A Proposal Worth Waiting For. Raye Morgan

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      But not this last time. Experts had gone over the place with a fine-tooth comb. There was no treasure, not anymore. It was pretty obvious his father’s suicide note had said it all. The Don Carlos Treasure had gone back to the sea, from whence it had come.

      Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and Spanish doubloons back to Neptune.

      So was that what this pretty young woman had been looking for in the caves? Of course it was. Why else would she hurry right out there? She even had the look of a treasure hunter—always hopeful.

      His gaze held hers for a long moment. There was a spark of humor in his eyes, but that didn’t make her feel any better about this air of tension between them. Finally, he actually smiled.

      “No big deal,” he said. “Just making conversation. Passing the time.” He slid off his bag as well and faced her in the small space. “I think the rain has stopped. Let’s go.”

      She took a deep breath and watched as he left the shed, then hurried to catch up with him. He started across the dunes, striding quickly in the wet sand, and she had to run to keep up. His legs were much longer than hers.

      About halfway to the cliff, he stopped, turning to watch her arrive at his position.

      “Rest a minute,” he said.

      “I wouldn’t need to if you wouldn’t go so fast,” she said testily.

      “Sorry.” But his gaze was restless. He looked toward the large white house up on the cliff. “I can’t help but wonder what they’re doing up there,” he said, mostly to himself. He shook his head. “What is she thinking?”

      “Who?” Torie asked, though she was pretty sure he meant Marge. “What’s wrong?”

      “‘Turning and turning,’” he muttered, along with some other words she couldn’t make out. He was staring into the distance. “‘The center cannot hold.’”

      “What?”

      He looked directly into her eyes. “I think I’m in need of some ‘passionate intensity’,” he said.

      Funny, but those words seemed to strike a chord with her. “Me too,” she said. “Where do I go to get some?”

      His grin was quick and then gone just as quickly. “Try a little Yeats,” he suggested. “That just might be your answer.”

      And he was off again across the sands.

      She came behind him, muttering about Lawrence of Arabia, but he didn’t go as quickly this time and she arrived at the end of their mad scramble across the dunes only seconds after he did.

      “My dear Mrs. Marino.” He said with a touch of sarcasm. “We have reached the end of the line. I think we’d better part company here.”

      “You’re not going up to the house?”

      “Not yet. I have things to do in another part of the estate.”

      “Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

      “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”

      He sounded bitter, but before she had a chance to analyze that, he stepped closer and grabbed the two sides of the jacket, acting as though he was straightening the collar, but she was pretty sure he was really just trying to make a point—and maybe trying to establish his sense of control. The way he pulled on the jacket, she had to look up into his face.

      “I still want to know what the hell you were doing in the caves,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “You want to come clean now, or wait until I’ve got more information to go on?”

      She stared up at him, shaken. His face was only inches from hers. “Uh...nothing. I was just exploring. I...I love the beach and I...”

      But an expression flashed across his face and suddenly he was frowning, studying her features, his gaze sliding over every angle.

      “Do I know you?” he asked softly.

      Her heart was thumping so hard surely he could hear it. “I don’t think so,” she said quickly. “Now if you don’t mind....”

      “But I do mind.” He pulled harder, bringing her up to where she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke. “And I’ll give you fair warning. I won’t let Shangri-La be trashed. Any excuse I can find to disqualify any of you, I’ll use it.”

      She stared up, mesmerized by his voice and his eyes.

      A shout from the cliff area turned them both in that direction. Carl was coming down the wooden steps.

      “Torie!” he called. “Thank God you’re okay.”

      She looked at Marc. He stared back, not letting go of the jacket. For a long moment, their gazes held. There was a look deep in his eyes, a mood, something that told her he was a bit of a loner, that he couldn’t trust anyone enough to let go. Her heart seemed to melt, something in her yearned toward him. Someone ought to teach him how to trust. Too bad she was exactly the wrong person to expect that from.

      She was the one who’d been lying to him all along. When he found out, he would discard her like yesterday’s news.

      But Carl was coming and it was obviously time to draw apart.

      “Just keep that in mind, Mrs. Marino,” Marc said coolly. “I’ll be watching you.”

      He gave her one last impenetrably hard look, then turned and walked away.

      Torie groaned as she watched him go. Marc Huntington would be watching her. Great. Maybe this was turnabout for the way she used to watch him when she was fifteen. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing a bit hysterically, and she turned just as Carl reached her.

      Tall and slim with thick auburn hair, Carl was handsome in an older way, and came across as very sure of himself. But right now, the man looked nervous.

      Maybe Marc had threatened to watch him, too.

      “What are you doing?” Carl whispered loudly, glancing toward where Marc was disappearing through the brush. “You’re going to ruin the whole thing if you start messing around with young guys.”

      Messing around?

      She drew back, offended. “He just saved me,” she told him tartly. “I was in danger. Sort of.”

      “Where were you?” Carl asked, looking perplexed.

      “Where were you?” she countered, pulling the jacket close around herself. “I heard you were out looking at the vineyard. I thought it was the house you were interested in.”

      His gaze shifted in a way that startled her. Was that a guilty look? He grabbed her arm and started leading her toward the stairs, muttering as he went.

      He was annoyed but not really angry. She knew he didn’t really care anything about her personally, he just didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. And when you came right down to СКАЧАТЬ