Risky Business: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

On board, Liz went through a routine check on the tackle and line. As she looked over the big reels and massive rods, she wondered, with a little smirk, if the lawyer had ever done any big-game fishing. Probably wouldn’t know a tuna if it jumped up and bit his toe, she decided.

The decks were clean, the equipment organized, as she insisted. Luis had been with her the longest, but anyone who worked for Liz understood the hard and fast rule about giving the clients the efficiency they paid for.

The boat was small by serious sport fishing standards, but her clients rarely went away dissatisfied. She knew the waters all along the Yucatan Peninsula and the habits of the game that teemed below the surface. Her boat might not have sonar and fish finders and complicated equipment, but she determined to give Jonas Sharpe the ride of his life. She’d keep him so busy, strapped in a fighting chair, that he wouldn’t have time to bother her. By the time they docked again, his arms would ache, his back would hurt and the only thing he’d be interested in would be a hot bath and bed. And if he wasn’t a complete fool, she’d see to it that he had a trophy to take back to wherever he’d come from.

Just where was that? she wondered as she checked the gauges on the bridge. She’d never thought to ask Jerry. It hadn’t seemed important. Yet now she found herself wondering where Jonas came from, what kind of life he led there. Was he the type who frequented elegant restaurants with an equally elegant woman on his arm? Did he watch foreign films and play bridge? Or did he prefer noisy clubs and hot jazz? She hadn’t been able to find his slot as easily as she did with most people she met, so she wondered, perhaps too much. Not my business, she reminded herself and turned to call to Luis.

“I’ll take care of everything here. Go ahead and open the shop. The glass bottom should be ready to leave in half an hour.”

But he wasn’t listening. Standing on the deck, he stared back at the narrow dock. She saw him raise a shaky hand to cross himself. “Madre de Dios.”

“Luis?” She came down the short flight of stairs to join him. “What—”

Then she saw Jonas, a straw hat covering his head, sunglasses shading his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to shave, so that the light growth of beard gave him a lazy, vagrant look accented by a faded T-shirt and brief black trunks. He didn’t, she realized, look like a man who’d play bridge. Knowing what was going through Luis’s mind, Liz shook his arm and spoke quickly.

“It’s his brother, Luis. I told you they were twins.”

“Back from the dead,” Luis whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook off the shudder his words brought her. “His name is Jonas and he’s nothing like Jerry at all, really. You’ll see when you talk to him. You’re prompt, Mr. Sharpe,” she called out, hoping to jolt Luis out of his shock. “Need help coming aboard?”

“I can manage.” Hefting a small cooler, Jonas stepped lightly on deck. “The Expatriate.” He referred to the careful lettering on the side of the boat. “Is that what you are?”

“Apparently.” It was something she was neither proud nor ashamed of. “This is Luis—he works for me. You gave him a jolt just now.”

“Sorry.” Jonas glanced at the slim man hovering by Liz’s side. There was sweat beading on his lip. “You knew my brother?”

“We worked together,” Luis answered in his slow, precise English. “With the divers. Jerry, he liked best to take out the dive boat. I’ll cast off.” Giving Jonas a wide berth, Luis jumped onto the dock.

“I seem to affect everyone the same way,” Jonas observed. “How about you?” He turned dark, direct eyes to her. Though he no longer made her think of Jerry, he unnerved her just the same. “Still want to keep me at arm’s length?”

“We pride ourselves in being friendly to all our clients. You’ve hired the Expatriate for the day, Mr. Sharpe. Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward a deck chair before climbing the steps to the bridge and calling out to Luis. “Tell Miguel he gets paid only if he finishes out the day.” With a final wave to Luis, she started the engine, then cruised sedately toward the open sea.

The wind was calm, barely stirring the water. Liz could see the dark patches that meant reefs and kept the speed easy. Once they were in deeper water, she’d open it up a bit. By midday the sun would be stunningly hot. She wanted Jonas strapped in his chair and fighting two hundred pounds of fish by then.

“You handle a wheel as smoothly as you do a customer.”

A shadow of annoyance moved in her eyes, but she kept them straight ahead. “It’s my business. You’d be more comfortable on the deck in a chair, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Jonas. And I’m perfectly comfortable here.” He gave her a casual study as he stood beside her. She wore a fielder’s cap over her hair with white lettering promoting her shop. On her T-shirt, the same lettering was faded from the sun and frequent washings. He wondered, idly, what she wore under it. “How long have you had this boat?”

“Almost eight years. She’s sound.” Liz pushed the throttle forward. “The waters are warm, so you’ll find tuna, marlin, swordfish. Once we’re out you can start chumming.”

“Chumming?”

She sent him a quick look. So she’d been right—he didn’t know a line from a pole. “Bait the water,” she began. “I’ll keep the speed slow and you bait the water, attract the fish.”

“Seems like taking unfair advantage. Isn’t fishing supposed to be luck and skill?”

“For some people it’s a matter of whether they’ll eat or not.” She turned the wheel a fraction, scanning the water for unwary snorkelers. “For others, it’s a matter of another trophy for the wall.”

“I’m not interested in trophies.”

She shifted to face him. No, he wouldn’t be, she decided, not in trophies or in anything else without a purpose. “What are you interested in?”

“At the moment, you.” He put his hand over hers and let off the throttle. “I’m in no hurry.”

“You paid to fish.” She flexed her hand under his.

“I paid for your time,” he corrected.

He was close enough that she could see his eyes beyond the tinted lenses. They were steady, always steady, as if he knew he could afford to wait. The hand still over hers wasn’t smooth as she’d expected, but hard and worked. No, he wouldn’t play bridge, she thought again. Tennis, perhaps, or hand ball, or something else that took sweat and effort. For the first time in years she felt a quick thrill race through her—a thrill she’d been certain she was immune to. The wind tossed the hair back from her face as she studied him.

“Then you wasted your money.”

Her hand moved under his again. Strong, he thought, though her looks were fragile. Stubborn. He could judge that by the way the slightly pointed chin stayed up. But there was a look in her eyes that said I’ve been hurt, I won’t be hurt again. That alone was intriguing, but added to it was a quietly simmering sexuality that left him wondering how it was his brother hadn’t been her lover. Not, Jonas was sure, for lack of trying.

“If I’ve wasted my money, it won’t be the first time. But somehow I don’t think I have.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you.” Her hand jerked and pushed the throttle up again.

“Maybe not. Or maybe there’s something you know without realizing it. I’ve dealt in criminal law for over ten years. You’d be surprised how important small bits of information can be. Talk to me.” His hand tightened briefly on hers. “Please.”

She thought she’d hardened her heart, but she could feel herself weakening. Why was it she could haggle for hours over the price of scuba gear and could never refuse a softly spoken request? He was going to cause her nothing but trouble. Because she already knew it, she sighed.

“We’ll talk.” She cut the throttle so the boat would drift. “While you fish.” She managed to smile a bit as she stepped away. “No chum.”

With easy efficiency, Liz secured the butt of a rod into the socket attached to a chair. “For now, you sit and relax,” she told him. “Sometimes a fish is hot enough to take the hook without bait. If you get one, you strap yourself in and work.”

Jonas settled himself in the chair and tipped back his hat. “And you?”

“I go back to the wheel and keep the speed steady so we tire him out without losing him.” She gathered her hair in one hand and tossed it back. “There’re better spots than this, but I’m not wasting my gas when you don’t care whether you catch a fish or not.”

His lips twitched as he leaned back in the chair. “Sensible. I thought you would be.”

“Have to be.”

“Why did you come to Cozumel?” Jonas ignored the rod in front of him and took out a cigarette.

“You’ve been here for a few days,” she countered. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”

“Parts of your own country are beautiful. If you’ve been here ten years, you’d have been a child when you left the States.”

“No, I wasn’t a child.” Something in the way she said it had him watching her again, looking for the secret she held just beyond her eyes. “I came because it seemed like the right thing to do. It was the right thing. When I was a girl, my parents would come here almost every year. They love to dive.”

“You moved here with your parents?”

“No, I came alone.” This time her voice was flat. “You didn’t pay two hundred dollars to talk about me, Mr. Sharpe.”