignored the invitation and said, “I think it’s your buddy Jack.”

“So we work now and play later?”

“I’m always working.”

She used the tip of her gun to move the blinds aside, and he watched over her shoulder as Jack’s boat puttered past and turned into its slip. “That’s him, right?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“That’s the boat.”

She snorted. “You’re such a lawyer.”

“Unless there’s now a rash of boat thieves running over the island intent on disrupting the general well-being of the citizenry, I assume Jack’s the pilot.”

“Hell. A wordy lawyer.”

“I’m well paid for each and every syllable.”

“Do you ever feel guilty for making that money on the tide of pain and suffering your clients have to weather?”

Something ugly clenched inside him. “All the time,” he said lightly.

Part of the tension he felt must have slipped through his tone, because she glanced at him. “Cheap shot. Sorry.”

“I’m used to it.”

“So I’m all the more sorry.”

“I appreciate the—”

“Hold on. He’s moving.”

And Jack was.

He emerged from the cabin with a small box tucked beneath his arm. The box appeared to be made of ordinary, brown cardboard. It measured no more than half a foot wide and long. Jack was whistling as he stepped off his boat and onto the dock.

For some reason, the upbeat tune made Carr’s blood boil. “Let’s follow him.”

Malina planted her hand in the center of his chest. “Let’s watch.”

After a few moments, Jack disappeared up the stairs toward the marina bar—and no doubt the parking lot beyond.

“We should go after him.”

“I will. I know where he lives.” Tucking her pistol back into its holster, Malina opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s look around a little first.”

As they moved slowly along the dock, Carr studied the bobbing American Dream. Something was fishy about Jack’s boat—and it didn’t have anything to do with nets or rods. “I don’t suppose you could turn your head while I pop the cabin lock and see what old Jack had hidden beneath his mattress?”

“Not yet.”

Though Malina’s back was to him, Carr raised his eyebrows. “So you’re not saying no? How liberal of you, Agent—”

“Hang on.”

As Malina bent to one knee, Carr moved closer to her. More coffee maybe? If so, Jack really ought to find a sealed box to carry his illicit merchandise in. Didn’t the man know about plastic containers? They even had fresh seal plastic bags now. Double-zippered to ensure the contents stayed tightly enclosed.

“Well, now,” Malina said in a low, excited tone that immediately captured his attention. “It seems your neighbor does have a side business, though I’m not sure how drugs, art or coffee enters into it.”

Carr moved his attention to her clenched fist, which she held out in front of her. “How so?”

“It appears Mr. Rafton went for the sparkle instead.”

When she opened her hand, sitting on a scrap of white cloth, a large, loose diamond glittered back at him from her steady palm.

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