“I’ll go!” The words were out of Wolf’s mouth quicker than a bull at a gate. In an instant, his brain had managed to run through the following facts.
One: Chrissy lived and worked on Key West—she was a dive shop owner.
Two: She’d made a deal with Deep Six Salvage to bring clients out to the wreck site. This agreement benefitted Chrissy, seeing as how folks were willing to pay top dollar for a chance to dive down on a bona fide seventeenth century Spanish galleon. It benefitted the Deep Six crew since they got more eyeballs helping them hunt for their treasure.
Three: This arrangement meant Chrissy and Wolf never got a chance to be alone. During the day she was busy directing her diving clients, and in the evenings she flew back home.
Four: Maybe if he went to Key West tonight, she’d agree to have dinner with him.
Five: Dinner might turn into drinks. Drinks might turn into a long walk along the beach. A long walk along the beach might end in a kiss.
Six: Umm…he didn’t dare hope for a number six. He didn’t want to jinx himself.
“Me too.” Romeo lifted a finger. “We’ll take the Otter.” With a hitch of his chin, he indicated the single-engine, propeller-driven amphibious aircraft that rested on the beach, its two pontoons firmly parked atop the golden sand.
“Can I go?” Mia asked. When the group turned to her en masse, her next words were barely above a whisper. “I need to file some paperwork with the state. And I’d like to see if I can find someone to cut my hair.” She held up a wavy lock and grimaced. “I’m starting to look homeless.”
“You couldn’t look homeless if you tried, honey pie,” Doc drawled.
His words made Mia blush. Which made Romeo grind his teeth.
Yeah,Wolf thought.Dude’s got it bad.
“Done and done.” LT clapped his hands together. It was his standard signal that a plan was set.
Meat, the fat English bulldog who was their mascot and self-proclaimed garbage disposal, had been sprawled on his back at the top of the steps, napping with his twig and berries out to catch the passing breeze. But LT’s sudden gesture had him springing to his feet with a confused bark.
Li’l Bastard—a Welsummer rooster who took it as his personal duty to whittle down the island’s bug population—had been contentedly roosting next to Meat. Now he flapped his wings and answered Meat’s bark with a loudcock-a-doodle-do!
Everyone living on the island was so used to the exchange, they ignored the animals.
“You three go have some fun on Key West tonight,” LT continued. “And tomorrow come back here armed with as many metal detectors as you can scrounge up.”
As the group broke apart, Chrissy turned toward the half-moon-shaped strip of sand that partially encircled the island’s lagoon. The eight divers she’d brought with her for the day were near the water’s edge, drinking wine and snacking on fruit salad, cured meats, and expensive cheeses.
Chrissy made sure to treat her clients right. No one could ever accuse her of being a lackadaisical businesswoman.
It took Wolf a bit to catch up with her since her legs were a country mile long. When he did, she glanced at him curiously. Up close, he could see the different striations of blue in her irises, from cobalt to cornflower, and he felt a sudden breathlessness.
He tried blaming it on the heat of the sand beneath his bare feet. But he knew the real reason O2 had trouble reaching his brain.
It was her.
It happened every damn time he came within two feet of her.
Swallowing past the constriction in his throat, he managed, “Have dinner with me tonight.”
He’d meant for it to be a question. But the part of him that was hungry for her didn’t want to leave any room for rejection.
Chapter 2
5:01 PM…
Chrissy Szarek was no dummy.
Thanks to her mother’s example—rest her soul—Chrissy recognized the galaxy of warning signs that flashed around Ray “Wolf” Roanhorse.
Not that she hadn’t initially been fooled by him. Wolf quoted religious leaders, famous folks, and philosophers as easily as most people breathed. He practiced Tai-Chi in the mornings. And he liked to walk along the beach collecting seashells.
