Her Passionate Protector

An apology of sorts for snarling at her, she supposed.

He took her arm again in a firm grip and checked for traffic on the road before guiding her across to the hotel. Clamping her lips together, Sienna reminded herself that the meek would inherit the earth.

She didn’t feel meek. She felt unsettled, dismayed and vaguely angry, as though she’d been deceived in some way, though of course that wasn’t so. Everyone had probably taken it for granted that someone else had told her of Brodie’s role in the new company. And it didn’t really matter. Only, she wished the dive master were someone less irrefutably…male, in a way that disturbed her more than she wanted to admit.

At the foot of the broad steps to the door he asked her, “Will you be all right now?”

“Of course. I don’t need a nanny.”

He grinned, his good humor apparently restored. Thrusting his thumbs into the belt of his jeans, his eyelids lowering, he said, “Good, ’cause I’m not one.”

No, she thought, looking up into his gleaming eyes. There was nothing nannyish about his earthy sexual magnetism.

She said hastily, “Good night, then. Thank you again for seeing me home.”

“See you tomorrow,” he promised as she climbed the steps.

When she reached her room she had an immediate sense of something alien in the air, a faint, indefinable feeling of intrusion. Looking around, she saw her replacement collapsible suitcase sitting open on the luggage rack with the so-far unworn clothes still neatly folded inside, just as she’d left them. Nothing seemed to have changed, except that the bed was turned down.

A staff member had entered in her absence, that was all. Relieved, she went to draw down the old-fashioned Holland blind, pausing as she noticed Brodie’s broad-shouldered figure mooching along the foreshore.

Something stirred inside her, a warm spiral of purely physical reaction. Uneasily, she recognized it for what it was—a sexual response.

Brodie Stanner, with his lopsided grin and frank appraisal of her face and figure, was going to be one of the team she’d be living in close proximity with—for perhaps months. And that bothered her. He spelled danger, large as life and twice as threatening.

He’d made no secret of the fact that he found her attractive. But by all the signs he found any personable woman attractive, and was one of those men who generously spread his favors around without discrimination. And without any particular thought. A here today and gone tomorrow sort of guy.

Mindless, meaningless sex wasn’t something that had ever interested Sienna. Sex for her had never been meaningless, although it had not brought her the security she’d once hoped for, when she was too young to understand her own need and looking for love in all the wrong places. She’d long ago given up on that futile search.

And she had little doubt that if Brodie Stanner had anything in mind, it was no more than a short, wild fling. That was not for her—and neither was he.

Sienna’s GP had already assured her she was fully recovered from her earlier sickness, although a bit underweight, but she was relieved to emerge from the dive doctor’s surgery with the necessary certificate in her hand.

The little town was quite busy, and when she reached the wharf the Sea-Rogue was abuzz.

Alongside a couple of other men Brodie was loading boxes and bags from a pile on the wharf into a forward hatch, his shirt discarded and his fit, lithe body bending and straightening in a rhythm of physical exertion that had a sort of primitive beauty. Rogan stood by with a clipboard, checking things off and occasionally examining a label.

Brodie stopped work for a second and lifted a hand in greeting. Rogan glanced up as she stepped aboard, and smiled at her. “Camille’s in the saloon. She’s expecting you.”

“Thanks.” Sienna jumped lightly into the cockpit, and descended to the saloon where she found Camille studying a computer screen incorporated into a bank of instruments.

The two women spent a couple of hours going over the documentation on the Maiden’s Prayer that Camille had collected from various sources and the information Sienna had garnered on the stolen samples.

Sienna said, “Can we transfer my notes from the CD to your computer?”

“Yes, that would be a good idea. We’ve been careful about it because the boat’s been burgled before, but we sail in a couple of days and the burglar alarm seems very efficient. You probably heard it last night, when we woke half the port.”

“Last night? I dreamed about a fire engine…” She’d forgotten about it, but now she recalled a vivid dream involving sirens and fire, a feeling of impending doom as flames licked behind her while Brodie Stanner climbed a ladder to her window and held out his hand. She’d hung back, afraid to take it, until he’d said commandingly, “Come with me, I’ll save you.”

Some chance, she thought now. From the fire to the frying pan…

Camille was saying, “It seems to have been a false alarm. Rogan shot out of bed and raced up on deck, but no one was there. The thing might have been set off by a line flapping in the wind, although it’s not supposed to work that way. It did show that if someone tries to break in now, judging by last night’s performance, it’ll bring people running from all the boats nearby.”

After transferring the information Camille handed the disk back, saying, “It’s a good idea to keep a spare, just in case.”

“I wasn’t able to find much really.”

“Still, you never know when something that seems unimportant or unrelated will match up with another fact and tell us something useful. You know how it is with research.” Camille hesitated. “I’m sure it’s all right to tell you, now you’re a member of the team. We have the ship’s bell, but we’re keeping that under wraps, so don’t mention it to anyone else. You’re the only one who knows apart from Granger and Brodie, Rogan and me.”

They lunched on deck with Rogan and Brodie. After delivering the stores, the other men had driven off.

“Did you get your doctor’s certificate?” Brodie asked.

She fished it from her capacious bag and handed it to him, along with her dive certification.

A man strolling along the wharf stopped at the Sea-Rogue. “Rogan Broderick?” he inquired.

“That’s me.” Rogan stood up.

The man was fiftyish, his brown hair thinning, eyes hidden behind trendy wraparound sunglasses. His casual shirt and slacks looked as though they probably sported designer labels. Uninvited, he leaped aboard and held out his hand to Rogan. “Fraser Conran,” he said. “And this is your brother?” He turned to Brodie.

“No.” Brodie denied it, not offering his name.

For a moment the stranger didn’t react, then he smiled thinly, and Camille said, “Do I know you?”

He shifted his attention to her. Then she said, “We met at James Drummond’s house,” her expression changing from uncertainty to hostility.

Jolted, Sienna recalled that Camille had spent time with Drummond before she discovered he was a crook and a killer.

Conran didn’t seem to notice the sudden chill in the air. “A bad business, that.” The smile fading, he shook his head. “I didn’t really know him well, but his antique stores seemed aboveboard—he was well known, respectable. Hard to believe…though, of course, he hasn’t been found guilty yet.”

“He’s guilty,” Rogan said curtly. “What did you want?”

Fraser Conran turned back to him. “I hope I’m not going to be tarred with the same brush because I knew the man. We were business acquaintances, that’s all.” He paused, but no one reassured him on that point. “I heard you were looking for investors for a…venture. I have some cash to spare. Perhaps we could talk?”

“You heard wrong,” Rogan said. “Our investors have all been by invitation. We don’t need any more.”

“Really? Treasure hunting is very expensive, I’m told—my understanding was you can hardly have too much capital.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure you can find other ventures to spend your money on. Probably less dicey ones.”

“But not so interesting.”

There was a silence, then Conran shrugged. “If you change your mind, here’s my card.”

Rogan reluctantly took the card the man handed over before climbing back onto the wharf. They watched him depart, strolling without hurry.

Brodie asked Rogan, “What do you make of that?”

Rogan shook his head and turned to Camille. “Do you know anything about him?”

“Not really. I didn’t recognize him right away, but he was with some other people who sailed up from Auckland for the weekend. I think James hoped to sell something to him.”

“Did you get the impression he tried to give us just now that he hardly knew Drummond?”

Camille chewed briefly on her lower lip. “It’s hard to say. James told me the people were business contacts.”

Brodie said, “He’s not the first one to come fishing, is he, since word of the new company got out?”

“No,” Rogan agreed. “And not the first who seemed a bit dodgy, either. Just as well we had Granger to rustle up investors he could vouch for.” He looked at the card.

Brodie asked, “What does he do?”

“Shipping agent, it says.”

“I guess Drummond knew plenty of those.”

“Some of them might have been legitimate,” Rogan allowed. “But I wouldn’t trust anyone who had anything to do with Drummond.”

Sienna and Camille helped to get supplies stowed neatly in every available storage space on the boat in preparation for their departure, and it was late afternoon when Sienna found herself being walked back to the hotel by Brodie again.

Along the way he said, “Camille told you we’re sure now the wreck is the Maiden’s Prayer.”

“She said you’d found the ship’s bell, but not to say anything.”

“Had you found any confirmation in the stuff Rogan brought up from the bottom?”

“There was nothing to refute it, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“Are you always so cautious?”

“Preconceived ideas are not good science.”

“Y’know,” he said thoughtfully, “I have the feeling you might have some preconceived ideas about me.”

“I don’t know why you should think that. And if I did, I wouldn’t let them interfere with doing my job.”

“You realize we’re all going to be living pretty close together for a few months?”

“I’ve never had a problem getting on with people.” Trying to sound serene and confident, she couldn’t help feeling that instead her voice was decidedly cool and a little snippy. Well, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing. She’d hate him to guess the effect he had on her—the way his smile warmed her very bones and his blue gaze gave her pleasurable little shivers up her spine.

He seemed ready to drop the subject. “Does your brother still dive?”

“Sometimes. But he tends to master a skill and then go in for some new challenge. At university he joined the mountain-climbing club, and he’s still a member of a search and rescue team. When he moved to Hamilton to take a job as a mechanic he learned to fly. Now he’s working for an aeronautical engineering firm there and doing night classes to improve his skills. He seems to be showing signs of settling down.”

“You approve of that? Settling down?”

“Isn’t it what you did? Have you got bored with being a shopkeeper?”

He gave her a keen look. “I’ve never given up diving. I combine my shop and dive school with occasional commercial assignments. The shore work gives me a steady income and means I don’t have to scramble for jobs—I can pick and choose where I go and who I work with.”

“And you chose Pacific Treasure Salvors?”

He grinned. “Not too many people can resist the lure of long-lost treasure. Even you.”

Sienna didn’t bother to deny that. She knew most of the work would be tedious and painstaking, and much of the wreck’s cargo—maybe the bulk of it—might already be lost forever in the depths of the sea, buried under layers of coral, destroyed or scattered irrecoverably by time and tropical storms. Nevertheless she was excited at the prospect of being involved.

She essayed a wry smile of acknowledgment, and Brodie broke into an answering one that lifted her spirits in a way no other man ever had. Plenty of women would have fallen for him instantly. No wonder he seemed a shade piqued that she’d shown no inclination to do so. She mustn’t allow him to discover how fragile her brittle defences really were.

She sighed, assailed by a wistful longing that lately had recurred too often, and Brodie said, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I’m still a bit tired.”

He frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to this trip?”

“You saw the doctor’s certificate. There was a lot of work to do before I left, but I’ll have time to recover before we reach the wreck.” The exact location was confidential but she gathered it was at least a week’s sailing from Mokohina, and she knew from Camille that Rogan was concerned that, while he assembled his crew and equipment, looters might get to the site before they did. But also determined that the expedition was properly equipped and staffed.

Brodie cast another covert glance upon her but didn’t argue anymore.

Next day Sienna started out to find the dive shop, not in any particular hurry. On the way she dawdled over a display of local art for sale, mostly depicting seascapes or rural scenes, and at a shop-window mannequin wearing a rather nice jade-green stretch top.

A teenage boy in baggy shorts and T-shirt, with a knitted beanie hat pulled low over his eyebrows, was reflected in the glass, apparently looking too, but when she turned he ducked his head and mooched off to stare into the window of a nearby computer shop while she walked on.

She was turning a corner when something tugged hard at the bag she held, and she instinctively tightened her grip, swinging round as the beanie-wearing youth she’d seen earlier tried to wrench the bag from her hold, his brown eyes stark and wide below the hat.

Sienna kicked him hard in the knee, jerking the bag away from his loosened hold as he doubled up with a cry of pain, and a man and woman rounded the corner.

“Bitch!” the boy gasped, and then he saw the two people approaching, backed off and began to run, almost being mown down by a car as he dodged across the road.

The couple stopped, bewildered, and the man asked, “Are you all right?”

Sienna was breathing fast, her heart pounding. “Yes. He tried to snatch my bag. I’m okay.”

The woman exclaimed in disgust, “That sort of thing never used to happen in Mokohina. You ought to tell the police.”

“Yes,” Sienna said. But the boy had disappeared and by the time she reported the incident they’d have no hope of catching him. “Thanks.” If these people hadn’t come along she might still be tussling with the bag snatcher or been knocked to the ground while he made off with his booty.

After the couple walked on, she waited a few minutes to calm down and resume her normal breathing pattern, then continued to her destination.

When she entered the shop Brodie was helping two giggling young women choose gear for their first dive lesson. One of them looked up at him, pushing back a mane of shining dark hair, and cooed, “Will you be the teacher?”

Brodie’s glance at her held amused appreciation. “Sorry,” he looked regretful, “I’m not going to be available for a while. But we have several very well qualified staff members.”

The girl looked disappointed. “It’s your picture on the brochure we picked up at the motel.”

That, Sienna thought, would bring young women in droves to the dive school.

Brodie was saying, “I own the business. Don’t worry, Hemi will see you right.”

“Is he as good-looking as you?” the girl asked, casting him a sidelong look.

Brodie laughed. “Better. And he’s younger than me. You’ll like him.”

A female assistant, tall and fit-looking, her skin the light golden-brown of manuka honey, was suppressing a grin of her own as she left off arranging a display of snorkels and face masks and approached Sienna. “Can I help you?”

“I’m waiting for Brodie,” Sienna told her.

The assistant let the grin surface, her gaze sliding to her boss. “You might be waiting for a while.”

Apparently she’d been mistaken for one of his fan club. Sienna said crisply, “I’m the archaeologist for Pacific Treasure Salvors.”

At the sound of her voice Brodie had looked up. He motioned the assistant to him and said, “Take over here please, Jen.” Then, excusing himself from the girls whose wistful looks followed him across the shop floor, he invited Sienna. “Come with me.”

He led her into a roomy storeroom-cum-office, where he picked up a bulky jacket-type buoyancy compensator hung with all the necessary accoutrements. “I picked this out for you, a new model that’s tested well. It excludes sand, a plus when you’re picking up stuff from the seafloor. Try it.”

Standing behind her, he helped her into it, and then came round in front and adjusted the waist strap.

She could see the faint gleam of incipient whiskers on his chin as he completed the task. He pointed out the various instruments integrated into the system. “In the water it’ll give you greater freedom of movement than older systems and fewer hoses to manage.” He stepped closer again. “There are just two nice big buttons to press for gaining neutral buoyancy.”

Neutral buoyancy prevented a diver from sinking fast to the bottom or bobbing about on the surface; once achieved, it allowed full control of movement in the water.

Brodie looked up from checking the fit and met her eyes. For a moment she was lost in the blue depths of his, only aware of how intense the color was, and then of the sudden flare that lit them before he gave her a slow grin, his eyebrows lifting slightly in teasing, hopeful inquiry.

Hastily Sienna looked away, a pulse beating unevenly at her throat. Neutral buoyancy was what she needed, she thought—a way of controlling her feelings so that she neither sank once again into the dangerous depths of misdirected love nor floated aimlessly into a shallow affair.

She touched the buttons he’d pointed out, experimenting, and Brodie stood by with his hands thrust into his pockets and a studiedly casual expression, watching her familiarize herself with the system.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I think it’s probably expensive.” She peered at a swing tag hanging from the front, confirming her assumption.

“I’ll give you a twenty-five percent discount. I can provide you with something cheaper, but believe me, this will be worth having once we’re out there in the deep ocean.”

“You’re the expert.” Twenty-five percent must be near cost price. “PTS is going to pay me very well for going on this trip and I’ll have some insurance money coming for the gear that was stolen from my car, so yes.” Although temporarily at least it would make a hole in her bank account. “And thanks for the discount.”

Taking the jacket from her, he smiled. “You won’t regret it.”

“Is that a promise?” she asked lightly. Lightly, she’d decided, was the only way to deal with this man.

“I’ll bet on it.”

“You’re the gambling man.” She recalled him offering to bet her that Camille and Rogan’s shining love would last. “I don’t do bets.”

“Ah, yes. The cautious type,” he teased, his eyes laughing at her. “Well, that’s good—taking risks underwater can be fatal. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Sienna wasn’t aware she’d been looking at him in any special way, except that the light in his eyes had a mesmerizing effect and she’d been caught by it, not thinking at all but unable to look away.

“As if you don’t believe me.”

What had they been talking about? Mentally she shook herself. Taking risks underwater, of course. Diving was always risky. Her instructors had made sure everyone knew the strict rules that governed the occupation, regularly hammering home the safety aspects. “You don’t strike me as the cautious type,” she told him. How did a gambling man cope with the necessary precautions?

He said grimly, “I am, underwater. Guys who do stupid things in this business don’t live long.”

Sienna went a little cold. “Have you ever done anything stupid?”

“Coupla times,” he grudgingly admitted. “When I was young and thought I was superhuman. But not anymore. I figured my luck was about to run out.”

“Is that when you decided to buy a shore business?”

Brodie laughed. “No, that came later. The thing is,” he said, sobering, “the second time I damn near took Rogue with me. He put himself at risk to save my sorry butt. Kicked it later for me, and I don’t blame him. I swore I’d never put someone else in danger again just because I felt invincible. No one is. Remember that when you’re at the bottom of the sea.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” Sienna had some sympathy for him. In a way she’d experienced a similar situation, not physically but emotionally, finding herself disastrously out of her depth before she fully realized what had happened. But it wasn’t, she reminded herself, a matter of life and death. Just as Brodie had survived his moment of truth, she’d survived the gaping wound in her heart.

It hadn’t been easy, and it wasn’t her first such mistake, but she was determined it would be her last. She’d never again been quite so vulnerable. Nowadays she was in charge of her emotions, not allowing them to escape her control. Life was much more comfortable that way.

“Something the matter?” Brodie asked, startling her.

Her expression must have betrayed her. She thrust the unwelcome memory back into her subconscious where it belonged. “Nothing,” she said brightly. “I need all the other gear too. Wet suit, flippers, mask, dive computer…”

He helped her choose the rest of her equipment, and when they were both satisfied, she said, “How do you want me to pay for this? Is a credit card okay?”

“Sure, or leave it until we get back. I’ll deliver it all to the boat for you. Are you moving to the Sea-Rogue?”

“I think I’ll stay on at the Imperial until we leave tomorrow.” There wasn’t much privacy on board, and Camille and Rogan might need as much of it as they could get before the boat sailed. Since their Easter wedding, they’d only snatched weekends together while Camille finished the semester and Rogan made preparations for PTS’s project.

“Let me know when you want to park your car at my place,” Brodie offered. “When I’m not here I’ll be at the Sea-Rogue or my place.”

“Where do you live?”

“Five minutes’ walk. If you wait around until closing time—” he glanced at his watch “—which isn’t far off, I’ll show you. Why don’t you have dinner with me there? We could get to know each other a bit before we start the trip.”

Sienna knew it was important to get on with other members of the crew, but stalled, giving herself time to consider. “Can you cook?”

“Sure I can cook. Did you think I was offering so you’d cook dinner for me? You won’t have to lift a finger—and that’s a promise.”

She didn’t actually say yes, but somehow he took it for granted that she’d accepted, and half an hour later he was ushering her through a wicket gate and along a short path to a tiny cottage with a disproportionately large garage toward the rear.

A curve of corrugated iron hooded the veranda at the front of the cottage, giving it a sleepy look. Wide wooden steps creaked as Brodie led the way up them and opened a lead-light-paneled door flanked by long old-fashioned windows.

Inside, the board floors had been varnished to a soft sheen and dressed with rugs. The furniture was minimal but Brodie pointed her to a big, comfortable sofa—chosen, she assumed, to accommodate his large body when he wanted to sprawl on it and watch the small TV set that sat in a corner.

She guessed that someone had removed a wall, replacing it with a wide arch that defined areas of the roomy living space. Besides the sofa, there were two double-seaters, a low coffee table and the TV trolley, while bookshelves lined one wall. The kitchen was separated by a polished wooden counter doubling as a dining table, with two high-backed wicker chairs pushed under it on the sitting-room side.