Seduced by the Storm (8 page)

This
time, one of them would probably die, and even if they both escaped unscathed,
Sean would never forgive her for the betrayal she was about to commit.

"If
all this is going to happen," she said, "we’d better discuss what
Itor expects of me."

"We
will. But first, I want to show you what my weather machine can do. Come
on."

She
didn’t budge. "This storm over us…it’s yours?"

"Absolutely.
We’ll turn it up a few notches. Spawn a waterspout in honor of your
arrival."

As
though the storm agreed, lightning flashed overhead, followed by a deafening
clap of thunder, and she couldn’t hide her flinch.

She
shouted over the noise, alarm sharpening her voice. "Sean, you’ve got to
shut it down! There are divers in the water."

"So?
They’re deep. No worries."

"They’re
coming up. They’ll have to decompress shallow. The waves could crush them
against the supports."

Sean
gave her an indulgent smile. "It’s just a couple of divers. Let’s
go."

She
stared in disbelief, water splashing her bare legs and filling her boots.
"You’d let them die? What is wrong with you?"

"You
need to toughen up if you’re going to work for Itor, babes."

"Yes,
fine, I’ll work on that." She gripped his arm hard enough to make him
wince. "Just, please, turn it off. If those men die, there’ll be an
investigation, and that will only cause trouble. Please. You know how much
storms terrify me."

She
hated to play that card, hated to show weakness of any kind around him, but it
paid off when his gaze softened.

"Oh,
babes, I’m sorry. I’m such a bastard. I completely forgot." He sighed and
shook the rain from his hair. "I assume you’re going to stay here until
the divers are safe? You always were one to rescue strays." When she
nodded, he started up the stairs, but halted on the third. "I had your
bags delivered to your room. I’d rather that you stayed with me."

"Me
too," she lied. They’d both agreed, to her relief, that it wouldn’t look
good to the men if the auditor bunked with one of the company bigwigs.
Technically, Sean was one of the owners, since Itor held a major share in the
company stock, but for the purpose of his mission, he was posing as a bigger
owner than he was.

"It
won’t matter soon," he said with a cryptic smile, and once again, she
wondered about his mission here. He’d assured her that all would be revealed in
a few days, but she didn’t plan to be here that long. "Lunch will be
served in my quarters in an hour. I have the galley deliver all my meals, and
you’ll be eating with me. I’ll see you then."

He
climbed the stairs, and she turned her attention back to the water where Wyatt
had gone in. God, she was in trouble. His presence on the installation turned a
highly dangerous mission into an impossibly dangerous one.

I
don’t want you with other men.

Wyatt’s
words blew through her head louder than the wind funneling through the steel
beams.

Shit.

She’d
been shocked to see Wyatt here, had meant to tell him they couldn’t see each
other, but when he’d caged her in his arms, all she’d wanted to do was wrap her
legs around him and let him give her just one more orgasm. She fell apart
around Wyatt, got fuzzy with lust, and somehow she had to keep a straight head.
Because Sean would kill the guy.

Or
worse.

Shit.

Her
only hope was to do this thing, and do it fast. She’d spend today and tomorrow
learning the lay of the land and figuring out when to strike and how to escape.
Sean already trusted her, so getting to the machine wouldn’t be a problem.

The
problem would be in coordinating and executing the actual theft. She’d have to
take out the team monitoring the security cameras. Then the machine’s guards.
She’d have to make sure the helicopter was on deck and that the pilot was
easily accessible. Then she’d have to hope that no one discovered anything out
of the ordinary before the pilot, probably at gunpoint, could lift off the rig.
Even once in the air, it might not be safe, as she had no idea if Sean employed
an Itor agent who could take out the helo.

No,
she definitely did not need the complications another man would bring into the
situation. When Wyatt made it back up, she’d tell him that what they’d done at
the hotel stayed at the hotel. She had to, even though the very thought of that
night made her clothing feel too tight, too restrictive, like she needed to
shed it and join Wyatt that very second.

Yeah,
she had to tell him to forget last night, because dammit, her sister’s life
depended on her focus. And now so did Wyatt’s.

Wyatt
had been free diving since BUD/s, had perfected it during SQT training and
practiced the depth, time and distance on a single breath technique every
chance he got. You just never knew when you were going to have to do some
breath-hold diving to save someone’s life.

Like
now.

He’d
limited his predive breathing to two breaths per minute before he’d lowered
himself into Mother Ocean, who was royally pissed in her own right, and with
his headlamp on, he readied to begin his descent into the darkening water.

He
jackknifed, used minimum effort to move toward the bottom—stiff-legged kicks,
sleeping his way down at twice the speed he would’ve been able to gain if he’d
had full scuba gear on.

The
free dive, when done right and for pleasure or practice, was one of the
ultimate rushes—a Zen thing, an ancient skill. And he was comfortable here,
with the water crushing down on him, floating in that suspended place that
could literally become life or death. The ocean molded around his frame,
sucking him down into her depths and holding him tight, like a woman’s legs and
arms wrapping around him when she was right about to come. The way Faith had
last night…

Faith.
A fitting concept right about now.

Mammalian
diving reflex kicked in almost immediately, his body understanding what he
expected of it, allowing him to endure the depth he was headed toward with the
lack of oxygen.

Heart
rate slowed—80…70…60—ultimately, the bradycardia would lower his rate to less
than 55. Vasoconstriction followed, then splenic contraction, and finally blood
shift, which saved his lungs as he got down past thirty meters.

The
weight belt kept him in a moderately straight line—he had to steer clear of
using the rig legs as guides because he didn’t want to get caught against them.
The water grew colder and churned hard and it took everything he had to not let
himself get pulled off course.

Fucking
man-made storm. He’d kill Sean Stowe the second he got the chance. All part of
the mission.

Lungs
squeezed, the pressure in his ears nearly unbearable, letting him know he was
rapidly approaching his max.

The
water was so churned up he could barely see even with the dive light, and he
slammed against something that was either human or shark—and shit, he hoped it
was human.

Whatever
it was had bounced away, and he only had one shot of getting it back now, and
no time to waste.

Hooking
his foot on one of the hundreds of steel cables that spiderwebbed between the
rig legs, he closed his eyes and let the tingle start at his toes. He reached
out with his mind and drew the object toward him, until he was able to grab an
arm—Len’s arm.

The
diver was clinging to a line tethered to the inoperative dive bell, both legs hanging
motionless. Not good. Wyatt grabbed Len around the waist and snapped the line
free. Len, weak and barely conscious, went loose-limbed as Wyatt held the other
man’s back to his chest.

He
released the weight belt and kicked the fins hard enough to gain the momentum
for his upward travel, hanging on to Len, who was heavy as shit in his dive
gear. The full helmet kept slamming backward into Wyatt’s face, and the way he
had to crane his neck to the side to keep from getting whacked wasn’t making
things any easier. The ocean turned ferocious on him halfway back from the
depths—spun him and his charge around and nearly fucking upside-down.

His
lungs ached, the natural instinct to exhale excruciating to hold off, and he
fought like hell to get them upright.

Once
he did, he prayed he was going in the right direction. He added another prayer
that Len survived the ascent. They didn’t have time to decompress, not with
Len’s air running out. Hopefully, the boys on deck had the hyperbaric chamber
ready.

He
broke the surface, exhaling hard through the snorkel, his body heavy as it
began to pay back its O
₂
debt. As gently as he could, which was
damned near impossible in the fifteen-foot seas, he pulled the deadweight that
was Len toward the dive platform.

The
first person he saw was Faith, waiting for him on the mid-level deck, safe from
the violent swells. That was the best part of all.

A
wave slammed into him. He twisted, took the brunt of the impact against the
side of the platform. Pain jammed the breath in his throat, but he fought
through it, hooked his free arm around a ladder rung. Exhaustion screamed
through him. Gritting his teeth, he used the last of his strength to haul Len
up.

Driving
rain stung his face and crashing waves nearly dislodged him twice, but finally,
panting with effort, he got Len within reach of the men gathered at the railing
edge.

"Get
him into the chamber!" he said, or at least tried to say, but he didn’t
have enough breath to make a sound.

They
grabbed Len and eased him to the mid-level platform, his pained groans audible
even over the howling wind. A small hand appeared in front of Wyatt’s face.

Faith.

"Grab
hold." Her grip was surprisingly strong as she helped haul him up out of
the water.

Shivering,
he gulped air into his lungs, content to kneel on the cold steel as Faith’s
warm hands patted him down in a rapid but thorough search for injury. The deck
beneath them shook, the massive structure groaning from the force of the
storm’s growing intensity.

"We’ve
got to take shelter," he said.

"Agreed.
Wholeheartedly." She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and helped him to
his feet. In the gale-force gusts, they used each other for balance as they
walked away from the edge and up the steps to the upper deck.

"Is
Len all right?" Wyatt called out to the men at the top.

"He’s
in the chamber," one of the medics said. "We’ll medevac him as soon
as the storm lets up."

Relieved,
Wyatt leaned on Faith, his muscles trembling, his head still heavy.

Combining
the telekinesis with the free dive had zapped him. He’d need rest before he
attempted to take down Sean and the weather machine. And judging from the way
the scientist-types were racing toward where the weather machine was housed in
the lab, Wyatt knew it was going to be a while before he would have any hope of
getting to the thing.

So
yeah, let them spend precious time fixing it while he recouped and
recovered—because then he was going to take it out six ways from Sunday.

"Come
on, let’s get you out of the rain and into something dry." Faith moved
forward, even though he was leaning on her pretty heavily. Wind gusts knocked
them around, but Faith held tight, and yeah, he could work with that.

Once
they arrived at the covered threshold to the Accommodations Module, she began
to help him out of the drysuit.

"Do
you know Len well?" she asked.

"I
met him this morning," Wyatt told her, and she stopped mid-zip, leaving
the suit hanging open, exposing his chest.

"You
risked your life for someone you barely know?"

"Does
that turn you on?"

"You
can barely stand. I don’t think you’re in any shape to—" She stopped
mid-sentence as his cock pressed against the suit and into her hip. "Well,
parts of you are in shape."

Yeah,
and that part of him didn’t get that it wasn’t going to get what it demanded.
At least not now. "It’s still touch and go," he told her earnestly.
"You might have to nurse me back to health for a few hours."

FAITH
HAD NO INTENTION of nursing Wyatt in any way, shape or form. Being with him in
any capacity was a risk; being with him in private could get him dead if Sean
ever found out. The only reason she risked it now was that clearly something
had gone wrong with the weather machine, so Sean could be tied up for hours.
And God, she hoped whatever was going on didn’t make the weather worse. Give
her a dozen armed enemies, a hungry shark, a pissed-off ghost. She could handle
it. But a clap of thunder? Not so much.

"Come
on," she said, hoping Wyatt didn’t notice how her teeth chattered.
"Let’s get you to your room and out of this storm. Which direction?"

"I
knew you’d see it my way."

She
huffed. "I’m taking you to your room and leaving you there. Alone.
Understood?"