Her Secret Treasure. Cindi Myers

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,