Her Secret Treasure. Cindi Myers

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      SANDRA WOKE TO SUNLIGHT spilling from the porthole in her cabin, a dull ache in the back of her head, her thoughts a kaleidoscope of broken images. She frowned, trying to concentrate. She’d had dinner last night with Adam. They had drunk the wine he’d brought and then…

      Heat flooded her face as memories of wild sex with a faceless stranger filled her. Had that been Adam?

      She sat up, alarmed, and discovered she was still dressed in the red gown she’d chosen last night and that she lay on top of the comforter, which had half slid to the floor. There was no sign of the professor—no note, no indentation on the pillows other than her own.

      Had it all been a dream, then? She pushed her hair back from her face and tried to concentrate. The fog, the faceless man, her own passiveness—they all pointed to a dream. Though one of the most vivid and erotic dreams she had ever experienced. She was sure she’d climaxed. Was that even possible? Men had wet dreams, but could women?

      She shook her head and carefully crawled out of bed. The headache was already abating, and she felt none of the queasiness that signaled a hangover. But she had no memory of anything after she’d begun to eat the strawberries she’d chosen for dessert.

      Had Adam put something in her wine to knock her out? One of the date-rape drugs she’d reported on that rendered their victims helpless? But why would he do that? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already been a perfectly willing partner….

      She stumbled into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, checking carefully for any sign that she’d been molested. But her underwear was still in place; she bore no bruises. And beyond all that was her conviction that Adam wouldn’t do something like that. He had to know that if he wanted her, all he had to do was ask. He had no need to drug her.

      She turned on the shower and stepped inside, raising her face to the hot spray. Maybe she’d had a bad reaction to something they’d eaten. She’d heard certain toxins could cause hallucinations. Could they also cause erotic dreams? She smiled. If so, maybe she should figure out what food had been the culprit and eat it again. She didn’t know if she’d ever had a real sexual encounter as intense as the one she’d dreamed.

      She poured shampoo into her palm and lathered it into her hair. The dream had been odd in others ways, too. Disturbing even. Her dream self had been completely dominated by the mystery man, content to let him take charge, eager even to submit to him. The idea that such desires hid in her subconscious annoyed her. She wasn’t a passive woman and had no wish to be. If anything, she preferred to take the lead in her relationships with men. In her experience it was the only way to keep them from underestimating her.

      She rinsed her hair and body, then stepped out of the shower, her thoughts turning once more to Adam. She’d have to ask him for his version of last night’s events and see what he had to say. She checked the clock and saw that it was after ten o’clock. Too late to question Adam now. He’d be at the wreck site, continuing his survey. A survey she hoped he’d finish soon. She was anxious to get to work.

      What was she supposed to do with herself in the meantime? She looked around the stateroom, hoping for something that would strike her interest, but found nothing. Then her gaze rested on the view through the porthole—a vista of Passionata’s Island. That was it then; she’d explore the former pirate’s stronghold, maybe even take along a camera and get some footage of the tower. If she found anything particularly interesting, she could send Jonas to film more later.

      Cheered by the idea, she dressed in an orange bikini, then added khaki shorts and a shirt over that. With tennis shoes and hat, she was ready to discover what it was that had attracted a woman like Passionata to this beautiful but desolate place.