Her Secret Treasure. Cindi Myers

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      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.” She smiled and slid her hand up his arm. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

      “Missed me? I’ve been right he—”

      His words were smothered by her lips on his. With surprising strength, she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him, opening her mouth to him. She was so warm and soft and willing…For a moment he forgot where he was. Who he was. He wasn’t an almost-forty-year-old academic who preferred study to socializing, and research to relationships; he was a hedonist who knew what it was to make love to a woman until they were both fully sated and exhausted. A man whom a woman like Sandra would beg to be with.

      She squirmed beneath him, and he put out a hand to steady her, encountering the soft, supple curve of her breast. He shaped his hand to her and squeezed gently, her soft cry of delight recalling him to his senses.

      He pushed out of her embrace, horrified at his actions. What was he doing fondling a woman who was clearly out of her head? As much as he’d previously enjoyed sex with Sandra, he wasn’t going to take advantage of her when she wasn’t in her right mind.

      “Frederick, don’t go!” She protested. “Don’t leave me when I want you so badly.” She arched her body in flagrant invitation.

      Adam was having trouble breathing. Who the hell is Frederick? he wanted to ask. Was she so drunk she couldn’t remember his name?

      But she didn’t act drunk exactly. She acted more—crazy. She stared at him with unabashed passion. He couldn’t remember when a woman had ever looked at him that way, and once again he was tempted to strip off his clothes and join her on that red comforter.

      “Frederick, please,” she moaned, and the words brought him back to his senses. Even he wasn’t desperate enough to sleep with a woman who couldn’t get his name right. Though right now Adam could admit he was jealous of Frederick, whoever he was.

      “I’ll send someone to check on you,” he said as he backed out the door. Tomorrow she might have a hell of a hangover, but he hoped for both their sakes, she wouldn’t remember any of this had happened.

      3

      FOG SURROUNDED Sandra, obscuring her vision, clouding her thoughts. She had a vague memory of sitting in a chair, drinking wine with…someone. She couldn’t remember. Then she was sinking into oblivion, waking yet not waking to the sensation of strong arms wrapped around her, carrying her to a bed.

      Deft hands undressed her. Masculine hands, with strong fingers that caressed her naked breasts and stroked her bare thighs with a shocking possessiveness. She opened her mouth to protest, but could only sigh as his touch aroused a pleasure unlike any she had ever known. She reached for him, calling his name. “Frederick.”

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