The Sapphire Affair (Jewel #1)(30)



“So you saved your appetite for me,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I did. Do you feel special?”

He laughed. “A little.”

“Then I need to confess something.”

He sat up straighter. His expression turned serious, his mouth now approximating a ruler. “What is it?” he asked, sounding breathless with anticipation.

“Look. I feel this is important that you know,” she said, stopping to pause, then took a deep breath, preparing to drop a bomb on him. She lowered her eyes, as if embarrassed, then raised them, cupping her hand over the side of her mouth. “I’m not actually a marine biologist.”

She frowned and adopted her best sad puppy dog eyes.

He flung his napkin on the table and pushed back in his chair. “That’s it. I’m leaving,” he huffed.

She stretched across the table and patted his chair. “But wait. I need you to know the full truth. I’m actually an archaeologist.”

“Ah, that makes perfect sense,” he said, his green eyes lighting up with laughter. “I take it you’re on a hunt for a long-lost city buried under the sand?”

“Actually, there are some great wrecks here. In the water. Do you dive?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“You should come with me, then. We can check out some boats from long ago.”

He didn’t answer her. He simply shrugged, which was an odd reaction, considering he’d been playing along with her previous remarks. But maybe she was pushing him by suggesting a dive, though that hardly seemed akin to a commitment request that would give a man the heebie-jeebies. Best to keep their conversation free and breezy. She barely knew him, so there was no point in suggesting another date yet, like a dive.

A bright green bird with an orange chin hopped on the railing at the bar and grill, searching for scraps. Steph tugged away at a section of her fish taco and dropped it on the railing.

Jake pointed to the sign on the wooden post: DON’T FEED THE BIRDS. “Scofflaw.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid to break a few rules.”

“Is that so? Tell me more about your lawlessness.”

She tucked her hands under her chin. “One time when I was younger, my mom and stepdad took us to this fancy hotel in Hawaii, and my brother and I fed biscotti from my mom’s coffee each morning to all the tropical birds at the window of our hotel room. Until housekeeping ratted us out, sent the manager to our room, and told us the other guests didn’t like us feeding the birds. Translation: bird poop.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re not an archaeologist, either? That you’re an ornithologist?”

She laughed and shook her head. “What I meant was that I’m not technically a marine biologist—I just studied it in college. So I wanted you to know that I’m not technically an official ‘marine biologist,’” she said, sketching air quotes as she spoke.

She waited for some sort of witty retort from him, but it didn’t come. She excused herself for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, and when she returned he fired off another question.

“Did you know when you studied marine biology that you wanted to do that for a living?”

“All I knew was that I loved the water,” she said, taking his questions as they came. “I could spend the whole day in the ocean and never want to come out. I might be part fish, come to think of it. I think I have scales on my legs,” she said, and he smiled lightly, his eyes sparkling. She hoped the joke would lead them back to banter. But his grin didn’t last for long.

“And you’re a big fan of diving, too? Is that why you’re here on this trip? To lead some dives?”

“Yes. I used to run a big business here, but I had some setbacks. Now it’s growing again, and I love the Caymans. We used to come here a lot. And kiss stingrays.”

“With your stepdad?”

She scrunched up her brow. “Yes, with him. But why would you ask that?”

He answered immediately. “You said just now he took you to Hawaii. And you said you’ve been here a lot. Seemed natural he might have done the whole stingray thing with you, too.”

Something seemed odd about his comment, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe what was odd was the lack of playful comments from him. But surely they’d pick up again, so she answered truthfully once more. “Yes, I did that with him.”

“Is he here? On the Islands?”

That’s when what felt so strange hit her—she’d done most of the talking at lunch. He was asking most of the questions. She straightened her spine and sat up taller, ready to ask him questions. She didn’t want to be a conversational hog. She was digging his company and wanted to know more about him.




She was simply too good to be true. There was no way she was for real. The playful humor, the casual conversation, the gorgeous figure, the love of the outdoors—clearly, she’d been tailor-made as his kryptonite to try to trip him up on a job. He was willing to bet she was planning on setting him up, just like Rosalinda had done.

His blood burned. He wished she’d just confess. Tell him she was tailing him.

“What about you. Are you really a recovery specialist? That just doesn’t seem like you,” she said, eyeing him up and down from the other side of the table.

Lauren Blakely's Books