Her Secret Treasure. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
As the spotlight cut through the dimness, revealing brightly colored fish and the undulations of the underwater terrain, Adam felt a deep peace settle over him. This was the part of his work he loved most, losing himself in new discoveries, seeing things as few others saw them.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glint of something and quickly focused the light in that direction. At first he saw nothing, but as he swam closer, he noticed an irregularity in the ocean floor. He reached down and carefully fanned away the top layer of sediment, revealing a jeweled dagger. It lay in the gravel as if only recently dropped there by some passing sailor, its blade darkened, the red stone in its hilt glowing dully.
His heart raced as he fumbled with his free hand for his camera. He snapped a few pictures, then took out his GPS to read the coordinates. These noted, he finally allowed himself to pick up the dagger, scarcely breathing as he cradled it in his hand.
It was heavy, yet perfectly balanced, the blade long and tapered. Cleaned and sharpened, it would be a deadly weapon, as well as a work of art. Through layers of grime, he thought he detected engraving, and filigreed metal surrounded the stone.
It was exactly the sort of thing Sandra would love to show her viewers.
That he would think of her in such a moment startled him so much he almost dropped the dagger. He gripped it more firmly, and tried to get a grip on his emotions, as well. This was a testament to the degree the sexy reporter had insinuated herself into his life in such a short time.
So far he’d been successful in keeping thoughts of last night away, but now the memories flooded back. The way she’d looked at him after he’d carried her to bed, as if her very life depended on him making love to her, had unnerved him. The Sandra he knew was not the type to humble herself to anyone, yet in those moments he had sensed she would have done anything he asked. And he couldn’t deny that he’d wanted to ask. His desire for her had been overpowering, conquered only by his knowledge that he’d be taking advantage of a woman who clearly wasn’t right in the head.
Walking away from her last night was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, and chances were she wouldn’t even remember his act of chivalry. Worse, he had no confidence he’d be as strong the next time she came on to him. His reluctance to get involved with Sandra while he had so much work to do was no match for the fierce physical pull he felt for her, whether she was out of her mind or not.
SANDRA BEACHED the Zodiac and made her way along the shore, searching for the path that led into the jungle. The wind had come up, and she had to hold on to her hat with one hand to keep it from being snatched away. Sand sifted into her shoes, so she took them off, sinking her toes into the hot, powdery beach. Maybe instead of exploring, she should take Adam’s other suggestion, and work on her tan.
But the idea of sunning on the beach held little appeal with no beach chair or umbrella, no one to fetch her drinks and no one to lie with. She glanced toward Adam’s yacht, anchored in the harbor. There was no sign of movement on the tarp-shaded deck. She thought of going aboard and waiting for him. What would he think if he returned from a day of diving and found her there? What if she were naked in his bed? Would he dare turn her away then?
She clenched her thighs against the rush of desire this fantasy produced. And she thought again of her dream last night. Had the skillful lover she’d imagined been Adam?
She shook her head. No matter what games her subconscious played, when she and Adam had made love before, it had been as equals. She would never play the shivering virgin for any man, and certainly not for a sloppy—though sexy—professor.
She spotted the path and stopped to put on her shoes. Despite her disdain for all the scary stories Adam and his friends had once told her about the dangerous wildlife on the island, she had no desire to step on one of the ever-present land crabs or, worse, a spider.
Once she started down the path, the dense undergrowth muffled the sound of the wind and blotted out all but the weakest rays of the sun, which filtered through the canopy overhead, bathing her in a watery green light. The air was heavy and humid, redolent with the scent of growth and decay. Though last summer the jungle had been hacked away to allow space for the passage of two people walking side by side, new growth crowded in on both sides, so that Sandra could barely squeeze through in places.
As she neared the center of the island, the noise of the birds increased, a cacophony of screams and whistles and honks louder than any freeway gridlock or rock concert riot. Along with the noise came the stench of the thousands of birds that nested and fed on the rocky heart of the island. Sandra covered her mouth and nose with one hand and held on to her hat with the other, the video camera swinging from the strap at her wrist, hitting her shoulder with every step.
Passionata’s Tower rose from the center of the clearing, a squat, crenelated fortress three stories tall, built of the same gray volcanic rock as its surroundings, the surface pocked with white bird droppings. On an elevated