in one year. There was always a place that seemed more convenient. For you.”
He was silent for a minute, then asked, “Was I really that bad?”
“Yes. No. Well, you’re you. You shouldn’t have changed what you were—are—for me. Or anyone else. It just didn’t work for me.”
“There is such a thing as compromise,” he reminded her.
“Well, I didn’t particularly want to be the reason the great David Denham missed out on the find of the century.”
“There are many finds—every century,” he told her. “Are you through here? I came to walk back to the cottage with you.”
“What makes you think I don’t have other plans?” she demanded.
He grinned. “I know you. There’s nothing you adore more than the sea—and your children here, of course—but you’re also determined on showering the minute you’re done with it.”
“Fine. Walk me back, then. I definitely don’t want to get dragged into the Tiki Bar,” she said wearily, aware that she no longer felt alone—or afraid.
“Want me to take the bucket?”
“Wait—there’s one more round for these three.”
“May I?” he asked.
She shrugged. David sat on the dock. As she had, he talked to each of the dolphins as he rewarded them with their fish. Spoke, stroked.
She was irrationally irritated that they seemed to like David so much. Only Shania hung back just a little. It was as if she sensed Alex’s mixed feelings about him and was awaiting her approval.
David had a knack for speaking with the animals. He understood that food wasn’t their only reward, and that they liked human contact, human voices.
Shania, like the others, began to nudge him, asking for attention.
Traitor, Alex thought, but at the same time, she was glad. Shania was a very special creature. She needed more than the others, who had never known the kind of injury and pain that Shania had suffered.
When the dolphins had finished their fish, Alex started down the dock. He walked along with her in silence. She moved fast, trying to keep a bit ahead. No way. He had very long legs.
“If you’re trying to run away, it’s rather futile, don’t you think?”
She stopped short. “Why would I be running away?”
“Because you’re hoping to lose me?”
“How can I lose you? We’re on a very small island, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Not to mention that my legs are longer, so I can actually leave you in the dust at any time.”
“Go ahead.”
“You have the key.”
“You have your own place here.”
“But I’m not leaving you alone in yours.”
His tone had been light and bantering, but the last was said with deadly gravity.
“This is insane,” she murmured, and hurried on. She knew, though, that she wasn’t going to lose him. And in a secret part of herself—physical, surely, not emotional—she felt the birth of a certain wild elation. Why? Did she think she could just play with him? Hope to tempt and tease, then hurt…?
As she felt she had been hurt?
No, surely not. Her decision to file the papers hadn’t been based on a fit of temper. She had thought long and hard about every aspect of their lives.
But wasn’t it true, an inner voice whispered, that jealousy had played a part? Jealousy, and the fear that others offered more than she ever could, so she couldn’t possibly hope to keep him?
Despite his long legs, she sprinted ahead of him as they neared the cottage. She opened the door, ignoring him. She didn’t slam it, just let it fall shut. He caught it, though, and followed her in.
Inside, she curtly told him to help himself to the bath in the hallway, then walked into her own room. She stripped right in the shower, then turned the water on hard, sudsing both her hair and body with a vengeance. Finally she got out, wrapped herself in a towel and remembered that the maid never left anything but hand towels in the guest bath.
Cursing at herself, she gathered up one of the big bath sheets and walked into the hallway. He was already in the shower. She tapped on the door. No answer.
“David?”
“What?” he called over the water.
“Here’s your towel.”
“What? Can’t hear you.”
Why was she bothering? She should let him drip dry. No, knowing David, he’d just come out in the buff, dripping all over the polished wood floors.
“Your towel!” she shouted.
“Can’t hear you!” he responded again.
Impatiently, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed it open, ready to throw the towel right in.
The glass shower door was clear, and the steam hadn’t fogged it yet. She was staring right at him, in all his naked glory.
“Your towel,” she said, dropping it, ready to run.
The glass door opened, and his head appeared. He was smiling. “Just couldn’t resist a look at the old buns, huh?” he teased. “Careful, or you’ll be too tempted to resist.”
She forced herself to stand dead still, slowly taking stock of him, inch by inch. She kept her gaze entirely impassive. Then, her careful scrutiny complete, she spoke at last.
“No,” she said, and with a casual turn, exited the bathroom. She heard his throaty laughter and leaned against the closed door, feeling absurdly weak. Damn him. Every sinewy, muscle-bound bit of him. But as she closed her eyes, it wasn’t just the sleek bronze vision of his flesh that taunted her.
It was all the ways he could use it.
The door opened suddenly, giving way to her weight as she leaned against it. She fell backward, right into his very damp, very warm and very powerful arms.
Chapter Eight
It probably wasn’t strange that he refused to release her instantly.
“You were spying on me!” he said.
“Spying—through a closed door?” she returned.
“You were listening at the door.”
“I wasn’t,” she assured him. His arms were wrapped around her midriff, and they were both wearing
