couldn’t allow that.
He caught the faint fragrance of jasmine as he passed by her and closed the door firmly behind him. The whole bathroom was filled with her scent. Probably the shampoo, one of the few things she’d purchased from the little money she’d been willing to take from him. All she’d bought was one set of new clothes, including abayah and veil, and some toiletries. His emergency credit card had been in the pocket of the sleeping bag, the only thing that survived the fire. His wallet was with the bandits. It had been in the Jeep’s glove compartment.
The grant money hadn’t been wired to the bank yet. The teller checked on its status and promised it would be there first thing in the morning. Until then, Abigail depended on him. He could tell she didn’t like it.
He stripped out of his filthy clothes and turned on the water, the cold tap only. He washed the sand out of his hair, his growing beard. It felt good to be clean. He let the cold water wash over him while he planned their day, which was hard to do with a picture of Abigail’s lips dancing in his mind.
He shut off the water, grabbed for the fresh clothes he’d bought and dropped the simple long pants and shirt back onto the chair, wrapping the towel around his waist instead. No harm in testing just how resistant Dr. DiMatteo was to him.
He opened the door and leaned against the frame, his arms folded in a way he knew made his biceps bulge.
The rounding of her eyes brought instant gratification. “Where should we go to eat?”
She was lying on top of the covers, her ankle elevated on a pillow. Other women he knew would have stretched luxuriously and given him that come-hither smile he was so familiar with.
She sat up. “Doesn’t matter.” She looked away from him. “The hotel restaurant is fine.”
“I want to take you someplace special.” He gave her his absolute best smile. “You won’t have to walk. We’ll get a cab.”
“Okay,” she said after a second, with no visible reaction whatsoever.
“You look nice.” There. He was coming on to her.
She didn’t look particularly impressed. “I’ll call down to the front desk and see if they could recommend a restaurant nearby.”
Fine. He stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
“WHAT MADE YOU decide to work with war orphans?”
She looked at Gerald over her mutton and rice. He was in documentary-making mode again, which was a tremendous relief, and a great improvement over whatever mode he’d been in up in their hotel room. He’d nearly given her a heart attack when he’d come out of the bathroom practically naked.
She dabbed her lips with the damask napkin. The restaurant was first-rate; Gerald had remembered seeing it somewhere in a tour book. She hadn’t wanted anything this fancy, worried about cost, but now, as the food melted on her tongue, she was glad she’d let him talk her into it.
“So originally you’re from New Jersey?” Abigail nodded.
“I was a member of a pro-peace organization at Georgetown University. We put together pamphlets with pictures of starving kids in war-torn countries around the world.” It seemed hard to think of starvation next to a table covered with delicacies. “I gave a speech once on the growing threat of land mines, and the research I did for it really opened my eyes. Then when I was in grad school, I had the chance to go to Uganda with the Peace Corps. I ended up doing my Ph.D. on what I learned from that trip.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he said.
She felt sorry for him. Maybe this assignment was a big deal for his career and here he was without his camera, which had melted in the fire. They would have to spend some time looking around the city for another one before they went back to Tukatar.
“You could be teaching about developing countries at some nice air-conditioned university instead of being kidnapped by bandits in them. How come you didn’t stay an academic?”
Good
He caught the faint fragrance of jasmine as he passed by her and closed the door firmly behind him. The whole bathroom was filled with her scent. Probably the shampoo, one of the few things she’d purchased from the little money she’d been willing to take from him. All she’d bought was one set of new clothes, including abayah and veil, and some toiletries. His emergency credit card had been in the pocket of the sleeping bag, the only thing that survived the fire. His wallet was with the bandits. It had been in the Jeep’s glove compartment.
The grant money hadn’t been wired to the bank yet. The teller checked on its status and promised it would be there first thing in the morning. Until then, Abigail depended on him. He could tell she didn’t like it.
He stripped out of his filthy clothes and turned on the water, the cold tap only. He washed the sand out of his hair, his growing beard. It felt good to be clean. He let the cold water wash over him while he planned their day, which was hard to do with a picture of Abigail’s lips dancing in his mind.
He shut off the water, grabbed for the fresh clothes he’d bought and dropped the simple long pants and shirt back onto the chair, wrapping the towel around his waist instead. No harm in testing just how resistant Dr. DiMatteo was to him.
He opened the door and leaned against the frame, his arms folded in a way he knew made his biceps bulge.
The rounding of her eyes brought instant gratification. “Where should we go to eat?”
She was lying on top of the covers, her ankle elevated on a pillow. Other women he knew would have stretched luxuriously and given him that come-hither smile he was so familiar with.
She sat up. “Doesn’t matter.” She looked away from him. “The hotel restaurant is fine.”
“I want to take you someplace special.” He gave her his absolute best smile. “You won’t have to walk. We’ll get a cab.”
“Okay,” she said after a second, with no visible reaction whatsoever.
“You look nice.” There. He was coming on to her.
She didn’t look particularly impressed. “I’ll call down to the front desk and see if they could recommend a restaurant nearby.”
Fine. He stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
“WHAT MADE YOU decide to work with war orphans?”
She looked at Gerald over her mutton and rice. He was in documentary-making mode again, which was a tremendous relief, and a great improvement over whatever mode he’d been in up in their hotel room. He’d nearly given her a heart attack when he’d come out of the bathroom practically naked.
She dabbed her lips with the damask napkin. The restaurant was first-rate; Gerald had remembered seeing it somewhere in a tour book. She hadn’t wanted anything this fancy, worried about cost, but now, as the food melted on her tongue, she was glad she’d let him talk her into it.
“So originally you’re from New Jersey?” Abigail nodded.
“I was a member of a pro-peace organization at Georgetown University. We put together pamphlets with pictures of starving kids in war-torn countries around the world.” It seemed hard to think of starvation next to a table covered with delicacies. “I gave a speech once on the growing threat of land mines, and the research I did for it really opened my eyes. Then when I was in grad school, I had the chance to go to Uganda with the Peace Corps. I ended up doing my Ph.D. on what I learned from that trip.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he said.
She felt sorry for him. Maybe this assignment was a big deal for his career and here he was without his camera, which had melted in the fire. They would have to spend some time looking around the city for another one before they went back to Tukatar.
“You could be teaching about developing countries at some nice air-conditioned university instead of being kidnapped by bandits in them. How come you didn’t stay an academic?”
Good
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