Читать книгу Her Secret Treasure - Cindi Myers - Страница 11

FAINT STREAKS OF PINK and gold painted the underside of low clouds the next morning when the dive boat anchored a short distance from the wreck site. Adam and his helpers carefully unpacked the equipment they’d need to begin mapping the shipwreck—grids, GPS unit, cameras and measuring sticks. The plan this morning was to begin documenting the debris field, measuring and photographing the area and plotting every possible artifact.

Adam, Tessa and Sam made the first dive, Adam leading the way toward the underwater canyon where the Eve had lain for over three hundred years. His heart raced and his breathing was loud and rapid in his ears as he swam toward the site he’d last seen ten months ago. Last night he’d dreamed he’d arrived at the canyon and the Eve was gone.

He kicked harder, rushing forward, Tessa and Sam on his heels. The three of them shot out over the canyon then floated, hovering over the remains of what Adam hoped to prove had been the Eve.

To the untrained eye, there was nothing remarkable below them—a pile of rocks, oddly shaped chunks of coral and protruding bits of rusted metal. But to the treasure hunter, these were the signs of a shipwreck. The wooden hull of the vessel had long since rotted away or been eaten by shipworms, but the rocks were the cobblestones once used as ballast in the ship’s hold, the metal was the remains of anchor chains and keel bolts and the coral hid no telling what manner of treasure.

Tessa looked at him, eyes wide with excitement. Adam grinned and nodded that he understood. The thrill of touching a part of history never faded for him, even after all this time. Sam headed down toward the wreck and the others followed and set to work. They sank grids into the ocean floor, carefully brushed sand from artifacts and took dozens of photographs.

Adam was soon so absorbed in his work that when Sam tapped his shoulder, he jumped. He glared at the older man, who merely pointed across the canyon. Three dark figures hovered just above them.

He blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him in the murky water. But the figures swam closer and now he could clearly make out Sandra with two men. One held a massive spotlight, the other a camera.

He handed Sam his own camera and went to intercept Sandra and her crew. Grabbing her shoulder, he motioned for her to surface with him so they could talk. She frowned and shook her head, but he nodded and once more pointed up.

As soon as they broke the surface of the water, Adam spat out his regulator and pushed down his mask. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m filming. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

“I know that, but there’s nothing to film yet. We’re doing our preliminary measurements and photography.” He had counted on having a few more days before he had to deal with her constant, distracting presence.

“My intent is to chronicle the salvage process,” she said. “This is part of it, isn’t it?”

He forced his eyes away from the top of her wet suit, where the zipper strained across her breasts. The suit fit her like a second skin, emphasizing every curve. If he had to look at her like this every day for the rest of the summer, he might very well go mad. “Since when do you dive?” he asked.

“Since now. I took lessons in preparation for this trip.” She leaned toward him, one hand on his shoulder. “I take my job very seriously, Adam. And I’m sure my viewers are interested in seeing every aspect of your work.”

“There’s nothing to film right now,” he said again, the awareness of her touching him making him more loquacious than usual. If he could find the right words, maybe she’d leave him in peace. “This is the most boring part of the whole process. Though most of it’s boring, really. Measuring. Sifting dirt—things like that.” He gained confidence with every word. “In fact, what you should probably do is wait until the treasure is all up top. It will look much better up there, especially after it’s cleaned up.”

To his astonishment, she smiled—a dazzling smile that made him feel light-headed. “I know what you’re doing,” she said. “And it won’t work. You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m staying for the entire salvage operation.”

He was defeated. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. “When the salvage operation truly begins, I promise you’ll get footage for your documentary. Until then, you’re wasting film. Even I think this part is dull, but it’s necessary.”

She studied his face, her blue eyes searching, her lips slightly puckered, as though she were about to kiss him. The memory of other volcanic kisses they’d shared had him breathing hard—and his wet suit was getting uncomfortably tight below the waist.

She must have decided he was telling the truth. She took her hand from his shoulder and retreated a little. “When does the exciting part of the work begin—when will I be able to show actual treasure to my viewers?” she asked.

“Several days at least. Maybe as long as a week.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Her tone was cool, all business.

“I don’t know. Explore the island. Work on your tan. This is a tropical paradise. Take advantage of it.”

“I didn’t come here for a vacation,” she said. “I came to work.”

“So did I.” He made a show of checking his watch. “And I’d better get back to it.”

He started to fit his mask over his eyes again, but she put out her hand to stop him. “I’ll leave you and your crew alone for now on one condition,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You have dinner with me tonight and fill me in on your progress so far. And provide a similar report every day until the actual salvage work begins.”

He had a sense of how the fly felt when invited for tea by the spider. “I don’t have time for that,” he protested.

“We have to work together, Adam.” She rested her palm flat against his chest and leaned closer still, her mouth next to his ear. “So make time,” she whispered.

Stunned, he watched as she pushed off and swam away, toward the Zodiac anchored nearby. In a moment the cameraman and his assistant surfaced also and the trio left. Sandra sat in the stern and waved as they motored away. “See you tonight,” she called.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. If he believed in nonsense like witches, he’d say Sandra was one. She’d clearly cast a spell on him. He credited himself with being smart enough to avoid obvious hazards, including the wrong women. He couldn’t think of a woman more wrong for him than Sandra, but he wasn’t having any success in avoiding her.

“What was that about tonight?”

He looked behind him and was startled to see Sam treading water. “How long have you been listening?” Adam asked.

Sam smirked. “Long enough. Looks like our sexy reporter has the hots for you, you lucky dog.”

Adam refused to take the bait. “What are you doing up here?” he snapped.

“Time to switch out crews.”

Tessa joined them and they returned to the boat. Charlie, Brent and Roger went down to resume the work.

Adam was in the bow, changing his air tanks when Sam joined him. Adam glared at the older man. One word about Sandra and I’ll punch that smirk right off his face. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Just one question.” Sam crouched in the bow beside Adam. “Do we know for sure this is the Eve?”

Adam knew what Sam was getting at: any number of ships reportedly sank off the coast of Passionata’s Island, the victims of either storms or attacks by the female pirate’s gang. Adam was relying on a combination of research, hunches and instinct that told him this was Passionata’s flagship. But instinct and hunches didn’t carry much weight in the scientific community, and the research materials available were few. In his search for funding, he’d been careful to emphasize the historic nature of the material they were likely to find, while never stating that he was absolutely sure the wreck was that of the Eve.

“We don’t know for sure what ship it is,” he admitted. “That’s one of the things I intend to find out.”

“You think Ms. Newman will pitch a fit if she’s gone to all the trouble of bringing a film crew down here and it isn’t the Eve?” Sam asked.

“I don’t give a damn what Sandra Newman thinks,” he said. “And don’t you go stirring up trouble by saying anything about it. As far as she’s concerned, we’re salvaging the Eve.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Sam saluted, then rose and sauntered away, whistling under his breath.

Adam turned back to the task of fitting his regulator to the new tanks. Yes, Sandra would no doubt create quite a scene if she thought he’d deceived her about the nature of the wreck. But as far as he was concerned, he had found the Eve. He’d felt it with a certainty that had been unshakeable ever since he’d first laid eyes on the debris scattered across the ocean floor, as if something in him had recognized the vessel. Call it instinct or memory or a sixth sense; it wasn’t scientific or logical and he’d have never breathed a word to a soul that he harbored such thoughts. But he couldn’t shake free of the belief. Like his fascination with Sandra, it hung around his neck like an albatross, a seaman’s curse he’d have to learn to live with until he was proven right or defeated in his quest.

SANDRA FASTENED the necklace and stepped back from the mirror to check her outfit. The red silk gown draped softly over her breasts, nipped in at the waist, then fell in smooth gathers to the floor. A tiny golden globe glinted from its gold chain at her throat, and simple diamond studs glittered at her ears. The look was simple, elegant and sexy. She dared Adam to ignore her tonight.

She’d tried relating to him as a businesswoman and professional, but that clearly wasn’t working. The air around them crackled with barely suppressed desire whenever the two of them were together. They might as well clear the air and give in to temptation. Some no-strings-attached hot sex would be just the thing to allow them to concentrate on their work—while passing their off hours in a most enjoyable manner.

It was just as Passionata had written in her autobiography, Confessions of a Pirate Queen: if a woman wanted to control a man, she should use all the gifts in her power, including her sexuality. The pirate queen had certainly done well following this philosophy, if even half of what she’d written was to be believed. And since Sandra and Adam were visiting Passionata’s Island, well, when in Rome…

A knock distracted her. She hurried from the mirror and draped herself across a chair facing the door. “Come in,” she called.

Adam had to duck to pass through the low cabin door. As he did so, he looked around warily, like a wild beast suspicious of a trap. “Hello, Sandra,” he said, his gaze shifting to her then quickly away.

“Hello, Adam.” She rose and took his hand. “Come inside and make yourself comfortable.” She led him to a chair next to hers.

“I brought wine,” he said, and thrust a dusty bottle toward her. “This prosecco was the closest I had to champagne.”

That he’d remembered her preference surprised her; maybe the professor wasn’t as absentminded as she’d thought. “Thank you. I love prosecco.” She carried the wine to a sideboard, opened it and poured two glasses.

“How did the rest of your survey work go today?” she asked.

“Slow.” He sat back in the chair and sipped the wine. “It’s not my favorite part of the job,” he admitted. “I’m anxious to get to the real work of discovering and cataloging artifacts.”

“I looked at the footage we shot this morning,” she said. “You were right, it isn’t very exciting. But I’ll probably use a few seconds of it, to give viewers an idea of the scope of the job.”

“I don’t know much about television, but I don’t see how there’ll be enough of interest here to fill a whole hour or however long this show will be,” he said.

“Given time for commercial breaks, about forty minutes.” She settled in the chair beside his and tucked one leg under. “I think we’ll have trouble covering everything in that time frame. I’d like to devote a portion of the show to Passionata and her story. If readers know about her, then her ship and its contents will seem that much more interesting to them.”

“Why are you so interested in this wreck?” he asked. “Seems to me there are a lot of other things you could film a documentary about.”

“I’ve made a name for myself filming stories about exotic riches—rare jewels and art, the lifestyles of the rich and decadent. What’s more decadent than a sexy female pirate’s treasures?”

“So it’s the treasure that drew you.”

She sipped her wine, trying to decide how honest she could afford to be with him. “The treasure, the larger-than-life characters, the drama of the salvage operation—all of that drew me. I needed something to dazzle the viewers, and the network.”

“You mean, you alone aren’t enough to dazzle them?”

The flattery startled her, until she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. She sighed. “Laugh if you want, but the ratings on my last special weren’t as spectacular as the network wanted. And this project gives me the chance to do more. I’m not only reporting, I’m doing all the writing, directing and editing.” The station had agreed to this plan because it saved them money, but she wanted to prove they’d underestimated her talent. She was more than just a pretty face and figure to pose in front of the camera, someone they could cast aside in favor of a younger and even more beautiful candidate. She hadn’t clawed her way up from the weather girl on the third-ranked station in Oilton, Oklahoma, to let that happen. There was more than money or fame at stake here; her pride was on the line.

She fingered the charm she wore on a gold chain around her neck—a tiny golden globe. A reminder from her grandmother that the world could be hers, but she had to seize it. “No one hands you anything in this life,” her grandmother had cautioned her as a child. “If you want something, you have to take it.” Even as a young girl, Sandra had wanted more than the dull, small-town life she’d been born into. She’d worked hard to earn the wealth, glamour and excitement she’d longed for, but even that was never quite enough.

Another knock signaled the arrival of their dinner. “I thought we’d eat in here,” she said as the steward wheeled in a white-draped table and an array of covered dishes. “It’s much more private and intimate.”

A muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth at the word intimate, and he shifted in his chair but remained silent.

When they were alone again, Sandra uncovered the food and invited him to sit. “I thought it would be fun to recreate the meal Passionata served the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg,” she said. “Oysters, roast beef, lobster pies, fried beets and potatoes.” In Confessions, Passionata had claimed this was a meal designed to arouse and to provide strength for the night ahead.

“I doubt much of Passionata’s—or as she was born, Jane Hallowell’s—so-called autobiography was actually written by her,” Adam said as he sat across from Sandra at the table.

“You do?” She didn’t try to hide her surprise. “I thought Confessions of a Pirate Queen is what led you to the island and the shipwreck.”

He shook his head. “I’ve read the book, of course, and I’m sure there’s some fact there. But most of it is so sensationalized—like the account of her dinner with the future King George.” He shook hot sauce onto an oyster and tossed it into his mouth.

“Then who do you think is the author?” she asked. She served herself some of the potatoes and some of the roast beef, avoiding the raw oysters—though she could admit a certain fascination in watching Adam swallow them with such relish.

He helped himself to another oyster before answering. “I think the book was probably written in the late eighteenth century by some unknown writer out to make a quick buck—much like the American dime novels. He—or she—had heard some stories about the notorious lady pirate and made the rest up. The addition of all the sex practically guaranteed a bestseller.”

“So even in the 1700s, sex sold.” She sliced into her roast and shook her head. “I don’t agree that the book isn’t Passionata’s. I think the account rings true. At least, I believe it was written by a woman who knew what she was talking about.”

“So you believe all that about women’s power over men?” He looked amused, or perhaps that was only the effect of his second glass of wine.

“Don’t you?” She laid aside her knife and fork and looked him in the eye.

“I believe women like to think they have that kind of power over men, but most of us aren’t as susceptible as that.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. She could practically feel the heat arcing between them.

He took another long drink of wine and pretended interest in his food, though she was sure every part of him was as aware of her as she was of him. “Not that I didn’t enjoy our time together before,” he said. “But when I’m working, I work. I don’t have time for anything that doesn’t involve the salvage of the Eve.”

“There’s always time for sex,” she said. “It’s like eating or breathing.”

“Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I scarcely take time for those things when I’m involved in a project.” He pushed his empty plate away and crumpled his napkin beside it. “Thanks for dinner. Now I’d better get back to work.”

“But you haven’t had dessert,” she said. She stood and walked slowly back to the chairs where they’d started the evening, aware of his eyes on her, caressing her back and gliding over her hips. Smiling, she sat and removed the cover from a small dish on the table between the two chairs. “Strawberries,” she said. “My favorite.” She selected a large, ripe fruit and bit into it, her tongue darting out to lick the juices that dripped from her chin. “You must stay and have some,” she said, her voice pitched just above a whisper, so that he had to lean forward to hear her.

“I’d really better go,” he said, but made no move to leave.

“Please don’t,” she said. “Stay a little longer.” The words were a line she’d rehearsed in her head, but even she heard the earnestness in her voice when she spoke them. The truth was, she did want Adam to stay. As rough and even rude as he sometimes was, he fascinated her.

And tempted her. While her intent had been to arouse him, she was more than a little turned on herself. Somewhere between the first glass of wine and the disappearance of the last oyster, he’d become not merely a man she wanted to control, but a man she wanted.

EVERY INSTINCT told Adam to bolt for the door, but he remained fixed in place, mesmerized by the sight of Sandra’s moist, full lips caressing the ripe fruit. Her every action was incredibly over the top, yet intoxicatingly alluring.

With one finger she caught a drop of juice that dripped from the berry, and sucked it from her finger. He drew in a sharp breath and felt his groin tighten. Their eyes locked and the raw wanting he saw there rocked him.

He shoved himself out of the chair and lurched toward the door. “Good night,” he muttered, avoiding looking at her as he passed.

“No, wait.” She caught him by the wrist, her fingers tightening around him. “I…” She released him and touched her temple. “I don’t feel so well.”

At first he suspected another ploy to delay him, but one look at her had him doubting that anyone could be such an accomplished actress. Her skin had turned dead white, and her eyes held a distant expression. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I…” Before she could complete the sentence, she slumped forward in the chair.

He lunged to grab her before she slid to the floor. He tried to prop her up in the chair once more, but she’d gone completely limp, unable to support herself. He ended up cradling her in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. He looked around for some bell or button to use to summon help, but saw nothing. He could step into the corridor and shout, but that would mean leaving her and he was afraid to do so for even that little bit.

At least she was still breathing, her chest rising and falling steadily. He was relieved to see that some of the color had returned to her skin, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. At this close proximity, the soft floral scent of her hair engulfed him. Her lips were slightly parted, her lashes a heavy fringe just brushing her cheeks. Inert like this, her face without its usual animation, she looked surprisingly small and delicate.

Vulnerable.

Desirable.

He pushed the thought away. Maybe she was suffering from too much to drink, though like him, she’d only had two glasses of wine. Unless she’d had some before he’d arrived.

In any case, he had to make her more comfortable. Settling her more firmly in his arms, he searched the cabin for someplace to lay her. He spotted a door to his right and pushed it open.

The small stateroom was awash in red—red draperies, red wallpaper, red floral comforter on the bed. Adam laid Sandra on the bed and wondered if he should loosen her clothes. The thought of undressing her made him feel shaky. Better not go there. Her dress fit her well, but it wasn’t overly tight.

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.