Don't Tempt Me (5 page)

She looked away only to have her gaze land on the other bed, the one he'd apparently slept in. Images flashed through her mind, making her blush. "Actually," she called as he disappeared into the bathroom, "I don't have time for breakfast I need to get back to the ship. I just ... I came by to tell you I've thought about your offer ---"

"Before you tell me no," he said in a rush as he emerged tucking in his t-shirt, "why don't you at least come to Pearl Island and talk to the rest of the family? Rory's husband, Chance, can explain the money stuff and you can hear Rory's ideas on promotion ---"

"That won't be necessary. After last night ---"

"About that let me just say, I realize now that I may have flirted with you just a little too much and given you the wrong idea. I assure you, if I were seriously hitting on you, that's not how I would go about it. I just like getting a rise out of you, because, well ... you really are cute when you're flustered. But that's all there is to it. So if you're worried that I'll be chasing after you every time you come to the inn, I promise, you have nothing to worry about. Swear."

She stared at him, not quite believing her ears. He thought she was "cute"? And not worth hitting on? Well, now, didn't that just make her day? "Are you done?"

"I'm done." He let out a big breath.

"All right, then. I've made my decision." All the nerves from too little sleep and too much coffee burned in her stomach. She pulled a roll of antacids from her pocket and popped one into her mouth, praying it worked quickly. "I have a condition."

"Oh, Jesus, is it serious?"

"What?" She pressed a hand to her diaphragm in a vain attempt to squelch the fire.

"Your condition." Worry lined his face as he glanced at her hand. "Is that why you said no last night? You're sick?"

She choked. "Not that kind of condition, you idiot. A condition to my agreeing to do this deal."

"Oh." He placed a hand over his heart. "You scared me. I thought you had cancer or something. So, what's your condition?"

She squared her stance. "If I do this, I want to read Marguerite's diaries."

He waited for her to go on. "That's it?"

"I may have other stipulations later, but that's the main one for now. So, yes or no?"

"Oh, gee." He pinched his bottom lip as if deep in thought. "I don't know ... we don't normally let anyone outside the family read the diaries. They're very personal."

"You're asking me to let the whole world read my great-grandfather's letter, which is also very personal."

"I'll have to talk to Alli and Rory, though. Be sure they're cool with this."

"Fine." She headed toward the door. "Let me know what y'all decide."

"Whoa, wait." He grabbed her arm, laughing as he pulled her back. "I was joking."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, I've noticed that about you. No sense of humor."

She narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was teasing her or insulting her.

He sighed at her lack of response. "The answer is yes. If you help us, we'll let you read the diaries. But I have a condition of my own."

"Terminal horniness?" She cocked a brow.

"Only when I'm around you." He winked.

"What happened to your promise to behave?"

"We're still negotiating, so we're not partners yet. Besides, flirting doesn't count with you."

"Why not?"

"Because we both know you're not the least bit interested or impressed. Which wounds me deeply. I'm not sure my ego will survive."

She rolled her eyes. "What's your condition?"

"You have to read the diaries at Pearl Island. I can tell you right now, neither of my sisters will agree to let them out of the inn. They're irreplaceable. Besides, we all need to sit down and work on our proposal to the Historical Commission and hammer out the details for the cruise packages. The easiest way to do that is for you to come stay at the inn for a while."

"Makes sense," she said, even though the thought of leaving the safe world she'd carved out in Corpus had her stomach burning again.

"So when can you come? We'll put you up in one of the rooms, as long as it's soon. Once Thanksgiving gets here, we're booked solid through New Year's."

"Actually, I can come next week."

"Sounds perfect. Let me give you our number. We can work out the details on the phone." He retrieved his wallet from the dresser, pulled out a business card, and held it out to her. "I suppose a kiss to seal the deal would be totally out of the question."

She chuckled. "You are a lost cause."

"Yeah, and it's really a shame. As a boy I had such potential."

She plucked the card from his hand and headed for the door. "See ya next week." When she reached the door, she turned and blew him a kiss.

"Hey, come over here and do that. I dare ya."

"Never dare a pirate." She smiled and breezed out of the room. The minute the door closed behind her, she fanned herself with his business card. He thought she wasn't interested? Lord, if he only knew. Actually, thank goodness he didn't. As long as he never found out how much she wished his flirting were real she could handle being around him. She hoped.

Chapter 4

When Jackie drove out of Corpus Christi a week later in her battered blue pickup truck, her first stop was a convenience store for Rolaids and Advil. She and Ti had fought that morning ---again ---even though they hardly ever fought. But boy, they'd had some doozies over the last few days. He'd been like an uncle to her for as long as she could remember, and when they'd left the islands, they'd promised each other: no more treasure-hunting ever again. And while he liked to reminisce, he was serious about that pledge.

She'd tried to explain that this wasn't like that. This would be a legitimate excavation done by marine archeologists. Instead of being appeased, he'd only become more incensed and called her reckless. Her jaw had dropped at that accusation, since he usually teased her about being too uptight and cautious.

What choice did she have, though? Go down without a fight? The problem was, Ti didn't know how bad things were, so she couldn't explain her reasoning. Yes, odds were fifty-fifty at best that she was making a mistake, but the gamble was worth it. Or so she assured herself repeatedly during the long drive up the coast.

When she reached the causeway that connected Pearl Island to Galveston, though, she knew Ti was right. The small, private island lay before her, a lush green world unto itself, filled with the romance of old legends, but rather than lift her spirits with hope, the sight of it made her stomach churn with dread.

She was being reckless.

The world of marine archeology was a close-knit community that kept tabs on treasure hunters. Her only hope was that the archeologists on this project wouldn't make the connection between Jackie Taylor and Buddy Taylor. If they did, she was screwed and so were the St. Claires. No respectable organization would raise money for a project of this magnitude based on evidence she presented if they knew her history.

Well, she told herself as she followed the tree-lined drive across the island, whatever was going to happen, she couldn't back out now. Adrian and his sisters had arranged a meeting in the morning with the Galveston Historical Society, a private group that planned to back the project if the state agreed to put the artifacts recovered on display in the Texas Seaport Museum in Galveston.

That was her first hurdle. If she could get past tomorrow's meeting, she could breathe a tiny bit easier.

As she broke from the trees, the inn came into sight, a three-story, fanciful structure overlooking a deepwater cove. She found a parking place in the crowded oyster-shell lot to the side and sat for a moment awed by the beauty of the old mansion. Built of pink granite, it had a turret at one corner topped with a tall spire. A large veranda stretched across the front while gargoyles snarled down at her from the third-floor balcony ---the very balcony from which Henri LeRoche had fired the cannon that had killed Jack Kingsley.

Now there was a comforting thought.

Don't think about failure
, she told herself. Wasn't that what her father had always said? Picture everything working out exactly the way you want, and it'll happen.

That philosophy may have gotten him killed in the end, but it had worked like a charm for years before that, years of living high and living fast. She only needed it to work once. Glancing sideways, she saw the document envelope that held the letter. She picked it up, closed her eyes, and tried to picture all new sails for the
Pirate's Pleasure
. When the image refused to form in her mind, she tried for something less ambitious: having enough money to make payroll without dipping into savings. That alone was lofty enough, considering how many new crew members she'd need to pull off the St. Claires' idea.

That concern waited way off in the future, though. Right now, she simply needed to get through tomorrow.

Don't think about failure
, she reminded herself as she chomped down on another orange-flavored antacid and climbed out of the pickup. The sunny day held only a slight chill of autumn and the tangy scent of the Gulf. As she grabbed her duffel bag from the bed of the truck, the back of her neck prickled as if someone were watching her. She whirled around, scanning the parking lot, but saw no one. She looked toward the cove and the dazzling light on the water made her squint behind her sunglasses.

Was Jack Kingsley's ghost really out there, haunting the waters of the cove? The mere possibility raised goose bumps on her skin ---not that she believed in ghosts, she reminded herself.

Swinging the duffel bag over one shoulder, she headed up the path to the inn. Confetti-colored chrysanthemums bloomed to either side of the stone steps, adding a cheerful touch. She barely noticed them, though, as she made her way to the ornate front door. Since the welcome sign said to come on in, she opened the door and stepped inside. From somewhere in the distance came the muffled sound of a TV.

"Hello?" she called, taking off her shades to glance about the wide central hall. The place hadn't changed much since her first visit; Victorian sofas and chairs sat in a conversational grouping before a massive fireplace. Carved sea serpents supported the mantel while more nautical beasts had been carved into the crown molding. At the far end of the hall, a wide staircase curved upward, lit by three tall, stained-glass windows. "Anybody home?"

She was about to step back out and look for a doorbell to ring when Adrian's youngest sister appeared in the doorway to her right, a stunning young woman with reddish-gold curls tumbling about her supermodel figure.

"You made it!" The sister came forward with a smile as bright as her hair. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Aurora Chancellor, or Rory, whichever you prefer."

"I remember." Jackie nodded, feeling dwarfed since the woman nearly reached six feet.

Rory's gaze dropped to the envelope. "Oh, goodness. Is that it? The letter?"

"Yeah." Jackie tucked it closer to her body.

"I can't wait to see it. But first let me grab the key to your room, then we'll go find Adrian. He'll want to know you're here." Rory ducked into the office, then led the way through the inn, walking backward half the time, chatting away. "We're so glad you agreed to come stay with us. Even Scott is excited, though with him it's hard to tell. You haven't met him yet, have you?"

"Scott?"

"Lawrence. My sister's fiance. The guy who called you last summer."

"Scott Lawrence is engaged to your sister?" Oh great. On top of everything else, they had a celebrity involved in the project, which would bring that much more attention to it. Although publicity was the point, she supposed, as long as it didn't get out of control.

"You'll like Scott," Rory assured her as they reached the dining room. "He's really nice ... once you get to know him."

Jackie nodded absently as she glanced at the fresco on the ceiling of King Neptune charging toward the doorway with his triton. Looking at it, she wondered what Jack Kingsley had thought of the ornate surroundings when he'd sat in this very room as a dinner guest. Probably that his host had too much ego and too much money. And in the early days before he'd reformed, he'd likely spent a good portion of the evening wondering how to lighten ol' Henri's pockets a bit. That was when he hadn't been plotting ways to sleep with the man's wife.

As they passed through the butler's pantry, she heard Adrian's voice ahead. He sounded as if he were teaching a cooking class. "You have to be really careful when you sprinkle on the nuts so you get just the right amount," he said slowly. "See, like this."

A squeal of delight split the air as she and Rory entered the vast kitchen where commercial-grade appliances contrasted with aged-wood rafters and red brick walls. Adrian stood at a center island sprinkling nuts over several trays of brownies, with an adorable little cupid perched on his hip.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma!" the baby chanted, her golden ringlets bouncing.

"Hey, peanut." Rory hurried forward, hands outstretched. "I didn't know you were awake. Adrian, you should have told me. I would have taken her off your hands."