The Last Treasure

The Last Treasure Read Online Free PDF Page A

Book: The Last Treasure Read Online Free PDF
Author: Erika Marks
him on to think he could return with news of a diary. That he could give Liv the one thing she always wanted: to know what really happened to Theodosia.
    Challenge—hot and ferocious—charges through him; memories spill like water from an overturned glass.
    Sam could wait to call them back, he supposes as he picks up his phone and retrieves Whit’s number. Make them wonder, maybe even make them sweat—but it’s a waste of time.
    Already he can see the flash of excitement in Liv’s eyes when he tells her about Theodosia’s diary, the grateful wash of salmon that will flood her cheeks, swallowing the starry map of her freckles.
    He closes his eyes and pulls in a hard breath.
    Already he can feel the heat of her body underhis.

2
    TOPSAIL ISLAND, NORTH CAROLINA
    Two weeks later
    Tuesday
    W hen Whit turns the van into the driveway of the three-story Caribbean-style castle just before noon, Liv is certain it is the largest, most ostentatious house she has ever seen. Palms flank the arched entryway like palace guards, bright blue hurricane shutters swing out, and decks wrap around all three floors, not including the top story, which appears to be made entirely of glass.
    â€œNow, I know we said we wouldn’t go crazy this mission, Red—”
    â€œWe?” She spins in her seat. “You promised me something cozy, something
small
.”
    â€œThis is small . . .
ish
.”
    â€œCompared to what? Buckingham Palace?”
    â€œExactly.” Two weeks after his row, the curl of navy and purple that circled his right eye has finally softened to a yellowish green. He gives her his very best smoldering smile, which he knows damn well can absolve him of practically anything, short of murder—and very well maybe that too, though she hopes they never have to find out—but today she’s determined not to give in to his charms.
    â€œMaybe it only looks big on the outside,” he says.
    She closes her eyes.
    â€œWe’ve got a crew of eleven, Red. Did you think we’d all share one big bed?” His grin widens. “Kinky girl.”
    He reaches across the seat to grab her thigh, but she twists away from him, not yet ready to let him off the hook.
    A warm breeze drifts through the window, salted and feathery and so achingly familiar she thinks she could cry. It’s been almost a decade since she left North Carolina. Standing at the rental car counter at the Wilmington Airport that morning, she waited for the sensation of her return to settle into her bones, sure it would the minute she and Whit stepped off the plane or walked through the sliding doors to find their shuttle—it didn’t. And now she understands why.
    Until she arrived at the water’s edge, she wasn’t yet back.
    Whit rubs his jaw. “Okay, maybe the elevator is a little over-the-top.”
    â€œThere’s an
elevator
?”
    He leans over and kisses her hard on her gaping mouth, the way he always does when he knows he can’t win an argument or change her mind and he is simply too impatient to keep trying.
    Then he yanks the handle and kicks open the door. “Last one in has to scrub all six heads.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    E ight, actually. Counting the two outdoor showers, which Liv does as she tours the three floors, finding a view of the Atlantic in nearly every room, and decks scaled for cruise ships, which makes perfect sense, really, when the polished wooden ceilings look like upside-down ships, their laminated beams curved like ribs. Madness.
    The first crew members arrive shortly after one. Four men in their twenties climb out of an enormous white truck—one with a completely shaved head and sleeves of tattoos, another with a ponytail, all with deep, even tans. They unload their gear and a ridiculous amount of beer. Whit has promised not to partake, but Liv isn’t holding her breath. She knows how the spell of preproject
Read Online Free Pdf

Similar Books

Innocent Spouse

Carol Ross Joynt

Screw the Fags

Josephine Myles

Monument to Murder

Margaret Truman

Dames Don’t Care

Peter Cheyney

Anyone?

Angela Scott