Her Passionate Pirate. Neesa Hart

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.