The Darkest Touch

CHAPTER FIVE

Heart pounding in excitement, Isabelle tried for nonchalance, but failed. She couldn’t help but gape as the launch took her out to Dalton’s yacht.

It was shiny, sleek, and beautiful, and she couldn’t wait to climb on board. She had a feeling her entire life was about to change.

She’d gotten his portfolio, read it through, and made a few phone calls for verification. It hadn’t taken her long after that to pack up her things and check out of the cheap hotel room. She’d practically sprinted down to the dock.

Okay, so she’d taken a shower first, changed clothes and made sure she looked decent. After all, she had a benefactor to impress. A stinking rich benefactor. If she played her cards right, all her dreams might soon come true.

The launch came up next to the yacht and she was helped aboard by a crew member who held out his hand and assisted her up the ladder.

Wow. Polished, gleaming deck, cushioned seating and lounge chairs, a bar, even a hot tub. Fancy stuff. Amazing the things money could buy.

“Mr. Gabriel will be right with you, ma’am. I’ll take your luggage to one of the cabins below,” the deckhand said with a short nod of his head.

“Thank you.”

She wandered around, running her hand over the railing and staring out to sea. Calm, blue waters, and underneath was the possibility of a lifetime. Butterflies flitted in her stomach, anticipation driving away the hurt and anger she’d carried with her these past few months.

Don’t think about it. Do your job and just forget.

A soft breeze blew strands of hair against her cheek. She tucked them behind her ear, enjoying the warm afternoon sun against her face. This was so peaceful, the rocking motion of the boat lulling her into a sense of security she hadn’t felt in far too long.

She needed good things to happen in her life. A dark cloud had been hanging over her head, and she was determined to blow it away.

Success could provide the hard wind she needed to obliterate that cloud. And money could supply a lot of amnesia. Then she could forget the bad things.

“Welcome aboard.”

She turned at the sound of Dalton’s voice, once again struck by an instantaneous attraction to him. More than just his appearance, though that part of him was mighty fine. White linen pants, blue button-down silk shirt, they both looked great against his dark tan. But it was more than appearance. There was the sexiness of his voice, the slow and easy way he walked toward her, the way he smiled as if he was genuinely happy to see her. What woman wouldn’t be affected by all that in one delectable package?

He held out his hand and she slid hers against his palm, then fought a shudder.

A zap of electricity, a sudden rush of heat.

Wow. Now that was chemistry. But it was more than that. Something behind his eyes, an awareness, as if she knew him. . really knew him. An instant comfort. She rarely felt that with men. Men always made her uncomfortable. She used them, definitely, but she was never at ease with them.

Dalton felt. . easy.

“Thank you for agreeing to provide the funding for this venture,” she said.

“I’m glad my portfolio met with your approval.”

She snorted, then clamped her lips together, unable to believe she’d done that. “Sorry. It’s just that. . who wouldn’t find your portfolio acceptable? You are a billionaire, after all.”

He smiled, seemingly not insulted. “I guess you have a point. Should I feel used?”

“Probably.”

Now it was his turn to snort. “I like an honest woman. How about a drink?”

Honest? Now that was a quality she’d never attributed to herself, but Dalton didn’t have to know that. “I’d love one.”

He motioned to a table under a shaded overhang. “Bloody Marys, Dimitri. Doubles.”

When he slid into the chair next to hers, she said, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No. I just like a strong cocktail. I can make yours a single if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “Not necessary. I can handle my alcohol.”

“Good.” He swirled the celery around the dark red liquid, then lifted the glass to his lips and took a long swallow. Something about that action really hit her hot buttons. The color of the drink was compelling. She took a drink out of her own glass, enjoying the hot, spicy flavor.

“It’s really good.”

He nodded. “Dimitri is a great bartender.”

“So is this what you do with all your time? Sail around on your yacht?”

“Not exactly. I have many business interests that take me around the world.”

“Such as?”

“Financial interests. Investments. But my companies run well on their own and I can afford the best people. That leaves much of my time open for personal pursuits.”

“Again, such as?”

“Boating, obviously. Diving, of course. The acquisition of antiquities. Hunting.”

“Really? What do you hunt?”

He looked down and smiled into his glass. “Large game.”

“Sounds interesting, and dangerous.”

He looked up at her, his expression serious. “It can be deadly.”

Somehow she got the idea he was talking about something other than deer hunting. She’d like to know more.

But it wasn’t her business to know more about Dalton. All she had to do was use his boat and his money.

“Must be nice to be able to do whatever you want.”

“It is. Maybe if you find Atlantis, you’ll be in the same position.”

She clasped both hands around the chilled glass. “It’s a dream of mine to be that successful.”

“It means that much to you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Freedom. Prestige. The ability to hunt for treasure without worrying about how to fund it. Obviously you’ve never had to worry about money, so you don’t understand what it’s like not to have it.”

“You grew up poor?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly poor, but not rolling in the dough, either.”

“I couldn’t find any information on one Isabelle Smith, archaeologist. So maybe you should tell me about yourself.”

She figured he’d check her background, even wondered if he’d accept this venture without knowing much about her. “My mother was an archaeologist. I learned everything I know from her.”

“Was? Is she retired?”

“Dead.”

He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. She became ill suddenly and passed away.”

“Any siblings?”

She paused for a second, remembering the practiced speech. “None. My father died before I was born, so it was always just my mom and me. When my mother died, I inherited the family business, so to speak. Now I’m all alone.”

Dalton stared at Isabelle, trying to mask his disbelief. She’d just lied to him about having no other family. First using a fake last name, then denying that she had a sister.

“It must be tough to do this by yourself, with no support. No husband or boyfriend, I assume?”

Her lips lifted. “No. I don’t have time for that.”

“Everyone has time for that.”

Dimitri set plates of food down in front of them.

“Fresh seafood and pasta? How did you know those were my favorites?”

“They’re my favorites,” he said, picking up his fork.

He watched her eat. She wasn’t tentative, digging into her food with gusto. Good girl. A woman on the hunt needed energy, and he was glad she wasn’t hesitant about eating in front of him.

Her appetite extended beyond food, too. She had a hunger for knowledge and discovery that intrigued him. She didn’t seem shy, and she liked to talk. At least about archaeology. Throughout dinner she discussed her work at length, especially her research into the possibility of the existence of underwater temples in the sea, and what it could mean to find them. He sensed true enthusiasm in her words, though he wondered about her motivation.

He pushed his plate away and took a swallow of the Chardonnay Dimitri had provided during their meal. “And what will you do with your find should you, in fact, discover the underwater temples?”

Isabelle leaned back and picked up her wineglass, swirling the liquid around. “I’ll be famous.”

“And wealthy beyond your imaginings.”

“Yes.”

“Does that excite you?”

She looked up from the liquid in her glass and stared directly at him. “Yes. Does that make me shallow?”

He shrugged. “Most people are motivated by monetary gain. Who wouldn’t want to be rich?” He looked around him. “It buys a lot.”

She grinned. “Does it buy happiness, as people often say?”

“Are you needing to buy some happiness, Isabelle?”

Her smile died. “Are you also a psychologist, Dalton?”

“Hardly. I just know what money can and can’t buy.”

“Easily stated from one who already has it. Should I feel sorry for the misunderstood billionaire now?”

He snorted. “I hardly think so. Should I feel sorry for the penniless archaeologist?”

She tilted her glass in his direction. “Touché.”

“Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.”

“And some things we get that we would have never asked for.”

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“You won’t find a mystery where I’m concerned, Dalton. What you see is what you get, and I’m perfectly satisfied with my life.”

“Are you?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And if I get rich doing it, even better. If I don’t, it’s nothing I’m not already used to. It’s always about the adventure. The prize is simply a bonus at the end.” She pushed back from the table. “I’d love a tour of the yacht.”

He stood, realizing that was all he was going to get from her, at least for now, which left him with more questions than answers. But he knew better than to push. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

The yacht was multilevel. The top deck contained his suite with a private office, as well as a VIP suite where he’d had Isabelle’s things taken. He liked that their rooms were adjoining. It would give him an opportunity to lurk nearby, see if she made any calls or contact with anyone else.

Their cabins were obscenely spacious, with king-size beds, plasma TV’s, Jacuzzi tubs, and marble vanities.

“Wow. I can’t believe how big these rooms are,” Isabelle said when he showed her to her room.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.”

“Fifteen people would be comfortable in here.”

He laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you below.”

Belowdecks were the hands’ quarters, the galley, and the engine room, as well as storage and equipment. All the action was on the top deck, but he wanted Isabelle to know where everything was located so she’d feel comfortable, like a partner in this venture.

He wanted her to trust him.

They moved back to the top deck, and Dalton led her to her room. “I’ll give you some time to unpack. Maybe we can meet for a drink later and go over the plan for tomorrow morning? I’d like to get an early start on the dive.”

“Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She stepped inside and closed the door. Dalton went to his room and moved to the monitor, hesitating for a second. He was no voyeur, but he had to keep tabs on Isabelle’s activities. Setting up her room with audio and video surveillance didn’t sit well with him, but he’d had no choice. If she made contact with anyone, if she exhibited any signs of demon behavior, he had to know. Which meant he had to watch.

She didn’t unpack right away, just wandered around the room, touching things. Rather lovingly, as a matter of fact, using just her fingertips. She traced each piece of furniture, each surface of the room, as if she were in awe of every object. Then she went to the French doors and opened them, breathing in the sea air. She leaned against the door and stared out to sea for about five minutes, not moving at all.

Dalton stopped breathing, mesmerized by the picture she presented. He zoomed in on her, unable to resist seeing her up close.

Maybe he was a voyeur after all.

The setting sun bathed her face, casting her features in a dusky orange glow. Her hair was down, cascading in soft waves over her bare shoulders. Her skin looked like luminescent pearls, making him want to reach out and smooth his hand down the curve of her arm.

When she breathed deeply, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her dress, outlining their fullness. He flexed his fingers, wanting to touch, to slide his thumb over her nipples, then reach for the straps at her shoulders and draw them down to bare her.

His cock tightened, and he closed his eyes, visualizing himself stepping into the room, into the doorway before her. He’d brush her hair away from her shoulder, press his lips there, then straighten and meet her gaze.

She’d nod, and he’d lean in, bracing his hand against the doorway next to her head. Her lips would part, an invitation to take what she offered.

And he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. .

He pushed back, stunned at the trail of his thoughts.

He didn’t think about women. He thought about work. Always about his job. He was a demon hunter, and that was his life, his reason for existence. He wasn’t gifted with a normal life, a chance for relationships. . for love. That was for others, not for him.

He’d led an angelic life, a perfect existence. But he’d made one really bad mistake, and his penance had led him to find Lou and the Realm of Light. He’d done the only thing he could do-dedicated his life to fighting the Sons of Darkness and the demons under their control. Maybe someday he’d find forgiveness, get a second chance.

He knew better. He was never again going to be what he once was. And always, always, the darkness would live inside him.

Darkness and light, at war within. He looked at Isabelle, and sensed the same thing. Is that why he was so drawn to her, why he’d felt that instant rush when they touched?

He stood, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the effects of his daydream. He stared at the monitor. Isabelle was still framed there, staring off to sea.

Goddamn, he wanted.

No.

He knew why he was here. And it had never bothered him before. So what was it about Isabelle that struck him, made his gut tighten in unfamiliar ways?

He shook his head and forced himself to focus, leaning toward the monitor again. Isabelle pushed off from the doorway and moved to her luggage, finally unpacking her clothes and putting them away. She had another suitcase with a laptop, some loose papers, a binder, and a small box.

The box caught his eye right away, because it was padlocked. She picked it up, looked at it for a few minutes, then sat on the bed with it still in her hands.

“What have you got in there, Isabelle?” he whispered. “Show me.”

As if in response to his plea, she fished into her pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the box.

Inside was a book. Isabelle put the box to the side and opened the book, reverently turning pages until she found a section, reading, then lingering on that page. She caressed the yellowed pages, moving her hands over them with such love and tenderness, Dalton could feel it.

Too bad this video equipment didn’t have a feature allowing him to pan in close enough to read what was written in that book.

So far she hadn’t said a word, just continued to read. The strange thing was, she wasn’t turning pages. Whatever interested her was on a single page.

But then she sniffed. Again. And wiped her hand across her face.

She was crying.

What the hell was she reading that would move her to tears?

She tilted her head back, scrunched her face into a frown, then opened her eyes, letting him see that it wasn’t grief that had made her cry.

It was pure and utter fury.

“Damn you, Mother!”

She threw the book across the room. It hit the wall with a hard thunk. Isabelle stared at it for a few seconds, then headed into the bathroom.

Dalton sat back, stunned.

What the hell was in that book?