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  He nods. “Sure.”

  “Boss?” she says, the phone in her hand still alive with a one-sided conversation.

  I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “That’s just Tack. He owns this place, not me. Sorry to interrupt you.”

  She stares blankly, shaking her head, her mouth dropping open a little, so I point at the phone in her hand and she looks down at it. Realization seems to dawn only slowly on her face, then she kind of jumps as if suddenly finding herself holding a piranha. “Oh my goodness...” She presses the phone to her ear, still staring at me. “Terri, I’ll call you back. I have to go.”

  The voice on the other end gets louder, so that I can almost pick out words. “What...thing...or someone...who, Ev...tell me!”

  “I have to go, Terri. How do I stop the call? Okay, you do it. Okay, bye, love you, bye.” She takes the phone away from her face and stares at the screen, mumbling to herself, “Is that it? Is there anything I have to do?” She looks up at me, red cresting the tops of her cheeks. “I’m not... I mean, I don’t really understand a lot of technology.”

  I’m trying to hide the grin that’s spreading over my face, but it’s pretty hard to do right now. I liked this girl already, in a way that’s never happened to me before, but she just gets better and better by the minute.

  Truth is, I’ve never really had a girlfriend in my life. Sure, when I was at school, I had my fair share of admirers. I guess a few of the women around here still look at me when I go by. But to tell you the truth, I’ve never really been that interested. I like women, don’t get me wrong, but I see people like Tacker making an effort to go on dates, and it just seems like it’s all unimportant.

  Or, it always did.

  Right now, I’m rethinking my priorities.

  “I’m James,” I tell her. “How’re you liking our little town?”

  “How did you...?”

  I laugh, unable to contain it. “If you came here as a child, there’s no way you’d go into Dockers Bar willingly because before Tack took over, this place was a dump. And everyone knows everyone in a town like this.” I consider for a moment, then decide to go with it, see if I can push her buttons. “Certainly, Dockers is no place for a lady.” She opens her mouth to protest, and I know I’ve got her, but I just go on. “And I know everyone around here. I know all the comings and goings. I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  Tacker puts a fresh mineral water on the bar in front of her, and she takes a gulp, then eyes me. “Well, mister...?”

  “No one calls me mister anything. It’s James.” I glare at Tacker.

  “All right, James. Your attitude stinks. You’re a dinosaur.” The red tinge on her cheeks rises more, and she averts her eyes so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with me. “There, I’ve said it.” She purses her lips, then adds, “Thank you for the drink.”

  I almost burst with laughter, loving the fact that she’s so indignant, loving the way she gives as good as she gets. I decide to push a bit further. “My attitude?”

  “Yes, your attitude. That ‘no place for a lady’ remark. Why should women be treated like precious little dolls that men have to protect? I suppose you don’t believe in women doctors or politicians or businessmen—” she catches herself on the end of the word “—businesspeople.”

  “Okay.” I grin and lift my drink to my mouth, take a sip, glad of the refreshing taste after a day out on the water. “I’m not really like that. If my mom knew that I just said those things to you, she’d knock me in the back of my head, I promise you. I had a hunch about how you’d react, and I wanted to push you. Truth is, Dockers Bar really was a dump up until Tacker took over the running of the place. Doesn’t matter one jot if you’re a lady, this was no place for anyone who didn’t want to wake up the next morning staring at the ceiling of a hospital ward.” I hold up my hands. “I promise, I’m not some provincial yokel about to tell you the sea’s no place for womenfolk. I know you’ve chartered Lance Pollack to take you out on the water—some sort of research, right?”

  She eyes me, and I almost catch a reluctant smirk, but it fades pretty quickly. “Yes, well, I don’t appreciate being made fun of.” She turns, and as she sets her legs on the ground, I can’t help but appreciate the acres of milky-white flesh, all the way from the tops of her white socks just poking out from under her lug boots to the tops of her thighs as they disappear under the tight pink shorts.

  I can’t believe she’s actually walking away from me right now. This no longer seems like any sort of joke. “I’m sorry, really. Please, sit with me. I promise I’m not really like that.”

  “Thank you for the drink,” she says again, unnecessarily. And with that, she’s gone.

  Chapter 3 – Everly

  I will not let this happen again. Jeepers, what is wrong with me? Some guy who smells like he’s just slept in a barrel of eels starts talking to me in a bar, and I’m suddenly all gooey inside... This is not me. It shouldn’t be me.

  Okay, okay, he doesn’t smell like eels. He smells like tropical islands and beach sex.

  Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt.

  What the absolute funk is wrong with me right now?

  As I strip off my clothes, I realize it’s beyond too late for my panties to be saved. I have no idea what I’m going to wear under my shorts tomorrow when we head out into the bay. I test the shower temperature with the back of my hand and pull it back quickly, the water still too hot. Reaching for the dial, I turn it just a fraction toward the cold side. This bed-and-breakfast could have been built by Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone, it’s so poorly kitted out. The shower seems to have only two settings—too hot and too cold. Was this really the best the university could find for me?

  An image of James pushing me up against the wall of the shower pops into my head, and I almost lose my balance.

  Ugh, darned hormones. That’s all it is. It’s a chemical reaction to a stressful situation—that one being Terri’s fault—followed by that man’s totally obvious and completely unappealing flirtation.

  That’s. All.

  I strip off my tank top and drop it unceremoniously on the floor, then test the water again. Satisfied, I step into the shower and start to wash myself off.

  James pushes me up against the wall inside Dockers Bar, the room hot, sweaty, a scent of sweet rum mixing with the sharp odor of salt water. His body is heavy, firm, hard muscle and soft flesh. I can feel his cock pressing between my legs.

  “On your knees,” he grunts. “Down.”

  My stomach flutters at the words, and I sink down. I’m dressed in a black bra and tiny string thong, suspenders, fishnet stockings, high heels. As I drop to my knees, my hands clasping his legs, I feel the butt plug press inside me.

  “Elbows on the floor. Ass in the air. Do it now.”

  I obey without question, raising my ass and dropping my face, kissing his bare ankles, feet, toes.

  Whack.

  I gasp at the sting of impact as his palm slaps my bare buttock, sure it will leave a mark. His mark on me. For some reason, I want it. I want the red welts as evidence of his love.

  Love.

  Pain is love.

  Pain is love. What does that mean?

  I battle with the duvet, pushing it off of my body with my left hand, sweat plastering the cheap polyester to my bare skin. My right hand is between my legs, sticky, wet with juices as my fingers work themselves inside my pussy...vagina, I remind myself of the scientific term. It’s a vagina. I’ve known that since I was twelve.

  Reminding myself of the technical word doesn’t stop what’s going on.

  My fingers delve deeper, my eyes closing, my back arching. I reach a hand over my chest and feel my nipples hard against my palm.

  “Ohhh,” I cry out, unable to contain myself, not caring who might be in the room next door. The bedsprings creak with my movements, my head thrown back against the headboard. “Mmmm. Fuck.” I try to stop the swear word, but it’s already out. Biting my lip gently, I repeat
it. “Fuck.” My voice is a whisper, hoarse and wavering, but I laugh at myself with it.

  When I orgasm, his face comes back into my mind. Why him? Why James?

  It doesn’t make sense, but I’m too far gone to consider it for long, my mind spasming along with my body, shooting white lights into my eyes and my thoughts. I think I shout out his name, but it might not be real. I’m not sure what’s real. I’ve had orgasms before but never anything like this. For a moment, as I calm down, I wonder if I might have died because everything feels too vivid: the dawn breaking outside the window is too bright, too gold; the bed is too lumpy and yet too soft; the sound of an owl is too loud, too close.

  Pain is love.

  I shake my head, trying to clear it of that ridiculous notion, of the ridiculous image of him naked. Anyway, I’ve never seen him naked. His cock—penis—is probably tiny, not the monster thing I saw in my mind’s eye.

  I can’t help the giggle that comes along with that thought.

  Glancing at the bedside clock, I see it’s approaching six a.m. I take a labored breath, still rocking from the orgasm that just shook my body, realizing immediately I won’t get back to sleep again now. I’m already too awake, already too pumped up. I lie in my own sweat for a moment or two longer, then climb out of the bed, shivering in the early morning chill.

  After I’ve showered away the memory of my fantasy, I root through my bag for a pair of jogging pants, pulling them on with nothing underneath—going commando, as Terri would unsubtly put it—because I haven’t had a chance to go out and buy more underwear. A tight sports top and running shoes, and I head out of my room for a morning jog.

  I love to run in the early mornings. When I first arrived at Texas A&M, I would run for forty minutes every morning, when the only other creatures up and about were the sparrows and flying insects. The cooler air and a distinct feeling that this is natural, that I’m fully and completely a part of the world around me, somehow work together to make me feel ready for the day ahead.

  As I run through Port Hope, I pass occasional modern houses of glass and brick tucked discreetly between ramshackle wood and stone cottages and shacks, neatly tended gardens alongside weed and scrub yards. It almost seems a shame the real world is starting to encroach on this little backwater that must have been sheltered from view for so long. I know from my prep work for this assignment that a new retirement village has opened up in the center of town, with another granted planning permission for a spot on the cliffs. Developers have finally started to notice the potential here, which can be both a blessing and a curse.

  I start to realize slowly, that I’m being followed. A sleek black Cadillac has been keeping gentle pace with me as I turned down one street, then the next, making gradual progress toward the harbor area where I’ll circle back around to my bed-and-breakfast. At first, I didn’t realize it was there, the engine rumbling so quietly beneath the sound of my own breathing, but now it’s obvious that whoever is inside is coming after me personally. Although I’m out in the open and should be able to get someone’s attention if I need help, it begins to make me feel vulnerable, as if whoever it is might be ready to do me harm.

  Slowing my pace, I let the car catch up, but it stays just a step behind. Annoyed, I stop running, turning back toward them, ready to shout if I need to.

  “Miss Mantel.” A head leans out of the passenger window, a bald head with gray eyes and a short beard and moustache combination. “Miss Everly Mantel? I wonder if I might have a word?”

  “It’s Doctor. Dr. Mantel. Who are you?”

  “I’m an acquaintance of your father.” He smiles, but there’s something of the wolf about it: all sharp teeth and piercing eyes.

  The car has stopped moving now, so I take a step closer, still wary. “What’s this about? Has something happened?”

  “No, miss, your father is very well. I spoke to him yesterday.”

  “Then what’s this about?”

  “Would you get into the car, please? Then we can talk properly.”

  “No.” I shake my head. There’s no way at all I’m getting into a car with a strange man. Especially not this man. My hackles have been well and truly raised; there’s an air of the predator about him, and my subconscious doesn’t like it one bit. “If you have something to say, you can say it here.”

  He sighs. “Very well. I’ve been hired by a company called Trenton Investments. I believe you’re familiar with them?”

  Trenton Investments. What on earth does this have to do with my father? My research is my own business, not his.

  “I’ve heard of them,” I say flatly, folding my arms over my chest. The early morning sunlight is warming the air, but I feel distinctly chilled.

  “I would have hoped you had—since you’re trying to put them out of business.”

  “If you’re only here to make idle chitchat, I suggest you speak to my head of department at A&M. I’m just a researcher.”

  “Oh, come now, Miss Mantel, you do yourself a disservice. This little project was suggested by you, worked on by you alone, and now you’re heading the field research, initially on your own. All the university did was hand over the money to fund it.” He shakes his head. “But I think we got off on the wrong foot. Trenton is extremely interested in what you’re doing, understandably. They’re keen to get the results of your research, which they’re confident will confirm the results our team of scientists has already presented to the necessary authorities.” He emphasizes “team of scientists,” somehow making it sound like a threat, like I’m just one little girl. And I have to admit that it scares me.

  But I’m not about to let my experience be called into question. “Look, whatever your name is, you say that you know my father, yet this has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him, and you know it. The university funded my research here because they believe in what I’m doing, and unlike Trenton’s team of scientists, I’m a completely impartial observer.”

  “Miss Mantel—Everly—I, myself, and Trenton Investments as a whole, fully believe in you and your research. And that’s why I’ve been authorized to offer you a research grant of five million dollars to...assist with what you’re doing. Think about the sort of equipment that money could buy for the university. Think about how it might affect your chances of getting that fellowship. I know your father will be very proud to see you making a name for yourself.”

  “Five million dollars?” It’s a large enough sum that it shocks my system, making my arguments evaporate.

  “Five million,” he confirms, nodding his head.

  “If my research validates that already done by Trenton’s scientists, I suppose?”

  “Not at all. I have a check right here. You can start spending that money today.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest. That kind of money would make a huge difference to what I’m doing. It would mean I could hire an assistant, buy equipment that would lend weight to my results. But it would call those results into question. If I take that money, then a good lawyer could make my evidence look biased. “No, thank you. I’ll manage.”

  I turn away and start stretching my calf muscles, my heart still bouncing around inside me. I’m hoping to hear the car leave before I start jogging again, intending to head straight back to the bed-and-breakfast. Suddenly, I’m no longer interested in my run.

  “You disappoint me, Miss Mantel. I’ve always found your father to be much more pragmatic when it comes to business. I had hoped some of that acumen might have rubbed off on his daughter.” I hear the sound of paper tearing and turn to see him ripping up a check, throwing the pieces to the wind. I get that it’s being done for effect, but the littering still annoys me. People have no respect for their environment. “I do hope you’ll be very careful while you’re here in Port Hope, especially when you’re out diving. Remember what it is that you’re dealing with.”

  The car starts to move off, but he keeps his eyes on me, looking me up and down lasciviously as he moves by.

&nbs
p; “Sharks, Miss Mantel. They’re very dangerous, especially when you cross them.”

  Chapter 4 – James

  I can’t believe she was so offended.

  Seriously, it was just a joke. This is a backwater town of ancient fishermen; I just thought it would be fun to push her buttons. After all, she’s a city girl and an academic. I thought she’d enjoy the quaintness of a good, old-fashioned misogynist sea captain. Seems I was wrong, and she didn’t even give me a chance to make up for it.

  I guess that’s why I’m still single. Me and the opposite sex, we just don’t mix.

  I’ve already been to see my mom this morning. She still lives in the house where I grew up, which I managed to keep up payments for even in the early lean years after my dad passed away. Nowadays it’s all hers, lock, stock, and barrel, but there were times when it looked like it might be repossessed. She doesn’t walk anymore, the atrophy of her leg muscles is something no doctor has been able to fix, but I’m hoping that might change soon. There’s a surgeon in Texas whom I’ve been in touch with, and he’s confident he can make her legs work again. It will be expensive, but it will be worth it.

  The boats in the harbor are quiet this time of the morning, the sea as flat and still as bathwater. Gentle slurping is the only sound as they rock gently back and forth, along with the occasional call of a gull overhead.

  I love it when the world is this quiet. It only happens at this time of the day, before anyone else is ready to go about their business. I love to stand here on the dockside and watch the horizon, watch the sun rise, waiting for the time to come for me to go out on the water.

  As I watch, a few fishermen—and women—start to arrive, readying their boats, big and small. Some of them have crews, some of them do everything by themselves. I know every face among them, and I’ve taken each one under my wing at some point in their lives, even those who are older than me.

  Not that I’m old, although it feels that way sometimes, what with the way the new sailors look up to me and all. I’ll be thirty-five in a few months’ time, but I know these waters, and I know how to fish them.