in front of her, standing with his hips between her spread legs, and either they were having intercourse in that interesting position, or the photographer had faked the scene.
Morgan felt prickles of heat on her skin. She should cut off this discussion. Instead she asked, “What do you like about it?”
“The dynamics. It’s a still photograph, but it has a strong sense of movement, don’t you think?”
As he spoke, he stroked his hands up and down her arms, and she found the sensations he was creating made it difficult to focus on a coherent answer. “Yes,” she managed.
“And then there’s the sexuality. If you’re knowledgeable about lovemaking, you’re pretty sure they’re locked together. But for someone more naive, it could just be a guy ready to lift a woman off a swing.”
“Except that they’re both naked,” she murmured.
He laughed. “Maybe it’s a nudist colony.”
“Right,” she quavered as he slid his lips along her cheek to her ear, his teeth and tongue playing with the delicate curl.
The sensation was exquisite. Without thinking, she threw her head back like the woman in the picture. He took advantage of the pose to slide his mouth to the side of her neck.
She wanted to turn, but he held her where she was, her body arched, her pulse pounding.
“Did you see the picture of the woman with the bowl of apples?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Another good one.” He brought his hands inward, cupping and lifting her breasts. Looking down, she saw the nipples standing out through her shirt. She knew he saw that, too, because he stroked his fingers back and forth over those aching tips.
She made a small, needy sound, asking for more. And he took his cue from her, slipping his hands under her top and stroking her through the silky fabric of her bra while he brought his mouth back to the side of her face, her ear.
“Let me turn around,” she whispered.
“Don’t you like this?”
“You know I do,” she managed, then tried to change the subject. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Not this,” he answered, pressing his erection against her bottom.
When she pressed back against him, she was rewarded by his quick indrawn breath.
He loosened his hold, and she was about to turn, when a throat-clearing sound behind them made them both jump.
“I . . . surely beg your . . . your pardon,” Janet stammered.
“What do you want?” Andre growled, his tone sharp as his hands dropped to his sides, and she was glad he was standing behind her, both of them with their backs to the door.
Janet spoke again. “I came to tell you two men have brought the car back. They want you to pay them. And they want to clear out as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be right there,” Andre muttered.
“No. I’ll do it,” Morgan managed, closing the book. Mercifully, Janet withdrew.
Morgan took a couple of deep breaths. She had told herself she was not going to get physically involved with Andre again. But all he’d had to do was sneak up behind her and start kissing her ear, and she’d been back in the same trap she’d been helpless to avoid before.
As she walked toward the front of the house, she straightened the front of her shirt. Andre followed her. Because she was angry with herself—and with him—she snapped, “Why did you destroy evidence outside last night?”
“Give me a clue. Evidence of what?”
She stopped and gave him a direct look. “I saw that jaguar in the garden. When I went out to find his tracks,” they were gone from the spot where he’d been standing. “You raked the area. I had to walk in a big circle to pick up his trail again.”
Andre’s features registered astonishment. “I didn’t rake anything.”
She stared at his face, trying to judge whether he was telling the truth or lying through his teeth. He looked genuinely shocked.
“If not you, then who?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, and this time she wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth.
“Do you have a rake—besides the one that’s locked in your shed?”
“No. But somebody could have brought one,” he added.
“Who?”
He only shrugged.
“Did you take away those cigarette butts I found?”
“No!”
Again, she studied his face. If he was lying, he was good at it.
“Let me get my purse,” she said, then detoured up the steps and into her room.
As she came back down the stairs, she saw that Andre was waiting for her inside.
Through the side light she could see her rental car—and another car—pulled to the side of