Robyn Donald - Meant To Marry

‘Yes, of course.’ Only a few steps away behind a small bar in the cabin was Sule, eager to dispense drinks and snacks—as Anet had informed everyone over the microphone a few minutes after they’d left the wharf. ‘I’ll get you something now. What would you like?’

Georgia pouted for just long enough to show off her provocative lips. ‘Something long and cold and wet—mineral water,’ she said. ‘I’m almost dehydrated in this heat.’

There was enough accusation in her tone to make Anet stiffen, but nothing showed in her expression as she said, ‘Right, I’ll be back in a moment.’

When she returned with a cold can Georgia thanked her prettily before, with a social ruthlessness that stunned Anet, dismissing her politely and firmly. Not that she’d have had a chance to continue talking to Lucas, for, as though the sight of the can had sharpened people’s thirst, everyone wanted one.

By the time they’d all been served it was time to lay down the rules for safe diving. Georgia listened intently, although with the charming air of an adult humouring a child, as Anet took them through hand signals, the length of time they were allowed to stay under and the maximum depth.

It would, Anet thought wryly, be a long time before Georgia forgave her for that rescue.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN the anchor rattled down Anet had the tanks checked for the final time and the divers organised into pairs. As Scott jumped into the dinghy to drop off the flagged buoy that warned of divers in the vicinity, she said to the group, ‘I know you’ve already been asked this, but I have to tell you again that it is extremely dangerous to dive if you’re at all prone to asthma—even if you only get wheezy when you have bronchitis.’

Everyone shook their heads solemnly. Anet couldn’t stop herself from casting a swift glance at Georgia, and immediately felt ashamed. Irritating she might be, but it was clear from her familiarity with the gear that she had dived before.

‘Keep checking your depth,’ she continued. ‘All the pretty fish and corals are close to the surface, so there’s no reason to go below twenty metres. Once you do, the risk of narcosis increases significantly.’

Everyone nodded.

‘If this is your first dive for some time you’ll have got out of the habit of watching your gauges, so be vigilant.’

Everyone nodded again.

‘All right, then,’ she said cheerfully. ‘In you go—and remember, no teasing the moray eels. They don’t take kindly to it. And stay with your buddy. You are each other’s safeguard.’

She noted their entry into the sea with an experienced eye. Yes, they all seemed to know exactly what they were doing—even Georgia. Either she’d been putting on a show back there in the harbour or she was one of those divers who used the buoyancy compensator as a backup for their poor swimming skills.

Serena had warned her that occasionally you got some idiot who thought they didn’t need instruction or training. People were strange. Why expose yourself to danger?

The approaching dinghy summoned her to the side of the launch. ‘I’ll stay out,’ Scott called above the noise of the motor. ‘You keep Lucas company on board, Annie. Ask Sule if she wants to come with me, will you?’

But Sule, tidying up at the bar before checking the till, hid a yawn behind an elegant hand and said, ‘No, I’m going to have a sleep. My little sister was sick all night, so guess who didn’t get any rest!’

When Anet relayed the answer Scott saluted and spun the dinghy, heading back towards the flagged buoy.

Skin prickling, very much aware of the man who stood beside her, Anet watched her cousin go, feeling as though she’d been deserted.

‘You didn’t have to stay to keep me company—you could have dived.’ Lucas Tremaine’s voice, deep, cool, with an intriguingly abrasive undernote, intruded into her thoughts.

Keeping her eyes on the strings of bubbles breaking on the surface, she replied, ‘This lot are all competent in the water, so I don’t need to get in with them. Besides, the water’s so clear that if they stay close to the boat I can see them all from up on top. Which is where I’d better go right now.’

She turned and made her way to the top deck, both pleased and wary when he accompanied her.

‘I presume they have to be competent to go down,’ he said.

‘Not necessarily. I can take beginners on a resort dive.’

‘What’s that?’ He spoke absently, as though thinking of something else.

‘They follow me around like ducklings after their mother while I show them the more accessible parts of the coral garden,’ she told him, averting her eyes from the dark forearms on the guardrails. A panicky foreboding pressed down on her, drying her mouth, increasing her heart-rate as she fought to control it.

You’re overreacting, she thought disgustedly, taking three deep breaths to calm her pulse. This man was no physical threat, and it was stupid to get into a tizz at the sight of his arms!

After clearing her throat she said, ‘It’s not diving as experts know it, but at least that way untrained swimmers get to see the fish and the corals.’

Her voice sounded perfectly normal, the words deliberate as they usually were, so why did she feel that she was gabbling? Leaning down, she pulled at one of the fenders to straighten it.

‘Here, I’ll do that,’ Lucas said.

She turned her head, meeting his eyes with a tiny shock. ‘I can manage.’

His smile was ironic. ‘I’m sure you can manage almost anything you care to do,’ he said, ‘but give my shrivelled ego some consideration, please.’

She almost laughed aloud as he hauled the fender straight with a single smooth, effortless movement. Although some men took her height and strength to be a personal insult, she was prepared to bet a substantial amount that Lucas Tremaine wasn’t one of them.

He coiled a loose rope with the careless skill of someone who had done the same thing hundreds of times. She asked, ‘Are you working on a book now?’

‘No.’

Not exactly communicative!

However, he went on easily as he came back to stand beside her, ‘I’ve just posted a manuscript off.’

‘So you’re having a holiday?’

He flexed his hands on the guardrail, the long fingers curling around the warm wood, then relaxing. ‘I’m researching the next one.’

‘In Hawaii?’ she asked faintly, wondering what on earth was dangerous enough to interest him there.

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever thought of writing fiction?’ She leaned out to follow the progress of a scarlet-bikinied diver.

He sent her a swift, speculative glance. ‘Like many journalists, I’ve occasionally tossed around the idea of producing the next big blockbuster.’

It would be much less risky than gambling with his life, finding wrongs to be righted.

‘I think you could do it,’ she said, wondering at the anxiety that chilled her heart. ‘You write very vividly. When will you know whether the one you’ve sent away has been accepted?’

‘It was accepted before it was written.’

Her brows shot up. ‘Is that normal?’

‘I’ve got a good agent.’

Anet probably knew as much about the publishing world as he did about physiotherapy, but she was certain that it hadn’t been his agent who had got his books accepted before they were written; his reputation must be excellent. And why not? She had read all of his books and found them utterly absorbing. Although he had glossed over the inherent perils of the research he’d done, each chilling, brilliantly written volume had read like a thriller—one with no happy ending.

He was easy to talk to, but then, she thought some time later, of course that would be part of his armoury of skills. As they kept a close eye on the divers in the coral garden he spoke freely of his life as a sail tramp. However, Anet noted, he mentioned neither his career as an investigative journalist nor his wife.