accented its flawlessness and the classic line of bone. No, she looked anything but haggard at the moment.
Doug accepted the coffee and drank deeply.
“This is a lovely spot,” Whitney said, bringing up her knees and circling them with her arms.
He glanced around. Moisture dripped from leaves in quiet plip-plops. The ground was damp and spongy. He slapped at a mosquito and wondered how long the repellent would hold out. The mist rose off the ground in little fingers, like steam in a Turkish bath. “If you like saunas.”
Whitney cocked a brow. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll, didn’t we?”
He only grunted. He’d woken up itchy as any healthy man would after spending the night next to a healthy woman without having the luxury of taking things to their natural conclusion.
“Look at it this way Douglas. If there were an acre of this in Manhattan, people would be scrambling for it, piling in on top of each other.” She lifted her hands, palms up. Birdsong burst out in an ecstacy of sound. A chamelion crawled onto a dull gray rock and slowly faded into it. Flowers seemed to pour out of the ground and the green, green of leaves and ferns still damp with dew gave everything a lushness. “We’ve got it all to ourselves.”
He poured a second cup of coffee. “I figured a woman like you would prefer crowds.”
“A time and place, Douglas,” she murmured. “A time and place.” Then she smiled, so simply, so exquisitely, he felt his heart stop. “I like being here, with you.”
The coffee had scalded his tongue, but he didn’t notice. He swallowed it, still staring at her. He’d never had any problem with women, pouring on the rough-edged, cocky charm that he’d learned very young they found appealing. Now, when he could’ve used a surplus of what came so handily to him, he couldn’t find any at all. “Oh yeah?” he managed.
Amused that he could be thrown off so easily, she nodded. “Yeah. I’ve given it some thought.” Leaning over, she kissed him very, very lightly. “Just what do you think of that?”
He might stumble, but years of experience had taught him how to land on his feet. Reaching out, he gathered her hair in his hand. “Well, maybe we should”—he nipped at her lip—“discuss it.”
She liked the way he kissed without quite kissing, the way he held her without really holding her. She remembered what it had been like when he’d done both, thoroughly. “Perhaps we should.”
Their lips did no more than tease each other’s. Eyes open, they nibbled, testing, tempting. They didn’t touch. Each was used to leading, to being in control. To lose the edge—that was the primary mistake, in matters of love and money, to both of them. As long as the reins were held, even loosely, then neither of them felt they would go where they didn’t lead.
His hand tightened on her hair, hers gripped his shirt-front. In that rare instant that moves timelessly, they were caught close. Need became the leader, and desire, the map. Each surrendered without hesitation or regret.
Beyond the thick, moist leaves came a bright, bubbling blast of Cyndi Lauper.
Like children caught with their fingers deep in the cookie jar, Whitney and Doug sprang apart. Jacques’s clear tenor echoed with Cyndi’s cheery voice. Both of them cleared their throats.
“Company’s coming,” Doug commented and reached for a cigarette.
“Yes.” Rising, Whitney brushed at the seat of her thin, baggy slacks. They were a bit damp with dew, but the heat was already drying the ground. She watched sunbeams slash through the tops of cypress. “As I said, a spot like this seems to draw people. Well, I think I’ll…” She trailed off in surprise when his hand circled her ankle.
“Whitney.” His eyes were intense, as they became when least expected. His fingers were very firm. “One day, we’re going to finish this.”
She wasn’t used to being told what she’d do, and saw no reason to begin now. She sent him a long, neutral look. “Perhaps.”
“Absolutely.”
The neutral look became a hint of a smile. “Douglas, you’re going to find out I can be very contrary.”
“You’re going to find out I take what I want.” He said it softly, and her smile faded. “It’s my profession.”
“Man oh man, we got ourselves some coconuts.” Coming through the bush, Jacques shook the net bag he carried.
Whitney laughed when he pulled one out and tossed it to her. “Anyone got a corkscrew?”