a very direct gaze, she decided. Very clear, very frank. And he could lie with the best of them. Still, in some areas, she’d trust him. “Your word,” she demanded. “Such as it is.”
His word was worth only what he chose it to be worth. With her, he discovered, that would be entirely too much. “You’ve got it.”
Nodding, she reached behind her, but the envelope had slipped down out of range. “There’re a lot of reasons I don’t like to turn my back on you. But…” With a shrug, she did so. “You’ll have to get it out yourself.”
He ran his gaze down the smooth line of her back, over the subtle curve of hip. There wasn’t much to her, he thought, but what there was, was excellent. Taking his time, he slipped his hand under the material and worked his way down.
“Just get the envelope, Douglas. No detours.” She folded her arms under her breasts and stared straight ahead. The brush of his fingers over her skin aroused every nerve. She wasn’t accustomed to being moved by so little.
“It seems to have slipped down pretty low,” he murmured. “It might take me a while to find it.” It occurred to him that he could indeed have her out of the teddy in five seconds flat. What would she do then? He could have her beneath him on the ground before she’d taken the breath to curse him. Then he’d have what he’d sweated about the night before.
But then, he thought as his fingers brushed the edge of the envelope, she might have a hold over him he couldn’t afford. Priorities, he reminded himself as his fingers touched both the stiff manila and the soft skin. It was always a matter of priorities.
It took all her concentration to hold perfectly still. “Douglas, you’ve got two seconds to get it out, or lose the use of your right hand.”
“A little jumpy, are you?” At least he had the satisfaction of knowing she was churning even as he was. He hadn’t missed the huskiness in her voice or the slight tremor. With the tip between his finger and thumb, he pulled out the envelope.
Whitney turned quickly, hand outstretched. He had the map, he had the money. He was fully dressed, she was all but naked. He didn’t doubt she could make her way down to the village and wangle herself transportation back to the capital. If he was going to ditch her, there would never be a better time.
Her eyes stayed on his, calm and direct. Doug didn’t doubt she’d read every thought in his head.
Though he hesitated, Doug found in this case his word was indeed his word. He slapped the wad of bills into her hand.
“Honor among thieves—”
“—is a major cultural myth,” she finished. There’d been a moment, just a moment, when she hadn’t been sure he’d come through. Picking up her pack and the canteen, she walked toward the pine. It was cover of a sort. Though at the moment, she’d have preferred a steel wall with a heavy bolt. “You might consider shaving, Douglas,” she called out. “I hate my escort to look rangy.”
He ran a hand over his chin and vowed not to shave for weeks.
Whitney found it was easier going when the destination was in sight.
One memorable summer in her early teens she’d stayed on her parents’ estate on Long Island. Her father had developed an acute obsession with the benefits of exercise. Every day that she hadn’t been quick enough to escape, she’d been railroaded into jogging with him. She remembered her determination to keep up with a man twenty-five years her senior, and the trick she’d developed of looking for the stately white dormers of the house. Once she saw them, she could lope ahead, knowing the end was in sight.
In this case, the destination was only a huddle of buildings adjoining green, green fields and a brown, westward-flowing river. After a day of hiking and a night in a cave, it looked as tidy as New Rochelle to Whitney.
In the distance, men and women worked in the rice paddies. Forests had been sacrificed for fields. The Malagasy, a practical people, worked diligently to justify the exchange. They were islanders, she remembered, but without the breezy laziness island life often promoted. As she looked at them, Whitney wondered how many had ever seen the sea.
Cattle, with bored eyes and swishing tails, milled in paddocks. She saw a battered jeep, wheelless, propped on a stone.