could relax and enjoy the rest of the trip.
I settled back and stretched my legs. Ahhhhh. No more worries. None. Not a single one.
“I was under the impression the only creatures allowed to swim at Seal Bay were the sea lions,” said Duncan. “So what’s with the wet hair?”
I gave it a ruffle. “Do you like it?”
He trailed his fingers through my wet locks and gave me a look that burned halfway through my skull. “It’s hot.” His voice dipped to a husky whisper. “You’re sexy when you’re wet.”
Okay, I might still have one small worry.
“I hope you enjoyed Seal Bay,” the driver announced. “Our nixt stop will be Stokes Bay on the north shore, where there’s a spictacular beach and a ripper café where you can pick up lunch. Won’t be so windy there. It’s a fifty-five-minute drive, much of it on unsealed roads, so the going could git a bit bumpy. We’ll drive through a nice patch of gums near the Cygnet Riveh, but the landscape won’t git dramatic until we reach the coast. The bist part of the island is around the idges. If you have quistions at any time, just call ’im out.”
As we rolled out of the parking lot, Duncan removed a sack from the overhead rack and dropped it on my lap.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a furry toy sea lion pup with huge eyes and a droopy, ill-tied bow around its neck. “Oh, Duncan, he’s adorable! Thank you. Does he have a name?”
“I’m not sure. It might say on the tag.”
I found the manufacturer’s tag tucked behind the ribbon, dangling beside a diamond ring whose stone was the size of a gumball. “Oh, my God, Duncan.” Uh-oh. Big worry. “It’s beautiful. I mean, it’s incredible. I—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about, ‘Yes, Duncan, I’ll marry you.’”
I angled the stone toward the window, dazzled when it splintered with a million points of light. “Wow.”
“I hope it’s big enough. I considered a three-carat stone, but I thought your hand was too small to carry off three carats, so I settled on two. If you’d prefer three, I can exchange it. I don’t want you to feel short-changed.”
He was so excited, so boyishly enthusiastic. How was I supposed to deal with this? “Does Etienne know about the ring?”
“I don’t broadcast my every move to Miceli.”
“I thought you two were best buddies.”
“We are.” He twisted two fingers together. “Like this.”
“You can’t stand the sight of each other, can you?”
“I despise the man.”
“So why are you on this trip together?”
“I thought you might have figured that out.” He looked at me with the kind of yearning the world’s greatest actors couldn’t fake. “I want you; he wants you. You know what they say: ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ I don’t want to lose you, pretty, and I’m not about to let Miceli get the upper hand. I love you too much.”
Oh, geez. What was it with me and my feast-or-famine love life? Was it normal for thirty-
year-olds to have problems like this?
My heart raced. My palms grew sweaty. Of course it wasn’t normal! If it was normal, Cosmo would have had a quiz about it, along with lists of the ten most exciting places in a two-car garage to make love and twelve erotic uses for athletes foot powder.
“Don’t fall for it,” Lola advised over her seat back. “They say anything to git you in the sack, then they turn into aliens. ‘Specially the good-looking ones.”
Duncan leaned forward. “Excuse me, but no one invited you to take part in this conversation.”
“Piss off. I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to your girlfrind.”
“Put a sock in it, would ya?” Jake snarled at her.
“You put a sock in it!” She whacked his shoulder. “Don’t be tilling me to shut up whin I’m handing out important advice. If someone had given me the lowdown on you blokes, maybe I wouldn’t have got stuck with you!”
“I’ve got a flash for you, Mrs. Silverthorn. No one but me would put up with you. Everyone knows what you are. Trash. You driss like trash. You talk like trash.”
“And who are you? Mr. Prince Charles freaking Windsor?”
“No! I’m apparently the local trash collector!”
Heads turned. Eyebrows lifted. Just what every tour needed: two dead bodies and a fistfight in 9A and B.
“How long have the two of you been married?” I asked as a stopgap measure.
“Too long,” spat Jake.
“Bloody ratbag! You think it’s been a picnic for