“You don’t get it, do you?”

Cora shook her head. “What’s making me nervous is you. International superstar, renowned scientist, sexiest man on the face of the planet—and you’re trying to seduce me. One part of my brain keeps screaming yes, while the other part keeps telling me this can’t be for real.”

While the idea of her saying ‘yes’ was quickly working its way through his blood, and having a predictable effect on his libido, the sincerity of her doubt rang through. “Why not?”

“Are you kidding? You could have any woman in the world—”

“There’s only one I want at the moment.”

“See, there it is. Why in the world would you say something like that?”

“Why do I want you? Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. I’m a reasonably attractive, educated woman. And I can’t quite figure out why ordinary Cora Prescott has extraordinary Rafael Adriano in hot pursuit.”

Dear Reader,

Happy Holidays! Everyone at Harlequin American Romance wishes you joy and cheer at this wonderful time of year.

This month, bestselling author Judy Christenberry inaugurates MAITLAND MATERNITY: TRIPLETS,QUADS & QUINTS, our newest in-line continuity, with Triplet Secret Babies. In this exciting series, multiple births lead to remarkable love stories when Maitland Maternity Hospital opens a multiple birth wing. Look for Quadruplets on the Doorstep by Tina Leonard next month and The McCallum Quintuplets (3 stories in 1 volume) featuring New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels, Mindy Neff and Mary Anne Wilson in February.

In The Doctor’s Instant Family, the latest book in Mindy Neff’s BACHELORS OF SHOTGUN RIDGE miniseries, a sexy and single M.D. is intrigued by his mysterious new office assistant. Can the small-town doctor convince the single mom to trust him with her secrets—and her heart? Next, temperatures rise when a handsome modern-day swashbuckler offers to be nanny to three little girls in exchange for access to a plain-Jane professor’s house in Her Passionate Pirate by Neesa Hart. And let us welcome a new author to the Harlequin American Romance family. Kathleen Webb makes her sparkling debut with Cindrella’s Shoe Size.

Enjoy this month’s offerings, and make sure to return each and every month to Harlequin American Romance!

Wishing you happy reading,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Her Passionate Pirate

Neesa Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Neesa Hart lives in historic Fredericksburg, Virginia. She publishes contemporary romance under her own name, and historical romance as Mandalyn Kaye. An avid theater buff and professional production manager, she travels across the U.S. producing and stage managing original dramas. Her favorite to date? A children’s choir Christmas musical featuring the Pirates of Penzance. She loves to hear from her readers, and can be reached at her Web site: http://www.neesahart.com.

Books by Neesa Hart

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

843—WHO GETS TO MARRY MAX?

903—HER PASSIONATE PIRATE

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Dearest,

How I missed you tonight! Father had guests—the most tedious of gentlemen, and I wished so to look across the table and find you smiling at me. The winds were high last night, bringing, as always, thoughts of you. I lay upon my small bed, willing the currents to bring you to my side. How my heart longs for you, dearest. In the night, I strain my ears, hoping against all reason to hear that most beautiful of sounds—the slap of your saber against our back stairs as you mount them in your haste to reach me. I never would have believed that I could yearn so desperately, nor ache so much, for the touch of another. But from my first glimpse of you—with your dashing ways, your fine physique and your magnificence—I fell completely under your spell. Come quickly, dearest. I need you so.

Lovingly yours,

Abigail

21 April 1861

Abigail Conrad, with her undiluted admiration for her pirate lover, was on to something.

Definitely on to something, Cora Prescott decided as she surveyed the man standing at the back of her lecture hall. “Fine physique,” indeed.

Deliberately she pulled her gaze from Rafael Adriano’s unbelievably magnetic presence and made herself concentrate on her students. “I’m sorry, Ms. Grimes,” she said to the college girl who’d just spoken. “What was your question?”

“Well—” Cathleen Grimes leaned forward to press her point “—I wanted to know why you think that the warrior/ romantic hero is the definitive women’s fantasy.”

Turn around and look, Cora thought as she deliberately avoided the temptation to glance at Adriano again. She cleared her throat, instead. “The warrior/romantic embodies what women both want and admire in the opposite sex.”

“Like Don Juan?” the student asked.

“Or Robin Hood?” another student added.

Cora nodded. “Precisely. He represents a patriarchal view of the world. He is the king of his own domain. The medieval lord ruled his keep. The duke or earl held responsibility for his entire estate. The Americanized version—heroes like Zorro, Superman or the Lone Ranger—was created to embody the myth of the solitary warrior. He’s strong, independent and heroic. But despite this image, he puts aside his warrior instincts for the sake of a woman.”

Another of her students leaned back in her chair. “Doesn’t that play into the woman-needs-saving mentality? You know, the Cinderella complex?”

“No.” Cora shook her head. “In these stories, the woman does the saving. While he may rescue her physically, she rescues him emotionally. The emotional impact of the story is always given more weight than the external plot.”

“So she redeems him?” the student asked. At that question, Adrian gave Cora a pointed look.

“Yes. Precisely.”

Another student offered, “Like the pirate fantasy. He’s this corrupted guy, and she comes along and makes him change his wicked ways.”

Cathleen Grimes laughed. “Only after he has his wicked way.”

The quip sent the students into a round of free conversation and increasingly ribald comments. Adriano shot Cora an amused look and braced his shoulder against the door frame.

“But, Dr. Prescott,” one girl said, “I mean, really, isn’t that just a bit farfetched?”

“It could be.” Cora propped her hip on the edge of her desk. “But that doesn’t mean the fantasy isn’t still very potent.”

“Do you think that explains,” asked the same student, “why some women go for that scruffy look—you know, the long hair, three-day beard, that kind of thing?”

Karen O’Neil, one of Cora’s brightest students, laughed out loud. “And smelly,” she added. “If they’re really into the pirate persona, they’d have to smell like they’d been at sea for eighteen months.”

Ah, irony, Cora thought as she suppressed the urge to gloat. No way would she let the opportunity to goad Adriano slip through her fingers, not when he’d been a thorn in her flesh for the past several weeks. “That’s why it’s a fantasy, Ms. O’Neil.” She swiveled her laser pointer between her fingers. “Pirates have been romanticized to the point that there are some men who cultivate the look—and there are, undoubtedly, some women who find it attractive.”

“Sexy,” muttered a student. “They find it sexy.”

Cora looked at Adriano. His firm mouth appeared to be twitching at the corner. Deliberately she held his gaze. “They believe it makes them irresistible to women.”

“Doesn’t it?” Cathleen asked. “I mean, look at that guy who’s all over the news lately. What’s his name? That archeologist from the Underwater Archeology Unit at the North Carolina Department of Cultural Resources.”

With a loud sigh, another student supplied, “Rafael Adriano. He’s unbelievable.”

He certainly was. Cora saw a sparkle enter the jet-black of his eye. She could almost feel the temperature in the room rising.

Her students lapsed into a casual discussion of his appeal while she watched him. Adriano’s name had become almost a household word since his recent discovery of a site believed to be the underwater remains of the Argo—the ship of Greek myth. At first only the scientific community had paid much attention to the find.

It hadn’t taken long, however, for a few enterprising reporters to look at him and see the most marketable scientist the world had known since Einstein. Like Einstein, he was brilliant, eccentric and groundbreaking. Adriano, however, practically defined sex appeal. He looked more like a pirate than a researcher and almost overnight, he’d become a hot-ticket item. When his picture appeared on the cover of a magazine, it was a guaranteed sellout. Women everywhere seemed to adore his slight accent, his cultured manners and the edge of barbarism that said all the attention had merely tamed him for a moment. Every talk show, newsmagazine and network in America was clamoring for a piece of him.

But like most scientists she knew, now that the discovery was made, he was ready to move on to a new hunt.

Unfortunately at the moment he was fixated on a project that had reportedly haunted him for much of his accomplished career. He wanted to find the remains of the Isabela, a Civil War period clipper that was captained by the successful privateer, Juan Rodriguez del Flores.

And Cora was smack in the middle of his way. She’d hoped her last correspondence with him had been enough to deter him. Obviously she’d been wrong.

His only reaction to the somewhat ribald course of her students’ comments was a slight lift of his eyebrows. Cora sensed that the conversation was about to spin dangerously out of her control. Pressing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, she dragged her concentration back to her class. Dr. Rafael Adriano had a formidable reputation. And he loved it. If she knew one thing about him, she knew he adored being the center of attention. If he’d thought to disconcert her by arriving unannounced in her classroom, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“I hear,” one of her students was saying, “that Adriano is on the track of some new discovery. Something bigger than the Argo.”

“Did you see that picture of him in Time magazine? He is too hot, girlfriend.” The student fanned herself with her spiral notebook.

The other girls laughed.

“I have a friend who saw him give a seminar,” one added. “She said he’s, like, drop-dead gorgeous. All you have to do is listen to him to get turned on.”

“That voice!” Cathleen interjected.

“And the accent,” said another girl.

“Can you imagine—” another student leaned over the edge of her desk and dropped her voice “—the sound of that man whispering in your ear?”

“Oh, Lord.”

Cora was having trouble containing her amusement as her students chased Adriano’s rabbit. “Ladies…” she said, trying to wrest control of the conversation.

They blissfully ignored her. “Gawd. I saw him on CNN the other night. He was talking about some new ship he’s looking for. When he started explaining the ‘thrill of discovery…”’ The student rolled her eyes in mock ecstasy and flopped back in her chair.

Cathleen chuckled. “I’ll bet I could think of a few things for him to discover.”

Cora used the distraction of the students’ ensuing laughter to recapture her advantage. “Okay, ladies.” She waved a hand to gain their attention. “Enough. This isn’t getting us anywhere with our discussion of pre-Renaissance romantic literature.”

“No,” one of the girls drawled, “but it’s doing a lot for my visualization skills.”

“Really?” Cora slanted Rafael a dry look.

“Oh, definitely. I mean, with that eye patch and all…Jeez, Dr. Prescott, you can’t say you haven’t noticed. The guy is, like, practically the sexiest man alive.”

Cora tasted victory. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d planned to disrupt her class—to catch her off guard with his sudden arrival. It seemed only fair that he should pay the price. “So you think Dr. Adriano is the perfect romantic hero?”

Cathleen rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, then—” Cora tossed her lecture notes and laser pointer into her open briefcase and shut it with a decisive snap, “—perhaps you’d like to hear him tell you exactly why he chooses to parade about dressed like Long John Silver.” She indicated the back of the room.

With a collective murmur of confusion, her students turned to face him. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn the color she saw in his face was a blush. “Dr. Adriano,” she said, “I’m glad you could make it today. I was half afraid you wouldn’t show.”

He gave her a knowing look. She’d trapped him like a rat, and he knew it. With thirty students watching him with rapt attention, he had two choices. He could follow her lead and complete her session for the afternoon, or he could look like a fool by turning to leave. Cora waited patiently while he weighed his options.

No surprise, he rose to the occasion. With what she could only define as a look of admiration, he strode toward the front of the room. “You’ll have to forgive my tardiness, Dr. Prescott. I was delayed.”

“I see. Well—” she indicated her class with a sweep of her arm “—I’m sure you’ll have no trouble convincing them to stay a little later. Even if it is Friday afternoon.”

From the looks on the girls’ faces, he’d have to toss them out of the room before they let him leave. He studied Cora with a lazy insolence that said he knew exactly what she’d done and there’d be hell to pay later. She picked up her briefcase and headed for the door. “You’re leaving?” he asked. His voice slid over her nerves like melted butter. In the interviews she’d seen him conduct, she’d noted that he could turn anything, even something simple like standing in the back of her lecture hall, into an erotic exercise.

She refused to be flustered. “Yep. You know how summer school is. Papers to grade. Exams to write.”

“I see.” He glanced quickly at her class, then back to her. “When can I see you again?”

Damn him. The question was deliberately provocative, and he knew it. By evening, the campus would be abuzz with the news that the reserved Dr. Cora Prescott was somehow involved with Rafael Adriano—America’s favorite pirate. “I’m not sure. My schedule is heavy between now and the end of the week.”

Her students’ heads swung back to look at him. He leaned one hip on the edge of her desk, much as she had done earlier, and said, “Mine is, too. I’ll call you later. Don’t worry. We’ll work it out.”

She thought about responding, then decided against it. Anything she said would just make the situation worse. Might as well leave him to deal with the students’ questions while she made a strategic retreat to the sanctity of her office. “Fine.” She turned to go.

“Dr. Prescott?”

Cora hesitated, then faced him a final time. “Yes?”

“I’m glad I could be here for you.”

The rake. Cora gave him a knowing look. “Then welcome to North Carolina, Doctor.”

CORA SLIPPED into her office with a quiet sigh of relief and a sense that she’d narrowly prevented disaster. She knew precisely why Rafael Adriano was in town.

He wanted her.

Or rather, he wanted her house. She’d been ignoring his most recent letter for weeks, trying to delay what she knew was the inevitable confrontation. He wasn’t about to let a potential lead on the Isabela elude him. When she’d discovered an original set of antebellum diaries hidden in the historical seaside house where she lived, his interest had been sparked. According to the news reports, Cora had happened on the diaries during a remodeling project. Initially, because the diaries were written in the form of letters to an unnamed lover, Cora hadn’t been able to identify them. After study and carbon dating, however, she’d confirmed that the diaries belonged to Abigail Conrad, the rumored lover of the Isabela’s captain. That revelation had put Rafael on Cora’s trail like a hound after a fox. Running her to death appeared to be his strategy.

As far as he was concerned, her house sat right on the secret that would lead him to the site of the wreck, and he was determined to have it.

She couldn’t think of a worse fate than having him underfoot—especially now, with her three nieces spending the summer with her. The thought of her sister, Lauren, made her frown. Lauren had dropped the girls off three weeks ago on her way to Florida with her married lover. She hadn’t called since, and all three of her daughters were showing signs of stress. Kaitlin, the oldest, seemed to stay in a permanent sulk, while Molly and Liza, her younger sisters, were prone to brooding. Cora was nearly at her wit’s end, and now Rafael Adriano had shown up to take over her life.

Following his discovery of the Argo, he’d become the center of world attention. Cora didn’t exactly relish the idea of being in the middle of a global fishbowl. She had too many things on her mind, too many lives to manage, too much work to do authenticating and documenting the diaries, to have him, his research and his ego disrupting her life. So she’d said no.

Unfortunately Rafael Adriano wasn’t the kind of guy who took no for an answer.

The door of her office abruptly opened, cutting short her brooding thoughts. “So, Professor—” Cora’s graduate assistant, Becky Painter, hurried into the shoebox-size office with two sodas “—what’s up with the stud in 203? You’ve got the whole hall in an uproar.”

Cora shot her a dry look. “You mean you don’t recognize him?”

“Nope. Believe me, if I’d seen that face and that body together in the same place at the same time, I’d remember.”

“You don’t get out much, do you, Becky.”

“Are you kidding? I’m in the last year of my masters program. Of course I don’t get out much. I work for you. I study. I write parts of my thesis. I go to class. I obsess. Sometimes I manage to sleep a little. There’s no time for out in that syllabus.”

Cora laughed. “I guess not. I almost forgot what that was like. I think when I was working on my Ph.D., I slept about nine hours a month.” The can of diet soda Becky handed her was coated in tiny shards of ice. Cora wiped it clean with a napkin before setting the can on her neatly organized desk. “The gentleman—and believe me, I apply the term loosely—is Rafael Adriano.”

Becky choked on a sip of her soda. “The Rafael Adriano?”

“I thought you didn’t get out much.”

“Jeez, I’d have to live in a hole not to know that name. I do read, you know. He’s, like, the hottest thing to hit the ocean since Jacques Cousteau.”

“Dr. Adriano is a bit flamboyant.”

“And sexy. Now that you mention it, I think I did see a picture of him in some magazine. I remember thinking that if I had time for hormones, I’d really be into this guy.” She tipped her head to one side. “What’s he in town for, anyway?”

Cora leaned back in her chair. “He wants to conduct some research. He’s looking for the site of the USS Isabela, and he thinks he can find it here.”

“Isabela?”

“It’s a ship from the Civil War—one of the fastest ever built. Juan Rodriguez del Flores captained it during the early years of the war. There’s some evidence to suggest he was a privateer who ran contraband for the Confederate and Union armies.”

“Both?”

“Whoever paid cash,” Cora assured her. “And when no one paid, he kept the booty for himself and his crew. If Adriano can find his ship and if it’s in any kind of decent condition, it might provide some invaluable information to Civil War historians.”

“So what’s he doing conducting your seminar on women’s fiction?”

A tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Floundering, I hope.”

“I don’t think so.” Becky dropped into the chair across from Cora’s desk. “He’s drawing a crowd. Word is spreading across campus like wildfire, and your class is about to spill into the hall.”

“Great. I can’t get eighty-percent attendance for a scheduled session, and all he has to do is walk down the hall to have the masses falling at his feet.” A clamoring noise from the corridor captured her attention.

“Good grief.” Becky glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going on out there?”

“I think Blackbeard the archeologist is inciting the natives to riot.”

The door of her office was flung open. Rafael, followed by a large group of young women, edged his way in, then shut the door on the din. He gave Cora a disgruntled look. “Nicely played, Professor.”

Her only response was a slight inclination of her head. “I thought so.” She glanced at Becky. “Becky Painter, meet Rafael Adriano, world-famous archeologist and guest lecturer for women’s studies.”

Becky stuck out her hand. “Wow. You look taller.” Characteristically blunt, Becky glanced at his large frame. “And wider. The picture I saw of you was kind of small.”

He looked distinctly amused. He was accustomed, Cora supposed, to having women assess him. He enfolded Becky’s hand in his. “I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. Painter.”

Her students definitely had a point, Cora mused. That voice ought to be registered as a lethal weapon. He had the slightest hint of a foreign accent that made it just short of devastating. She’d read somewhere that English was his second language. The faint roll of his r’s gave his voice a purring quality that was pure sensuality. Cynically she wondered if he practiced that. Becky looked as if she might faint. “Becky, why don’t you see what you can do about the crowd in the hallway?”

Without looking at Cora, Becky slowly extracted her hand from his. “I, um, sure. Do you want anything, Dr. Adriano? A drink, maybe?”

That damnable smile played at the corner of his mouth again. He slanted Cora a look, then slowly shook his head. “No. I’m fine, Ms. Painter. All I need is some time alone with Dr. Prescott.”

Surprise flickered briefly on Becky’s expressive features, which then slipped into a mask of blatant curiosity. “Oh.”

Cora almost groaned out loud. If he stayed much longer, he’d create so much havoc she’d have to spend the next ten years digging her way out of it. “The hall, Becky. See what you can do about the noise.”

Becky blinked twice, then gave Cora a look that said she’d pursue the subject later. “Okay—” she reached for the door handle “—but let me know if you need anything.” With a final glance at Rafael, she eased past him. “Anything at all.”

When the door clicked shut behind her, an uneasy quiet settled on the tiny room. Suddenly the four walls were too confining. Cora turned abruptly to push open the window. “Why don’t you sit down? I can see you obviously didn’t read my last letter or you wouldn’t be here to—” With a final groan, the window popped open. A flood of humid air tumbled into the room. She dropped back into her chair. “You wouldn’t be here to harass me.”

His full lips curved into a slight smile. That, coupled with his black eye patch, made him look every inch the rake he was purported to be. “Is that what you call it?” he asked.

Cora placed her hands on her desk and drew a sense of calm from the cool wood surface. “What would you call it?”

“I’m persistent.” His broad shoulders moved in a casual shrug. “It makes me good at what I do.” He paused. “At everything I do.”

She chose to ignore that. “Then I’m sorry you came all this way, but I meant what I said in my last letter. I don’t have time for you to be digging about in my house this summer. I’ve got two classes to conduct each session, and my three nieces are here for an extended stay. You needn’t have wasted your valuable time making the trip. The answer is still no.”

His chuckle lingered in the warm air. “Very impressive, Professor. No wonder your colleagues have such respect for you.”

She frowned at him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d at least take this seriously.”

“I assure you, I’m very serious,” he retorted. “All I meant was that the professor who deftly stuck me with her class full of young women knows how to play a room.” He tilted his head to study her. “Jerry didn’t prepare me for you.”

“Jerry.” Inwardly she groaned. Jerry Heath was her department head. He was notorious for stirring up trouble. “You went over my head on this?”

He held up a hand. “It wasn’t like that. I’ve known Jerry professionally for some time. He lent his expertise to a research project for me several years ago. When you denied my request, I called Jerry to find out if a personal visit would further my chances of getting you to change your mind.”

“And he told you it would?”

“He told me I should meet you face-to-face.” His gaze rested on her mouth. It stayed there long enough to make her aware of dry lips. When he finally met her gaze again, there was an unmistakable sparkle in his dark eye. “I think his exact words were, ‘A head-on confrontation with Cora Prescott is an unforgettable experience.”’

“Jerry has a gift for exaggeration.”

The look he gave her could have melted glass. “I don’t think so. I’m certainly finding it unforgettable.”

Cora resisted the urge to loosen the collar of her blouse. A sliver of perspiration trickled down her spine. “Only because I stuck you in a room with a group of hungry college women.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t kid yourself. I’m fully aware that you are used to having the world at your feet. The way I see it, this will be an educational experience for you.”

“You know how much I want to find the Isabela.”

“It’s good to want things. Builds character.”

That damnable smile played at the corner of his mouth again. “I’m very used to getting my own way.”

“I can see that.”

“And I want this. A lot.”

“Disappointment is the key to personal growth.”

Something dangerously seductive flared in his gaze—something that reminded her why women reportedly went wild over him. With his looks and his charisma, it was no wonder he had a pirate’s reputation. He had a way of looking at a woman that virtually smoldered. “You know—” his expression turned devilish “—I’ve always admired women with quick tongues.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Does that line usually work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, surprise, Dr. Adriano. This time you’ve met your match.”

“You mean you’re not overwhelmed by my persona?”

Was he mocking her? His expression was so serious she couldn’t tell. “I will admit that I find the eye patch a bit over the top.”

“It’s medically necessary,” he said. “I lost my eye in a fistfight when I was sixteen.”

“I’m not questioning that,” she hastened to explain. “I simply think that the, er, look—” she indicated his long hair, the gold hoop in his ear and the patch with a wave of her hand “—is a bit melodramatic.”

He laughed, showing a straight line of white teeth. “I like you,” he said. “I was hoping I would.”

Cora gritted her teeth. “Dr. Adriano—”

“No, really. I feel better about this already.”

“I can’t tell you how that comforts me,” she drawled.

He crossed his long legs so that his ankle rested on his thigh. “A worthy opponent makes any battle more satisfying.”

Cora frowned. “Am I supposed to call you a scurvy dog now or something? I left my pirate/English dictionary in my other briefcase.”

His lips twitched. “A sharp-tongued woman.”

“And an odious egomaniac. What a delightful way to spend an afternoon.”

“You know,” he said, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was mocking her, “you might make a good pirate. You’ve got the wits for it.”

“What a relief,” Cora said, and took a sip of her soda.

“But I’m not sure you have the guts.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hmm.” He traced the edge of his patch with a long tanned finger. “’Tis not enough,” he said, dropping his voice to a gravelly rumble that she could easily picture coming from Blackbeard himself, “just to wear a patch over yer eye, lassie.” He leaned closer. “Ye have tae pick yer teeth with the ribs of a Spanish captain ye knocked off yerself.”

Cora stared at him wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Captain Pigleg Torstenson wrote that to his grand-daughter in 1783.”

“How charming.”

His smile was lazy and seductive. “I like to think he was making a general statement about life. It’s not enough to simply look the part. You have to have the stomach for it, as well.”

He was mocking her, she realized. He thought she was an intellectual, unadventurous, narrow-minded snob and she’d turned down his request because she lacked vision and foresight. She saw the condemnation and condescension clearly written in his smug expression. “While this little philosophical dissertation is quite charming, Dr. Adriano, I think you should know that I’ve never liked arrogant men—especially not self-impressed scientists whose only goal is career advancement and public recognition.”

That effectively knocked the smile off his lips, but instead of the angry retort she’d expected, she saw his eyebrows lift with marked curiosity. “I’m not arrogant, Professor. I’m simply flagrantly dedicated to my research and cognizant of my considerable talent.”

Obnoxious, she told herself. Except that it happened to be true. “Aren’t you the man who said you were the most impressive voice in ocean research today?”

His mouth twitched again. Why in hell, she wondered, couldn’t she manage to keep her gaze from the firm contours of that mouth? “I might have,” he conceded.

“You did. I saw the interview.”

“You’ve been watching my interviews? Should I be flattered?”

“Ha. You’ve been on every major network for the last few weeks. I’d have to hide in a cave to have missed the sight of you. It seems the whole world is fascinated by the pirate archeologist from the Underwater Archeology Unit.”

He sprang his trap by laughing. The sound did funny things to her insides. It was a low, mellow kind of laugh. The kind that said it was used often and well. The kind that ensnared every nerve ending in her body in a web of awareness.

Awareness, she had learned, that was not to be trusted. He’d make her want things if she wasn’t careful. He was danger—in huge capital letters. If she had an ounce of intelligence left in her brain, she’d throw him out on the street and make sure he stayed there.

But he tricked her with that laugh. It took the edge off his presence—made him approachable. And likable. Just what she needed—to like the man. She reminded herself that she found his ego insufferable and his love of public spectacle unbelievably annoying.

Amusement danced in his eye. “The match is yours, Professor,” he conceded as he leaned forward. His faint scent of fresh air, sea salt and testosterone tickled her nose. “I can see why Jerry is so enchanted with you.”

She didn’t take the bait. “You are not getting unrestricted access to my house. I’ve got a life to run.”

“That house is more than just your private property.” As if his energy for the project physically drove him, he levered himself out of his seat and began pacing her office. “Don’t you see? There’s no doubt in my mind that if I can find the rest of Abigail Conrad’s diaries, I’ll have a vital clue to the location of del Flores’s ship.”

“There may not be any more,” Cora pointed out.

He slanted her a telling look. “Didn’t you say there are gaps of several months between the volumes you found?” She didn’t respond. “Has it been your experience,” he pressed, “that journal writers allow months to pass between writings?”

Cora had no answer so she shrugged.

“I’m this close—” his thumb and index finger measured the inch “—are you really going to deny me?”

The sight of him in passionate discourse twisted her stomach. Forcibly she dismissed the thought. Nothing good would come of picturing him in passionate anything. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Adriano,” she said softly, “but my answer is still no.”

His face registered his frustration. He planted his hands on her desk and loomed over her. The sunlight glinted off the tiny hoop in his left ear, and in that moment he looked truly barbarous. Cora tested the description, then rejected it. No, not barbarous. Glorious, perhaps. Her gaze dropped to his long-fingered, bronzed hands. Large. He had large, beautiful hands. Damn him.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” he warned her. “You should know that.”

She looked at his face. A mistake, that. He was too close, his hard-angled features at eye level with hers and mere inches away. She clenched the edge of her chair and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I’ll consider myself warned. But whatever Jerry told you, I seriously doubt you can change my mind. I have to consider—”

She broke off when the door of her office slammed open. Leslie, Cora’s baby-sitter of less than six hours, rushed into the office with a harried look in her eyes. Cora abruptly stood, filled with the oddest sensation that she’d been discovered and compromised. “Leslie—” she started.

Leslie frantically shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Prescott. I can’t. I thought I could take it, but I can’t.” Without sparing Rafael a glance, she dropped a wad of keys on Cora’s desk. “I just can’t take care of them for you.”

Cora held out a beseeching hand. “Leslie, I’m sure if we—”

A loud crash sounded from the outer office. High-pitched voices mingled with the distinct sound of a barking dog. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I quit.” The girl fled the room.

Rafael stepped back a scant second before Melody, Cora’s large but exuberant collie, vaulted into the room and onto her desk.

“Melody,” she chided. “Get down.”

“Aunt Cora, Aunt Cora. Don’t let her get away.” Kaitlin rushed into the room holding a leash. “We chased her all the way from the parking lot.”

“Kaitlin,” Cora looked at the nine-year-old as she struggled to get the dog off the desk. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

Before the glowering Kaitlin could answer, Jerry Heath ushered six-year-old Molly and four-year-old Liza into the room. Each had liberal splashes of black ink staining their hair, faces and clothes. “They’re destroying the copy machine,” Jerry announced. “That’s what they’re doing.”

Melody barked in affirmation. With a frustrated oath, Cora pulled on the dog’s collar. “Down, Melody. Get down.”

She wouldn’t budge. Rafael chuckled, then held out his hand to the dog. He whispered a few words, and Melody obediently leaped to the floor where she flopped at his feet. Cora gave him a disgruntled look. “How did you do that?”

“I’ve had a lot of experience with temperamental females,” he said, and sat back in his chair. Melody thumped her tail on the floor.

Exasperated, Cora rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. She’d been right the first time. He was obnoxious. “Jerry,” she said, “what’s going on?”

Jerry guided the two girls toward Cora’s desk. “As far as I can tell, your nieces decided to help Becky make some copies. Somehow that led to an investigation of the toner cartridge.”

Cora’s nieces were high-energy kids. Since their arrival three weeks ago, they’d run off six different baby-sitters.

While Cora visibly searched for her patience, Rafael studied her tense expression.

Jerry had mentioned the nieces. At the time Rafael had brushed off his less-than-complimentary description as typical of Jerry’s intolerance of childhood antics. Watching the three girls in action, however, Rafael decided that Jerry had underestimated them—just as he’d underestimated Cora. Her nieces had evidently mastered the tag-team approach in dealing with their aunt. Soon they’d have her surrounded. It was beginning to look as if he’d arrived just in time.

The oldest girl, the one Cora had called Kaitlin, immediately staked a position against Jerry’s accusations. “That’s not what happened, Aunt Cora. It was Leslie’s fault.”

Cora looked at the next-oldest girl. “Molly, how did you get into the toner?”

Molly pointed at the dog. “We were chasing Melody.”

Cora waited. When no additional explanation was forthcoming, she pressed harder. “Why are you all even here? I thought Leslie was taking you to the park today.”

Liza spoke up. “We has gonned to the park, but I forgot Benedict Bunny. I wanted to go back and get him.”

“And Leslie wouldn’t turn around,” Molly supplied.

“Liza kept begging,” Kaitlin added.

Liza nodded, her eyes wide. “I didn’t want to leave him at home.”

Kaitlin picked up the thread of the story. “Leslie kept telling Liza to quit crying and she wouldn’t.”

“I want Benedict Bunny,” Liza insisted.

Kaitlin continued, “Leslie got really mad. So she whipped the car around and came here.”

“Yeah,” Molly said. “She let Melody out of the car before us. When Melody took off running, we had to chase her.”

Kaitlin added, “She almost plowed Becky down in the hall. Liza—” she swatted her younger sister with the back of her hand “—was trying to catch up.”

“Becky was changing the cartridge,” Molly supplied.

Liza, whose face probably looked angelic when it wasn’t covered in black ink, nodded adamantly. “I tried to catch it when it fell.”

Rafael had to suppress a laugh. Standard operating procedure, he supposed. They’d blame it on the baby. She was less likely to get eaten. If Liza survived, then they knew they were in the clear.

Cora’s gaze swung to Jerry once more. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. I heard the noise.”

“Is there any damage other than the mess?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Fine.” She glared at Kaitlin. “Take your sisters and go find Becky. Help her clean up all the ink.”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Kaitlin argued.

“We’ll talk about it later, Kaitlin.”

“But—”

“Now,” Cora said.

Kaitlin paused, her expression belligerent. She studied Cora’s face for long seconds, then finally relented. “Fine.” She wrapped Melody’s leash around her hand. “Are you mad ’cause Leslie quit? Because she wasn’t very good. I didn’t like her.”

“Me, neither,” Molly said.

“Me, neither,” Liza added.

Cora sighed. “I don’t know if I’m mad or not. It depends on why she quit. Probably.”

Rafael winced. Indecision. Never show children indecision. She’d just lost another major battle on the playing field of child discipline.

The three girls filed out of the room with Melody in tow. Cora pressed three fingers to her forehead in frustration. “Sorry, Jerry,” she muttered.

“You’ve got to do something about them, Cora. They’re out of control.”

“It was an accident.”

“Just like the water cooler last week?” When Cora didn’t respond, Jerry met Rafael’s gaze across the small room. “I didn’t know you’d arrived,” he said.

Rafael frowned. Trust Jerry to make it sound as if he’d conspired against Cora. “I just got here.”

“Really?” The other man leaned casually against the door frame. “I’m surprised you didn’t come by my office.”

“I had other things on my mind.”

Jerry’s gaze shifted to Cora. “So I see. Cora, I see you’ve met Dr. Adriano. I won’t bother with introductions.”

Cora slowly lowered herself back into her chair. “No, Jerry, you needn’t bother.” Her voice held all the warmth of the Arctic Ocean.

Rafael sensed the wisdom of a strategic withdrawal. He’d given Cora something to think about. Later he’d press his point. He pushed himself off her desk, then extended his hand to Jerry. “It’s good to see you again, Jerry. Dr. Prescott and I were just finishing.”

“Oh?” Jerry’s hand was clammy. He gave Rafael a quick handshake, but didn’t take his eyes off Cora. “Any decisions?”

“No,” Cora said, and did not elaborate.

Rafael followed her lead. “We have a lot to talk about. I didn’t expect an answer today.”

“Cora—” strained patience laced Jerry’s voice “—I’m sure you realize that Dr. Adriano could be an important asset to Rawlings.”

“I don’t live in a cave, Jerry.”

“I realize that. But I was afraid you’d be stubborn about this. Since the diaries—”

“My tenure contract with the college,” she said through gritted teeth, “gives me the right to decide the parameters of my research of any historical documents I choose to pursue.”

Jerry slid his hands into his vest pockets. “Adriano’s in a position to bring us a lot of good publicity. I don’t think Willers would be very impressed if you refused to give Adriano a fair chance to state his case.”

Bastard, Rafael thought. Jerry had played his ace. Henry Willers, president of the college, was a notorious media hound. Rafael had deliberately kept his correspondence with Cora confidential, knowing that Willers would pressure her to accede. He wanted her cooperation, but not grudgingly. Cora’s hands gripped the edge of her desk. “Jerry—”

“Just something to think about,” Jerry said amiably.

Cora held Jerry’s gaze with barely concealed hostility. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“If you want my opinion, with your tenure hearing coming up, this is the kind of thing you should pay attention to.”

Rafael had to look away to hide his disgust. He couldn’t wait until he got the man alone. What Jerry needed, evidently, was a lesson in academic humility. He could see the anger in Cora’s eyes when she addressed Jerry. “Duly noted.”

Rafael stood, determined to fend off a full-blown confrontation. “I appreciate your time,” he told Cora. “We can finish later?”

She finally tore her gaze from Jerry. “Fine. Now if the two of you will excuse me, I’d like to check on my nieces.” She breezed past them and let the door of her office slam behind her.

Chapter Two

It’s her fire I find irresistible. After so many nights with naught but the cold sea for company, I find such rapturous warmth in her arms. She may consume me, but what a blissful demise!

Juan Rodriguez del Flores

Captain’s Log, 9 December 1860

Jerry Heath, Rafael decided, was an idiot.

The man had deliberately allowed him to believe that Cora Prescott was some prudish college professor he could simply bowl over with a good dose of charm. Rafael had suspected from Jerry’s poorly veiled hostility that he found Cora threatening. Now that he’d met her, he knew exactly why. Cora was twice the researcher and a hundred times the person Jerry Heath would ever be.

“Well,” Jerry said, seating himself in Cora’s recently vacated chair, “what do you think now that you’ve met the inimitable Cora Prescott?”

Good question, Rafael thought as he quickly reconciled his impressions of her with his previous expectations. There was a wealth of treasure to find beneath her facade, of that he was sure. But something—or someone—had put that distrustful, slightly wounded look in her eyes. For a man who’d spent a lifetime carefully unearthing priceless antiquities, the challenge of discovering Cora’s secret was irresistible. He glared at Jerry. “You set me up, Jerry.”

“I did not. I gave you every warning that you didn’t know what you were getting into when you decided to take on Cora. She’s the stubbornnest woman I’ve ever known. I’d be surprised if you got past go with her.”

“Is that why you practically blackmailed her into accepting my offer?”

Jerry bristled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rafael scowled at him. “Playing the tenure card? That was a cheap shot.”

“Cora can take care of herself, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Jerry nodded. “She’d like to be department head.”

And she’d be good at it, Rafael thought. No wonder Jerry seemed intent on keeping her in her place. At his age, he was nearing the end of his academic career. Bright new talent scared him. A woman like Cora Prescott probably left him cowering in the corner. Rafael carefully considered all that Cora had said to him. “She’s brilliant.”

“She’s extremely respected in her field,” Jerry acknowledged.

Praise, Rafael realized, but not unqualified. His opinion of Jerry Heath slipped another notch. “So why didn’t you tell me about the whole package?”

Jerry swiveled back and forth in the worn leather chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rafael gave him a knowing look. “Like hell.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re older than I thought,” Rafael said.

Jerry stared at him another few seconds, then understanding dawned in his eyes. He let out a low whistle. “My God. You can’t mean you’re thinking of seducing Cora Prescott.”

Rafael lifted his eyebrows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I’ve known you a long time. And I know that look you get. It’s the same one you get when you think you’re on the cusp of an important find.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“Maybe. Still, you’ll have to take my word on this. She’s not that type of woman. She’s not your type of woman.” Jerry shook his head. “Believe me, other men have tried and failed, and it won’t work. She’s cold as an iceberg. I’m not entirely certain she’s interested in men, if you know what I mean.”

Rafael let that pass without comment. He made a practice of not wasting his time on fools.

Jerry reached for the phone on Cora’s desk. “Look, why don’t you get settled into your hotel, then let Patty and me take you to dinner.” He punched a few numbers. “We can talk about old times.”

Rafael thought it over. As much as he loathed the idea of an extended stay in Jerry’s presence, he genuinely liked Patty Heath. A widely published author and lecturer on ancient Greek culture, Patty could not only provide interesting dinner conversation, but also, he hoped, better insight into Cora Prescott. “I’d love to,” he answered.

“Great. Patty’s been dying to pick your brain about the Argo project.” Jerry finished dialing. While he talked to his wife, Rafael mentally recalculated his strategy for gaining Cora Prescott’s cooperation.

Even Jerry couldn’t be naive enough to think that the aloof mask she wore reflected her true nature. Granted, she had the look down to a science. Tortoiseshell glasses. Hair in a neat French braid. Intelligent eyes set in a classic oval face. She even wore the costume of the conservative academic. Her tailored blouse and simple straight skirt were a timeless style. Most professors wore jeans and T-shirts to class. Cora could have stepped right out of another age.

But that was where it ended. There was absolutely nothing about the woman that didn’t scream of undiscovered passion. Or that didn’t beg for masculine attention. The less observant of the male species, he supposed, might miss it, but what Rafael saw was an underlying edge of raw sensuality that had him struggling for balance.

Some men, he knew, looked at a woman and saw the sum total of her parts. If the balance sheet didn’t tip in their favor, they never bothered to look deeper. He, however, had found that such a superficial examination was generally misleading. Cora Prescott wasn’t classically beautiful or even modernly sexy. She’d never make the cover of a men’s magazine, but then, he’d always preferred the subtle to the blatant.

In her, he saw something sensual and alluring. A huge part of the appeal, he knew, was her intelligence. He liked that in a lover. But the physical package complemented her mental assets. Perhaps it was the curve of her ear or the way stray tendrils of soft brown hair caressed the nape of her neck. It could be the long sweep of her arm from the juncture of her collarbone to the tips of her slender fingers. The way she moved enticed him. Her waist flared into softly rounded hips. Long shapely legs melded into well-turned ankles. The tailored cut of her blouse had done little to disguise the curves of her breasts. Her clothes floated on her skin like the whisper of a summer breeze.

He had a feeling that when he touched her, it would be like coaxing music from a fine instrument. Cora had the look of a woman who knew her worth. She valued herself too much to waste her energy on men who couldn’t appreciate the rare nature of her character and appeal. Like Sleeping Beauty, he mused, she had allowed her passion to remain dormant, rather than squander it on the undeserving.

That idea had him instantly and potently aroused. The realization hit him like a blow to the head. He wanted Cora Prescott, and he couldn’t remember having this strong thirst for possession for anything other than a sunken ship. But Cora was no relic, and his first encounter with her had sent exhilaration pumping through him. It sent his lingering exhaustion from jet lag and the post-Argo whirlwind tumbling off into orbit. In its place was a growing hunger for discovery.

He took several long moments to revel in the sensation. With del Flores’s ship finally within reach and the tantalizing prospect of unraveling all of Cora Prescott’s mysteries, he felt the passion stirring in him, awakening from what had seemed, recently, like an endless slumber.

Slowly his gaze shifted to Jerry, who was just completing his conversation with his wife. Jerry seemed to have no idea just what the world was missing in its ignorant dismissal of Cora Prescott’s appeal. An idiot, Rafael mused again. More’s the pity.

“HELLO.” AT TEN MINUTES to seven the following evening, in the midst of a torrential downpour, Rafael leaned casually against the frame of the front door to Cora’s house while he looked down at a wide-eyed Liza. He’d gleaned what he could from Patty Heath last night, then spent the better part of his day replotting his strategy.

Cora Prescott was turning out to be every bit as elusive and mysterious as he’d suspected.

She was well liked by her colleagues, he’d learned, but kept largely to herself. She seemed to have few close friends in the community, yet everyone spoke of her warmly. People had conflicting ideas about her reticence, but on one point, they all seemed to agree: though they thought she’d been incredibly generous to take in her three nieces for the summer—their mother, rumor had it, was enjoying an extended fling in the Florida Keys with a married real-estate developer—Cora was completely overwhelmed by the responsibility.

Rafael couldn’t remember a time when he’d had better news. She had something he needed, and now he had something she needed. With a satisfied smile, he grinned at a bewildered-looking Liza. “Is your aunt home?” he asked.

Becky Painter, who was the ace up his sleeve this evening, peered around his shoulder to greet Liza. “Hey, there, Liza.”

Liza smiled at her. “Hi, Becky.” Her gaze swung to Rafael’s. “I know you. You were in Aunt Cora’s office.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Know how come I know?”

“How come?”

She pointed to his eye patch. “You got that. What is it?”

“It’s a bandage for my eye.”

She tipped her head to one side. “You got a sore?”

“Yes. I have a sore.”

“Oh. Are you a pirate? I have a book about pirates.”

He tapped the patch with his index finger. “Does it have pictures of men wearing these?”

“Yes. How come it’s black?”

“Eye bandages only come in black.” That made Liza frown, as if the thought of black bandages was somehow a grave misfortune. Rafael winked at her. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Liza had opened the door to his knock. Her hot-pink pajamas and the ratty-looking stuffed rabbit she clutched told him that Cora was in the middle of the bedtime routine. And if the noise coming from upstairs was any indication, she wasn’t having an easy time of it.

In answer to his question, Liza wagged her head from side to side. “I hate bed. I don’t like sleeping.”

“Really?”

“No. It’s boring.”

Becky laughed. “Bedtime in this house is a nightmare, Cora told me. She starts at around eight and never gets them down before ten.”

“Is that so?” Rafael bent so his face was at eye level with Liza’s. “Do you want to know a secret, sweet pea?”

She clutched the worn brown rabbit to her chest and leaned forward. “What?”

“I don’t like to go to sleep, either.”

Liza held his gaze a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in. He’d cleared the first hurdle. Liza, at least, seemed to trust him. “I came to see your aunt,” he told her.

“She’s upstairs. Kaitlin and Molly don’t wanna sleep.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“How come you’re all wet?” Liza asked as a sleepy-looking Melody ambled in from the living room. The dog wagged her tail as she watched Rafael, then flumped down at his feet. Mentally he tabulated another point in his column. He had the kids. He had the dog. The aunt was sure to follow.

Becky was shaking out her umbrella. “It’s raining outside. Didn’t you hear the thunder, Liza?”

“Yeah. That’s why I came down here.”

Somewhere in that four-year-old mind, there was logic in that statement. “Does your aunt know where you are?”

Liza shrugged. He took that as a no. He was about to ask for the name of her rabbit when he heard Cora’s voice from the top of the stairs.

“Liza?”

Liza moved quickly to hide behind Rafael’s leg. Cora descended a couple of stairs. “Liza?” She walked down three more, then stopped at the sight of him. “It’s you.” Then she looked at Becky. “And you. What are you doing here?”

“I met with Jerry and Henry Willers yesterday,” he said carefully. Becky remained silent. “There are some things you and I should discuss.” Melody’s tail thumped the foyer carpet.

Cora’s eyebrows lifted. “I thought we were done.”

“Hardly,” he muttered. “Things are getting…complicated.”

She completed her trip down the stairs. When she reached the foyer, she stepped from the shadows into the light. Rafael got his first good look at her that evening. She wore faded jeans that fit far too well and a well-worn college sweatshirt. Her hair was secured in a ponytail. Heat radiated from her. He could feel the lingering raindrops on his skin beginning to sizzle. He inhaled a great breath of her scent. Baby powder and soap, it was far more seductive than any expensive perfume. “The only thing that’s complicated,” she said with a distinct snap in her eyes, “is that you won’t take no for an answer.”

That snap charmed him. “It’s what makes me good at my job.”

“And obnoxious,” she shot back.

He responded with a low whistle. “Do you bite, too?”

That made Becky laugh. “Don’t let her fool you, Dr. Adriano. Cora’s as even-tempered as they come.”

“So I’m the only one who gets under her skin.” He gave Cora an appraising look. “I wonder why?”

Her color heightened. “I have an aversion to pushy men.”

“And I have an affinity for mouthy women.”

Becky stepped between them, laughing. “Okay, okay. This is going nowhere.”

Liza clutched her stuffed rabbit closer and announced, “When Molly and Kaitlin and me fight like that, Mama tells us to separate.”

Rafael winked at her. Cora muttered, “I think that’s an excellent idea.”

“You don’t understand, Cora,” Becky continued. “You aren’t even going to believe what Jerry’s done. At least Dr. Adriano had the decency to tell you about it first.”

Cora frowned. “What’s Jerry got to do with this?”

Becky shook her head. “I think we should sit down.”

Cora resisted. “Don’t you have final exams in a couple of weeks, Becky? Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

Becky shrugged. “I needed a break. This is more interesting, anyway.”

Cora glared at Adriano. “Did you talk her into this?”

“She volunteered.”

“I’m sure.”

“I did.” Becky nodded vigorously. “I had to come, Cora. Jerry Heath and Henry Willers called a press conference for Monday morning.”

“That soon?” Cora asked.

Becky frowned. “It gets worse. Jerry was so overcome that Dr. Adriano came early, he moved it up to tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Cora pointed out. “No one’s attending a press conference on a Sunday.” Becky glanced at Rafael. He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “They will if I’m there,” he pointed out. Becky continued, “Jerry and Willers plan to announce that you’ve agreed to let Dr. Adriano participate in the Conrad study.”

Cora’s eyes widened, then she shot an accusing glance at Rafael. “You took the project from me,” she accused.

He silently damned Jerry Heath to hell. “It’s not what you think.”

Becky came to his defense. “I wouldn’t have known at all if Dr. Adriano hadn’t told me. They’re planning to spring it on you tomorrow.”

A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, and Liza yelped, then clutched Rafael’s leg. He leaned down to pick her up. “Worried?” he asked.

“It’s scary,” Liza whispered.

“My mother used to say the noise was the sound of angels bowling in heaven.”

Another loud rumble followed. Liza buried her face against his neck. “Then why are they so loud?”

“Liza,” Cora said. “You’re supposed to be upstairs in bed.”

Liza peered at her. “He knocked on the door.”

Cora ignored that. “Kaitlin said you could sleep in her bed tonight.”

“I don’t want to go bed.”

“Molly and Kaitlin are waiting for you.”

Liza’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “No. I don’t like going to bed.” She patted Rafael’s chest. “He doesn’t, either.”

Cora gave him a dry look. “Is that so?”

“I said I didn’t like to sleep. I didn’t say anything about going to bed.” Before Cora could respond, he tickled Liza’s ribs. “Tell you what, Liza, will you go to bed if I tell you a story?”

Her look was skeptical. “What kind of story?”

“What kind of stories do you like?”

She seemed to consider it for a long moment. “Can it have a pirate in it?”

“Sure.”

“And a dog?”

“Absolutely. A dog named Melody.” At the sound of her name, Melody got to her feet, then followed him when he started toward the stairs.

“And ice cream?”

“What flavor?” He shot Cora a silent invitation as he started up the stairs. Cora mumbled something to Becky, then fell into step behind them.

Liza pursed her lips. “I like chocolate.”

“Not pickle?”

Liza’s face scrunched. “Eeeew.”

“What about cabbage?”

“There’s no such thing as cabbage ice cream.”

“You sure?”

“Sure. That’s gross.”

He reached the top of the stairs, then met Cora’s gaze above Liza’s head. Raising a hand, Cora indicated the room to the right of the landing. He headed down the hall. “All right, chocolate. If it has a pirate, a dog and chocolate ice cream, do you promise to go to bed?”

“What if the thunder comes back?”

The storm was nearly over. The thunder already sounded distant. “Then you can get up,” he promised.

Liza laid her head against his chest. “Okay.”

The door was open and soft light spilled into the hallway. Rafael entered the room to find Molly and Kaitlin having a quiet argument over a book.

“I want to read it,” Molly insisted.

“You can’t,” her sister said. “It’s mine.”

“Girls,” Cora said from the door. “I told you to share the book. Molly, Kaitlin’s letting you sleep in her room. Let her have the book back.”

Molly hesitated, then released the book. “How come she always gets her way?” she demanded.

Kaitlin glared at Cora. “I don’t have to share it if I don’t want to. Mama gave it to me. It’s mine.”

Rafael saw Cora close her eyes in weary acquiescence. She hadn’t followed him into the room. Instead, she leaned against the doorjamb. “Fine,” she said quietly. “Just quit fighting about it.”

He set Liza on the bed and waited for her to scramble beneath the covers next to Molly. When she and the stuffed rabbit were properly settled, he looked at Kaitlin. “Your sister requested a story. Is that all right with you?”

Kaitlin stared at him, wide-eyed. A rumble of thunder had Liza clutching the covers and pleading with her. “Please, Kaitlin. He said he’d put a pirate in it.”

Rafael nodded. “And a dog named Melody.”

Melody had followed them upstairs. She now rubbed against his leg. He scratched her ears until she dropped to the floor and thumped her tail on the carpet.

“I’m too old for bedtime stories,” Kaitlin informed him carefully.

“Naturally,” he concurred. “I’m telling it to Liza. You don’t have to listen if you aren’t interested.”

She hesitated a second longer, then nodded. “Okay.”

No wonder, Rafael thought, that she and Cora were having trouble getting along. She liked control as much as her aunt did. He sat on the edge of the bed and started to spin a tale about pirate ships and treasure, chocolate ice cream and a dog named Melody. Liza yawned and rubbed her eyes with her fist. Molly fought her drooping eyelids. Kaitlin sank deeper beneath the covers and watched him, cautiously but intently. When he saw Liza’s eyes drift shut and her mouth go slack, he glanced at Molly and Kaitlin. Both were asleep.

He looked at Cora, who still stood by the door. Raising a hand to his lips, he cautioned her to be silent. She nodded and flipped the lights off. The glow of a night-light cast long shadows in the room. Easing off the bed, he walked to the door. Cora stepped aside to let him pass, then pulled the door partially shut as she joined him in the hall.

He gave her a dry look. “Mission accomplished.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do about nominating you for the Nobel peace prize.”

He laughed softly as they walked toward the stairs. “Is bedtime always like this?”

“Mostly. The storm made it worse than usual.” She hesitated. “They miss their mother. Something like a bad storm makes them miss her more.”

He nodded. “When is she coming back for them?”

Cora shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

The frustration in her voice made him frown. Cora turned away and would have started down the stairs, but he touched her elbow, halting her progress. “You’re very good with them,” he assured her.

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re the one who talked them to sleep.”

“You’re the one who makes them secure. Don’t underestimate that.”

She studied him for long, inscrutable seconds. “You really didn’t know Jerry was going to do this, did you?” she finally asked.

Pleased, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“For what it’s worth, I believe you. I don’t know why. I just do.”

“I’m glad.”

With a nod, she headed downstairs. “I suppose you’d better fill me in on what exactly Jerry and Henry are planning to announce about my project tomorrow. I’d rather not get ambushed.”

WHEN THEY JOINED Becky in Cora’s living room, she was setting three mugs of coffee on the table. “You’re through already?” she asked. “That’s got to be a new record.”

Rafael pointed to the ceiling. “They’re sleeping.”

“It’s a miracle.” She handed Cora a mug. “Creamed and sugared, just like you take it.”

“Thanks.” Cora sank into one of the wing chairs.

Becky sat on the couch and cradled her own mug. “Did you want anything in yours, Dr. Adriano?”

He shook his head. “Black is fine. And I wish you’d quit calling me Dr. Adriano. I might forget to answer.”

When Becky flushed, Cora gave him a wry look. “What I want to know is, where was all this charm when you were sending me those pushy letters?”

Rafael laughed and took the seat across from Cora. “You were supposed to read between the lines and find me irresistible.”

Her fingers gripped the arm of her chair. “Well, it worked on Henry Willers, anyway. He obviously couldn’t resist you.”

He stifled his frustration when he thought of his earlier confrontation with Jerry and Henry. He’d been just as surprised as Cora to find out they’d already released a statement that he’d joined the project. Just as surprised, and probably angrier. “Look, Cora,” he said, watching her carefully. She didn’t flinch at the liberty he’d taken with her first name. He took that as a good sign. “I had no idea this was going to happen, but we can’t change it now. It seems to me that we might as well make the best of a potentially bad situation.”

She hesitated a moment. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of talking Henry out of this.”

Becky shook her head. “He already released a written statement. The conference is just a formality.”

“Ugh.” Cora dropped her head back against the chair. “I should have known.” She looked at Rafael accusingly. “What did you think was going to happen when you told Jerry I’d refused your request?”

“It never occurred to me that you and I wouldn’t come to an understanding,” he said.

“That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

“What if we hadn’t?”

“I would have respected that.” He waited for the truth of the statement to sink in. “I asked Jerry for his opinion. If I’d known he’d try to trump you, I would have handled it differently.”

“I can manage Jerry, believe me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” And he didn’t. Cora wasn’t the type to be cowed by an arrogant SOB like Jerry Heath. “But he can be a real bastard when he wants to be.”

Becky laughed. “You could say that.”

Rafael nodded. “If it counts for anything, when he and Willers told me about this, I told him he was a pain in the ass.”

Cora settled more deeply into her seat. Digging in, he mused. She regarded him with a steady look. “I’m sure he took that well.”

Becky snorted. “What a jerk.”

She had no idea, Rafael thought. He’d been in a black rage since the confrontation in Willers’s office. He’d even threatened to walk off the project, but Jerry had been quick to point out that information had already been issued to the press. If Rafael left and took the prestige of his reputation with him, Jerry would ensure that Cora bore the blame in the eyes of the media and the college. Feeling trapped and hating nothing more than being manipulated and snared, Rafael had conceded, but not without choking several concessions out of Jerry and Henry Willers.

The room had fallen silent, and Cora stared into her coffee mug, frowning intently.

Becky touched Cora’s knee. “Cora, I talked to Willers’s secretary. She was my roommate last year, you know?” Cora nodded, so Becky continued, “They were going to take the entire project away from you. If Dr. Adriano hadn’t intervened, Jerry was just going to make you hand over the diaries to the college. He says you gave the college the rights to any historical records or artifacts you found in this house when you bought it from them.”

“I did,” Cora muttered. “They wouldn’t sell it to me without that clause.”

“So at least this way, you get to continue studying them,” Becky pointed out.

Cora’s short laugh was humorless. “Thank God.” She gave him a cold look. “I should be grateful for that, I suppose.”

He ground his teeth. He should have slugged Jerry when he had the chance. “You’re still in charge of the project,” he said. “I insisted on that.”

Cora didn’t respond. Becky gave Rafael a worried look. “It doesn’t have to be that bad, Cora. I know you’re frustrated, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

Cora took a sip of her coffee. “Becky,” she said patiently, too patiently, “do you have any idea what’s going to happen when the story gets out that Dr. Adriano is here to join this project?” Becky shook her head.

Cora looked at Rafael and said, “Madness and mayhem.”

Rafael decided it was time to tip his hand. “Money and media,” he corrected her. “And from what Jerry tells me, you need them both.”

“We’re not desperate,” she insisted.

“You don’t even have enough in your research funding to complete your examination of the existing diaries—much less for their preservation and authentication.”

Becky nodded. “It’s true, Cora.”

“I’ve got some promising leads,” Cora protested. “It’s—”

Rafael cut her off. “I can guarantee you three million dollars by the end of the week.”

Cora choked. “Three million?”

“Oh, my God,” Becky said, wide-eyed.

Rafael nodded, satisfied. That kind of grant money was unheard of in Cora’s field. She’d probably been hoping for several thousand. “And that’s just starters.”

Cora stared at him. “What could possibly—”

“The historic record tells us that in the fall of 1861 del Flores and his ship disappeared. He was last seen when he sailed from Savannah on a reported raid. He was supposed to prevent the French fleet from delivering supplies and munitions. The theory is that he encountered bad weather—maybe a hurricane—off the coast and sank.”

“But you don’t think so,” Cora said.

“No. I think he loaded the Isabela with five years’ worth of plunder and headed here, to rendezvous with Abigail. Wherever the Isabela is now, it’s probably still loaded with del Flores’s treasure.”

“Wow,” Becky said. “It would be worth millions.”

“One of the biggest finds ever,” Rafael concurred. “And the cultural significance of those artifacts is unimaginable. Until now, I’ve had nothing to study but del Flores’s own logs and papers. The chance to look at Abigail’s work…”

“If they had an affair,” Becky said. “We don’t even know that for sure. She talks about her lover, but she never names him.”

“I haven’t studied them all,” Cora conceded, “but I haven’t seen his name.”

Rafael wasn’t deterred. “I want to compare what Abigail wrote with what I’ve already discovered about del Flores. If she makes references to her lover that correspond to the dates of his visits, then I can place them together circumstantially.”

“What good will that do?” Becky asked.

“It will explain why no one’s been able to find the ship off the coast of Savannah,” he said quietly. “Because it’s farther north. Closer to here.”

“And you’ve got investors willing to stake that hunch?” Cora pressed.

“I’ve got enough of a reputation that I can raise the money I need.”

“Then why help me?” she probed. “With that kind of cash at your disposal, I’m sure you could persuade Jerry and the rest of the college to just hand you total control of the diaries.”

He heard the bitterness in her voice. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right on that account. He had enough clout to wrest the project from her completely, if that was what he wanted. But he didn’t merely want access to Cora Prescott’s house—he wanted all the privileges that came with having her on his team. “That’s not what I want. I’m no more interested in sacrificing Abigail Conrad to the fortune hunters than you are. I just want the truth.”

“And the ship?”

“I’ve spent my career looking for the Isabela.” He hesitated. He rarely discussed this. He’d been informed by some very knowledgeable people that he sounded far too intense. Frighteningly intense. “This is one more piece of the puzzle.”

Cora frowned. “And that will bring every fortune hunter and relic seeker in the world to Cape Marr, hoping to beat you to the treasure.”

Her tone was pure censure, condemning and condescending. He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. “The fact that my research is more accessible to the general public doesn’t make it any less valid than yours.”

She gasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not interested in the treasure,” he said harshly. “It’s not about that.”

“But you can’t deny that its allure would bring chaos. This is a small town. The kind of people who hunt sunken treasure for a living aren’t known for their high moral code, you know. I don’t think downtown Cape AMR is ready to host the international cutthroat convention.”

“It won’t happen. I can stop it from happening.”

“Are you kidding?” she shot back. “You draw reporters and attention like honey draws flies.”

“With me,” he insisted, “and with my involvement in the project, you not only get access to my fund-raising team, you get my PR firm, as well. They’re very good at keeping reporters out of my hair.”

Becky tucked her feet beneath her legs and looked at Cora. “It’s true, Cora. Don’t you remember reading how annoyed the press was because they didn’t have access to the Argo project until after the ship was raised?”

“Because the Greek military protected the site as a matter of national interest,” Cora said, then looked at Rafael. “What are you going to do? Make a phone call to the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

She wasn’t going to back down, he realized, and found himself unaccountably pleased by her candor and resistance. He’d been too long without a challenge. “Not quite, but I can assure you that my PR people will take the headache out of this.”

Cora shook her head. “Not if Henry Willers has anything to do with it. The man never saw a camera he didn’t like.”

Becky agreed. “He turns everything into a circus.”

“The secret,” Rafael said, “is to make sure you control the press, instead of the other way around. There will be attention. There’s no way to avoid it.”

“Lovely,” Cora muttered.

“But we’ll direct it, instead of letting it direct us.” He paused. “I already told Willers that after tomorrow he’d better stay the hell out of my business, or I’d make sure he regretted it.”

Cora pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “God, this is giving me a headache.”

But she wasn’t arguing, he noted, and decided to press his advantage. “I’ve been looking for the truth about del Flores since I was seventeen years old.” At her skeptical look, he nodded. “It’s true. I left home because my brother, Zack, and I weren’t getting along. I came down here to work my way through college and discovered the del Flores story. I’ve been hooked ever since.” He leveled his gaze at her. “And if you think about it, I can actually help make all this easier on you. Because of my connections, I can raise the money you need, but because of my family, I can help you with something else.”

“What now? You know the cure for the common cold?”

He laughed. Lord, the woman fascinated him. He found himself increasingly preoccupied with the idea of how all that mental acuity would affect him during sex. Would she approach lovemaking with the same intellectual intensity, or could he coax her to flagrant passion? Or both, he thought, the idea definitely tantalizing. “Nothing that dramatic,” he finally assured her. “But I did some checking today—” he held up a hand to forestall her interruption “—and your nieces are running you into the ground.”

“They are not.” She looked indignant. “They’re just a little…active.”

“Cora, they’re hellions,” Becky said.

Cora gave her a reproving look. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You’ve gone through three baby-sitters this week alone,” Becky countered.

Cora squirmed. “They’re having…It’s been a difficult adjustment.” She looked at Rafael. “My sister is notoriously self-absorbed. They felt as if they got dumped here when she went…when she left. I’d be expecting too much if I thought they wouldn’t act out some of that frustration.”

He nodded. “And it doesn’t help any that you’ve got your course load to handle, the pressure of a major research project looming over your head and the responsibility for the entertainment, care and feeding of three kids. I’m not criticizing you—just sympathizing.”

“If you think harassing me about my nieces is going to win you any points—”

“I’m not harassing you. I’m here to offer you a solution.”

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Boarding school?” she quipped.

Cora frowned at her. Rafael shook his head. “I’m just going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“I doubt it,” Cora retorted.

He ignored her. “You give me access to the house for the next two months, and I’ll solve your child-care problem. Two adults and three kids are much better odds than the ones you’re playing now.”

“You’re going to baby-sit? Are you insane?”

“I wouldn’t call it baby-sitting,” he said. “More like riot control.”

“It would never work.”

“Sure it would. I’d move in with you and—”

Cora gasped. “Move in?”

“You want to live here?” Becky said.

He nodded. “This is where Abigail lived, where she wrote.” He gave Cora a piercing look. “Where she made love with del Flores. I can learn from the atmosphere if I move in.”

“Move in, as in your clothes in my closet, your toothbrush in my bathroom?”

The mere thought made his blood pump faster. All he had to do was picture what Cora would look like in the morning—rumpled, warm, addictively soft—to feel himself getting aroused. He could see them stretched languorously amid tangled sheets and scattered pillows, exhausted and sated from an arduous night of sizzling, mind-blowing sex. And it would be with her, he knew. It most definitely would be.

He realized that Cora was watching him, saw the heightened color in her face, the awareness in her eyes, and knew she was thinking along similar lines. She didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop herself. A satisfied smile touched his lips. “I hadn’t planned,” he said softly, “on sharing a bathroom.”

The insinuation that he had definitely planned on sharing other things—like a bedroom—wasn’t lost on her. Her color deepened, but she sat perfectly still.

Becky, sweetly oblivious to the undercurrent, was nodding, thoughtful. “You know, Cora. There is the room on the top floor.” She looked at Rafael. “It has a separate entrance,” she explained.

He knew that already. Cora usually rented the room to a student during the regular term. One of the secretaries in the college administration office had revealed that to him. “Does it?” he asked casually.

“Yes,” Becky assured him. “You’d have some privacy that way.”

Privacy wasn’t what he’d planned, but he and Cora could argue about it later. “I’m sure I would.” He kept his tone bland.

Becky turned to Cora. “You haven’t rented it for the summer, have you?”

Cora frowned. “Becky—”

“It could work,” Becky insisted. “You do need help.”

Rafael added, “You’d have more time for research.”

Becky had warmed to the idea. “Think about it, Cora. If you didn’t have to constantly worry about coordinating schedules and transportation, you could work all day.”

“How much time do you lose by not being able to run off to the library for an hour or two because you have to worry about what you’re going to do with the girls?” Rafael asked.

“I’ve worked it out,” Cora said tightly.

“And how many times have you been totally immersed in Abigail’s writing and had to stop to resolve a sibling crisis?” he went on.

“That’s not—”

“There are three of them and one of you.” He pressed his hands to his thighs and leaned forward to drive home his point. “You need help. And I can give it to you.”

“By living with me?”

“I don’t have to.” He watched her closely. “I could live in town and come by during the days, but it suits my purposes better to be here, and it helps you more if I am. We both win.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I do,” Becky said.

“It’s an excellent idea,” Rafael insisted. “I could be there during the day while you’re tied up in classes. And face it, you’ve got to do something with the girls before they drive you crazy.”

“Something like turn them over to you? What could you possibly know about three little girls?”

“I’m the second oldest of thirteen children. I have nine sisters—all younger. I know a lot about girls.” He leaned closer. “Of all ages.”

Cora snorted. “You know, if you ever decide to give up ocean archeology, you might want to consider stand-up comedy. You’ve got a comeback for just about everything, don’t you.”

Becky looked at Cora. “This is the perfect solution, Cora. You know it is.”

She visibly wavered, then looked at Rafael. “This is exactly why I said no to your first letter,” she told him. “I didn’t want this kind of disruption.”

“It’ll work out, Cora. You’ll see,” Becky assured her. “In the long run, if he’s handling the media, you’ll have more time for the diaries. Everyone wins.”

He saw her indecision and realized he was holding his breath. Finally she sighed, a weary sigh of surrender. “Since there’s no reasonable way to stop this now,” she told him, “then I at least want your promise on one thing.” She paused. “I haven’t had the chance to fully examine the diaries, but they’re…intensely personal. I’d prefer not to see Abigail’s private thoughts printed for public consumption without my consent.”

Rafael felt a surge of satisfaction. She had a strong desire, he realized, to protect Abigail’s privacy. Dared he hope that she felt a connection to Abigail and del Flores similar to his own? “Fine,” he agreed.

She held his gaze a moment longer, then dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “What have I done?”

Chapter Three

She always charms me, this passionate, consummate lady of mine. How they misread her, I’ll never know. The lot of fools sees only what they look for. I’m grateful, really. The world may see her proper outward appearance, but I, alone, have seen the fire beneath the ice.

Juan Rodriguez del Flores

Captain’s Log, 10 April 1861

“Dr. Prescott,” the wiry-looking man in the front row of the university auditorium clutched his notepad with journalistic fervor, “why the change in policy? Sources say you’ve turned down over a dozen other joint projects on the Conrad diaries.”

Cora could practically feel Jerry gloating as she faced the roomful of inquisitors the following morning. He sat behind her on the dais, flanked by Henry Willers and the chairman of the Rawlings College board of trustees. Rafael and Becky had left her home at two o’clock that morning. After too little sleep, Jerry’s phone call had awakened her. He’d informed her of the press conference in a gratingly cheerful voice that had Cora wanting to spit nails. By the time she’d gotten the girls ready—amid Kaitlin’s complaining, Molly’s incessant questions and Liza’s insistence that Benedict Bunny come along—Cora’s mood had disintegrated from bad to rotten. She had a pounding headache and a serious inclination to tear Jerry’s head off.

Summoning her dignity, she glanced at her nieces where they sat in the front row with Becky. They’d seen enough episodes, she reminded herself, of their mother, sans dignity, to last them a lifetime. They didn’t need to see it from her.

The only person conspicuously absent from this circus was Rafael. He was late, and when she got the chance, she’d kill him for it.

Cora gripped the edge of the podium and forced herself to concentrate on the question. “My priority,” she told the young reporter, “has always been to conduct my study of the Conrad diaries in a manner that will glean the most information in the most responsible manner. On consideration of Dr. Adriano’s proposal, I decided—”

“—that she can’t live without me,” came his low drawl from the wings of the stage. He flashed her a bright smile as he strode toward the podium.

Predictably his arrival caused a flurry of interest. Cameras popped. Reporters began hurling questions at the stage. A microphone, suddenly adjusted too high, squealed feedback into the house. Rafael seemed oblivious to the commotion as he walked toward Cora in long, ground-eating strides. He stopped when he reached her.

“You’re late,” she said in a taut whisper.

He gave her a heated look “Miss me?”

Cora clenched her teeth. “You’re creating a spectacle.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Liza smile broadly at him and give him a slight wave. The innocent act left Cora feeling oddly betrayed.

He bent his head closer. “The better to dazzle you with,” he retorted with infuriating cheer. “Watch and learn.”

Cora glared at him. He gave her a cocky grin, then faced his audience with aplomb. For the next several minutes he volleyed their questions, expounded on his research goals, gave eloquent testimony to her work with Abigail’s diaries and generally charmed the audience’s collective socks off.

He flirted, flaunted and flashed his million-dollar smile until he had them eating out of his hand. Cora watched, torn between amusement and irritation. Even her three nieces sat uncharacteristically still during the discourse. Several times Becky sent her telling looks. No wonder, she thought, that she’d had to work so hard to dig beneath the charismatic mantle he wore to glimpse the passionate man she’d seen last night. His armor was so thick he seemed undaunted by the occasionally blatant accusations that came his way from the handful of reporters who seemed determined to resist his charm. When one asked if he deliberately courted wealthy history buffs and thrill seekers for access to their money, he smiled and said with disarming nonchalance, “Whom would you suggest I court?”

And the crowd laughed appreciatively. Even Henry Willers, whose notoriously sour expression was the constant fodder of cartoons in the student paper, chuckled.

Another reporter captured his attention by asking, “Coming off the Argo find, isn’t Cape Marr going to be anticlimactic?”

Rafael nodded. “I certainly hope so. You can understand how an expedition of that sort can be exhausting.”

“Of course,” the man persisted. “But your career is peaking, and our readers would like to know why you’d choose to invest your time on something as seemingly innocuous as the Conrad diaries.”

“The del Flores story has been a career-long interest of mine. I’m eager to work with Dr. Prescott and learn more.”

“Any reason you can give us,” yelled a woman from the back, “for why you haven’t been able to find del Flores’s ship yet?

From the corner of her eye, Cora saw Rafael tense. He seemed to carefully consider the question, but she sensed a fine tremor of energy in him. In a deceptively casual move, he propped one arm on the podium and leaned forward. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “the sea is a tantalizing adversary.”

An unnatural hush seemed to fall on the room as they waited for him to continue. “In some ways,” he went on, “exploring the ocean’s mysteries is like courting a woman. It can be elusive and mysterious. It’s mercurial and unpredictable.”

Cora could almost feel the audience falling under his spell. And who could blame them? He was weaving a delicate wave of evocative images designed to entice and fascinate. She resisted the urge to wipe her suddenly damp palms on her skirt.

Rafael seemed lost in thought now. He absently stroked the outer edge of his eye patch as he continued, “The ocean is the source of life for the world. The mother of the earth, if you will. In her womb, she still carries the remnants of the earliest forms of life.”

Cora swallowed so hard it was audible. If he noticed, he didn’t look at her. “It’s full of secrets that it hides beneath a calm surface. Like a woman, the ocean can be as warm as a tropical breeze or as cold as an Arctic current.” A suspiciously strangled cough escaped her.

“Something about that fascinates me,” he said. “I especially like to find warm currents of water where the weather pattern demands frigid temperatures. The sea is a paradox. Always changing, always moving. You can never predict what the ocean will do. She can be calm as a breezeless day one minute, and catch you in a violent storm the next. She’s fathoms deep. Passionate. Alluring.” He rolled the last word off the tip of his tongue. “I love the mystery, and I love the challenge.”

He glanced momentarily at Cora. Their gazes met. Her body temperature went up a notch. He flashed her a slight smile that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, then turned back to his audience. “Nothing compares,” he drawled, “to that brief moment of mindless euphoria that always follows the climax of an expedition.”

The crowd sat in stunned silence. Cora resisted the urge to strangle him. A fine sheen of sweat had beaded her forehead, and as much as she’d like to blame it on the stage lighting, she suspected it owed more to an increased pulse rate. Damn the man, she thought irritably.

As rumbles began in the audience, one reporter, a strikingly attractive woman in a lipstick-red tailored suit, managed to shoulder her way through the crowd of photographers near the edge of the stage. She had dark hair and an olive complexion that gave her an exotic look. “Dr. Adriano,” she said, and Cora saw an unmistakable smirk on her full mouth, “while that’s all fine and good as the reason for your, uh, passion about your work, we’d still like to know why you’ve been looking for del Flores’s ship specifically for the past twenty years.”

Amusement danced in Rafael’s eye as he met the woman’s gaze. “Some lovers are harder than others to catch.”

While the crowd laughed, the woman shook her head at him, her expression slightly mocking. There was an obvious history here, Cora noted. She just couldn’t determine its dynamics. The reporter pressed, “Then can we assume that you’re expecting to find some new information in the Conrad diaries that might shed light on the disappearance of del Flores’s ship?”

Rafael straightened from his languid pose and crossed both arms over his broad chest. “Hello, Elena,” he said with obvious warmth.

She acknowledged his greeting with a slight tilt of her head. “Are you expecting to find something in Abigail Conrad’s diaries that will shed new light on del Flores’s ship?” she persisted.

His challenging stance didn’t alter, and from the corner of her eye, Cora thought she saw his jaw tense. “Direct as usual,” he said.

“While you’re just as elusive.” The woman pressed closer to the platform. “Aren’t you really here because you believe that something in those diaries will lead you to the Isabela?”

Cora held her breath. He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “There’s always a chance,” he said carefully, “of an unexpected discovery. If Abigail Conrad was intimately acquainted with del Flores, it’s my hope that her writings will help me understand the man better. Beyond that, I have no expectations.”

“Really?” the reporter asked, her tone skeptical.

Rafael’s nod was short. “Really.”

An unnatural silence had settled on the crowd as they watched the interplay. Cora glanced at her nieces and noted that Liza seemed to have grown restless. She was resisting Becky’s efforts to keep her in her seat. Clutching Benedict Bunny in one hand, she squirmed against Becky’s restraining arm and tried to wriggle free. Elena, unaware of the movement behind her, forged ahead. “But there could be direct information about the wreck,” she countered. “Couldn’t there?”

“It’s possible, but highly unlikely. As Dr. Prescott explained, the Conrad diaries predate del Flores’s disappearance by several years.”

Elena lifted her dark eyebrows. “But there could be more diaries?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure there could be. Dr. Prescott’s team has already conducted a search, however.”

“But you haven’t searched yourself?”

“Not yet,” he conceded.

Elena seemed to sense she had gained the advantage. “And weren’t you in the middle of another project when you left Chapel Hill?”

“I was considering several options, but none piqued my interest.” His tone had taken on a slight edge as the verbal confrontation escalated.

Liza, Cora noted with another glance at the front row, was now out of her seat. She and Molly appeared to have a brief argument. Liza pointed to the stage. Molly shook her head emphatically. Kaitlin looked on, her gaze speculative.

Elena ignored the rapidly elevating noise behind her and asked another question. “So you’re going to spend valuable research time waiting for Dr. Prescott to tell you what’s in the diaries just to learn a little about del Flores? Come on, Dr. Adriano, you’re the leading expert on the man and his career. No one’s going to believe you’re here for nothing more than a glimpse of his love life.”

“That’s up to them, I suppose,” he retorted.

Elena shook her head. “I think you believe there’s something in Dr. Prescott’s house, or at least in the Conrad diaries, that’s going to help you find del Flores’s ship.” There was a collective rumble in the audience.

Rafael leveled a piercing look at the reporter. “Why in the world would you think that?”

“Because,” she said, clearly undaunted, “you could have chosen to pursue another project while Dr. Prescott studied the diaries. If you weren’t hoping to find something she might miss, why else would you be in that house?”

Cora felt the situation begin to slide into a dangerous, out-of-control spin. What was it he’d said? We’ll direct them, instead of letting them direct us. Too late for that strategy obviously.

She glanced at her nieces again and saw that Liza was making her way toward the stage, having eluded Becky’s grasp. Kaitlin now had Becky’s attention as she distracted her from Liza’s behavior. Dragging Benedict Bunny behind her, Liza looked for all the world like a miniature avenging caveman with a club. Cora could only hope that the little girl would succeed in knocking the reporter off her feet before this went too far.

Cora brought her gaze back to Rafael. The scar that ran from his hairline to the edge of his patch had whitened, giving the only indication of his rising tension. She had a sudden image of Juan Rodriguez del Flores damning caution and setting a course for the outer banks where he could rendezvous with Abigail. Abigail Conrad, Cora thought, who had flaunted convention and bravely conducted a forbidden affair with her pirate lover.

Having spent so many weeks immersed in Abigail’s writing, Cora, who was known for her formidable self-control and dignity, decided that she owed Abigail a worthy show of élan. Liza was now a few steps from Elena, and in the face of certain disaster, Cora nudged Rafael away from the microphone and faced the reporter with a bright smile. “Actually, you’re reading this entirely wrong,” she told her.

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