In Too Deep

Synopsis

A scholar and a pirate captain join forces to retrieve lost treasure… but the deeper they go, the harder it is to resist.

Isla Fairbourne has spent years chasing legends, but nothing could prepare her for the roguish and enigmatic Captain Rhys “Blacktide” Verren, a pirate whose past is as treacherous as the sea itself. When Isla enlists his help to retrieve a long-lost artifact buried beneath the waves, the two find themselves bound together in a voyage fraught with peril, desire, and secrets deeper than the ocean floor.

As tempests rage and rival crews close in, Isla and Rhys must navigate more than just the dangers of the sea—for the real threat may be the passion neither of them can resist.

“A tempestuous tale of high seas, hidden treasure, and a romance as wild as the waves.”

Praise for ‘In Too Deep‘

“This book made me long for the sea, for adventure, and for a pirate captain who smirks at me across a candlelit cabin while unbuttoning his shirt.” – Anonymous, Professional Archivist

“I may be a respectable merchant, but if Rhys ‘Blacktide’ Verren asked me to abandon my life and sail into the unknown, I would not hesitate.” – Master Ardon of the Humbledoewn Trade Company

“I was fully prepared for an adventure novel. I was not prepared for Captain Rhys.” – Lady Evangeline Piers, Duchess of Westriver

An Excerpt

The flickering glow of candlelight cast long shadows across the captain’s cabin, the scent of salt and damp parchment mingling with the ocean air. Isla leaned over the weathered logbook, tracing the delicate script with a single fingertip. The ink had long since faded, but she knew words, even when time tried to swallow them.

She could feel the presence behind her—silent, waiting, patient.

“You read as if you hope to find something hidden within the pages,” Captain Rhys Blacktide Verren murmured, his voice roughened by salt air and secrets.

She did not startle. A man like Rhys did not need to announce himself—he simply was, a force as unyielding as the tide.

“And if I am?” Isla asked, lifting her gaze to meet his.

Rhys watched her with the same intent he gave the sea before a storm. Measuring. Calculating. A man who saw not just the present, but the shifting currents that led to the future. His dark eyes gleamed with something that wasn’t quite desire—something far more dangerous.

“I admire patience,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the desk. “To wait, to watch, to measure the moment before striking. It’s a skill too few possess.”

She exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his presence coil around her like rope slipping through fingers. “Then tell me, Captain,” she murmured, adjusting her posture ever so slightly, just enough that the faintest shift in fabric hinted at something unseen—a delicate weight resting against her skin, kept close, kept secret. “What is it you wait for?”

“Control,” he said simply. “Absolute. Unquestioned. Unchallenged.” He smiled. His gaze flickered, whatever she carried, it was hidden. But Rhys was a man who understood the nature of buried things. He did not reach for it. Did not demand to see what lay beneath. Because he knew.

“Some treasures,” he said, the words smooth as rolling waves, “are meant to stay beneath the surface—until time, and patience, bring them to the light.”

Everything was revealed eventually.

The ship swayed beneath them, but it wasn’t the sea that sent a shiver down Isla’s spine.

“And time?” she asked, reaching for her half-empty goblet, if only to give her hands something to do. “Even a man such as yourself must find himself at the mercy of time.”

Rhys let out a low chuckle, as indulgent as it was amused. “Time?” He leaned closer, the scent of brine and aged rum clinging to his clothes. “Time is no concern of mine. The impatient think it their enemy. But those who understand the sea know—it waits for no one. And yet, if you know how to read the wind, how to bide your moment…” He tapped the logbook with a single, calloused finger. “Time becomes nothing more than another current to master.”

Isla studied him, feeling the weight behind his words. This was no boast. No arrogance.

This was a man who believed in what he said.

Her gaze flicked to the small wooden table beside them, to the simple pewter cup that held a handful of dandelions—a strange sight in a captain’s cabin, their bright golden heads fragile against the stark, worn wood.

Her brow furrowed. “Flowers, Captain?”

Rhys followed her gaze, his fingers ghosting over the rim of the cup, turning it slightly. The dandelions swayed at his touch, delicate, fleeting.

“They persist,” he murmured, plucking one from the arrangement. “No matter how often they are uprooted, they find their way back. Thriving in the cracks, in the forgotten places.” He twirled the stem between his fingers, watching as the petals trembled with each shift of motion.

“But they are weak,” Isla countered. “With one breath—”

She demonstrated, exhaling softly in his direction. The petals shuddered, but the flower remained whole in his grasp.

Rhys smirked. “Ah, but a breath is not enough, Isla. Not always.” He rolled the stem between his fingers, watching it bend and yield. “Some things must be plucked at the root.”

With one sharp tug, he separated the head from the stem.

The flower snapped.

He let the remnants fall to the table, brushing them aside with the back of his hand, careless as the tide washing away footprints in the sand.

“A weed can be persistent,” he mused, his voice dipping lower. “But in the end, it is still just a weed.”

The candle on the desk flickered, casting twisted shadows against the cabin walls. The ship creaked, but Isla no longer heard the waves.

“And what of the past?” she pressed, forcing herself to remain steady beneath his gaze.

Rhys exhaled, as if amused.

“Traces of the past are always there,” he mused, his fingers brushing against hers—just a fleeting touch, a suggestion of connection. “Some try to bury them. Others seek to uncover them. And there are those who…”

He lifted the crushed dandelion from the table, letting the petals slip through his fingers like sand.

“…Keep them.”

Isla’s breath caught.

A keeper of secrets.

The words curled around her like a storm rolling in from the horizon, thick with warning. She had spent her life reading between the lines, learning that the most dangerous truths were never written outright, but whispered in the space between words.

She had found her answer.

And she was not the only one searching.

His fingers lingered over hers, a silent acknowledgment between them. A game played in shadows, a battle fought with whispers instead of steel.

“Some secrets,” Rhys murmured, his lips ghosting over her knuckles, “are meant to remain hidden.”

But Isla knew better.

No secret stayed buried forever.