The Reef

we’d find Blackbeard’s treasure, the one everyone else figured was buried on land.”
    Tate paid for the groceries, Matthew hefted the bags. “And you went down the next morning,” she said, “because he asked you to.”
    “That and because if I hadn’t, I’d never have heard the end of it. We didn’t find a damn thing, but he sure got over turning fifty.”
     
    It was nearly dusk when they got back to the beach. Matthew stowed the bags and turned to see that Tate had rolled up her pants legs so she could stand in the surf.
    Light gilded her hair, her skin. Suddenly he was painfully reminded of his dream and how she had looked aglow in the water. How she had tasted.
    “It’s so beautiful here,” she murmured. “It’s like nothing else exists. How can there be anything wrong with the world when there are spots like this? When there are days like this?”
    She was sure he was unaware that this had been themost romantic day of her life. Such simple things like a flower for her hair, a hand to hold as she walked along the beach.
    “Maybe we shouldn’t leave here, ever.” With a laugh in her voice, she turned. “Maybe we should just stay and . . .”
    She trailed off, her throat closing at the look in his eyes. They were so dark, so intense, so suddenly focused on her. Only her.
    She didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, but walked to him. Her hands slid up his chest, linked behind his head. His eyes stayed on hers, a dozen frantic pulse beats, then he dragged her against him and flashed fire in her blood.
    Yes, she’d been kissed before. But she knew the difference between boy and man. It was a man who held her, drew from her. It was a man she wanted. Eager and quick, she pressed against him, racing her lips over his face in frenzied kisses until they found his again on a sob of pleasure.
    She was so slim, so willing, so avid to accept any demand. She flowed like water under each pass of his hands, and her mouth clung greedily to his. Each hum and whimper of desire that sounded in her throat cut through him, a blade of fire that ruptured new needs.
    “Tate.” His voice was rough, nearly desperate. “We can’t do this.”
    “We can. We are.” God, she couldn’t breathe. “Kiss me again. Hurry.”
    His mouth crushed down on hers. The taste of her seemed to explode inside him. Everything about it was painful, nearly agonizing, as heat would be after cold.
    “This is crazy,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m out of my mind.”
    “Me, too. Oh, I want you, Matthew. I want you.”
    And that struck him hard. He jerked back, gripped unsteady hands on her shoulders. “Listen, Tate . . . What the hell are you smiling at?”
    “You want me, too.” She lifted a hand, laid it gently against his cheek and almost unmanned him. “For a while I thought you didn’t. And it hurt because I want you somuch. I didn’t even like you at first, and wanted you anyway.”
    “Jesus.” To gain control of himself, he let his brow rest on hers. “I thought you said you were the careful one.”
    “Not about you.” Full of love and trust, she nuzzled into him. Heart to heart. “Never about you. When you kissed me the first time, I knew you were what I’d been waiting for.”
    He had no compass, no direction, but he knew it was essential to reverse course. “Tate, we have to take this slow. You’re not ready for what I’m thinking of. Believe me.”
    “You want to make love with me.” Her chin came up. Her eyes, all at once, were a woman’s, and just as mysterious. “I’m not a child, Matthew.”
    “Then I’m not ready. And I’m not willing to do something that would hurt your parents. They’ve been straight with me and Buck.”
    Pride, she thought. Pride, loyalty and integrity. Was it any wonder she loved him? Her lips curved. “All right. We’ll take it slow. But it’s between us, Matthew. What we decide, and what we want.” She leaned forward, touched her lips to his. “I can wait.”

C HAPTER 5
    S TORMS SWEPT IN and made diving impossible for the next two days. When the first wave of impatience passed, Tate settled down on the boat deck of the Adventure to clean and catalogue the pieces of the Santa Marguerite her father and Buck had brought up on the last dive.
    Rain drummed on the tarp stretched overhead. The islands had vanished in the mist, leaving only restless seas and angry skies. Their world had whittled down to water, and each other.
    In the deckhouse, a marathon poker