Dangerous Waters. Laurey Bright

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СКАЧАТЬ Rogan’s voice was in her ear, his arm about her waist. “Are you okay? Sit down.”

      He guided her to one of the seats by the table. “Can we get you something? Granger—?”

      “It’s all right.” Camille blinked rapidly, only succeeding in forcing a tear to escape and run down her cheek. Furiously she rubbed at it with her fingers. “I’m fine,” she reiterated loudly.

      Granger said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

      “I’m not upset! Just…surprised.”

      It was a weak excuse. She couldn’t imagine why the sight of the meager keepsakes her father had hoarded should kindle a grief that was out of proportion. It wasn’t as if he’d ever been a real father to her.

      Maybe that was it. He never had, and now it was too late. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m tired.”

      Another pathetic excuse, but it galvanized the men into a flurry of apologies and self-blame. She’d worked too long and too hard, they should have realized, and Rogan would take her back to the hotel right now. Should they call a taxi?

      “For a ten-minute walk?” She laughed shakily, embarrassed at their anxious outpouring. “Of course not. And I don’t need an escort.”

      But soon she was walking along the seawall in darkness while Rogan kept a firm though careful hold on her arm, and Granger stayed behind to switch off the generator, secure the boat, and bring along the box of Taff’s belongings.

      As they reached the more populous area, where streetlamps glowed and were reflected in the water, Rogan said, “Granger shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

      “It wasn’t his fault. I’m sorry I was such an idiot.” She was mortified at her unexpected show of emotion.

      “You weren’t an idiot.” He pushed a leafy twig aside as they walked under one of the pohutukawas, and in the shadow she stumbled on a root that had distorted the path.

      Rogan’s grip tightened. “You okay?”

      His breath was warm on her temple. She caught a whiff of his male scent, the salty tang of fresh sweat and the less sharp aroma of musk, earthy but strangely not repellent. Was there nothing about this man that was unattractive?

      “Yes,” she said. “Thanks.”

      They walked on, but now she was tongue-tied, intensely conscious of the hand that still circled her arm, the masculine bulk of Rogan’s body, the exact height of her head where it came to just above his shoulder.

      She heard the intermittent slap of water on the seawall, its softer lapping about the anchored boats, the rhythmic splash and creak of someone rowing a dinghy back to their yacht. Music and the chatter of patrons at an outdoor café clearly carried on the night air. Nearby a bird chirruped sleepily, perhaps confused by the streetlights into thinking it was still day.

      They reached the hotel and Rogan sighed, almost as if he were relieved. He released her arm and asked, “Would you like a drink? Brandy, maybe?”

      Camille shook her head. “I need a shower.” She looked down at her stained shirt and shorts. “And then I’ll go to bed. I can get that box from your brother in the morning?”

      “Sure. I’ll see you to your room.”

      “You needn’t, really.”

      But he steered her into the ancient elevator, and when it stopped he followed her out and padded down the corridor at her side, waiting while she unlocked the door.

      “Thank you.” She turned to him. “I don’t know why he kept those things. They can’t have meant much to him.”

      Rogan looked at her gravely. “They must have meant something.”

      Camille lifted her chin, her skin cold. Stupid sentimentalism would get her nowhere. She was grown up now, in no need of a father. Or any other man. “I’ll go through them tomorrow,” she said, “and see if there’s anything that can’t be burned.”

      Chapter 4

      A line appeared between Rogan’s dark brows. When Camille made to go into the room he caught her arm again, searching her face as she instinctively raised it in inquiry.

      Then he bent toward her, and for a split second she knew she could refuse his kiss but didn’t want to.

      His mouth was gentle, questing but not demanding. He waited for her to reciprocate, and when her lips parted a fraction his arms slid about her, holding her close within them.

      It was the nicest kiss Camille had ever had. But when he would have deepened it danger signals flared in her mind, and she made a little move of negation, pushing against his arms.

      Reluctantly he let her go, and she looked up into a blaze of turquoise, returning his questioning, decidedly sexy smile with a small, shaky one of her own. “Good night, Rogan,” she said, trying to sound firm and in control, but afraid she only sounded breathless.

      As she opened the door wider he kissed her temple, barely touching her skin with his lips, and she had to hold the knob in a tight grip to prevent herself turning back into his arms. She hadn’t been so affected by a man since…since she couldn’t remember.

      “Good night,” he said, his gaze following her like a laser. He was still standing there with his hands thrust into the pockets of his stained and wrinkled khakis when she quietly closed the door.

      Rogan had a quick shower, changed his clothes and, when Granger returned, pounced on his brother in the passageway.

      “Does Camille want this tonight?” Granger asked, indicating the carton in his arms.

      Rogan shook his head. “She said it’ll keep until tomorrow.” He followed as Granger entered his own room. “She also said she was going to burn most of it. At least, I think that’s what she meant.”

      Granger shrugged. “Her prerogative.”

      “Yeah, but…” Standing by as Granger slid the box onto a small table, Rogan thrust his hands into his pockets, broodingly regarding the carton.

      “What?” Granger queried.

      “Suppose there is something in that story about Dad and Taff finding their treasure ship?”

      “You don’t really believe that, do you?” Granger scoffed.

      “I guess not…” Rogan’s gaze returned to the box on the table. “I wonder if Taff made a will.”

      “I doubt it,” Granger answered. “Anyway, that’s not our worry.”

      Camille woke early while the water in the harbor was sheened with cool silvery light, the shallow wavelets on the beach making scarcely a sound.

      She went for a short walk before breakfast, turning away from the wharves and heading in the other direction until the path petered out at a small park and the beach ended in a tumble of craggy СКАЧАТЬ