He held her hips and kissed his way back, whispering her name and senseless words until he grabbed the condom. He tried to bite it, tearing ineffectually, his expression dark and consumed.

“Let me,” she offered, taking it from him to put it on, stroking him until he was completely swollen and stiff. “Please.”

He eased inside her, filling her, huge and solid and wholly masculine. All the way in… almost all the way out. Slowly at first, then faster, steadier and harder.

With each thrust, each pulse, each deep connection, he lost more and more control. Her senses smashed together. The sight of his face about to come, his eyes closed, ecstasy on his features. The smell of sex, mixed with the erotic panting of their shallow, excited breaths. The taste of his kiss, the feel of his body.

And finally, he came with so much force it overwhelmed her, driving into her with relentless, pounding, full-body strokes accompanied by a long groan of gratification.

Then all was quiet. Still. Sweltering. Sweet. The only thing moving was the insane beat of their hearts.

“You were right,” she whispered in his ear. “I was playing with fire.”

He turned, his eyes dark. “I tried to warn you.”

She just smiled. “That’s not what you were warning me about. You think I’m going to fall for you and you’re not the man for me.”

“I’m not.”

She stroked his hair, his cheek, his lips. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

“Because your judgment is skewed. You think I’m something that I’m not.”

She snuggled in closer, loving the scent of him, the feel of his rock-hard body, the warmth of his skin. “You just don’t know yourself that well.”

“That, my dear, is where you’re wrong.”

The way he said it sent a chill up her spine. “A man in your job, with your background? How bad can you be?”

“Bad.”

Lizzie sighed into his neck, the sound of satisfaction and resignation. He had to tell her the truth soon. After what they’d just done, he couldn’t let her find out what he was doing by accident.

He’d tell her before the sun came up, before they got back on the Gold Digger. Before she uttered another mistaken syllable about him.

“Is that your phone?”

He rolled over as his phone vibrated, reaching for it next to the ankle holster, gun, and jeans. He didn’t have to check the ID; the tone told him it was his boss. “Hey, Luce.”

“Where are you?”

“Floating around the Atlantic looking for the missing Gold Digger.”

“It’s not missing anymore. It’s in Port St. Lucie, under Coast Guard investigation, as is every single person on board.”

“What? Why?”

“Standard procedure when there’s a death connected to a vessel at sea.”

A death? He moved away from Lizzie’s warm body. “What happened?”

“One of the divers, Alita Holloway, died during a dive. When the captain called in the death to the Coast Guard, they had him bring the vessel into port immediately to pronounce her. The FBI has already been notified.”

“What happened to her?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning through the air compressor.”

“That was no accident. The same thing happened to me. Why are we just finding this out now?”

Lizzie sat up, curious.

“No one called Judd Paxton until a half hour ago. They were too concerned with calling the Coast Guard command center and following regs.”

“Was Flynn Paxton on board?”

“He arrived an hour before the accident.”

Con blew out a disgusted breath. Of course. Flynn thought Alita stole the medallion and he killed her. No wonder he’d ditched them on the mainland.

“We’ll go to the investigation now,” he said. “We have critical information and I can tell you…” He looked at Lizzie, hesitating to say Judd Paxton’s name. “The client isn’t going to like it.”

“Why not?”

“Because Flynn Paxton is stealing the treasures as they’re brought up and selling them on the black market. We caught him red-handed. More important, Alita Holloway was not only his lover, but she was also in on the take. And he thinks she betrayed him with the medallion that I recovered a few hours ago. We’ve got motive and opportunity, and I’m sure he had the means to take the air-intake filters off the compressor.”

Lizzie gasped softly, but he ignored it.

“You need to give every bit of this to the Coast Guard and FBI.”

“Will do. Right now. When are you going to tell our client?”

“We both are,” she said. “I’ll fly in for a meeting down there tomorrow.”

He unconsciously closed his fingers around Lizzie’s hand, her skin still warm from the full-body rush he’d given her.

“Once you do that,” Lucy continued, “this assignment is complete. The dive is over. Judd is prepared to file an official claim with the state, and initiate a standard search and recovery of El Falcone at the start of the next diving season.”

Con threaded his fingers through Lizzie’s and gave her a long look. “Anything else, Luce?”

“You will return any treasure you’ve recovered and helped to hide. It rightfully belongs to our client.” There was no arguing with that voice. “After the meeting, we’ll discuss your next assignment as a Bullet Catcher.”

He didn’t answer, still holding Lizzie’s hand and gaze. He lifted their hands and pressed his fingertips to her cheeks, getting a warm, if slightly confused, smile from her.

His heart cracked a little. He’d tried to warn her… but not very hard.

“You do want to continue working for the Bullet Catchers, don’t you, Con?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, holding Lizzie’s gaze as he placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“Then explain to her who you are, what you’ve been doing, and get the scepter and diamond back as you planned to from the beginning. That shouldn’t be too difficult, right?”

“Not at all.”

“And Con?”

“Yes?”

“Excellent work on this assignment. You’ve got all the right stuff.”

“Thanks, Luce.” He hung up, felt a gentle squeeze on his hand, and closed his eyes. That touch was the last act or word of affection he’d ever get from Lizzie Dare.

Because she was about to find out that on top of everything else, he was a liar, a traitor, a user, and, of course, a thief.

He’d tried to warn her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WHOEVER WAS ON the phone and whatever she’d said to Con, everything had changed. His expression, his body language-the whole aura of pleasure had evaporated from the tiny cuddy.

And she’d picked up enough of the conversation to know it was bad, bad news.

“Just tell me,” she said, seeing the pain on his face. “I can handle it.”

He closed his hand tighter over hers. “Alita is dead.”

Lizzie tried to suck in a breath. “What?”

“Carbon monoxide poisoning on her dive this afternoon. The Coast Guard ordered the vessel into port to investigate the diving death, and they’re down in St. Lucie. The FBI’s been called in. And, yes, it happened an hour after that little weasel got back.”

“Flynn killed her. He thinks she gave the medallion to you.”

“That’d be my guess.”

A shock wave rolled over her.

To investigate the diving death.

Those words were all too familiar.

“We have to get down to the port to talk to the investigators and tell them everything, including what happened on our night dive,” Con said.

She nodded, her head finally clearing. “Who called you?”

He hesitated just one second too long. “My boss.”

“Your boss.” She waited for an explanation that didn’t come. “From… where? Aren’t you going to tell me? Even now?”

He said nothing, grabbing her underwear and shirt and handing them to her. “We have to go. Now.”

She took the items, but didn’t move. “Con? Tell me.”

“Lizzie, a woman is dead. We have a lot of information that could help make sure that the right-”