understood the ceremony and her feelings about it changed.
Whitney accepted the soap Doug offered and smiled at him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He lifted a small, rough towel and scrubbed it over his face. “Beautiful?”
“They don’t forget you when you die. You’re brought back, given a front-row seat at a party, filled in on all the town news, and drunk to. One of the worst things about dying is missing out on all the fun.”
“The worst thing about dying is dying,” he countered.
“You’re too literal. I wonder if it makes it easier to face death knowing you’ve got something like that to look forward to.”
He’d never considered anything made it easier to face death. It was just something that happened when you couldn’t con life any longer. He shook his head, dropping the towel. “You’re an interesting woman, Whitney.”
“Of course.” Laughing, she lifted the soap and sniffed. It smelled of crushed, waxy flowers. “And I’m starving. Let’s see what’s on the menu.”
When Marie came back, she had changed into a colorful skirt that skimmed her calves. Outside, villagers were busily loading a long table with food and drink. Whitney, who’d been expecting a few handfuls of rice and a fresh canteen, turned to Marie again with thanks.
“You are our guests.” Solemn and formal, Marie lowered her eyes. “You have been guided to our village. We offer the hospitality of our ancestors and celebrate your visit. My father has said we will have today as holiday in your honor.”
“I only know we’re hungry.” Whitney reached out to touch her hand. “And very grateful.”
She stuffed herself. Though she didn’t recognize anything but the fruit and rice, she didn’t quibble. Scents flowed on the air, spicy, exotic, different. The meat, without aid of electricity, had been cooked over open fires and in stone kilns. It was gamey and rich and wonderful. The wine, cup after cup of it, was potent.
Music began, drums and rough wind and string instruments that formed thready, ancient tunes. The fields, it seemed, could wait one day. Visitors were rare, and once accepted, prized.
A little giddy, Whitney swirled into a dance with a group of men and women.
They accepted her, grinning and nodding as she mimicked their steps. She watched some of the men leap and turn as the rhythm quickened. Whitney let her head fall back with her laugh. She thought of the smoky, crowded clubs she patronized. Electric music, electric lights. There, each one tried to outshine the other. She thought of some of the smooth, self-absorbed men who’d partnered her— or tried to. Not one of them would be able to hold up against a Merina. She whirled until her head spun and then turned to Doug.
“Dance with me,” she demanded.
Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright. Against him, she was warm and impossibly soft. Laughing, he shook his head. “I’ll pass. You’re doing enough for both of us.”
“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud.” She poked a finger into his chest. “The Merina know a party pooper when they see one.” She linked her hands behind him and swayed. “All you have to do is move your feet.”
On their own power, his hands slipped down to her hips to feel the movement. “Just my feet?”
Tilting her head, she aimed a deadly look from beneath her lashes. “If that’s the best you can do—” She let out a quick whoop when he swung her in a circle.
“Just try to keep up with me, sugar.” In a flash, he had an arm hooked behind her, and extending the other, gripped her hand. He held the dramatic tango pose for a moment, then moved smoothly forward. They broke, turned, and came back together.
“Damn, Douglas, I think you might be a fun date after all.”
As they continued, stepping, swaying, then moving forward, their dance caught the crowd’s approval. They turned so their faces were close, their bodies facing, hand extended to hand as Doug guided her backward.
Her heart began to drum pleasantly, both from the pleasure of being foolish and the constant brush of his body against hers. His breath was warm. His eyes, so unusual and clear, stayed on hers. It wasn’t often she thought of him as a strong man, but now, caught close, she felt the ripple of muscle in his back, along his shoulders. Whitney tilted her head back in challenge. She’d match him, step for step.
He whirled her so quickly her vision blurred. Then she felt herself being flung back. Freely, she let her body go so that