“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