Текст книги "Stars of Fortune"

Автор книги: Nora Roberts

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

It didn’t look like an inflatable boat. As Sasha’s imagination had formed a big yellow life raft with paddles, seeing an actual boat with motor, covered cabin, benches—and one that remained reasonably steady when she stepped on board—flooded her with relief.

Until she saw the diving equipment.

“Buck up.” Riley slapped her shoulder. “You’ll do fine. What about you, Irish, and the bit about sorcerers not being able to cross water?”

“It’s not can’t so much as would rather not.” He took a small vial from his pocket, downed the contents. “I’ll do fine as well. Who’ll be piloting this thing?”

Riley hesitated, then glanced over at Doyle as he checked over the equipment in the wheelhouse. “Can you handle it?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’ll give you the bearings. That way I can go over the equipment and basics with the novices.”

“Meaning me,” Sasha said. “Shouldn’t someone stay with the boat? I could stay with the boat.”

“That’s what anchors and buoys are for. You’ve dived?” Riley asked Bran.

“A few times, yes.”

“And you?”

Sawyer nodded. “More than a few.”

“I know this,” Annika put in before Riley asked.

“Okay, grab wetsuits, and I’ll get us going.” She walked to the wheelhouse.

Sasha might have been full of doubts, but she reassured herself. She was a good swimmer, a strong swimmer, so if worse came to worst . . .

She stripped down to her bathing suit—a simple black tank, and a far cry from Annika’s microscopic bikini—and busied herself slithering and tugging herself into a wetsuit while Doyle eased the boat out of its slip.

“It’s fun,” Sawyer told her as he zipped up his own. “A whole new experience.”

“It feels like I’ve been having whole new experiences daily since I got to Corfu.”

He grinned, turned to the tanks to check them. “That’s what makes it fun.”

When she saw him lift a harpoon, examine it, she thought he—all of them—had to prepare for more than fun.

“Okay.” Riley walked back on deck, opened the top of a long, low bench. “First dive site’s only a few minutes away. Masks, regulators, belts. We’ll go over all of it,” she promised Sasha. “Captain Bligh up there’s not too happy about it, but we’re going to start with a nice, easy dive. We’re not likely to find a flaming star waiting for us, but it’ll give everybody a chance to—har-har—get their feet wet. Visibility should be good, so let’s everybody stay together-ish—stay in sight. Standard buddy system.”

“I’ve got her, Riley.” Bran took his own dive knife out of his bag. “She’ll stop being nervous once she’s in the water.”

“Will I?”

“Trust me.”

“Let’s go over the gear.” Riley picked up a thick vest. “Your buoyancy control device—BCD. This will hold your tank, and help you maintain neutral buoyancy. That’s the goal. On the surface, you tend to float, so this, being weighted, will help your descent. The deeper you go, the less buoyancy, so it will regulate. You want the science?”

“I think no.”

“You’ve got clips here for accessories and necessities. Regulator gauge, depth gauge, knife. You want to keep everything clipped off and tucked.”

Riley started talking about drag, swimming “trim,” breathing techniques. All of it spun around in Sasha’s head as she stood and the various equipment being explained was attached to or loaded on her.

Doyle cut the engine far too soon.

“Let’s keep it at about thirty minutes, see how it goes.”

“A half hour? Down there?”

“It’ll go quicker than you imagine,” Bran told her as he competently saw to his own gear.

Doyle weighed anchor; Riley tossed out the marker buoy.

“The cave’s due east.” She pointed toward the cliff face. “Sawyer, why don’t you and Annika go in, then Sasha can follow with Bran. Doyle and I should be right behind you. Just take a couple minutes to get used to it,” she told Sasha, and strapped on a BCD.

Sawyer put on his mask, his mouthpiece, and sitting on the side, gave a thumbs-up before rolling backward into the water.

Sasha had time to think—Oh, my God—before Annika laughed, then mimicked Sawyer.

“You can go in feetfirst if you’d rather,” Bran began.

“Ladder on the port side,” Doyle said as he zipped his wetsuit.

“Why don’t I help you down that way?”

Help her, Sasha thought. Watch her, look out for her.

The hell with it.

She clomped over to the side in her fins, boosted herself up.

“Hold your mask in place with one hand. Just roll out.” Bran gave her leg an easy pat. “I’m two seconds after you.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, Sasha shut her eyes and let herself roll back.

It was a longer drop than she’d anticipated. When she hit the water, she let out a short scream, sucked in too much air. She started to kick back to the surface, but Bran was there, taking her hand.

He made a slow, downward movement with his free hand, clearly signaling her to slow down, relax. Though she wanted to go up, go up into light and air, he pointed down, and drew her with him.

Panic tickled at her throat, brought on an odd dizziness. She knew she was breathing too fast—exactly what Riley warned not to do—but couldn’t seem to control it.

Then she saw Annika through the impossibly clear water, doing fluid somersaults with the sunlight cutting through the surface to spotlight her.

Oh, to be that free, she thought, then realized she was—or could be. Nothing held her back but her own fears. Maybe she wasn’t ready for somersaults, but that didn’t mean she had to give up.

She struggled with her breathing—still too fast, but better—and gave Bran’s hand a light squeeze to let him know she was all right.

And finally let herself see the world around her.

The colors, so deep and rich in the coral, the waving plants, the boldly darting fish. So much more than what she’d experienced in the very rudimentary snorkeling she’d done when she’d talked herself into a winter vacation in Aruba some years before.

This time, she wasn’t just looking down at the world—like peering through a glass window. She was part of it.

With Bran she swam along the reef, gestured with wonder when she spotted a pumpkin-colored starfish clinging to a rock. She saw another, and a deep red sponge, and watched a lobster scramble across the sandy bottom as if late for an appointment.

When she saw the mouth of the cave, the panic wanted to rise again. Then Riley streaked by her, glanced back with a quick wave before spearing straight toward the dark, shallow mouth ahead.

Doyle speared through the water after her, might have cut straight into the cave but Riley blocked him.

Waiting for her, she realized, the four of them, with Annika swimming a circle around the other three. She kicked her feet, sent herself forward with Bran beside her.

The six went into the cave, two by two, where the light hung murky. Here, the world was a shadowy green and what lived in it came as shadowed blurs. The blurs became a long, sinuous eel, a pair of octopi with undulating tentacles. The wavering plants hid things, she imagined, that could sting and bite.

She heard the beat of her heart in her own head as she swam through the eerie green light of the tunnel.

It opened, reminding her of the land cave she thought of as Nerezza’s. She looked up, almost expecting to see bats swimming and swooping. Instead she saw light, trees, and stared in wonder at the open ceiling between worlds.

Another octopus, uninterested in them, flowed across the bottom of the cave while a school of silvery fish speared away as one as she reached out a hand to touch. She forgot fear as she explored the madly artistic shapes of coral, the living sponges, the oddly fluid movement of a starfish that left its perch when disturbed.

She thought of the painting she could do if she kept all this in her head long enough to sketch it. She forgot her fears, and for a time the true purpose, in the thrill of exploration.

It surprised her when Riley tapped her shoulder, pointed at her watch, then the tunnel. With a reluctance she hadn’t anticipated, she swam out again with the others.

When she surfaced, the bright flash of sun, the taste of air, the feel of it on her skin disoriented her. She pulled herself up, then stood, mask in her hand, staring at the water. Knowing what lived in it.

“You’re a natural.” Riley gave her a light punch on the shoulder before sitting to take off her flippers. “Up for another?”

“Yes.”

“I think we stick with one or two more, easy ones, today. You didn’t get any sense when we were down there?”

“Sense? Oh. No. No, but I wasn’t thinking about the stars, not once we got going. I should have—”

“I think the pull might come more naturally if you’re relaxed.” Bran handed her a bottle of water. “If all of us are. You enjoyed it.”

“You were right. Thirty minutes went by so fast, and wasn’t nearly enough.”

“You kept trim.” Sawyer grabbed a can of Coke from the cooler and, at Riley’s nod, tossed it to her, got another for himself. “Not everybody who knows how to swim translates it for diving—not right away. This one?” He pulled another Coke out, handed it to Annika. “She’s a freaking fish.”

“It’s fun to swim with friends.”

“The chances of finding what we’re after in the other two caves you’ve got down here are zilch.” Doyle broke out a water for himself.

“That’s how we cross them off the list, and give Sasha some practice.”

“I wish you wouldn’t hold back on my account. I’ll do okay.”

“Yeah, most likely. But what you have to consider is that’s not your environment down there, and you’re only alive down there because you have equipment that makes it possible. If we run into trouble while we’re under, the way we did in the cave up here? Getting out of it’s going to take some experience.”

She turned to Doyle then, shoved a hand over her water-slick hair. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” He drank deep from the bottle. “No, you’re not wrong. And it’s not like we don’t have time,” he said to Sasha.

“But you’re ready to get it done.”

“I’m long past ready.” He shook his head, drank again before he turned toward the wheelhouse. “But there’s time.”

*   *   *

They dived twice more, and Sasha felt more comfortable each time. But she had to admit, to herself at least, the idea of coming up against a dark god while twenty or thirty feet underwater caused considerable anxiety.

Pain, she remembered. Her dreams had been painted with pain and blood and battle. But she could recall none about drowning.

Maybe that was a good sign.

They headed back in to have the tanks refilled, and by popular vote grabbed lunch in the village. They ate on the sidewalk, keeping the conversation about the dives, rather than their underlying purpose.

The combination of the food, the sun, the voices, the bustle all around shifted Sasha’s exhilaration into a comfortable, cat-lazy fatigue.

Too used to Riley’s driving to worry about it, she half dozed on the short drive back to the villa, imagining curling up on her bed in her quiet room and napping.

“Got some things I want to check into.” Riley got out as the dog trotted over. “Told you we’d be back.” She gave him a good rub. “Same deal tomorrow, so I guess we should work out a strategy, try at least one of the more challenging dives.”

“Can I take the jeep? I want to pick up a few things,” Sawyer explained.

“We were just in the village.”

“Didn’t want to hold everybody up.”

With a shrug, Riley tossed him the keys.

“Can I go with you? Can I shop?”

“Oh, well . . .” But Sawyer made the mistake of looking into Annika’s sparkling eyes. “Sure.”

“Man down,” Doyle commented.

“Later, you can get the coins out, Bran. I’ve got a contact who’ll give Annika a fair price on a few of them. I can sort those out, and we can make that stop before we get on the boat in the morning. You’ll have some actual spending money,” Riley told Annika.

“Shopping money.”

“Yeah, that, too. I’ll touch base with him. Bring that back in one piece,” she added, and walked toward the villa with Apollo.

“Got work of my own.” Doyle trailed off behind her.

“You should pick up some fresh supplies.”

Sawyer shot Sasha a look as he got behind the wheel. “Hell. Yeah, I figured. I’ll work it out.”

“I want new earrings.” Annika jumped into the passenger seat.

“What is it with women and earrings?” Sawyer wondered.

“They’re pretty. Bye.” She waved to Sasha and Bran. “We’re going shopping!”

“May the gods take pity on him,” Bran stated, then took her hand to lead her toward the terrace steps.

“I feel like I should do something productive. It’s not even three in the afternoon.”

“Productive.”

“I should sketch out what’s in my head, what I saw today. The light in the cave. I want to capture that. And I know I shouldn’t try when I feel this lazy.”

“Then you’ll capture it when you’re not. Meanwhile . . .”

He turned into her room with her, booted the doors closed, then whipped her around to press her back against them.

“I think this is where we left off.”

He took her mouth, and took her under.

“Now?”

“Oh, absolutely now.” He took his lips on a lazy journey along the column of her throat. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Everything inside her sparked. “No. No, now would be fine. Now would be good.” His hands skimmed up to brush over her breasts. “Now would be wonderful.”

Wanting, willing, she wrapped around him, thrilled by the rush of her own pulse, the flood of her own needs. Needs she’d locked away for so long spun free—and there was such joy in them.

She laughed, only a hint of nerves, when he turned her again, walked her backward toward the bed with his mouth still hungry on hers.

Then she was tumbling back, and he with her. And oh, what a sensation, the weight and shape of his body pressed to hers, to feel her own yielding to it. His hands, so strong and sure, molding her like clay until her blood ran hot under her skin.

She wanted to touch him, feared she’d fumble something as she fought to pull off his shirt. She wanted her hands on flesh, on muscle.

“I need to tell you—”

His teeth scraped lightly down her throat; her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.

“In case I do something wrong . . .”

“Nothing could be wrong.”

He flipped open the buttons of her shirt, his lips following his fingers.

“It’s just– I might. Oh, God, this feels amazing. I’ve never done this before so I might make a mistake.”

She realized she’d just made one when everything stilled. She closed her eyes, asked herself why, why, couldn’t she have just let it go, just said nothing until it was done.

“Not done what before, exactly?”

She opened her eyes, found his, so dark, so intense, on hers. “Sex. I shouldn’t have said anything. Why does it have to matter?”

He shifted, sitting up, drawing her with him. And she felt all the joy and delight leak away into mortification.

“Of course you should have told me, and of course it matters.”

“You either want me or you don’t.” She dug for anger, for anything that would cover the humiliation of tears that wanted to spill.

“That’s not the issue. It matters,” he repeated, taking her arms when she tried to turn away. “In approach, in tone. The first shouldn’t be rushed and greedy, and I was feeling both.”

“Since I was feeling the same, why can’t we just—”

“Because you don’t know. But you will.” He lifted her hand, turned it over to lay a kiss lightly in her palm. “If you’re sure. It’s a gift that can’t be taken back.”

“I’m sure. I want to feel what you make me feel. I want to be with you. Now.”

“Then trust me.”

“I couldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“We want moonlight and stars.” As he spoke the room went dusky blue. Lights—candles? stars?—glimmered through it. “The song of the sea, the scent of flowers.”

She heard the waves, like a whisper as he laid her back on what had become a bower.

“You’re so much more than you’ve shown us.”

Illusions, he thought, but the moment called for them. And for romance, and tenderness. He found he had them for her, and could call on them as easily as he could whistle up the wind.

He cupped her face with one hand, took her lips slow, slow, deep, deeper, until he felt her melt into his bed of feathers and flowers.

He could seduce, degree by degree, give them both the sumptuous. She smelled of the sea, tasted of honey. And under his hands her skin was soft as satin.

On impulse he ran his hands through her hair, scattered tiny rosebuds through it. Looked down to enjoy the way it spread and tumbled over his bower.

“You look like a faerie queen. If I had your gift, I would paint you just like this. Or . . .” He waved a finger through the air, and she was naked but for a scatter of flower petals.

“Oh!” Instinctively, she lifted a hand to cover her breasts, but he caught it, brought it to his lips as he skimmed his gaze over her.

“Yes, just like this. I’m commissioning you to do this self-portrait. Name your price,” he murmured and took her mouth again.

How could she have known she could float and fly, could soar and dive all at the same time? That she could burn and shudder. And want, want, want.

His mouth took hers with soul-deep kisses and whispered words she didn’t understand. And his hands glided over her, awakening fresh thrills.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, then his tongue, stirring something deep in her belly. Then his mouth closed over her, and that stirring, that pulling flashed into a fast, shocking leap of pleasure.

She cried out from it, arched up as it struck like an arrow.

“You’re quick,” he murmured.

“What? What?”

“Just the start. Just a sample.” He pressed his lips to her thundering heart. “This time you’ll take, and taking, you give.”

He gripped her hands with his, as her touch, her explorations tempted him to rush. So he used only his mouth on her, roaming down her torso, pleasing himself when her belly quivered under his tongue.

She moaned for him, moved for him, and the mix of her need and surrender sparked like a wire in his blood. Another time he would give in to that, another time he would let that hunger loose. But now he would seduce her, now he would torment them both.

He brushed his lips over her thigh, and then his tongue along the vulnerable line beside her center. And his teeth, lightly, lightly, until her breath became long, sighing moans, until her body undulated.

He found her warm and wet, so ready to fly up again.

It was like being showered with warm liquid gold, showered with melted jewels. Every inch of her sparkled, shone, glimmered, gleamed. The world was warm and soft, and smothered in flowers, drenched in moonlight.

And the world was only him.

As his mouth came back to hers again, as her hands were free to touch and stroke, she thought nothing could ever be more beautiful.

“Will you look at me now? Look at me, Sasha.”

She opened eyes dark and heavy with the glorious weight of pleasure. “Bran.”

“This is ours, only.”

He banished even the thought of pain as he slipped into her. And she learned there was more beauty. She opened for it, welcomed it. Keeping her eyes on his, she moved with him, let that beauty, the glory of it saturate her.

It took her higher to where the air thinned, the world spun. As even the air shattered around her, she laid her hand on his cheek. “Yes,” she said. “Yes,” she sighed, and let herself slide down.

She imagined her body pulsing off light. Pale pink and gold light. Warm and soft and lovely. He lay full on her so she imagined the light pulsed right through him as well, and filled the room with color.

She wondered, if this is how sex made you feel, how people managed to do anything else.

“Well, we can be a bit preoccupied with it.”

“What? Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.” He raised his head, gave her face a study out of dark, sleepy eyes. “And it’s a fine compliment to me.”

“You gave me a bed of flowers and moonlight. I’m full of compliments.”

He shifted, rolled so he could draw her up against his side. “I want that painting.”

She laughed, happy to rest her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know how I looked.”

“I’ll see that you do. Is it bad timing to ask why you haven’t been with someone before this?”

“No. I felt I had to be honest about things before I slept with someone. And whenever things got to that point, the man was either put off or too interested in that part of me. It wasn’t about me anymore, about wanting me anymore. You already knew. And you have something . . . it balances things. That sounds calculated.”

“No, it sounds human.”

Now she shifted, propped up so she could see his face. “This?” She gestured to the flowers, the moonlight. “What you have, are? It’s fascinating. It’s compelling. But it’s not why I’m here with you now.”

“This?” He laid a hand on her temple. “What you have and are is fascinating and compelling. But it’s not why I want you here.”

Content, she settled down again. “We have so many things to deal with, to figure out. Gods and stars and caves and vanishing islands. Right now none of it seems real. But it is.”

“And we’ll do what needs doing. We’ll find the star that’s here for us. You’ve seen it.”

“Not everything comes through exactly as I see it.”

“We’ll trust this does, and more, keep looking until we find it.”

“You’ve had more time than I have to believe. I’m still working on it. I guess we should go down, start planning tomorrow’s search.”

“Be good soldiers,” he agreed and stroked a hand down her arm.

“Can I ask you a question first?”

“I think you could ask most anything under the circumstances.”

“Is it always like that? Sex? Well, it’s not—not from what I’ve read, or heard. But do you think it was amazing because it was the first time, or it might be amazing for us?”

“I couldn’t say, but I can be sure of one thing. We’re going to find out.”

When he rolled over onto her, she laughed. “I guess they can get started downstairs without us.”