She looked longingly bac k at the island, which was incredibly beautiful, even from this vantage point. An emerald in an exquisite sapphire setting. A smal extinct volcano had pushed its way three hundred feet above the lush vegetation.
Thousands of years of freshwater runoff from the peak had kil ed off a wide section of coral in only one section, which was surrounded by unmarked and dangerous coral heads just below the surface of the water. Deadly traps for even the smal est boats.
The pale swath of white sand under the water could only be seen from the air, making the canal an obstacle-dense, extremely dangerous, path to Cutter Cay harbor. Three sides of the seven-acre island were made up of sheer granite cliffs surrounded by a ring of almost impenetrable coral. That sandy path was the
only
way a boat could approach the island. And even if a person knew the canal was there, navigating the shards of coral would be as complicated as trying to fish a fal en screw out of a carburetor. In other words, one wrong move and you·d be FUBAR.
It was an excel ent place to store treasure. The Counting House sat front and center, right near the dock and marina. The imposing building was a gateway to the homes and cabins on the hil side. Three large dive boats waited in the marina, as did half a dozen sailboats with primary colored sails. As a backdrop, the green hil s rose to the flat-topped peak. Untidy rows of brightly colored cabins were strung up and down the hil s like gaudy wooden beads. Some of them were occupied by local residents, and some were kept ready by the Cutters for visitors, like friends or investors. The large, ultra -modern house on the windward side was Zane·s.
Teal rubbed her upper arms and scowled into the spray. She·d said no. She·d meant no. Yet here she was. Had Sam real y wanted her here?
Whether that was fact or fiction, emeralds as big as Zane claimed they were would go a long way in paying her father·s medical bil s and setting her up in her own business. She·d never have to rely on anyone else again. Of course, the presence of emeralds the size that Zane had bragged about could be B.S. And they might not discover any treasure at al . A percentage of nothing would be a big fat zero.
She heard Zane laugh as he talked to the men, but didn·t turn around. She hated feel ing like a kid with her nose pressed to the toy store window.
Go over
there,
she told herself.
You·re
part of the team, too
. But her feet stayed glued to the deck.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched the blond guy tel what was apparently a hilarious story that involved broad hand gestures and comical facial expressions. Even though she couldn·t hear him, she smiled.
The smile froze as her gaze shifted to Zane³his bare chest gleamed in the sun, and his earring winked as his shoulders shook with laught er. He looked vital, and more alive than any man she·d ever seen in her life. Zane Cutter was a force of nature, and seeing him so carefree and gloriously, unabashedly
happy
made her chest ache, and her mouth go dry.
She hadn·t been the only one who·d gravitated to the youngest Cutter when she·d first met him years ago. Everyone on the islands loved him. He was everyone·s friend. She envied him his capacity to have fun and his innate ability to make and keep friends. He was everything she wasn·t. The chaos of her conflicting feelings for him infuriated her.
She watched him as he tossed back his head and roared with laughter.
Sunlight tangled in his dark hair and glinted off the little gold pirate hoop in his ear.
He punched his friend Ryan on the shoulde r, then started a story of his own that made the men laugh harder.
She realized she was staring and snapped her head around to gaze out at the water. What the hel was she doing waving good -bye to land ho and sailing the high seas with a pirate?
She·d lost what little was left of her mind.
In the distance, the shadowy forms of smal neighboring islands seemed to float along the horizon. None of them were close enough to swim to, either. She actual y loved being in the water, but because of the seasickness, she hated, loathed, and detested being
on
it. Tough when she was en route to more water. It was hard to reconcile what her eyes were tel ing her³calm seas³with the roiling of her stomach.
´How·re you doing?µ Maggie Berland asked sympathetical y, strol ing up to the railing to join Teal. Tanned, fit, and friendly, Maggie was in her early fifties. They·d met on the dock moments before sailing. She handed Teal an icy bottle of water.
´Thanks. Couldn·t be better,µ Teal told her cheerful y, swal owing bile. Ev en the bright tropical sun wasn·t getting rid of the cold, oily nausea persistently climbing the back of her throat.
´Keep your eyes on the horizon and take smal sips, you·l get your sea legs in no time.µ
The horizon
moved,
and just the thought of swal owing when what she wanted to do more than anything right then was throw up made Teal·s stomach pitch ominously. Í·d rather take cyanide.µ
´Think about something else,µ Maggie suggested, giving her a sympathetic smile. Ćome and meet everyone.µ The others had moved inside to pore over charts.
´Maybe later.µ The slight swel s didn·t seem to bother Maggie. Teal·s stomach did a double axel. She tightened her sweaty grip on the railing. She knew she only had minutes ³maybe seconds³before she embarrassed herself, and practical y launched herself away from the rail. ´Be right back.µ
Startled by Teal·s abrupt departure, Maggie took a step forward. ´Wait, where are you ³µ
Éngine room.µ The only place that never made her sick. Only the smel of diesel fuel would help.
Ćonfined space wil make it wo³µ
Teal fled, lurching like a drunken sailor, pushing through a tight group of men in the main salon. Éxcuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Sorry.µ Her mouth fil ed with saliva.
Gripping the brass handrails on either side, she took the spiral stairs three at a time.
Panicked, she scanned the smal hal way at the bottom. Which door led to the engine room?
The calming pulse of twin, V12, four-stroke diesels under her feet was the only thing holding her nausea at bay. Al she prayed for, other than a swift death, was that if she was close to an engine the smel and vibration would kick the nausea.
Or it wouldn·t and she·d be somewhere private when she hurled. In three, two ³.
´Hey, gorgeous, lost your way?µ
Teal·s eyes traveled up a clean, white T-shirt pul ed taut over rock-hard abs, up his tanned throat, climbed to his darkly stubbled chin, over his straight nose, and landed, reluctantly, on a pair of piercing, annoyingly
amused,
blue eyes.
Zane freaking Cutter.
God, seriously? Kill me now
.
Just as he came closer, the boat pitched, tilting her off balance. She staggered, but already unsteady, couldn·t manage to right herself. It was grab at Zane to break her fal , or fal on her face. In a split second she opted for the latter.
She did not want to touch³Ah, shit! She fel against his chest.
Hard. Hot.
No. No. No
.
´Whoa!µ He grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her upright as if she weighed no more than a bag of laundry, so that her breasts were inadvert ently caressed by the hard plane of his chest. The contact was like an intense electrical shock that zoomed through Teal·s body and fried her brain.
She blushed like an idiot. The physical contact was too much. She couldn·t breathe, she couldn·t think. Sh e tasted his coffee-scented breath on her lips and felt the heat of his skin through his clothes as his fingers tightened on her arms.
Rattled by the contact, al she could do was blink up at him for what felt like an eternity.
He frowned down at her. Ókay?µ
Teal stood there for just a few more seconds inhaling the scent of his skin as her heart went bal istic and her brain cel s scrambled to reconnect.
His worried frown morphed into a slow smile. Annoying. Confident. Áre you ³µ
Her nausea returned ful force. Gritting her teeth she slapped her palm, hard, against his midriff, fingers splayed. Óut. Of. My. Way.µ
* * *
´They·re up there watching us, aren·t they?µ Teal asked Maggie. When she·d final y emerged from the head, Zane was³merciful y³nowhere to be seen. But she knew he and some of the guys were up in the wheelhouse, masters of al they surveyed.
It was a little damn late in the day to discover that she·d made a colossal mistake coming to the Caribbean, Sam or no Sam. She·d rather have fal en and broken her nose earlier than have Zane touch her. Her arms stil felt the brand of his touch like a particularly bad case of sunburn.
No. More. Touching. And how was she supposed to sail the freaking seven seas while her stomach heaved?
The other woman smiled. Ńot us, you.µ
´Great.µ Teal resisted curling her shoulders and settled for looking straight ahead.
Maggie seemed nice enough. She had a lovely golden tan, gray eyes, and an infectious smile.
She and her husband, Ben, were part of Zane·s team. Teal hadn·t met him. He·d already been on board with Zane when she·d
reluctantly
arrived.
Casting Teal a humorous glance from under a straw cowboy hat, the older woman gave her a once-over. ´You·re stil a little green.µ
A little green
looking
was better than the antifreeze green Teal was
feeling
.
Í·m fine.µ A pair of Cutter-blue eyes bored into the top of her head, sending a shiver down her spine. She glanced upward, then scowled. He and several guys were looking down.
Śurely, it doesn·t take three guys to steer this itty -bitty thing.µ
Maybe she·d get lucky and the pile of rust would sink right here, a mile from Cutter Cay.
Maggie grinned. Á thirty -five-foot-wide, hundred-foot-long, three-hundred-ton boat is
bitty
?µ
Ánything less than an entire continent is smal to me if it·s floating on wate r.µ
The idiot had cal ed her
gorgeous
. She couldn·t quite figure out why she was annoyed. Cal ing a woman gorgeous or darling was a smooth way to cover that he didn·t remember her name.
Holding her hat, Maggie rested against the railing and asked with st udied casualness, Śo what do you think of the brothers?µ
Teal·s gaze stayed focused on the island as it got smal er and farther out of swimming distance. She didn·t realize that she·d turned her face up to look at the wheelhouse again until Zane caught h er eye. With a big, white grin, he raised his Coke can in salute.
How friendly of him, Teal thought sourly, redirecting her gaze to the woman beside her.
Źane thinks he·s God·s gift to women. He·s too«µ She·d responded a nanosecond too quickly to filter her answer. The tropical sun beating down on her shoulders and the top of her basebal cap had nothing to do with the annoyed heat in her face.
Shut up.
´How long have you known them, Maggie?µ She changed the subject, anything to get her mind off piercing blue eyes.
Maggie leaned back, elbows on the metal rail. Dressed in white shorts and a navy tank top, sunny hair blowing in the wind, she looked about twenty. Great genes. Behind her, the sunlight danced like diamonds across stunningly peacock blue -green silk. Teal was tempted to take a dive into the warm water to prevent her imminent death by nausea.
Í·ve known the boys since they were quite smal . The kids al went to school together in St.
Maarten. Ben and I started working with Zane about ten years ago.
He and our daughter Cat are very good friends, too. We adore him. He·s one of the most honest, loyal,
joyful
people I know. We love him like a son.µ
Honest and loyal and joyful sounded like a golden retriever. It also sounded like a veiled stay-away-from-my-daughter·s-guy. Teal could have assured Maggie that the hands -off warning was completely, utterly, absolutely,
unnecessary.
She wasn·t his type, if his type
had
a type. She suspected that as far as Zane was concerned, pretty much any woman he encountered would be a case of instant attraction. Just add opportunity and a wil ing female.
Maggie·s daughter was more than welcome to the Casanova of the Caribbean.
Í hope we can be friends too, Teal.µ
It was hard for her to make friends. Being so painful y shy growin g up had given Teal a sense of disconnect that was hard to shake. She frequently found herself feeling like the outsider looking in. The years with Denny had just enforced what her mother and Sam had started. Í·d like that,µ she said sincerely.
´Good.µ Maggie·s voice was brisk and upbeat. Ćome on, honey,µ she tugged on the brim of Teal·s cap. Ĺet·s take a walk. It·l do your tummy good.µ
Teal sincerely doubted it, but she fel into step with the older woman anyway.
Taking off her basebal cap, she ran he r fingers through her short, damp hair, then stuffed the cap in the back pocket of her cargo pants. The sun felt good on her skin. Better yet, she saw they were approaching Tortola. Land ho. Yay.
´Too what?µ Maggie asked as they stepped into the shadow of the battered yel ow crane perched on the prow. They both stopped to watch the approaching island.
So close and yet so far. Teal·s stomach heaved alarmingly. She looked at land and sucked in a deep breath of salty air. The moment they landed, she was going to bolt off the boat and kiss the ground. She didn·t care who was watching. She glanced over at Maggie and blinked at the non sequitur. Í·m sorry?µ
The other woman smiled. Źane is too « what?µ
He was the very last person Teal wanted to discuss.
Especially
with someone she not only didn·t know, but a woman who was clearly considering him as a future son -in-law.
Watching Tortola get larger and larger, Teal rubbed the back of her neck, stil hyper -aware of being observed from above. Hopeful y, after a few days he wouldn·t even notice she was on his boat. Nor remember the shy girl who·d spent two weeks a year on his island. Heck, she·d hardly seen any of the Cutter brothers much.
More than half the time she·d visited Sam the boys had been off on a salvage with their father, and they·d barely acknowledged her when she·d been there for their father·s funeral.