the sunlight hit him. She followed the dip of his spine down to the narrow waist, the tight, neat buttocks, the horseman’s strong thighs where water droplets clung to dark hairs.
A river god, magnificent, male. Gaby’s mouth was dry, she could have no more closed her eyes than levitated. Then the kingfisher flew past the mouth of the bay, a flicker of iridescent blue, and Gray’s head snapped up, his arms dropped to his sides. For a moment the man watched the bird and Gaby watched the man, then he turned and she took two hasty steps back among the low-hanging leaves.
Her foot came down on a dry branch with a crack like a pistol shot. There would be no mistaking it for anything but a footfall. She almost fled, then realised that would betray the fact that she had been watching.
She cursed in Portuguese, loudly enough to be heard, and pushed on through the wall of greenery, unfurling the towel from her shoulders as she came, as though preparing to stop and undress.
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