Wickedly Wonderful(21)

At her heels, Marcus saw an even less welcome sight—the ever-cheerful Fergus, trotting along behind her with his own equipment, grinning through the drizzle at something she’d just said. Marcus wasn’t an idiot; he recognized the stupidity of resenting the very person he himself had insisted she have join her. But apparently having Beka around did something to sabotage the rational part of his brain, because there was no denying that every time he saw her with Fergus, his fingers twitched just the slightest bit with the urge to shove the weedy redhead into the water.

Marcus wasn’t even sure they were a couple. He just knew that the two of them joked and laughed together in a way that was diametrically opposed to the constant arguments and head-butting standoffs that seemed to be the only way she and Marcus communicated. And he knew that it bothered him, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. It wasn’t as though he was at all interested in her. She lived to make his day a misery, and he couldn’t wait to be done with her.

Then she was, standing in front of him, bare feet planted firmly on the rough wood dock, a quizzical look on her face.

“I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee,” she said. “Good morning.”

Marcus shook his head. “It’s not, actually, in case you hadn’t noticed. The weather is miserable, and likely to get worse. Not a good day to be out on the water.”

Beka just stared at him with blue eyes as bright as the sky should have been. “So you’re not going out today?”

He snorted. “Oh, we’re going out, all right. It would take more than the possibility of a bad blow to get my father to give up a day of fishing.” He muttered under his breath, “Stubborn old jackass.” The man was going to get them all killed. You’d think he’d learn. Hell, you’d think Marcus would learn.

“Just because my da is insane doesn’t mean we all have to be. It’s not going to be safe to dive; I suggest you skip it today.” He pointed down the dock the way she and Fergus had just come. “Why don’t you go home and string some beads or something. Your imaginary treasure will wait for you.”

Beka narrowed her eyes, and Fergus stifled a laugh, turning it into an unconvincing cough.

“I don’t think so,” she said in an unruffled tone. “If it is safe enough for you to go out, then it is safe enough for me. The water’s much calmer under the surface anyway.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. Why did the woman always have to be so difficult when he was just trying to keep her safe? “Maybe it will be calmer for you, but what about poor Fergus here? He’ll be stuck in a tiny dinghy with no place to hide from the storm, if it comes. Surely you don’t want to put him in danger.”

To his surprise, Fergus gave a loud, barking laugh, sounding for all the world like one of the seals who often greeted the boat on its way out of the harbor. “Oh, don’t worry about me, lad. I’m not afraid of getting a little wet.”

Beka snickered, although Marcus didn’t see anything funny about the two of them risking their lives for some sunken treasure that almost certainly didn’t exist.

Fine. He’d tried being reasonable. Now he was just going to be himself. He hadn’t led dozens of men across a war-torn country just to be thwarted by a skinny blond surfer girl in cutoffs and a curve-hugging red tee shirt.

“Forget it,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and blocking their way onto the ship. “You’re not going out with us today and that’s final.”

“What’s final?” his da asked, appearing over his shoulder like the ghost of fishing trips past. The older man’s face was paler than ever, with a pasty green undertone that owed more to chemotherapy than it did to the choppy water of the harbor. “What the hell is the holdup? We were due to cast off five minutes ago.” Bushy white brows waggled aggressively in Beka’s direction. “I told you, girl. You slow us down, you can’t come.”

Beka beamed at the old curmudgeon, as unimpressed by his bluster as always. “Hey, don’t blame me, Mr. Dermott. I got here right on time.”

She tilted her head in Marcus’s direction. “Your son seems to think he gets to say who does and doesn’t get to ride on your boat.” She gave Marcus a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “Is that true?”

Oh, nicely played. Dirty pool, but nicely played. Marcus could feel the muscles in his neck tighten as the situation slid out of his control.

“No, he damned well does not get to say who comes on my boat,” Marcus Senior growled. “Get the hell out of the way and let the girl come aboard, Mark-boy. We’re burning daylight.”