“Bethany likes piña coladas,” she reminded him.
“Well…some chicks can get away with it,” he assured her. “Ah, the big guy himself.”
Genevieve thought he had to mean Zach—she hadn’t met many people in her life quite as tall as Zach. But then she turned and realized Clint wasn’t referring to Zach. He was talking about the man she had personally dubbed asshole.
To her displeasure, he headed right for her. Then again, the only other guests enjoying the thatched shade of the tiki bar right now were an elderly couple who had told her earlier they hailed from Ohio. A nice couple, but not exactly people any of them knew.
Not that he exactly knew her, Genevieve thought as he approached.
He didn’t ask if he could join her, just nodded—eyes shaded behind dark glasses again—and slid into one of the chairs. By the time he was seated, Clint had returned with a beer.
“One of these days, do you think I can head out with you guys?” Clint asked him.
Thor shrugged, accepting the beer with a quick “Thanks.” He looked up at Clint. “What kind of a diver are you?”
“A good one. I have a master’s certification.”
Thor gave Clint a long assessment, not a muscle in his face so much as ticking. “Sure. Take time off next week. But out on the boat, I’m not just captain, I’m God Almighty. If you can live with that…?”
“Shit, yes,” Clint said, then caught himself. “Sorry, Genevieve.”
“I think she’s all right with the word,” Thor said, smiling. Evidently he hadn’t forgotten a single one of her words to him.
“No problem, Clint,” she replied. “And if you want, I’m sure you can go out with us, too, one of these days.” She hoped her sunglasses were every bit as opaque as Thor’s and her smile every bit as pleasant.
“Cool.” Clint was still looking at Thor, as if for approval. After a moment, he moved away awkwardly, giving them a thumbs-up sign.
“So, how was your day?” Thor asked her once Clint had moved on.
“Fine, just fine.”
“Nothing down there, huh?”
“If there had been, I would have reported it.”
“Nothing strange, I meant.”
She forced another smile. “You know, I really don’t know who you think you are. I’ve been out on these reefs all my life. I know every landmark. And I’ll bet I make a discovery before you do.”
He sat back, a small smile curving his lips. “You think you can outdo me, Miss Wallace?”
“I know I can.”
He shook his head, amused. For a brief moment, she wondered what the hell she was doing. He had a sixth sense when it came to finding what was lost beneath the sea.
“Interesting,” he said. “You’re really throwing down the gauntlet.”
Yes, she was. And that, she realized, seemed to take him from believing she was nuts in one way to believing she was nuts in another, saner, way.
“Well?” she demanded icily.
He shrugged. “Is this a dare? For real?”
“You bet.”
“You’re on.”
“Good.”
“We’re talking about a real relic—not imagined,” he said.
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
“All right. What’s the bet?” he asked.
She shrugged. The stakes hadn’t entered her mind.
“A round of beers?” she suggested.
He shook his head. “Far too cheap.”
She arched a brow. “I planned on a friendly wager.”
“A friendly wager?”
“Okay. So we’re far from being friends.”
“Do you have so little faith in yourself?”
“Should I be betting my house?” she inquired lightly, feeling ever-so-slightly ill in the pit of her stomach.
He shook his head, his smile deepening. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your house.”
“What makes you think you’d take it? And what would I be getting—when I win?”
He laughed out loud then, truly enjoying himself. “I have a nice place in Jacksonville.”
“But I have no desire to leave the Keys.”
“As I said, I have no intention of taking your home, either.”
He was intent on winning, she knew—despite the fact she couldn’t see his eyes. There was a tightening, barely visible, in his muscles. His male ego was taking over. Testosterone was racing. It was pathetically immature, she thought.
She had started it.
“You won’t get a chance to take my home,” she assured him coolly.
“Well, a round of beers is too paltry, claiming your house too serious. I guess we could give this thing some thought overnight, hmm?” he suggested.
“Whatever you wish, Mr. Thompson,” she said stiffly.
“No, whatever you wish, Miss Wallace,” he replied mockingly.
“Tomorrow morning, then, we decide the bet,” she said.
“I’ve got an idea,” he murmured, looking amused. “But you won’t like it.”
She was suddenly certain she knew the nature of his wager. It should have infuriated her. Instead, it just made the challenge greater.
“Really?” she murmured, suddenly aware of her own muscles tightening with the same tension, the same sense of challenge and ruthless determination, as his. Worse, his air of sexual innuendo only increased her fighting spirit.
“You really don’t want to know. It’s a pretty wacko thought.”
“I think I do know, Mr. Thompson. The question is…what do I get when you lose? Sorry, a night in the sack with you isn’t my idea of a prize.”
He laughed softly. “You made quite an assumption there, didn’t you?”
She fought the wave of crimson that threatened to splash her cheeks and tried to bluff her way out of it. “What kind of prize would be wacko to you?” she asked sweetly.
He smiled, for once a simple, deep and, she had to admit, very nice smile. “Wacko doesn’t necessarily mean…The Seeker,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“The Seeker. You’d get The Seeker.”
She frowned. “The boat is yours?”
“From bow to stern, yes.”
“But…she’s your livelihood.”
“I won’t lose.”
Genevieve sat back, totally confused. “You’d wager your dive boat? Against…?”
He smiled again, and this time it was far too sexy and seductive. “Well, it was your suggestion.”
“Never!”
“My mind wasn’t moving in that direction until you said something.”
“It sure as hell was.”
“I never would have voiced it if you hadn’t.”
She