"Rostrum."
"Right. And Ethel has a bigger bump on her head. What's it called?"
"A melon."
"Melon? Really? Cool." So the ivory-tower dude lived within the dangerous hunk after all. How many layers were there to Max Keagan? "What are all those marks along the side?"
"Laminar flow lines. Friction marks from the water rushing along the rostrum and melon."
His words barely registered in her distracted brain. She stared into Max's eyes, eyes as changeable as the blue-green ripples of the ocean. In spite of all that water slapping the rock face, her mouth dried right up.
He turned away, thank heavens, before she made a fool out of herself. Again.
Max reached low and patted the rocks until Lucy moved closer. "Go ahead and pet her if you'd like."
Darcy stroked the bulbous melon, the rubbery skin damp and cool to the touch. A gray snout nudged her arm until she fell back on her bottom.
Laughing, she righted herself, sitting on her heels so as not to be caught unaware again. "Surprised me, didn't you, Lucy?" Darcy inched her hand forward, then hesitated to glance at Max. "What should I do differently?"
"Nothing. Keep on with what you're doing. Careful and steady." He reassured her as she rubbed the rostrum. "Watch for signs that they're agitated. Yes, they've been trained, but don't forget for a minute they're wild creatures first."
Darcy's hand stopped midstroke. More warnings when dealing with the trainer as well as the dolphins? The man reminded her of that deceptively clear water luring her to jump in for a nice little swim, only to find currents and depths beyond what her limited experience would lead her to expect.
A careful woman might have backed off, and for five sane seconds earlier she'd considered it. Now she preferred to view her initial retreat as merely a wise tactical maneuver for regrouping.
Time to advance.
A Renshaw never backed down from a challenge, and this was her line-in-the-sand time. No more giving up what she wanted. And right now she wanted to kiss Max Keagan.
Max looked into Darcy's eyes and read her intent too damned well, easy enough to ID an echo of his own thoughts. Not smart at all, and he couldn't let her go for at least another five minutes until the intel contacts cleared the perimeter.
Ethel clicked and cackled a few feet away, bringing a return to reality with her demand for attention. Max couldn't decide whether to thank or curse his finned chaperone.
Darcy shifted, unfolding her legs and stretching out on her stomach along the rock. Her bare legs extended behind her in a mile-long, libido-assaulting display.
Reaching over the ledge, she wriggled her fingers. Again Lucy nudged Darcy. This time she kept her balance.
She smoothed a hand along Lucy's rostrum, even allowing the dolphin to grip her hand inside her mouth and shake. Darcy's earlier hesitation had faded, replaced by a reckless abandon, an embrace-life attitude he recognized. A woman like that wouldn't be content with half measures from any relationship.
Relationship?
What the hell was he thinking? He'd known her all of three days. Within another couple of days, she would be winging her way back to the States and out of his life.
Max used the lull of the waterfall to restore his concentration. He needed to pace himself. The underwater search could take days, weeks even, before he located which offshore communications cable carried the tap. If at all.
At least Darcy would be gone by then. Max stretched out beside her as she placed her hand into Ethel's mouth for another shake. "You're very trusting."
"You wouldn't have let me touch them if you thought they would hurt me."
Her expression was so damned open he could fall right in.
Max set his jaw and studied the blood-red coral reef. He forced himself to think of another woman who'd believed in him. "Like I said. You're too trusting."
Pulling her hand from the dolphin's mouth, Darcy rolled to her side. Odd how she moved with more caution when approaching him than she had the wild beasts in the water.
Damned wise woman. Or maybe not.
She touched his arm. Lightly. Just one finger outlining the rectangular border of his tattoo. His skin burned beneath the soft pad of her finger with more heat than when the needle had marked him seventeen years ago in one of his countless moments of teenage rebellion.