Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

a demanding god. Perfection or hell.”
    “So we’re back where we started from,” he said.
    “Not quite.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “These pearls were kept with the Black Trinity.”
    Archer went still. “You’re sure?”
    “As sure as I can be without knowing Len’s hiding place. But I can’t think he had more than one.”
    “For all his special pearls?”
    She nodded.
    “How many does he have?”
    “Rainbow pearls?”
    “Yes.”
    “Even after he ground up the less-than-perfect ones, there must have been at least a thousand left, plus the Black Trinity.”
    “A small hiding place, then. One that is within reach of a wheelchair and proof against professional searches and natural disasters like cyclones.”
    “I never thought of it that way, but . . . yes.”
    “That’s why you called me, Hannah. To think like Len.” His voice was cool and remote.
    She watched his long finger gently rolling a pearl back and forth, back and forth. A stark memory ripped through her: a gun barrel poking out of the wall, pointing at Archer and the table where money was stacked like poker chips in a deadly game. There had been no time for her to think, to reason, to plan. There had only been the certainty of his death and her scream tearing her throat as she threw herself at him and knocked him aside.
    Then the bullets thudding home, making him jerk against her as they lay tangled on the floor.
    Abruptly Hannah stood and combed back her damp hair with fingers that shook. She wouldn’t think of what had happened. She couldn’t or she would scream again. Somehow she had to force herself to be as calm as he was, to accept that murder was as much a part of life as safety.
    Yet when she looked at him, she ached with the emotions that were buried inside her, clawing to be free. His face was shadowed by black stubble and something much darker. His hands were big, hard, and very careful with the fragile pearls. His shoulders were straight despite the weariness that she had seen in his eyes. She wanted to go to him, touch him, kiss him, sink into him even as he sank into her, to forget everything but the heat and vitality of him; and she wanted it so much she could barely stand.
    And she feared wanting him. She feared showing vulnerability to a man as hard as Len had been.
    The sound Hannah made was small, but it brought Archer’s head up sharply. He saw the wet silk painted to her body, saw her tight nipples and soft mouth, her indigo eyes as wild as any storm.
    “Don’t think about it,” he said quietly. “It’s over. Everyone is safe.”
    She simply wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she would say that she wanted him. Then he would take her down to the floor and show her again the difference between making love and having sex. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to survive another lesson.
    Yet she needed him until she shook with it.
    He stood, went into the bedroom, and came back with a towel as big as a sofa. “You’re cold. Dry off and crawl into bed. Your body is still on Aussie time. You can’t tell whether you’re coming or going.”
    She tried to unwrap her arms and let go of herself, but it was too difficult. She simply shook her head instead.
    “Hannah.”
    The word was whispered against her temple. The heat of Archer’s breath made her tremble.
    “You’re shaking.” He pulled the towel around her and rubbed briskly. “You need a hot shower, warm clothes, and a long—”
    “You,” she interrupted. “I need you.”
    His hands paused. He looked at her eyes. They were wild and wary, hesitant and hungry, so beautiful his heart turned over. “Sex, Hannah?”
    She closed her eyes. “If that’s what you have, I’ll take it.”
    “What if I have more?”
    Tears slid from beneath her thick lashes. She wanted more. And she was terrified of it.
    “Never mind,” he whispered. “Never mind. It’s all right. Just sex.”
    Even with her eyes closed, she knew Archer was bending down to her mouth. She could feel the shift of his body, the heat of his breath, the sliding pressure of his lips over hers as she opened for him. The taste of him was sweet lightning. The need of him was thunder shaking her.
    She grabbed him and pulled him closer still. Her fingers raked down his jacket, only to be caught by holes in the cloth. She went still, remembering, reliving it all again.
    “Change your mind?” Archer asked, lifting his mouth from