Cool? “Uh, thanks.”
“What’s the oldest thing you’ve found?”
Ciaran was half tempted to shut this line of questioning down, but the excitement and genuine interest in Sawyer’s crystal-blue eyes combined with the way he smiled at him made Ciaran’s hearts beat in sync. “I found a Dutch haul once. From before Hartog’s time.”
He cocked his head in that curious way he had. “And that’s old...?”
“Well, it would prove the Dutch were off the southern waters of Tasmania before the 1600s, so, yes.”
“Holy shit.”
Ciaran smiled. “We know they were here of course, just notthatfar south. Historians don’t really want to talk about it, though.”
He nodded again. “Ah, can’t go bursting the British coloniser bubble, huh?”
That made Ciaran smile. “Something like that.”
“You didn’t find the books on a shipwreck, though,” he said, nodding to the books he was eyeing off earlier. “So you trade in other antiques as well?”
Ciaran didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. “It’s smart to diversify one’s interests, don’t you think?”
Sawyer smirked at that, and Ciaran had to steel himself against the burning desire to reach out and run his thumb across that damn bottom lip.
“How deep does it get out there, anyway?” Sawyer asked. “You’d have to be pretty good at what you do, huh?”
Then with the worst possible timing ever, Fray opened the front door and walked in, trying not to grin. Clearly, he’d heard what Sawyer had just said.
“Oh, he’s good at everything he does,” Fray said, shit-eating grin now firmly in place. He put his hand to his chest. “Not that I know firsthand.”
Sawyer missed the innuendo. “Oh, you don’t dive with him?”
Fray’s grin widened. “Oh, you’re talking about diving. Well, yeah, he’s good at that too.”
Ciaran wanted to smack him with all eight arms. “Don’t you have anywhere else you have to be?”
“Nope.”
“Is Tobin back?” Ciaran added, glaring pointedly at him. “Shouldn’t you be helping him?”
“But then I’d miss this,” Fray said, highly amused. Then he laughed. “He’s not back yet.”
Ciaran was going to kill him.
Sawyer folded his map in half. “Well, I better go check on the cat. I’ve somehow become obligated to provide tuna to a tiny feline overlord I don’t own.”
Ciaran wanted to kill that cat too.
How did a damn cat get to spend more time with Sawyer than he did? And get to touch him. Sawyer picked the cat up, held him to his chest.
A fucking cat.
“Oh, Salem?” Fray asked. “He prefers fresh fish. That’s what Aurin tells me.”
“Is it Aurin’s cat?”
Fray shrugged. “Nope. He’s just the village cat. Comes and goes wherever he wants.”
Ciaran was beginning to really resent Fray for interrupting and infringing on what little time he alone with Sawyer.
