The Deeper the Passion.... Jennifer Lewis
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Still trimming his hedge funds into topiaries?”
“Sinclair is a very nice man, I’ll have you know. And he’s just fallen in love, too.”
“There goes your theory about the family curse.”
“Get this. He and his newly beloved were secretly pining for each other for years—she’s his housekeeper—and it wasn’t until they started looking for the cup that they finally hooked up.” She didn’t mention her own fairy godmother-esque role in shoving them together.
He reached a carved wooden door and rested one big hand on the handle. “How sweet. What if I don’t want to fall in love?”
“Maybe you already have.”
“With you?” His dark eyes twinkled.
“With yourself.” How could he still look so handsome? You’d think all that sun and salt air would have wizened him into a raisin. Instead he looked bronzed and burnished like a fine statue from ancient Greece, ready to throw a discus in the Olympics or besiege a walled city. His body had filled out a little in the past few years—all hard muscle, of course. Lucky thing she wasn’t as soft as she used to be or she’d be in danger of falling for him all over again. “Okay, that was uncalled for. You’re surprisingly modest, considering your accomplishments. And I don’t suppose you have any shortage of women madly in love with you at any given time.”
“You’re right, though.” He looked thoughtful.
“You do love yourself?”
“No. That I’ve never fallen in love. Not really.” His eyes darkened and he looked as if he was about to say something else but didn’t.
She wanted to make a quip about how he’d been pining for her all those years, but she didn’t speak, either. Too much wishful thinking or something. “And you think it’s time you did?”
Still hovering outside the door, he rubbed at the muscle of his left arm. “I do want children.”
Her eyes widened. Jack Drummond wanting a family? She didn’t believe it. Maybe he was winding her up. “Maybe some will wash ashore in the next storm.”
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I like kids. They’re fun. They bring a different perspective to everything, and they enjoy toys as much as I do.”
Vicki laughed. “You’re always full of surprises, Jack. So why don’t you have any rugrats running around Castle Drummond?”
“Haven’t met their mom yet.” He held her gaze while he tilted his head. “At least I don’t think I have.” His voice contained the tiniest hint of suggestion. Was he playing with her? In that case he might be playing right into her hands.
“See? You need to find the cup so you can find Mrs. Right and start building your team. Let’s look at some of those big complicated maps you love and see if we can figure out where the wreck is.” She moved toward him. She could tell he was at least slightly interested, despite his protests.
“I see you know the way to a man’s heart is through his nautical maps.” He finally turned the handle and pushed open the door. “But first, let’s go to bed.”
Two
Jack walked into the bedroom, knowing Vicki would follow. She thought herself wild and unpredictable, but he knew better. She wanted that old cup for some reason and she was very determined in pursuit of a goal.
He couldn’t resist turning to enjoy her expression. As expected, she’d walked coolly in behind him and was surveying the space. “Nice. Is that bed French?”
“Might be.” The big oak monstrosity had been there since the house was built.
“I bet it could tell a few tales.” She walked over to the headboard and examined the carved decoration.
“Lucky thing it’s discreet.” He swung himself onto the bed and relaxed, arms behind his head. “Come on in.”
“You didn’t seriously lure me in here in hope of seducing me, did you?”
“Hope springs eternal.”
“I didn’t know you were such a bright-eyed optimist.”
“You have to be an optimist in the treasure hunting game. Eyes on the prize.”
Vicki’s almost-black hair was tied up in a messy bun, with tendrils falling about those adorable ears he still remembered nibbling. He let his eyes drift lower. She wore a black top that appeared to be made from pieces of ripped T-shirt, sewn back together. Knowing her it was probably from Paris and cost two thousand bucks. It hid her slender shape, but he knew that under its mysterious black layers was a lithe body with high, pointy breasts, and a stomach you could bounce gold doubloons off. A broad leather belt was slung across her hips, atop a pair of jeans that encased her long, slim legs. Desire crept through him, hot and relentless, like bootleg rum in his blood. “And the prize is tempting as ever.”
“I see you haven’t grown more subtle in your old age.”
“Not much wiser, either. How about you?”
“I seem to get dumber every year.” A smile tugged at her cheeky mouth. Vicki’s lips were always dark, as if she wore lipstick, but he knew from kissing them that it was her hot blood close to the surface. “Otherwise, why would I be back here?”
“Because you couldn’t get me out of your system.” He narrowed his eyes and watched her reaction. Of course it was wishful thinking on his part. She’d probably forgotten him ten minutes after he left. He’d certainly hoped so at the time. Things had gotten way too intense and it was time to lift anchor and run for the open sea.
“You’ve been out of my system almost as long as the last dregs of nicotine from another one of my bad habits.” She lifted her chin. “So don’t get any ideas that I’m here for you. I’m just here because I need you.”
“Be still, my heart.” He placed a hand over it and wasn’t surprised to find it beating faster than usual. Vicki must have that effect on any man. “Come lie next to me.”
“No way.”
“It’s important.”
“Nothing’s that important.” She’d crossed her arms in a defensive posture, and her hips tilted at a defiant angle. Sense memory flashed a moment of luscious recall—her hips pressed against his, arching higher, driving them both to a realm of beauty and madness.
“Not even finding your precious cup?”
“I fail to see how climbing into the sack with you brings me closer to my goal.”
He raised a brow. “I always thought you were a lateral thinker. The thing is, you need to join me in bed to see how things lie.”
She pursed her lips slightly and shifted her weight onto her other foot. Her pale violet eyes viewed him with intense suspicion. “I can see how things lie from right here.”
“No, you can’t.” He glanced up at the ceiling. Time had faded and darkened the image. The plaster had cracked in places, but the fresco still showed the green shore of the island against the pale blue of the sea. “Come on. Hop up.” He tapped the sheets. “So you can take a look at the old family map.”
“What?” She peered upward, but he knew she couldn’t see anything. The edge of the four-poster bed blocked any view of the painting unless one was literally lying on the mattress.
“Lazaro Drummond—the shipwreck survivor—painted the map above his bed, so that no one could see it but him.”
“And his lovers.”
He let a slow smile creep across his mouth. “Exactly.”
Vicki walked toward the bed and climbed gingerly onto the opposite side. She settled herself on her back with