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“Just when our conversation was getting so interesting?”
But he didn’t answer, and she made no attempt to delay him further. She sat back in the chaise and sipped her drink, and pondered why her question about money had upset him so. Was it because as an academic he thought he ought to be above common greed? Did he make a habit of denying his vices—jealousy, greed…lust?
She sighed. It was going to be a long summer if he insisted on being so standoffish. As long as they were on this island together, no reason they shouldn’t enjoy themselves. Of course, there were other men here who’d be willing to amuse her, she was sure, but she wanted Adam.
ADAM LEFT SANDRA feeling more annoyed than he’d been when he arrived. Why did that damn woman always rub him the wrong way? She hadn’t been in the harbor an hour, and already it was happening—he ought to be focused on the salvage operation, and all he could think of was her.
He never should have let himself get involved with her last fall, but she’d caught him at a weak moment. He’d told himself this summer would be different. He’d be too focused on his work here on the island to let her tempt him. But five minutes in her company and she’d proved him wrong.
He hated complications in his life and in his work, and she was a big one, a diva who was clearly accustomed to men hopping when she said “jump.” He didn’t have the time or energy to waste on her, no matter how much his libido begged to differ.
Instead of returning to his own yacht, he steered his Zodiac to the Caspian. The 120-foot research vessel would serve as the main workboat for the expedition, as well as home to the interns and the Murphy brothers.
“Adam, I’m glad you’re back.” One of the interns, a twentysomething named Brent, who wore his black hair in a long ponytail, greeted him as soon as he stepped on deck. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What do you need?” Adam forced himself to assume a more pleasant expression. He liked Brent and the other interns, Tessa and Charlie. They shared his passion for history and were willing to work all summer for low wages and the chance to make a little history of their own.
“I’ve got some bad news. The magnetometer is broken.”
“What? It can’t be.” The magnetometer measured changes in the earth’s magnetic field that indicated the presence of iron and other minerals that could point to artifacts beneath the layers of silt and sand on the ocean floor.
Brent looked grim. “Afraid so. When we unpacked it this morning, we discovered the glass was shattered. We’ll have to send it back to Jamaica to be repaired. The captain of the Caspian already radioed for someone to come pick it up.”
“We can’t wait for it to be repaired. Send a message for the courier to bring a new one with him.”
“Sure. That’s a great idea.” Brent hesitated. “How should I tell them we’ll pay for it?”
“Charge it to Merrick.” Damian Merrick, a science nut who also happened to be the heir to the Merrick semiconductor fortune, had agreed to finance the salvage of the Eve. In exchange, Adam had reluctantly agreed to send regular reports of the expedition’s progress. He’d drawn the line at having Merrick as part of the operation. It was bad enough having Sandra hanging around. He didn’t need two amateurs to babysit.
Adam and Brent made their way to the stern, where Tessa and the Murphy brothers were sorting diving equipment and other gear. Roger Murphy looked up at their approach. He was a short, stocky figure with faded red hair that looked as if it had been styled with a machete. “Hi, Professor,” he said. “Checked the weather report?”
“No. Why?” Adam braced himself for more bad news.
“Looks good for the next few days, but there’s a low-pressure system building off the coast of Africa that could bring trouble later in the week.”
“Or it could be nothing,” Adam said.
“I make it a point to keep an eye on the weather,” Roger said. “I got caught in a hurricane off the coast of Haiti five years back and it’s not an experience I care to repeat. I was nearly killed and the expedition lost almost everything.”
“We’ll be fine,” Adam said. “When I was here last summer, it scarcely rained.”
“Yeah, well, that was last summer.”
Adam made no answer. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t concerned; his research had revealed that major hurricanes had hit the island in 1850, 1910 and 1941. Even a relatively minor storm would delay their operation by days, possibly weeks. But there was nothing he could do to control the weather, so he saw no profit in fretting over it.
“Any word on the water dredge?” he asked, changing the subject to a more pressing concern. “Is it here yet?”
“It arrived in Kingston today,” Roger said. “It should be here day after tomorrow.”
“We’ll have to start the survey without it,” Adam said. He addressed the interns. “Are you all ready to dive tomorrow?”
“I can’t wait.” Tessa, the only woman on the expedition, grinned up at him. “Just the thought of seeing the wreck up close makes me so excited.”
Charlie muttered something under his breath. Adam thought it was something along the lines of I’d like to get you excited.
“What did you say, Charlie?” Tessa glared at him.
Charlie coughed and reached for a weight belt from the pile on the deck. “Just that I’m excited, too. About the wreck.”
Adam rubbed his hand across his face in an attempt to wipe away a smile. He supposed he’d better have a talk with Charlie about sexual harassment, though the combination of raging hormones, scanty bathing suits and a summer in paradise almost guaranteed that various members of the crew would be hooking up. He only hoped the scarcity of women didn’t lead to fighting among the men. Tessa and Sandra were the only available women so far, unless Sandra had someone on board he didn’t know about.
“How’s our resident celebrity?” Sam Murphy spoke around the stub of an unlit cigar that was a fixture at the corner of his mouth.
“Celebrity?” Tessa raised a questioning look to Adam.
“That television babe, Sandra Newman,” Sam said. “That’s her yacht that just arrived. She’s here to make movie stars of all of us.” Sam laughed at his own joke, a harsh barking sound.
Tessa’s eyes widened. “For real? Sandra Newman? Here?”
Adam nodded. “She’s making a documentary about Passionata and her treasure. But she’s promised not to interfere with our work.”
“We’ll get to meet her, won’t we?” Tessa asked. “I saw her special on Art Collections of the Rich and Famous. She was awesome.”
“What’s she like?” Charlie grinned at Adam. “Is she as hot in person as she is on TV?”
Adam had the urge to wipe the leer off the kid’s face. “Stay out of her way,” he said. “She’s got a job to do, and so do you.”
Charlie executed a crisp salute. “Aye, aye, Captain. Didn’t mean to poach on your territory.”
“She’s not my territory!” Heat flushed his face. Sandra had made it clear last fall that she viewed him as nothing more than a pleasant diversion, a sentiment he’d shared. He didn’t have time for that sort of distraction while he was working, though he was having more difficulty putting her out of his mind than he’d anticipated. He didn’t need Charlie—or anyone else—reminding him of what he was missing.
“She’s not part of our crew,” he continued. “The less we have to do with her the better.”
Roger let out a low whistle. “I think we get the picture. So what did this Sandra woman do to get you so hot and bothered?”
“She didn’t do anything.”
Anything except throw him completely off balance from their second meeting. Their first meeting didn’t really count; he’d been high on pain pills, still reeling from a nasty encounter with a shark while he’d been raising a demiculverin from the Eve. He rubbed his thigh where the scar still glowed an ugly white against his tan. When Sandra Newman had sailed into the harbor last summer aboard her fancy yacht, he hadn’t known or cared who she was. He’d seen her as just one more interruption to his work.
But the next day, she’d shown up at his yacht when he was there alone, and the full force of her presence had hit him. From her gleaming fall of brunette hair to her red-painted toenails, Sandra Newman was a woman who screamed sex. Frankly, after a summer of celibacy watching his friend Nicole and the island’s other occupant, an Englishman named Ian Marshall, make eyes at each other, Adam had probably been more vulnerable than usual to Sandra’s come-ons.
“If you’re not interested, maybe I’ll row over and say hello.” Sam winked at his brother, who chewed on his cigar and smirked. “In my free time, of course,” he added.
“You’re not going to have any free time,” Adam said. “We start work first thing tomorrow.” He turned and headed for the bridge to let the captain know he wanted to be at the wreck site at first light. But the men’s laughter and comments about Sandra followed him.
The comments rankled because he knew more than mere lust lay at the root of his attraction to the beautiful reporter. When she’d wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, he’d felt a shock of recognition. As if he’d kissed this woman before. Many times. And liked every one of them very much.
Which was ridiculous. He’d never laid eyes on Sandra before they’d met on the island last summer, and she definitely wasn’t the type of woman he ever associated with. He liked simple, uncomplicated women. Women with whom he enjoyed quiet, low-key affairs until it was time to move on. Women who didn’t interfere with his work, who understood his devotion to both teaching and his treasure-hunting hobby.
Sandra was none of those things. One look at her perfect manicure, designer clothes and movie-star smile and any man with half a brain knew immediately that she was complex, complicated, demanding and self-centered. In Sandra’s world, everything revolved around her. And the last thing Adam would ever be was a planet in someone else’s orbit.
2
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…
