Her Secret Treasure. Cindi Myers
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wheeled in a white-draped table and an array of covered dishes. “It’s much more private and intimate.”
A muscle twitched in the corner of his mouth at the word intimate, and he shifted in his chair but remained silent.
When they were alone again, Sandra uncovered the food and invited him to sit. “I thought it would be fun to recreate the meal Passionata served the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg,” she said. “Oysters, roast beef, lobster pies, fried beets and potatoes.” In Confessions, Passionata had claimed this was a meal designed to arouse and to provide strength for the night ahead.
“I doubt much of Passionata’s—or as she was born, Jane Hallowell’s—so-called autobiography was actually written by her,” Adam said as he sat across from Sandra at the table.
“You do?” She didn’t try to hide her surprise. “I thought Confessions of a Pirate Queen is what led you to the island and the shipwreck.”
He shook his head. “I’ve read the book, of course, and I’m sure there’s some fact there. But most of it is so sensationalized—like the account of her dinner with the future King George.” He shook hot sauce onto an oyster and tossed it into his mouth.
“Then who do you think is the author?” she asked. She served herself some of the potatoes and some of the roast beef, avoiding the raw oysters—though she could admit a certain fascination in watching Adam swallow them with such relish.
He helped himself to another oyster before answering. “I think the book was probably written in the late eighteenth century by some unknown writer out to make a quick buck—much like the American dime novels. He—or she—had heard some stories about the notorious lady pirate and made the rest up. The addition of all the sex practically guaranteed a bestseller.”
“So even in the 1700s, sex sold.” She sliced into her roast and shook her head. “I don’t agree that the book isn’t Passionata’s. I think the account rings true. At least, I believe it was written by a woman who knew what she was talking about.”
“So you believe all that about women’s power over men?” He looked amused, or perhaps that was only the effect of his second glass of wine.
“Don’t you?” She laid aside her knife and fork and looked him in the eye.
“I believe women like to think they have that kind of power over men, but most of us aren’t as susceptible as that.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. She could practically feel the heat arcing between them.
He took another long drink of wine and pretended interest in his food, though she was sure every part of him was as aware of her as she was of him. “Not that I didn’t enjoy our time together before,” he said. “But when I’m working, I work. I don’t have time for anything that doesn’t involve the salvage of the Eve.”
“There’s always time for sex,” she said. “It’s like eating or breathing.”
“Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I scarcely take time for those things when I’m involved in a project.” He pushed his empty plate away and crumpled his napkin beside it. “Thanks for dinner. Now I’d better get back to work.”
“But you haven’t had dessert,” she said. She stood and walked slowly back to the chairs where they’d started the evening, aware of his eyes on her, caressing her back and gliding over her hips. Smiling, she sat and removed the cover from a small dish on the table between the two chairs. “Strawberries,” she said. “My favorite.” She selected a large, ripe fruit and bit into it, her tongue darting out to lick the juices that dripped from her chin. “You must stay and have some,” she said, her voice pitched just above a whisper, so that he had to lean forward to hear her.
“I’d really better go,” he said, but made no move to leave.
“Please don’t,” she said. “Stay a little longer.” The words were a line she’d rehearsed in her head, but even she heard the earnestness in her voice when she spoke them. The truth was, she did want Adam to stay. As rough and even rude as he sometimes was, he fascinated her.
And tempted her. While her intent had been to arouse him, she was more than a little turned on herself. Somewhere between the first glass of wine and the disappearance of the last oyster, he’d become not merely a man she wanted to control, but a man she wanted.
EVERY INSTINCT told Adam to bolt for the door, but he remained fixed in place, mesmerized by the sight of Sandra’s moist, full lips caressing the ripe fruit. Her every action was incredibly over the top, yet intoxicatingly alluring.
With one finger she caught a drop of juice that dripped from the berry, and sucked it from her finger. He drew in a sharp breath and felt his groin tighten. Their eyes locked and the raw wanting he saw there rocked him.
He shoved himself out of the chair and lurched toward the door. “Good night,” he muttered, avoiding looking at her as he passed.
“No, wait.” She caught him by the wrist, her fingers tightening around him. “I…” She released him and touched her temple. “I don’t feel so well.”
At first he suspected another ploy to delay him, but one look at her had him doubting that anyone could be such an accomplished actress. Her skin had turned dead white, and her eyes held a distant expression. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I…” Before she could complete the sentence, she slumped forward in the chair.
He lunged to grab her before she slid to the floor. He tried to prop her up in the chair once more, but she’d gone completely limp, unable to support herself. He ended up cradling her in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. He looked around for some bell or button to use to summon help, but saw nothing. He could step into the corridor and shout, but that would mean leaving her and he was afraid to do so for even that little bit.
At least she was still breathing, her chest rising and falling steadily. He was relieved to see that some of the color had returned to her skin, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. At this close proximity, the soft floral scent of her hair engulfed him. Her lips were slightly parted, her lashes a heavy fringe just brushing her cheeks. Inert like this, her face without its usual animation, she looked surprisingly small and delicate.
Vulnerable.
Desirable.
He pushed the thought away. Maybe she was suffering from too much to drink, though like him, she’d only had two glasses of wine. Unless she’d had some before he’d arrived.
In any case, he had to make her more comfortable. Settling her more firmly in his arms, he searched the cabin for someplace to lay her. He spotted a door to his right and pushed it open.
The small stateroom was awash in red—red draperies, red wallpaper, red floral comforter on the bed. Adam laid Sandra on the bed and wondered if he should loosen her clothes. The thought of undressing her made him feel shaky. Better not go there. Her dress fit her well, but it wasn’t overly tight.
Very carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her wrist in his hand, feeling for her pulse. It was rapid but strong. Should he call someone? But who? There was no doctor on the island. He wished his friend Nicole was here. Not only was she another woman, she was a nurse. She’d know how to handle the situation.
He touched Sandra’s cheek, so soft and smooth. She really was the most beautiful woman…Resolutely, he pulled his thoughts back to more practical matters and patted her jaw. “Sandra,” he said. Then louder, “Sandra, can you hear me? Wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered and she stared at him, her pupils dilated, her breathing more rapid than ever. “Thank God you’re here,” she whispered.
“I didn’t do anything but keep you from hitting your head when you fell. What happened?”
“Happened?” She blinked. “Nothing’s happened. Yet.”