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eye.” He kissed her on the head again and she was starting to wonder why he wasn’t kissing her on the lips. Her body flushed at the thought.
    Then she understood. He wasn’t going to settle for anything that had a whiff of a fling. Now she really was in a pretty pickle. On the one hand, she wanted him to rip her to bits right there on the beach, leave her in a heaving, satisfied heap, clothes torn, muscles pulled. Utterly satiated. On the other hand, she now understood that she would have to, if not initiate, at least encourage any future ripping, shredding, or heaving. There was no way he was going to let her have him in pieces, but she wasn’t sure she was after the whole emotional kit.
    Eliot must have felt it too, somehow. He let go of her with an abrupt start.
    â€œI think we’d better call it a night, Abigail,” he said, breathless, with a strange lack of conviction.
    She looked at him, both of them awash in that strange mix of desire and fear. “You’re probably right. Will you walk me back to my place?”
    â€œOf course.”
    He took her hand with pragmatic efficiency. Whatever sizzling desire had coursed through them moments before had been tucked away and his hand was nothing more than the top of a cane or a stair railing: a device. She took it nonetheless. Gratefully. He led as they walked up the uneven steps that rose from the beach to the villas on the cliff above.
    When the path was wide enough, she walked beside him, feeling the heat of his body, the rich smell of him wafting over and through her. A stray branch of bougainvillea scraped against her bare upper arm. She welcomed the sharp scratch against her tender skin, something, anything, to make her wake up and out of this stupor. A cut. A pinch.
    They didn’t speak again until they were standing outside the arched, doorless entryway to the villa Abigail was sharing with Max and his little family.
    â€œDo you want to come in?” Abby asked.
    â€œI probably shouldn’t. I’ve got to leave really early for Miami.” He looked down at her. “Hey, why don’t you come?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œWhy would I come to Miami?”
    â€œYou’re right. It was a stupid idea. I just thought we might have fun. I’m not looking forward to being alone.”
    â€œI’m sure you won’t be alone,” Abigail said.
    â€œYou know what I mean.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her flat out that he was already missing her and she was still standing right in front of him. “Just send me a text or call me when you’re ready to see me again, and I’ll see what I can do.” He leaned in and gave her an achingly tender kiss at the base of her neck, followed by a wisp of a kiss across her lips, a brush really. Abigail leaned in for more, but he had already pulled away. “That’s all for now, I’m afraid.”
    Abigail felt herself twitch between her legs. Why? her body screamed. Why is that all for now? But she merely stood there staring up at his beautiful face, his hair mussed, his top button unbuttoned, a bit of sand on his shoulder, and knew he was right. That was all there could be for now. He wanted everything. And she had no idea what she wanted.
    She let her palm rest on his cheek, met his eyes, then turned into the villa and listened as his steps retreated back down toward the sea, and from there, alone, to his hotel down the beach.
    As promised, the sweet housekeeper from Moonhole had shown up with a tentative knock at seven in the morning, holding a small white bag from the “Mistah Eliot” for the “Lady Abigail.” An hour later, she still hadn’t removed the late-model iPhone from its trim white box. Instead, she tossed it unopened (with a contrived lack of interest), into her rucksack, slung the whole pack over one shoulder, and joined Max, Bronte, and Wolf out on the porch of their villa. It