Her Secret Treasure. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.