She looked up from the liquid in her glass and stared directly at him. “Yes. Does that make me shallow?”
He shrugged. “Most people are motivated by monetary gain. Who wouldn’t want to be rich?” He looked around him. “It buys a lot.”
She grinned. “Does it buy happiness, as people often say?”
“Are you needing to buy some happiness, Isabelle?”
Her smile died. “Are you also a psychologist, Dalton?”
“Hardly. I just know what money can and can’t buy.”
“Easily stated from one who already has it. Should I feel sorry for the misunderstood billionaire now?”
He snorted. “I hardly think so. Should I feel sorry for the penniless archaeologist?”
She tilted her glass in his direction. “Touche.”
“Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.”
“And some things we get that we would have never asked for.”
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“You won’t find a mystery where I’m concerned, Dalton. What you see is what you get, and I’m perfectly satisfied with my life.”
“Are you?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And if I get rich doing it, even better. If I don’t, it’s nothing I’m not already used to. It’s always about the adventure. The prize is simply a bonus at the end.” She pushed back from the table. “I’d love a tour of the yacht.”
He stood, realizing that was all he was going to get from her, at least for now, which left him with more questions than answers. But he knew better than to push. “I’d be happy to show you around.”
The yacht was multilevel. The top deck contained his suite with a private office, as well as a VIP suite where he’d had Isabelle’s things taken. He liked that their rooms were adjoining. It would give him an opportunity to lurk nearby, see if she made any calls or contact with anyone else.
Their cabins were obscenely spacious, with king-size beds, plasma TV’s, Jacuzzi tubs, and marble vanities.
“Wow. I can’t believe how big these rooms are,” Isabelle said when he showed her to her room.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.”
“Fifteen people would be comfortable in here.”
He laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you below.”
Belowdecks were the hands’ quarters, the galley, and the engine room, as well as storage and equipment. All the action was on the top deck, but he wanted Isabelle to know where everything was located so she’d feel comfortable, like a partner in this venture.
He wanted her to trust him.
They moved back to the top deck, and Dalton led her to her room. “I’ll give you some time to unpack. Maybe we can meet for a drink later and go over the plan for tomorrow morning? I’d like to get an early start on the dive.”
“Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”
She stepped inside and closed the door. Dalton went to his room and moved to the monitor, hesitating for a second. He was no voyeur, but he had to keep tabs on Isabelle’s activities. Setting up her room with audio and video surveillance didn’t sit well with him, but he’d had no choice. If she made contact with anyone, if she exhibited any signs of demon behavior, he had to know. Which meant he had to watch.
She didn’t unpack right away, just wandered around the room, touching things. Rather lovingly, as a matter of fact, using just her fingertips. She traced each piece of furniture, each surface of the room, as if she were in awe of every object. Then she went to the French doors and opened them, breathing in the sea air. She leaned against the door and stared out to sea for about five minutes, not moving at all.
Dalton stopped breathing, mesmerized by the picture she presented. He zoomed in on her, unable to resist seeing her up close.
Maybe he was a voyeur after all.
The setting sun bathed her face, casting her features in a dusky orange glow. Her hair was down, cascading in soft waves over her bare shoulders. Her skin looked like luminescent pearls, making him want to reach out and smooth his hand down the curve of her arm.
When she breathed deeply, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her dress, outlining their fullness. He flexed his fingers, wanting to touch, to slide his thumb over her nipples, then reach for the straps at her shoulders and draw them down to bare her.
His cock tightened, and he closed his eyes, visualizing himself stepping into the room, into the doorway before her. He’d brush her hair away from her shoulder, press his lips there, then straighten and meet her gaze.
She’d nod, and he’d lean in, bracing his hand against the doorway next to her head. Her lips would part, an invitation to take what she offered.
And he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. .
He pushed back, stunned at the trail of his thoughts.
