The Deeper the Passion.... Jennifer Lewis

of defense. “You could have lived comfortably on the ill-gotten gains of your ancestors, but instead you’re out there every day trawling the oceans for gold doubloons as if your life depended on it.”

      “I get bored easily.”

      Vicki’s stomach clenched. He’d grown bored with her. Eight magical months, then one day he was gone, off to pursue more elusive treasure and find a new damsel for his bed. “So you do. And what do you do with all the money you make?”

      “Some of it I spend on new toys, the rest I just keep lying around the house in sacks.” Mischief twinkled again in his eyes, which stayed firmly fixed on her. She fought a sudden urge to scan the place for burlap bags filled with Spanish silver. “I have expensive taste in boats, especially my newest.”

      “I’d like to see it.”

      “Her.” Mischief sparkled in his eyes again.

      Vicki tensed as visions of a hard-bodied blonde crept into her mind. “Oh, your boat is female.”

      “They all are.”

      “Why is that?”

      He shrugged. “Maybe because they drive us men crazy.” His gaze lingered on her face, and she felt her skin heat. “But we love them anyway.”

      The word love made her jump slightly. Not a real jump, a jolt deep inside her. Either way, it made her feel even more off kilter than she did already. How did Jack Drummond manage to fluster her like no other man?

      “So, this cup. It’s part of your family history and probably stowed in a dusty corner of this old pile.” She gestured at the stone walls around them. “Any idea where it is?”

      Jack tilted his head slightly as if thinking. “No idea at all.”

      “Can we search your family records?”

      “Pirates aren’t known for keeping detailed records. It’s harder to deny having stuff that’s written down.”

      “People don’t get as rich as your ancestors by being loosey-goosey with the books.” She lifted a thoughtful finger to her lips. “I bet there are some old leather-bound ledgers somewhere.”

      “Even if there were, why would they bother to catalog a worthless old cup piece? They probably threw it away.”

      “A family heirloom? I think not.” Though a shiver of apprehension did cool her. People threw away priceless things every day because they didn’t look like the stuff on department store shelves. “The Drummonds are far too proud of their auld Scottish ancestry for that. Look.” She pointed at the old stone kitchen fireplace. Above the big opening where cauldrons once boiled was a big crest, its paint faded and peeling from the worn wood.

      Jack smiled. “They did keep detailed records.” His dark gaze studied her face. “And I’ve been through them all with a fine-tooth comb. No mention of a cup.”

      “It’s not the entire cup. We found the stem up in New York. You’d likely have either the base or the drinking vessel, so it could have been described differently if someone wasn’t sure what it was. Why don’t we look together at the ledgers from the lifetime of the first person to own it, and see if anything crops up?”

      “Oh, there’s nothing of his. He didn’t build this house. Never even visited the island as far as we know. He drowned in a wreck with all his possessions.”

      Vicki frowned. “Then who founded this island and carried on the family line?”

      “His son. Swam ashore and took over the place. He was only fifteen at the time, but fought off anyone who came near with some muskets and shot he salvaged. Eventually he managed to rob and swindle enough people to rebuild the family fortune. I’m sure he was a sweet boy.”

      “I’ll bet.” She lifted a brow. Meanwhile her heart was sinking. “So if his father had the cup, it would have gone down in the shipwreck.”

      “Along with all his plundered booty and his latest child bride.”

      She sucked in a breath. Jack was playing with her. He’d known the item she came here to search for was long gone before she’d even climbed into his car. Then again, he was an undersea treasure hunter. “Did it happen far from here?”

      “Not far at all. The boy washed ashore here, clinging to a piece of spar. Can’t be more than a few miles.”

      “So let’s find it.”

      Again his rich, deep laugh filled the big kitchen. “Sure! We’ll just throw out a fishing line and reel it in. People have been looking for that boat for years.”

      Her ten-thousand-dollar share of the reward started to shrink in her mind. “And why haven’t they found it?”

      He shrugged. “Who knows?”

      “Come on. I know you must have looked for it.”

      “I did, early on. Truth is, these waters are filled with old wrecks, and I’ve always stumbled across something else to keep me busy. The combination of Spanish treasure fleets sailing regularly from Havana crossed with yearly hurricanes makes this area rich pickings for a treasure hunter.”

      “But you have better equipment now than you did then.” Excitement started to prickle her skin. “I bet there was treasure on that ship when it went down.”

      “No doubt.” Jack’s eyes rested on hers, humor sparkling in their depths. “I never thought I’d hear you begging to go on a treasure hunt with me.”

      “I’m not begging!”

      “Not yet, but if I don’t say yes, you will be.”

      His arrogance made her want to slap him. “I’m simply asking.”

      “No.” He turned and walked across the kitchen, then out through a door on the far side where he disappeared from view.

      Vicki stood staring after him for a moment, her mouth gaping open like a fish. Then she strode after him. She spotted him in a long, stone corridor. “What do you mean, no?”

      He turned. “I mean, no, I won’t take you out hunting for part of some crazy old cup. Though I’m damn sure curious about why you want it so bad.”

      “What if the legend is true, and the Drummonds won’t be happy again until the pieces of the cup are reunited?” She lifted a brow, trying to look nonchalant. It was a stretch.

      Jack raised his own brow in response. “From what I can tell, none of us is really suffering right now.”

      “And none of you is happily married, either.” Though his cousin Sinclair would be soon, largely thanks to her meddling.

      “Maybe that’s why we’re happy.” He shrugged and kept walking.

      “Were your parents happily married?” She hurried to keep up.

      “You know they weren’t. My mom took my dad to the cleaners in the divorce. She even got this island.”

      His mom was a famous Nicaraguan model, now on her fourth or fifth husband. “See? Sinclair’s parents weren’t happy, either. It’s his mom who’s the driving force behind the search for the cup. She doesn’t want her son to suffer like she did.”

      “How is old Sinclair? Still trimming his hedge funds into topiaries?”

      “Sinclair is a very nice man, I’ll have you know. And he’s just fallen in love, too.”

      “There goes your theory about the family curse.”

      “Get this. He and his newly beloved were secretly pining for each other for years—she’s his housekeeper—and it wasn’t until they started looking for the cup that they finally hooked up.” She didn’t mention her own fairy godmother-esque role in shoving them together.

      He reached a carved wooden door and rested one big