Hours to Cherish (11 page)

“Catherine,” Clay said slowly, shaking his head slightly and concealing a wry grin. She was like no other woman alive, determined, capable, totally oblivious to odds. Willpower kept her from knowing the meaning of the word
lose
. Powered by sheer fury as she was now, she could tax even his strength. “Cat,” he repeated quietly, breathing more normally. “I know you can’t believe this now, but I did what I did because I care … because I don’t want your life ruined.”

He winced slightly as his words brought about another explosion of fighting energy and whole new line of epithets. He tensed and waited, tightening his grip around her wrists. She stopped in shock when her struggles served only to disengage the towel from his hips. Her eyes riveted back to his as she lay still, eyes wide and then narrowing. “Damn you,” she hissed, but he couldn’t help a small smile then as he saw her blush despite herself. “You were taking a shower in
my
bathroom!”

“Technically—our bathroom,” he corrected. As well as robbing him of his towel, the struggle had hiked Cat’s gown high to her hips. The material was thin anyway, but now the flesh of their thighs touched; the coarse curled hair of his crushed to the smooth softness of hers. Clay could feel his own heat rising, and he was aware from the erotic electricity racing beneath him that she too could feel it. Her features were suddenly white, chiseled stone, as if she were afraid to breathe and give away more. A satanic urge gripped him. “What’s the matter, Cat?” he queried, brows raising in a sardonic tease. “Can’t you handle it?”

Her emerald eyes touched his, glittering like a million facets. “Hell will freeze over before I can’t handle you, Clay.”

Knowing he was infuriating her further—if possible—Clay still could not prevent another deep chuckle. “Come to think of it, Cat, you always did handle things remarkably well. …”

“You son of a—”

“Okay, stop it!” Clay interrupted her, his voice a whiplash, his mind turning to the seriousness of the situation and the maneuvering he had yet to manage. “I’m really sorry—”

“Sorry!” Cat raged. “You purposely set me up, you destroyed my life, you dragged me down to the floor—”

“Self-defense,” Clay interrupted curtly. “Sorry I was so rude as to learn a few countermeasures myself. I know you’re currently wishing that I had disappeared eternally into the Atlantic, and you’re probably envisioning various means to return me to the devil. For your own sake, Cat, settle down.”

“Settle down! Do you know what you’ve done?” Cat shrieked, testing his grip on her wrists again. It was impossible to break his vise of steel and she was worn out “Clay—you’re crazy. A sane man doesn’t do the things you’re doing. Now, I’ll try to forget everything that’s happened if you just get up and let me go.”

Clay tilted back his head and laughed. “You’ll forget! Cat, you’ve never forgotten a wrong in your life. Hell will freeze over before I ever believe a comment like that from you. And—” His voice deepened, his spurt of humor gone. “I guarantee you, hell will be a place of dangling icicles before I let you run after that Frenchman.”

“I’m going to marry that Frenchman!” Cat exploded.’

“No, I doubt it,” Clay reiterated calmly. “I told you he had no backbone. He left here like a jellyfish.”

“Oh?” Cat narrowed her eyes to emerald slits. “What did you expect of him after that farce you pulled?”

“If it were me, Cat,” he said heatedly, his face leaning dangerously close to hers so that she was treated to the enticing scent of fresh shaving lotion and a too close view of the iron in the shape of his now unblurred jaw, “I wouldn’t have walked out. I would have demanded my explanation then and there. You might have been throttled, but I wouldn’t have walked out.”

Cat clenched her teeth down hard in misery. She wanted to claw his handsome face to ribbons, while at the same time becoming more and more aware of his body pressed to hers, the heat that touched her, alive and warm, the hands that held her, hips crushing hers; his chest, riddled with hair that brushed through the fabric of her gown to tease her breasts.

“Walk out!” she suddenly hissed. “Don’t you dare mention the words
walk
out! You took a cruise out of here one day that walked you out of my life. Now get off me! I am going after Jules—and I’m going to explain that you came back totally insane!”

“And he’s going to believe you? You’re sounding crazy, Cat. Besides, I’m sure Monsieur DeVante is long gone by now, Cat.”

Cat paled. He was right. When crossed or hurt, Jules left immediately to sulk.

“God, do I hate you, Clay,” she told him.

His smile twisted into something very bitter and a touch sad. “Do you, Cat? Maybe. I hope to change that, and you should try to change it yourself, for your own benefit. My two months start today.”

“Your two months! What two months? I never agreed—”

“You don’t have to agree. You’ve got no choices left. You owe me either five hundred thousand dollars—or yourself. It seems I get the latter—and I want it today. Tomorrow we’re going to start preliminaries on the search for the
Santa Anita
. That means I’m going to have to hear everything you know about her whereabouts tonight.”

“Oh, Clay, you really are crazy,” Cat said, shaking her head. “You may have me down right now, but you can’t hold me forever. And if you think I’m going to follow you anywhere once I’m up, or help you in the least, you’d better start thinking again.”

He smiled, switching both her wrists to one hand—easily, to her chagrin—and lightly caressed her cheek with the knuckles of his free hand. “I don’t think I need to think again, Cat. Granted, I’ll be watching my back when you’re around, but I seriously believe you’ll see things my way shortly. You can’t pay me. And besides that, you want to find the
Santa Anita
. I’m the only hope you have.”

Cat suddenly started to laugh. “I don’t owe you a thing, Clay! If we’re still married, as you claim, then I can’t owe you anything! Wives don’t owe their husbands!”

“But wives do live with their husbands,” he countered. “And you’re going to start living with me.”

“Oh, really?” Cat demanded sardonically, twisting from his touch. “Starting when?”

He released her very slowly, tensed for a spurt of action and warning her with his eyes that she not attempt one as he deftly retied his towel. “Tonight, Cat—platonically—if you wish. But we do start out tomorrow, and I can’t believe that will be a hardship for you. We both know the
Santa Anita
carried Aztec crown jewels. Think of the history, Cat, think of the archeologists and historians the world over, who would die for that find. And it would really be your father’s. Think of what it would mean. …”

Clay stood and offered Cat a hand, which she ignored, rising gracefully on her own steam and still poised for a quick flight if he reached to touch her again. He smiled and walked toward the bathroom door, then paused, his back still to her. “And—when this is all over, if you still decide you want the Frenchman, I’ll do the explaining. If he loves you, Cat, he’ll come back.”

As Cat stared after him incredulously, torn to pieces by anger and pain and a million other emotions she couldn’t even begin to fathom, he calmly reentered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

C
AT FINALLY GALVANIZED INTO
action and slammed a clenched fist into the bathroom door. “Would you please get out of there—and out of my room!”

Clay chuckled. “Give me a minute. If you toss a naked man out your door, your situation is going to appear even worse!”

Muttering explosively, Cat decided to forgo a shower and hastily slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top. If he wouldn’t get out, she would. Raking her brush quickly through her hair, she left her room behind, grateful for the moment that she lived in the lodge and could wash in the lobby facilities.

It was early and still quiet. Cat left the lodge and hurried past the dock and sailors and fishermen, forcing a smile as she waved cheerfully. Her footsteps took her to the north beach, where she plopped down on the sand, closing her eyes and praying that the cool morning breeze would soothe her tumultuous fury so that she could
think
.

Just yesterday he had appeared and today her life was a shambles. He had come out of the blue, maneuvered her—using no scruples—and now, thanks to him, she didn’t even have Jules.

I should hurt worse than this, she thought. Jules is gone, and thinks the worst of me. But she wasn’t hurt. She was angry—and very, very confused. Why am I not more worried about Jules? she wondered. I do love him. No, she answered herself. Not really. You didn’t want to care that way, not again, and this is the price you now pay, this emptiness. You will miss certain things, but to say that that was love … And yet, until yesterday, she would have sworn she was in love.

I’m not thinking straight. Everything is still such a shock. But I have to think because I have to decide what to do. Since they were still married, it was doubtful that he could hold her to a debt. But then, the gambling they had engaged in wasn’t legal anyway and so legal consequences weren’t the problem. She didn’t put it past Clay to announce to the yachtsmen who supported the cay with tourism that Cat gambled with money she didn’t have, didn’t pay up when she was the loser. And Clay wanted the
Santa Anita
. He wasn’t scoffing at her belief in a secret theory. He wanted to know what it was, he was willing to put the salvage in her hands.

But she couldn’t go with him, not after the things he had done. She didn’t even know yet if he might have been purposely responsible for her spill. And how in hell did he get into her locked room without her hearing him? Cut and shave that beard without her awakening?

And where had he been all those years? Cat groaned softly, fingers clenching into the pink sand. Why hadn’t she let him explain? Maybe there wasn’t a reason, there couldn’t be. He simply hadn’t wanted to come home. Only the
Santa Anita
had brought him now. I can’t still feel anything for him, Cat told herself, it’s just been too long.

Too long or not, the fascination that had first drawn her to him was still there. Like a fine wine, he seemed to have improved with age.

“I did what I did for a reason, Cat.”

Her reverie broken, Cat turned with dismay to see Clay behind her, dressed now in tan leisure slacks and a navy Izod. The navy seemed to enhance the incredibly deep color of his eyes, or maybe it was his face, clean-shaven now, so ruggedly contoured.

“I brought you some coffee,” he offered, stooping to hand her a steaming mug.

Cat accepted the cup silently, and turned back to study the ocean, not particularly at ease to have him hunched so close beside her. “What do I have to do to get away from you?” she questioned tonelessly.

“You can’t get away from me,” he told her, sitting cross-legged a foot away. “Accept it and you might enjoy herself.”

Cat took a sip of her coffee. One sugar, no cream … apparently there were things he remembered easily too.

“How can I accept anything?” Cat queried bitterly. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

“I told you, Cat, I have reasons, good reasons.”

She spun on him. “How did you get in this morning without my hearing you?”

He smiled. “I came in last night and it was easy. I picked the lock.”

“Last night!”

“Don’t get huffy. I slept on the floor. And it was damned uncomfortable. And you didn’t wake up because I slipped a very light sleeping potion in your coffee.”

Cat stared at him, past anger. “You’re incredible! Simply incredible. How can you possibly admit all that so casually?”

“Would you rather I lied?”

“I’d rather you return to wherever you’ve been!”

Clay shrugged, eyes steady on the turquoise surf. “Well, am I abducting you in the morning, or are you coming along willingly?”

Cat laughed suddenly. “I must say, you do have faith! How do you know we’ll find the
Santa Anita
?”

Clay lifted a brow with a pleasant smile and sipped his coffee. “Rumor has been floating around that you want to search for her. In fact, rumor got fairly specific. You and DeVante were at odds over the possibility of salvage. Your fiancé didn’t have any faith.”

Cat lowered her eyes. “But you believe I know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes.” Clay stared straight at her and she found herself meeting his eyes. “The Frenchman is a fool. Anyone who knows anything about these islands would be a fool to scoff at any of your knowledge. Armchair history chasers the world over know Jason Windemere possessed the finest authentic ancient mariners’ charts to be had.”

“Ahhhh …” Cat murmured, “we’re back to my father.”

“Only in the same sense that Jason gave you your love for the sea and the islands, Cat.”

They both fell silent for a few minutes. Cat was more bewildered than ever. He had moved in like an earthquake at sea, but now he seemed determined to find calmer waters. What was he really after? Cat wondered. And wasn’t she much, much better off hating him?

“Tell me something,” she said crisply. “Were you responsible for that Cigarette just happening to slash across the racecourse?”

He twisted his form in the sand, leaning slightly as he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her eyes steady to his. “No. I would never have done anything to put your life in danger.”

“All right,” Cat said, trying not to flinch from his touch. “One more question. What happened all those years ago? Where have you been?”

Clay released her chin and turned back to the sea. “I don’t want to talk about it now, Cat. But I promise I will tell you before the expedition ends.”

“I haven’t agreed to go on any expedition.”

“I haven’t asked for your agreement.” Clay laughed. “I only gave you two choices—coming with me of your own accord, or coming by friendly persuasion.”

“Miller,” Cat snapped, “you just sank your own ship.”

Clay laughed easily, threading sand through his fingers. “Poor Cat. You do hate to lose. That’s half our problem, isn’t it? I’m the one man who can beat you—no matter what your game.”