“Come with me.”

Nicole took Ian’s hand and led him down to the beach, to a hammock strung between two palm trees.

“Lie down,” she commanded, and pushed him into the hammock.

He did as told, and Nicole crawled on top of him and straddled his stomach. She planted her palms on his chest and stared down at him, her expression serious.

“Yes or no?” she asked. “Do you want to be seduced?”

Heat rushed through her—the heat of desire, and also a great sensation of power. With her eyes locked with his, she reached up, grasped the top of her dress and lowered the silky fabric over her breasts—slowly, revealing an inch of naked skin at a time and watching as Ian’s eyes darkened with desire.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Absolutely yes.”

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I had a thing for pirates long before Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom made them popular. As a girl, I devoured stories about Blackbeard, Captain Kidd and Jean Lafitte. And as I grew older, I fantasized about being swept off my feet by a dashing pirate and carried away to a tropical paradise. (It beats figuring my taxes or making a grocery list any day of the week.)

That tropical paradise of my dreams seemed the perfect setting for a pair of sexy Harlequin Blaze fantasies. Add in the lure of treasure and legends about pirates and this was a story I couldn’t wait to return to every day. Better than Blackbeard or Captain Kidd, I made my pirate a woman with a scandalous past and a reputation as a skilled seductress. I pulled out all the stops for the character of Passionata, and I hope you’ll enjoy the steamy results.

Look for the second Passionata’s Island story in October 2008, when Her Secret Treasure goes on sale. In the meantime, I love to hear from my readers. You’ll find me on the Web at www.CindiMyers.com. E-mail me at cindi@cindimyers.com or write to me in care of Harlequin Enterprises, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

Best,

Cindi Myers

AT HER PLEASURE
Cindi Myers

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cindi Myers’s dreams of sailing away to an island paradise with her own swashbuckling pirate have been quashed by rampant seasickness and a tendency to sunburn easily. So she settles for drinking umbrella cocktails and letting her imagination run wild on the sun-washed beaches of her books.

Books by Cindi Myers

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

149—TAKING IT ALL OFF

168—GOOD, BAD…BETTER

180—DO ME RIGHT

215—ROCK MY WORLD *

241—NO REGRETS *

274—FEAR OF FALLING †

323—THE MAN TAMER

333—MEN AT WORK “

Taking His Measure”

360—WILD CHILD ‡

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1498—A SOLDIER COMES HOME

HARLEQUIN ANTHOLOGY

A WEDDING IN PARIS

“Picture Perfect”

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

1182—MARRIAGE ON HER MIND

1199—THE RIGHT MR. WRONG

HARLEQUIN NEXT

MY BACKWARDS LIFE

THE BIRDMAN’S DAUGHTER

HARLEQUIN SIGNATURE SELECT

LEARNING CURVES

BOOTCAMP

“Flirting with an Old Flame”

To Emily McKay, for all her help

in researching diving.

Any mistakes are mine, not hers.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

THE SUNSET ON THE OCEAN streaked the sky with pink and gold and turned the sea a deep vermillion.

The color of passion.

The color of romance and love and all the things that weren’t a part of Nicole Howard’s life right now. And maybe never would be again.

She leaned on the rail of the yacht and stared out at a horizon as empty and featureless as she felt inside. Maybe agreeing to come on this vacation with her friend, Adam Carroway, hadn’t been such a great idea.

With his usual persuasiveness, Adam had made the trip sound like the perfect way to recover from losing both her lover and her job in the space of a week. They’d sail to a remote island in the Caribbean, do some diving, look for some shipwreck Adam was wild to find, get some sun and forget all about life back in Amity, Michigan.

But forgetting was proving a lot harder than Nicole had expected.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you? Stop it.”

She turned and saw Adam emerging from the ship’s cabin. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and tanned from hours sailing on Lake Michigan, he looked nothing like the university history professor he was. Ten years older than Nicole, he had been at various times her roommate, confidant and best buddy. She thought of him as the big brother she’d never had.

He came to stand beside her on the rail. “You should have let me pound him one. Then at least you’d have the memory of him groveling to cheer you up.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine Dr. Kenneth Brambling, chief of Amity Surgical Associates, groveling. When she’d first taken the job as nurse for the busy surgery practice, she’d been intimidated by his dignity. Later, when they’d become lovers, she’d been caught up in the aura of power with which he surrounded himself.

Only recently had she realized Kenneth’s dignity was merely arrogance, and the power an inflated sense of his own importance, and a callousness that had shocked her—and broken her heart. “Beating him up wouldn’t have gotten either of us anything except maybe a lawsuit,” she said.

“Might have made him think twice about cheating on another woman.”

“I doubt it.” As soon as she’d gotten over the shock of learning that she wasn’t the only woman sharing Kenneth’s bed, she’d uncovered all sorts of deceptions the good doctor excelled in, from exaggerating reports to insurance companies in order to receive higher reimbursements, to lying to his partners about the real reason he couldn’t attend a staff meeting—because he’d been occupied with his latest girlfriend. The man was an accomplished liar and it was cold comfort to know she wasn’t the first fool he’d deceived.

She’d emerged from the affair doubting everything from her physical attractiveness to her judgment. Though she knew Kenneth was in the wrong—he was the one who’d cheated and lied—she couldn’t help but wonder if she was also to blame. Maybe if she’d handled things differently, she wouldn’t have ended up so hurt.

“Here, I brought you something to take your mind off the jerk.” Adam pulled a slim paperback from his pocket and offered it to her.

“What is it?”

“Some background info on where we’re going and what I hope to find there.”

Adam had tried previously to give her more details about their destination and the shipwreck he was searching for, but once he went into academic-lecture mode her eyes glazed over and she’d refused to listen further. She didn’t care why they were headed to this deserted island, only that the island was far from Michigan and her problems.

Expecting a boring academic tome, she took the book and studied the cover. A lurid watercolor portrayed a scantily clad woman standing on a gallows. Confessions of a Pirate Queen? she read the title, amused. This certainly didn’t sound like a textbook.

“Passionata, aka Jane Hallowell, was a female pirate in the early 1700s, based on a previously deserted atoll that came to be known as Passionata’s Island—our destination on this trip,” said Adam.

“A female pirate?” This definitely piqued her interest. “Were there really such things?”

“Definitely. The most well-known is Anne Bonney, but there’s also Mary Reade, and Grace O’Malley, the daughter of a pirate who followed in her father’s footsteps.” He tapped the cover of the book. “But Passionata was in a class by herself.”

Nicole turned the volume over and studied the painting of a full-rigged sailing ship with a Jolly Roger flying from its mast. “How so?”

“For one thing, she was one of the most successful. She and her all-female crew liberated merchant ships—mostly British—of millions of dollars in cargo, from gold coins to imported spices.” Adam had warmed to his subject now, assuming the tone of a professor lecturing his students.

“I guess that kind of money will get you talked about,” Nicole said.

“It wasn’t only the money people talked about.” He grinned. “Passionata had an interesting approach to life.”

As if being a female pirate wasn’t interesting enough.

“She was known as quite a seductress, and advocated ideas that were shocking for their time. Supposedly some of the highest members of British society secretly came to the island, seeking her advice on the art of seduction.”

Nicole studied the cover illustration again. “So is this one of those tabloid tell-alls about her sordid life?”

“This book was supposedly written by Passionata herself while she was awaiting trial in Newgate Prison in 1715.” He tapped the cover again. “Read it. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

She nodded. She’d brought a couple of novels with her, but none of them had been able to hold her interest. What she really needed was something to help her get over the failures she’d left behind. She could approach Confessions of a Pirate Queen like one of those self-help books everyone swore by. A woman who’d succeeded in a male-dominated field might have some handy career lessons to impart, and a pirate queen who was also a known seductress could surely teach Nicole a few things about charting her own course in her relationships with men. She lay back against the pillows in the narrow bunk in the ship’s cabin and read the opening lines with interest:

I, PASSIONATA, the most famous lady pirate, stand as a witness to the power of woman. It is this strength that has made the men who govern the laws of the land tremble in fear before me. It is this mastery and my audacity in using it that has led them to seek to silence me on the gallows. But as long as I have breath I will speak, so that others, women and men, may learn.

I am Passionata, and this is my truth.

What exactly did the lady pirate mean about “the power of woman”? Weren’t women of her day more powerless than most? As much as Nicole could recall from her college history courses, in those days women weren’t allowed to own property or sign legal documents. They were at the mercy of their husbands or male relatives.

Things had changed a great deal for the better, but she had to admit that one of the things that had hurt most in the whole debacle with Kenneth had been her own feeling of powerlessness. He had held all the cards. When she’d learned of his infidelity and lies, she’d wept and ranted and made demands—all of which he ignored with an unsettling calmness that only made her feel more out of control.

Then he’d fired her, and there’d been nothing she could do. He’d pointed out—also with chilling calm—that as owner of the business he had the right to hire and fire anyone he wished, at any time, for any reason. Besides, he’d added, everyone knew about their affair and that it had ended, and she didn’t want to stay around to become the object of office gossip, did she?

Ha! Too bad she didn’t have the option of turning pirate and making Dr. Ken walk the plank!

I was born Jane Hallowell, daughter of George Hallowell, a successful merchant, owner of a half-dozen fine merchant ships. I was no great beauty as a child, but as I matured I was endowed with a handsomeness that attracted men.

One of these men was a pirate. His name does not matter here, and indeed, I have vowed never to speak it again. He wooed me with pretty presents and exciting tales of his adventures on the seas. He mesmerized me with smooth words and aroused in me feelings I had never experienced before. He stole my virtue—nay, I gave it gladly, knowing that I was in love and one day would soon wed.

What a naive child I was! On the very day when I waited on the docks for my lover to arrive and take me away with him forever, I learned that my father’s fleet of merchant ships had been attacked, and had suffered a grievous loss. My poor father wailed and buried his face in his hands. When I asked who had done this thing, he uttered the very name of my pirate!

The man I had loved, to whom I had given my all, had never loved me. He had used me to learn the secrets of my father’s business—the routes of my father’s ships and their cargos. He had struck like a cobra, taking all, destroying my father.

Destroying me.

Or so he thought. But I would not be destroyed. Not when the creditors came to auction the house and all our belongings. Not when my father took his own life by shooting himself with a pistol. I died, too, then. Jane Hallowell died.

But Passionata was born.

Fascinated, Nicole read on. She learned how Passionata took her father’s last remaining ship and sailed to the pirate’s haven of Tortuga, where she searched among the brothels and bars for other women like herself—desperate women with nothing to lose and a determination to take revenge on the male sex who had used them so cruelly. From one of the women she learned of the deserted atoll where she made her headquarters and began almost sixteen years of seduction and destruction.

Yes, we were women. The so-called weaker sex, without the physical strength of men. But we have something greater. We have the mental stamina that only women have.

And we have the one weapon that can bring all men to their knees. For every man—as long as he is a true man, and not the other kind, who, indeed I have found to be great allies—will succumb to the power of a woman’s sexuality. Since Adam bowed before Eve, men have always been defeated by this power.

I have devoted my life to teaching all women who want to learn how to use this power. A woman who knows the power of her own body will never be at the mercy of a mere man again.

Nicole reread these last words out loud. “‘A woman who knows the power of her own body will never be at the mercy of a mere man again.’” A man like Kenneth, she thought.

She eagerly turned to the next chapter in Passionata’s tale. Adam had told her she’d enjoy the book, but he probably hadn’t anticipated she would take it so much to heart.

For the first time since cleaning out her desk at the surgical center, she began to feel hope. This book—and this vacation on the island where Passionata had made her home—was Nicole’s opportunity to start fresh. She’d devote this time to learning what the lady pirate had to teach her, and she would never be “at the mercy of a mere man again.”

IAN MARSHALL MOVED THROUGH the packed marketplace in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, easing around clots of T-shirt-clad tourists and craning his neck to see into the vendors’ stalls, while at the same time trying not to appear too interested.

“Come and see. I have nice souvenirs for you.” A man with Rastafarian dreadlocks motioned him toward a table of wood carvings.

Ian shook his head and backed away. The vendor picked up a carving and advanced toward him. “You like a little smoke? A little ganja? I have a lighter for you.” He slid down a panel at the bottom of the carving of a man and revealed an oversize penis-shaped lighter.

Ian shook his head and darted away, only to collide with a tableful of straw baskets. “You want to buy a basket?” the woman asked, never missing a beat as she straightened her wares. “Very beautiful. Very useful.”

Ian stopped to consider the baskets. He could probably use something like this, to store food or collect specimens. And he had almost upset her stall. He picked up a large round basket. “How much for this one?” he asked.

She named a price that sounded more than reasonable. He quickly paid her and moved on. He didn’t have much time and he still had a long list of supplies to obtain. He was going to be on the island for three months and had to take with him everything he’d need to survive. The guide at the wharf had told them there was a surplus store near here that could outfit him, and he’d cut through this market thinking it was a short cut.

Bad idea. He couldn’t move two steps without someone imploring him to come inside their stall and “Just look.” And every minute he lingered here was costing him. He’d agreed to be back in two hours to board the merchant ship on which he’d booked passage. They would drop him off on the island in the morning. If he didn’t show up, they wouldn’t hesitate to sail without him, and his work would be delayed.

Up ahead, past the cluster of stalls, he spotted part of a large overhead marquis. Could that be the place he was looking for? Head down, he moved as swiftly as he dared through the crowd, deaf now to the cries of the vendors.

A dark hand reached out and grabbed hold of him. When he tried to shake it off, the fingers tightened around his arm. “You don’t want to pass up what I am offering,” said a honey-smooth voice.

Annoyed, he glanced to his right and found himself staring into a pair of intense black eyes. They belonged to a woman wearing a red and yellow headscarf. Her face was smooth and unlined, but those eyes looked as if they’d seen a lot. “Come in here,” she said, pulling him toward her stall. “I have something for you.”

“No, really, I don’t have time—”

But already they were at the door of the little shack that served as her shop. “You will not regret making time for this.” She reached up to a shelf and chose a small blue glass bottle and pressed it into his hand.

The shack was filled with such bottles, in every color of the rainbow. He stared down at the one she’d handed him. It had no label, but he could see it was three-quarters full of some dark liquid. “What is this?”

She smiled, showing large, yellowed teeth. “It is a love potion. You put some in the drink of a woman you desire and she will be unable to resist you.”

He wondered if it would have worked on Danielle, his most recent ex-girlfriend. She’d certainly found him easy to resist. When he’d suggested she accompany him on this trip, she’d actually laughed in his face. “You’re going off to some deserted island to play Robinson Crusoe for three months? You won’t last a week.” She’d patted him on the shoulder, a patronizing gesture that had enraged him, though he’d kept his emotions in check. “Ian, the only things you know about life you learned from books. You live in your head, not the real world. But I’m out here where real life is happening. I want a man who can be there with me.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already found him,” he’d said.

She didn’t seem to notice his sarcasm. “I’ve found a real man who makes me happy,” she said.

Doctoral students who spent most of their time in research libraries and classrooms didn’t qualify as authentic males, apparently.

One more reason to take this trip. He’d spend the summer living by his wits, relying only on his own labor and strength. He’d prove to Danielle—and to himself—that he had brains and brawn. That he was a real man.

So what would Danielle think if she could see him now, being bullied by shop venders?

He shoved the bottle back at the woman. “I don’t need any love potions,” he said. “There aren’t any women where I’ll be spending my summer.”

She narrowed her eyes, then grabbed his wrist in an iron grip and drew his hand toward her, palm up. She lowered her face until her nose was almost touching his skin and stared. He tried to pull away, but he might as well have been trying to free himself from a bear trap.

The woman raised her head and looked into his eyes. “No, you won’t need a love potion. But I have something else you will need.” She dropped his hand, whirled and chose another bottle from the shelf.

This small flask was purple, and was warm against his skin when she pressed it into his hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

She grinned again. “Drink this and you will be able to make love to any woman for hours. You will stay harder and larger and will give her pleasure like she has never known.”

He almost dropped the bottle, and felt his face grow hot. “Um, I don’t think I’ll need this, either.” No woman had ever complained about his, um, stamina before. “I told you, there aren’t any women where I’m going.”

“You are wrong. There is a woman in your future,” she said. “A seductress whose goal will be to wear you out.” She tapped the bottle with a long, painted nail. “With this, you will never wear out.”

A pair of tourists had entered the shop and were staring at him with open interest, obviously hearing every word the woman was saying. Ian pulled out his wallet, desperate to get rid of her. “How much?” he asked.

“Ten dollar,” she said. “Worth every penny.”

Ten dollars was robbery, but he paid it, anxious to be out of there and on his way. He shoved the bottle deep into his backpack, then ran the rest of the way toward the surplus store.

He told himself it was only his imagination that he could feel the woman’s eyes burning into his back as he escaped.

THE NEXT MORNING OVER breakfast, Adam asked Nicole if she’d had a bad night.

She yawned and stirred sugar into her coffee. “Why do you say that?”

He helped himself to a second bagel and began slathering it with cream cheese. “You don’t look as if you slept well.”

“I was up late reading.”

He smirked. “About Passionata?”

She nodded. “If she did even half the things she said she did, she was amazing.”

“Supposedly it’s all true, though I have my doubts.”

She sipped her coffee and studied him over the rim of her cup. Adam wouldn’t believe anything that wasn’t backed by scientific proof, but he’d thought enough of the book to lend it to her, so there must be some belief under his scepticism.

Not that he looked much like an academic this morning. He hadn’t bothered to shave and wore a stained T-shirt and shorts that were frayed at the hem and faded to the color of putty. She supposed some women might consider him handsome, but she wasn’t one of them. To her, he was just Adam. The one friend she could depend on. And one whose opinion she valued. “So what did you think of Passionata’s theory that women hold the true power in any relationship?”

“You mean all that stuff about using sex to literally bring a man to his knees?” He snorted. “I’ve known guys like that—ones who usually think with their dicks and end up letting some woman lead them around by the balls. But I think they’re the exception, not the rule.” He refilled his coffee cup. “Take me, for instance. I like sex as well as the next guy, but it’s not the be-all and end-all of my existence. Most of the time, it’s not even in the top three of things on my agenda.”

“You could get kicked out of the Real Man Club for saying that.” She reached for a bagel and a jar of jam. “So you’re saying you’d be immune to a woman like Passionata—an accomplished seductress?”

“You can only seduce someone who secretly wants to be seduced. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Maybe so, but despite his belief otherwise, Nicole suspected Adam had his statistics backward and he was the exception to Passionata’s rule. He was a man absorbed by his work—both teaching and his work-related hobby of hunting for artifacts. Everything else—personal grooming, eating and relationships—took a back seat to these passions.

But other men—men like Kenneth—certainly did seem to base much of their decisions in life on sex: how to get it; who to get it from; how to keep it; how to get more of it. Hadn’t that been the reason Kenneth was sleeping with both her and the topless dancer from Pocono?

“So what’s your interest in Passionata?” she asked.

“What’s the first thing you think of when I say the word pirates?”

“Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom?”

He rolled his eyes. “Real pirates, not movie pirates.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Treasure, I guess.”

“Exactly.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “Last summer, after I found Passionata’s autobiography, I started researching. I read everything I could get my hands on about her and her island headquarters. Have you got to the part in the book where she’s captured?

Nicole shook her head. “I fell asleep about a third of the way through.” Not because the book didn’t hold her interest, but because a day of sailing could wear a person out.

“I don’t think I’ll spoil it for you if I tell you she and her crew were trying to board a British merchant vessel when her ship—the Eve—ran onto the rocks and sank. The survivors of the wreck, including Passionata, were picked up by a second British Navy vessel. I’ve been searching through old nautical charts, seaman’s diaries, oceanographic surveys and the like, and I think I’ve located the wreck.”

“And the treasure.” It all fit together now. Not only did Adam have a passion for history, he was a fiend for locating real-life artifacts related to the subjects he taught. He had spent previous summers volunteering with an archeological crew in Mexico, hunting for mastodon bones in the Black Hills and restoring Native American middens in Utah. So far most of his finds had done more to enhance his career than his bank account, but maybe that was about to change. “That’s why you asked me to bring my diving gear,” she said.

He nodded. “We won’t have the time—or the money—to raise the ship and its contents. But I’m hoping we can locate enough items to interest backers who could fund a full-scale expedition next summer.”

“What would something like that be worth?”

“Historically, it’s virtually priceless. Shipwrecks of that antiquity are amazingly rare, and the kinds of artifacts I’d expect to find—weaponry, cutlery, gold and silver coins—would fetch a small fortune from collectors and museums. Easily in the millions. Possibly billions.”

Her eyes widened. Adam laughed. “I’ll give you a share if you help me.”

“Since I’m unemployed at the moment, I can’t say the money won’t come in handy.”

“You won’t have any problem finding another job. Nurses are always in demand.”

“True.” She brushed crumbs from her shirt. “But this time I think I’ll try a hospital. No more private clinics for me.”

“You don’t have to think about it now. Enjoy the summer. If we find the treasure, it’ll be well worth your time. If not, at least you’ll come home with a good story and a tan.”

She was hoping for more than a story and a tan. In between studying Passionata’s teachings and learning how to assert her female power, it might be fun to search for treasure. After all, if an ordinary woman could be powerful, then a rich woman might well be a superpower. “How long before we reach the island?” she asked.

“We’ll stop off in Jamaica this afternoon for supplies, spend a couple days there taking in the sights, then sail for Passionata’s Island. If the weather holds, we’ll be there by the end of the week.”

2

BY THE TIME ADAM GUIDED the yacht into the harbor at Passionata’s Island, Nicole was ready to dive off and swim to shore. The promised couple of days in Jamaica had stretched to a week after Adam ran into friends. For the next seven days he had dragged Nicole from one beach party to barbecue to reggae concert to the next. It had all been fun, but with each passing day Nicole had grown more anxious to reach the island. She was ready for solitude, adventure—and the chance to discover more about the mysterious lady pirate who had also been duped by a lying man yet had gotten her revenge in a big way.

Confessions of a Pirate Queen was still tucked under the pillow in her bunk. Thanks to Adam’s crammed social schedule, she hadn’t had the chance to read further in the book. One more reason she looked forward to reaching the island and being alone.

Except, of course, for Adam. But she knew once he began the work of looking for the wreck, he’d be completely preoccupied. She’d have to remind him to eat, and only the fact that after sunset it was too dark to dive would force him to sleep. No wonder he was still single. No woman would put up with that kind of neglect for months at a time.

“What do you think?” he asked as he wound down the anchor. He’d snugged the yacht into a narrow lagoon shaded by tall coconut palms. Waves broke against a spit of beige sand. In the clear water she could see small fish and crabs. A stiff breeze rattled the palm fronds and softened the heat of the brilliant sun.

“It looks…like paradise.” She turned to him, grinning. “Can we go ashore now?”

“Why not?” He unrolled a flexible aluminum ladder over the side of the boat and secured it, then swung onto it. Nicole scrambled down after him.

“The island is known for the coral reef offshore and the colorful fish,” Adam said as he piloted the dinghy toward shore. “If it wasn’t so remote, it would probably be really popular with divers.”

“I like the idea of us having it to ourselves.” She looked down into the crystal-clear water. It was like looking through a window to the ocean floor. “Are there any dangerous sea creatures I should be aware of?”

“The rays can hurt if they get you with their tails, so steer clear of them,” he said. “And of course, there are sharks.”

“Sharks?” She shuddered and glanced around her.

“They rarely come this close to shore. Just keep an eye out and you’ll be fine.” The dinghy scraped against the bottom and Adam jumped out to drag it onto the beach.

“You do realize if either of us is seriously injured, we’re on our own out here,” she said, the realization of what they could be getting into making her uneasy. The idea of an isolated paradise where one could say or do anything, unrestricted by rules or the opinions of others, was a tempting fantasy. But the reality of being completely on one’s own was more daunting.

“We have a first-aid kit and you’re a nurse,” Adam said. “Anything you can’t handle, we’ll radio for help. But I don’t plan on getting hurt.”

She could have pointed out that no one planned on getting hurt, but what was the use? She could see Adam’s mind was already on the treasure hunt ahead. In fact, he had plunged into the thick growth at the edge of the trees, onto a narrow path that led through a jungle of palms and other trees she couldn’t identify.

“Where are you going?” she asked, running to catch up.

“Passionata’s headquarters were in a stone tower near the center of the island,” he said. “I want to see if I can find it.”

Away from the open beach, the island was a different world. Tree trunks crowded the narrow path and blotted out the sun. The ground beneath was spongy with leaf mold, silencing their steps. The dense undergrowth prevented Nicole from seeing more than a few feet in front of her and on either side, but she could hear many unseen things: strange birds calling in the canopy overhead, small creatures scuttling on the jungle floor, tree branches scraping together, palm fronds rattling like rusty chains.

“It must have looked just like this when Passionata was here,” she said softly.

“Hmmph.” Adam grunted as he shoved a tangle of vines out of his way. “Remind me next time we come exploring to bring a machete.”

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” she asked, looking around. She could barely make out the path they’d already traveled. “We’re not going to get lost, are we?”

“The island is barely a mile wide. We won’t get lost.”

As if to prove his words, they suddenly emerged into a clearing. Nicole blinked in the bright sunlight and stared at a tumble of volcanic boulders in front of them. From this chaos of razor-sharp rock rose a fat stone tower, three stories high, pocked with narrow windows, the gray stone streaked liberally with white bird droppings.

In fact, there were birds everywhere—gulls wheeling and screaming overhead, perching on the rocks, strutting in the sand. The sound—and the smell—were almost overwhelming. She put her hands over her ears. “I don’t think we’re going to do much exploring here,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din.

“Let’s see what’s on the other side.” He led the way across the rocky clearing, birds fluttering out of their way at the last minute. Nicole shielded her head with her hands, just in case any offerings dropped from the sky.

The jungle growth on the other side of the tower was not as dense. Adam stopped to examine the ends of cut vines beside the path. “This looks fresh,” he said.

“You mean, someone besides us is here?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but plunged ahead. Nicole stepped over fallen coconuts and sagging branches, hurrying to keep up with Adam’s long strides.

She was so intent on watching her step on the uneven path she didn’t realize he’d stopped until she collided with the solid wall of his back. “Oooph,” she grunted, pushing herself off of him. “What is it?”

He held out a hand and pointed. “Looks like we have company.”

She leaned around him and stared. Some twenty yards away from them stood a palm-frond-covered shelter. Beneath it, slightly bent over something she couldn’t see, his back to them, was a man.

A man with a muscular bronze back and shoulders, long legs and a nicely shaped and very naked backside. The whole man was naked, a fact Nicole’s mind deduced in a microsecond, all while taking inventory of his delectable assets. Was this a descendant of one of Passionata’s conquests? Or a modern-day Robinson Crusoe living alone on the island?

“Who the hell are you?” Adam demanded.

The naked man whirled to face them, clearly startled, then straightened himself to his full height. When he spoke, his voice was distinctly British and very proper. “I might ask you the same question.”

IAN HAD SET HIMSELF a simple task for that morning—washing his clothes. At some point yesterday the magic potion the Jamaican woman had sold him had shattered in his luggage, leaving everything smelling like fermenting fruit—sweet and slightly intoxicating. When he’d first discovered the accident that morning, he’d laughed out loud. If the mysterious woman the old lady swore he’d meet ever did show up, he’d be on his own. Which was how he preferred things.

But, purely in the interest of scientific discovery, he sucked some of the liquid out of a sodden shirt, to see if it really would give him a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

It had not.

Doing laundry on a deserted island was not as simple as he’d expected, however. He had to collect rainwater from the cistern beside the tower, heat it over a fire, then scrub the clothes over rocks. Determined to repeat the task as seldom as possible, and not having seen another soul in the week he’d been on the island, he decided to wash everything at once and get it over with. In fact, he’d save wear and tear on his clothes in general if he went around naked most of the time. He liked the feel of the sun on his entire body. All part of getting in touch with his primitive side.

Only, now he was feeling at a decided disadvantage, facing this hulking man who’d emerged from the jungle. The big blond advanced toward him now, looking none too friendly. “I was told this island was uninhabited,” the man said with an American accent.

“It is,” Ian said. “I’m only visiting.”

The blond glanced around at the shelter. Ian had spent the better part of three days erecting it, after he’d discovered living in the tower would be impossible. He was pleased with how it had turned out, proud to discover that, despite his academic background, he could work with his hands. “Looks pretty settled to me,” the blond said.

“I’m staying the summer.” Ian spotted the machete hanging by the door and moved toward it. Just in case.

“So are we,” the man said.

We? Ian looked beyond the man and stared at the woman who was walking toward them. A tall, curvy brunette in a very small bikini. His physical response to this vision straight out of his most erotic fantasies was immediate and emphatic. He snatched a wet towel from the makeshift clothesline he’d hung at the back of the shelter and wrapped it around his waist. Unfortunately, this only served to emphasize his arousal, which tented out the towel like a pole.

The woman’s cheeks were flushed, and she appeared to be holding back laughter. So much for him making a great first impression.

“I’m Nicole and this is my friend Adam,” she said, offering her hand. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s an academic and doesn’t know how to behave in public.”

“Ian Marshall.” He shook her hand, spirits plummeting further at her remark about academics. Not that the blond looked like much of an intellectual. More like a sea captain. Or one of the pirates the island was said to have once harbored.

“We’ve come to relax and do some diving,” Nicole continued, ignoring the frown from her companion. “I hear the reefs here are spectacular. Have you seen them?”

He relaxed a little. “Yes. There are a number of rare species of fish here. Definitely worth seeing.” One of his duties this summer was to photograph the fish and other native flora and fauna. Though he wasn’t crazy about diving alone—it went against every safety rule in the book—once he’d decided on a solo trip he didn’t have much choice. Fortunately, much of his work could be done snorkeling. When he did have to dive, he was extra careful with his equipment, and only allowed himself to stay down very limited amounts of time. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he thought he could make it work. He’d already used up rolls of film and a big chunk of the memory of his digital camera.

“So what are you, some kind of hermit?” Adam was still looking around the shelter, like a detective collecting evidence.

“I’m here doing research,” Ian said.

“What kind of research?”

“Adam, don’t be rude.” Nicole put a hand on her companion’s arm and smiled at Ian. A smile that made him a little dizzy. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you,” she said. “But we’d better get back to our ship. We didn’t mean to disturb you.” Her gaze flickered over the towel, and laughter danced in her eyes. Then she turned and led Adam back across the rocks and into the jungle.

When he was sure they were gone, Ian sagged onto the wooden crate that doubled as a chair. So much for thinking he’d be spending the summer alone. Not that he was complaining about the woman. The thought of three months in a tropical paradise with her made him grateful Danielle what’s-her-name had dumped him.

Was Nicole the woman the Jamaican had predicted—the one whose goal would be to wear him out? The idea was intriguing.

Of course, there was the matter of her disgruntled boyfriend to deal with. Yes, definitely a problem. Then again, Nicole might grow weary of her academic pirate’s ill temper. Or decide she preferred dark, scholarly Englishmen.

And it might snow here tomorrow, too.

With a groan, he stood and attacked the washing with renewed vigor. But he kept the towel around his waist, just in case. It figured the only beautiful woman to show up on this deserted island was already attached to someone. So much for the Jamaican woman’s prediction that he’d meet a great seductress. Nicole had been friendly, but there was nothing overtly seductive about her, beyond the gorgeous figure, great hair and beautiful smile that would have attracted the attention of any man.

He finished the laundry and hung it to dry beneath the shelter, out of the reach of the birds, then looked around for something else to do. He could take his notebook and cameras and finish cataloging the plant life in the north lagoon, but he’d learned to avoid that sort of work in the hottest part of the day. His second day here he’d almost succumbed to sunstroke in the intense heat and humidity.

Better to take it easy for a couple of hours. Maybe catch up on his reading. He turned to the crate of books he’d brought along with him—a cookbook, a first-aid guide and half a dozen tomes on the ecology of the Caribbean, the subject of his doctoral thesis. But discussions of the life cycle of coral or poisonous plants of the South Seas held no appeal to him this afternoon, distracted as he was by memories of Nicole and Adam.

He spied a paperback among the books and drew it out. Confessions of a Pirate Queen was written across the front in bold red print, above a painting of a scantily clad woman on the gallows. He grinned. His buddy, Bryan Peachtree, had given him the book when he’d learned of Ian’s plans for the summer. “If you’re going to Passionata’s Island, you should read this,” he’d said with a wink. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

No doubt some lurid soft-porn epic, Ian thought, settling into his hammock beneath a nearby pair of palms and opening the book. Bryan’s idea of a joke. But since his encounter with Nicole had already put sex on his brain, why not?

BACK AT THE SHIP, Nicole prepared lunch while Adam checked his diving gear. “Why were you so rude to Ian?” she asked. “Now he’s going to think we’re ugly Americans.”

“Judging by his reaction to you, I doubt ugly is the first word he thinks of.” He spat into his snorkeling mask and rubbed the saliva around with his fingers.

“I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you.” She slapped cheese slices onto bread and began slicing an avocado. They’d be out of fresh produce before long—except coconuts, of course. And maybe she could find banana trees somewhere on the island. “Why were you so hostile to him?” she asked.

Adam set the snorkeling mask aside. “I guess I was looking forward to having the island to ourselves,” he said. “How do we know he’s not another treasure hunter, out to beat us to the find?”

“Isn’t that the way these things work—finders keepers?” She handed him a sandwich, then took hers and sat across from him. “Who owns this island?”

“The British government. They’ve talked about building an airstrip here for years, but nothing’s come of it.”

“That treasure’s been down there for three hundred years. Are you sure no one’s recovered it before now?”

He nodded. “Pretty sure. It’s hard to keep a find like that secret.”

“Then there’s no reason to believe Ian’s after it, or that he even knows about it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll try to be nicer to him next time we meet.”

“We should invite him to dinner,” Nicole said. “I’ll bet he’s lonely.”

Adam laughed. “Did you see the look on his face when he saw you? Pretty impressive boner you caused.”

She stuck her tongue out at Adam, but she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t a little bit flattered. Seeing Ian’s reaction to her had given her an inkling of the power Passionata was talking about. And Ian was a very good-looking man. Someone who could make her time on the island that much more interesting.

“What are you going to do this afternoon?” she asked Adam, changing the subject.

“I’m going to do some snorkeling, try to pin down the most likely location of the wreck. I’ll take the Zodiac out. Do you want to come with me?”

She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll stay here on the yacht and read. I came to relax, after all.”

“Okay. But tomorrow I want us to go diving.”

“We can do that. Tomorrow.”

After lunch he inflated the Zodiac, fired up the motor and took off across the lagoon. Nicole brought her book out onto the deck and pulled a chaise into a shaded spot under the canopy. At last she could continue Passionata’s adventures, and learn more about her approach to male/female relationships.

The story has been told of how I and my crew, like the Sirens of legend, would lure sailors to the rocks and their undoing. When these lonely men, long at sea, would spy our fair forms reclining near the sea, most seductively arrayed and beckoning, they seldom resisted long. Even after word of the hazard we posed passed among the sailing crews, they were loathe to avoid us. Indeed, it is said many sought us out, though their defeat was inevitable.

What has not been told—until now—is what happened to those men who survived the wreck and battle. The fate of those who became our prisoners. The bravest and best of these became our slaves and courtesans. They served at our pleasure, as women have been made to do for centuries. But this time the women were in charge, and the men were at our mercy.

They were wont to resist at first, but soon learned the futility of this. And more than a few discovered a taste for subservience. For though they had been raised to always be in charge—in control—they discovered the erotic nature of surrender.

The chapter ended, and, breath quickening, Nicole turned the page and found the narrative interrupted by a note from the editor.

Though Confessions of a Pirate Queen first appeared as a serial printed in the London Times in 1715, the following portion of the original manuscript was deemed too obscene for public consumption, and was unknown for more than two centuries, until an original of the entire document was discovered in the London Times’s archives in 1993.

Here, Passionata’s narrative resumed:

When a woman is in control of a relationship, everything changes. No longer is she at the mercy of a man’s wishes and desires, subjugating her own wants and needs to his timetable. Now he must serve her desires. And, as the men who served the women of Passionata’s Island soon discovered, a woman in charge of her own sexual destiny discovers a true flowering of desire, and a capacity for sexual pleasure heretofore unknown.

It is an arrangement of benefit to both man and woman—as illustrated by the story of William D., a sailor who came to Passionata’s Island in the summer of 1707.

“We have the prisoners ready to present to you, madame.” My lieutenant, a dusky woman who had taken the name of Determinata, appeared in the doorway of my tower headquarters the morning after our most recent conquest of a British merchant vessel. The vessel had been carrying a cargo of gold bullion, silver coins and exotic spices, and we had spent a good part of the night securing the wreckage. Today the divers would begin retrieving the spoils from the hold and adding them to our stores.

“How many today?” I asked. It had been a large ship, but the battle had been fierce. The sharks would have feasted well last night.

“Seven. One is only a boy, but the others…” Determinata smiled. “There are some very fine specimens here.”

“Then I must see them.”

I followed her down the stone staircase and out into the plaza in front of the tower. It was a fine day, hot and clear. The men stood bare-chested, hands bound behind their backs.

One caught my eye. He was lean and tall, with the dark hair and fair skin of a continental. I stopped before him and he looked me in the eye, defiant. He was well muscled, with a fine dusting of black hair across his chest, narrow hips and strong legs. “What is your name?” I asked.

I could read in his eyes that he thought of not answering. But I kept my gaze on him, unflinching, and at last he said, “William.”

His accent was British and upper class. Perhaps the son of the ship owner, or a nobleman or tradesman who had purchased passage. Looking into his eyes, at the spirit there, I felt the heat build inside me. “William, you will come with me,” I said, and turned to walk back to my tower.

“Why should I come with you?” he asked, his tone haughty.

I didn’t turn around. I liked the question, but there was no hesitation in my answer. “Because if you don’t, one of my lieutenants will shoot you, and that would be a waste of good flesh.”

I anticipated he might need more persuading, but after a moment’s hesitation, he fell into step behind me. I kept my back to him, hoping he wouldn’t be foolish enough to try to overpower me or to run away. My guards would be watching him and they would shoot to kill.

But he made no such attempt and soon we were alone in my tower room. I bade him sit, and had one of my other servants, Marcus, bring him water and bread. William eyed the man with distaste. “Is this what you intend for me?” he asked. “To make me your slave?”

“The choice is yours,” I said, but explained no further. He would choose his own role here—slave or courtesan. I wanted him for my bed, but if he was unwilling, I would not force him. Men overpower reluctant women with rape. I preferred to use my sexual prowess to teach men the advantages of accepting my superiority and command.

While he ate, I made myself comfortable, divesting myself of my outer garments, revealing the sheer silk undersheath. I unbanded and combed out my long hair, all the while acting as if he was no longer in the room. I loosened the straps of my gown and rubbed scented lotion into my shoulders and across the top of my breasts, caressing myself, watching in the mirror as he watched me.

And he was indeed watching me, the remainder of his meal forgotten. One glance showed me the tightness at the front of his trousers. Yes, this one would make a good courtesan.

“Do you like what you see?” I asked him.

The question startled him. He snapped his gaze away. “Who would like being a prisoner?”

“In the world beyond this island, every woman is a prisoner—of her father or her husband or of the rules society has laid out for her. Most have learned to live with it.”

“But you did not,” he said.

“I did not. I have made my own kingdom, with my own rules.”

“And now the men are prisoners,” he said, frowning.

I nodded. “But it is not such an unpleasant existence for them, I tell you.”

He made a noise like a growl. I ignored him and sat on a high stool across from him. The light from the window was at my back, making my gown almost transparent. I wanted him to know what awaited him if he was willing.

I could feel his eyes burning into me, and imagined that same heat coursing through his body, into mine. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked after a moment.

I laughed. “Of course.” I leaned toward him, my breasts straining against the front of my gown. “Do you want to be seduced?”

He looked at my breasts, then back into my eyes. “What happens if I say yes?”

“That is part of the excitement, isn’t it?” I leaned closer still, and lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “But I promise, I have had no complaints yet.”

His eyes locked to mine, and tension radiated from him, vibrating the air. “What do I have to do?” he asked, his voice roughened by desire.

I smiled, and straightened to my full height, looking down on him. “That is the best part,” I said. “You will do whatever I tell you.”

3

NICOLE CLOSED THE BOOK and took a deep breath. Whew! Her skin felt too tight for her body, and there was a persistent throbbing between her legs. What Passionata had done was amazing. So empowering. And erotic.

Looking back, Nicole could see that in every relationship in her life, she had allowed the man to take charge. Even in these liberated times, it was how society was designed to operate. The man asked for a date. The man made the first move sexually, and in Nicole’s case, almost every move afterward.

How much different would it have been if she had taken charge, if she had approached each sexual encounter with the focus on satisfying her own desires instead of placating her partner? Certainly such an approach would have left her with fewer regrets about Kenneth…and maybe a few more orgasms.

Okay, she definitely needed to cool down a little. She decided to go for a walk to clear her head and found herself heading toward Ian’s camp on the opposite side of the island. Maybe without Adam’s bristling presence, she could get to know their fellow islander better, and issue that invitation to dinner.

She fought her way through the jungle, and hurried across the clearing, past the tower and its raucous avian residents. A little out of breath, she stopped in the trees looking out onto Ian’s camp, reluctant to barge in on him in case he was naked again. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed seeing him in the altogether, but she didn’t want to embarrass him further.

The shelter appeared empty except for the shirts and pants that hung from the line there, doing a desultory dance in the erratic breeze. She turned her attention to the rest of the camp: the neat fire ring encircled by log seats, boxes and barrels providing further seating around the area, dive equipment waiting in a neat pile beside a table and bench built of scrap lumber. But no sign of Ian.

Disappointed, she started to turn away, then a movement in the shade of a coconut palm on the edge of the camp caught her attention. As she peered closer, she recognized a hammock. Someone was in it, and she slipped around through the trees until she could get a better view.

Ian looked as good lying down as he had standing, legs outstretched, sun dappled over his lean chest and torso. The towel that had been wrapped around him had fallen to the side and the hammock was swaying gently back and forth, driven by the rhythm of the hand which stroked his erect penis.

Her breath caught as the reality of what he was doing registered. She stared, fascinated, at the strong brown fingers wrapped around his thick erection. His chin was on his chest, his mouth slightly open, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

She heard his breathing, harsh and rapid, and found herself panting in response. Her nipples were hard buds pressed against the cups of her bikini top and she squeezed her thighs against the throbbing tension between her legs.

He groaned, and his hand moved faster. Light glinted on a drop of moisture at the tip of his penis. Nicole covered her breasts with her hands and bit her lip to keep from moaning. As he continued to pump his hand, she began to massage her aching breasts, squeezing the nipples, twirling them between her thumb and forefinger, the tension and wetness building between her legs.

She kept her eyes open, focused on Ian’s face, on the shock of dark hair falling across his forehead, the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, and the fierceness of his expression. Her rapid breathing matched his, and every muscle strained with his.

His hand began to move faster, and the hammock rocked more violently. Nicole swayed also, her legs quivering. Sweat ran down her back and gathered at the top of her buttocks. The air was humid and thick with the scent of her musk.

With a loud cry, he came, his body arching in the hammock, the seminal fluid painting his torso in glistening stripes. Nicole leaned against the trunk of a palm tree and closed her eyes, slipping one hand beneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms as she did so.

Using her own moisture as a lubricant, she fingered her clit, rolling it back and forth beneath her thumb, biting the finger of her other hand to stifle her moans. She was only dimly aware of the rough bark abrading her bare back, of the screaming of gulls overhead or the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun. Her legs began to tremble violently and she moved her hand faster, breathing rapidly.

She came hard, slamming back into the tree trunk, her whole body shuddering, one sharp cry escaping her lips. She smiled, amazed at what she’d just done—and how wonderful and illicit and…decadent…it had felt.

She turned her head to look toward the hammock again and was alarmed to see Ian sitting up now. He held the towel in one hand and was frowning toward the jungle where she’d hidden herself. He must have heard her cry. Had he seen her?

Not bothering to wait for an answer, she took off, sprinting down the narrow path, not stopping until she reached the yacht, where she lay for a long time in the chaise on the deck, marveling at what had happened.

IAN SPENT THE NEXT morning snorkeling and photographing marine life around the coral reef. He kept an eye out for Adam and Nicole. He’d just as soon avoid the one—but looked forward to the chance to talk to the other. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, perhaps influenced by the chunk of Confessions of a Pirate Queen he’d read after they’d left him yesterday afternoon. The erotic tale, combined with his erotic fantasies of Nicole, had resulted in him jacking off in the hammock. When he was done he had the eerie sensation he was being watched, and had thought he heard someone—or something—in the jungle nearby. But by the time he’d recovered enough to investigate, there was no one there.

Had Adam been watching him? Or Nicole?

The idea that his voyeur had been the curvy brunette made him hard all over again. Was it that book, or this place, or merely the fact that he’d never spent so much time alone before, that had him so horny? Or was his increased interest in sex one more aspect of his quest to prove himself a real man?

He forced himself to focus on his work, aiming his camera at a red-and-white sea anemone clinging to the coral along the outer edge of the reef. As he snapped the shutter, he spotted the bright yellow-and-black form of a rock beauty angelfish swimming away from the coral and followed it with his lens.

The fish darted away, and his viewfinder was suddenly filled with a pair of long, slender legs. A woman’s very sexy legs. He followed them up and found himself looking at Nicole. She was wearing diving tanks, a short wetsuit, flippers and a mask. She smiled and waved, and signaled for him to meet her up top.

They broke through the surface together. She pushed her mask down to dangle around her neck and he did likewise. Water streamed from her hair, and droplets glistened on the tops of her breasts showing above her partially unzipped wetsuit top. Ian imagined what it would be like to lick the drops off her, one by one.

“I’m sorry if I scared off that fish you were photographing,” she said, pulling him from his fantasy. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

He started to make some comment about there being plenty of fish in the sea and realized how lame that would sound. Instead he focused on stowing his camera and trying to appear nonchalant. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to invite you to have dinner with us soon. Tonight, if you like.”

Even without the added pleasure of spending more time with her, the prospect of eating something besides his own cooking was reason enough to accept the invitation. “I’d like that,” he said. “Thanks.”

They treaded water side by side, bobbing in the waves that broke steadily over the reef. The island was a line of trees a quarter mile distant. He could see his Zodiac, a splash of orange where he’d anchored it at the other end of the reef. Where had Nicole come from? Had she swum from shore or did she have a boat somewhere?

“How long have you been on the island?” she asked.

“Eight days.” He shook his head. “Though if I didn’t mark off the days on the calendar it would be easy to lose track.” He looked around, at the sun sparkling on the water and the seabirds circling overhead. “Time doesn’t mean much out here, when there’s no schedule to keep.”

“It sounds heavenly.” She glanced at him. “I worked at a doctor’s office until recently. Sometimes I felt as if my whole life was divided into fifteen-minute increments.”

“You don’t have to worry about that out here. It’s strange, but I can spend all day working on a project and never realize hours have gone by until it starts to get dark. When I was building that shelter I worked on into the night. It didn’t matter, because I knew I could sleep as long as I wanted the next day.” He shrugged. “Very different from the kind of life I usually lead.” He wondered if he was talking too much. He wasn’t normally garrulous, but after a week of silence it was as if he had all these words dammed up inside of him that had to be let out.

“What kind of life is that?” she asked, apparently not minding that he’d rambled on so. “What do you do?”

He hesitated. Here he’d just painted this picture of himself as a rugged adventurer, building his own shelter, living on the island alone. If he admitted he was a doctoral student, he’d ruin the image. And he couldn’t forget the dig she’d made yesterday about her friend, Adam, being an academic who didn’t know how to behave. “I’m a writer,” he said. It wasn’t exactly untrue. He was here working on his dissertation, among other things.

“How exciting! What do you write? Adventure stories? Suspense?”

Better not let this get out of hand. “My focus right now is on writing about the environment.” Did that sound too dull? “But I’m playing with the idea of writing something about the history of the island,” he added. “Pirates and everything.” Where the hell had that come from?

“I’m reading a book right now about a female pirate who had her headquarters here,” she said.

“Confessions of a Pirate Queen?”

She laughed. “Yes. You know it?”

“I’m familiar with it.” Yesterday he’d only read as far as the pirate’s seduction of William D. Lying in his hammock, so close to the very spot where the activities in the book had supposedly taken place, it had been easy to imagine himself as the captured sailor and Nicole as the woman taunting him and commanding his attention.

“She lived in that tower near your camp—the one with all the birds,” Nicole said.

“When I first arrived here, I planned to use the tower as my headquarters,” he said. “That idea didn’t last long once I saw—and smelled—all those birds.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory. “There’s a cistern there that I use for fresh water,” he added. “It’s covered and I rigged up a filter for the drain pipe.”

“That’s handy to know. You’ve really made yourself at home here, haven’t you? I was impressed with what I saw of your camp.”

“It still needs improvements.” As if he built his own shelter every day of the week and had big plans for this place.

She moved closer. “But aren’t you lonely, here all by yourself?”

Her voice was soft. Caressing. He had to restrain himself from reaching out and touching her. Her eyes looked into his, searching. For what? To ascertain if he was entirely sane? After all, who but a crazy person would voluntarily spend the summer alone on a deserted island?

“Originally my girlfriend was going to come with me,” he said.

“Oh? Why didn’t she?”

“She decided she’d rather spend the summer with her new boyfriend instead.”

“Ouch!”

He shrugged. “The trip was already planned, so I decided to come out here on my own. I really don’t mind my own company, most of the time.”

A wave rolled over them, driving them apart, and he kicked his feet to move nearer to her once more. “So you and your boyfriend are here for the diving?” he asked.

“My boy—” She laughed and shook her head. “Adam is not my boyfriend. Just an old friend. Really.”

Really. He felt considerably lighter at this news. Almost giddy. “That’s great.”

She smiled, as if at a private joke. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

They were interrupted by the loud whine of a Zodiac approaching. Adam pulled the boat alongside them and idled the engine. “Hello, Marshall.” He nodded. The greeting wasn’t effusive, but at least today the man wasn’t hostile.

“Hello,” Ian said.

“Ian’s coming to dinner with us tonight,” Nicole said.

“That’s good.” Adam gave him a long look. “We should all get to know each other better.” He turned to Nicole. “You ready to go?”

“I guess so.” She paddled to the side of the Zodiac and Adam leaned over to help her in. Ian stayed back, enjoying the very nice view of her legs and backside as she climbed into the rubber craft.

“See you around seven,” she called as Adam piloted the boat away.

Only five hours. He couldn’t wait.

“WHAT WAS HE UP to out there?” Adam asked Nicole when Ian was out of sight.

“He was photographing fish and coral and stuff.” She pulled off her mask and combed her hair back out of her face.

“Not hunting for shipwrecks?”

She scowled at him. “No, he wasn’t hunting for shipwrecks.”

Adam gunned the outboard motor and the prow of the Zodiac rose out of the water. Nicole gripped the handhold on the side of the boat and braced herself against each slap of the hull against the surface of the water. Normally, she found the speed exhilarating, but now she was annoyed that Adam was venting his feelings this way.

“Did he say what he was doing here?” Adam shouted over the roar of wind, water and the outboard motor.

“He mentioned something about wanting to write a history of the island. He knew about Confessions of a Pirate Queen.” The knowledge that he’d probably read the same erotic passages she’d enjoyed added heat to her attraction to him. Ian would be the perfect person to help her discover her sexual power.

Adam frowned toward the horizon. “If he does that he’ll have half the amateur treasure hunters in the world descending on this place.”

“Then, you’ll have to find the shipwreck before he’s published.”

Adam slowed the boat as they neared the shore. Nicole gathered her hair in a knot at the back of her head and held it with one hand as she turned to look back at him. “Did you have any luck this afternoon?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m going to refigure my coordinates this evening. We have to be close—reports of the wreck mention the reef.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it. We have all summer.”

“The sooner we find it, the more work we can do before we have to leave.” His eyes met hers, his expression grave. “I want some impressive artifacts to show potential backers.”

“You’ll find them. You always do.” She smiled. “Thanks for inviting me to come with you. This really is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome. Besides, I needed the help. Not to mention you’re a better cook than I am.”

She turned to look over the prow once more. She could see the yacht now, nestled in the cove, much of the deck shaded by the awning Adam had erected that morning. “I think we might as well grill the last of our steaks tonight,” she said. “They’re not going to last much longer in this heat.”

“You’re just trying to impress Marshall,” Adam said.

Her only answer to this taunt was a smile. She was trying to impress Ian. His dark intensity attracted her. His body wasn’t bad, either.

She was intrigued, too, by Passionata’s theories about male/female relationships. Like Nicole herself, Passionata had been betrayed by a man she’d loved. But instead of throwing a pity party, the pirate had exacted a more rewarding revenge—one that was financially profitable and, to judge by the portions of her autobiography Nicole had read so far—physically satisfying.

Nicole would leave the financial spoils up to Adam and his treasure hunt. But she was eager to test Passionata’s approach to physical pleasure.

Here on this island, she was declaring her personal mutiny from all the rules about how a nice girl should act that had constrained her until now. Granted, going against years of teaching and habit wouldn’t be easy. As daring as she’d felt yesterday afternoon watching Ian in his hammock, in the end she’d run away rather than risk being caught. Which proved she needed all the practice she could get. What better way to start her transformation than to commit her own modern-day act of piracy and seduce the handsome Englishman? They’d give a whole new meaning to the words tropical paradise.

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