She stopped, turned to face him, to read his eyes. “They’ll kill you?”
“They’ll try.”
“And Sasha?”
“Odds are—kill or capture. And for us, one’s the same as the other. We have to survive.”
“It’s our duty.”
“That’s right, and we have to protect each other. That’s more than duty. I’ll take the bumps and bruises now. Doyle’s tough, but he’s right.”
“Do you want to kill people? To take their lives?”
“Absolutely not. But to save you, us, myself, the stars? I won’t hesitate.”
“Then I’ll hurt you.”
On a laugh, he cupped her face in his hands, pressed his lips to her forehead.
She simply flowed toward him, all but melted against him, surrounding him with her scent—both sweet and mysterious at once. He had only to shift, only to change the angle of his head for his mouth to meet hers.
And that shift, that change of angle would change everything else.
“Okay. Well.” He gave her a quick rub on the arms, stepped back. Tried not to look too long into those dreamy sea-green eyes. “Let’s see if you can hurt me before Doyle calls it for breakfast.”
They spent another day on and in the water, found nothing that pointed them toward the star. But there was gelato on the way home, and Annika considered that the happiest part of the day.
When they reached the house, the men wandered off into the grove. Annika thought nothing of it as she set out another jug of sun tea, but Riley, apparently, thought plenty.
Wearing her orange Chucks, a Grateful Dead T-shirt over baggy cargoes—and a suspicious expression—she stood, hands on hips. “Man talk.”
“I think they went to shoot the targets.”
“I don’t think so.” Riley turned as Sasha stepped out with her sketchbook and a large pitcher of sparkling pink.
“I tried my hand at this juice drink—raspberry and lemon with sparkling water. I think it’s pretty good.”
“We’ll be the judge.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Sasha asked as Riley poured the juice over a tall glass of ice.
“Exactly. The everybody else with a penis went off into the grove. I smell man meeting.”
“They can have it. I’m hot, tired, and parched.” But as she sat under the pergola, Sasha frowned toward the grove. “What could they be meeting about?”
“Strategy. Protecting the womenfolk from the Nerezza-Malmon duo.”
“That’s insulting.”
“You bet. This is pretty good.”
“I like it very much,” Annika added as she sampled her own glass. “We can have a woman meeting. We protect, too.”
“Damn skippy.”
“Who is Skippy? Why are you mad at him?”
“It’s an expression. Like bet your ass.”