Heart of Atlantis

By Jean Adams

On the Greek island of Santorini, archaeologist Paige Turner is seeking proof of Atlantis. She meets Marc Cooper, travel writer/photographer. Though they disagree about ancient history, a simple kiss quickly turns their relationship from friendship to something more powerful. The fiery chemistry they share is undeniable—but Marc has his own agenda.
When Paige finds a gold ring buried under layers of ash, their cozy little world is turned upside down. Lucid dreams of the past intermix with current events, and like the Atlantean temples of old, Paige finds her world crumbling and her life in danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509230136

Jean Adams

Jean lives in the North Island of New Zealand, but she originally came from England. She loved the movies when she was growing up. That's probably where her love of storytelling started. In fact it didn't stop there. A few years ago, she went to Cornwall (her most favourite place in the whole world) and sat spellbound amongst the other kids while the resident storyteller at King Arthur's Castle at Tintagel told about Cornish folklore. She once worked for an airline (several actually) and was lucky enough to travel for next to nothing - France, Spain, Portugal, India, the USA, Barbados, Australia, and of course, back to the old country. After realizing that there was a serious lack of support for budding writers in my area of the world, she founded Romance Writers of New Zealand in September 1990.

Book preview

Inc.

She shifted again so that she sat side-on to him. As she turned, his gaze must have caught the cover of the magazine she was reading, World Traveler.

He smiled, and as he did so, she looked up.

Do you find my reading material amusing? She shouldn’t have said that. It invited a conversation she was trying her best to avoid. She didn’t have to encourage him. Americans were too friendly by far.

No, not at all. It’s just that, well, I took the pictures of Egypt in that particular issue. In fact, it has my name, and my best shot, on the front cover.

She stared at him briefly. That’s just about the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.

Dark clouds drifted across his face. And you must be the rudest woman I ever came across. That was no pickup line. It happens to be the truth.

She flicked her attention to the cover, then back to him. Are you telling me you’re Marc Cooper? The photographer?

Would you believe me if I said I am? Or are you a cynic as well?

She’d asked for that. Uh…

I had to squeeze into a damned uncomfortable position to get that shot. He grinned. "It was worth it, though. To get front cover of World Traveler."

Since it didn’t look as though she’d get much more reading done, she decided that being pleasant to this overfriendly American might be the best way of getting rid of him. She smiled.

Heart of Atlantis

by

Jean Adams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Heart of Atlantis

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Jean Adams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Champagne Rose Edition, 2021

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3012-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3013-6

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To all the people who believe

there is more to the past than we will ever know

Prologue

Atlantis, 1548 BC

Bansabira let the diaphanous material of her robe slip off her smooth shoulders, slide seductively down her arms, and fall to the floor in a pool of blue, baring her naked breasts to her husband’s eager gaze.

She knew her nakedness teased Rusa to distraction. She loved tantalizing him, especially when he enjoyed it so much. He told her often that her sexual tormenting added to his anticipation of the pleasures to come, and she made certain she never disappointed her delicious husband.

His hands reached out to caress the softness of her breasts, which she had carefully nurtured for just this night. Ah, Rusa, thy touch is truly magical.

Her willing body writhed in erotic rapture under his questing hands. Her heart raced, as it had so many times since their marriage, and she trembled with need under fingers that lightly caressed the sensitized skin of her breasts, belly, and thighs.

Sweet wife, thou art the most generous of women.

She had been his wife for almost a year, and her love for him grew day by day, week by week, month by month. It was a match ordained and smiled on by all the gods of Atlantis.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze caressed his beautiful naked form. How utterly masculine he was, thickly muscled yet lean. Her love for him knew no bounds. She would do anything for him.

Sadly though, tonight would be their last night together for a full two months.

She was a king’s daughter; Rusa was a Theran ambassador, and now her father had made him trade commissioner representing Atlantis at the court of his friend, and greatest ally, the Egyptian pharaoh Ahmose.

Yet however much she loved her husband and however much she would have done anything not to have him undertake tomorrow’s long mission to Egypt, she understood that he could not refuse his king.

She reached for his beringed hand and kissed the back of it. Thou art sad, my husband?

Ah, my sweet wife, I have no wish to leave thee. I will be gone many a month.

Nine kings of Atlantis trust thee, and only thee, for this mission.

Aye, all save Mestor and his evil puppet, Ambassador Pinaruti. That evil one hath an eye for thee, Bansabira. Stay close to thy father while I am away.

I will. She shivered. Now, enough of this talk of evil. She lay back on the bed, exposing her entire nakedness for her husband’s pleasure.

Rusa ran eager fingers over her quivering belly. Thou speaks true. We will talk of love instead.

She placed a slender finger against his lips. Aye. We will make love as though there were no tomorrow. As though the world was ending.

Her fingers, sensitive to his every movement, felt the tremor that coursed down his spine.

Do not speak so. He buried his face in the swell of her soft, scented breasts.

Bansabira laughed lightly. I beg thy forgiveness. I will speak no more of such things tonight. So tell me, sweet husband. She smiled up at him while caressing him between his legs. He was big and hard and ready for her, but she also knew how much he enjoyed her caressing strokes. What pleasures would my little friend like tonight?

Ah. He sighed. He would like it all so that the memory of thy love can keep him company on such a long journey. He would like thy beautiful golden tresses to caress him until he can abide the exquisite torture no longer. He would like to be kissed and suckled. And, of course, he wants to make love—long and deep and slow, the way he likes it best.

Then, my husband, we shall give him all the joy he can endure. I know how he likes me to linger over his pleasure.

She bent low over him, letting her long hair caress his sensitive belly. Rusa sighed with obvious delight, content to let her pleasure him to ecstasy. Ah, such gentle touches set my guts afire.

She leaned up on one elbow, cradled his sex in one hand, and kissed him all the way along his length and back again, up and down, up and down, slowly, just the way he liked it. She smiled briefly. Oh, how he loved this. She resumed her position, trailing her moist tongue over his hot, swollen shaft.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. Bansabira. Thy lips are so soft, luscious. Thy tongue is merciless in its teasing. He lay back on the wide bed, eyes closed in ecstasy, while she fondled him until he could bear the teasing no longer. He pulled her closer, rolled her onto her back, and lay across her, exposing all of his erection to her gentle, questing touch.

She laughed, knowing her heat against his sex made him delirious with rapture.

Bansabira, it is too soon, but I will need release.

Fear not, my darling. We have all night, and thee can release many times. But I can slow down. Whatever pleases thee. We will make the most of tonight.

He swallowed and pushed back thick black hair from his forehead with one hand. Gods be praised, Bansabira, thou art the most loving wife any man could wish for.

She laughed seductively. Thou art an easy man to love.

Rusa came down between her parted legs. Then allow my manroot full access to thy honey pot.

Bansabira knew she could satisfy him fully, give him all the pleasure he sought. He never consorted with other women. He didn’t need to. Her one aim in life was to keep him always needy for her, greedy for her, knowing that at the perfect moment only she could give him all the relief and satisfaction he wanted from the tensions of high office.

He grunted louder. His thrusts became more vigorous. Ye gods! He was like a man possessed. She smiled. Men were so vulnerable in their moment of climax.

His big body convulsed. Gods! He kept pushing into her, as though by doing so he could prolong the experience. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, his sated body glistening with sweat. Oh, my darling, beautiful wife. That was the best coupling we have ever shared.

She ran a finger over his lips. So far.

He chuckled at her seductive words. Jet-black hair fell forward, sticking to the perspiration on his forehead. Thee always knows just what to say to excite me.

Then we shall wait a little while and begin again. The memory of my love for thee this night shall keep thee company on many a lonely journey.

They slept and made love throughout the night, each time Rusa declaring the last lovemaking session better than the time before.

When daybreak finally cast its glow in the sky, it soon came time for Rusa to leave for the bustling port of Akrotiri from whence his ship would sail.

Bansabira took her husband’s hand as she accompanied him outside. They climbed aboard their litter and headed to the dock. Couples of such high office did not show affection in public, but since they would not see each other for two months, she felt no shame in entwining their fingers as they were carried through the streets.

The big sailing ship was in the final stages of loading. We cast off soon, my lord, the captain called from the deck above their heads.

Rusa looked up and waved his acknowledgment. I must go, my love. The captain needs to catch the tide. He clasped her hands between both of his. I shall miss thee, dear heart.

And I, thee, beloved.

He unhooked a pouch from his waist and took out a gold ring, which he placed in her hand. This is the mate of my own. See? Like mine, it bears a ruby heart stone. Take it as a token of my love that binds us together forever.

She took the ring and through tear-filled eyes read aloud the inscription on the inside. Wherever I go, know that I am with thee always.

He placed the ring on her finger, gave her one final hard kiss on the lips, and without another word, turned and walked up the gangway.

As the great ship cast off, a violent shiver ran down her spine. In that moment, Bansabira knew she would never see her beloved husband again.

Chapter One

Akrotiri, Santorini, present day

Something made Paige look up from her magazine. The feeling she was being watched forced her to glance surreptitiously around the crowded café.

At the next table two Greek men sat hunched over bottles of beer, absently playing with their strings of clattering worry beads while they talked. In the corner a group of young tourists laughed loudly.

A tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway drew her gaze. His broad shoulders practically blocked out the sunlight, silhouetted as they were against the late-afternoon sunshine. A shiver she couldn’t explain found its way down her spine.

The man strolled into the café and looked around for somewhere to sit, but there was nowhere—except opposite her. Under her lashes, she watched him and saw the very moment he spotted the vacant chair at her table. With one hand resting on the expensive-looking camera hanging from a strap around his neck, he strode across the room on long legs encased in white jeans. A dark gray cravat nestled neatly into the neck of his crisp white shirt.

As he approached, his features took shape. Mm. Not bad looking. His face broke into a smile, and she sighed. Oh bother. It looks like he’s coming over.

Is this seat taken?

Hmm. American. Of course. Had to be. Nevertheless, she glanced up with a frown of irritation. Was her hair a mess? Her face clean? Were her clothes tidy or covered in dust?

No, she answered with a tone of annoyance. Why did men always do that? Pick on her to talk to when she wasn’t looking her best? Did they get some sadistic pleasure out of irritating her when she looked as if she’d been playing in a sandpit?

Okay if I join you? he asked pleasantly.

I suppose not, if there’s nowhere else.

His smile disappeared, and one eyebrow rose. Thanks. He slipped the camera from around his neck and placed it on the table opposite her. Be right back.

See if I care, she murmured under her breath.

He came back to the table, cup of coffee in hand, and pulled out the chair painted in the blue of the Greek flag. She shifted uncomfortably, striving to concentrate on her magazine article. He was staring at her. Was he wondering how she got to look such an unholy mess?

She glanced away from her article, caught him staring, and gave him the blackest look she could conjure up.

He must have noticed the look in her eyes. Sorry, I don’t mean to stare, but when a guy is looking at a blank wall, there’s not much he can do to avert his gaze from the person opposite. Especially one so pretty.

Pretty? What a sleaze! Right, she said coldly and returned her gaze to her magazine. She hoped she had embarrassed him into looking at something else. To give him his due, he’d tried. No such luck.

She shifted again so that she sat side-on to him. As she turned, his gaze must have caught the cover of the magazine she was reading, World Traveler.

He smiled, and as he did so, she looked up.

Do you find my reading material amusing? She shouldn’t have said that. It invited a conversation she was trying her best to avoid. She didn’t have to encourage him. Americans were too friendly by far.

"No, not at all. It’s