“Have you ever been married?” she asked.
He laughed. “Do I look like it?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What—that no woman would have me?”
“I’m sure plenty of women would have you—and probably regret it later,” Sienna replied.
Brodie grinned down at her, not insulted. “You could be right. I’m probably not great husband material. Have you ever been married?”
“No.” Why had she started this conversation? It was becoming too personal for her. Reaching the hotel, Sienna said hastily, “Thank you for seeing me back.” She swung away, stepping into the road as headlights suddenly swept over her. A car engine roared, and the vehicle she hadn’t seen or heard leapt out of the darkness.
Just in time, a hard hand grabbed her arm, hauling her back onto the grass and clamping her against an equally hard male body.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to another month of excitement and romance. Start your reading by letting Ruth Langan be your guide to DEVIL’S COVE in Cover-Up, the first title in her new miniseries set in a small town where secrets, scandal and seduction go hand in hand. The next three books will be coming out back to back, so be sure to catch every one of them.
Virginia Kantra tells a tale of Guilty Secrets as opposites Joe Reilly, a cynical reporter, and Nell Dolan, a softhearted do-gooder, can’t help but attract each other—with wonderfully romantic results. Jenna Mills will send Shock Waves through you as psychic Brenna Scott tries to convince federal prosecutor Ethan Carrington that he’s in danger. If she can’t get him to listen to her, his life—and her heart—will be lost.
Finish the month with a trip to the lands down under, Australia and New Zealand, as three of your favorite writers mix romance and suspense in equal—and irresistible—portions. Melissa James features another of her tough (and wonderful!) Nighthawk heroes in Dangerous Illusion, while Frances Housden's heroine has to face down the Shadows of the Past in order to find her happily-ever-after. Finally, get set for high-seas adventure as Sienna Rivers meets Her Passionate Protector in Laurey Bright’s latest.
Don’t miss a single one—and be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Her Passionate Protector
Laurey Bright
LAUREY BRIGHT
has held a number of different jobs but has never wanted to be anything but a writer. She lives in New Zealand, where she creates the stories of contemporary people in love that have won her a following all over the world. Visit her at her Web site, www.laureybright.com.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Prologue
A skeleton isn’t an unexpected thing to find under the sea near a sunken ship, and this wasn’t the first one Brodie Stanner had come upon. But when he saw the whitened rib cage rising from the sand and a small, gleaming fish shooting out of one of the shadowy eyeholes of the skull, he felt a chill of instant gooseflesh inside his wet suit. The sound of his breath, amplified by the air valve of his scuba tank, was suddenly louder.
Twenty minutes ago, with his diving buddy Rogan Broderick, he’d stepped from the deck of the Sea-Rogue into the warm embrace of the Pacific Ocean, emptied air from his buoyancy compensator, and began to glide down in the tropical water, the tank on his back becoming weightless. Some distance away the uneven wall of the reef shimmered with color—purple, blue, orange, green, red—corals and sponges and layered sea fans crowded together in fantastic shapes; seaweeds and giant anemones weaving gently in the current while iridescent jewel-like fish darted in and out among them. Rogan was at his side, a stream of tiny glittering air bubbles from his breathing apparatus expanding as they floated upward.
The water became almost opaque, then cleared. The divers swam up an incline toward the reef, skimming above white sand littered with dead pieces of coral, shells and less recognizable objects encrusted with marine growths. Huge crabs danced daintily over the seafloor, and a bright orange starfish stirred its arms, raising a small puff of sand.
A low curve arched from the seabed, and even before Rogan pointed, Brodie recognized part of a ship’s side, studded with barnacles and festooned with seaweed, the rest of the wreck covered in a blanket of soft sand.
They tried with gloved hands to sweep away some of the sand, perhaps identify the bow where there was a slim chance the ship’s name might still be visible, but in the time they could safely stay underwater they hadn’t made much progress before Rogan indicated they should surface.
The current was stronger than Brodie had realized, carrying them to the reef and some way along it. Then he’d seen the unmistakably human bones huddled by the coral wall.
The lower part of the skeleton was either buried in sand or missing, but the rib cage seemed intact, as was the skull with its huge, empty eye and nose-holes and macabre death-grin. When he paused and waved a hand over the pathetic remains, disturbing the sand, a gleam of white arm bone showed before the cloud of grains started settling again.
One last look, then he finned upward to join Rogan at the first decompression level on their buoy line. They made the remainder of the ascent, taking a couple more decompression stops on the way to clear nitrogen from their systems and prevent the dreaded bends—which could cripple or kill a diver—from attacking them when they surfaced.
Back on board, Brodie took his mouthpiece out and said, “Did you see the skeleton down there?”
Rogan lowered his air tank to the deck and fastened it into a storage clip. “The Maiden’s Prayer went down with all hands. We might find a few more skeletons, even after a hundred and fifty years.”
“It doesn’t look right.”
“Someone died.” Unzipping his wet suit, Rogan gave him a quizzical look. “That never looks right. Of course your skeleton might not be from our particular wreck. This reef would have caught quite a few ships over the centuries, specially before it was properly charted.”
The clippers carrying nineteenth-century miners and their newly acquired wealth from the Australian gold fields home to America hadn’t had modern navigation instruments and satellite systems to guide them. The Maiden’s Prayer wasn’t the only one reported sunk without a trace, taking a fortune in gold and goods to the bottom of the sea.
Brodie and Rogan finished mapping the site of the wreck as far as they could define it with their sonar and