Irresistible Fortune. Wendy Etherington
hurt.”
“We wouldn’t want Brenna to compromise herself.” Uncertainty slid across Andrea’s face, and Brenna felt a surge of hope.
“Who’s talking about compromise?” Sloan argued. “I bet he’s great in bed.”
“His body certainly seems fit,” Andrea said slowly. “And he doesn’t lack for confidence.”
Sloan sent Andrea a knowing look. “Seducing the man of your dreams worked for you.”
“Hellooo? Guys?” Brenna’s tone rose in alarm as she dug in her heels and brought them all to a standstill. They really were going to throw her at the wolf’s feet. “Remember me? Don’t you think I should have some say in this plot of yours?”
“No,” Sloan said at once. “You’re too emotionally involved.”
“And you’re the one who was so passionate about this project,” Andrea added. “Don’t you want to save The Carolina and her treasure?”
That was hitting below the belt. “Gavin Fortune is not the man of my dreams!”
“You wound me deeply with your barbs, fair Irish queen.”
Brenna’s gaze shot to the circle of women where Gavin had been standing only moments before. The women were there, but no Gavin.
He was standing right behind her.
She whirled, and her sudden movement caused Sloan and Andrea to drop her arms. She was finally free, and she longed to run, but she found herself rooted to the spot, caught by the laughing hazel eyes of Gavin Fortune.
How much had he heard?
“I’m great in bed, by the way.” His smile turned wickedly inviting. “I’m an avid swimmer, and you know, it’s all about stamina.”
And despite comments like that one, her body leaned toward him. It was humiliating.
Hadn’t she laughed at him the last time she’d seen him? Hadn’t she vowed he’d killed her attraction with his ridiculous lies about his credentials?
But were they lies?
When she remained furiously mute, Sloan and Andrea introduced themselves. The three of them exchanged pleasant chatting while Brenna’s blood pressure rose, and she fought to remind her libido that she wasn’t hard up enough to remotely consider throwing herself at her enemy. Even to protect priceless treasures. Even though the fact that he was within touching distance made her fingers tingle.
Along with other, more intimate body parts.
“Still too intimidated to talk to me?” Gavin asked her.
Brenna glared at him. “Not hardly.”
“You found out I’m smarter than you, and sent over your real estate friend rather than deal with me.”
“What smarts?” Brenna returned through clenched teeth. “You lied about those degrees.”
“Did I?” His hazel eyes danced. “You don’t believe I know what I’m doing?”
No way was she going there. “I’m too busy to deal with you.”
“What a shame.” He leaned close enough that she could smell his enticing cologne and see the telltale gold flecks in his eyes. “I’d really like you to come back.”
She swallowed hard. “You would?”
“Sure.” He straightened, his expression smug. “If you don’t, Helen’s going to wind up selling me half the island.”
Brenna felt heat climb up her neck. “With all your ill-gotten gains, you could certainly afford it.”
“You bet I can,” he returned with equal resentfulness. “But I’m sure one sage quote from you via some boring English poet would change my life, make me see the error of my ways and get me to donate all my profits to some moldy museum.”
“Wow,” Andrea said, her tone awed. “Helen was right about you two.”
“You’d be smokin’ together,” Sloan agreed.
Brenna glared at her friends.
Andrea was an art historian and expert appraiser. Why wasn’t she the one forced to deal with the arrogant treasure hunter? Sloan was president of the historical society. She should have to listen to his come-ons and stubbornness.
Then, like an angel sent from heaven, she saw her salvation.
Another high school friend, Carr Hamilton, had started dating a tough-minded, always-armed FBI agent in the spring. Though gooey in love with Carr, her live-in boyfriend, Malina Blair was intimidating as hell to everybody else.
She was perfect.
Without a glance to those around her, Brenna darted to Malina’s side and rudely interrupted the welcome kiss between her and Carr.
“How do you feel about murder-for-hire?” she asked, relieved to note Malina’s sidearm was indeed in its holster.
Malina’s turquoise eyes widened, then turned speculative. “Depends on who I’m killing.” She paused, angling her head. “I assume I’m the killer in this scenario?”
Brenna grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the group surrounding Gavin Fortune. “Definitely.”
3
Brenna stood on Sloan’s back deck, her neck craned as she stared up at the stars.
The sticky summer heat lingered in the air, and though she’d be more comfortable inside with the air-conditioning, the party had long since lost its luster. If it ever had any.
She wished she could be launched to that star, the third from the right. It looked peaceful and welcoming.
And galaxies away from Gavin Fortune.
Clearly, there was no justice on this planet anymore. Even Malina was charmed by him. The kick-ass agent had patted Brenna’s shoulder and pronounced, “It’s not a crime to be a flirt.”
Brenna was on her own in her resentment and suspicion.
Hearing the back door open, then close, she didn’t have to turn to know who’d joined her on the deck.
And she wasn’t so far gone into melancholy that she didn’t realize she needed to draw first blood. “I don’t like you.”
He leaned against the railing beside her. “And all your friends do. That must really suck.”
“You have no idea.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard not to like me?”
Eyes wide, she turned her head and stared at his profile. “Are you delusional?”
Not seeming at all offended, he angled his head in consideration. “I don’t think so, but then if I were, how would I know?”
“Is it any wonder I want to run in the opposite direction every time I see you?”
He leaned toward her. “Face it, you have the hots for me.”
“Sure I do,” she returned sarcastically, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart rate pick up speed. Propping her forearm on the deck railing, she forced herself to hold his gaze and move closer, until their faces were mere inches apart. “Probably because of all those compliments about me and everything I care about.”
“I’m a scientist,” he said, his gaze flicking to her lips. “I’m required by law to hate literature.”
“You don’t seem like much of a rule follower. Do you really hate all the classics? Or is it just not cool to read?”
“Dickens had his moments, and I do like Yeats, but I’m more of a modernist when it comes to pleasure