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towel.
    She kicked off her shoes, slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the warm sand. The sound of the lulling ocean calmed her. She started out across the beach when she spied Nick swinging in a hammock just a few feet from the bungalow. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped together over his chest. Beside him hung an empty hammock.
    Olivia walked over. “I take it that you failed on your mission and have already accepted defeat.”
    Lazily, Nick opened one eye and used it to send a lingering gaze down her legs. She had to go find a longer skirt. Better yet, pants.
    “Not at all,” he murmured in a voice so perfect it sounded manufactured. “I’ve already accomplished my mission, and I was merely waiting for the full hour to give you a fighting chance.”
    “Sure you were.”
    “Have a seat, Miss Sarcasm.” He waved a hand at the hammock beside him.
    Olivia had never been able to swing idly in a hammock. For one thing, she didn’t do idle. She was a multitasker of the highest order. She listened to audio books while on the treadmill, ate her meals at her desk, made verbal notes on her recorder while driving back and forth from interviews. She’d even written her articles on her laptop while sitting beside her mother during her chemo treatments.
    For another thing, she’d never learned the art of how to slide gracefully into and out of a hammock.
    “I’ll just stand. What did you find out about Honey?”
    “I’m not talking until you take a load off.”
    “There’s no need for me to ‘take a load off’ as you so eloquently put it.”
    He said nothing, just closed that one eye and rocked back and forth, the ropes of the hammock creaking softly against the bark of the palm trees.
    She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” she muttered, “I’ll sit in the damned hammock.”
    “You need to learn to relax, Honey.”
    “Stop calling me that.”
    “What do you want me to call you? Sweet Cheeks? Can’t very well call you Olivia.”
    “Don’t give me any dopey monikers. Don’t call me anything.”
    “Whatever you want.”
    “Don’t patronize me, either.”
    “I’m never going to win with you, am I?”
    “Not likely.”
    “You know, I would have expected an objective journalist to be…oh, I don’t know, more objective. You’ve already got me tucked into a nice little box in your head and you’re not letting me out of it.”
    “I’ve read your blog, I’ve talked to people and I’ve formed an intelligent opinion about your exploits.”
    “My blog persona is not who I really am. I’m surprised that you don’t get that.”
    “Gee, so you’re not a gadabout playboy? My bad. You really are out there saving the world, feeding starving orphans and such.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with pure entertainment. It helps people get through the day.”
    “Numbs their brains in other words.” Even as she said it, Olivia didn’t really believe it. Entertainment did help people decompress. What was it about him that rubbed her the wrong way? How could he make her feel like a dullard with just a few laconic words and one of his knowing glances?
    “You’re right,” she admitted, which was as much of an apology as she was prepared to give. “I’m not objective when it comes to you.”
    Both eyes popped open and a sly smile edged up the corners of his mouth. “Excuse me, I thought I heard an apology in there somewhere.”
    “Don’t make me regret saying it.”
    “Okay,” he said and shut up.
    “So about Honey…”
    “You want what I’ve got, then park your fanny in the hammy.”
    “That’s too cute.” She eyed the hammock, tried to figure out how she was going to get into it without her short skirt flipping up. “It’s nauseating.”
    “I get it now.”
    “Get what?” She eased down, testing her weight on the flimsy sling.
    “You.”
    “What about me?”
    “You enjoy being contentious.”
    “I do not.” Did she?
    “You’re contentious right now.”
    “I—” She