He stepped forward.
Margaret moved back, suddenly wishing the earth would just open up and swallow her.
He moved again. So did she.
“Have you been taking lessons from that goat?” “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. You had to be there.” He took two more steps toward her. She backed up and hit the coconut palm. She shifted to the left.
So did he. “You game for a new partnership, sweetheart?”
She tried to sidestep him and bumped into a wall of rock.
Both of his hands flattened against the rock on either side of her head. She started to duck under one. He moved his arm down, still blocking her.
She gave him a narrowed glare. “Don’t get cute.” He smiled, a catbird seat smile if she’d ever seen one.
She looked away.
He moved so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “We could build a chest together.” He paused. His expression mocked her the same way his words did. “We need a chest—uh—schedule.” He laughed. “How about your chest against mine, sweetheart?”
She felt her face flush hot and red. She just wanted to shrivel up right there. But what was worse than the embarrassment of her situation was the horrendous realization that she actually felt something for Hank—truly the last man on earth she should fall for.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, knowing her humiliation was complete. Even worse than the situation, even worse than admitting she’d fallen for Hank Wyatt, was the knowledge that he knew it, too.
* * *
He had her.Hank laughed to himself, looking down at her. She wouldn’t look at him. He waited. If there was one thing he’d learned with her, it was patience.
Suddenly, as if her legs had turned liquid, she slid down the rock and sat hard on the ground. She drew her knees up and buried her head in them.
He stared at her. What the hell?
“Smitty?”
She looked like she was crying.
Stunned, he just stood there, frowning. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be crying. She should be throwing his cocky words right back at him like she always did. He waited a minute, then scowled down at her.
Her shoulders were shaking.
“Are you crying?” He leaned closer, squinting at her. “You can’t be crying.” He heard a sob. “Shit! You are crying!”
She sobbed. He shifted uncomfortably, looked left, then right. No one was around.
“Smitty.” He stepped back a foot and waved a hand at her. “Stop crying, okay?”
She cried even louder. It sounded like hell. No—hell couldn’t be that bad.
“Hey, come on. I was just fooling around.” She still cried.
“Stop it, Smitty.”
He began to pace. “Look. I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off. “Well, yeah, I guess I did mean to give you a hard time.” He plowed a hand through his hair. “But hell! I’ve been giving you a hard time for a couple of weeks now. You didn’tcry.”
She blubbered even harder. Her shoulders jerked as she tried to catch her breath.
Watching her, knowing he’d brought her to that point was the most belittling feeling he’d had in years. He stood there, wondering what the hell he had become, asking himself if this was what happened when you’d spent so many years throwing your life away. Did you start looking for others to take down with you? He wiped his palms on his pants. He just stood there, his chest tight with some obscure emotion.
