proven innocent.”
“I’ve got insurance that buys me some protection, and I know who to contact to buy the remainder if I ever need it,” Matt answered with a shrug. “Close your eyes if my driving makes you nervous.”
“I think I can handle it with my eyes open.”
“I think you can, too. You’re the lady who sublimates with an Alfa Romeo, aren’t you?”
“I see you weren’t too drunk to remember a few details from our scintillating conversation last night,” she said sweetly.
“What does it take to knock the sass out of you?”
“More artillery than you’ve got to throw into action.” She grinned with sudden cheerfulness, relaxing into her seat, feeling quite sure of herself now.
“In that case,” he murmured, “there’s no reason why you should be afraid to have dinner with me tonight, is there?”
She slanted him a speculative glance. “You never give up, do you?”
“Must be the military in me. Seven thirty? Mexicans dine late. We’ll have a couple of drinks and I’ll try to explain what happened last night.”
“There’s no need to explain. Believe me, it was very obvious! Don’t close your eyes like that,” she added abruptly. “You’re supposed to be driving.”
“I’m asking a higher authority for patience.”
“No point. You said yourself you’re not in the military any longer.” She chuckled, feeling quite satisfied with the knowledge that she could hold her own with Matt August.
“Dinner, Sabrina?”
“Are you groveling, Matt?”
“I’m trying.”
“All right, then. Seven thirty. A public restaurant, not your home, and I want the restaurant located in town, not five miles out,” she stipulated.
“Cautious little thing, aren’t you?”
“Do you blame me?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty,” he said grimly. Life was turning complicated, Matt reflected. For the past two years everything had been very simple here in Mexico. Maybe too simple. Dealing with Sabrina was showing him just how accustomed to drifting he had become.
Life’s complications were also, on Sabrina’s mind later that evening as she shared a small table with Matt in another of Acapulco’s breeze-cooled terrace bars. Matt had chosen a different hotel this evening and she wondered if it was because he had not wanted to dredge up recent memories by taking her back to her own hotel lounge.
The low, ruffled neckline of the summer white dress she wore left Sabrina’s throat and shoulders deliciously bare to the balmy night. The wide skirt was held at the waist by a huge, brassy leather belt she had found in the local market that afternoon; another garish contribution to her growing collection of Mexican souvenirs. It took a professional such as herself, she’d decided, to truly appreciate the fine art of totally tasteless souvenirs. Matt, as usual, was dressed in a freshly pressed shirt and strictly creased trousers. Such uncompromising neatness, even in this climate. The military in him, she decided.
“What are you thinking about, Sabrina?” He sipped his whiskey and eyed her intently. “You look as though you’re laughing at a very private joke.”
She shook her head in quick denial. “Only at you.” She smiled.
“Well, that’s a step ahead of having you hurl knives at me, I suppose.”
“Ever the philosopher,” she complained. “How did you wind up running a bookstore in Acapulco, Matt?”
“How did you wind up in Dallas?” he countered.
“That’s easy. I got kicked out of California.” The humor chilled in her eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I thought California tolerated just about anything and anyone. What did you do that was so weird they had to kick you out?”
“If I told you that I seduced an innocent young man and convinced him to sell industrial secrets to the enemy and that his father later took such offense when the FBI arrested his son that he told me to get out of the state, would you believe me?”
Matt studied her for a full
“I’ve got insurance that buys me some protection, and I know who to contact to buy the remainder if I ever need it,” Matt answered with a shrug. “Close your eyes if my driving makes you nervous.”
“I think I can handle it with my eyes open.”
“I think you can, too. You’re the lady who sublimates with an Alfa Romeo, aren’t you?”
“I see you weren’t too drunk to remember a few details from our scintillating conversation last night,” she said sweetly.
“What does it take to knock the sass out of you?”
“More artillery than you’ve got to throw into action.” She grinned with sudden cheerfulness, relaxing into her seat, feeling quite sure of herself now.
“In that case,” he murmured, “there’s no reason why you should be afraid to have dinner with me tonight, is there?”
She slanted him a speculative glance. “You never give up, do you?”
“Must be the military in me. Seven thirty? Mexicans dine late. We’ll have a couple of drinks and I’ll try to explain what happened last night.”
“There’s no need to explain. Believe me, it was very obvious! Don’t close your eyes like that,” she added abruptly. “You’re supposed to be driving.”
“I’m asking a higher authority for patience.”
“No point. You said yourself you’re not in the military any longer.” She chuckled, feeling quite satisfied with the knowledge that she could hold her own with Matt August.
“Dinner, Sabrina?”
“Are you groveling, Matt?”
“I’m trying.”
“All right, then. Seven thirty. A public restaurant, not your home, and I want the restaurant located in town, not five miles out,” she stipulated.
“Cautious little thing, aren’t you?”
“Do you blame me?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty,” he said grimly. Life was turning complicated, Matt reflected. For the past two years everything had been very simple here in Mexico. Maybe too simple. Dealing with Sabrina was showing him just how accustomed to drifting he had become.
Life’s complications were also, on Sabrina’s mind later that evening as she shared a small table with Matt in another of Acapulco’s breeze-cooled terrace bars. Matt had chosen a different hotel this evening and she wondered if it was because he had not wanted to dredge up recent memories by taking her back to her own hotel lounge.
The low, ruffled neckline of the summer white dress she wore left Sabrina’s throat and shoulders deliciously bare to the balmy night. The wide skirt was held at the waist by a huge, brassy leather belt she had found in the local market that afternoon; another garish contribution to her growing collection of Mexican souvenirs. It took a professional such as herself, she’d decided, to truly appreciate the fine art of totally tasteless souvenirs. Matt, as usual, was dressed in a freshly pressed shirt and strictly creased trousers. Such uncompromising neatness, even in this climate. The military in him, she decided.
“What are you thinking about, Sabrina?” He sipped his whiskey and eyed her intently. “You look as though you’re laughing at a very private joke.”
She shook her head in quick denial. “Only at you.” She smiled.
“Well, that’s a step ahead of having you hurl knives at me, I suppose.”
“Ever the philosopher,” she complained. “How did you wind up running a bookstore in Acapulco, Matt?”
“How did you wind up in Dallas?” he countered.
“That’s easy. I got kicked out of California.” The humor chilled in her eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I thought California tolerated just about anything and anyone. What did you do that was so weird they had to kick you out?”
“If I told you that I seduced an innocent young man and convinced him to sell industrial secrets to the enemy and that his father later took such offense when the FBI arrested his son that he told me to get out of the state, would you believe me?”
Matt studied her for a full
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