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again.
    Right, she taunted herself. Her wine wasn’t cheap anymore.
    She shook her head, warning herself to slow down. She had a business to run. She didn’t want to get sloshed at all—couldn’t afford to—but his presence on the island was really getting to her. And she was usually so moderate. She hadn’t overimbibed in wine or anything else since she had gotten so carried away that night when they had first…
    She heard a noise behind her and tensed, sitting up straight, her fingers curling over the rim of the tub, listening.
    She had imagined it, she told herself. She sat very still, barely breathing, listening once more.
    Nothing….
    Had she imagined it?
    No, no…a few seconds later, it came again. Like a whisper through the air. Movement.
    She gritted her teeth furiously.
    Adam.
    He’d been like the sun coming into her life, all powerful, blazing, the center of her universe.
    She’d been like a stick of gum to him. Easily spat out and forgotten, exchanged for another.
    And now he thought he could saunter in again, and she would be the same obliging innocent she had been before.
    The noise was coming closer.
    How had he gotten in? she wondered. The bastard. She spoke at last, controlling her contemptuous tone to the very best of her ability. “You son of a bitch, I don’t know how the hell you got in here, but you can get out of my private quarters right this second!” she snapped.
    He didn’t reply. Not a word. Not a whisper of laughter, not a breath of mockery.
    â€œDamn you!”
    Furious, she twisted around. To her absolute amazement, it wasn’t Adam.
    At least, she didn’t think it was Adam.
    It was a figure in black. Completely in black—down to a black ski mask.
    Sam was so stunned that she didn’t even think to be frightened at first, just curious.
    A ski mask? Nights on the island could be cool, but never cold enough for…
    Oh, God. She was an idiot.
    â€œWhat on earth…” she began to murmur. Then she realized that the figure was coming toward her, carrying some kind of a black cloth in its black gloved hand.
    She stood up, drawing in breath she could expel in a shriek as she tried to leap from the tub and escape. But she was cut off from the doorway by the figure, left standing there naked, dripping.
    She made an attempt to sidestep the figure and leap for the door. No luck. She stared at it hard. Male, she thought instinctively. Tall—no chest. But that was it. There was nothing else she could tell about her silent attacker.
    For seconds they just stood, staring at one another.
    Then she realized her situation. She was naked, unarmed, and an intruder was in her bathroom, completely camouflaged and staring at her.
    â€œHelp!” she screamed. Her cottage wasn’t that far from the main house. And there were other cottages near hers. Someone might be walking on the beach. Someone…
    This was ludicrous. A black-clad figure in a ski mask on a Caribbean island—attempting to attack her!
    â€œHelp!” she shrieked again.
    The figure lunged for her.
    â€œNo!” she cried, beating her fists against his chest, kicking him. He grunted as one well-aimed kick connected, then seemed to find his own spurt of fury. He grasped one of her arms, and she was drawn, still kicking and screaming, against his body. He struggled to force the cloth over her face. She kept struggling to keep it away. She tried not to breathe. She could already smell the sickly sweet scent of the drug that soaked the cloth.
    â€œHelp!” she shrieked again, still kicking. The cry cost her what little breath she had left. She had to breathe. Had to inhale….
    The scent was awful. Filling her nose, her lungs, seeping into her blood, deadening her limbs. She couldn’t keep fighting, couldn’t force her arms to move the way she wanted them to. She tried to claw, to scratch his eyes with her fingers.
    Oh, God, she was