Her Secret Treasure

Very carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her wrist in his hand, feeling for her pulse. It was rapid but strong. Should he call someone? But who? There was no doctor on the island. He wished his friend Nicole was here. Not only was she another woman, she was a nurse. She’d know how to handle the situation.

He touched Sandra’s cheek, so soft and smooth. She really was the most beautiful woman…Resolutely, he pulled his thoughts back to more practical matters and patted her jaw. “Sandra,” he said. Then louder, “Sandra, can you hear me? Wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered and she stared at him, her pupils dilated, her breathing more rapid than ever. “Thank God you’re here,” she whispered.

“I didn’t do anything but keep you from hitting your head when you fell. What happened?”

“Happened?” She blinked. “Nothing’s happened. Yet.” She smiled and slid her hand up his arm. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed me? I’ve been right he—”

His words were smothered by her lips on his. With surprising strength, she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him, opening her mouth to him. She was so warm and soft and willing…For a moment he forgot where he was. Who he was. He wasn’t an almost-forty-year-old academic who preferred study to socializing, and research to relationships; he was a hedonist who knew what it was to make love to a woman until they were both fully sated and exhausted. A man whom a woman like Sandra would beg to be with.

She squirmed beneath him, and he put out a hand to steady her, encountering the soft, supple curve of her breast. He shaped his hand to her and squeezed gently, her soft cry of delight recalling him to his senses.

He pushed out of her embrace, horrified at his actions. What was he doing fondling a woman who was clearly out of her head? As much as he’d previously enjoyed sex with Sandra, he wasn’t going to take advantage of her when she wasn’t in her right mind.

“Frederick, don’t go!” She protested. “Don’t leave me when I want you so badly.” She arched her body in flagrant invitation.

Adam was having trouble breathing. Who the hell is Frederick? he wanted to ask. Was she so drunk she couldn’t remember his name?

But she didn’t act drunk exactly. She acted more—crazy. She stared at him with unabashed passion. He couldn’t remember when a woman had ever looked at him that way, and once again he was tempted to strip off his clothes and join her on that red comforter.

“Frederick, please,” she moaned, and the words brought him back to his senses. Even he wasn’t desperate enough to sleep with a woman who couldn’t get his name right. Though right now Adam could admit he was jealous of Frederick, whoever he was.

“I’ll send someone to check on you,” he said as he backed out the door. Tomorrow she might have a hell of a hangover, but he hoped for both their sakes, she wouldn’t remember any of this had happened.

3

FOG SURROUNDED Sandra, obscuring her vision, clouding her thoughts. She had a vague memory of sitting in a chair, drinking wine with…someone. She couldn’t remember. Then she was sinking into oblivion, waking yet not waking to the sensation of strong arms wrapped around her, carrying her to a bed.

Deft hands undressed her. Masculine hands, with strong fingers that caressed her naked breasts and stroked her bare thighs with a shocking possessiveness. She opened her mouth to protest, but could only sigh as his touch aroused a pleasure unlike any she had ever known. She reached for him, calling his name. “Frederick.”

How did she know his name? She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t bring it to mind. Yet his touch was familiar to her. More than familiar, it was something she craved, needed, in a way she had never needed anything before.

He stretched beside her on the bed, naked also. She had a sense of muscular limbs, of the weight of him pressing her into the comforter, his hands parting her thighs, stroking her, fingers plunging inside her. She arched to him, shamelessly begging for more.

He reached one hand to fondle her breasts, plucking at one nipple, then the next. Desire lanced through her, sharp and urgent. She raised her head, desperate to see his face, but saw only a shock of blond hair.

He was skilled and masterful, anticipating the touch that would arouse her most, his fingers playing across her clit, bringing her to the edge of release but no further. She writhed beneath him, wild with wanting, beyond caring who he was or how he knew her, wanting only the ecstasy he promised yet withheld.

Then he was pushing her back again, spreading her legs farther, plunging into her with a force that stole her breath. He filled her completely, perfectly, the rhythm of advance and retreat sending her spiraling upward again. She clutched handfuls of the comforter beneath her, the silky fabric bunching in her hands as he rode her, his face still lost to her in the haze she couldn’t shake.

She gave up fretting about it, surrendered everything to the tension growing within her. He moved faster, thrusting harder, and brought his hand down to fondle her clit once more.

At his touch, she shattered, crying out as heat and light flooded her, leaving her trembling, fully sated. She felt the clench and release of his muscles as he met his own climax, and held him tightly as he shuddered in her arms.

A profound weariness filled her, and she closed her eyes and slept, still clinging to her mystery lover, praying he would never leave.

SANDRA WOKE TO SUNLIGHT spilling from the porthole in her cabin, a dull ache in the back of her head, her thoughts a kaleidoscope of broken images. She frowned, trying to concentrate. She’d had dinner last night with Adam. They had drunk the wine he’d brought and then…

Heat flooded her face as memories of wild sex with a faceless stranger filled her. Had that been Adam?

She sat up, alarmed, and discovered she was still dressed in the red gown she’d chosen last night and that she lay on top of the comforter, which had half slid to the floor. There was no sign of the professor—no note, no indentation on the pillows other than her own.

Had it all been a dream, then? She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to concentrate. The fog, the faceless man, her own passiveness—they all pointed to a dream. Though one of the most vivid and erotic dreams she had ever experienced. She was sure she’d climaxed. Was that even possible? Men had wet dreams, but could women?

She shook her head and carefully crawled out of bed. The headache was already abating, and she felt none of the queasiness that signaled a hangover. But she had no memory of anything after she’d begun to eat the strawberries she’d chosen for dessert.

Had Adam put something in her wine to knock her out? One of the date-rape drugs she’d reported on that rendered their victims helpless? But why would he do that? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already been a perfectly willing partner….

She stumbled into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, checking carefully for any sign that she’d been molested. But her underwear was still in place; she bore no bruises. And beyond all that was her conviction that Adam wouldn’t do something like that. He had to know that if he wanted her, all he had to do was ask. He had no need to drug her.

She turned on the shower and stepped inside, raising her face to the hot spray. Maybe she’d had a bad reaction to something they’d eaten. She’d heard certain toxins could cause hallucinations. Could they also cause erotic dreams? She smiled. If so, maybe she should figure out what food had been the culprit and eat it again. She didn’t know if she’d ever had a real sexual encounter as intense as the one she’d dreamed.

She poured shampoo into her palm and lathered it into her hair. The dream had been odd in others ways, too. Disturbing even. Her dream self had been completely dominated by the mystery man, content to let him take charge, eager even to submit to him. The idea that such desires hid in her subconscious annoyed her. She wasn’t a passive woman and had no wish to be. If anything, she preferred to take the lead in her relationships with men. In her experience it was the only way to keep them from underestimating her.

She rinsed her hair and body, then stepped out of the shower, her thoughts turning once more to Adam. She’d have to ask him for his version of last night’s events and see what he had to say. She checked the clock and saw that it was after ten o’clock. Too late to question Adam now. He’d be at the wreck site, continuing his survey. A survey she hoped he’d finish soon. She was anxious to get to work.

What was she supposed to do with herself in the meantime? She looked around the stateroom, hoping for something that would strike her interest, but found nothing. Then her gaze rested on the view through the porthole—a vista of Passionata’s Island. That was it then; she’d explore the former pirate’s stronghold, maybe even take along a camera and get some footage of the tower. If she found anything particularly interesting, she could send Jonas to film more later.

Cheered by the idea, she dressed in an orange bikini, then added khaki shorts and a shirt over that. With tennis shoes and hat, she was ready to discover what it was that had attracted a woman like Passionata to this beautiful but desolate place.

ADAM RESISTED THE URGE to visit Sandra’s ship and make sure she was all right after the strange events of the previous night. He couldn’t think of any way to do so without calling attention to himself among the crew; they were already giving him a hard enough time about having dinner with the celebrated news personality.

He tried to ignore their jibes and off-color comments. He’d been around long enough to know he made an easy target. He was a workaholic, careless of his appearance—an unlikely choice for a glamorous woman like Sandra.

But there’d been no mistaking her physical interest in him. He couldn’t deny the idea flattered him. Intrigued him. He wasn’t a man who’d lacked for female companionship, but Sandra was definitely in another league from the quiet, bookish types he preferred.

In any case, he hoped she was all right. He had no intention of mentioning her odd behavior of the night before. Maybe she had been drunk.

As soon as he was out on the water, headed to the wreck site, he put all thoughts of Sandra aside. This was what he’d lived the past ten months for, this chance to touch a part of history, to uncover things no one else had seen in three hundred years, to make all the words written in the books lining his office at the university come to life.

As an only child whose parents worked long hours, Adam’s chief amusements had been reading and exploring the stretch of woods behind the housing development where his family lived. He’d occupied himself for entire summers imagining elaborate scenarios where he discovered dinosaur bones or lost civilizations. To realize those boyhood dreams as an adult was the greatest thrill he could enjoy. That the pursuit of that goal had left him little time for long-term relationships with women hadn’t mattered to him so far. Work had given him everything he needed in his life.

“Who makes the first dive today?” Roger asked as he anchored the dive boat.

“I’ll work with Tessa,” Charlie volunteered.

Tessa made a face. “I’d rather work with Adam.”

“You and Charlie and Brent should work together,” Adam said. “Continue marking the grid on the east side of the debris field.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Roger asked.

“I’m going to get a better look at the far side of the canyon,” he said. “We haven’t done much exploring there yet. There may be artifacts spread out in that area, as well.”

When he was satisfied the interns had everything they needed to do their job, Adam headed for the far side of the underwater canyon where the bulk of the wreck rested. The ocean floor sloped down, and as he swam deeper the water grew cooler and darker. He switched on the spotlight he carried and played it along the ocean floor, searching for anything out of place. An odd-shaped rock could be a sediment-covered bottle, a glint of metal might reveal a coin and a bump on the ocean floor might turn out to be a cannonball. He had discovered early on that he had a good eye for these oddities, and a sixth sense for what was treasure and what was trash.