The Reef by Nora Roberts Page A

and I’m cursing him, fighting to stay upright as he circles the boat. His eyes are about six inches out from his face and white. You know he can’t see more than three feet in front of him without his glasses. But he’s pointing out to sea and shouting all this pirate cant. ‘Avast, ahoy, shiver me timbers.’ ”
    Tate’s laughter turned heads. “He did not say ‘shiver me timbers.’ ”
    “Hell, he didn’t. He nearly capsized us doing a jig and singing ‘yo, ho, ho.’ ” The memory of it had a grin tugging at his mouth. “I almost had to knock him out to get the wheel away from him. ‘The ghost, Matthew. Blackbeard’s ghost. Don’t you see it?’ I told him he wasn’t going to be seeing anything either after I poked his eyes out. He tells me it’s there, right there, ten degrees off the forward bow. There’s not a damn thing there but a little mist. But to Buck, it was Blackbeard’s severed head, smoke curling from the beard. He claimed it was a sign, and if we dived there the next day, 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