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.
