Her Passionate Protector. Laurey Bright

her but didn’t argue anymore.

      Next day Sienna started out to find the dive shop, not in any particular hurry. On the way she dawdled over a display of local art for sale, mostly depicting seascapes or rural scenes, and at a shop-window mannequin wearing a rather nice jade-green stretch top.

      A teenage boy in baggy shorts and T-shirt, with a knitted beanie hat pulled low over his eyebrows, was reflected in the glass, apparently looking too, but when she turned he ducked his head and mooched off to stare into the window of a nearby computer shop while she walked on.

      She was turning a corner when something tugged hard at the bag she held, and she instinctively tightened her grip, swinging round as the beanie-wearing youth she’d seen earlier tried to wrench the bag from her hold, his brown eyes stark and wide below the hat.

      Sienna kicked him hard in the knee, jerking the bag away from his loosened hold as he doubled up with a cry of pain, and a man and woman rounded the corner.

      “Bitch!” the boy gasped, and then he saw the two people approaching, backed off and began to run, almost being mown down by a car as he dodged across the road.

      The couple stopped, bewildered, and the man asked, “Are you all right?”

      Sienna was breathing fast, her heart pounding. “Yes. He tried to snatch my bag. I’m okay.”

      The woman exclaimed in disgust, “That sort of thing never used to happen in Mokohina. You ought to tell the police.”

      “Yes,” Sienna said. But the boy had disappeared and by the time she reported the incident they’d have no hope of catching him. “Thanks.” If these people hadn’t come along she might still be tussling with the bag snatcher or been knocked to the ground while he made off with his booty.

      After the couple walked on, she waited a few minutes to calm down and resume her normal breathing pattern, then continued to her destination.

      When she entered the shop Brodie was helping two giggling young women choose gear for their first dive lesson. One of them looked up at him, pushing back a mane of shining dark hair, and cooed, “Will you be the teacher?”

      Brodie’s glance at her held amused appreciation. “Sorry,” he looked regretful, “I’m not going to be available for a while. But we have several very well qualified staff members.”

      The girl looked disappointed. “It’s your picture on the brochure we picked up at the motel.”

      That, Sienna thought, would bring young women in droves to the dive school.

      Brodie was saying, “I own the business. Don’t worry, Hemi will see you right.”

      “Is he as good-looking as you?” the girl asked, casting him a sidelong look.

      Brodie laughed. “Better. And he’s younger than me. You’ll like him.”

      A female assistant, tall and fit-looking, her skin the light golden-brown of manuka honey, was suppressing a grin of her own as she left off arranging a display of snorkels and face masks and approached Sienna. “Can I help you?”

      “I’m waiting for Brodie,” Sienna told her.

      The assistant let the grin surface, her gaze sliding to her boss. “You might be waiting for a while.”

      Apparently she’d been mistaken for one of his fan club. Sienna said crisply, “I’m the archaeologist for Pacific Treasure Salvors.”

      At the sound of her voice Brodie had looked up. He motioned the assistant to him and said, “Take over here please, Jen.” Then, excusing himself from the girls whose wistful looks followed him across the shop floor, he invited Sienna. “Come with me.”

      He led her into a roomy storeroom-cum-office, where he picked up a bulky jacket-type buoyancy compensator hung with all the necessary accoutrements. “I picked this out for you, a new model that’s tested well. It excludes sand, a plus when you’re picking up stuff from the seafloor. Try it.”

      Standing behind her, he helped her into it, and then came round in front and adjusted the waist strap.

      She could see the faint gleam of incipient whiskers on his chin as he completed the task. He pointed out the various instruments integrated into the system. “In the water it’ll give you greater freedom of movement than older systems and fewer hoses to manage.” He stepped closer again. “There are just two nice big buttons to press for gaining neutral buoyancy.”

      Neutral buoyancy prevented a diver from sinking fast to the bottom or bobbing about on the surface; once achieved, it allowed full control of movement in the water.

      Brodie looked up from checking the fit and met her eyes. For a moment she was lost in the blue depths of his, only aware of how intense the color was, and then of the sudden flare that lit them before he gave her a slow grin, his eyebrows lifting slightly in teasing, hopeful inquiry.

      Hastily Sienna looked away, a pulse beating unevenly at her throat. Neutral buoyancy was what she needed, she thought—a way of controlling her feelings so that she neither sank once again into the dangerous depths of misdirected love nor floated aimlessly into a shallow affair.

      She touched the buttons he’d pointed out, experimenting, and Brodie stood by with his hands thrust into his pockets and a studiedly casual expression, watching her familiarize herself with the system.

      “What do you think?” he said.

      “I think it’s probably expensive.” She peered at a swing tag hanging from the front, confirming her assumption.

      “I’ll give you a twenty-five percent discount. I can provide you with something cheaper, but believe me, this will be worth having once we’re out there in the deep ocean.”

      “You’re the expert.” Twenty-five percent must be near cost price. “PTS is going to pay me very well for going on this trip and I’ll have some insurance money coming for the gear that was stolen from my car, so yes.” Although temporarily at least it would make a hole in her bank account. “And thanks for the discount.”

      Taking the jacket from her, he smiled. “You won’t regret it.”

      “Is that a promise?” she asked lightly. Lightly, she’d decided, was the only way to deal with this man.

      “I’ll bet on it.”

      “You’re the gambling man.” She recalled him offering to bet her that Camille and Rogan’s shining love would last. “I don’t do bets.”

      “Ah, yes. The cautious type,” he teased, his eyes laughing at her. “Well, that’s good—taking risks underwater can be fatal. Why are you looking at me like that?”

      “Like what?” Sienna wasn’t aware she’d been looking at him in any special way, except that the light in his eyes had a mesmerizing effect and she’d been caught by it, not thinking at all but unable to look away.

      “As if you don’t believe me.”

      What had they been talking about? Mentally she shook herself. Taking risks underwater, of course. Diving was always risky. Her instructors had made sure everyone knew the strict rules that governed the occupation, regularly hammering home the safety aspects. “You don’t strike me as the cautious type,” she told him. How did a gambling man cope with the necessary precautions?

      He said grimly, “I am, underwater. Guys who do stupid things in this business don’t live long.”

      Sienna went a little cold. “Have you ever done anything stupid?”

      “Coupla times,” he grudgingly admitted. “When I was young and thought I was superhuman. But not anymore. I figured my luck was about to run out.”

      “Is that when you decided to buy a shore business?”

      Brodie laughed. “No, that came later. The thing is,” he said, sobering, “the second time I damn near took Rogue with me. He put himself at