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Gulf with his air mattress under his arm.
    "God, so am I," Cal said in a soft undertone, his eyes saying more than words as he looked down into an oval face that was suddenly very red.
    ❧
    That night, instead of eating in the hotel, Cal walked Madeline out the front door into the dark, neon-light dotted evening that smelled of sea air and smothering heat.
    "We'll walk," he chuckled, motioning toward the unending line of cars going bumper to bumper down the famous Miracle Strip where motels and restaurants seemed to Madeline like links of a long, colorfully lighted chain.
    "I'll guarantee it's faster than riding," she agreed. "Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed over a large red flower in a bed near the curb. "What is it?"
    "Hibiscus," he told her. "They grow wild in the islands."
    "Lucky islanders," she murmured.
    He caught her hand and locked her fingers with his as they strolled down the side of the road behind several straggling couples. The slight warm pressure made her tingle. She felt vaguely like a teenager on her first real date, glancing up at the big, tall, very handsome man by her side.
    "I hope you like Polynesian food," he said, nodding toward two giant tikis and several torches in front of a building constructed to resemble a grass hut.
    "I've never eaten it, but I like most kinds of food."
    "So do I."
    "Why did you bring me to Panama City?" she asked suddenly.
    He shrugged. "Impulse. I wanted to get away for a while, and I didn't want to go alone." He squeezed her hand. "Burgundy, I don't spend much time on self-analysis. I do what pleases me."
    "Anyway," she said, "thank you. I can't remember ever enjoying anything so much. And you are going to let me reimburse you," she added flatly, daring him to argue.
    His narrow eyes sparkled. "We'll discuss the price of the trip later," he said, adding softly, "in private."
    Just a careless statement—but enough to freeze her blood and spoil the lovely meal and the lure of the graceful dancing and music. All through it, she was glancing toward the big man warily, wondering what kind of payment he had in mind. After all, she hardly knew him, and God only knew what had possessed her to come with him. What would she do if he....
    "Ready to go?" he asked as he set down his coffee cup.
    "Oh!" She almost started at the suddenness of the question. "Oh, yes, of course."
    There was a hunted look about her that caught his eye, and he frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked point-blank.
    "Nothing," she replied quickly. "I was just thinking."
    He didn't say anything, and they returned to the hotel in silence. They rode up the elevator and paused in front of Madeline's room.
    "I'll...I'll say good night," she murmured, jamming the key into the lock and opening the door. "Thanks again."
    "The hell you do,"he muttered, shouldering his way in before she could close the door. He locked it and turned back to her, ignoring the horror in her face, the sudden trembling of her body as he reached down and swung her up into his hard arms.
    "Cal...," she whispered shakily.
    "Isn't this what you were expecting?" he growled, his eyes narrow and blazing like silver fires in his dark face as he stared toward the bedroom. "Little Miss Independence, hell bent on paying her own way, every damned inch of the way. All right you can pay me, Burgundy—but in my own coin."
    He carried her into the bedroom and stood holding her beside the big, wide bed, searching her eyes with a merciless scrutiny.
    Her face had gone white, and her mouth was trembling. A fine mist blanketed her soft, dark eyes and threatened to make a flood down the taut cheeks.
    The sight of her drawn, frightened face seemed to shake him. His heavy, dark brows drew together in the heady silence.
    "There's never been a man, has there, honey?" he asked in a deep whisper and didn't seem surprised when she shook her head. "I think I knew all along—but I had to be sure...damn you, woman!" he whispered hotly, dumping her unceremoniously onto the bed