Her Passionate Protector

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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 risk to save my sorry butt. Kicked it later for me, and I don’t blame him. I swore I’d never put someone else in danger again just because I felt invincible. No one is. Remember that when you’re at the bottom of the sea.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” Sienna had some sympathy for him. In a way she’d experienced a similar situation, not physically but emotionally, finding herself disastrously out of her depth before she fully realized what had happened. But it wasn’t, she reminded herself, a matter of life and death. Just as Brodie had survived his moment of truth, she’d survived the gaping wound in her heart.

It hadn’t been easy, and it wasn’t her first such mistake, but she was determined it would be her last. She’d never again been quite so vulnerable. Nowadays she was in charge of her emotions, not allowing them to escape her control. Life was much more comfortable that way.

“Something the matter?” Brodie asked, startling her.

Her expression must have betrayed her. She thrust the unwelcome memory back into her subconscious where it belonged. “Nothing,” she said brightly. “I need all the other gear too. Wet suit, flippers, mask, dive computer…”

He helped her choose the rest of her equipment, and when they were both satisfied, she said, “How do you want me to pay for this? Is a credit card okay?”

“Sure, or leave it until we get back. I’ll deliver it all to the boat for you. Are you moving to the Sea-Rogue?”

“I think I’ll stay on at the Imperial until we leave tomorrow.” There wasn’t much privacy on board, and Camille and Rogan might need as much of it as they could get before the boat sailed. Since their Easter wedding, they’d only snatched weekends together while Camille finished the semester and Rogan made preparations for PTS’s project.

“Let me know when you want to park your car at my place,” Brodie offered. “When I’m not here I’ll be at the Sea-Rogue or my place.”

“Where do you live?”

“Five minutes’ walk. If you wait around until closing time—” he glanced at his watch “—which isn’t far off, I’ll show you. Why don’t you have dinner with me there? We could get to know each other a bit before we start the trip.”

Sienna knew it was important to get on with other members of the crew, but stalled, giving herself time to consider. “Can you cook?”

“Sure I can cook. Did you think I was offering so you’d cook dinner for me? You won’t have to lift a finger—and that’s a promise.”

She didn’t actually say yes, but somehow he took it for granted that she’d accepted, and half an hour later he was ushering her through a wicket gate and along a short path to a tiny cottage with a disproportionately large garage toward the rear.

A curve of corrugated iron hooded the veranda at the front of the cottage, giving it a sleepy look. Wide wooden steps creaked as Brodie led the way up them and opened a lead-light-paneled door flanked by long old-fashioned windows.

Inside, the board floors had been varnished to a soft sheen and dressed with rugs. The furniture was minimal but Brodie pointed her to a big, comfortable sofa—chosen, she assumed, to accommodate his large body when he wanted to sprawl on it and watch the small TV set that sat in a corner.

She guessed that someone had removed a wall, replacing it with a wide arch that defined areas of the roomy living space. Besides the sofa, there were two double-seaters, a low coffee table and the TV trolley, while bookshelves lined one wall. The kitchen was separated by a polished wooden counter doubling as a dining table, with two high-backed wicker chairs pushed under it on the sitting-room side.

“Drink?” Brodie offered, opening a cupboard. “Gin, beer, wine—white or red?”

Sienna settled for white wine and he poured two. After handing hers over, he plunked himself down in one of the two-seaters. Lounging back with his long legs spread in front of him, he inquired, “Do you like nasi goreng?”

“It’s a rice dish, isn’t it? I think so. I like rice.”

“Good.” He raised his glass. “To the Maiden’s Prayer and a more successful voyage for us than her last one.”

“I should hope so!” Sienna said, and tasted the wine—cool, fruity and with a pleasant zing to it.

He drank some of his wine and lowered the glass. “How long have you known Camille?”

“A couple of years, since I started at Rusden.” Longer than her husband had known her. “I hope Rogan appreciates her.”

“He does. Rogue’s a lucky man. She’s gorgeous.”

“She is beautiful.” Sienna didn’t have Camille’s spectacular looks, only she had never been short of men to take an interest. But she’d become wary of being too eager and open, of giving too much and receiving too little. She would never fall into that trap again.

“So are you,” Brodie said.

“Please, I don’t need any empty compliments.”

“The compliment,” he said, “was sincere. Clumsy,” he acknowledged with a wry grin, “but sincere.”

Sienna couldn’t help a small laugh at his chagrined expression.

He picked up his glass and said, “I’ll start the rice.”

“Can I help?”

“Nope. I told you, all you have to do is appreciate while I work.”

Not hard, she thought. Any female—and she was one—could hardly fail to appreciate a man as good-looking as Brodie, especially when he was cooking for her, with evident enjoyment and expertise. As a seduction technique it was probably almost fail-safe. Not that he seemed to have any such intention at the moment.

She moved to one of the wicker chairs and they talked about the planned voyage while he chopped and sautéed and added ingredients to the mixture simmering on the stove.

He refilled her glass and she began to feel pleasantly relaxed, resting her elbows on the counter in front of her while a tempting aroma filled the big room, and night began to darken the corners.

Brodie switched on lights in the kitchen, but behind her the room remained shadowed.

He handed her a fork and put two well-filled plates on the counter, then pulled out a stool from under it and sat down opposite her, offering red wine.

“I’ll stick to white,” she said, allowing him to refill her glass again. She’d be walking to the Imperial so wasn’t too bothered about drinking, but would make this the last glass. She didn’t want to go reeling back to the hotel. And besides, experience and the tug of reluctant attraction that Brodie engendered in her was a warning to take care not to let down her accustomed guard over her emotions.

The nasi goreng was fragrant, spicy and delicious, but she couldn’t quite finish the pile he’d heaped on her plate, pushing the remains away regretfully.

“You don’t like my cooking?” he growled.

“It’s wonderful, but just a bit too much for me.” She looked up and realized he’d been teasing.

“You didn’t do too badly,” he conceded.

He put crackers and a couple of cheeses on the counter, which she nibbled while he made coffee.

“Shall we sit over there?” he suggested when he’d poured it, indicating the darkened sitting room. “There’s a light switch by the door if you want to turn it on.”

Wondering if he’d noticed her slight hesitation, Sienna flicked the switch, then settled on one end of the big sofa.

Brodie took the other end. “We could watch some TV if you like,” he offered.

“I don’t mind, if you want to.”

“Not specially. Most of it’s pretty depressing.”

Brodie probably didn’t allow himself to be depressed often. He seemed like the kind of person who tackled life head-on and if something bothered him he’d do something about it, not sit around thinking how awful it was. The way Sienna tried to organize her own life. She didn’t want to sink into the kind of despair that had engulfed her mother after her father’s defection, which still dimmed her enjoyment of life and prevented her from moving forward. A long time ago Sienna and her brother had realized that they were little compensation for the loss of a husband.