The Reef

for remained buried under the greedy sea.
    “I’m sorry.” She came in quickly, her hair flying as she turned to close and lock the door. “I was sketching the ivory fan and lost track. It’s fantastic to realize something so delicate could survive untouched and perfect for all these years.”
    She stopped. He was staring at her in the way he sometimes did that made her feel awkward and terrifyingly transparent. What was in his mind? she wondered. How did he hide those emotions that drove him? It was like looking at a volcano and knowing that far beneath the surface, lava was boiling.
    “Are you angry? It’s only quarter past.”
    “No, I’m not angry.” Those eyes, with all the secretsglinting, held hers relentlessly. “Do you want some wine?”
    “You brought wine?” Suddenly nervous, she shook back her hair. “That’s nice.”
    “I filched it from LaRue. He picked up some fancy French kind when he went ashore with Marla the other day. It’s already opened.” Matthew picked up the bottle and poured two glasses.
    “Thanks.” She took the glass and wondered what to do next. Normally, they simply dived to the floor and tore off their clothes, as greedy as children unwrapping gifts. “There’s a storm brewing west of here. It could be trouble.”
    “It’s still early for hurricanes. Buck’s keeping his eye on it, though. Tell me about the fan LaRue brought up this afternoon.”
    “It’s probably worth two or three thousand. More to a serious collector.”
    He reached out to touch her hair. “Tate, tell me about the fan.”
    “Oh. Well.” Off balance, she wandered to the port window. “It’s ivory, sixteen spikes, carved in a swirl pattern that forms a rose in full bloom when it’s opened. I’d gauge it at mid-seventeenth century. It was already an heirloom when the Isabella went down.”
    He twined a lock of her hair around his finger, kept his eyes on hers. “Who owned it?”
    “I don’t know.” Sighing, she turned her cheek toward his hand. “I wondered if it might have belonged to a young bride. It would have been passed down to her. She might have held it on her wedding day, as something old. She’d never use it; it would be too precious to her. But now and again, she’d take it out of the box she kept in her dressing table. She’d open it, run her finger over the rose and think of how happy she’d been when she’d carried it down the aisle.”
    “Do women still do that?” Touched by the vision, he took her untouched wine, set it aside. “Something old, something new?”
    “I suppose they do.” Her head fell back as he skimmedhis lips along the line of her jaw. “If they want a traditional wedding. The once-in-a-lifetime white dress and train. The music, the flowers.”
    “Is that what you want?”
    “I don’t—” Her heart stuttered when his mouth cruised over hers. “I haven’t thought about it. Marriage isn’t a priority for me.” Pulse quickening, she skimmed her hands under his shirt to run them along his back. “God, I love your body. Make love with me, Matthew.” Greedily, and a little rough, she scraped her teeth over his throat. “Now. Right now.”
    If that was all there could be, he’d take it. He’d take her. But she wouldn’t forget, by God, she’d never forget it had been he who had stripped away every layer of that logic.
    In one fierce move, he wrapped her hair around his hand, used it to yank her head back. As she opened her mouth in surprise at the sudden ruthlessness, he plundered it.
    She made a sound in her throat, part protest, part arousal. Her hands came to his shoulders to pry herself free, but his darted up the baggy leg of her shorts. His fingers drove into her and shot her into a shocking and violent orgasm.
    Her legs buckled. He took no time for the niceties of a blanket this time, but dragged her to the floor. Even as she gasped for breath, he was on her. His hands and mouth were everywhere, tugging, tearing at her clothes to ravish the flesh beneath.
    She writhed beneath him, clawed, but not in defense. Some part of her mind realized that volcano had finally erupted. She churned in the dark, mindless pleasure as it poured its lethal heat over her. His mouth and tongue were on her, forcing her to accept a new and terrifying level of madness. As greedy as he, she arched against him, felt the hot spurt of her own jittery climax.
    “Now.” She wanted to scream it. Desperate, she fumbled for him. “Oh God, now.”
    But he