Breathless. Sharron McClellanЧитать онлайн книгу.
gun loaded and on the bunk, Jess unpacked her bags. Her cabin, eight feet in length and ten feet wide, was small compared to her bedroom at home, but she knew it was probably one of the bigger ones on board.
She glanced around, wondering where to put her clothes, and noticed there were drawers beneath the bed. Bending down, she tucked her few items below.
The door squeaked open. Jess rose and grabbed her gun in one fluid motion. By the time she was upright, she was in ready position and staring at the startled face of a blond girl in a one-piece, red Speedo and a pair of cargo shorts.
“Hi. I’m Liz.” The blonde glanced at the gun’s barrel and gave a weak smile.
Liz? That was the girl Zach mentioned. Jess set her gun on the pillow—within her reach but not Liz’s. “Sorry about that, but you startled me. Ever hear of knocking?”
“I didn’t think you were here. I was just dropping off some clean sheets.”
Jess noticed the folded cotton in her arms. “Oh.” She took them, setting them on the bed and feeling like a fool, even if her actions were justified. “Thanks.”
“Anyway,” Liz said, leaning against the doorway and giving Jess a curious glance. “What are you doing for dinner? A bunch of us were heading out in a few minutes. Want to go?”
Jess shook her head. “I’m beat.”
“You might want to rethink that,” Liz said in a singsong voice. “It’s kind of a tradition that we take the P.I. out for drinks before we leave.”
“P.I.? Private Investigator?” Jess asked.
“Primary Investigator,” Liz said with a flip of her waist-length, ponytail. “The crew is waiting, if you want to go. It’s just dinner. At the bar.”
Delivering sheets? Jess didn’t believe it. The invitation was the reason Liz was here. They wanted her to go drinking. In other words, initiation.
She raised a brow as she considered the request. She’d gone through initiation rites in boot camp when she first entered the Marines then later when she trained to become a combatant diver.
As a Marine, it had included testing her endurance and pain threshold.
She couldn’t imagine that initiation to this team was similar, but Liz did make a good point. She should consider going. Part of working with any team was bonding, and it was best to get in good with the crew as opposed to remaining an outsider.
Hell, she might be with these people a few days or a few weeks, there was no way to tell. “I take it this is some kind of tradition?” Jess asked.
Liz smiled, and her face lit up. “Yes.” She nodded at the bunk. “But you might want to leave the gun.”
Jess glanced at the Sig. She’d feel better if it was with her, but under the circumstances, it seemed a bit like overkill. “I’ll see if Zach has a safe.”
“He does. Meet us on deck in ten,” Liz said with a wicked grin as she shut the door behind her.
When Jess emerged onto the deck, sans weapon, Liz was waiting, a sandal-clad foot tapping on the deck. “Hi.” She almost skipped over, took Jess’s arm. “We never have another woman on board,” she whispered as they walked. “You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy this. That’s Nate,” she pointed to an older man. Short and stocky, his head was shaved but his goatee was as blond as Liz’s sun-washed hair.
“And that’s Diego,” Nate said, gesturing at a young Caucasian man with short dreadlocks who walked toward them with Zach.
“Ready for dinner?” Zach asked.
Jess didn’t miss his sly grin or the way each member of the crew caught his eye, and she bit her lip in an effort not to laugh at them. They actually thought they had the upper hand. They believed she didn’t know what they were doing.
She returned his smile. This was going to be fun. For her. “Born ready,” she said.
The bar wasn’t what she expected. No tacky swordfish or old nets with the occasional ornamental starfish graced the dark paneled walls.
Instead, it was small. Dimly lit. And crowded with what she thought were locals since there wasn’t anyone dancing on the table or doing body shots. Heads turned as they walked past the tables and shouts of recognition followed before everyone returned to their drinks.
She’d called it right—this was a local hangout.
Zach herded the crew toward a long table at the back of the room, and in seconds, two pitchers of beer and a round of shots filled with something dark were in front of them. Jess raised a brow.
“What’s wrong?” Zach asked. “You don’t drink?”
She looked him up and down. She might have believed his wide-eyed innocence if his grin didn’t scream troublemaker.
If she had to guess, she’d peg him as the instigator. “I’m a Marine. I can drink you under the table,” Jess snapped back. “But we’re leaving in the morning. Aren’t shots a little excessive?”
“Excessive would be if we made you do all the shots,” Liz said. She held the tiny glass in the air. “To the ship!”
They all raised their drinks then paused, watching Jess. She knew that if she refused, she’d always be the one who backed down.
The Marine who backed down.
She raised her shot glass high and toasted the group. In one smooth movement, she downed the drink. Rum. The strong liquid burned her throat, but she swallowed the urge to cough. “Smooth,” she croaked.
The crew shouted and whistled, as she set her glass upside down on the table in front of her, then all downed theirs in unison.
She glanced at Zach, silently asking him if they were going to push her to get drunk. She hoped not. She’d hate to waste good rum by pouring it on the floor under the table.
Zach handed her a beer, winking at her when the others weren’t watching.
She relaxed, confident he wouldn’t let her initiation go too far. He was an islander in many ways, but she sensed that his “island attitude” didn’t go all the way to the bone. In fact, watching him and how he held himself, she’d bet her weapon that beneath the carefree attitude was steel.
There had to be. Zach was a successful computer genius that worked with the government. Successful men knew when to play. Knew when to work. And knew the line between good fun and excessive stupidity.
It would serve her well to remember the steel beneath the surface, she realized as she caught herself smiling back, and once again, staring into his emerald-green eyes. She turned her attention to her drink.
“They’re like emeralds,” Liz whispered in her ear.
Jess found herself flushing. “What is?” she asked, playing dumb.
“His eyes.” She giggled.
Jess flushed deeper and was grateful for the dim lighting of the bar. She realized there was something else she could learn while she was here—how these people related on a more personal level. “Um, are you and Zach…”
Liz’s nose wrinkled. “What?”
“You know?” She nodded toward Zach and wiggled her eyebrows. “You? Him? Involved?”
“Oh,” Liz said with a start, realizing what Jess was getting at. “Oh, God no. That’s just icky.”
Icky wasn’t how Jess would describe sleeping with a man like Zach. Not at all. Sensuous. Fun. Erotic.
But not icky.
Liz nodded toward Nate. “I’m married.”
“To Nate?” He was probably twenty years the girl’s senior. At least. She glanced at Liz’s