Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
JAMES
I had no idea how Nash managed to live out here for so many years, because it was hot as fucking Hades, and I was fairly certain I wasn’t breathing air anymore, but water. Water vapor, at least.
I flung myself onto my bed, unbuttoning my linen shirt and trying to position myself directly in the wind’s way. Very little breeze managed to squeeze in through my cabin window, and while it would be a fair bit cooler on the main deck, I had thus far done my best to avoid the rest of my shipmates. Best to stay the course.
Especially after Nash’s and my anticlimactic standoff, when Scarlett abandoned her plate in search of our overly sensitive captain, which only made me roll my eyes. If she only knew the real Nash, she’d know he wasn’t sensitive in the slightest. The Nash I knew was just as cold as he thought I was. She’d left, regardless of what I thought, and I spent the rest of the meal chewing the half-decent food Nash provided, and watching Camp eat like a man on death row. Which, for all I knew, maybe he was.
Several days had passed since then. We were deep into the rainforest now, Nash’s rickety boat chugging along like it wasn’t held together with duct tape and hope. I’d heard the others, sure, echoes of their conversations trailing in through my window. Nash trying to impress them with some eco-bullshit, monkey-this, toucan-that. But I saw no purpose in speaking with any of them, or worse yet, making friends . Scarlett had obviously made her decision of whose side she stood on, and it wasn’t mine. But if she wanted to stand with criminals, more power to her. Whatever moment we’d shared on the first day was obviously nothing more than an illusion.
I was beginning to feel like this entire goddamn river trip was an illusion. I’d told Nash nearly everything in my email, at least as much as I could tell him without breaking any laws or NDAs. Still, the man had little to no sense of urgency.
I’d taken over for my father in the family company two years prior, and since then, things had been…less than smooth. So when Clancy, one of his oldest friends, came to me with the investment of a lifetime, I knew this might be my last chance at saving the family’s business—and our name.
It sounded simple enough. Exciting, even. The kind of thing you dreamed about when you were a boy, watching action movies. A team of men would head into the rainforest where a recent storm had uncovered what looked to be a hidden city. The team needed funds for supplies while they worked, which we could front, and in return, Clancy and I would split the profits of whatever treasures were found clean down the middle. Clancy volunteered to go with the team, and up until three weeks ago I’d gotten regular updates to my emails showing the incredible progress the expedition was making.
Until the emails stopped. Radio silence. I emailed again, and my email was bounced back to me. I tried calling the number of Clancy’s satellite phone, only for the ring to go dead.
Something was amiss, and if Clancy was screwing me over, he’d be sorry he ever thought he could get away with it.
I groaned, sitting up, and attempting to crank my window open even further. There had to be a draft somewhere on this godforsaken boat.
My father was probably rolling in his grave knowing I’d invested our dwindling fortune on what he’d call a harebrained scheme . A childish dream, not a decision made of logic. Of course, it was also his fault the fortune was dwindling in the first place.
Fuck. It was hot. I was miserable. And I was stuck on a boat in the middle of the rainforest, with a group of people who hated my guts. I wasn’t sure this could get any worse.
What I needed was a plan. A plan was good. A plan always helped. I needed to convince Nash this trip was of the utmost importance, and we needed to find Clancy and my team fast. The longer this trip took, the more time it gave Clancy to run away with my money, or turn the men I hired against me. I didn’t like either scenario.
Of course, convincing Nash meant I actually had to speak to him, which was a problem in and of itself.
I shouldn’t be bothered. In the real world, on solid ground, outside this dream life we all currently drifted through, I wouldn’t be bothered.
I was also well aware of how quickly people could lose their minds in close proximity, and how easily it was to turn against someone when you weren’t thinking clearly.
My throat was dry and scratchy, but when I rolled over to chug my water bottle, I found it empty save for a single drop sliding down my desperate throat.
For someone who thought a lot about other people losing their minds, I really wasn’t thinking clearly. Unfortunately, my larger water jug was completely empty as well, which meant I had to trek down to the kitchen to refill both from the filtration system. That meant I might not be able to avoid everyone else.
Again, I truly wasn’t bothered. I just didn’t want to see the same expression on Scarlett’s face as she had when she left the dining room—the one of sheer disappointment. Then again, who would actively search out being regarded with such disdain? No one with their head screwed on straight, surely.
With a sigh, I got to my feet and pressed my ear to the window, I could just make out quiet conversation coming from the front of the boat. Earlier that day, I’d been overwhelmed by jealous when I heard Nash telling a story, obviously funny enough to make Scarlett laugh. Right now, however, it was silent.
Nash possessed a talent I was never lucky enough to have. I had to win over women with brains instead of humor. However, putting my useless feelings to one side, it also meant the other person on the boat was occupied. Camp was usually with Scarlett or holed up in his room most of the time, so I didn’t have to worry about him being in the kitchen, either.
I slid my feet into the deck shoes I kept next to the door, not bothering to button up my shirt. Nash barely wore a shirt half the time, and it wasn’t like I was planning on seeing anyone if I could help it.
Stepping out my cabin door, I immediately sucked in a deep breath, desperate for something other than stagnant cabin air. Hallway air wasn’t much better, but it was definitely an improvement. There was a tiny bit more of a breeze out here, too.
I slipped around to the stairs, pausing with my hand on the railing just to take the scene in. I hated the heat, and I hated the way my clothes stuck to my skin, and I hated the bugs that never seemed to leave me alone, but I had to admit—the view was beautiful. I couldn’t tell you the last time I’d seen trees as green as these were, or the flowers as brightly colored as the ones that wound their way around anything and everything possible. It looked artificial, too overwhelming to be real. I’m sure Nash and all his expertise in fauna and flora could educate me on their exact genus and species, but hell if I would ever ask. Because I didn’t want details.
You could’ve told me I was on an acid trip, and I would’ve believed you.
Water . My parched throat reminded me I desperately needed water. In all actuality, I needed something a lot stronger than water, but I wasn’t about to start downing the hard stuff this early. If I did, it wouldn’t last the entire trip, and I had a feeling I was going to need it at some point.
“Fuck!” I whacked my head on the awkward ceiling stepping down the stairs, rubbing my forehead where a knot was sure to be starting. “Fucking boat. Who puts the ceiling that low anyway?”
I took back anything nice I’d just thought about this trip, my throbbing forehead reminding me of everything I hated even more.
The boat swayed to the left, and I stumbled, barely catching myself against the wall. “Fucking river.”
Who even saw this shitty river and thought to themselves, maybe we should put a boat on this untrustworthy body of water and see where it goes? Obviously someone with nothing better to do with their time than torture generations of stupid tourists to come.
“Fucking Clancy,” I muttered, swaying with the unsteady boat. “Fucking investment. Fucking hidden city in the middle of nowhere.”
Three things happened at once. I reached for the kitchen door. The kitchen door swung open from the inside. And the boat sloshed angrily to the left.
Scarlett, who’d been behind said door, tumbled into me, and with no other option, I grabbed her as I fell.
Scarlett cursed as her back hit the wall, but at least she wasn’t on the ground. “James?”
I blinked, trying to make sense of the position we were in. In my efforts to keep her from hitting her head, we now faced each other, my arms pinning her against the wall on either side as the boat continued to sway.
She looked me up and down. I suddenly became very aware of how much skin I was showing. Fuck’s sake. I wasn’t supposed to see anyone on my trek down to the kitchen, and now here I was, chest to chest with Scarlett of all people.
“You okay?” I asked, ignoring the way my heart tried to escape my ribcage, or the insecurities creeping in that I was essentially shirtless in front of her.
“I’m fine. Just haven’t seen you in a few days. Well, since…” She trailed off, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
The boat righted itself, swaying me even closer into Scarlett’s personal space. We were inches apart, and I could see her hard swallow while she struggled to keep looking into my eyes.
For whatever she might think about me, she liked what she saw. A war raged beneath her skin, in that brain that never seemed to stop moving.
Why are you on this boat?
She cocked her head, peering up at me with those piercing blue eyes. I realized I had spoken aloud.
“Why are you on this boat?” she echoed back. “You seem to hate everything about it, and everyone on it.”
I had her caged in, trapped between my arms and chest, stealing her air, breath for breath. There was something oddly intoxicating about being this close to someone who looked at me with such disgust in their eyes. I didn’t know if I wanted to breathe in deeper, lean into the feeling, or convince her I wasn’t the monster she thought I was.
Even if I was a monster of a different kind.
“Well, this was a great conversation, but I’m going to head back up now.” Scarlett rolled her eyes and moved to shift my arm out of the way.
I liked her touching me. I liked her attitude. I liked her a lot more than I thought I would.
Once again, the boat knocked us both off balance, and I slammed into her, no space between us now. We were chest to chest, thigh to thigh—or as close to it as we could be, seeing as I towered a full foot over her.
I looked down at her, pressed against me, trying her hardest not to be affected by my proximity. But she also wasn’t making any attempts to leave again, either.
“Treasure, love,” I murmured, unable to stop myself from reaching out a light finger to touch the soft skin of her jaw. “I’m on this boat for treasure.”
Scarlett paused, eyes narrowing, but didn’t move away from my touch. “I’m pretty sure you’re about forty years too late to find any gold on this river.”
I smirked, dragging my nail under her bottom lip. I wasn’t sure how much she’d let me get away with, but I was willing to push the boundaries. If we were above deck right now, she would’ve pushed me off immediately, but here, in the dimly lit hallway, with nothing but the water surrounding us, it was as if a spell was cast.
“Not that kind of treasure. The kind of treasure that gets buried with time. I don’t need gold and rubies, love. But the power that comes from discovering something everyone else wants? That’s what I’m looking for.”
Her eyes lit up, the pursuit of knowledge making her forget about her dislike of me. “You’re looking for the lost city.”
I shouldn’t tell her anymore. I was bound by law. By NDAs. But she was looking at me with such excitement, and Clancy had screwed me over anyway, so where was the problem? “I found the lost city.”
The way her eyes came to life was something historians should study and memorize for generations to come. It should be examined by astronomers, for the stars that reflected back into my gaze. The way she looked at me should’ve been used as artist’s inspiration, forever cemented in history as beautiful paintings or priceless sculpture.
The way she looked at me was downright dangerous, and for the first time I realized how Helen of Troy could’ve started a war with a single look.
I tore my hand away from her face, unable to break my gaze. “Not all treasure sparkles,” I whispered under my breath.
I had to leave. If I didn’t leave now, I didn’t know what I would do next.
I’d lose track of my mission. I’d start a war.
I breathed in her scent, gifted myself one last lingering glance to record every inch of her, enough information to last me the lifetime it’d need to, and pushed myself away from the wall.
I hadn’t come on this boat to find gold and rubies. I didn’t believe in treasure chests. The treasure I was searching for was far more valuable and rare.
But I wondered if just maybe, I’d already found it.