Chapter One

Marilyn Monroe was wrong. Rubies were a girl's best friend. Hestia Stephanos ran her fingers lovingly over the heart shaped ruby surrounded by diamonds. Until a month ago, the necklace had been submerged in salt water for over three hundred and fifty years.

Spanish treasure never failed to turn her on.

Tia turned the pendant over. Etched into the gold backing she translated the words 'My Love' and the date, 1622. She thought for a moment, she had seen the necklace before, but couldn't remember where. A drawing! A painting! She wracked her brain trying to remember.

As the head of the Stephanos Historical Foundation--an organization set up by her grandmother Moira O'Shaughnessy Stephanos--she loved this part of her job, seeing the first major find of an excavation. But her second favorite was piecing together the mystery of how a priceless necklace ended up on the ocean floor. She turned to her library shelves and pulled out a half dozen art books. Beyond the shelves, snow gleamed on the windowsill. New York sparkled in winter. She loved it.

After perching thick, horn-rimmed glasses on her nose, she opened the first book, flipped through it and discarded it. The second and third book were perused and returned to the shelf. The sixth book, Royal Mistresses of Europe, fell open and Tia knew this was the correct one. She looked through each section, examining each plate. She slowed when she reached the section, Spanish Mistresses, and more carefully examined each page. The necklace was on page 238 draped about the elegant neck of 'The Mistress' to Philip IV of Spain. The woman reclined on a fur-lined settee, arms behind her neck, breasts thrust forward, and legs crossed. The woman had no name, just a satisfied smile on her lush lips. The necklace rested against her peach colored skin, the pendant dangled provocatively between her full, rosy-tipped breasts.

"Jackpot." Tia grinned, her heart racing. The necklace was one of the most important finds the Foundation had made in the last five years. The fact was only marred by one thing, she had to share credit with Shane O'Malley, the treasure hunter whose grant request had produced this rare find.

At the time, she had thought O'Malley incapable of finding his way around his own kitchen. He had not impressed her with his diligence or his need, but eight months ago she had been overruled by the Board of Directors, namely her grandmother Moira who had believed in his quest. Moira signed the check and promptly disappeared on her own quest, leaving Tia to deal with the impertinent Mr. O'Malley.

And finally, O'Malley had presented Tia with the gemological equivalent of a slam-dunk. If only he could go the distance and justify the money he'd weaseled out of the foundation.

Bending over the book, a silken blue-black hair slid along the line of her cheek. She pushed the hair back behind her ear and tugged at an earring. Cool black jet slid between her fingers. The earring matched the black jet necklace she wore about her neck, inherited from her rebellious grandmother whose collection of antique jewelry rivaled that of Wallis Warfield Simpson, Duchess of Windsor. But unlike Wally, Moira purchased her baubles herself. She had not had to earn them the old-fashioned way.

A knock on the door drew her from her concentration. Jack Bickford stood in the doorframe, balancing his crutches as he eased through the door. His navy Dockers were cut off at one knee to accommodate the snow white plaster cast covering his foot from toes to knee. As he moved, long brown hair swayed about his shoulders. Leaning his crutches against the wall, he eased into an over-stuffed leather chair and pushed back his tan, Indiana Jones fedora. "I'm not going back."

"To Florida? Why not?" Tia eyed him innocently.

"The place is a hell-hole."

"But Jack, New York is in the grip of the worst winter we've had in years. Who wouldn't want to go to sunny Florida for an all-expense paid vacation?"

"Not me." He reached down to rub his cast. "I hate alligators. I'm not going back. I'd rather spend a week on Stanton Island." He shook his head back and forth, "instead of that island zoo."

Tia stared at him. "Nothing is that terrible."

"Jack," Tia slapped her desk, "get over it." She had to make him go back, otherwise she would be forced to go in his place. She hated the thought of leaving the confines of her safe museum, her own comfortable little world. "You have to go back."

"You go. I simply can't return and face that wacky Noah's Ark."

"But, Jack." Tia picked up the necklace. "This could be the find of the millennium." She held up the book with Philip's nude mistress and pointed at the necklace around the woman's neck. "Your name will be all over it. Think of the glory, the prestige, the better class of women you can seduce." She knew his weaknesses--his ego and his libido.

"I almost lost my family jewels to that rapacious lizard." He squeezed his thighs together and whined.

She held up her hands spaced a few inches apart. "It was just a little alligator."

"With big teeth. You weren't looking into the jaws of death."

"Jack." Tia pointed at him. "I've known you for ten years. You've excavated caves in the middle of civil wars, and stared down Contras with nothing but a smile. You eat cheap, petty dictators for breakfast."

"So what's your point?"

She smiled at him, hoping she looked calm. "I can't believe you're afraid of one little, itty-bitty, teeny-weeny baby alligator."

"You go."

"Jack--"

"You go." He jabbed a bony finger at her.

"Someone from the Foundation has to be on site, that's always been you."

He glared at her, a mulish glint in his eyes. "You qualify, too."

Tia hated Florida. She hated anywhere out of Manhattan, but especially Florida. Bugs, creepy-crawly things and kamikaze flying insects were not her idea of a pleasant experience. "Indiana Jones would go," she coaxed in a last-ditch effort.

Jack stared at her, a deep frown on his handsome face. He stood, took off his fedora, and stuffed it on her head. "Be my guest, Indy." He grabbed his crutches and hobbled out.

She took the hat off, leaned back in her chair, picked up the necklace and draped it around her neck. The pendant settled into the hollow between her breasts. Even through her thick turtle neck sweater, she felt the jeweled pendant grow warm. She stroked the jewel, thinking about the nameless woman in the painting who had owned this extraordinary ruby. And the man--she had seen paintings of King Philip. He had a elegant, sensual aura to him and a royal manner that would have excited women in any age.

Tia fingered the necklace again. Deep inside the ruby, shards of fire danced. Twisting and turning the gem to catch the light from her window, a flutter of pleasure shot through her.

Reluctantly, she removed the necklace and set it down on the desk. A postcard from her sister, Artie and new husband, Nick Constantine, lay on the blotter. Tia read the postcard again, happy for them, yet ambivalent over her own feelings that the family was going in new directions. Her mother had been pressuring, in her typical sledgehammer manner, for Tia to start her own husband search.

Tia wasn't certain she wanted to be married. She had figured she'd be safe since Artie had spent most of her adult life avoiding the marital trap. But Nick had caught her, and caught her well, six months ago. Tia was now under scrutiny from her mom to join the wifely ranks.

She pushed away from her desk. After storing the necklace in the wall safe, she told her secretary to book her a flight to Miami and points onward to Shane O'Malley's Diablo Island.

***

Miami sweltered. Tia stepped off the plane into bright sunshine and one hundred percent humidity. Sweat beaded in places she didn't know existed on her body. Pleasure-seekers, happy to be in Florida and anxious to sample sun-drenched beaches, crowded the terminal. She wanted to go to her hotel and hibernate.

After checking into the airport Hilton, she spent the first fifteen minutes of her visit under the air-conditioning vent. Then she planned an afternoon respite in a cool shower. She longed for the comfort of her Manhattan apartment where everything was in its place and she could keep to her schedule.

Once she felt human again, Tia sifted through her paperwork, the ruby necklace cradled in a velvet lined box and, the book on Royal Mistresses, to find Shane O'Malley's phone number. She dialed. The phone rang and a girl's voice answered. Loud music flooded the background.

"Hello, " the girl yelled.

"I would like.... "

"What? ... Hey, Paddy, turn down the music. Hello?"

"... to speak to Mr. O'Malley."

"I can't hear you."

Tia raised her voice. "I would like to speak.... "

"Paddy," the girl screamed, "turn down the music. I can't hear."

The volume didn't change.

Exasperated, Tia yelled. "Mr. O'Malley, please." The music cut off.

"Hey, lady, you don't have to yell, I can hear you."

Tia drew in a deep breath and counted to five. In a reasonable voice, she said, "Mr. O'Malley, please."

"He's not here."

"When will he return?"

"I dunno," the girl replied.

"Can you take a message?"

"Sure."

"Tell Mr. O'Malley, that Hestia Stephanos will be arriving at Diablo Island at 9:00 am tomorrow morning."

"Okay." She hung up before Tia could say anything else.

Tia sat at the desk staring at the phone. She sighed and hung it up, not certain Shane O'Malley would get the message.

***

Shane O'Malley lay in his hammock, letting the gentle breeze lull him into his mid-morning nap. Long blond hair caressed his face. The sun warmed his bare chest. Life didn't get much better than this.

He'd just finished reading the third installment of an X-Men comic book. Wham! Pow! He loved Wolverine, he was the man.

A black cat curled on his belly and another cat rested between his knees. Shane scratched Abbot's head and the black cat purred rolling his thin body over to expose his belly. Costello, between Shane's knees, lifted a pudgy face and licked a gray paw.

He glanced at the clear-blue sky. In the distance, a plane buzzed. Jack Bickford decided to come back. Shane thought that one encounter with the kid's pet alligator would keep the dufus in New York for the rest of the excavation. He had to admire Jack's chutzpah. Not many men could face down a three foot 'gator named Hardy and have the dignity to admit it.

One of the dogs barked and raced along the beach following the path of the plane.

Shane scratched the three-day growth on his chin, figuring he had a few minutes before the plane landed and he had to stir himself into a semblance civilized behavior. Naw! He didn't have to do anything special for Jack, except break open a six-pack. If nothing else, Jack liked his beer.

The little plane circled the house and made its way to the dock, pontoons touching down on the surface of the water. The landing was bumpy. Sid must be hung over again. Shane wondered how Paddy was doing in the glare of the morning light. Sid and Paddy were long time drinking buddies.

The plane coasted to the dock and bumped into it. The door swung open and Sid jumped down, grabbing for the tether rope and securing the plane to the dock. Another man jumped out. He had auburn hair and a trim athletic build. Shane recognized him as the new diver, Damian 'Tex' de Wolfe.

'Tex' de Wolfe turned back to the plane and held out his hand. A tall, slender woman descended. She wore a beige cotton suit with a white blouse buttoned to the chin and sensible beige shoes, beige purse and holding a floppy straw hat that looked out of place. She placed the hat on her head. The breeze caught the brim and she placed her palm on the crown to hold it down.

Shane sat up--his worse nightmare incarnate, the prim Hestia 'tight-ass' Stephanos, stepped onto the dock. With her sensible beige shoes planted firmly on the planks, she smiled at de Wolfe and handed him her overnight bags. Tex slung them over his shoulder and reached into the plane for two more pieces of matching luggage and dragged them toward the house.

Shane considered offering to help, but stayed in the hammock content to watch Damian struggle with the multitude of designer bags. God, Hestia Stephanos was just like his dead ex-wife, always burdened down with more paraphernalia then possible to use.

Tex dumped the luggage on the lanai. "Howdy, boss." He said, a slight Texas drawl in his voice.

Shane had hired Tex only the week before after the oil rig he'd been working on had gone dry. Shane had needed an extra pair of hands after he'd discovered the Santa Bernadine treasure.

"Mornin,' Tex. I wasn't expecting you until Saturday."

"Took care of my business and decided to get started early." Tex slung a thumb through the belt loop of his jeans and rested one booted foot on the step.

Shane mumbled, "Eager beaver," under his breath.

"What was that, boss?"

"Just glad to see ya, Tex. Where did you pick up the tall drink of water?"

Tex looked back at Hestia and smiled. "Mighty fine looking filly, boss. A bit too prim for my taste, but I bet I could loosen her up."

Shane felt a stirring in his blood. He'd been attracted to Hestia Stephanos the first time he'd seen her at the Foundation office when he'd been awarded his grant. She had looked at him with huge brown eyes full of disdain -- like he was nothing better than spit on a sidewalk. Shane didn't like being made to feel low. That feeling saved him from pursuing her. After his wife, he still couldn't believe he still had a taste for over-privileged, pampered prima donna women.

Hestia stood on the dock and directed Sid in the unloading of the rest of her luggage. She pointed at the lanai, one hand on her hip. Sid looked rebellious. She pointed again. Sid glared resentfully at her, but reached for a piece of luggage and dragged it across the planks scraping the expensive leather while Hestia continued to direct.

One by one the luggage was slowly piled on the lanai. Hestia Stephanos did not move from her spot on the dock until the last piece was gone. Then she followed Sid with a determined New York stride, hips swaying provocatively. If Gwendolyn had had a walk like that, he would have fought tooth and nail to keep her. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have fallen off the Paris catwalk wearing the silly, high fashion get-up that killed her. He wanted to laugh, remembering the headline. Miami Socialite Killed By Cocktail Dress. But that was old news. Now he had a new woman to deal with.

What the hell was Hestia Stephanos doing on Diablo Island?

She walked up the steps, her heels clicking, still holding her ridiculous hat in place. She reached into her little clutch purse and drew out a fifty. She handed it to Sid. "Thank you, Mr. Sid."

He stared at the money and Shane could see the wheels turning toward his next bottle of Wild Turkey.

"Call me anytime, Miss Stephens." Sid's Adam's apple flapped up and down like flags on an Admiral's flagship.

She looked Shane up and down, or rather side to side, as her gaze moved over him slowly, stopping briefly at each cat. Costello yawned. Hestia sneezed and stepped back a little. "Mr. O'Malley."

Shane drawled, "Hey, babe."

Her eyes widened. "I am not, nor ever will be, a babe."

"If you insist." Shane tried to imagine her in a string bikini with her hair blowing in the wind. Loosen her up a little. She had definite 'babe' potential.

Shane dislodged the cats and stood. Abbot scampered away, tail swishing. Costello opened one eye, gave half a meow, and went back to sleep, one paw over his eyes.

"Mr. O'Malley...."

"Just call me Shane."

"Mr. O'Malley, I'm not any happier to be here than you appear to be to see me. But we have a job to complete. I think it best we set some ground rules."

"Already! You just got here! Can't we just ease into the rule phase of our relationship?"

Hestia took a deep breath. "We don't have a relationship."

He stared at the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton of her jacket. She was a thin thing, but she had some bodacious breasts and he liked that - a lot.

"But we could." He winked at her.

Tex chuckled. "Ma'am, you better quit while you're ahead."

"Mr. de Wolfe, thank you for your advice. Would someone show me to my room?"

"Room," Shane stared around him. "I have three bedrooms, babe, and they're all occupied."

"Where did you put Jack when he was here?"

"Jack camped on the beach until Hardy mistook him for Abbot."

"Who's Hardy. And who's Abbot." She unbuttoned her jacket, the first two buttons of the blouse, and fanned her face with the hat brim. Underneath the jacket, her breasts strained at the confinement of the prim white blouse.

Shane pointed at the black cat now sitting on the dock grooming its private parts. "That's Abbot. And Hardy is our 'gator." He pointed toward a barbed wire pen at the side of the house where's Hardy's snout was just visible. His mouth was open and teeth gleamed in the sunlight.

Hestia went white. She studied Shane for a second and marched into the house. Shane followed her. Her back was ramrod straight. She reminded him of his third grade teacher - Attila the Hun. Actually, her name had been Mrs. Bloom, but everyone had called her Attila.

The living room was cluttered with clothes tossed over furniture and piles of comic books. The dining room table held piles of unfolded, but clean, laundry. Dishes were stacked in the kitchen sink awaiting Maureen--her after school chore. Sega game cartridges and game gear were scattered in front of the big-screen TV. VCR cassettes were stacked haphazardly on book shelves built from red bricks and sturdy planks of wood. The stereo was on, but the volume had been turned off. A thin layer of sand covered the furniture and the wood floor. Shane tried to think of the last time Katie dusted.

George and Gracie, Shane's golden labs, slept on the sofa, cuddled together like lumpy pillows.

Hestia frowned. "You allow animals in the house?"

"They're not animals, family in fur coats."

Shane picked up one of his daughter Maureen's t-shirts, searching for a pillow to stuff it behind on the sofa. He caught Hestia staring at him, a horrified expression on her face. She shook her head. "That will not do, Mr. O'Malley. A place for everything and everything in its place. I don't know how you can live like this."

Smoke seemed to spiral upward from her ears. Her grip tightened on her clutch purse. He began to enjoy roiling her up into a frenzy. Their last encounter had been short, and she had been firmly in control. The worm had turned. She was on his turf this time.

She opened a door revealing a closet and junk fell out. She picked up a tennis racket and held it like a weapon. "This will not do."

Shane followed her down the hall, watching her butt swing. He could put up with her just to watch her tight little cheeks move back and forth like a pendulum. Hot damn, she was sweet to look at.

She opened one door after another and finally settled on the furthest bedroom. "This room will do," she announced.

"Uh, babe." He flicked back a strand of long hair. "I don't know you well enough to sleep with you."

"I beg your pardon." She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"This is my room." Shane indicated the room with his hand. "That's my bed. Anyone who sleeps there, sleeps with me."

She handed him the tennis racket. "Find someplace else to sleep."

"Who do you think you are?"

She drew herself up into a straight line, an imperious gleam on her face. "The woman with the purse strings." She stared him down.

"Listen, lady, I found the necklace. That alone will match the cost of the grant. That was just a sample piece. We're on equal footing now."

Her lips twitched for a moment. Shane grinned at her. She walked into the bedroom and started picking up the mess. He liked watching her lean over, her cute rear in the air, wriggling as she moved back and forth. He leaned against the door jamb watching her breasts fall forward to reveal delectable cleavage.

The buttons of her blouse grew tight, threatening to pop, and Shane grew hard. He looked down at his crotch and mumbled, "Down, boy."

Hestia straightened and walked over to him with an armful of laundry. "What was that, Mr. O'Malley?" She shoved the clothes at him.

"Hey, today's not laundry day."

"Yes, it is." She pushed him out the door. "Please have someone bring my luggage in." The door slammed in his face and he stood in the dim hall, an armful of laundry and the biggest hard-on in his natural-born life.

***

Damian 'Tex' de Wolfe was amused. He watched Shane O'Malley tramp into the living room and dump an armful of laundry in the middle of the floor. He had heard of the Stephanos family. He was surprised to see Hestia Stephanos actually doing field work. She was a researcher and seldom left the museum where she oversaw the day to day workings of the Foundation. He wondered how serious Jack Bickford's injury was that Hestia had been pried from her office to pinch-hit for him.

"Damn woman!" Shane muttered, shaking his head and glaring at the laundry as though it had offended him.

"Hey, boss." Damian grinned. "That little New York filly has you on the ropes already." His fake Texas drawl sounded even more fake to his own ears. Why did he chose a cover story that came with an accent? He was terrible at accents.

Shane turned his glare at Damian. "I don't need commentary. I need help with Her Majesty's luggage."

"Ooo! Wheee! Boss. That little filly's got your dander up. And that ain't all." Damian burst out laughing. He couldn't remember having so much fun.

Shane blew out a long stream of air. "I need a beer." He stalked into the kitchen and flung open the door to the refrigerator. He pulled out a beer and tossed one to Tex.

Tex glanced at his watch. "A little early, isn't it, boss."

"Nope. Trouble just rode into town, cowboy." He sat down on the sofa, after pushing the dogs off. He propped his bare feet on the coffee table and took a long swig of the beer.

"Ain't we gonna get her luggage, boss."

"Not today." He took another long drink. "Maybe not tomorrow." He took another long drink. "Or the day after that." He took another long drink. "Or the day after that."

"Boss, excuse me for sticking my nose in where it don't belong, but doesn't that little missy's foundation foot the bill?"

Shane nodded warily.

Tex went on, "Then I think you got to let her think she's in charge. That has a way of making a woman happy. But we men, know better." Tex set the beer down. He didn't drink on the job unless absolutely necessary. Outside on the porch, he grabbed a piece of luggage.

Shane drained his beer in one last gulp and said "I'm going fishing." He tramped down the dock to the skiff and climbed in.

Tex shrugged and started down the hall with the luggage.

***

Remember all U.S. shipping and handling charges are included in our prices.

© DiskUs Publishing™ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED