Irresistible Fortune

Gavin wished he could lash out at her accusation, but he frankly deserved it. He’d certainly been part of a team who’d committed that crime. “There are a lot of treasures down there, one of them possibly a chestful of gold and gems. There’s no way the owners are going to plop it down in a glass museum case and charge five bucks a head to watch John Q. Smith walk by when they could make millions selling off the contents.”

“So you haven’t found the chest?”

“Not yet.”

“But you think it’s there.”

He shrugged. “Legends generally have some basis in fact. Personally, I think we might find a chest, but a decoy. Pirates were clever and secretive when it came to their booty. Why would a successful one like Cullen blab about his?” Gavin reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out a bronze-colored coin, which he laid on the table in front of Brenna. “I did find this today.”

“It’s an Indian-head cent piece,” she said, picking it up. “Circa 1860. These were issued by the U.S. Mint, not the Confederates.”

“And The Carolina was known to raid Union merchant ships in the Caribbean.”

Her fairy green eyes widened as they focused on him. “At least you’ve studied the history a bit.”

“Why wouldn’t—” He stopped. He could think of twenty reasons why reckless treasure hunter Gavin Fortune wouldn’t be mistaken for a studious man. “I had some time on the flight up from Miami.”

The waitress returned to see if Gavin wanted another beer, which he didn’t. Brenna also declined any more tea. The meeting seemed to have come to an end.

Gavin was both glad and reluctant to part from her. He’d been reading some firsthand accounts of ship captains who’d encountered Cullen, and the latest batch was in French. Making any sense out of the various dialects, as well as the old-fashioned expressions, required serious focus.

Despite the fact that Gavin the Wretch would let her pay, he couldn’t take the ruse that far. Teachers were shamefully underpaid, and he had plenty of cash to spare, after all.

But the unsettled feeling that had sunk into his gut since he’d heard her impassioned—and perfectly reasonable—list of requests about the recovery efforts refused to abate. Even as his bare feet sank into the hot sand while they walked back to the marina, the cold reality inside him remained.

He wanted to see much, much more of Brenna McGary, and he couldn’t.

At least not in the way he’d like.

He was interested in her take on the differing accounts of Captain Cullen—as a heartless ravager of any and all ships in the Caribbean, or, in contrast, as a gracious seaman who always returned the passengers of the ships he overtook to a safe port. Was that a product of the Confederacy favoring him and the Union deriding him? Was it part of the pirate mystique? A combination of the two?

Even being raised in Texas, Gavin knew South Carolina was a whole different element of Southern culture. First to secede, they still flew the state flag with as much pride as the American one. With the first shots fired in the Civil War, they’d started out, and somehow remained, true rebels.

He’d love to hear her theories almost as much as he’d love to get her alone, aroused and naked.

Hey, he wasn’t actually a wretch, but he was a man.

And it got old pretending to be stimulated by women who weren’t interested in the things he was. Women who wanted to know how much things were worth, instead of what they meant.

“Why do you like me?” she asked suddenly.

Oh, boy. He fought against banality and pretty words. She was probably soft on Yeats, but a specific reference escaped him. “Why not?” he answered.

“Why not indeed?” She kept her face turned slightly away, so he couldn’t see her eyes. “On the upside, I don’t have big boobs or a tendency to call historical treasures stuff.”

“No. Everything about you is tiny.” An instinctive smile broke across his face. “Except your mouth.”

“It helps when attempting to control teenage boys. Do you want to know why I don’t like you?”

He really wasn’t sure he could take any more judgment from her, however justified. “My ponytail. I bet you hate long hair on men.”

“No. The hair’s … fine. It suits you.”

“I’m not really big on shoes. Are you one of those women who uses shoe shopping to replace sex?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then it must be because I’m an amoral, grave-robbing opportunist.”

“That certainly plays a major part.”

That wasn’t it? He had faults besides his scoundrel image? Good grief. “What’s the other part?”

“Parts, plural. I don’t like people who think because I’m small I’m also weak.”

Finally a question he could answer with absolute honesty. “I never, for one second, assumed you were weak.”

“I’m so glad. I also don’t like that you’re all over the place.”

“All over the place?” he repeated, trying to recall the last time a woman had caught him so off guard.

“At times you appear overindulgent and self-absorbed,” she continued. “Then you say something intelligent, almost insightful. It’s interesting.”

He definitely couldn’t have her thinking he was interesting. Her astuteness could ruin everything.

They’d reached the stairs leading from the beach to the pier, and she slipped on her shoes. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be seeing—”

“Sure you don’t want to come back to my place for a while?”

“Your place?”

“Yeah. The boat.” He inclined his head toward the marina. “I could tell the guys to take off for an hour or so.”

“Gee, a whole hour?”

“Or so.”

Her eyes frosted over. “No, thank you, Mr. Fortune.”

“Call me Gavin.”

“Not Dr. Fortune?”

“No way. That makes me sound like a comic book supervillain. How about Dr. Kensington?” He pursed his lips. “No, that makes me sound like an uptight English lit teacher.”

“I neither have a doctorate nor am I uptight.”

“But you sound like you do. I have two, and I don’t.”