been there himself. She would press the right amount of change into his hand, and he would reply in the West Indian manner, “Thank you, m’dear.” Everyone seemed to buy the paper. It was as much a part of the routine as the speedy breakneck traffic of the early morning as workers rushed to their offices and neatly uniformed policemen worked to prevent pileups. The docks were busy, too, as fishermen moved their boats out into the crystal clear water and the straw market began forming with vendors setting up their stalls with bright native handwork, woven purses and hats and other treasures that were gobbled up by tourists.
“Having a good time?” the girl behind the counter asked her with a grin as she handed her the change.
“I love it!” She laughed back, and the joy of the new experiences was in her eyes, her face, her posture as she danced away toward the tables and came face-to-face with the man from Chicago.
Her smile crumbled as she met his cold, contemptuous stare from the table where he was sitting with no breakfast, only a cup of black coffee cupped in his two big hands.
Old habits die hard, and Nikki had been taught manners with her first steps. She gave him a polite, if curt, jerk of her head and made her way to the very back booth, by the door that opened into the back street. She sat down with her muffin and coffee, with her back to the stranger.
It was all she could do to concentrate on her breakfast, which he’d managed to spoil with that steely glare. She was all but shaking with mingled rage and outrage. He knew nothing about her, nothing at all—not that she was conscientious, not that she’d never think of doing anything underhanded to get a story. How dare he judge her! As if she’d write about a horrible man like him, anyway, whoever he was!
“You’ll strain your spine if you don’t relax,” he said from just behind her, causing her to stiffen even more with surprise.
She didn’t answer him. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of actually replying. She bit into her egg and muffin, which tasted like powdered concrete, thanks to him, and chewed it thirty times before she swallowed. When she took a sip of her coffee, there was no sound to indicate that he’d moved an inch.
Curious, she turned her head and jerked to find him only inches away. He was sitting at the booth behind her, facing the aisle and watching her with eyes she couldn’t understand.
“If you don’t mind,” she said quietly, “I’d like to enjoy what’s left of my breakfast.”
“There wasn’t much of it to begin with,” he replied.
“Why don’t you go out and take care of your own business?” she asked him coldly. “I came over here for a vacation, not to fight the Civil War after every meal.”
She started to get up, unfinished breakfast and all, but he blocked her by stretching a powerfully muscled arm across the booth. She collided with it and felt an electric shock run through her slender body before she jerked back with a muffled gasp.
He didn’t like that betraying little movement; his face tautened at it. He laughed shortly, “I’m not used to women running from me,” he said. “Especially not women reporters.”
“I work for a weekly paper, not a scandal sheet,” she said bitingly. “We have a paid circulation of six thousand, and we are hardly likely to set the world ablaze with stories on Jim Blalock’s fifty-pound cabbage or our new flood control ordinance.”
He studied her face quietly. “A weekly, huh?”
“While we’re about it, allow me to blow another hole in your theories,” she added angrily. “I don’t know who you are. And frankly I couldn’t care less. My first impression of you was right on the money. I should have turned around the minute I saw you coming toward the elevator. Next time I will.”
She ducked under his arm, tray and all, and stood up.
“All right, I’m convinced,” he said, moving in front of her.
“I’m thrilled. Will you get out of my way, please?” she added.
He sighed deeply, taking the tray from her. “We’re going to have a rocky relationship if you keep this up.”
“You’d be lucky,” she returned, but after a minute she sat back down at the table opposite him.
“Not that kind of relationship,” he told her. His quiet eyes searched hers. “You aren’t hard enough for holiday affairs.”
“And you’ve got