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although she did not know it until they reached the parking lot after the tour and he told her he had come by taxi.
She drove a little recklessly, hitting some of the turns a little too fast. Sugar cane rushed past at the edge of the road, a thick green blur where the cane was mature, a red-and-green pointillist pattern where the new growth was just breaking ground. They passed the turnoff to Koloa and could see for a moment down the long eucalyptus tunnel to the south before it closed up and fell behind them.
As she slowed on the approach to Lihue, she started to tell him that her husband had a meeting on bone scanning that would last through dinner, that she didn’t do this sort of thing as a habit, in fact this would be the first time, but he merely pointed straight ahead, toward her hotel and she smiled shyly instead. They were staying at the same hotel, and she thought perhaps he was a radiologist too, except that he worked for the consulate in San Francisco. She smiled, recognizing her relief that he was not a doctor.
There was a parking area before the main entrance, and he gestured abruptly. She looked at him. “I could let them park…”
“No.”
“Of course, you’re right.” She parked and they walked to the entrance, a modest portico that led to a long downward escalator, a trip that ended in a fairyland entry flanked by enormous Chinese vases. Suddenly the two-acre reflecting pool, with its monumental fountain of galloping horses, opened before them. Jets of water rose over sixty feet in the air.
“Your room?” she asked huskily. The muscles in his arm jumped as he showed her the number on his room key.
He was standing by the opened drapes of his suite looking out across the narrow hotel beach at Nawiliwili Harbor, brightly lit by the afternoon sun, when she pushed his door open. She closed it and smiled shyly. He did not move, did not turn. Beyond him, the water was dark blue, an effective contrast to the green slopes across the harbor. No boats on the other side of the park. It was a tranquil scene, almost static, as if the life had been leached from it, freezing it into the frame of the window like a work of improbable art.
She paused a moment, then went into the bathroom. A few minutes later she paused naked in the doorway and watched him staring out the windows.
He was examining his reflection in the window dispassionately. She thought this must be the way he examined all things he considered beautiful. She began to flesh out his character traits. His high forehead, she thought, crowned by light brown hair swept straight back, concealed knowledge both practical and arcane. His eyes, a startlingly clear gray, held both intensity and honesty. The straight, thin nose gave an impression that Norman barons lurked in his ancestry, an impression he took pains to encourage, for although it was in no way true, it had more than once opened doors to him that might otherwise have remained forever closed.
The honesty in his eyes, like much else about him, was deceptive. Yes, she thought, this was a dangerous man. The thought excited her. She moved toward him. He did not see her reflection, so when she slid her arms around him under his jacket, he started and turned swiftly. She stepped back, frightened for a moment. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
She was naked, and involuntarily shielded herself with her hands for a moment. He said nothing, and she gave an embarrassed little laugh and came to him again, pressing her large breasts against him and sliding her arms around his waist. She began to tug at his shirt, pulling it free in back so she could feel the muscles of his lower back. She could feel him growing hard against her as he reached behind her, seized a handful of her buttock and squeezed. His grip was painful and she pulled away from it, a movement that thrust her loins against his. She could feel he was responding to her.
“I don’t even know your name,” she murmured against his chest as
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