Her Passionate Protector. Laurey Bright

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      A light glowed in the main cabin, and the deck was an easy step across. She noticed a sticker on the bulkhead advising that the boat was burglar-alarmed, but although a sturdy padlock hung on the catch, the narrow door was open and her tentative call brought Camille up the short, steep companionway to greet her with a hug.

      “Come on down,” Camille said. “We’re just finishing dinner. Have you eaten?”

      “Yes, and I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Sienna protested.

      But Camille urged her down the companionway. “You can have some dessert with us. I bet you didn’t have one at the hotel.” And when they reached the saloon, “You remember Brodie?”

      He was seated at the built-in table, his alert blue gaze giving Sienna a minor jolt when he turned to give her a nod of recognition, taking in the brand-new scoop-necked, fitted scarlet top and hip-hugging jeans she wore.

      Camille said, “Move over, Brodie, and make room for Sienna.”

      “I didn’t know you had a guest,” Sienna said when Rogan waved her onto the seat next to Brodie. “I’m sorry—”

      “Stop apologizing,” Camille scolded, and Rogan added lazily, “Brodie’s not a guest anyway. He’s a worker.”

      Camille said, “And if it wasn’t for him I guess I’d be the one having to climb the masts with a paintbrush or screwdriver and get down into the bilge to fix cables.”

      Rogan grinned at her. “Of course,” he said. “What do you think I married you for?”

      Camille laughed. “I’m dishing up apricot mousse, Sienna. Do you want cream or ice cream with it?”

      Even as Sienna said, “Just the mousse,” Brodie cut in with, “Give her both.”

      Camille planted a scoop of ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream into the dish before handing it to Sienna with a slight, apologetic smile. “You don’t have to eat it all if it’s too much.”

      Evidently marriage had turned Camille into the kind of woman who automatically obeyed male commands. Sienna dug her spoon into the mousse.

      The dessert was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and the short walk must have woken her appetite, because she finished the mousse and even ate some ice cream before pushing aside her dish.

      She declined more, but Brodie enthusiastically accepted another helping before Rogan suggested coffee on deck.

      They sat on cushioned seats in the cockpit at the stern, Rogan with his arm about Camille’s shoulders and Brodie and Sienna side by side opposite their hosts.

      Brodie lounged back in the seat they shared, a foot away with his arm resting along the coaming behind her, and although he didn’t touch her, she found his proximity unsettling, her nerves sending tiny electrical pulsations up both her arms.

      Camille asked, “Did you find someone to look after your cat?”

      “One of my students is house-sitting. She’ll spoil him.” Sienna paused. “Granger mentioned you thought you could find somewhere for me to store my car?”

      “Brodie’s offered half of his garage to you while we’re at sea.”

      Sienna turned to Brodie. “Thank you. I’ll pay you a rental—”

      “You won’t. No problem.” His look dared her to argue.

      “Well, thank you,” she repeated.

      Camille said, “How’s your brother, Sienna? You stayed with him on the way up?”

      “He’s fine. But my car was broken into in the night while it was parked outside his place, and my luggage got stolen. Including my scuba gear.”

      Camille looked shocked, and both men stiffened, scowling. Brodie’s eyes searched Sienna’s face, his mouth going hard.

      Rogan asked, “You reported it to the police?”

      “Yes, but I had the impression they have more important things to worry about. They said if it was any consolation the thief was good at his job—he picked the lock without damaging the car. I filled in an insurance claim though I doubt they’ll pay out the full amount of the stuff that was taken.”

      Brodie said, “I’ll fix you up with scuba gear, on credit if you like. Come and see me at the dive shop.”

      “What a horrible thing to happen,” Camille sympathized. “Are you okay for clothes and stuff?”

      “I bought some in Hamilton. Basics, and I won’t need much more on the boat. Fortunately I’d taken my laptop out of the car. I left it with my brother, since you said I can use the on-board computers.”

      Rogan asked, “It doesn’t have information on it about our artifacts?”

      “No, I’ve never kept that on the hard disk. I carry a password-protected disk in my bag that’s always with me.” Laptop computers were a prime target for theft, and Camille had impressed upon her how important it was to keep her notes confidential.

      Even Aidan had no idea what was in them. When asking his permission to use the laboratory facilities, she’d told him she couldn’t talk about the work and had kept the artifacts in her own padlocked steel locker, only taking them out when she was alone after hours. But the burglar had made short work of the lock.

      “I think,” she said, “after breaking into my car the thief tried to get into the house, but my brother heard something and scared him off. We didn’t realize the car had been tampered with until the morning.”

      She’d been upset, of course, but thankful nothing irreplaceable had been taken. “I’ve sent Granger copies of my notes. I presume he’s keeping them in a safe place?”

      Rogan said, “My big brother’s office is in an old bank building and he’s got a strong room with a steel door a foot thick where he stores sensitive records.” Perhaps to make some kind of amends for even vaguely querying her discretion, he asked, “You have an older brother too?”

      “Younger. It’s thanks to him I learned to scuba dive. We were on holiday in the Bay of Islands when he was twelve and I was fifteen, and he was mad keen to learn, but my parents would only let him if I agreed to keep an eye on him.” Their last holiday with both parents—perhaps that was why she remembered it so vividly, every moment seemingly clear in her mind.

      “You didn’t want to dive?” Brodie queried, disconcertingly closer to her than she’d expected as she turned to him.

      “I wasn’t against the idea, just not crazy for it the way he was.” She’d been more interested in collecting shells and occasional bits of flotsam, wondering if some of the pieces of wood she picked up that had obviously been shaped by tools had come from shipwrecks or drifted from the shores of other lands. And how long they’d been floating on the wide Pacific.

      There had been no hint that dreamy, untroubled summer of the cataclysm that was about to descend on their lives. Yet only a few weeks after their return, her father had announced СКАЧАТЬ