Stolen Fury by Elisabeth Naughton Page A

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
    “You’re a piece of work,” she managed. “You seduced me, and then—”
    “Wait.” He held up a hand and straightened. “Who dragged who into her hotel room?”
    Anger pumped like hot lava through her veins. “Just give it back and I’ll be on my merry way.”
    “What makes you think I even have it? What ever ‘it’ is.”
    Panic slid through her. He wouldn’t have sold it already, would he? The moron probably didn’t even know what he’d taken from her.
    “Hand it over and I won’t press charges.”
    He pushed away from the railing and laughed, a smooth sound that rushed over her like a wave, warming her stomach in a way that should have made her sick.
    “You think that’s funny?”
    He ran the towel over the nape of his neck and tossed it on the helm seat. “I think you’re full of shit, querida. You ’r e not gonna go to the cops.”
    “What makes you think I haven’t already?”
    He climbed over the side of the boat and dropped onto the finger. “Two reasons. First, if you had, you wouldn’t be here with me now. Some burly cop with bad teeth would be reading me my rights.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Familiar scenario?”
    One dark eyebrow snapped up. “You could say that.”
    “And the second?”
    His expression hardened. “If we’re gonna get technical, that relief technically belongs to the Jamaican government. I know you never filed the necessary paperwork to excavate that cave.”
    Lisa’s stomach tightened. How long had he been watching her?
    “Hey, Mr. Sullivan!”
    Rafe’s gaze flicked over her shoulder. His face softened as he waved toward a group of teenagers climbing aboard a nearby yacht.
    It was all she could do not to tear into him right there and then.
    He waited until their laughter disappeared inside the massive forty-eight-foot powerboat three slips down before swinging his gaze back toward her. “We’re not going to do this here.”
    “You expect me to go somewhere with you?”
    Boredom ran across his face. “Look, you want the marble back or not?”
    He was suddenly going to give it to her? Just like that? Suspicion ran through her, mixed with relief that he was at least admitting he still had it. “Where is it?”
    He tugged keys out of his wet pocket. “Not here.” He cast her a tight look. “Take it or leave it, querida. You wanna see your goddess, you gotta trust me.” He stepped past her and headed for the end of the dock. “I know it’s a stretch.”
    Trust him? Was he serious?
    A pathetic laugh slipped from her lips, and she turned to look after him. “How do I know you’re not going to drug me again and this time, rape or murder me?”
    He turned. “If I’d wanted to do either, I already would have. You didn’t exactly put up a fight.”
    She drew in a calming breath. At her side, her fingers dug into her palms. The son of a bitch was right. She’d been primed and ready when she’d been in that hotel room, and if he’d told her he was a thief at that moment, she probably wouldn’t have cared. And that fact only infuriated her more.
    He headed for the end of the dock again. “Pick up the pace, Maxwell. I don’t have all day.”
    The bad-tempered mood settling over Rafe was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than a woman who didn’t want tohave anything to do with him. A woman who looked hotter in a pair of low-slung denim short pants and a tight-fitting tank top that accentuated her full, round breasts than most of the women parading around Key West did in their skimpy bikinis.
    Hell, he was a man. He noticed things like that. And she’d worn that outfit to tease him. He was sure of it.
    But did she have to wear those strappy beaded sandals that showed off her tiny feet and red—hot-red—toenails? He hadn’t pegged her for red. And damn, if that little surprise hadn’t triggered a flash in his brain back there, stripping off her clothing piece by piece to see what other