Hours to Cherish by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

tomorrow. DeVante comes in sometime in the afternoon, doesn’t he? We’ll see where we go from there.”
    He turned to leave again, but not knowing exactly why, Cat was compelled to stop him.
    “Clay?”
    He turned again, brows lifted in query.
    “Just suppose I listened to this ridiculous bribe of yours. What in hell would I tell Jules anyway. How could I disappear or whatever for two months?”
    “That, Cat,” he told her, “would be your problem.” He spun on a heel and placed his hand on the doorknob.
    “Why?” Cat exploded. “Why are you doing this to me?”
    “Why?” He returned the question, and then paused. Emotions raced swiftly through his dark brown eyes that Cat could neither pinpoint or fathom. He shrugged suddenly. “Treasure, Cat, why else. We’re actually going to give to one another. We’re going after the Santa Anita .”
    The door opened and closed. He was gone, and Cat was left staring after him, her heart and mind torn asunder, scars of old wounds ripped and raw.
    The Santa Anita . He had come back for treasure.
    The Santa Anita , the coveted mystery galleon, the one great secret that her father had kept and she had unraveled. …
    Clay hadn’t changed. Not at all. And not enough. …
    The pain of memory suddenly came cascading down upon her.
    She had been racing down the beach when she met him, laughing with the sheer joy of being home after obtaining her Master’s that her father insisted she needed. Not that she hadn’t loved school, or the fascination of Boston, and except for the short summer vacations and holiday breaks, she had been away from the island for five years. In the last year, she had strenuously crammed to complete her courses in half the allotted time, and now there was sheer joy in the damp grains of pink sand beneath her feet, in the breeze, so clean, so fresh, stinging her face. She was sure there was no one near on the secluded beach near the north end; most of the islanders would be busy with their day-to-day lives, any tourists would be hovering closer to the lodge. Only the sun and endless blue sky were there to watch as she ran, laughing delightedly, pausing occasionally to spin beneath the sun and then take flight again.
    Hands and face uplifted to the striking teal of a cloudless day, arms outstretched, Cat again felt laughter bubble through her, erupting like the northern streams when winter lifted her tenacious icy hold. And then her laughter abruptly ceased; she had the uncanny feeling that she was being watched.
    Cat paused, turning slowly, warily, toward the surf.
    There he stood, rising from the water with mask and flippers in his hands. Apparently he had watched her in silence for some time. A grin of amusement, a little bit yearning, a little bit admiring, touched his full sensual lips and sparkled in the depths of eyes that were amazingly dark, amazingly compelling. His face was fascinating, utterly fascinating, his brows cast high over the wide-set eyes in a thick, slightly imperious flyaway arch. His nose was straight, long and arrogant, perfectly set between high, strong cheekbones. His chin was squared, decidedly squared, decidedly firm … obviously stubborn. And as he grinned, hard, pearl-white teeth flashed handsomely against the bronze of his rugged complexion.
    She was staring at him, Cat realized, but she didn’t halt in her assessment. He was young, but older than the boys she had occasionally dated in college. Finding much time for a social life had been difficult while also trying to obtain her Master’s before her twenty-second birthday. And she hadn’t felt that she’d missed too terribly much. The boys who had surrounded her had seemed terribly immature, even the supposedly “seasoned” Casanovas of the crowd did little to stir her imagination. She had, in fact, found many a passionate overture disappointingly sloppy and fumbling.
    But just looking at this spectre in the surf touched something in her, something as yet